Paradise Seeker

With how much she likes to get tipsy or just outright drunk, Jill supposed she couldn’t really argue with his first point there. However, it was difficult for her to get there without consuming rather strong, and therefore very throat burning, drinks, which is a sensation she came to adjust to and enjoy, in a way.

“Well, I have sugary and sweet drinks, but I wouldn’t call any of them ‘cake-like.’ Mostly fruity, actually. I suppose I could cover a drink in too much whipped cream to help but I can’t guarantee it’ll be a good combination.” She’s not a miracle worker here.

While Linhardt rambles on, Jill gets to work whipping up (hah, get it?) something fruity and sweet for him to drink, because that was his only option anyway. She was listening, too, but a lot of it didn’t really need to be directly responded to. “I work here. You’re not keeping me here. I get paid to listen to you, essentially.”

By the time he’d finished, she was already preparing a drink in her shaker. For such a small and weak body she had, she was able to put quite a lot of energy into this part, and even keep speaking normally while she did so.’

“Disassembling’s a pain, huh. If y’end up needing a hand, then, feel free to ask and I’ll take you to the back room.” 

You peek over to see just exactly what she’s making, giving no signs of protest. Something fruity with the possibility of an absurd amount of whipped cream sounds delightful to you, though you have a feeling she was making an attempt at deadpan humor. You appreciate it, though... you’re having a hard time gauging with how annoyed she is with you or not. 

Then she offers to help you disassemble your outfit? Your eyes widen comically, cheeks dusting a light shade of pink. Is she flirting with you? You honestly can’t tell. You’re used to being the one to do the flirting, not the other way around. Oh goodness. How do you go about asking someone something like that? 

Well. Only one way to find out. 

“Oh. Well. That certainly is a bold offer,” you say, watching as she prepares whatever is in the mystery shaker. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but are you hitting on me? Not that I mind of course, but I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t misreading the situation, in case you were joking, or only offering to help me with this button laden monstrosity.” 

You offer a friendly smile from where you’ve laid your head down. 

– You’ve closed your eyes for a few minutes, just for a moment when you hear a song nearby. Or, you think it’s supposed to be a song. You open your eyes to see a woman, who presumably, is the source of the noise. Furrowing your eyebrows, you give up on sleeping, and attempt to concentrate on your reading. 

Nope. You need to say something. Have to. 

“This might come off as a little rude, but has your music box always sounded like that? The composition of the song is fine, but every third note seems to be off- or is it fourth?” 

– You’re prone to not watching what you’re doing on occasion, specifically when you’re this damn tired. You stayed up all night inhaling as much information on multi-universal theory, time travel, and other similarly interesting topics. It isn’t your crest research, but it’ll do. 

But it’s sunny, mild enough to be pleasant, and you’re having a hard time keeping it together. You let out a long, drawn out yawn that you feel from your chest. In your stretch backwards, you manage to hit someone, and not really too gently. Shit. 

“Oh-! Oh no...” 

     — ⚡ Typically if this had been some sort of request from the Galatic Federation or the like, Samus would have turned it down immediately. However… Seeing as it’s just an ordinary person (presumably, in any case), the woman can’t help but feel some degree of pity. Not only that, but she hasn’t eaten in a few days, as well, so…

TO: LINHARDT VON HEVRING FROM: SAMUS ARAN

[ 1 / 3 ] You know, I’m hungry enough to where that sounds like a fine deal to me [ 2 / 3 ] So, sure; just this once I’ll do it for a reduced price. [ 3 / 3 ] Whereabouts are you?

FROM: LINHARDT VON HEVRING TO: SAMUS ARAN 

– You’re snoozing under a tree near the Savior’s Respite when you hear footsteps approach. You blink awake, sitting up as you make out who is coming near and if you should care. Seeing as it’s a kid, and a rather plucky looking one at that, you’re not worried. You give a bored snap of your fingers to catch his attention before he goes the way you think he’s going. 

“Ah, ah. The cliffs over there are unstable. Unless you want to eat dirt for dinner, I’d suggest going the other way around.” 

TO: LINHARDT VON HEVRING FROM: SAMUS ARAN

[ 1 / 2 ] It sounds like you have an awful lot of money to carelessly ask someone to carry your groceries in for you. [ 2 / 2 ] So, naturally, I’d expect a good reward for a good deed.

Damn. That’s going to be a problem. You haven’t gotten a job yet. 

TO: ALL FROM: SAMUS ARAN

[ 1 / 3 ] Are there any current bounty listings with rewards here? [ 2 / 3 ] Or is anyone in need of a bounty hunter in particular? [ 3 / 3 ] I’m open for freelance work.

TO: SAMUS ARAN  FROM: LINHARDT VON HEVRING 

– You see her from a distance, and considering it’s the first time you’ve ran in a few months, it absolutely feels terrible. You’re out of shape, while she’s seemingly agile as ever. You’re out of breath by the time you manage to get in shouting range.

“Professor- wait! Where are you... ughhh,” you drape over a bench, trying to catch your breath. But it seems like it worked. “What are you even in such hurry for...? Is this a test? It is isn’t it? It’s a test to prove how soft I’ve gotten- well I’ll have you know I-” 

“Eugh... I haven’t had much reason to walk anywhere. There’s transport, and all sorts of things to mitigate my need to exert any physical effort in terms of existing. It’s a thing of beauty, when you think about it. How far ahead the technology in this realm has advanced.” 

You sigh. “Though it would have been a shame, if we both would have kept living our lives, not knowing that the other existed. How have you been?”

– It’s bothering you, and you’re not the type of person to not say exactly what you’re thinking at any given time. You also have no sense of shame, nor a proud bone in your body. There’s really nothing stopping you. 

“I just don’t understand it,” you say, crossing your arms. The look you are giving the person in front of you is intense. A scrutinizing death glare. 

“How in the goddesses’ seven heavens did you get your eyeliner so immaculate? I’ve been working at it for a month now. I even tried the spoon trick, and didn’t manage to do it half as well.” 

– You’re minding your business, fishing the day away. What you don’t expect to happen is getting yanked in. What you caught really is the mystery, but unfortunately, you didn’t have the good sense to let go soon enough. After being catapulted into the ocean, you wade back without your rod, hacking loudly and ungracefully as you return to the boardwalk. You groan, hair obstructing your face until you flip it out of the way so you can see. Ugh. You feel gross.

“Scientifically speaking, I’m absolutely fascinated as to what happened here, and just what exactly my hook managed to snag,” you say, clearing your throat. There’s salt in your nose. Ughhh. “Though every other part of me just wants to sleep until next year.”

He takes a swing at you, and, you (very lazily) dodge. What you hadn’t realized however, is that there was someone behind you in line to take the hit instead. 

“Oh... oh no.” 

Her ears picked up on the voice, and she followed it to its owner, floating through the air with ease. More people, more questions, more answers for her. 

Now nearly touching noses with the man, she pulls lightly on his green hair to make sure he’s paying attention to her; from his yawn she understands he’s only just booted up. 

(Transcript)

– Before you can even yawn a second time, you’re face to face with... a cat? A rather large, and odd looking one at that. Despite that though, you do find the creature to be quite cute (and interesting), so you can forgive her tugging on your hair. You blink, blearily reading the text box in front of you. Sentient talking beasts aren’t new to you, but that certainly is. You roll with it anyway. 

“Close, but not quite. If this place is anything like my home, there are a few different seasons. That is, different times of the year with different weather patterns. We were very clearly in the summertime before, as it was hot to an almost unbearable degree. But the weather now is cooler. Also,” you say, pointing to a tree nearby. “See that leaf turning a yellow shade over there? It’s the telltale signs of seasonal change. In theory, we’ll get winter after a few moons, which is typically cold and has snow in some cases. Though, it might be entirely different here, so we’ll see. We might just end up with a fun seasonal surprise.” 

“Wow. Is it fall already? This really is lovely weather. What did I miss?” 

Jill wasn’t sure if this dude’s confidence was off-putting or impressive. Or, rather, if it would be off-putting to the average person, because she couldn’t really care less about his attitude or how polite his draping himself over the bartop may or may not be. As long as he didn’t knock any bottles or anything over, she didn’t care.

“Closer to cake than alcohol,” she repeated. “Do you also want something that’s closer to a solid than a liquid?”

“Is it that you don’t like the taste of alcohol? If that’s the case, I wanna ask why you’re here.” She can cut right to the point, too, making no moves to actually get anything for him to drink yet, instead opting to lean over her section of the counter herself just beside him.

“Jill. Bartender on shift and owner. What’re you all dressed up for, Linhardt? Special evening?”

She cuts to why you want a drink with alcohol if you don’t like the taste of it, and you blink a bit owlishly in response. You appreciate someone with a keen sense of observation, certainly, but you’re not used to being the one under the microscope. You peek up over your arm at her where she’s draped beside you. 

“Well, that’s simple. Being tipsy is an enjoyable sensation, and while some alcohols are better tasting than others, I really don’t enjoy the burning. Sugar, I find, masks that quite well.” 

She points out your outfit, and you blink. It’s your outfit from home. You own a few other things you’ve bought here, but collection growing has been slow. Trying on clothes to make sure they fit is a lot of effort, after all, and it’s not as if you have a ton of funds to dedicate to the cause of appearances. 

“And ohh, no. These are just my clothes from home. All of the ones I bought here were dirty already, so here I am,” you say, smiling a bit. “Though now that you mention it, it is a little muggy to be wearing the whole ensemble in summer. Disassembling it with all of these buttons and interweaving parts is such a pain though. I suppose I could have just done with the undershirt, but well, hindsight is a cruel mistress.” 

Starter | @crestnaps​

Business was a bit slower recently, with the festivities going on and food and drink being a lot more enticing when experienced elsewhere. Jill couldn’t really fault anyone for that, and it’s not like she was in danger of going out of business still, so it was fine.

It did mean nights like these, when no one had come in or gone out in hours, were a lot more lonely feeling though. She almost wondered if it was better to just close up early and go back home to her cat. She was wondering that, anyway, until she heard the door open and felt the cold night air sweep in.

“No stalling in the doorway. You’ll let all the heat out.”

“Sorry for the crowd,” she said to Linhardt, the only other person in the bar right now.

– You really weren't looking for much, really you just wanted a place to get out of the rain, and maybe have a few drinks before heading home. You stall in the doorway to close your umbrella and get scolded by the only other person in this pitifully desolate bar. That is, the bartender. Well, you’d say it’s pitiful, but you don't mind the quiet at all. In fact, you would be quite pleased if all bars were just for you. 

"I know. Really, how do you survive such noise? Why I can barely hear myself think," you say, giving a rather jovial smile as you close the door as you were told. You leave your umbrella near the door and walk over to the counter. You sit and flop forward until you're laying halfway across it with your head in your arms, all with the confidence of someone who might have owned the place. Far be it from you to assume you’re talking to the person who does.

"Say... do you have anything that tastes closer to cake than it does alcohol? Oh-! Sorry to cut right to the point. I'm just of a bit picky drinker, so I wanted to be honest. Set realistic expectations for both of us, and all." You sit up a little bit, and offer a smile. Yes, that should about cover it for your rudeness. You’re doing great.