Salt :: [Nino + Vin]

"Aish!" said one extremely annoyed Vin Galleon as she pushed the large brown tomb in front of her away. "How many times have I told you, you can't accept someone's cherished memory as proper payment, Bastille?" There was a rhyme and reason to accounting and Bastille Styx, one of the most influential men of the underworld did not seem to understand that. Oftentimes she had to remind herself that despite his demeanor and intensity, he was still just a kid. Everyone makes mistakes, especially kids, but when it came to taking payment for his services, Bastille tended to accept the most idiotic of things. The man-child in question had his legs slung over his office chair, looking bored and only half listening to her reprimand.

"And how many times have I told you, Miss Galleon, that it is more than proper?" he says to her in response. It was true that Vin was getting better at not questioning things but at the same time, there was only so much stupidity that she could take. She would grant him that, memories were important things. However, they could not give money to keep a business on it's feet, which was her main concern. Bastille could do as he pleased and she would not question it. She had been with him a few years now and was as loyal to him as anyone could get but it would not stop her from telling him off for making her books as unbalanced as that mind of his.

Instead of dignifying that response with a reply, she merely stared at him for a moment before slamming the large brown book that she kept Bastille's entire business in closed and tucked it under her arm. It often proved difficult to argue with Bastille Styx. He saw things that the rest of them didn't. In the end, she trusted his judgement. Usually things turned out good for anyone who was a friend to him and she could not complain. It was only that stunts like accepting pocket fluff unbalanced her books and meant that she'd be spending long nights shifting money around so that everything was settled.

Vin left the office and entered Bastille's club. It was quiet for this time of day, there was one dancer on stage and a few customers but not much else was going on. It was all as it should be. She took a moment in the back doorway, adjusting the sleeves on her shirt to hide the lines and lines of flowers that she had sewn into her skin only the day before, trying to block out the sound of her mother asking for the father that had died so many years ago. She set the book down with a sigh on the bar top in the club, mentally trying to repair herself after the damage caused by her boss's weird ideas.

Nino Ripley, the barman who she's spoken to now and again set a glass down in front of her. She's only ever had 'weather' conversation with him, as that's how conversation always went with people. She wasn't excellent at delving deeper, at making fast friends like most were. She preferred to only trust herself and to keep things silent. It was easier to stay on good terms that way. "Please," she said, even though he was already filling her glass with her usual. Many had found it odd at first, but Vin believed in self control above anything else. When everything else in her life always seemed to be toppling down around her, she never wanted to lose herself.

It was fresh tasting today, the milk. She took a long hard pull of it, the stress of the morning grating on her. usually she could take Bastille's silliness without batting an eye but her mother was getting worse and worse lately. This morning she had not recognized Vin for nearly an hour, resulting in Vin being late.

Carefully she rolled the milk glas sin her hand and eyed it's contents. "Do you ever worry about the sky falling on your head?" she asked Nino casually, knowing that he was often in the mood to play the shoulder-to-cry-on-only-pal-in-the-world type of barman.