lost cause [zori / blitz]

It was a slow night in January, which meant that I’d given Ether the night off so I didn’t have to pay him. He’d been fixing to spend some time off anyway, remarking over and over again how he and his boys were going to spend the night together, talking about their dicks or drinking enough to vomit or whatever groups of young men did together. It interested her in the least, which was to say not at all, to know what the boys that Ether surrounded himself did when she wasn’t around.

The television played out a documentary on one of the older victors from a time ago – Aranica or some other older woman at this point – and Quest had set about wiping down the bar and organizing the glassware. She’d poured herself a glass of amber ale, a bit of the microbrewed stuff they’d recently produced and were planning on bottling. She scratched away at an inventory and looked over the figures for sales for the first few days of the month.

When enough time passed she started back at her workbooks, the coursework she was supposed to complete for the psychiatry she was completing at the University. She was three years in and had a few more to go before getting a slip of paper that made her official.

As she tended to her notes, the door slid open, and in walked a woman that looked like fifty miles of bad road. Quest glanced up and watched her approach. A part of her thought she looked familiar in an odd way, though a lot of district six women looked rough around the edges, rode hard and left wet.

“Uh… evening.” Quest pushed back her book and put her hands on the bar. “You came at the right time. Little slow tonight. Bar’s all yours.”