He cut a brazen figure beneath the stifled Ashland sun. Lazarus knew that too, and he felt a perverse sense of hilarity because of it. Though he was far removed from the repressive structure of his former society, there would always be social taboos wherever one went. Firstly, he was the picture of perfect health; the dark circled, gaunt, dogged look of Ashland survival was missing from his even toned face. Secondly, his military coat, sleeves rolled above his elbows, was open, exposing his well muscled midriff, solar plexus, and chest, to attack. 

It was a taboo to look so healthy, and simultaneously expose oneself to assault at once. It bespoke an unfortunate ignorance and pampered life to some, and a dangerous confidence to others. Why any of this mattered to anyone passing is the question of course. The answer to this question sat on either side of his reclining person. Both of them were signs, painted black against a makeshift wood background. 

One read "LOOKING FOR WORK." With minute pictures of combat and a smattering of various weapons. The message was obvious, he felt. Mercenary work was in abundance from what he had seen during his time wandering amongst the Old World monoliths and the denizens who were content with scraping by.

The other said "NOW HIRING." With another smattering of symbols and pictures. Unlike the one which advertised his skill-set, this one sported a myriad of different indicators. Some depicted a need for mchanicao expertise, while others pointed to a need for skilled mechanics and technical experts. 

Fights as well, of course. The meat and bones of any mercnacy operation required those with disposition geared towards combat. Or at the very least, the ability to fake it. 

As an added piece to the man's marketing strategy, a box sat directly in front of him, inside lay a small pile of medical supplies, anti inflammatory pills, bandages, and a bottle or two of peroxide. Beside it, an open bowl of gel packets containing life affirming water.

The only catch was you had to bend down and be momentaliry exposed to attack. This was intentional. He had no intention to attack anyone who stopped for succor, it was just an exercise for her own reasons and purpose.

Perhaps the most interesting piece to his workshop of sorts, was an old gramophone, currently playing barely legible music, save for the sigh of a wind instrument.

Lazarus whistled along with it, dashing the background noise with occasional pieces sung in a casual baritone. 

[color=gray]"Let us leave the confusion and all disillusion behind; like birds of a feather, a rainbow together we'll find.[/color]