[color=teal][sub][i]January 12 2079[/i][/sub][/color][hr]

[Colour=lightgray]A blank look of surprise filled his face as he was handed the fresh packet of cigarettes. A quick glance at Varya and her empathetic smirk only further convinced Artem it was a joke. But with a cautious tilt of the head and a nervous smile Artem thanked his employer and shoved the packet into his pocket.

“[/colour][colour=Teal]If he is like that when you're around I'm sticking close.[/colour][Colour=lightgray]”

Artem threw an oil covered rag over to the workbench before dividing the assortment of wrenches strewn across it. A longer day than he had hoped yet not one devoid of enjoyment, Artem was looking forward to kicking back without his head inside a manifold. He peeked at Varya once more as she packed her tools in similar fashion. Artem couldn't recall the last time he had seen Oleg that pleased with a job he had done, it was already certain the two would be working together again if this was going to be the result. Only after he pondered the idea of purposefully doing a bad job next time did Artem surrender to the inevitable. 

“[/colour][colour=Teal]Hey, Varya. I know this place. Cheap drinks, alright music. Lets head over there later, I think you owe me a round after I saved your Nav-box.[/colour][Colour=lightgray]” His smile was almost as cheeky as the words he spoke. “[/colour][colour=Teal]I need to get changed though. If I text you where it is want to meet? say eight?[/colour][Colour=lightgray]”

[center]---[/center]
The door slammed shut, his backpack was thrown to the nearest corner. His clothes dropped to the floor in increments as Artem charged towards the shower room. His sharp intake of breath was immediately followed by a mumbling unfit for fair ears. No hot water. He struggled to push the water over himself, bumping the button at his earliest convenience. 

Stepping into his bedroom he kicked on a heater. Artem took particular care towelling his cybernetics, not because they were fragile but because the Russian winter did not look kindly upon wet prosthetics. Water would often damage joints when it expanded into ice and Artem did not have the wage to keep repairing his limbs.

Artem pulled a warm-looking jumper over his head along with new trousers and his hardiest boots. The Soul Kitchen Bar wasn't the most upmarket venue in town but it wasn't going to accept any old vagrants off the street through its doors. With a last minute touch of cologne Artem rubbed his buzz-cut in the mirror. Tapping his thumb on the plexiglas phone Artem sifted through till he found Varya's face. A moment of furious tapping ensued as he threw together a quick message.

[indent][sub]Soul Kitchen Bar
Tsentralny District
I'll be there in fifteen
and don't worry, I won't kill you with a spoon or some shit
Artem[/sub][/indent][/colour]