Smoke gently wafted to the roof of the room, where it congelated into something of a lingering fog. A well presented speech cut in over one of the local radio stations, the two mixing with several conversations to make an audible mess. A pair of balls clinked together on a green table before one of the balls stumbled gently into a third. A passing siren briefly broke over the conversations, leaving the patrons as they were hardly a moment later.

An electronic bell rung gently through the bar as Vilĉjo pressed through the door; the static in its ring was almost fitting. A couple of wary patrons looked over their shoulders to the newcomer to go back to whatever they were doing just as promptly. Vilĉjo let his eyes wander across the tavern: several patrons sat lined up on stools at the bar itself, watching the ceremonies and speeches on the television with drinks in their hands. Most of the room seemed to be waiting, while a few others jabbed balls around a pool table to pass the time. Underneath some jackets, Vilĉjo spot some sets of scrubs and uniforms; it didn't help at all with the weight hanging from his shoulders.

"Excuse me?" Vilĉjo asked, lifting a hand to wave lazily to the bartender. The woman - a middle-aged woman with a scowl melted into her expression - barely lifted her head. Vilĉjo waved a credit chit at her. "Just a Taja Titty-Twister for me, thanks." The woman let out a scoff as she set the glass she was cleaning down, instead whisking out a phone to look up how to make the cocktail in plain sight. The gesture helped Vilĉjo ease up, if only a little: it reminded him of home. The drink was sat in front of him and the chit was swiped. "If only everything could be so simple," he muttered over the rim of his glass.

Conversation was hardly moving, Vilĉjo noticed. Some nurses from the hospital up the road complained about some of their patients over drinks after their shift and the rest were here to raise a glass to the ceremonies on the television. It was a somber atmosphere - one that made it hard for him to work. Pressing himself out of his stool, he wandered over towards a flock of nurses. 
"Uh, pardon me-" he began, the conversation awkwardly stumbling to a standstill as the small crowd looked over towards him. "I couldn't help but notice the scrubs you guys have on under your jackets. My sister is a-" he paused to think, his deft hands moving of their own volition and brushing something off his nose. "-She's a a theater technician but she never talks about her job, so it's hard to relate to her, you know? I was hoping I could tempt some of you with a couple drinks for some of your favorite stores." The group initially seemed disinterested, but a couple of evil glints spread throughout the mob. Who could say no to being paid to complain? 

But as Vilĉjo slid the second mobile phone of the score into his coat, he quietly mused to himself: if something is too good to be true, it probably is. He was never good at networking but he had his ways of making ends meet.