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[indent][indent][color=lightgray]Jarren chuckled to himself in between sips, content that he wasn't the only person having a laugh at that idiot salesman. The old him would have dismissed the ruckus as entertainment for the dregs of society, but now that he was front and center of it all the man could see how far it beat posh cantinas and their grating music selection. This new Jarren carefully listened to his surroundings and hoped a fight broke out. 

[color=gray]"Well, the only work 'round these parts, sir, is moving some crates or cleaning. Ya know, the kind of work you might expect on a transport ship. I'm sure if you stop any of the crew I'm sure they would love to pay for a drink or two if ya want to ease the load."[/color]

[color=cyan]"Shiiiiiiit."[/color]

It was meant to be a whisper, but through the power of alcohol it wheezed out of him and into someone else's conversation. Finding some busywork had been on the back of his mind ever since he first boarded the ship and realized that he was running low on credits. 

He always hated having to hunt down leads. It was the one thing all those stories about intergalactic scoundrels never told you, the slow and arduous process of trying to find someone to vaguely trust you enough to get your hands filthy. The whole thing reminded him a little too much of the job interviews at his former planet for his comfort. Whoever this plucky looking guy was, though, had asked what had been sloshing around on his mind. 

Only to be pointed in the direction of soulless manual labor. 

[color=cyan][i]So much for not wanting to swallow my pride.[/i][/color] 

His red eyes tilted up at the bartender. [color=cyan]"Moving boxes? Are you sure there isn't aaanything else?"[/color] He gazed into her with a charismatic gaze, or at least tried to. He couldn't really tell how a sober person saw him as.

[center][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/18052]Roll: Gather information, 9[/url][/center]

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