[center][h1][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5300645][color=A87161][u]A[color=white]pollo[/color] G[color=white]reit[/color][/u][/color][/url] x [color=white][u][color=82ca9d]C[/color]opious [color=8493ca]A[/color]mounts of [color=f49ac2]A[/color]lcohol[/u][/color][/h1][/center]

Well, it seemed like everything went alright for Apollo. He [i]mostly[/i] dealt with Sofron (though in actuality, Klava did most of the work). He got a neat gun out of the scrap which was now firmly held by his waistband. And hey, he ended up coming out fine. In fact, he was probably the least injured out of all of the freelancers. Go figure. Using what remained of his mana, he healed those who in the area. It was menial work, but hey, brownie points. In fact, 90% of the reason why he was so highly rated despite his cocksure self was because of this. It let him get away with a lot of things.

He gave a shrug when Klava healed herself by means of transformation. It was like that sometimes. Less work for him. Though, he did manage to miss the Protector entering a woman's washroom and the much shorter Aria coming out. He was pretty much out the door by the time she offered a meal. In fact, Apollo didn't even notice her offer. If he did? He probably would have went. After all, he couldn't refuse an offer that would result him being flanked by two ladies.

With the roar of 6 cylinders, Apollo was already gone from the scene. The only thing left in his wake was the skid marks of his tires at both where he parked and his first turn. Seriously, he was going way too fast. At least the streets were dead for that moment.

The rest of Apollo's day was wild. It was like the man's heart would shrivel up and die if his heart rate dropped below 120. Though, he was in peak physical condition even without the esper boost. His heartrate rarely cracked 80. Immediately, he was at the gym after a mission. Sure, it was essentially useless in his esper form. Maybe he'd be a fraction stronger than other espers. However, Apollo still cared about his human form. If he didn't look his absolute best, then what was the point of anything.

As the sky began to darken, Apollo left the gym and cleaned himself up. He wasn't going to waste the night. He was going to get drunk and go clubbing. The loud music and loose sense of society let him feel at home. One drink turned into two. Two turned into more than he could count. The night seemed to turn into a blur.

And then he woke up. With the morning sun barely shining through the blinds, Apollo woke up. Even if he was drunk and hungover, time spent sleeping could be time spent grinding.

This wasn't his apartment. [color=A87161][i]"Shit."[/i][/color] He whispered to himself. He looked at his side. There wasn't anyone there, but the signs of another person could still be noticed. Thus, he did what any reasonable person in his position would do. He put on his clothes, grabbed his shit, and left via the fire escape. That was probably a lease violation. Whatever, not his apartment, not his problem. What was his problem was what he could find in that room.

Where was the gun? The big ol' golden blaster? He had his phone, clothes and the rest of his shit on the ground nearby. But the gun? That was lost at some point during the night. Well, out of sight, out of mind. It was no longer his problem. It wasn't like it was his gun to begin with.

And back on the grind he went. He had more weights to lift until he decided to do his next job as a freelancer.