>>6338152Still, just for assurance, you reach down with your free hand and grip your blade. It was a standard-issue military saber in a black matte sheath. You had bribed the commissary officer into selling it to you; well, the bribe was the price you paid, you guess. He wasn't supposed to sell military surplus through unofficial channels, but perhaps he took pity on you.
You were mildly ridiculed back home for choosing the sword. There are many practical reasons for using melee weapons as a bounty hunter, you mechanically repeated to yourself in your head, having memorized these justifications. Melee weapons can be enchanted with sorcery, or infused with ki. Magic... life aura. These concepts were foreign to the farmers and small-towners back home. Back there you were expected to pick up a gun and use it, like your aunt did. She was the best marksman in town. She tried gifting you her old revolver before she passed, but you were always a lousy shot. She died interred with her carbine in her hands. Isn't that weird?
Anyway, you had demonstrated a certain aptitude for swordfighting, which you got to show off during your year of civil service. Everyone was surprised, though no-one was particularly impressed. Your mother certainly didn't know where you got that from. You came from a family of loggers. Well, maybe that sort of makes sense.
You had navigated train stations in the past, but never one like this. The number of signs and arrows hanging from the ceiling and sticking out of every corner was more overwhelming than instructive. You couldn't even slow down; you could feel the anger of everyone behind you if you did. You moved off to the side and leaned against a wall while trying to figure out the right direction. You saw people pass you in a blur... so many people, the likes of which you'd hardly ever seen before. For a moment you felt like it was hard to breathe. And why had you come to Chaotzakka in the first place? Even though it was a six-hour train ride from home, you hadn't been to the city since you were a child, when your father took you to meet the Guild. Your memories of that trip were completely divorced from this loud and smelly reality.
Well, certainly no-one forced you to come, but no-one complained loudly when you announced your intentions, either. A bounty hunter. You seem to remember a time in your childhood when bounty hunters were heroic, or at least somewhat romantic, figures. Now it's grunt work with shitty insurance, or at least that's how your friends from home characterized it.
In Iscthymia there aren't many opportunities. Either you do what your family's always done, or you get out of town. Were you a more enterprising and sadistic individual, you could've found work in Tower Prison, as a warden or pencil-pusher. That's what all the kids who ate crayons and tortured small animals did.
