>>6338217... You should visit the bath house, of course. You feel drenched in sweat and grime. You throw your unseasonable clothes upon the bed and open all your luggage in a fit. What did you end up bringing, anyway? Maybe four, five changes of clothes if you're generous and offensively unfashionable about it... underwear, basic toiletries, a couple objects with sentimental value, a chapter book you will never read... why did you bring this PepBoy Pocket Color? It doesn't have batteries.
You gingerly return to the courtyard in a loose white linen shirt, shorts and flip-flops, where night has already begun to fall. To your surprise, the courtyard's been lit up--not just by a couple diesel lamps installed by the city, but also by hundreds of haphazardly arranged fairy lights wrapped around poles and trees, arranged like a web above your head, blinking warm with sodium. A cool breeze goes right through you. You suddenly feel a bit better--
"Hey. You."
At first this doesn't seem meant for you.
"No, yeah, you. I mean you. Come here for a second."
You turn around to see a tall, human man. Swarthy, lean, bit of a five o'clock beard, hair beginning to grey, probably early thirties. And a big, cross-shaped scar. He's wearing a track suit.
He sizes you up, then looks despondently beyond you and makes a "tch" sound.
"You're new here, right? You think you're gonna just uhhh, waltz in and fuckin' uhhh, take a bath. You think that's how it works here?"
Not sure if this a rhetorical question, you venture a gesture that could widely be interpreted as yes or no.
"... Tch. Okay, look. I can tell you're new here. Lemme help you out a bit. You got a cig I can bum?"
>Offer him a cigarette>Tell him you don't smoke 