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“Where can I find a hive official?” You ask, interrupting whatever the woman was about to say.
“A <span class="mu-i">what</span>?” She laughed. “You mean one of the Arbites? They don't come down here! Nobody does! You might as well ask me where you could find the sodding Emperor!"
“Someone must." You continue, pausing momentarily as you recall. “Otherwise you would know nothing of them.”
“Yeah, I guess that's Uptown...” She wipes a tear from her eye, still stifling some stray giggles. “Like they'd pay any heed to a little exile like you. Not unless you've got a few tons of corpsestarch stuffed down your suit.”
“Then I'll go there.” You reply shortly, then turn away.
“Eh? Wha...” You hear her voice trailing off as you turn and push your mop across the room.
The tempo of the room changes as the first hour becomes hours. Customers endlessly chattering start to grow exhausted, while the ones who arrived late and stayed quiet seem to recover more of their energy. You avoid some labor by attempting to clean more than just the floors - a task that finds you on your knees and scrubbing caked on dirt from the foot rails of the bar more than once - but you're unable to avoid carrying trays to table in it's entirety. Tea seems to recognize your plight after the fourth time you nearly collapse, and begins splitting them into halves. Not that it helps all that much.
At some point, a hand catches your shoulder. “That's enough.” Tea's voice comes. “It's late, anyway. You going to be safe to go home?”
You look at her blankly for a moment, startled out of a strange haze. The bar was suddenly much emptier, only a few people remaining while finishing off drinks or fiddling with dataslates.
“...yeah, nevermind.” Tea says dryly. “You're not making it more than a block. Go ahead and find a bench. You can sleep it off there.” She waves you off towards one of the benches that were bumped up against the wall, and you stagger off, before you're suddenly stopped again. “Oh, nearly forgot.” Several strips of something are pressed into your hand. “Here's a cut of the tips. If a man named Hop asks, we never spoke.”
You nod, unsure of her meaning, opening your hand slightly to see a small fistful of paper bills and coins. For a moment, you're confused as to what you actually did before you recall that most professions were compensated in currency. While you did <span class="mu-i">know</span> that, the idea of actually being paid was slightly baffling to you. Money was something you managed on the behalf of others, not for yourself.
It goes into your shoulder pocket regardless, your eyelids trying to close of their own accord. You had been prepared for fatigue and the need for sleep extensively, especially when extended hours would be required of you, but experiencing it for the first time, you were somewhat overwhelmed by the effect it was having on you.
You don't even recall reaching the bench before you lose consciousness.
