#Jae: YOU HAVEN'T EVEN TAKEN MY ORDER YET TSK TSK

[gcldfanged]

@heavensfists

Below the top plates, life was far from the idyllic boutiques of Loveless Street. All the pretty cobbled stones, the prim and proper two story houses in candy colors that Shinra so loved to plaster all over their advertisements were only available to the privileged few. The rest of the population had to scrounge around the debris and trash the top-platers discarded, wading through the oil slicks and sewage to try and make ends meet.

It wasn’t much of a life since even basic needs were in short supply, survival alone dominating the choices and options available to the thousands of slum rats living in crappy little communes. To think, he could have been one of them- Once upon a time.

Flanked by four of his biggest and meanest looking coworkers (all longshoremen with muscles so huge, they couldn’t even try to reach a post-it note stuck between their shoulder blades), Yoon purposefully walked down the steps of the Sector 7 train station- His very presence parting the veritable ocean of spare-changers. Any halfwits looking to pick his pockets or band together for a scrap were quickly dealt with, not that many people wanted to mess with a sharply dressed member of General Affairs toting around a heavy bullwhip.

“Gotta love the smell of rotten eggs and desperation...” he mused to himself, coming to a halt before a large signboard for The Seventh Heaven bar. With a nod of his head, his flunkies vacated any customers occupying the tables and the counter, two standing guard at the front door, while the remaining pair covered the back entrance.

While he wasn’t a tall individual by any means, Jae definitely had weight of presence going for him. An expensive and crisply tailored suit made up his protective armor, a small lapel pin bearing the Shinra logo gleamed red and silver in the overheard lighting. Tugging at his fingerless leather driving gloves, the Turk approached Lockhart slowly, striding right up to the bar top with a congenial smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“My apologies for interrupting a busy night, but I thought it might be pleasant to have some privacy. People around here know the value of information well and I’d just hate for our conversation to be repeated down the grape vine. I trust that my being here won’t be a problem?” he states as implicit fact more than he asks permission, leaning his steel-tipped shoe against one of the lower rungs of a wooden barstool.

He may have trespassed upon enemy turf, but this sad little offshoot of Avalanche held no true power- No resources, or reputation to speak of- much less any actual guerilla soldiers to be afraid of.