#inspired by SLWalker's Blackbirds series

[shadowmaat]

Someone Else's Choice

Corrie Week Day 3- You Shouldn't Be Here

-

"You shouldn't be here, clone! This bar's for workin' people, not freeloaders!"

Hound had taken note of the drunk earlier, but hoped he'd be able to avoid a confrontation. Ah well. He took a sip of his cider, using the moment to get a better look at the Tholothian in the mirror behind the bar.

Tall. Broad. Facial markings indicated they were part of the Delvers Guild, those who "dove" into the lowest levels to retrieve scrap and any other salvageable goods they could find. You had to be fearless to do that over and over; Hound didn't envy them.

The smart thing to do would be to apologize and leave. He'd done it plenty of times before; all the Guard had at some point. Even the frontline troops had been driven out of places.

But he was tired and frustrated after a long shift. Grizzer had eaten something off the ground and gotten the shits so bad he'd had to take her back for Nudge to tend. All he'd wanted was a drink and a meal before hitting the rack. But now there was this. Again.

"You're right," he said, putting his bottle back on the bartop. "I shouldn't be here."

The Tholothian blinked at that, clearly having expected an argument.

"Yeah!" they said. "So why don't you get your sorry ass outta here and go back to your pampered suite in Republica?" A finger jab emphasized the command.

Hound turned on his stool, regarding the drunk up close. They stepped back, fists half-raised and ready for a fight. The other patrons watched to see what would happen.

"We only have barracks in the Guard," Hound said, keeping his tone light. "But you're right, I think they were suites at one point until the government came in and stripped everything down to the 'crete to make room for us. They even took the windowsills." He couldn't quite hide his smile. It was a long-running joke in the Guard that there hadn't been a single rug or rivet left behind for them. And there were outlines in the faded paint that showed where the windowsills had been.

The Tholothian scowled at him. "If you think I'm gonna feel sorry for you-"

"No, no, I understand." Hound shook his head, still using his Friendly Voice. "We've come in and taken over places we don't have a right to, and taken jobs that could have gone to hard-working citizens."

The latter was an outright lie, but it was one that a lot of people believed and denying it only made folks angrier.

"But the thing is, we don't have a choice."

The Tholothian scoffed, spitting out an insult in a language Hound half-recognized. Others nearby were also muttering under their breath.

"You have a job, right? Delver?" Hound gestured at the person's tattoo. "That's a tough thing to do, but it's honest work and you get paid well for it when the delving's good, yeah?"

The Tholothian puffed up with pride. "Ten years in the Guild. Three dives in Dacho."

Hound didn't need to feign being impressed. The Dacho District had been the scene of a catastrophic industrial disaster, and even millennia later was rumored to be dangerous and possibly even haunted.

"Now imagine you didn't get paid for it," he said. "Even Dacho. Instead you get food vouchers to be used at an approved list of places that might take them if they're in a good mood. You get forms to fill out if you need to replace your gear. And you can barter for anything else, as long as it isn't categorized as Guild property, which includes your toothbrush."

He was bordering on sedition at this point, even if it was all truth as recording in public record. If anyone caught vid of this and reported him he'd be dead even before Fox could kill him. But as futile was it was, he had to try and make someone listen. Just once.

"My tooth- Hey, I bust my ass for that shit and put my life on the line! I'm gonna get paid my fair share!"

"You're right. You will. And I celebrate you for it." He raised his bottle in salute and took a last swig of his cider. It had gone warm, but it was time to be leaving anyway.

"If you'll all excuse me." He slid off his stool, careful not to make any sudden moves. "Our friend here is right; I should leave you all in peace."

He dug into one of his pouches and scooped out the handful of coins he'd salvaged from the change tray of a vending machine in the Senate. He placed them on the counter next to his cider. There was a small circle of silence around him, watching his every move.

"I hope you all have a good evening." He gave them a Jedi-like bow and headed for the door. Sweat trickled between his shoulderblades, but no one tried to stop him. Fuck. He should have just kept his mouth shut and left like he was supposed to.

As the door whooshed closed behind him, he heard the Tholothian's voice raised above the background noise of the bar.

"What th' fuck d'ya mean I can't trade my fuckin' toothbrush?"