Time to Make the Donuts

[sockhopsolly]

THE ON-DUTY MEME



We're all used to playing our characters in special circumstances--sharing a bath, AUed into a robot, in the rain, lost in the ball pit (well that's one way to get your extra hour)...but how often do we get to actually play our characters doing their day jobs?

This meme is for just that.

INSTRUCTIONS
1. Write a starter about your character going about their day at work, wherever that may be.

If your character is a doctor, write them checking in on a patient, or having a meal in the hospital cafeteria. If they're a lawyer, write them at court. If they're a professional ghost-hunter? Yeah, that'd be a pretty neat starter too!

Be sure to include some sort of hook that allows other characters to join in the action, even if your character works alone. Maybe they brought their pile of research out to a cafe? Maybe they need help with something?

2. Respond to other characters' starters. Please tag out if you put a starter up. I know I can't enforce this, but no meme goes anywhere if people don't engage.

3. Thread. Have a good day at work, or perhaps an awful day at work.

Comments

Thiirien | Skyrim OC | OTA

[mammothcheese]

[Some days, for Thiirien, making a few septims means hunting down a couple of deer in the plains of Skyrim.

...some days, it means quietly slipping through a crowd and freeing people of their purses.

It's a festival in the city of Dawnstar, the Day of Lights. Candles and torches are lit throughout the town, and children run from house to house and shop to shop asking for candies from the locals. Adults are in various stages of drunken cheer, and Thiirien is in her element, slipping among them to cut purse-strings with a small knife held close to her fingers.

Unfortunately, she may have chosen the wrong target this time...]

[megazero_to_superhero]

[Meanwhile, there's someone here in Dawnstar who's really, really out of place—or would be, if he wasn't trying to go undetected.

That would be David Puskás, who's on a reconnaissance mission on behalf of Portal Corp. He's here to monitor Praetoria's interdimensional movements and prevent them from finding ways to reach his own home dimension. A Technology-origin hero probably isn't the best choice for a mission to a world like Tamriel, given someone of Magic or Natural-origin would blend in with the locals much easier. Nevertheless, he was the only hero available for this assignment, so—here he is, smack dab in the middle of the Day of Lights festival, trying to keep away from the crowds while relying on his power armor's built-in active camouflage (and the drunkenness of the citizenry) to stay out of sight and out of mind.

Unfortunately for him, this short and squat hero just so happens to be between Thiirien and her chosen target, such that she's got a good chance of either bumping into him or accidentally getting a hold of one of the devices on his utility belt while trying to reach for that reveler's purse.]

[mammothcheese]

[It really is startling when you go to grab a purse and jostle a person you can’t see. It’s not like you can easily explain what you were doing, but you kind of also want to raise the alarm about a person who isn’t there.

Thiirien reacts, after realizing there’s someone she can’t see, by shoving in David’s direction as hard as she can.]

[megazero_to_superhero]

[The first bump had been enough to make David look around, expecting it to come from a boozer stumbling about—but he really wasn't expecting that shove. That, combined with how hard Thiirien shoved him, causes him to stumble forward into the townsfolk she'd initially targeted.

Which causes said citizen to stumble and fall over into other nearby townsfolk. Thiirien just turned David into an unwitting bowling ball.

For his part, he couldn't help but grunt out a "Hey!" in surprise as he careens forward, but his armor's adaptive camouflage doesn't drop. Yet, it'll be easier for Thiirien to see where he is just based on the way that system works. It doesn't perfectly match the surroundings—almost like looking through glass. There's just enough distortion that if she's paying attention she can just make out his general shape: a man about five foot tall, seemingly wearing very bulky armor.

He's now scrambling to get back up and away from the crowd of citizens-turned-bowling pins. Normally he'd be trying to help people up and apologizing, but he's fighting that instinct pretty hard at the moment—that would really bring in a lot of unwanted attention.]

Yoon Tae Min | What Lies At The End | OTA

[startfromnothing]

[Holding down multiple jobs is no small feat, but he manages. From being a mascot handling fliers two days a week to working as a waiter in a small restaurant to doing heavier lifting jobs part-time at a warehouse in the city's industrial district, it's pretty easy to find Taemin in the middle of "unskilled labor".

He can also be found training and assisting at a local boxing gym.

He's everywhere, but whether or not he can be interrupted depends on the timing. Perhaps when he goes on a lunch break...]

Samuel Solomon / Y the Mystic ✨ Superhero OC

[yudodis]

1: Y the Mystic Battles Evil

The entire city has had an oppressive, dark aura recently, like having a hand hovering over your shoulder all day. The air is sticky in the throat. Music doesn't lift spirits like it normally does. Voices of loved ones somehow seem grating and irritating. Strangers seem dangerous, no matter how they look or act. And just as it all seems to be piling up, darkness poured atop darkness like overflowing tar, thick dark clouds roll in. Just what it needs. Something to push everyone over the edge.

When the lightning bolt flies, it's unnatural, enormous, so bright it's like the sun is shining at midnight for just a second. The shadows in that light show a hidden truth. Horrid, tiny misshapen creatures lurking everywhere, clinging to surfaces and people's skin, whispering evil words. It's a flash of seeing the reality of the situation, but one thing persists. In the sky a single figure outlined against the full moon, the only clear spot in the clouds, surrounded by seven swirling shapes that strike and swoop at the lone force facing them. The solitary silhouette is struck by a perfectly timed combined assault and starts to fall, twirling down to make a nasty crash landing.

Aww, bollocks, thinks Y as he plummets. Maybe he's headed for a window, or a dumpster, or someone with supernatural abilities able to save him. If he's lucky. Either way, his other thought will probably be true. This is gonna hurt.

2: Sam is Sometimes Useful

Sam may be the owner of Solomon International Antiques, one of the world's leading organisations in antiques, collectables and archaeology, but he's also one of their foremost experts. Since he doesn't do much in regards to the direct running of the company, he can be found just about anywhere there are mysterious artefacts about. He enjoys it even when it's mundane, but somehow he's always ending up pulled into magic shenanigans.

"Ah, hello, I'm Sam," he introduced himself as he entered the branch of SIA that called him in. In his civilian identity, he's much less striking than when he's Y the Mystic. Black hair, frame made smaller by a suit, sunglasses hiding he's a cyclops. And whereas Y never fails to put on a show, speaking with his hands and walking like a dancer, Sam moves stiffly and shuffles. "They said you had something no one else could recognise, and that's when they call me."

You wouldn't think he's a multi-millionaire, let alone a flamboyant magician.

2, it is TIME.

[sibylservice]

The woman on the other side of the counter is short and blonde, and looks quite familiar to Sam--though she shows no sign of recognizing him at all. She has a unique piece of silver jewelry laid out on the counter. It's completely mundane--no curses, nothing.

[yudodis]

Sam’s heart skips several beats when he sees Phaedra is the client. He did think it was strange how late the meeting was, but it all makes sense now. At least, he thinks, the slightly nervous energy matches his current persona. The real him is somewhere in the middle.

“Oh, uh, a chatelaine. I love these,” he says as he snaps on a pair of thin rubber gloves. “So, what did you want to know about it?”

He goes out of his way to keep his attention on the piece rather than her. Not only to try to keep her attention there too, but also because it fits the image more.

[sibylservice]

"It was sent to me as a present, as thanks for...some work I did."

A blood sorcery ritual of divination on behalf of another vampire; Y had seen the aftermath, when she was a somewhat out of it from opening her mind to the abyss. The abyss has a bad habit of poking a finger through those openings. She had probably been out of sorts for a couple nights afterward.

"I know nothing about this sort of thing, to be honest. I don't know whether to keep it to hang on a Christmas tree or to sell it. And you're said to be an expert in your field."

Minoru - OC

[itmeanstruth]

Option 1: Mid-twenties Minoru

No one ever took on a hospital night shift expecting it to be quiet. Minoru was two pumpkin spice lattes into his shift as an orderly and the people just kept coming in. Beds had to be made. Rooms had to be cleaned. Patients had to be moved. Nurses needed help. Whatever the task, Minoru was on it!

[Are you a doctor or nurse needing a helping hand with a difficult patient? Are you said difficult patient? Oh, the chaos!]


Option 2: Mid-Thirties Minoru

It was hard to tell what Minoru liked more - helping people or moving. So, going back to school to be a physical therapist assistant was a natural fit. Now, it was his job to help people move. And the outpatient facility certainly didn’t mind that his repeated stints on American Ninja Warrior were earning them some good press these last few years. Those little paper fans on the wall weren’t just for show.

[Are you doing rehabilitation after an injury? Wanting to meet a local celebrity? Are you just here for a sports massage by a cute guy? Hey, sometimes getting hurt has its perks.]

bruno bucciarati — jojo's bizarre adventure — ota

[giusto]

( you've come to this pleasant, and perhaps a little old-fashioned restaurant — you're in Naples, Italy, for whatever reason it may be, either you're visiting temporarily or otherwise. Libeccio is built on its classic, genuine heritage of Napoli culture, and on this side of the immense city, there seems to linger a historical charm. an essence of tradition clings to the buildings and the old streets filled with an immense diversity of independent businesses, owned and operated by Naples' people. it's beautiful, idyllic to the eye.

however, you're probably not here at this restaurant on pleasant business.

you've come to speak with Bucciarati, head of a group of bodyguards tied to the famiglia — the Mafia. someone's hurt you or someone you care about, perhaps, and you're afraid; or you might need some temporary protection while you travel through the area. if you're going to pay well enough, you might be able to make some...other requests. they are not assassins (and he isn't going to help you find that team; he probably couldn't lead you to them if he wanted to) but if you perhaps know a dangerous person that needs to be intercepted and...spoken to about their terrible deeds, or have some intel on a potential threat to yourself or others...or if there's a threat on your life — Bucciarati will take a meeting to listen to your cause.

he takes a cut of your payment up front prior to meeting, non-refundable, a show of good faith and respect. after that, he can't make promises as to what he will agree to do for you.

you were instructed to hand it to a blond man with a strawberry-iconed necktie (and weird as that was for an instruction, sure enough...that happened) before being brought by the host at the door to the furthest end of the restaurant — to a secluded, quieter section, partially closed away and fitted with south-facing windows. despite feeling like some sort of deeply-embedded den for a mobster to be taking meetings in, nothing about the room feels ominous or entrenched.

Bucciarati meets you alone, sitting at a circular dining table, where glasses of white wine have already been poured in preparation. a menu sits at the empty and only other place setting here, directly across from the man in white, and cleanly-cut long hair.

he's looking up from his wrist watch when you arrive, and he's patient to wait until you sit down with him before he remarks— ) You made good time, given the midday traffic. ( it seems as though you passed some preconceived challenge somewhere; of course, it would have been an insult to arrive late to a meeting like this. ) I appreciate you not keeping me waiting. I trust my associate Fugo was here to greet you, as I instructed. ( obviously he was, so what is the hint there? not about his own team member, certainly, but that you completed your part of the bargain. )

Begin where you would like — unless, if you're hungry... ( Bucciarati doesn't have a menu before him, only a yet-to-be-fulfilled place setting. is he planning on eating? should you? would it be rude not to? your choice — a waiter stands actively at the ready, waiting to be called on, or dismissed. )


( canon mates (even across parts) and cross canon equally loved. ocs welcome. no medium preference. Bruno is a mobster with magic abilities, though those abilities are a. typically largely made a secret between all similar magic users and b. not visible to people who don't carry a similar ability, but i am happy to throw rules out of the window for the sake of fun. canon blind people looking for more info and ideas can read more about Bruno here, and these magic abilities here. if yours is also magically-inclined, i'll happily work with cramming both schools of fiction together. if yours isn't, then none of it has to matter! (but if it's help you need that's magic-related...hella cool.) )

[sibylservice]

(ooc: I'm canonblind, but eager to jump in. Phaedra does have funky vampire magic powers, including psychic sensory abilities up to and including telepathy. She doesn't intend to use that level of power here, though, unless she feels the need, mostly preferring to skim the surface emotional currents instead.

I leave it up to you to decide if Bruno knows the club is run by vampires.)

[Phaedra Lamb is here representing Rhea Ashtifar and a local occult-themed burlesque club in the city. While it could be viewed as an insult that Rhea wasn't here herself, she was never seen outside the club.

Rumor had it that in recent nights, there had been trouble at the club--a local gang of thugs stirring shit. And Rhea, tired of her girls getting pawed by brutes, has finally decided to hire help.]

Thank you for offering, but I ate before coming. All the better to get down to business right away. I don't want you to feel like I'm wasting your time tonight.

[giusto]

( ooc; interestingly enough, vampires are absolutely canon in jojo... taking some artistic liberties with that fact but what else am i here to do, really )


( no insult is had at meeting with the associate; Bruno is not Capo (nevermind his ambitions he carries for the day that the opportunity comes,) but considering their Capo is currently sitting in indefinite incarceration... Bucciarati, being so closely in favor of him, is basically the next best thing.

but he is still merely a soldato, and little more than the rest of his group, primarily by seniority and due to his recruitment of them. they're the last line on the streets — their secrecy can be a quickly-forfeited thing once they actually begin their work. the trade-off is, they do the work.

what Bucciarati learns of Phaedra from this demonstration, is that she's quick to the matter, and extremely pragmatic. Bucciarati doesn't seem dissatisfied, but he nods once, slowly, as if understanding something below the simplicity of her choice.

the waiter bows and leaves them. )

Of course, Signorina Lamb. The matter of this meeting was a good concern to your party.

Rhea Ashfitar, specifically, si? ( Bucciarati takes hold of the wine glass set on his side of the table, bringing it into his proximity and letting it hover below his chin while he continues— ) Pertaining to her entertainment establishment, should I guess?

( they've...never dealt with vampires. mostly because there exist small clutches of vampires within the famiglia, because of course there are. it's a family of the people, knitting Italy's wealthy with her degenerates. no one can simply just buy their way in — you demonstrate yourself, you earn your way in, millionaire or miscreant. and vampires can be...equally formidable as they are susceptible. the key reason why they know of them associated to Ashfitar is because their Capo oversees many industries here, including entertainment. as an eccentric man with brutally bizarre recruitment measures, it's not shocking that he's built a symbiotic relationship with them here on his turf.

Bucciarati tips the glass against his lip while he gives Phaedra the floor. his curiosity is schooled, but present. )

[sibylservice]

Si, esattamente. The club has had problems recently with a gang of street thugs stirring up trouble. Not only are they chasing off good customers, they're getting physical with the other girls.

[The expression on her face makes her distaste clear. While she can defend herself reasonably well, as a vampire, most of the other employees, especially the waitresses and dancers, are completely normal human women.]

We had hoped it might be possible to hire protection from your men for long enough to ensure the safety of our workers and guests.

[To be completely honest, she sort of hopes the mafia will take offense to this gang operating in their territory and will act more definitively than just offering a few men for protection, but that is a lot to ask for. Better to set her sights low to start with.]

[hierophany]

[ He shouldn't be concerned that the boy he hands the money to looks as young as he does, not when he recalls what he was up to at around the same age, but the older that one gets the more worrying these kinds of things are. It doesn't sit well with him.

Very few things about this sit well with him, from Polnareff's disappearance to the spirit photograph of a stand that can use an arrow to create other stands to the fact that the Speedwagon Foundation itself seems to have been infiltrated by someone, trying to deter anyone from investigating either of those things.

The good news is that he can wear a suit well. ]

Am I right in thinking it would be a terrible insult to the chef to leave food on the plate? I probably shouldn't, if so. I never can manage to eat more than a few bites.

[ Which is true. And it's a shame, because the food does smell wonderful. He pulls his chair in and tucks his hair behind his ear before reaching for the glass of water rather than the wine. ]

I'm looking for a family friend - a frenchman. He was travelling through this area the last time I heard from him, and I havn't seen him since. I have photographs of him. Some of his jewellery. I'm not expecting miracles from you. But if you could look at them I'd be grateful. At the risk of being impolite to them, even that much would be far more than the police have been willing to do.

[ His Italian is near-perfect, give or take some awkward over-formality. Accented, but always correct. ]

[giusto]

The chefs here are not arrogant in their pride, but they take much care in their work. It would be a shame to waste it. Still, there is a plate of bruschetta and calamari on the way, if it pleases you.

( Bucciarati nods his head in demure agreement, before eyeing the waiter, giving him a signal that he is relieved.

Bucciarati looks the man over in the pause that pulses between this and his eventual explanation, and his first impressions are not the most suspect, but certainly curious. Noriaki Kakyoin speaks in carefully-assembled Italian, and Bruno doesn't initially settle on any suspicion about the man's familiarity with Italy as a whole. but he does think, if Signore Kakyoin is not a resident here...that this request, actively being laid out piece by piece before him like a meal of its own, is even more strange as a complete composition than the individual factors that comprise it.

this Frenchman was in this area, and there's an anchor point there. the cogs in Bucciarati's mind begin to churn, face flat and his features set in deeper with serious attention, but as his thoughts begin to queue, it's as is Signore Kakyoin can sense them — perceptive, either on whatever vaguest shifts occur in Bucciarati's face, or in himself and the story he is displaying.

he appreciates it, no matter the direction it's coming from. )

For being the authority to bound injustice, the police, in reality, often find their own hands shackled by policy. ( the words could advocate for the devil, but Bucciarati's tone is neutral to the point of sounding unimpressed with what he speaks on. ) You might have felt as though you had wasted your time attempting them, but you've saved me from having to ask that you do so.

( Bucciarati's eyes don't leave Signore Kakyoin's face yet, eyeing him as if weighing everything he's been given, like some dusty road merchant seeking trade. is that really not the case, though, inherently?

he seems to settle with a decision; his eyes relax and slip into a brief and musing closure as he looks away, taking his glass of wine and indulging briefly. what has been brought to him, what he has weighed, has at least begun to convince him of its validity. ) And I don't intend to waste more of your time. Tell me about your friend. Show me what you have.

[hierophany]

His given name is Jean-Pierre, though he tends to go exclusively by his family name - Polnareff.

[ He lays out a series of photographs on the table, all featuring a pale-silver-haired man, broad-shouldered and red and freckled where he's sun-touched and laughing more often than not. Kakyoin himself is in a few of the pictures, occasionally wrestled into the frame of them by the frenchman. ]

He's an itinerant sort. Likes to wander around Europe, chasing after whatever's caught his interest lately. He travels cheaply. I checked the hostels first, but his name wasn't in any of their guestbooks. He has a knack for exchanging favours, befriending people, doing errands in exchange for being permitted to stay in their homes as a guest, that sort of thing.

[ Which makes him difficult to track. He sighs, only a little overdramatically, and places a pair of earrings on the table next to the photographs. They're shaped like broken hearts, made from green glass. ]

He wears earrings in this style. Not these exact ones, of course, this is a pair he left behind when we last met. But the same shape.

[pacetua]

The driver knew some shortcuts, so it helped.

[It was nice to visit Naples, Peace agreed with her uncle. But the Gregory family was almost hilariously wealthy, and sometimes - in order to ensure she was not kept for ransom or otherwise - it paid to make sure that her safety was paramount. And sometimes that meant going through means that were less than savory.

But, Bucciarati and his team came with high praise. So, she paid the upfront cost in cash and followed the host into the secluded area. She's barely twenty, and short. At five feet tall, Bruno would tower over her. Even more pointedly, she makes sure not to wear heels that wouldn't help if she needed to escape quickly, but a pair of sensible ballerina flats and a butter-yellow designer sundress patterned with green vines around the hem.

Otherwise, she is very pale-skinned, with palest blue eyes and crimson red hair. She's built like an hourglass. If an hourglass was really small. Peace knows that logically, she should be cautious and careful. After all, despite the good recommendation, there's very little stopping Peace from being kidnapped here and kept for ransom.

And considering the amount of ghosts wandering the streets... Well, she'd prefer not to join their numbers.]

I'm not hungry, no, but I wouldn't say no to an espresso. So, if you're hungry, by all means order. It's really nice to meet you!

Phobos ~ Starfighter ~ OTA

[dracoinspace]

1. Mechanics anonymous

[ Phobos groans as a component snags and sends dark foul-smelling oil spurting out of the half-dismantled control panel of his aircraft. Of fucking course. First a programming error, then a fried chip and now... this. He rummages in the pocket of his jumpsuit to find a hair tie and pull his hair up before returning to the task at hand.

His fingers are slick with oil, his peevish attempts to extricate the wires too clumsy, and the next thing he knows, the tool he was grasping in his hands arches into the air, bounces on the canopy, skids down a wing and clatters to the ground.

Phobos pops out of the cockpit. ]

"Hey, could someone give me a hand here?"


2. It's never too early to get smashed

(ooc: continues from previous)

[ Familiar laughter echoes in the hangar. It's Cain, jeering a him from his own ship. And that asshole is pointing at him. Does he have something on his face? He looks down at his hands. His fingers are coated with insulating oil. Oh shit, he probably does.

Irate, Phobos stands up in the cockpit and gives the other soldier the finger before scrambling down the ladder and skulking out, intent on the only destination worth his time on a day like this.

The on-base bar.

It's packed, already, and there is only one stool left. Phobos drops in it with a sigh, propping his chin up in his hands before he remembers he didn't take the time to clean them. Oh well. It's that kind of day. ]

"Whiskey. Keep it coming."

[ It's surprisingly packed, so early in the day. Might as well try to make small talk while he waits for his drink. ]

"What's your excuse for drinking so early?"

Eskel || The Witcher || OTA

[wolfdogwitcher]

Witchers have a single, unwavering and inescapable occupation: the life of a solitary killer and Eskel is no exception. Indeed, Eskel completely lacks whatever piss-poor curse of luck which frequently diverts his far more famous brother, the White Wolf, from the Path. He's a good witcher, very good, so it's days and nights investigating and stalking and killing at the edges of human settlements or deep in the underbelly of the great cities. Haggling for coin and getting run out of town when somebody didn't want to pay. Scrouging for jobs.

He's doing the latter just now, looking over a noticeboard, peering around and under postings about animals for sale or the airing of petty grievances, or decrees from the local religious nuts, etc. Looks like there was an endrega infestation in a local mining concern, the usual problems with necrophages digging up corpses. But maybe there's something interesting here, somewhere. He's so absorbed in his rustling he doesn't notice if anyone else is trying to read the board.

((Canonmates from book, games, show all welcome; perhaps other adventurers or monster-hunters-- competition for a trophy, or a team-up-- or people looking to hire a witcher would be good company.))

[pricklywolf]

Contracts were growing too scarce for him to stay by Aiden's side as of late, and so that morning, after a very passionate goodbye, they'd parted ways. The Cat witcher was headed out to find the Dyn Marv Caravan, and Lambert had decided to take advantage of the warm summer days by heading north. He could potentially make it into Kovir and quickly fatten up his purse, then have time to meet up with Aiden again before he had to make his way back to Kaer Morhen.

A witcher's life was meant to be solitary, but Lambert reveled in being different from his brothers.

He's just ridden into a town and stabled his horse in the hopes that the notice board will have a job that will earn him a night at the inn, at least. Camping is getting old. And speaking of old...

That red and black gambeson is as familiar to Lambert as any of his own armor, so he has no qualms walking up and jabbing an elbow into Eskel's ribs. "Move over, jackass, other people wanna read the board, too," he sneers, then tosses a roguish smirk to his brother-in-arms.

[wolfdogwitcher]

The younger Wolf's presence (and his bullshit) is so familiar to Eskel that he doesn't even instinctively lash out when unexpectedly touched, instead throwing a hard elbow back at Lambert in return.

"It's all the usual boring shit." He says. "And I doubt any of it pays very much." He makes a general gesture to the size and condition of the town.

[pricklywolf]

Lambert glances around and shrugs. "Anything is better than nothing." He looks back to the board, frowning at the usual postings. Of course, he hadn't expected anything too spectacular. It was the same problem he and Aiden kept running into.

"Any chance you've already got a room? I'll do whichever job you don't want to do if you'll share. Unless...you were trying to tell me to fuck off."

(Darth) Maul | Star Wars

[survivalthroughhate]

[Considering his "day-to-day" job depending on canon point is either assassin or crime lord, chances are he's skulking in the shadows right now ready to take someone out. Hey, no one ever said it had to be a normal job!

Is that going to be you? The person standing right next to you? Or is he about to take out the whole room to leave no witnesses while you try to find a place to hide?]

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad | OTA

[yeahmagnets]

((Side note: prose is fine if you don't like brackets. I'll match your style.))

[Jesse leaves his hazmat suit and respirator behind as he exits the underground meth lab hidden behind a giant commercial dryer. Nobody seems to notice him (or they just pretend not to) as he walks through the warehouse and heads toward the bay doors where the cars are parked. He's been itching for a cigarette for the past four hours and he finally has enough time to leave the industrial laundromat for a smoke.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and slides one from the pack, holding it between his lips as he puts his hand into the pocket of his black jacket and for the first time in hours his mildly bored expression changes.

His blue eyes grow wider and he's checking all of his pockets while muttering to himself until he let's out a defeated sigh, eyes closed and face towards the sky. He curses his shitty luck when he notices someone else in the dusty parking lot.]

Yo. You got a light? I'm dyin' here.

[He makes a gesture with his hand, miming the action of igniting a lighter.]