Everyone was worried about a lot these days; too many things, unfortunately. Aiden was introduced to all kinds of attitudes working at Rostat, and he didn’t doubt that the ‘tenders at Cavern tended to have a little more peace if only because the music and the din from crowds letting off steam sort of cancelled out any attempts for conversation. Not here, in the closed in walls of Rostat, where the atmosphere was decidedly tamer and it was expected that the patrons show a little more consideration for their fellow man. Or woman. They got more than their fair share of ‘the fairer sex’ in here on any given day. Of course, none of that really counted during the shortage; the bar and club were forgotten, their purpose effectively lost without the alcohol that essentially made up their basic function. They had basics, and that was putting it mildly. When he had offered Susan a cup of bad coffee over the computer system, he hadn’t been exaggerating or mincing words. Anyone who had ever complained about coffee in the past had obviously never tried their supply. Maybe because it was so rarely touched; it wasn’t as if it could pass its best, given that it was dried and produced in order to last a long time, specifically, but there was something just ‘off’ about it. Aiden couldn’t describe it, and he tried his best not to touch it, as a general rule.

The first thing Aiden heard with any sort of clarity was the distant ‘boom’ of metal slamming back into its designed frame; a car door being thrown shut. After that, it was the gloved pound against the door that sent it swinging inward, permitting an expected blonde entrance, and even before he felt the distinct, fleeting bite over his bare forearms, he was pushing the office chair away from the simple desk and rising to his booted feet. By the time the woman dropped herself onto the barstool, Aiden was already striding out from the small back room, the door of which had been open throughout the entirety of his shift so he could keep an eye on the otherwise dead bar.

Lifting his right hand, he set something on the bar and shrugged his broad shoulders beneath his plain black t-shirt, the sleeves for which would have reached his wrists if he weren’t usually in the habit of pushing anything of the sort up just past his elbows, simply for the feel of freedom it gave him. “They’re not Vicodin, but I just found them in the drawer.” The words were accompanied with a brief gesture back towards the exposed office, and he gave her a welcoming smile, before he said, “They probably taste better than the coffee I promised you, anyway.”