Mikhail led Bridgette to the private room reserved for appointments. It was nothing fancy; a bed, chair, few places to stash spare clothes or stuff. Bridgette had intrigued him far more than he wanted to admit. She wasn’t paying any attention when they first met, so why was she looking for him so badly? What was it?

https://youtu.be/yVU8JCbjya8?si=qLXZiwYmpA3-lY-r

Mikhail: So. We meet again, Bridgette.

Bridgette: That we do. Would it be odd to say that I hoped you were going to show up tonight?

Mik: Not at all. I still offer services every now and then, so I’m no stranger to these places.

Brid: Does it matter? Who you rent yourself out to?

Mik: I’m a merc. We don’t care who’s slipping the greens in our pockets. We work, and we get paid. Simple as that.

Brid: And is that the same for him? You’re not bothered why he asks so much of you, you just…work and get paid?

Mik: Exactly that.

Bridgette bit her lip as she laughed to herself. No mercenary was this flippant with regards to where they got their money from. Even if they were cleaning trash out, they would want to know who they were being loyal to. But this guy? He either had a screw loose, or something else was behind his loyalty.

Brid: So, bodyguard to an underground bar owner. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?

Mik: Why should it?

Brid: Why does a bar tender need protection?

Mik: Put yourself in his shoes, Bridgette. You run a bar that draws corpos from all over the place. Anything can go down. Wouldn’t you want someone to protect you?

Brid: That's fair. But that meeting. You clearly didn't want to be there. Or did I misread?

Mik: It was inconvenient for all of us.

Brid: So just another duty call, then?

Mik: Exactly.

Brid: What if he asked you as a personal favor? Would you still do it?