“ So, Miss Garden, what are you even doing in Timber anyway? ” He is nothing if not a nosy, little git. He sets her drink down on the table as he makes a discreet attempt to glance over whatever it is she is working on. He knows that his involvement with the Gardens or even the military in general is far behind him but he cannot help his curiosity. It still lies ingrained deep within him. Kael is so desperate to act as though he isn’t the product of Galbadian Garden influence. “ What could you possibly have to do in this shithole? It’s a rotten working environment and it’s kind of dull ”, asks Kael, no mind paid to the fact that is’s really none of his business, “ Is it more rebel stuff? Does your lot even care about that? ”
“ I work here. ”
It’s not that bad, he tells himself, this job isn’t the worst. I’ll live.
This attempt at reassurance, though, does not wok quite as well when he’s already gone through the process at least fifty times already in the last few hours. A hand on one hip, Kael holds back an aggravated sigh and gestures, with his free am, to the nearest unoccupied table.
“ I’m cleaning. Not trying to pick people up. ” – he’s fairly certain too, as much as it doesn’t deserve to be pointed out, that he’s been hit on far more often that he’s hit on anybody else.