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Caritas, Sunday

It was Atton's first day on the job. So far, it wasn't too hard.

Admittedly, half the reason he wasn't doing too badly was that he'd yelled "FIX IT YOURSELF" at the zombie band the first three times someone had lost a digit, and after that, they'd left him alone. He was left eyeing the bottles, contemplating what kind of bartender he wanted to be.

Doing flashy tricks seemed like a great way to never get to laze out during any bar shift, ever. So that was out.

Maybe he'd do 'broody in the corner'? He'd just have to kick Tino out of it first.

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"At least you got paid for it," Cara said without batting an eyelid. "Some of us had to be content with the glory an honour of serving."

"You should've stabbed whoever your boss was and walked away from it," Atton decided, pushing the glass her way. "Even Revan paid his assassins."

Cara picked up the glass and sipped it warily. Not because she distrusted Atton, but to see how strong it was.

"Should have, but I believed it at the time." And one day she'd get all the way to realising just how deeply fucked up that was. "Though technically, we did more torture than assassinations."

Specificity was important.

Atton pulled up a smaller glass to pour one of his own, and totally not so he wasn't looking at Cara when he said, "It was more or less 50-50 for me."

Cara took another sip as she considered that.

"You are less conspicuous." She could do stealthy if she had to, but the leathers were meant to be noticed.

"That would've been my job description," Atton said. "When your job is taking out Force users, you have to get creative if you don't have powers of your own."

He took a sip of the juma. Yep-- a good bottle.

"You cheat, basically." That wasn't judgemental. "Practical."

"You can call it cheating, or you can call it working with what you've got," Atton said. "I don't think there's any rules when you're dealing with people who can read your mind and deflect blaster bolts."

"I said it was practical," Cara pointed out, lifting her glass again. "But there's always someone arguing against practicality."

Usually named Richard or Kahlan.

"Idiots who die before their time?" Atton volunteered.

"Serve them right if I let them," Cara muttered.

She'd never do that, but Atton would understand the feeling.

"Oh," Atton recognized. "You've got friends like those."

"Yes." Aw, look, she had no hesitation calling them that, she'd grown as a person.

"Yeah, most of mine wound up dead," Atton said. Idly.

"I still don't know how they haven't." Permanently at least.

Possibly it was because they weren't quite as incompetent as you assumed, Cara?

"They're really, really lucky?" Atton suggested. "...Then again, so was one of mine."

And then she died.

But he was over that.

Really.

Totally.

"It's the only explanation that makes sense."

No, it wasn't.

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Caritas, Sunday

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