"This spell is new," he tells his co-worker. "I didn't know about it before, I had to guess it might exist and ask for it as a special favor."

"--Why the fuck aren't you getting paid? Have a drink on me. Not a super expensive one. Grats on the new spell."

"Oh, I assume I'm not getting paid because it is much less expensive that way," he says dryly. "- not alcohol please," he adds to the bartender, "but I'm from another planet and would probably be very impressed with local fruit juice or something."

"Ooh, hmmmm," says the bartender. "Fizz or no fizz?"

"- I've never tried fizz."

"Well, how do you feel about new experiences?" she asks with a faint air of what might or might not be flirting.

Isn't his day already hard enough. "Occasionally they are inevitable."

She mixes him something citrusy with a hint of something else fruity and something almost meaty. It's sort of brownish green and served over ice in a salted glass with a chunk of some kind of vegetable.

Well, that's weird and complicated but he'll drink it. "Am I meant to eat the - this?" he asks of the vegetable.

"Sure, if you want!"

Neither the drink nor the vegetable is fizzy.

He sips. He eats the vegetable. "Thank you."

"Of course!" chirps the bartender.

"I'd say 'any time' but actually? Tell them you're not a slave and demand money and buy me a drink later," says his coworker.

"That would be so awkward if they turned out to be under the impression that actually I was a slave, though," remarks Blai.

"They definitely are but there's no way they can keep you, that's why you tell them something else."

"Is there somewhere else I could be going to heal people, presuming I do want to do that?"

"You don't need any infrastructure, fucking stand around on a canal bridge."

"On my planet there are actually specialized rooms with balconies to pack as many people as possible into the sphere of the effect but I guess I don't have that in the hospital either."

"That's the spirit. You've got nothing to lose."

"Well, I have the place to sleep to lose."

"Guess what. You can use money to buy a hotel room."

"That presumes the people who would come for healing on a canal bridge would pay me."

"I guess the Guard might not."

"On my planet I would just go to the Abadarans but you don't have any or any other religion I've ever heard of." The words, designed to bring the topic around so he can start reading his fucking sermon notes, are like rocks that are coming up out of his gut still cube-shaped and cracking his teeth on the way out - but he's Chelish, he's so Chelish, probably nobody can tell at all.

"Huh. You guys don't bother with the Precursors?"

"I had never heard of them before. We have our own creator of everything, though it might be a different everything; She's called Pharasma. And plenty of other gods besides. Mine is called Iomedae." ROCKS. WITH CORNERS.