[ he's heard the whispers. gossip in hushed tones (or not, it's not like what he's doing is illegal) about some guy who has a bunch of random shit from other worlds for some reason—things he's willing to part with for a fair trade.
cool. whatever. why should he care? what could this guy possibly have that would make him go out of his way to figure out what the hell he could trade and then seek out some weird shady figure in an equally shady bar to make an offer?
the answer, of course, is cleaning supplies.
he's not able to stock up on things like sponges and gloves the way he used to; that alone might not have been enough of a push, but that's before he hears about the magic wipes. a single disposable cloth that can disinfect anything from any surface with a simple swipe. what the fuck, right? it's almost like cheating.
he's gonna get some of that shit, one way or another.
and so it's this probably-misplaced enthusiasm that drives him to walk into this bar—someplace that likely wouldn't interest him at all otherwise—and meander towards the back in search of this mysterious tradesman of otherworldly cleaning materials (and probably a bunch of other shit he doesn't care about). it's not terribly difficult to spot him, what with the weird eyes that cast just enough of a glow to make out the telltale burn scars on his face. yeesh.
Levi approaches him with a blank expression that belies the rigid (and ridiculous) determination to acquire disinfectant wipes under the surface. if he looks like he's come empty-handed, it's because he has. ]
You're the guy with all the loot.
[ just to confirm. it'd be pretty awkward if he just started talking about magic cleaning wipes to the wrong person, after all. ]
this is so late i'm sorry
cool. whatever. why should he care? what could this guy possibly have that would make him go out of his way to figure out what the hell he could trade and then seek out some weird shady figure in an equally shady bar to make an offer?
the answer, of course, is cleaning supplies.
he's not able to stock up on things like sponges and gloves the way he used to; that alone might not have been enough of a push, but that's before he hears about the magic wipes. a single disposable cloth that can disinfect anything from any surface with a simple swipe. what the fuck, right? it's almost like cheating.
he's gonna get some of that shit, one way or another.
and so it's this probably-misplaced enthusiasm that drives him to walk into this bar—someplace that likely wouldn't interest him at all otherwise—and meander towards the back in search of this mysterious tradesman of otherworldly cleaning materials (and probably a bunch of other shit he doesn't care about). it's not terribly difficult to spot him, what with the weird eyes that cast just enough of a glow to make out the telltale burn scars on his face. yeesh.
Levi approaches him with a blank expression that belies the rigid (and ridiculous) determination to acquire disinfectant wipes under the surface. if he looks like he's come empty-handed, it's because he has. ]
You're the guy with all the loot.
[ just to confirm. it'd be pretty awkward if he just started talking about magic cleaning wipes to the wrong person, after all. ]