You never know just what life might throw your way. Some people seem to be born lucky, winning the lottery or being born into a rich family. Some people have seemingly negative luck, where the world might as well be out to get them. Most people tend to receive their fair share of luck in spurts; A scratch ticket win here, almost (but not) dying there... you know, right place at the right time kinda things.
It has yet to be decided whether it was good or bad, but luck had brought Beatle and Ashiore together... literally. Beatle had been lost in thought, staring at the ocean as he walked along its coast, when he collided head on with an equally distracted girl, knocking both of them prone. Beatle cringed slightly, rubbing his head as a game notification popped up in front of him.
~This is a no PVP zone~
“Yeah yeah I know,” Beatle attempted to say as he closed the notification, no sound escaping his lips. He looked up at the girl he’d collided with and scrambled to his feet, offering her a hand to help her stand. After bowing profusely and trying to express his condolences, he motioned for her to wait for a second as he opened his menu and began typing quickly.
Beatle[/URL] the Bard
Sorry!~ I was distracted by the view. Really didn’t mean to run into you. My name’s Beatle! Sorry this is a message, my VR machine’s a bit wonky and won’t transmit my voice. Say... wanna party up?
Thus, Beatle and Ashiore visited many attractions in the area. While Beatle couldn’t talk, this in no way meant he couldn’t communicate. Beatle enjoyed her company, and she didn’t seem too bothered by his handicap. She seemed kind; perhaps a little too much so for her own good. A particular bird she attempted to befriend ended up dragging them into quite a bit of trouble.
As the waiters dropped, Beatle could only stare in shock. The tables around them began showing concern for the waiters on the floor, and just as Beatle began feeling guilty, the head chef hit a bell on the counter and looked out, expecting a waiter. Beatle could have probably explained the situation to a player, but NPC’s couldn’t receive messages. Perhaps the Logical thing to do would be to have Ash explain the situation, but before he had time to think rationally, Beatle found himself saluting the chef and taking the tray of food.
The Chef gave him an odd look, doubtful. “A faerin, eh? Did my waiters skip out on me? Well, whatever. Take this to table number 4. Even your kind should be able to read the numbers on their tables.” With that, the chef went back into the kitchen to continue cooking. Beatle ignored the racial remarks completely, doing as he was instructed and bringing the food to the table, distributing it among the consumers.
Once he finished, there was another ding from the counter, and another tray of food, with a number on it. Beatle looked at it, then at Ash, and shrugged, succumbing to his new job. “How do I explain this one...” he muttered to himself.