My first job?

My first few interactions with Old Man Donald weren't exactly interesting, to say the least. Basically, something along the lines of:

"You can understand me, right?" followed by me nodding.

"Do you really need a place to stay?" followed by me nodding.

"Can you do manual labor?" followed by me nodding.

"I'm sure I can find something for ya' to do. You'll be starting first thing in the morning, so get some rest."

I was also handed a key with a tag reading "13" and told to look for my room all the way in the back. On the left side of the ground floor of Surga was a long bar counter with an excessive amount of bottles filling the shelves behind it. The bar was manned by Old Man Donald, who had already returned to his position to tend to his customers.

Across from the main entrance, there was an elevated area, presumably a stage for various performances. Spread out across the room were round wooden tables filling the area, each accommodated with four matching wooden chairs. Business seems to be doing alright. Most tables were seated and some already had food.

With nothing left to do, I headed up to look for my room. Although it didn't bother me, the stairs were quite creaky. Finding my room was also very simple, as there was only one semi-open hallway upstairs. On the left, past the railing, you could look down upon the main area, whilst the rooms were located on the other side. My room was quite far back, with only one room further down.

Unlocking the room gave me this weird, uncomfortable feeling. It wasn't anything strange, but I had to unlock the door by turning the key clockwise, whereas my initial instinct was to turn it counterclockwise. But that's besides the point.

All my room contained was a simple wooden bed and a tiny wooden table along with a wooden chair. There was also a small bedside table with a few candles and matches on it. Furthermore, the room had a window that let some natural light in. The compact room genuinely felt really nice and cozy, something I could appreciate after having slept only on moss last time.

With nothing to do, I ended up sitting in front of the window for an extended period of time, before eventually noticing my room was already dark. With a slight amount of stumbling, I found the bed and…

…

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

"Rise and shine li'l snapper! We got work to do!"

I can finally confirm that waking up in a bed is indeed better than waking up with moss glued to your back. So much so that it is even better than waking up on some foreign rocky cliffs.

I could definitely get used to the sun's cozy, warm beams shining upon me through the small window.

With that final thought, I left my room and headed downstairs. What awaited me was Old Man Donald.

"Hey kid, I prepared ya' a little somethin' to eat. Can't have ya' getting hungry on the job."

He pointed towards a table with a tray of "food." You could really tell that the Old Man had put some effort into it, however it didn't seem all that appealing to me for some odd reason. I don't get it. This is a wonderful portion of scrambled eggs, bacon, and bread. I really don't get it… yet I still ate it all.

I gathered up the utensils and plates and brought them back to the oldie.

"So, I see you're done with ya' breakfast. I got just the job for ya'. A simple delivery. All you've got to do is accompany Dave and help load and unload the carriage. I've already given him a heads-up. He's out back, and he'll leave in around 10 minutes. You can just go through the kitchen."

The "kitchen" was really just a room with a stove, a sink, and a pile of pots and pans neatly stacked in a corner. Although a bit shabby, everything still appeared spotless. The way out was through an open arched doorway which definitely appeared to be a security hazard.

In what seemed to be a courtyard, there stood a typical wooden, white cloth covered cart drawn by a single horse. Tending to the horse, there stood what can only be referred to as a dark-skinned midget. Would the proper term be halfling?

That's not important. Regardless, the tiny man seemed to be coming closer. Only just now did I notice the pair of comically large hands he possessed.

Now he was standing in front of me with one hand reaching upwards.

Weird.

The smokey boy then exclaimed in a cheerful yet deep voice, "You must be the shrimp Donald told me about. Somehow, you're even skinnier than what he described."

Wow, the small guy sure is direct, but shrimp and skinny? Is that really how the old man described me?

"Don't you worry, we'll fatten you right up in order to prepare you for all the upcoming manual labor," he continued.

That sounds like a lot of work, is it too late to escape…? Nah, the outside unknown is probably worse. No need to risk it. Just go with the flow.

"Today's job is really simple. Just bring this load I've already packed down to the guard station that's just down the street. All you need to do is follow along and help me unload."

Then came an awkward pause.

*cough *cough

"I'm still waiting for that handshake. My arms getting sore." Smokey's voice sounded exasperated for some reason.

I wonder why.

He seems to want a handshake, but his hand is held way above his head. That doesn't seem to be the way I remember how handshakes are done.

"Stop giving me that weird look and just shake my hand already!"

Handsy seemed to be getting annoyed. Improvising, I grabbed his hand in a somewhat comfortable manner that resembled the arm-wrestling starting position.

Now… I just sway my hand around?

I guess that's what horse-man wanted, since he's grinning from ear to ear.

The satisfied man then stated, "Just wait here for a moment, we'll leave as soon as I give the old man a heads-up."

Moving at a speed I could barely react to, Smokey disappeared from my sights.

What an interesting person.