You strike up a conversation. The surf bum turned pewter wizard statuette salesman turned bike store owner tries to play it cool, but he's obviously desperate for skilled help. Apparently the stars haven't aligned for his previous employees, and even in winter there's a lot of work at a bike shop. Just as you're wondering what kind of résumé you could fake, he asks you to pick a card from his deck.
"I need to see if you're honest, man," he explains. "If you're going to be good for this place."
You pull the ten of swords.
"Uh, yeah…yeah, man, that's a good one. That's good." He starts telling you about hours and perks. He must be desperate.
Of course, you're desperate, too. There's a lot of work at a cycle shop, from inventory and computer operations to mechanical repair and market research: you'll need to have a lot of mental faculties to excel here. You'd also need to be careful to control your Rage: you'll spend most of your time in back, but you might have to talk with customers or suppliers.
You take his card and promise to call him back.
I want to interact with normal people: what about barista or restaurant work?
This town is full of academics, and I've passed three or four bookstores already. I look for library or bookstore jobs.
Groundskeeping or waste management will let me work alone and when other people aren't active.
I am a living weapon, and I need to keep my skills honed. I look for security work.
I want a job that uses my mind: I take the position at Epicycle Bikes.
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