I off-boarded yesterday, late, and went straight to the local creative collective for lodging. The door stop met me with typical disdain. I lacked no visible augments. No fused digits or symbiotic disfigurements pronounced my line of expertise.

“Stars to your favor. I need lodging.”

“We only provide for guild members,” he ignored my standard guild greeting.

“I should hope so,” I ignored his authority and moved to pass him and approach the clerk sitting behind an ornate antique desk that looked like it could sink a ship.

He moved his bulky frame in my path. I should have presented my silver bar. I guess I still have a problem with bullies, even when they are just doing their jobs. So now I had to do it the hard way. Door stops have full discretion when someone tries to pass without permission. I decided two ways to react based on his reaction. One if he chose diplomacy, and one if he chose force. Unfortunately for him, he chose force.

He grabbed me by my jacket lapels and began to hoist me. Using the physical contact as a conduit, I reached into him and showed him his worst self from the perspective of his closes loved ones. His hands opened, his jaw dropped. He backed to the wall looking at me with wide eyes, slumped down and began to cry.

I stepped past him, feeling slightly dirty.

The clerk had seen the whole thing, “You’re the specialist, I take it?”

The next morning I awoke in a private chamber and set out to explore the local streets. I’d be here for the next 6 months, it’s good to know your surroundings. We had travelled on dragonflies and had to pack light. I needed an affordable drinking vessel that could handle the rigours of the upcoming half-year. Most of the shops in my price range did not carry anything that could survive long.

I pressed further into the city and while looking around an intersection to get my bearings, I saw an antique shop across the street. It didn’t carry the usual remnants of past local epochs. No smooth stones with icons in the center or shiny black trays the seemed both heavy and delicate. The fare looked exotic, with bright colors, varieties of shapes and solid materials. I stepped inside.

I figured from the rarity of the inventory, I’d be far out of budget, but the prices shimmering above each item seemed reasonable. How strange.

I came across a display shelf that held cups, goblets, tankards and drinking objects of all kinds. In the back sat a squatty, light grey stein with a dull metal cover that opened via a pressing a thumb lever next to a hinge. It seemed so bland compared its garish counterparts, but to me, the space around it hummed with energy. It called to me.

I lifted it and felt its weight. Its unadorned surface seemed to shimmer, like it wanted to show me something. It felt right, good volume, sturdy and unique. I took it to the vendor.

“A fine choice, there, bender.” I

“Gratz. Your prices are very reasonable, considering how uncommon your merchandise is.” I tried to act non plussed that **he not only knew my trade but also the insider term for it.**

He looked me in the eye and grinned. “Inventory is available on a sliding scale. Politicians will always pay more than creators,” he winked and counted out my change. “I hope you can manage to take this home with you. I think you’ll find it’s worth the effort.”

After that cryptic advice he faded away into the depths of his shop.