Delivery Boy [Job/Solo]

Art was leaning against the outer wall of a local magnolia inn, It was 11am. He had been up since early doors, dealing with his thoughts. Now he wanted a beer. The weather was warm, and a nice cool ale would go down a treat at present. The prospect of sitting in a nice beer garden, chugging a cold one, while scouting for tail sounded like a distant dream. Because unfortunately beer required money. And the stupid barkeep wouldn't open a tab unless he put down a 100 jewel deposit.

And Artemis was broke, flat broke. 

He let out an exasperated growl, he wanted the drink so bad. He could try and pick pocket someone but he didn't really fancy the idea of getting arrested. Spending the day in jail was not on his agenda. Maybe I should take a friggin' job... He thought bitterly, work was not something he enjoyed. 

There was a sudden boom to his right which drew his attention. He glanced over, from what he could see there was a delivery driver standing outside his vehicle cursing. The vehicle seemed to be giving off smoke. Intrigued, Artemis pushed himself off of the wall and wandered over. Watching as his lifted the bonnet, barely avoiding being hit with even more smoke. 

"Crap, just in the middle of my shift too, how the hell will I make my deliveries now." The man grumbled. With his curiousity satisfied, Art turned to walk away, when the delivery man reached out and grabbed him arm.

"What are you doing? Get your hands off of me!" He barked, the old man bowed apologetic, letting go of his arm.

"Please forgive me, but you look like a fit young man, could you help me make my deliveries? If I don't get them all done by today they could fire me." Art scoffed at the mans begging,

"Why the heck should I help you? I don't get anything out of it," The man stopped to think,

"I'll pay you, I haven't got a lot, but I'm sure a young chap like you could do with some change." At the prospect of money, Art's ear perked up, he glanced over at the inn. 

"How much can you spare?" He asked, eyebrow raised. The man seemed to check his pockets, 

"Two hundred and fifty jewel, it's not a lot but it's all I got on me." Art smirked, with that he could get a tab. He didn't have to let the barkeep in on how much he had. The deposit was enough to satisfy them. 

"Fine, I'll do it, but if you change your mind on paying me after," He turned his head back to the delivery driver, a malicious look on his face. "You're car wont be the only thing broken today." The delivery man's face filled with fear, nodding vigorously. He led Art to the back of his truck, together they began unloading the letters and parcels. Splitting them between them, Art took his pile and began running them around town. Not stopping to hear any thank yous or complaints. 

"What's with the corner of my letter, it's creased!"
"Why aren't you handsome, why don't you come in a meet my niece-"
"You're very late this morning, I've been up since 7am waiting for this-"

"Blow it out your ass!" He called over his shoulder, the delivery company was probably going to end up with a few letters of complaint tomorrow. But the guy didn't say he needed to be polite. As long as the letters got delivered. Art continued to race through the town delivering the letters with record timing, Man I'm gonna drink a pint for every one of these stupid things I get rid of. After getting to about twenty five houses, he checked his bag only to discover it was empty. 

"Finally!" He cheered, making his way back to the old man, despite this, the job itself had taken most of the day, the sun was on it's way to setting. He had lost a lot of drinking time. As he returned to the delivery truck, the man was waiting there. He handed over the bag,

"Thank you so much, you've been a huge help," Art held out his hand, not caring for his thanks.

"Yeah, yeah, where's the money dude?" He asked, the man pulled out the cash and handed it over. Art took the cash, and walked back over to the inn, a smirk on his face. 
Ready for his night of bottomless drinking and fowl behaviour, Art stepped into the bar, cash clinking in his jean pocket.

END