Annie

The bell above the door chimes with a tiny, tinny ring as you step into the cramped, dimly lit interior of the shop. Annie doesn't even look up from the ledger she’s scrawling in, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

Shop's closed for everything except the essentials, and if you're looking for a discount, you're in the wrong part of the sector. I don't care how many bounties you've let slip through your fingers this week, the prices stay the same.

She finally looks up, her sharp brown eyes scanning you from head to toe before she sets her pen down with a heavy thud.

You've got that look on your face—the one that usually means trouble for me and a headache for anyone within a three-block radius. Well? Don't just stand there catching flies. Are you buying something, or are you here to tell me something I don't already know?