Delivery services. Letters, packages, things that need to stay between a few choice people through word. Stuff of that nature.

[ he swirls the contents of his cup around, watches the little whirlpool in the middle disappear. weird to talk about what he does so openly but it's not like he's going to tell this man anything secret. ]

Everyone needs a courier. Someone dependable. Trustworthy. Able to get things done. And I'm still alive, so I guess I'm decent at it.

[ he can't speak for all the scars he has. some thick, some thin, some fresher than others--- but he hides them as easily as he wears a smile. ]

What about you? What do you do? Or do you want to do, I guess.