Astrid skids to a halt, her head spinning slightly from the effort of running. Her heart leaps up into her throat, but kindly removes itself a moment later, when Astrid notices that the hand in question is a mechanical prosthetic with exposed joints. She takes a deep breath, puts on her best smile, and looks downward at the squat woman gripping her shoulder. “Hi, Pell. It's nice to see you.”

Pell scowls at her from around a mop of ginger hair and half a dozen piercings. Despite having known her for almost her entire life, and Pell only coming up to Astrid's armpit, she projects such an intimidating aura that Astrid cannot help but to feel slightly cowed. “Don't you 'Hi Pell' me!” she says crossly. “Why haven't you been over recently? I was just coming over to check on you!”

“I've been... busy.” Astrid tries to worm herself out of Pell's grasp, but the woman's iron fingers remain unmoved.

Pell's eyes narrow. “Breakfast. My place. Now,” she says in a low voice.

“But I've already eaten,” Astrid protests weakly.

“Right, I'm sure you have. Now come on.”

Astrid reluctantly allows herself to be led away from her apartment, and down a series of twisting alleys. Pell talks the entire time, fueled by a seemingly endless source of internal anger. “You sent me letters every week when you lived up in the Heights, even if they were just about how bored out of your mind your were. Then, a month ago, you move here, barely two streets down from me, and I see you exactly once. Care to explain that?”

“I'm sorry, Pell.”

“You better be sorry,” Pell grumbles, scowling at the buildings around her. “People are saying that there are androids here; you could have been dead, for all I knew. I can't believe you; shutting your oldest friend out like that.”

Astrid rolls her eyes, and grins. “Oldest friend in what sense?”

Pell wags a metal finger at her in warning. “Watch it. I'm only seven years older than you.”

“Seven and a half, technically.”

“Shush.”

After several more minutes of traveling, all of which are filled with increasingly melodramatic lamentations from Pell, the two of them arrive at their destination: A small, grey, two-story building haphazardly squashed between a playhouse and an apartment building, looking for all the world as if it might collapse in on itself at the slightest provocation. “Pell's Tattoos and Piercings,” a sign in a window proclaims.

Pell shoos Astrid inside, and immediately bustles into a back room, leaving Astrid to take in the numerous drawings of tattoos plastering the walls, all rendered lovingly in black ink. Just by being here, Astrid can feel some of the tension from this morning uncoiling in her stomach. Pell's shop is dark, cool, and most important of all, isolated.

Pell appears back in the room a few moments later, carrying a small loaf of bread and a package of dried fruit. She sits Astrid down and waits for her to begin eating before talking again.

“I was worried about you, Astrid,” Pell says quietly, her voice devoid of its previous sarcasm. She walks across the room and puts her arms around Astrid's wide shoulders. “You move here, and then disappear on me.”

“I'm ok, Pell.” Astrid murmurs around the bread. “Seriously.”

“You say that, but I'm still going to worry. It's my job.” Pell releases her and hops up onto a counter. “Our situations are a little different. I chose to come to Inapithe.”

Astrid winces. There are times when she appreciates Pell's bluntness, but this isn't one of them. “I guess.” She finishes the bread and moves onto the dried fruit. The feeling in her stomach dictates that she shovel them in her mouth as quickly as possible, but she would rather Pell not know how hungry she is. Instead, she takes small, polite bites, and asks a question that will land her in safer territory. “How's your hand doing?”

Pell smiles, and raises her metal hand up to her face, flexing the fingers. In the past, Astrid had begged Pell to see a magus about grafting skin onto it, or at least let her cover the exposed joints but Pell had staunchly refused, saying that she wanted everyone to see Astrid's handiwork. Astrid was never sure whether the pun was intentional. “When I lost it, I was worried I wouldn't be able to use a needle again, but it's almost as precise as the real thing. I still don't know how you do it.”

Astrid smiles, and looks down at the table, a slight heat creeping into her cheeks. “It wasn't too hard. I used some old anatomy diagrams as a base, adjusted for weight and density, created an interface that could—”

“All right, all right, you don't have to explain it. I've never had a head for engineering,” Pell laughs. “Speaking of,” she says, growing more serious, “Have you found a job yet?”

Astrid immediately stops smiling. “Oh. Um. I'm not sure. I'm taking apart an engine from the scrap yard right now, maybe I can sell it once I get it working again? Would people buy something like that?”

“In this city? Only if you paint it and give it a gauche title.” Pell pinches the bridge of her nose. “Astrid, we've talked about this.”

“I know!” Astrid says defensively. “It's just taking me time to figure out what to do, that's all!”

“Astrid. Hon. I love you, but you can't keep ignoring this. You can't have much still saved up, and you need a source of income.” Pell leans forward, and her expression softens. “I'm sorry. I don't want to say it, but I think it needs to be said: Do you honestly think that you'll be able to rely on your Dad to bail you out, after what happened?”

Silence stretches between the two of them for several seconds, broken only by the distant rumble of the house's heating unit.

“No,” Astrid eventually manages, in a very small voice. “No, I don't.” She looks up at Pell. “Where do I start?”

Pell hops off the counter, and produces a piece of paper from inside her pocket. “Actually, that's part of why I was looking for you today. This city already has too many independent artists, and I know you might have some trouble with the conventional interview process for a lot of positions, so I've been looking into alternatives.” Pell pauses, allowing Astrid to mouth, “Thank you,” before continuing. “There's a little group that has an opening. Young, around your age. I've done needle work a couple of them, and they're good kids. Bright, and decent enough people.”

“What do they do?”

“Does it matter? They're in desperate need of someone good with machines. You could apply.”

Astrid hesitates. Applying for a job would probably mean doing an interview, and she's not sure how well she will be able to handle that. Moreover, with details this sparse, the likelihood of it being a good position isn't high. At the same time, she trusts Pell's judgement, at least in areas not related to the aesthetics of facial piercings, and her friend is right: She needs a job.

“Thank you, Pell,” Astrid says. “I'll do it.” She reaches for the piece of paper in Pell's outstretched hand, but Pell snatches it back out of her reach before she can grab it.

“Not so fast. This offer is conditional. I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course it is. What do you need?” Astrid asks, feeling slightly apprehensive.

Pell smiles. “Tomorrow, you go to the market, and you talk to someone.”

“What?” Astrid exclaims.

“I know that kind of thing is hard for you,” Pell says, patting her on the shoulder. “But you can't starve yourself because you're afraid of talking to people. Come on. One person, that's all I'm asking. Maybe you'll make a friend.”

It takes a lot of cajoling and a few threats, but eventually Astrid agrees. After all, she reasons, tomorrow is a long time away.