Dear S

A followup to my last letter. You told me to give you a report this time? Well here it is, dearest:

Yon came first. Nobody seemed to know much of anything about the scraggly, lean man, but he came first and I needed the money. So in came Yon. He was, all things considered, a fine guest and no troublesome in the least; he appeared and unpacked on the day his ship arrived, seemingly uncaring for the fugue of transit, and would go about a simple pattern every day: up at 6:15, out at 6:45 sharp, and back at 9:30 without a hair out of place. He’d disappear back into the sore room, and I wouldn’t see him again until morning. It sounds a bit suspicious, but he caused no trouble in the flat and didn’t seem to cause any in town, so I didn’t mourn any sort of investigation.

Yon left after a month, exactly. He left his fee on the counter, in cash, and walked away towards the spaceport, never to be seen here again. If only Jekurt could have been similar.

Jekurt (pronounced yeh-curt, so you know) was the second to come through, and had none of Yon’s silent dignity. He claimed to have a great commander once, in “a far-flung land, full of monsters the kind ye’d ne’er believe!” Where exactly seemed to escape him, and for whom.

The strangest thing about Jekurt, besides his chronically odd hours and constant inebriated state that seemed to not require any consumption, is that I’m almost entirely sure he was telling the truth. He had scars and trinkets aplenty to prove his claims, and I could find a proper hole in his stories. According to J, his stories seem to place him somewhere around Exiven, over thirty standard years ago. Do with that what you will.

As I said, though drunk and prone to odd hours, Jekurt seemed as harmless as Yon was. I’m sure he was a nuisance to every barkeeps for miles, but he didn’t seem to get hurt often, and left my flat after about a month and a half. An unproblematic, entertaining man, perhaps the best kind.

S, I’m thinking of opening a bar, or some sort of hotel. It seems like good, interesting work, and a great way to find interesting material. Do tell me if you think that’s a bad idea. I believe I have enough money saved, so I’ll just need to figure out a permit.

Yours in pain and joy, now and forevermore,

C���� �. ����

P.S. There’s one I forgot to write about, my current renter, but M will find her fascinating so I’ll tell you about her. Zendra is, believe it or not, Enfedurian. Before you check your encyclopedia, yes those are the spacers from the far tip of the Macron Arm. I’m not sure why she rented the room, as Enfedurian’s don’t seem to sleep, but I don’t honestly care. She pays fine, and I believe she’s good publicity, if that makes sense. See, she seems to be some sort of magician, if you can believe it. The locals all seem to be buzzing about her, and they claim she can read their actual, one-hundred-percent-true futures. I’ll try to learn more, but you should definitely tell M to look into this. She’d be fascinated, always liked that kind of thing.