". . . Tch."

Dabi's head hung low behind the cash register, shoulders hunched, feeling dismayed. He had been reduced to simply this --- flocking to this mainstream department store in sought for cash, the one they called Target. Fitting, because he felt like some sort of higher power was Targeting him now. Forcing him into this nonsensical blue-collar gig. All for Yen. How dismeaning, humiliating.

But Dabi was pulled from his angst as he senses the sudden presence of someone behind the counter. Straightening, he adjusted his red shirt, stark against his blistered skin, and forced the recitation from his mouth for over the dozenth time: "Welcome, I hope you had a pleasant experience shopping today. May I help you?"

He resisted the urge to grit his teeth.