I think a massage sounds good.

You heed Delilah’s old recommendations and proceed to the streets again. The temperatures hadn’t gone up much, but the sun was doing its job is melting the top surface of the fallen snow. You stroll needlessly through some stores, briefly looking at the places you mostly ignored before. Upon this inspection, you discovered you weren’t missing out on much.

Most of the businesses in the area were dusty, rundown shacks this time of year. The ones that looked to be making a profit were locked in for the season since there was no consumer base to draw in. Then you wonder if those better stores are the ones that are also trading in uncouth platforms. Luckily, you aren’t looking for the shops; you’re looking for the massage parlors, which seem unaffected by the bad weather. When you step inside, you are greeted by a young man and a young woman at the desk table. The man perks when he sees you and clears his throat before he speaks to you.

“Hello,” he smiles. “How can I help you?”

You kick off the snow of your boots and proceed, giving the girl a better look than her co-worker before looking at him. “I was just coming in for a quick massage or something.”

“Oh,” the girl slides in. “He’s one of those _unique _contractors.”

The male clerk looks at you and blushes slightly. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice your colors until now.”

“It’s fine,” you say, unsure how much you should be playing the role of an ARS member. “It’s not every day we waltz in.”

“Are you the one that took the woman to the woods?” the girl asks suddenly.

“What?” you reply.

“He isn’t,” the young man says. “I don’t think he’s even come back yet.”

The girl puts on a face and rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re watching every angle in town.”

“You aren’t either,” the man says.

“I’m right here,” you cut in, refusing to be ignored. “Do I need to wait or make an appointment?”

The girl apologizes and gives her coworker to explain the rest. “Usually, we would want an appointment, but we aren’t exactly busy, and you take priority.”

“Well then,” you say. “What are my options? And what am I looking forward to?”

Another blush comes from him. “Ones you’d expect, I suppose.”

“And what are the ones I’m supposed to expect?” You inquire back, somewhat irritated from the lack of direct explanation.

The girl beside him lets out an exasperated sigh and steps in. “Happy ends is what my colleague is avoiding. It’s not exactly something we do for everyone, of course, but it’s the next best thing for a place that doesn’t have any prostitutes or strip bars. It’s something we keep off the menu for travelers, but the ones that rack in the money? Then it's VIP treatment,” she ends by gesturing at you.

“There aren’t a lot of places around here where you contractors, especially the ones that help the town, can get stress relief,” she looks at you hard for a moment and concludes something. “Though, judging by how you look, I’m sure you manage just fine if the situation allows you to hunt for something else.”

“I don’t hunt women,” you say. “I conduct contracts and let matters fall where they may.”

“Oh,” the man says, shifting his weight. “Yeah, I bet you have a hard time getting around.”

The tone of sarcasm from him is slightly appreciated. Still, you didn’t come here to banter with the locals you hardly knew existed while you were staying here on your own terms, and you had no intention of getting familiar with everyone now. So, you clear your throat and lean against the counter, asking what they offer.

The man behind the desk nodded to himself, saying something under his breath that sounded like a plea for your patience. Then, he produces a laminated menu with a few lines of text on the front.

“These are what we usually offer,” he hands the menu. “It depends on the girl, or- or man if that’s your thing, how far they want to take or what else they want to offer. They’re all hired and paid for, so they’re not free-use whores. They’ll do what they’re supposed to, but you can’t **** them into anything.”

“Do I get to pick the girl?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “They filter in and out from all over. Of course, if looks matter that much, you can decline the services, but honestly, I haven’t seen any of our massage therapists as ugly.”

You look closer at the menu and squint. There are a lot of options. You are surprised by that. “What’s the girl's name today, then? The guy's name for that matter?"

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s been here for a while, but we don’t– I mean, she- I mean, they don't leave the building unless there’s a reason to. There aren't many of our therapists that enjoy this kind of weather,, so all–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, returning to the menu. “Why aren't they out here?”

Another shrug, this time a little more lazy. “You can’t tease a pretty girl or boy to be your massage therapist and get one of us instead," he puts to the girl next to him, who honestly wasn't bad looking either.

“Hey!” the girl snaps, and for the first time, the man laughs. It occurs to you that these two must be dating since they both start pushing and giggling at each other. That, or you’re autistic and don’t realize they’re siblings or how normal people socialize with each other.

As they start conversating with each other, you return the titles of the services that your “massage therapist” can provide for you.