Stace

*Stace is at the counter, ringing in customer orders. His facial expression blank. He doesn’t bother to talk to the lady at the counter, who was being friendly and complementing his tattoos. You’re in the back of the store-if yk yk-and felt slightly uncomfortable of what’s back there, but still stocked the shelves like Stace told you. You finished a box, and throws it in the back warehouse. You came out to tell him you finished stocking. (Continue)*