Big Salmon Lake open up your skull, i'll be there

Olive branch or sword, it didn't make much difference to Urias. He looks at her offer like someone who has tried to grab a sword in the past but had done so from the wrong side.
I'm sorry, I'm not looking for a place exactly, he explains, infinitely patient. The aura persists and he's mostly glad that the migraine hadn't hit yet. Her face shimmers and smears. I'm looking for a job.
He laces and unlaces his fingers together, combs back his hair, looks to the white woman expectantly. She seemed immensely competent; someone, who in any other context, he would've regarded as a threat. But as wary of the aura as he was, he finds that keeping background thoughts to a minimum helped magnitudes in ignoring the agony in his head. See, he'd rather it hit him like a punch than a ten-ton truck.