Reid definitely lived up to the phrase "stray cat". He had been wandering around Aleris for several months now with no real set goal. He'd come to Grand City after living in a land called Oneiro, a place which had been destroyed and burned to ruins by some crazy, psychotic dragon. He couldn't recall ever meeting any nice dragons before, but he assumed what he saw that night was about as nasty as one could get. So, having no idea where or what happened to his friends - okay, his one friend, Kohei - Reid took the next ship that was hell-bent on getting away from Oneiro.

For a few years he roamed various realms, sneaking food and buttering up people in his house cat form that he could shift into. This got him quite a few free rooms and cozy spots to sleep near fireplaces. This worked for a while; in fact, he had no problems with this way of living. But when he ended up in Aleris, he got tired of shifting so much all the time. So it was time to do the dreaded thing all (or most) grown-ups must do in their lives.

Get a job.

And get a job is exactly what he did... only Reid took it to a whole new level and decided that he was going to be the Editor in Chief for Aleris' dying newspaper, The Chronicle. Thankfully as a child, despite his less than stellar living conditions, he was eventually taught to read and write. He had no idea if he was a good writer, but he thought the Alerian townsfolk deserved some news - whether it be the latest current events, who married who, an obituary or the juiciest city gossip.

He pumped himself up for this job and got as excited as he could, until he walked in the door of The Chronicle's office. The place was a mess of dust, cobwebs and pieces of yellow, worn out parchment that'd been messily strewn about the floor. In short, the place was a fire hazard and Reid was just waiting for someone to waltz in with a lit match. The printing press' ink was dried out, cracked and unusable and there were no employees save for some scrawny, 4'9, 101 year old man named Bob. Reid couldn't blame Bob, he guessed. After all, the man had tried to sweep up the place but he could only move so fast; it seemed the dust and spiders moved quicker than him.

Reid did some history on The Chronicle. It had a few writers/editors before: Sarine de Ingis, Kisa Le Fey, Najia Sarai and Aursra Blythe being the more recent owner. The paper had a decent run with the first three editors, but on the last... there were practically no articles printed. Reid wondered what happened. Why were the people of Aleris without news for months and months and months? Was it that boring around here? In any case, he was determined to bring some life back into the place.

Wrapping a handkerchief about his mouth and donning a cleaning outfit that closely resembled a burlap bag, Reid marched over to Bob and handed him a broom. Reid himself was armed with one mop and a broom, eight sponges as well as a trash bag were strapped to his belt like ammunition and he had a bucket of hot water.

"Alright, Bob," Reid said, his voice slightly muffled beneath the handkerchief. "Let's get this shithole cleaned."

"Okay, sure," Bob answered as he again moved sloth-like about the room, his back slightly crooked almost like some sort of ogre or troll. That was all Bob ever said: "Okay sure."

Reid looked about The Chronicle's printing building as if he were about to enter into some sort of great battle. In a way he was. On top of the mess that this place was, Aleris had a streak of bad weather and the place was now sweltering. The large, hinged glass windows would have to be pushed open at some point. He never particularly liked cleaning, but he was going to get this place sparkling from top to bottom. Then he was going to publish papers like it was no one's business. Eventually he would need some more help - maybe another two or three reporters - but for now he would deal with tackling this feat of getting the paper started again.