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((Hey, EndofDawn, could you double space between paragraphs? It'd be a lot easier on my lil' scattered brain ^^))

Seeing Mr. Dugood's absolute favorite patron stumble into the tavern, Lark had steeled herself and prepared for the half-drunken drawl that was sure to pour out of his mouth. Some help he was to the Resistance, when he couldn't stay sober for more than a couple hours at a time. And those rare times when he wasn't drunk, he was so hung-over that there was hardly any difference. Trying to act tough though, she planted her palms on the counter and domineered over him, trying to ignore the still plainly evident splotches on her face.

Of course, there was no sympathy in his words. She hadn't expected him even to notice the blotchiness of her face due to his half-awareness, and even if he had, she deemed him too disconnected to even bother to comment. She wanted to smack him in the face and explain exactly why she was upset, but those two things would both A: expose Resistance information and B: make Lark seem extremely girly. Both were big no-no's in her book, so she merely sighed and bent her head submissively before taking the glass she had just finished wiping and filling it at the keg behind her. The top frothed over, and she used her apron to clean the sides. She slid the glass across the counter to Jack, sincerely hoping that he wouldn't catch it.

"Jack!" exclaimed a voice, very chipper for the mood of the tavern. Lark turned her head to see her boss emerge from his office (which was a refurbished broom closet). "Good to see you here again," he added, waddling over at a good clip for such a disproportiantely shaped man. "The DuGood Tavern wouldn't be able to purchase such fine liquor if it weren't for your steady patronage. So, how's the day finding you?"

((Merci beaucoup!))

Upon hearing Jack's order, Dugood's eyes squinted down to the half-empty glass, and after a good second or two, realized that he could charge full price for the additional beer and yet not give him his money's worth. He rubbed his paws together greedily. A good transaction by any means.

"You haven't even finished the first one," Lark grumbled, and prepared to release her irritation on him through a rant on what a sad excuse for a person he was, when Dugood cut her off with a warning glare and a sugar-coated smile.

"Now, now, Hunter," Dugood belted out with bravado, placing one grubby hand on her shoulder. It was a good foot higher than his own shoulder, so the gesture was awkward and obviously forced. Lark flicked her eyes down at him dryly, but before she could question him, he added, "Hurry up, lad. Go get our most valued customer a refill. Off you go."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but took the glass without further hesitation. After topping it off, she slid it back to Jack and watched with fascination as, by mere chance, it knocked lightly into his elbow, both stopping it and preventing it from falling off the counter. Her eyes returned to her boss dully, her heart still aching from the previous encounter with Jeremiah. It was hard to keep her expression neutral as Mr. Dugood anticipated today's income from Jack. His greedy, exacting eyes traced the line made from the edge of the glass to his customer's lips.

"Don't you have something to do?" Lark asked darkly, leaning backwards against the back-counter.

Mr. Dugood made a sour face. He didn't like her tone, especially in front of a patron. But she was right: he was hovering. Attempting to use his hands to convey the message on the tip of his tongue, Dugood stood there motioning like a fool. The words finally got up to speed and he said in as pleasant a voice as he could, "Well I'll see you here tomorrow, then, I s'pose. Eh, Jack?"

A wide grin spread across Terrence's face and his obvious boredom and moodiness of a moment before instantly dissolved into a glee he expressed with a monosyllabic "Yeah!" He leaped into Corliss, giving her a hug around the middle. "Nothing at aaaaall. I was out here forever! And it smells bad and I got bored. It's boring out here; I almost died of being bored!" Like any child his age, Terrence was a master of exaggeration. He was far from dying of any such thing and, as usual, Corliss had not stayed inside very long at all.


Terrence let go of Corliss' waist but immediately took hold of her left hand instead, unwilling to forgo some contact with her. "We should do something fun. Wanna have a race?" Corliss was a half foot taller than he was; she could easily outrun him. But he always challenged her anyway. "We could race down the street and back." Terrence didn't know if she could leave yet. The adults, and ninety percent of the time Corliss was among 'the adults' to Terrence, always had some particular place they had to be. Standing in such a place, in such a way and trying not to stand out. But it was just a short race, after all.

Nodding his approval, Mr. Dugood scurried off to attend business elsewhere. Probably recieving more illegal shipments from the outside, but what was it to Lark? especially since she was no more law-abiding than he. Giving Jack a rather blank stare, she took his comments in stride, until he started scrutinizing her appearance. She felt her nose twitch, a tic that usually started acting up when she was nervous. At the brink of defending her masculinity, Lark was saved by his drunken demand for a refill. She didn't hesitate to leap for the chance to distract him. The more drunk he was (if that was even possible) the less coherent his thoughts were, and most likely, his memory.

Not only did she refill his glass, but a second, larger one. Sliding it to him, she said in her gruffest voice possible, "This one's on the house. Just keep your trap shut about these things you're imagining, and maybe I can be your friend." She patted the keg behind her like a faithful dog, making clear the incentive to observe her conduct.

"That's enough work for tonight, you can pack up now," the town baker Bixby smiled kindly at the fair haired young man working diligently by the oven. Such a hard worker, the elderly man thought to himself as he moved closer to pat his apprentice's back. He was completely unprepared for the reaction that simple movement created; the boy flinched and stepped away in the blink of an eye, leaving his master to pat only the space where he'd been just a heart beat ago.

Bixby couldn't help the sudden stiffening of his back as he watched the younger man stack a few bread pans unto the shelf as if nothing had happened/ A strange lad, he mused, shaking his head slightly as he walked out into the store. Come to think of it, he knew very little about this young man- couldn't even remember his name though he was sure the lad must have given it with that low murmur the first day he wandered into the bakery seeking a job. But then Bixby considered that he hadn't really needed to; the boy had taken unto his duties with the efficiency of a professional even though his social skills left much to be desired. They'd barely spoken ten sentences to each other in the five days he'd been working.

"See you tomorrow then," He called after the boy, receiving a silent nod in reply as the latter disappeared into the darkness. The first thing Micha did was remove the oven warmed coat and wrap it around his shoulders, revealing the knives strapped on either side of his waist. There was work to do...the one that involved shedding of blood. He turned from the streets and into an alley way, blending into the shadows as though it was an old friend. A simple job though...loose ends had to be tied up. His knives were already in his hands before he took a step into the dimly lit alley. The man was already waiting for him. There was no need to identify each other- especially not now at the end. He took a step closer, looking up to meet the other man's eyes as he only did when going for the kill. The eyes looking back to him were blue and shone from more than the light.

"Make it quick," the man whispered and closed his eyes, waiting for the end that wasn't forthcoming. He opened his eyes, startled to find his executioner almost nose to nose with him. "Whaa," he let out as the silver blonde reached out to touch his face and stared curiously at his wet fingers. "You're crying...why?"

He started to speak and then thought better of it. "You wouldn't understand." Micha seemed to consider his words for a moment and then nodded. "I see." His hands whipped out so fast, his quarry couldn't prepare for the end after all. Before he left, Micha bent to the red streaked face and brought his hand down over those wide blue eyes. He didn't know why...it just seemed fitting. He wiped his knives and stepped out into the streets. No one would ask questions; deaths like these came dime a dozen.
((Sorry for the lateness in posting sweatdrop . ))

It was too late to stop Terrence and he ran full speed into the figure than exited the alley. "Oof!" Terrence bounced right off, landing hard on his backside. "Ow! Hey!" Terrence wanted to yell watch where you're going, but he'd been the one looking over his shoulder to find Corliss. So instead he just rose and scowled a little as he brushed himself off, but still offered up a mumbled apology. He looked to Corliss. Well, he had gotten this far first... nah, it didn't count and he knew it. Darn and double darn! Maybe next time.

Micha gazed blankly at the boy in front of him and blinked, sizing him up with one up sweep of his lashes. A boy...a mere child. Nothing to get excited about. He lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug and shoved his hands into the exposed pockets of his coat, stepping aside and around the boy as he did. The apology was muttered to thin air and besides, his attention was already on the other person. As he passed by Micha realized that it was a girl and from her expression she was probably knew the boy. He didn't say a word to either as he walked away. There was noise just ahead...as usual. He'd passed by his very road many times on his way back from work but never bothered to investigate. Well he was out late already...might as well.

Micha paused in front of the tavern and walked towards it, only to be caught broadside by the swinging door. He shifted just in time but that put him in directly in the path of the person behind it. It was a man, he was taller and better built than Micha...he paused and sneered upon taking his slight frame and silvery hair. "Weaklings like you should know better than walking around without paying attention." He brushed Micha aside and was about to walk on when a vice grip held him back from behind. "What the-"

"You walked into me," the blond muttered and he shrugged, "Yeah, so what" Micha's grip on the coat tightened and he turned the man around. "You walked into me and now you're walking away...I believe you forgot to apologize." A few heads were already turning their way as silence began falling over the club.

Jack didn't notice as the alcohol was slipped carefully from his grasp. He barely even registered that Hunter's words were directed at him, or even said. His dull eyes softened a bit, but his face was pulled down in an even deeper frown then before.

The people were being swept from around him as if taken by the tide, the bar slowly ebbing into a silence that made him tap his fingers once again for the sake of a distracting noise. He was staring at the reflection of the dim lights off the dusty counter that was still wet from his spill.

"Are you supposed to be here?"
Jack blinked and looked around for the source of the words, having realized that the figure next to him was directing the question to him, the only other person that he could see left in the bar. He nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the room as if seeing it for the first time.

"Yes, I believe so..." Jack's eyes fell on the empty chairs, the shadows playing in the corners, and then at Hunter's unreadable face. He nodded more firmly. "Yes, that's why I came so early." On the inside Jack knew that wasn't the whole truth, but he didn't want Hunter to know that. Jack frowned at the thought, a moment later all of the softness in his eyes melting away. If you hadn't been watching him closely, you wouldn't have seen it at all, let alone believe that any emotion besides bitterness could be behind those dull eyes.

Jack swiveled on the barstool, leaning back so that his elbows rested on the countertop. He stared into the shadowed corner but spoke to Hunter.
"Maybe we get to kill someone today," he said in a gruff voice that, like the rest of him, seemed too old for his actual age. He made a sidelong glance at Hunter. "Or maybe one of us will die." The optimism positively leaked off of him in waves.

Jack looked away again, rubbing his blind eye absentmindedly as he stared at the door. The number of people that actually showed up at meetings was considerably less each time, and Jack wondered if he would one day be the last, a tired man waiting idly at a bar and drinking his liver away to pass the hours until he could form a plan. Yes, perhaps he would one day be the last, but he would never be the first to give up. He had lost so much for this cause, there was no use in backing out now. The Resistance was all he had left.