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Howie carefully noted Jessica's reaction to his jibe. So she didn't rise to the bait easily, but he could get to her. That was good to know. "At least you can admit it," he responded cheerfully.

"Oh, a salesman?" He rolled his eyes and yawned dramatically. "How mundane. Who wants to waste their life knocking on doors trying to peddle vacuum cleaners and encyclopedias?" He snorted. "Bunch of uptight jackasses, anyway. Wouldn't have a thing to do with a guy like me."

"Honost?" Howie's smile turned down a notch and he shrugged. "Hey, babes, you're a sweet girl. Sure there's always going to be places you'll do fine. But me? Well, see some people just aren't cut out for decent work. Take me, for example. I've tried going straight, and it's not pretty. Just gotta accept my true calling, see?" He had obviously not picked up on the extent to which Jessica was opening up to him. To him, she just seemed to be a fairly normal, if sheltered, girl.

"'There's a pair of us then, don't tell,'" Howie quoted cheerfully, punctuating the Dickinson with a wink. "Although I really don't see what there is to dislike about you. Shame not everyone can think like I do, huh?" He was fully cheerful again, glad that she hadn't reacted badly to the implication that he spent his time doing less-than-savory business.

((Can I have them get jumped? Please?))

"Oh is it?" He gave the house a quick once-over. "Cute. So, do I get a reward for walking you home, or -" He broke off, eyes tracking something he thought he saw moving just outside of the street lights. He had probably imagined it. This wasn't a place that seemed like very lucrative territory for a street thug. "Just get yourself inside, all right babes?"

"Ah, forget about it, I was just messing with you anyways," Howie replied cheerfully. He waved and began heading back the way they had come. "Remember to bring one of your big guard dogs next time, all right? I can't be around all the time!" He hoped the dog comment made anyone who might be watching think twice about trying the house. After all, a tough life bred a healthy dislike for dogs, and Howie was no exception in this case.

"I always am, sweet thing!" Howie called, now almost out of sight. "Always am," he muttered again to himself. Except, apparently, when he was making a big fat target out of himself by walking off into the dark alone, especially given that the other option was a house with an unspecified number of dogs and people in it.

He slid into a more aggressive walk and stayed alert as he passed through the shadows of the city at night.

Howie was strung out tight with nerves. There was someone following him, he was sure of it now. He casually lifted up his right foot and reached down as if he were going to scratch his heel, intending to slide his small pocketknife from its hiding spot in his sneaker.

He never got that far. Something heavy cracked across the back of his head and he went down, slapping the ground with his palm and barely managing to roll out of the way of a second strike. The length of wood splintered on the pavement, and his attacker instead switched to attacking Howie with his bare fists.

Howie concentrated on blocking or deflecting the worst blows from doing permenant harm, but didn't fight back or actively avoid the attacks. He'd learned long ago that was how you got into trouble. When the attacks finally stopped and Howie was dropped and searched - the mugger, of course, found nothing valuable, and that earned the boy a couple more kicks - he assessed the damage.

Damn. He wasn't sure if he could walk straight after that.

((gotta go to dinner, be back later!))

After a moment, Howie pushed himself off the ground. He felt the back of his head carefully - his hand came away wet, sticky, and smelling of blood. He groaned - that had to be the worst injury. The rest he had been able to redirect so that they did less damage, but he hadn't thought the man was so close. Damn, damn, and double-damn.

He got his feet under him and began stumbling along. No good, he couldn't go far like this. He needed somewhere to lay low, get patched up. Somewhere safe and not to far off and...

No. Oh, hell no. But he had no other choice.

Somehow he got himself back to Jessica's house. Damn, he had no idea if anyone else was home! A window, then. He poked around and found a likely candidate - leading into an empty room that he judged to be far away from any bedrooms - and began trying to pop it open from the outside. It was harder than it looked, especially with the headache marring his concentration.