As much as Jake enjoyed the loud claps of thunder, he normally enjoys it better when he isn't soaking wet and freezing. So as soon as he managed to find the Book & Bell, he was relieved to finally be out of the horrid weather.

This relief was short lived when he looked up from within the hood of his coat, noticing how crowded the tavern was. Suddenly nervous, he managed to calm his breathing and quickly made his way to the bar to speak with the owner.

He could practically feel the eyes of those he passed staring at him, and his left arm suddenly became extremely itchy. He absentmindedly reached over with his right hand to scratch it when he recalled that the only thing on that side of his body is a pinned-up sleeve where the arm should have been.

He cursed silently and became even more self-conscious than before. No wonder they're staring, he thought to himself.

He sighed with relief when he finally managed to reach the bar. He timidly looked about to see if the owner was there at the moment as he reached into his messenger bag slung over his right shoulder, producing a pen and paper.

Rum Ginny was wiping down the counter after some lugger had vomited on it. It was one of those nights - wet and miserable, all the patrons were miserable, and she'd probably end up having to take out the rubbish. Solid Stu was upstairs, of course, probably bawling his eyes out over his unrequited love again.

She let out a depressed sigh, but that quickly turned to a businesslike smile as she saw the one-armed boy approach the bar.

"Evenin'!" she said, as cheerily as she could manage for her pay range. She did not stare at his lack of an arm; in Old Rose, where she had grown up, you were unusual if you weren't missing a limb. "Ale, or somethin' a bit stronger? Boy, s'bloody miserable out there, eh?"

Jake smiled and nodded at the girl. He then flipped to the first page in the pad of paper, where he had a pre-written introduction to use in the event that he meets someone new.

The introduction, which was confined to the left side of the page due to Jake's inability to keep the pad steady as he got farther right, read:

Hello there! I hope you'll excuse my silent nature, as I am unable to speak. You may call me Riot and I am an inventor.

He presented the pad of paper opened to the page to the girl, smiling from within his coat's hood.

Ginny's smile faltered as the man held out the message. She never liked reading in public - she wasn't much good at it, and besides, a girl could get in trouble.

"Er...I sign," she offered, forming the gestures with her hands hopefully. "Much faster."

A nervous look seized Jake's face. He recognized the gestures as sign language, but had never really learned to use it himself. Not to say he hasn't tried to learn it. He tried to remember what he could, and managed to recall a few gestures, a couple of which could probably get his point across. He reached to rub his left arm, realizing once again that there wasn't anything there.

Gulping nervously, he managed to sign out, rather clumsily, "No learn."

"Oh, right," Ginny said, slapping her forehead and turning red. "Forgot. Your arm. Right. Ermmm...."

Taking the paper in her hands, she read it carefully. She was not a bad reader - considering her age, and her upbringing, it was a blessing she could read at all. Stu had taught her what he could, but Jake's handwriting was difficult for her - wobbly cursive was a big change from Stu's blocky capitals.

"Oh!" she said, after absorbing what she could. "Riot. Junta, I'm Rum Ginny. What can I do for you, kov?"

Jake took the pad of paper and began to write. A drop of water fell from his coat's hood, reminding Jake that it was still up. He pushed it back, revealing his messy brown hair and gray eyes. He finished writing and presented the page.

I'm looking to find a place to stay and a job that pays fairly well.

"One outta two ent bad, eh?" said Ginny cheerfully, taking his arm and leading him to the foot of the stairs. Jake could see that they went up quite far, leading to numerous levels and lofts set into the wall.

"As for a job, well, the economy's been downright laoso lately, ent it? We're all feelin' the crunch. What kinda things do you do, Riot?"

Holding onto his pen using his mouth, Jake held his pad of paper against the wall. Writing this time took him slightly longer, as he would need to put the pen back in his mouth, move the paper so he could comfortably write on the next line, remove the pen, write, and repeat.

It took him a full minute until he finally finished.

Well, as you can no doubt guess, I'm somewhat limited in exactly what I'm able to do. I tend to pay close attention to details, so I could probably clean well. Oh, and do you have any rooms downstairs perhaps?

Jake handed Ginny the paper, with an expression on his face that seemed to apologize for the wait.

Ginny cast a sidelong glance at the vomit-encrusted countertop, as well as the mud those resistance luggers tracked in on the floorboards, the loose hay piled inexplicably in the corner, the walls stained with rainwater and mold, the broken ale mugs and empty kegs, the - well, it's messy, no need to itemize, she thought.

She thought briefly about Stu, upstairs, his face probably buried creepily in Fion's blue bandana - ew - and wondered what sort of a command decision he might make in this situation. It was safe to assume that she was acting in his stead while he was indisposed, right? She'd only been his partner for seven years.

Plus, Ginny had always had an interest in unusual people, and this man seemed intriguing - no voice, no arm, no small talk...

"We can pay you a shill a week," she said decisively, "plus room and board. There's the basement...I can put down some hay if you like." She waggled her eyebrows, as though this were a swanky sort of setup and Jake was lucking out. "Do stay out of the kegs, though, Stu can tell if you open one of 'em."

Reaching behind the counter, she handed him her cleaning rag and grinned at him. "You can start with the puke!"

Jake glanced at at the vomit, then looked back to Ginny and the cleaning rag. Just do it, this is the only way you're going to finance the materials you need, he told himself. With but a moment's hesitation, he placed the paper and pen back into his bag, removing it once he had done so. He shook off his coat, placing it next to the spot where his bag lay. Unlike his coat, the green shirt he wore did not have the left sleeve pinned up and instead hung empty at his side.

He grabbed the rag and set to work. He gagged at least twice as he cleaned the crusted regurgitate, but continued on. As he had said, he was extremely thorough and, when he finished, it seemed as though there was never anything there in the first place. Jake set the rag down and stretched his sore arm, then turned back to Ginny with an air of accomplishment about him.

By the time Jake had finished, Ginny was entrenched in customers. The end of the week always brought the big crowds, as most people had the day off of work; she was filling orders lightning fast, not stopping even to breathe, filling mugs and mixing alcohol. She gave him a tired smile and a nod when she saw that he had finished.

"You're a peach!" she cried, throwing her hands up as two more customers came in, demanding beer and entertainment. "Good thing you came in. Can you hand me that bottle of gin? These fellows look like the gin types..."

Sure enough, the men ordered gin and tonics. One of them glared at Jake, raising an eyebrow.

Jake's sense of accomplishment instantly vanished, having been replaced by an awfully uncomfortable and nervous feeling. His phantom limb suddenly became itchy, but he ignored it, knowing it would make him even more embarrassed.

He snapped back to reality seconds later, realizing what Ginny had asked for. He grabbed the bottle of gin and quickly handed it to her, nodding to the customer and smiling a nervous smile

The customer's eyes slid slowly down to Jake's missing arm, and his sneer became more pronounced.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said to Ginny, who was pouring the gin and tonic. "Where'd you pick this guy up, the dog yard?"

His mate snickered at his bottom-of-the-barrel humor, apparently displaying his low standards. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Pay 'em no heed, Riot," she said loudly, ignoring him. "They don't know the truth."

"Truth?" repeated the slimy man, still grinning.

Ginny turned to him, her face dark and mysterious. In the dim light of the bar she seemed to glow with a supernatural light as she spoke in an ominous voice.

"You don't know this man?" she said, gesturing to Jake with her thumb. "You ent heard of the one-armed killer of Harbrooke? The man who turned insane and violent after gettin' trapped in a burnin' building by his vengeful lover? He had to gnaw his own arm off to escape. Ever since, he travels the land, lookin' for victims. He's tryin' a replace his arm, y'see. He looks for suitable candidates in taverns."

The small girl eyed the bulging bicep of the slimy man, her round eyes bugging out as she slid his gin and tonic over to him.

"You look pretty strong, mister," she whispered, giving Jake a less-than-covert thumbs-up under the counter. "Bet you could throw me across this room, easy peasy..."

The slimy gentleman, although he didn't look entirely convinced, did look markedly uncomfortable. He exchanged a glance with his friend, who was no longer laughing.

"Hogwash," the friend said, uncertainly. "Let's find a tavern what ain't filled with moony luggers, Bill."

They quickly downed their gin and tonics, keeping a watchful eye on Jake, and departed immediately.

Jake sighed heavily. His heartbeat finally calmed down and his nervous feeling slowly faded. He looked up and smiled at Ginny, with an exasperated, but thankful, look in his eyes. If she hadn't said anything...

Jake shook his head and snapped back to reality once again. He'd rather not think of what could have been and focus more on completing whatever task he might be assigned next.

He straightened his posture and looked about, curious as to what his next job would be.

Ginny seemed to be going along a different line of thinking.

"Alright," she announced, in a surprisingly loud voice for someone of her size, to the room at large. "Bar's closin' for the night! You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, ye chen? Get the clock out, you poxy scoundrels!" Although her words were harsh, her tone conveyed a familiarity, and the twinkle in her eye endeared her to the patrons, most of whom were used to her filthy language and abrasive manner by now.

One by one, the patrons finished their beers and left, quietly. It was a scene in stark contrast to most of the bars around Vienda, where a fight would often break out at the mere suggestion that a man pay his tab. It was a testament to Ginny's unusual people skills that no chairs were broken and no one skipped on the bill.

"STU!!" she bellowed, when everyone but Jake was finally gone.

When no one answered, she shrugged and pulled out a clinking key ring from her pocket.

"I'll get you set up," she said, winking at Jake. "Follow me."

The volume of Ginny's voice caught Jake by surprise, causing him to falter a bit. Her words were obeyed, however, and soon the tavern was completely empty, which allowed Jake to relax a lot more than he could when it was filled.



Her voice caught him off guard yet again, making him flinch. Would he ever get used to that?



Jake nodded to her, then proceeded to walk over to put his coat back on and position his bag how it had been before. He moved back over to where Ginny was standing and nodded again, signaling to her that he was ready.

Ginny's footsteps echoed in the vast basement as she descended the rickety staircase, leading Jake by the hand. The size of the room was surprising; it was over a story high and quite roomy, though the dank stone walls were oppressive, flickering strangely in the light of Ginny's lantern.

Lighting a few oil lamps along the wall, the girl turned back to beckon Jake down the stairs. "You can sleep down here. There's some matches an' the like in that crate, and I'll make you a bed."

With the knife hidden under her belt, Ginny sliced open the rope that was holding together a bale of hay; the bale came apart and formed a pile. It was musty, but looked warm and dry and pleasantly free of insects.

"We start work in the mornin' at six," she warned him. "Try to get some shut-eye."

She was halfway up the stairs when she turned and grinned at him. "An' welcome aboard, by the by," she added.

Jake gawked at the size of the room before him. He would certainly have plenty of room to work down here.



Jake took note of the crate's position. Lighting the lamps on the wall would be necessary, as it was unlikely that any light would find its way down here at all.

Jake pressed his hand against the pile of hay that would be his bed. Despite how simple it was, it seemed to be more comfortable than some beds he's slept on before.



Jake smiled and nodded to Ginny. He also hoped to get some sleep; he had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up later than he should, even if he was extremely tired. He wanted to ask Ginny when his workday ended or if he would get any breaks, but decided such questions were better saved for the next morning.

He sat down next to his "bed" and began to pull things out of his messenger bag. He first grabbed his pen and pad of paper, but then also pulled out a larger, rolled-up piece of paper as well as various loose sheets.