No one noticed the little boy. Why would they? A gimpy waif with ears that stuck out through the thick of his clumpy bed-head hair, dressed in an over-sized tunic with raggedy-edged sleeves that completely enveloped his hands and lace-less shoes that flopped noisily as he limped on a sickly leg that turned out unnaturally – just a crippled street rat of no interest. He had an unconscious habit of scratching at an angry-looking cold sore that framed the left corner of his mouth; that alone kept most people away, though he was more than happy to keep to himself most of the time.

Today was different, however. He was standing just under the corner of a stall awning, shielded from most of the light but steady rainfall, but still wet nonetheless. He was ready to weather through it, though – he’d been tasked with a special job. The payment: a full meal. That alone was enough to entice the tyke.

So he stood waiting, watching, and alert, more so than ever before, which seemed to make the nearby shop owner a tad bit nervous, what with an unknown urchin standing so near his goods and all.

Truly, Gannon felt like a dunce. Sitting at an awninged bench as he was, in the rain, with a basket of food, waiting on some crippled child to have lunch with him put him in a glaring sort of mood. Ridiculous as he felt, it seemed as though some person—who would need to be glared off—might come up to him at any moment and—gently, patronizingly—explain to him that no-one in their right mind had picnics in the rain and the damp unless they wished to catch pneumonia, especially with the cough that still lingered in his lungs.

Gannon shifted uncomfortably where he sat, making the rotted wood of the bench protest at the weight. He hoped this person arrived sometime soon.

It was the eye patch and the checkered cloth that caught the boy's attention from his position down the street. The man looked like he could stare a chrove into apoplexy, so sour was his expression. Then again, it was raining - having a picnic in the rain was never a pleasant or popular pass-time. At least the boy didn't think so.

He hesitated for a long moment, feeling guilty about the one-eyed man's predicament (even though he'd had nothing to do with the setup), and growing more nervous by the minute as he realized that this fellow would probably turn all his grumpiness on him. But there was food to be had. The boy's stomach snarled plaintively, and he unconsciously put a grubby hand over it.

Finally, he tossed his fears to the wind and hobbled over - skid, clop, skid, clop. - his bad leg dragging behind him as he went. "Nice spot of weather we're havin', ent we?" he piped dryly as he plunked himself down across from Gannon. His eyes instantly strayed to the laden basket, and they stayed there as he asked, "Need help in finishin' that, mister? I can eat fast so's we both can get outta here; I don't like the wet any more than you does."

Skid, clop, skid, clop.

If Gannon's ears could have twitched in response, they would have. Having only one eye half-blinded someone, but it also trained them to see with other things. Gannon's ears were finely-tuned things, indeed. Good thing the lad had been smart enough to approach on his good side. Even still, he heard him before he saw the urchin. That limp made him noisey enough. In special cases, Gannon was even able to smell familiar individuals. It was rare though, and the damp made his scent as weak as any man's.

Gannon studied the little street-rat, eye critical. Part of him wanted to know who the hell this child was and why he was working for something like the Resistance. Surely he was too young.

The bartender pushed the basket towards his lunch comapny. "Eat."

No, idot! He growled at himself. Make it look natural! It's not like buying a loaf of bread. Gannon cleared his throat.

"Lovely weather..." he growled.

The child grinned widely, showing a set of blocky, newly-grown teeth. He needed no second bidding, and quickly shoved one grubby hand into the basket. He pulled out a hunk of bread and immediately tore into it, ignorant to the fact that he ate like a ravening beast. “Thanks mister,” he stated with a spray of crumbs. “It does a body good to have good vittles.” He coughed as he choked a bit on the meal he was bolting down, and then went back to rummaging in the basket. He glanced up amidst his foraging. “Don’t let me eat all o’ this, mister. You brought it, so you need ta eat some, too.”



The boy giggled uproariously at that. “Hee, yer funny, mister. Didn’t think a grumpy-looking guy like you could be funny…” He slapped his hand over his mouth too late, and grinned sheepishly once he pulled it away to allow himself to begin stuffing his face once again.

“So…you fixin’ ta join them guys, eh?” He swallowed a chunk of food before continuing. “Don’t worry, I don’t say nothing. I been helpin’ them for a while now, an’ they give me lots of food when I need it.” He took a big bite of the bread and wedged it into the side of his mouth so he could finish speaking. “You just tell me when yer ready ta go, an’ we’ll go.”

Gannon snorted, an obvious sound of blunt refusal, though with a few more moments, the prospect of food made him re-consider. He was no starving urchin, but he did own a constantly hungry gut. Such stomachs were often contained by large men. Still, he pulled forth no more than an apple: a small and hard thing that probably wasn't completely ripened.



Adrenaline snapped up Gannon's spine, a cold shock. Foolish boy! he snarled inside, though the eye that glared a sharp warning at the skinny thing. I won't get my neck snapped just because you can't keep your trap shut. Saying something like that outright; good gods! Gannon forced himself to appear calm, to keep eating on that apple—large crunching swallows.

"Less talking, more eating," he rumbled.

The boy missed Gannon's sharp look as he focused on his meal, and he somehow missed the man's comment as well. He was a boy, after all, and one with an insatiable curiosity and a short attention span.

He wiped his mouth on his already-stained sleeve and forced himself to look up at Gannon. "You sure don't say much, do ya, mister? I mean, it's all right an' all that - I can respect a fella who's quiet-like." He nodded to himself with an uncharacteristically somber expression despite the obvious fact that he was merely trying to sound tough. Quick as a wink, though, his mood changed back to its original state, and he launched into a tirade of rapidly-fired questions. "How'd ya lose yer eye? Ya look like a pirate 'cause o' that eyepatch. Are ya a pirate? I never met a pirate before - I've just heard they're in Old Rose Harbor and fly airships and stuff. Have you been in an aeroship? Always wanted to see one meself..." He prattled on and on as he continued eating.

In a moment of classic childhood innocence, the boy had warmed up to Gannon, and unless Gannon wanted to spend the rest of the day listening to questions he'd never get a chance to answer, the big bartender would need to make a move.

Had anyone been close enough, had the rain not been so loud, they would have hear Gannon's teeth grinding.

Already he wanted to make this little brat leave and stop asking his horrible question. Gods, he hated questions. Gannon's hand clenched into a iron fist. Enough of this.

"Lad," he growled, leveling his eye at the boy, "I don't think I came here to chit-chat. I think I came here on business." Gannon took a deep breath. Calm. Breath. Calm down. Just a lad, he didn't know better anyhow. Couldn't have known. "Now then, eat up and tell me what you were sent here for."

Once again, the boy somehow failed to notice the warning growl in Gannon’s voice, but nevertheless he paused in his babbling volley and nodded in understanding. “Oh, aye, ‘nuff talkin’. We got bidness to take care of.” He crammed another hunk of bread into his mouth and a few extra into his pockets for good measure as he stood. “I’m yer guide, mister,” he said in mercifully lowered tones. “I’m gonna take you to them that wants ya. From what I know, they wanna talk to ya just as much as you wanna talk ta them. So might as well not waste any more time, eh?” Innocently, boldly, he limped around to the other side of the table, reached out, and took one of Gannon’s big hands and tugged gently to emphasize. “Come on, then – best not keep ‘em waiting since we’re done eatin’ an’ all.”

Gannon let the kid tug on his hand a moment more--his expression rather surly--before he got up. Well at least we're goen' somewhere now, he mentally growled before he took back his hand. Gannon snatched up the basket and, stuffing the table cloth inside, he held it out to the scrawny lad. He didn't really figure he'd need it.

"Lead on," he grumbled.

(( Ugh! Sfsp! Sorry fore lateness! This has no excuse to be this late and this short! ))

(( (no sweat, m’dear – I’ve been late with a few of these myself) ))

“Well thanks, mister! Yer pretty nice for a pirate.”

The boy led Gannon at a remarkable clip (for a cripple) through the marketplace and in and out through the maze of streets within the Dives. It was certainly a reminiscent of Gannon’s last encounter with Resistance members, if nothing else. Turning a corner, the boy stopped and, squinting, peered up at the hedge of awnings and laundry-laden lines set sporadically along the buildings and walls – the only color on an otherwise drab, unremarkable street. “Ah, there,” he muttered, and pulled Gannon along again until they both stopped under a dull red awning, which, in the overcast light, tinted them both in a scarlet hue. A shabby door huddled under the awning as well.

Here, the boy plunked the basket down at his feet, put two fingers in his mouth, and blew a shrill shriek of a whistle. He wiped his hands on his shirt front, grinned up at Gannon, and solemnly counted, “Three…two…one…”

The door behind them creaked. “WHY are you making so much noise, you little zit?” hissed a voice directly behind the boy, and a hand appeared out of the opening, cuffing the child across the back of the head, lightly but with enough bite to make a point.

“Ow, miz, I’m sorry!” whined the boy with a pouting frown. “I just did as I was told, all right? Am I done? Can I go now?”

“Yes, yes,” the voice replied, grudgingly grateful. “You did all right. Now scarper.”

Grinning once more, the little urchin hoisted the picnic basket in his scrawny arms and winked up at Gannon. “See ya ‘round, mister. An’ don’t worry - the miz, she’s all bark, an’ just gums ya if she bites.”

“GIT!”

The boy scuttled away with smothered giggles, holding the basket close as if his life depended on it.

Meanwhile, the door had opened a bit wider, and a woman stepped out, clad in a nondescript skirt and blouse. But it was her face that Gannon would instantly recognize. “W-…well I’ll be…” she murmured with a slight chuckle. “I wasn’t told I’d get a repeat. How’re ya doing, Mitch?” It was Sis, the young contact from several days before. In the daylight, she looked older, more tired, but no less a woman, and certainly no less alert.

With subtle smoothness, she slid her arm through Gannon’s and patted it in a show of affection. “Let’s walk,” she said through her smile. “I’ll fill you in as we go. And try to look more like you’re eager to take me somewhere nice and less like you’re taking me to a funeral.”

"Well I can't say I exactly dressed fer th' Clock's Eve Ball," he finally replied after he found his voice and stopped gawping and got over his shock. Sis popping out of that door had been a surprise for him as well. He hadn't ever expected to really see here again. At least not for a long while. He wondered if this said anything about the size of the Resistance, and if this was truly a bad sign.

Whatever the reason was, she was here, again, with him, and he tried to look as natural as possible about it. Even in a shaded alleyway, eyes could be present if even from the rooftop, or from an upstairs window. There was a certain hum to things in Vienda that the residents counted as white noise and usual. Any pause or break in this hum attracted attention like a dead carcass gathered flies. Both were equally unwelcome.

"Good t' see you again," he went on, managing a small smile as he began their walk down the alley. "Kinda' miss familiar faces in such a big city. Y' look a sight prettier in a proper dress, lass."

Sis wasn’t normally the type to be caught completely off guard, but somehow her internal defenses weren’t ready for Gannon’s reply. A blush spread over her face, and this time she didn’t have the cover of night to hide it. “Ahem…well, thank you,” she replied, somewhat flustered but pleased. “It’s not every day that I get to dress nicely, so…yeah…” Unconsciously, she fluffed her hair with one hand. Well, it’s a good strong arm, anyway…what are you doing, you twit?! Focus!!

“Anyway,” she continued brusquely, silently shoving her feelings into the designated hole where she usually kept them. “Today we’re off to meet with a gentleman who is going to help us start our own bakery. It’s what we’ve always wanted, and it’ll be something to start us off once we get married.” She looked up pointedly at Gannon, wanting to make sure (without directly saying so) that the man understood this was part of the mission. It was also exactly why she had to keep her feelings boxed up at all times – a slip like what she’d just experienced was enough to cause problems in the future, and that was the last thing she wanted for either of them.

The blush on her face was a good encouragement in playing the part. Gannon was no thespian, but he figured if she kept things up as natural as it seemed to her, he could fall right into step.

The words, however, make him stop to think. Bakery? Was that code for something? He ran through his mind all the possible meanings that 'bakery' could hold. Gannon had to admit to himself that if she was expecting him to understand something other than what he already knew from the boy, she was mistaken.

Grand, he thought to himself. Just grand.

"I don't guess I know very much about bakin', but I suppose I could learn...." he replied, giving her a smile he hoped looked convincingly like a man smitten in love. If this was the cover she wanted, then this was the cover she got.

Resistance work already struck him as a good way to further a skill in acting.

(( uh...muh...GUH. i win the fail award for late postings ))

"Don't worry, dear," came the reply with a now-composed smile. "The baking comes later. At this point, you're more or less going to watch and learn, and follow any directions. And besides, I needed someone with muscle." One eyebrow arched in emphasis - Sis was confident Gannon would pick up on her hints. It was what he'd seemed most inclined to, anyway, so why wouldn't her superiors decide to put him on bodyguard duty as a trial run?

Focusing, she let herself prattle girlishly about accessorizing the fictitious bakery as they walked – the color for the curtains, style of the kitchen, and anything else that seemed proper to gush about. She noted the obvious long-suffering etched in Gannon’s face, and felt truly sorry for him and having to put him through this, but it was part of the rigmarole.

He does that smile far too well, though… She shook her head at the thought and forced herself to focus again. Oh the fickleness of female emotions...

They headed through alleyways and crowded thoroughfares alike, much like they’d done not too many days before, though this time it was easier to see where they were going. It was more or less a merry dance around a populated but less noticeable portion of the city, in case they were being followed. Sis waved to people occasionally and even stopped a few times to chat amiably with a shopkeeper or two; it was all so natural and unassuming.

Eventually, they came to a hub of activity, and if Gannon had been able to keep track of the surroundings, he would realize they were now in the Kingsway Market. Everything was awash with noise, movement, and color despite the somewhat grubby afternoon. But Sis calmly plowed her way through the masses with her hand firmly clamped onto Gannon’s.

Then quite suddenly she stopped on a corner of the street and nudged Gannon. “And there’s our man,” she whispered through the side of her mouth as she gestured nonchalantly across the way. Leaning against a lamp post was a man in basic workman’s attire, holding (or strangling, rather) a disheveled cap in his hands. Despite his collected exterior, slight telltale signs proved he was nervous about something. Sis trotted across the way, still keeping a firm grip on Gannon. “Mr. Fossey?” she ventured when she had come up beside the fellow.

The man blinked and stared at her in surprise. “Y-…yes, that is my name. Are you…the bakery?” he asked in a less-than-confident manner.

“Oh yes! Me an’ my fiancée here, Mitch – we’re the ones!” The young woman’s face and voice beamed cheerfully, but her eyes said everything that could not be said in public.

Mr. Fossey sighed heavily in relief. “Oh thank the gods! I thought you’d…forgotten.” He tittered nervously, still mangling his cap unconsciously. “Well, I’ll…I’ll lead you to the site, then, if you’re ready?”

“Certainly!” Sis grinned up at Gannon. “Isn’t this exciting, love?” Once again, her eyes spoke something else – a silent warning to the big bartender. She hadn’t anticipated this. She’d known she was on escort duty today with an accompanying bodyguard, but she hadn’t realized just whom she’d be escorting. It threw everything into a whole new - and most likely dangerous - perspective.

Clock it all, they never tell me anything anymore…

The man standing before them known as Mr. Fossey was a galdor.

The was a punch to the gut, and the mere realization that this was the person they were intened to meet was a slap to the face.

Gannon's first idea was to run, really. Pick up Sis--who seemed just as shocked as he--and get the clock away. However, tense though she was, she wasn't making a break for it herself. This had to have been part of someone's plan. Oviously it hadn't been theirs'.

This was running though his head on the outside, but outside the change in Gannon was far more noticable. His back and shoulders turned into steel framing and his bottom teeth tried to fuse with his upper. Both hands knotted hard. The burn of his lungs matched the sting of his right eye.

The Resistance in the eyes of Gannon Oranos turned on its head.

"Darling," he snarled, turning his burning pitch eyes on Sis. "You know I'm not fond of surprises.... And this might take a very good--" another word for explanation, RIGHT CLOCKIN' NOW....

Gannon looked back at the antsy galdor and rested his hand on Roxanne's hilt. Gripping till white-knuckled, more like.

"excuse..."