JEM & NIGHT : THE SLUMS

[Rad]

Night paced frantically along the sidewalk beneath Alice’s apartment, eyes fixated on the ground in shame. It was a Sunday and as such his services weren’t required at the post office today. Having to stay home, Night had gone about his customary routine of household maintenance that morning. His tasks had included: sweeping, cleaning, polishing, fixing, pasting, mending, and, to some extent, sewing. Well, despite the multitude of things he had needed to accomplish, Night had made an immense effort to get it all completed before noon. Well, he certainly had succeeded, yet…

Daring to gaze upwards at the dark smoke still billowing from the windows of Alice’s apartment, Night sighed, a hurricane of emotions swirling through his mind, most of which were aimed liked daggers at himself. He might as well kill himself now! Alice had been so gracious as to salvage him from the streets and now look at what he had done to her apartment! It was practically unlivable now! Just how had this happened? How had he been foolish enough to have landed in such a predicament? How could he rectify such a grave error before Alice returned? Oh if only he could turn back time!

Just how had it happened? That was a reasonably simple question to answer. Since it was a Sunday, the leftover ingredients from the week were due to finally serve their purpose in one final meal before Alice went on a groceries trip. Well, despite Alice’s previous agreement with Night that she would help in the kitchen, Night had once more felt obligated to prepare a meal by himself in order to surprise Alice. Well, she would definitely be surprised now! Oh he was a fool! He should have known that ‘help’ was an implicit means of saying Night was forbidden to make an attempt at cooking on his own. At this epiphany of sorts, Night’s contemplations instantaneously took on an even more belligerent nature. By now he was mentally very beaten up.

How had he been foolish enough to have landed in such a predicament? That inquiry was equally as easy to reply to. It was all the consequence of his utter lack of experience in the kitchen! He should have known from his earlier encounter with ‘Toast’ that when it came to the preparation of a meal he was only capable of setting the table correctly. When it came to all other things, he was a failure who burnt all he meddled with. Their gas stove was practically bullying him! Well, since he couldn’t even take a hint he had again interfered with what he shouldn’t have. As was to be expected (and as he should have guessed), he had burnt all the food to cinders! Now the smoke from the fire, which he had thankfully managed to extinguished before it damaged more than just the chow, dominated the entire house and filled it with such a wretched stench that he had been forced to evacuate after opening all the windows. Dammit! He had never been one to use profanities but this was a situation in which he considered it necessary to curse at himself.

How could he rectify such a grave error before Alice returned? Since fire damage had only been dealt to the food there wasn’t any major evil done to the apartment as a whole. The only thing was the smoke and stench the whole place emitted as a consequence of that burnt fodder. Hopefully that would soon disperse after a good airing out, something that was currently under way. That left the only major dilemma to be their resulting lack of provisions now that what little they had possessed was reduced to mere residue. Unfortunately, Night didn’t have any money and thus couldn’t replace any of it! Oh the horror! How could he do this to poor Alice? Were they doomed to hunger for the day? Plopping himself down on the sidewalk and apparently not caring about the inconvenience this caused some of the passersby, Night clutched his head in his hands as he surrendered to the feelings of disgrace and remorse.

[Lenn]

The pedestrians in front of Jem were parting around something, their expressions of distaste and confusion. As Jem approached, he realized it was a young man, sitting in the center of the busy sidewalk and appearing to be in some state of misery. This was an odd sight indeed, and Jem stared curiously. Get used to it, this is the slums, everything's the pits, Jem thought dryly. No use to cry about it. As he sidestepped carefully around the stranger, Jem raised an eyebrow, which when paired with his freckles made his shadowed face instantly look mischievous. His boots clunked to a halt near the poor fellow, who at a closer distance appeared to be roughly his age. This one's definitely peculiar. Jem crouched down and lifted the edge of his cap just enough so the stranger could see his face. The smell of smoke wafted off the man's clothes, too strong to be just the scent of candle flame or oil. Smoke. Had there been a fire? If so, was his street alright? Emmie and his parents? Could they get out? Egress routes were not a common occurrence in the excuse for a house they lived in. Knowing that his racing thoughts were simply due to the paranoia all good brothers have, Jem pushed the notion of fires from his mind and briefly contemplated whether or not to help this unfortunate stranger.

It took but a second for him to decide, and Jem slapped the man on the shoulder, grinning his most contagious grin. "Hey'a. You gotta get off the sidewalk, people gonna run you over. Can't just sit here like a crumb. Wipe them tears away, today's another day." Though no tears could be seen on his face, Jem couldn't resist the jibe; plus he was sure it had been awhile since he had seen such abject depression. Jem cocked his head and adjusted his scarf, blinking. Usually his pep talks had more of a reaction; at least a punch if not a renewed vigor in life. "C'mon, up you go," Jem announced suddenly, grabbing a fistful of the man's shirt in his wrapped fingers and rising to his feet.

In that moment where Jem's face was just inches away from the man's, his hazel eyes flashed positively dark. "You better tell me right now, mister," he breathed, "if that smoke on you came from a fire." He eyed the young man. "'Cause lemme tell you, I got a kid sister sittin' at home all day, and she ain't got no way out if the house is burning down." Jem stood up completely and yanked on the brim of his hat, covering his face in shadows once more. Only the white of his smile, present once again in stark contrast to his previous words, could be seen. Jem flexed his fingers, back to his default cheerful persona. "What's your name, brotha'?"

[Rad]

Absorbed in his own contemplations, Night failed to notice the other adolescent’s approach. He was, for the interim, simply too concerned with disparaging his own actions. Accordingly, the abrupt impact of someone slapping his shoulder came as a totally unexpected blow and as an instinctive response he flinched away from his assailant, shouting, “My sincere apologies, officer, Sir! I confess to starting the fire, I…” However, upon perceiving that the person he had initially thought would be an officer was merely a fellow slum dweller of approximately his own age, Night relaxed a little, letting the conclusion of his sentence trail off into silence. “Oh, it’s only you,” Night sighed in relief, although he had no idea who ‘you’ was.

At the stranger’s words of encouragement Night couldn’t help but smile a little. Oh the irony of the whole situation that he, normally an infallible optimist, would now require the assistance of another in order to escape from this dark abyss of depression. However, having convinced himself that the whole predicament was entirely his fault, Night wasn’t about to let someone he barely knew save him from this mental and emotional punishment which he felt he rightly deserved! Nonetheless, the youth seemed determined to salvage him from the clutches of whatever torment he was going through and in a minute Night was promptly dragged to his feet.

Staring in bewilderment, Night scrutinized the face of this person who had spared the time to meddle…no, meddle wasn’t the right way to put it…to concern (ah yes, now that, Night felt, was the right word) himself with Night’s business. From a superficial glance, the youth appeared to be approximately his own age, had a pair of hazel eyes that flashed mischievously in the light, tanned skin typical of a laborer, freckles and some fabric wrapped around his hands that gave the impression of being bandages. If Night was prejudiced he would suppose the boy to be a delinquent but Night was never one to make negative assumptions. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if by meeting this lad he had landed in some sort of trouble.

Indeed, this prediction proved accurate as Night was assailed with a series of questions which he guessed were directed specifically at the little fire he had lighted on the frying pan in Alice’s kitchen. They were a set of inquiries that Night was uncomfortable with answering yet he knew it would be ungentlemanly to respond with the silent treatment, particularly since this kid had exerted all the effort he could on the basis of helping him. Gazing shamefacedly up at the trail of smoke (which, to his delight, had thinned) still emanating from the windows of Alice’s apartment, Night replied, “Yea…it is as I said earlier, I confess to being the culprit behind that fire incident.” Of course, he hadn’t yet grasped the fact that the sort of fire Jem was inquiring about was substantially dissimilar to the petite little thing that he had managed to extinguish in the nick of time.

Diverting his gaze from the smoke, Night gave Jem an apologetic look, “sorry man. It probably got to your sister too.” Of course, Night was talking about the foul smoke and horrifying stench. Yet, having failed to mention the context of what he had disclosed he accidentally made it sound like some tragedy had occurred at the hands of the flames he had ignited. Retreating a few steps back, Night looked at Jem, pondering whether Jem would respond with violence at this news of the crime Night had committed. Still, even if the two were about to fight, Night felt obligated to introduce himself despite the circumstances. “My name is Night, and I am a gentleman! Now who might you be?”

Oh, it was that customary introduction again! Commonly, the person with whom he were conversing would take one glance at his tattered apparel and break into guffawing laughter or disparaging comments on how Night must have a rather elevated ego for thinking so highly of himself. Nonetheless, this presentation of himself as a ‘gentleman’ wasn’t something Night wanted to change. He had even made the effort to acquire a sophisticated vocabulary fitting of the role.

[Lenn]

Jem stared at Night, shock so clearly presented on his face that it seemed comical. Somehow he wasn’t expecting the young man to confirm Jem’s initial suspicions. He immediately began thinking about his family. Jem felt fairly sure that Emma could have gotten out; she was small and clever and Jem had warned her about the fire hazards posed by building so close together when they had first moved to the slums. His parents? Not so much. Jem’s heart pounded angrily when he thought about them, stuck in a stupor caused by their addiction to rouge. They had probably forgotten what a fire was, let alone the fact they had a daughter to care for-- Jem had learned that lesson the hard way several years ago. And if the house really had burned down? Emmie ain’t gonna last a second on the street. The thought of having to play babysitter over his mother and father was horrendous, rivaled only by the more horrible thought of having to drag his younger sister around with him as he searched for work. Nobody would hire someone with a skinny little girl tagging along, even if she did have a cuteness appeal.

“Brotha’, you ain’t pulling my leg, right? That is some serious business, people get hurt in fires! They could die. What happened? Broke a lamp? Doused your floor with oil and dropped a match on it?” Worry twisted into anger and curdled Jem’s usually pleasant voice, and for a moment his usual sense of wit deserted him completely, leaving him stranded with a growing sense of fury.

Resisting the rather strong urge to drop his conversation and simply punch this Night character in the face, he took several deep breaths and consoled himself with the image of the stranger sitting in a jail cell. Jem ran his dirty fingers through sand-colored hair, leaving it in spikes. He then poked Night in the chest with quite a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Gentleman?" Glancing over Night's outlandish attire, which reflected the state of dirt and street rather than finery and mansions, James shook his head in frustration. "You’re naught but a damn arsonist. I’m James," Jem said, purposefully skipping past his nickname, "and it’s good to know your name for when I turn your sorry face in to the cops. That is, after I fetch my sister.” Letting go of Night’s shirt, James began to turn on his heel, fully prepared to stalk off and come to the rescue of Emma, who, God willing, had the good sense to get out of the house when she smelled smoke.

[Rad]

“Brotha’, you ain’t pulling my leg, right? That is some serious business, people get hurt in fires! They could die.”

“Die?” Night had been attentive to Jem’s words right up to that point however upon the mention of one of his worst phobias, his contemplations were instantly thrown into chaotic disarray. As such he completely neglected the lad’s subsequent inquiries and even failed to realize that the entire situation was the product of some unfortunate misunderstanding. To Jem it might have appeared that Night’s silence was only testimony to his guilt yet the reality of the state of affairs was altogether quite dissimilar.

‘Of course! How had he failed to realize that the densely packed apartment complex was probably home to a number of asthmatics? To them the smoke from his cooking experiment was potentially lethal! In addition to that, their financial conditions probably meant they were incapable of affording their life-saving medicine or even Rouge for that matter! Oh how could he be so irresponsible? Was he a murderer now?’ Night had been too engrossed in his morbid train of thought to have heard Jem’s retorts concerning his claims to being a gentleman yet Night’s growing expression of horror and remorse served as the perfect response for the words he’d failed to hear. He was essentially digging his own grave without even realizing it!

Returning his mind to reality, Night just had time to hear the boy introducing himself: "I’m James, and it’s good to know your name for when I turn your sorry face in to the cops. That is, after I fetch my sister.”

‘Sister? Did this mean James’ sister was an asthmatic? That foul smoke wouldn’t kill her, would it? OH GOD WHAT HAD HE DONE??’ Uncertain what action to take, Night reached out a tentative hand to James. What should he do? How would he even have the right to seek forgiveness if he had somehow inadvertently harmed James’ sister? (Whom he presumed to be younger) Especially since James had gone through so much trouble to assist a total stranger like him? The least he could do was spare James the inconvenience of going down to the station by turning himself in.

It was at this moment that James turned on his heels and stalked off. Night could have just let him go and dragged himself down to the police station yet he felt there was something he had to do for James. He felt obligated to make some endeavor at compensating for what he had done even though he understood he would never be forgiven. It was with these deliberations in mind that Night rushed after James, shouting “Please, wait!”

However, as the distance closed between the two, Night’s tripped on a randomly protruding price of pavement and with a yelp he was sent hurtling forward until he crashed into James in what could only be construed as a nasty tackle. The fall had obviously injured Night; after all his rags barely provided any protection at all. Yet, having landed atop James he was significantly less wounded than he could have been.

Not wanting to give James an opportunity to get up and run away (since with Night’s scuffed knees he would now never be able to catch up), Night attempted to detain James in a rather fervent hug. Crying, he pleaded “James, I’m sorry! You’re right, I’m a villain! I’ll take responsibility for everything! I’ll even deliver myself to the authorities! I’ll confess to everything! Please, please just permit me to see your sister so I may…” He couldn’t say it. His planned utterance of ‘ascertain the magnitude of my crime’ just choked in his throat. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that anyone may have died because of his reckless cooking so instead he simply voiced a feeble “…so I may see if she’s alright.”

[Lenn]

Jem had gotten about three feet away before he was tackled by a dark blur, which he realized as he fell was Night. Seconds later Jem barely had time to throw up his arm before the upper part of his body slammed into the pavement. His vision blurred for a moment as his chin connected with the ground. He lay there for a moment, stunned, before he instinctively attempted to get up. Something heavy lay on top of him, making it hard to breath, and Jem's first thought was that he had broken all of his ribs before he remembered that it was just Night. His previous annoyance rushed back. "What," snapped James, "is your problem?!" He tasted blood in his mouth, and wriggled a hand free. Judging by the red on his fingers when he placed them to his stinging mouth, Jem came to the conclusion that he must have bitten his lip when he hit the ground. Apart from an overall ache and skinned knees, nothing seemed to be broken or in critical condition except perhaps his forearm, which was a mess of deep scratches.

Matters were made worse when the sniffling and now scraped-up "gentleman" flung himself at Jem, clinging to his clothes and preventing him from getting to his battered feet. Jem stared at Night. "I can't believe this is happening to me!" he yelled to no one in particular. "Get off me, you damn lunatic," Jem growled, seizing Night's clutching hands and shoving them away with surprising force. Still sitting, Jem's temper flared at this uncalled-for attack, and he raised a hand, moments away from slapping Night across his tear-stained cheek. Anger had blocked out Night's first few sentences, and Jem only caught his last few words, "… please just permit me to see your sister so I may see if she's alright."

Jem froze. There was something about this man that came off almost as a childlike attitude despite the claims to crime he had admitted to; easily upset and quick to beg forgiveness. He clenched his raised hand and slowly lowered it. The genuine earnest expression shown on Night's face confused him, and he felt some of his previous fury wash away, only to be replaced with a sense of urgency. He glanced Night over. Cushioned by Jem's body, he appeared to be in working condition except for, like Jem, a pair of scraped knees, which were it seemed were due to clothes that had the protective strength of tissue paper. Having freed himself from Night's grasping arms, Jem struggled to his feet, resisting the urge to limp. He swiped an arm across his mouth, leaving a streak on his sleeve, and spat on the ground. There was an awkward pause as he deliberated what to do.

"Whatever," Jem finally said, rubbing his eyes in an act of resignation. "I give up. Come along if you want, stay here and pin down folk, I don't care what the hell you do as long as you do it fast and you keep ya' hands off me."

[/size]

[Rad]

“Really? You’ll permit me to come?” Night whimpered, making an effort to clean the tears from his eyes as he rose to his feet. However, he was so emotionally touched by what James was willing to allow that he just couldn’t prevent himself from crying. Running forward, he hugged him as a sign of his gratitude, remembering too late James’ instruction of ‘keep ya' hands off me.’ Instantly unhanding him, Night swiftly apologized “Oh no! My sincere apologies, James! I forgot! I’m so sorry I’ve inconvenienced you! If there’s anything I can do for your family please tell me!”

He hoped James wouldn’t tell him to jump off a cliff. Cliffs were a rarity in this part of the city and there was no guarantee that he would survive the leap. Nonetheless, on the grounds of his honor as a ‘gentleman’ Night felt he would be obligated to comply with whatever demand was stated. Shifting awkwardly on his feet, Night gazed expectantly at James. Now that James had agreed to Night accompanying him, would it be best to follow him like a stalker, walk beside him even though he didn’t deserve to, or attempt to run ahead by guessing their destination so that James wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by being seen with a criminal.

“Um…do you live in this building?” Night inquired, pointing a finger at the edifice of the series of apartments that he and Alice inhabited. The dilapidation was disheartening, and instantly made Night feel ashamed for making such a negative assumption. “Ah! I don’t mean to imply that you’re impoverished or anything! I just…thought that maybe your house would be in close proximity with the source of the fire…” Oh jeez, he’d neglected the fact that the wind had probably carried the smoke a great distance, James might not even be a slummer. “AH! I’m so sorry sir! I didn’t mean to insult you! I’ve never had the privilege of conversing with anyone outside the slums…unless it’s my boss but my boss has a habit of interacting with his employees. He’s so kind and…oh no! I went off on a tangent!”

“I’m a horrible person!” Night exclaimed, covering his face with his hands, crying again. He was convinced that today he had become an abomination who didn’t deserve to exist. Firstly he had repaid Alice’s kindness by burning all her food to a crisp, then the smoke had probably choked a few asthmatics to death and now he was blatantly (at least in his opinion) insulting James to whom he SHOULD instead be showing the utmost respect. How had he descended to such a level was beyond him yet he supposed being newly branded a criminal it was only natural for him to slowly lose his mind and become an illogical brute. He had heard that one’s conscience could drive one insane and that certainly seemed to be true at the moment.

“I’m sorry I’m having a mental breakdown! I’m sorry the gas stove hates me! I’m sorry for burning half a perfectly edible chicken into inedible ashes! I’m sorry I couldn’t stand the prospect of having to clean up all that burnt stuff with that horrible stench in the air! I’m sorry for my negligence and that the smoke from my mistake may have harmed your sister! I’m so sorry! I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I am so sorry!” Kneeling down on the sidewalk, trying his best to stop whimpering, Night clasped his hands in front of him as he pleaded, “please, when I’m safely locked away, please look after Alice. I know you hate me, but please…this isn’t her fault. She needs someone to take care of her so she won’t be alone so often. I know she doesn’t say anything but she needs someone whose shoulder she can lean on when she’s feeling down.”

[Lenn]

Jem, who was holding his sleeve to his bleeding mouth in an attempt to staunch the flow, eyed the building Night had pointed to. “No, that's not my building. It’s up the street to the left a bit,” he said tersely. “And don’t bother with your fancy apologies, I’m a slummer. There used to be a time,” Jem continued, “where I lived in a real house and drank from glass cups, but those days are quite gone,” he finished, his tone indicating he didn’t want to talk about it any more. “But yah, my place is close to here, but I don’t see any fire yet.” With a mixture of suspicion and worry crossing over his face, Jem scanned the buildings for the telltale flicker of flames. Nothing. There was a pregnant pause. “And don’t call me ‘sir’.”

As Night exploded into his ‘mental breakdown,’ Jem dropped his stained sleeve in shock. Several words popped into his mind. Chicken? Stench? Smoke harming Emmie? Alice? Jem put up his hands in an effort to stop Night’s words. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “This whole thing was you burning a chicken? You were talking about smoke reaching my lil’ sis?” He stared at Night, disbelieving. “Smoke ain’t gonna hurt her. The fire I was imagining was made of flame. Flame. That burns things. Flames are a fire. Smoke blowin’ in the damn breeze is not a fire.” Jem’s relief was so tangible that it felt like a barrel was being lifted off his chest, and he instinctively took a deep breath, even though there wasn’t a need to. Emma’s okay.

A moment later, Jem scowled, but the expression never reached his eyes and looked oddly out of place on his otherwise relieved face. “Why the hell were you so upset then? You can’t honestly have thought that…” the smell of smoke would kill anyone, he thought, but he shook his head slightly. This Night probably believed that it did, and that he was a gentleman, and that the moon was made out of cheese. Jem sighed, his arm still stinging.

“Look, I’m sorry for snappin’ at you before,” he said grudgingly. “I s’pose it was a misunderstanding… on my part,” he concluded awkwardly. Awkward didn’t usually happen to Jem Turner, but then again this didn’t usually happen either. Jem disliked apologizing for something that technically wasn’t his fault, but he felt that this situation merited an apology; if one of them had to say it, he would rather it be him with a brief and short one than Night, who would probably end up groveling at his feet and making even more of a scene than had already been made. The thought of anyone kneeling before him, a dirty and now bloody streeter with no green whatsoever cracked his serious expression into a smile that instantly killed the tension.

Snickering in a way that was surprisingly likable, Jem turned around, ready to leave this craziness behind and head to work, but suddenly he remembered something Night had said. His brow creased as he looked back at Night. “Who’s this Alice? Is she your babe?” He almost laughed again at the thought of any girl wanting to shack up with a fellow like Night. I guess he has the gentleman thing goin’ for him.

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[Rad]

“Yes, well there were flames that, at its climax, reached up…THIS big!” Night elaborated, gesturing with his hands to show that the fire had engulfed almost the entire span of the frying pan and obtained a height slightly taller than an average chicken. “You sure ‘smoke ain’t gonna hurt her’?” He probably should have refrained from mimicking James’ accent yet he was caught in the grasp of some childish whim and before he could shut his mouth he had uttered those words in what he considered to be an exceedingly fascinating accent. Hoping James wouldn’t notice what he had just said, Night continued, “I’ll take full responsibility if she was harmed in any way!” He wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly but it sounded like a gentlemanly thing to say. “The stench from the smoke was so horrifying that I had to evacuate and…and…oh no it might impair her sense of smell!”

Night was panicking again; he didn’t want to be branded a criminal for the remainder of his life yet if he had inadvertently made anyone suffer then he was sure that, as a gentleman, he MUST acknowledge that he was to blame. He also regretted the fact that he must have somehow reminded James of a former more affluent life-style. Attempting to remedy the melancholy that he was convinced must now be plaguing James, Night said, “Oh, and I’m sorry for your real place and your glass cups. I’ve only ever known the life of a homeless vagrant before Alice generously took me in. Life has only been improving for me recently so I…I…can’t say I don’t empathize with what you’re experiencing since I’ve lost thing of even more significance than material goods but I…I…can’t say I know what it’s like to have been plucked from a life of opulence either…”

He felt slightly nervous conversing with James now. What if the youth had been royalty prior to the Wall Street crash? Oh dear, he was unfamiliar with the proper procedure of addressing royalty. Should he refer to the boy standing before him as ‘your Majesty’, ‘your Highness’ or ‘Prince James’? As he was contemplating this dilemma, Night’s eyes strayed to the network of scratches crisscrossing James’ forearms. Eh? Was that there before? He was almost absolutely certain that they weren’t…in which case were they the result of his accidental assault on James? “AH! I’m sorry, Sir, er…I mean Prince James…this is all my doing. I…”

Watching as James turned away, Night wondered if James was preparing to walk away again. Well, if that was the case Night would trail him with the eagerness of a lost puppy that had just discovered a potential master! After all, it was the duty of a gentleman to tend to all the needs and wishes of his king, or, in this instance, his prince. Oh yes, he was quite convinced of this illusion he had fabricated for himself and James. Briefly, he wondered where the Prince would be heading on a Sunday and if there would be anything he’ll need Night’s assistance with.
However, before he could arrive at any set conclusion, James had returned his attention back to Night, voicing an exceptionally odd question that instantly baffled him.

“Who’s this Alice? Is she your babe?”

“Yes, Alice is a babe but what does it mean when you ask if she’s my babe?” Thinking aloud without meaning to, Night looked at James with a thoroughly befuddled expression on his face. “Alice is the most awesome and altruistic person on this earth. She salvaged me from a life living on the streets and I will forever be indebted to her. Everything I have done from that time to the present has all been done for her!” At this, he became serious, passionately clenching his right hand into a fist in front of him in what he hoped served as a display of devotion. “But what do you mean when you ask if she’s my babe?” Night’s physiognomy had reverted to its original clueless look now. He was genuinely confused by what James was asking.

[Lenn]

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jem sighed, rolling hazel eyes. “And don’t ever quote me again, you make me sound like a redneck.” It wasn’t his fault that his once clear voice had degenerated into the drawl of the streets, a way of slang and talk that fit his style of speech perfectly, even if he didn’t realize it. Jem, who had barely attended school since the age of thirteen, knew that smelling something awful wouldn’t actually impair your sense of smell. Suddenly he found himself wondering about Night and where he had come from, but he bit back his questions. If Jem had noticed one thing about Night, it was that once he started talking, it was difficult to get him to stop. “A life of opulence?” Jem snorted, that might be pushing it a bit, but he let the comment slide.

Jem was seconds away from correcting Night on his title, which in reality was nothing, but he stopped. “Skip the ‘sir,’” he said airily, “just ‘prince’ will do.” Jem was awfully good at keeping a straight face, a talent which he employed during poker games and moments like this. Laughing underneath his serious façade, Jem wondered if Night really believed his was royalty. How can this fella’ survive on the streets when he’s so friggin’ gullible? The question swirled in his mind, but no answers surfaced. It probably had to do with the Alice he had mentioned before. Ah, so he stays with her, Jem assumed, but his conclusion didn’t actually clear up any of the questions he had asked Night previously.

“Your babe,” Jem repeated, slightly confused. Didn’t Night know what he was talking about? “Do you shack up with her?” Figuring that if Night didn’t know what ‘babe’ meant, he probably wouldn’t know the term ‘shack up’ either, so Jem set about revising his question into more simple terms. “Is,” Jem said patiently and slowly as if talking to a child, “Alice… your… babe? Your chick? Lover?” He threw in extra emphasis on the last word. Night definitely had a way of making things a lot more uncomfortable than they had to be, he thought ruefully, feeling just the tiniest touch of a blush color his cheeks. Grow up, James, he told himself. You’re seventeen, not like ya never kissed a girl either. The flush faded away momentarily as he waited expectantly for Night’s answer. If Night and this Alice did have a relationship, Jem planned on letting her know that this man should not be allowed to cook, period. If they didn’t, he would escort Night back to whoever she was, drop him off and slam the door, hopefully forever.

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[Rad]

“Chick? I don’t own any chickens…”Night mumbled uncertainly, oblivious to how awkward the situation had become. However, with the next phrase he soon became cognizant of his rather embarrassing errors. “EH? LOVER?!” He exclaimed with a look of complete befuddlement on his face as his complexion adopted a rather rosy glow. “Heavens! What are you asking? Of course not! Alice is out of my league, seriously! It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to even consider such a ludicrous thing! She’s more like…like…” ‘Mum’ wasn’t the right word; his feelings for her were more like admiration, adoration, debt, duty, idolization… “She…she…she’s my…i…i…i…idol.” He managed to stammer out at last, breathing a sigh of relief now that James’ misconceptions would, with a bit of luck, be cleared up.

“What’s your intended destination today, Prince? It’s Sunday!” Night stated, spreading his arms out wide and not quite aware of how obvious the day of the week was. Eying the pieces of cloth wrapped around James’ palms, Night’s imagination was thrown into frenzy. Oh he absolutely was enjoying himself today! He had found a ‘Prince’ to fuel his fantasy of being a gentleman. He was confident that a vast multitude of adventures awaited the two of them! Now what could be the purpose of those strange additions to James’ attire? Did people need some form of protection when wielding a sword? Night didn’t know but that was his best guess.

“Oh, are you off to combat the forces of evil with your trusty sword? Defending the very citizens of this city who have ousted you from your throne, oh how noble of you! Yet, I surmise I should have expected this from a Prince! Oh, how you must lurk in the shadows, protecting and upholding that thing we call ‘justice’. A true modern-day Robin Hood! May I please request your permission to join you in your endeavors, my Prince? Rest assured that I shall not let you down! As a gentleman, I give my word that I shall be an individual whose loyalty and obedience surpasses even that of a humble dog! You have my word!” Such was the intensity and passion of Night’s performance that it attracted the attention of a significant number of passersby.

Gradually, a circle formed around the duo, many of the observers believing that they were witnessing an enactment of an ancient play. “Heh, street performers.” An onlooker muttered, throwing a few coins at Night and James. Yet Night was oblivious to it all! He didn’t even realize that America was a democracy that had never had a reigning sovereign. He was, as was typical of his disposition, too enthralled with his little game of pretend.

[Lenn]

Jem raised his eyebrows. "Idol?" Jem had a feeling that usually men didn't idolize women, unless they were part of a weird cult or were stalking them. He suddenly had a pang of sympathy for Alice. It must be tough dealing with Night all day. "Calm down, I was just wondering," snapped Jem, annoyed at Night's reaction. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' would'a done."

"Um, well, I was going to work," Jem told Night meaningfully, "but now I can't, I look ridiculous." He gestured to his ripped pants and bleeding arm. "It makes a bad impression on future bosses." Jem was going to tell Night that he wasn't actually a prince and that he was just playing with Night's head, but he ended up laughing at Night's speech, a cheerful sound that rung out into the street, and the thought slipped out of his mind. This was so ridiculous that Jem honestly didn't know what to do. He couldn't possibly drag Night around with him the whole day! He'd go insane! And when evening came, what was he supposed to do with him? Take him home? The thought turned his stomach. The second coins started to hit the sidewalk, his whole mindset changed. This could actually prove to be worth his time after all. Jem, who changed personalities and accents as often as clothes in his attempts to score work, had no problem acting a bit. "Night," Jem said loftily, doffing an invisible top hat. "Come join me." He grabbed the man's coat and pulled Night in close. "Play along with me, you," he said softly. "We're gonna make this worthwhile." Letting go of Night's jacket, Jem reached into his pants pocket and whipped out a pocketwatch, which he carried with him all the time. It looked ordinary, made of shiny tin on a metal chain, but Jem held it up as if it were diamonds. "This watch," he said loudly, "was a gift from the Queen of America." Jem gave a wink to the audience, and turned back to Night. "Here, trusty knight, take this as a gift from me, your prince." Jem slung the pocketwatch around Night's neck.

Looking around for something to continue his 'show' with, Jem's eyes fell upon a few sticks, which were leaning against an alley wall. He seized one, brandishing it in the air. "And now," Jem said confidently, "we go to vanquish evil in this world." He glanced at Night. "But do you know the art of fencing?" At this point, Jem took the honor of swishing the stick back and forth, waving it at a lady in the front of a circle. "I'll protect you, mademoiselle," he said seriously, giving her a sparkling smile. She giggled. Not waiting for Night's answer, Jem forced his face into an expression of utmost sadness. "Oh dear, no sword skills? That can be easily fixed. You can spar with me," Jem grinned, "and then together we will bring justice to New York!" He tossed a stick in Night's direction.

Jem had been to the cinema once and seen a movie about knights and cowboys. He put one arm behind his back like he remembered the knight had done, and held the stick out with the other, its tip wavering slightly in the air. "En garde!" Jem told Night, hoping that he would realize that this was all a game and not accidentally stab Jem or something of the like.

[Rad]

“Play along with me, you. We’re gonna make this worthwhile.”

Night didn’t particularly comprehend what such a command entailed but he was altogether quite thrilled at having been accepted as Prince James’ ‘knight’. Furthermore, of course every act of heroism was worthwhile! He didn’t really have to be told. If he was to maintain the role of the gallant knight who never strayed from his Prince’s side he absolutely should be able to understand a concept as simple as that. However, in Night’s childish mind the whole situation was far from being a mere performance; to him it was all too real.

As Night accepted the pocket watch, his eyes sparkled with anticipation and mirth. He pranced around, inadvertently displaying it for the audience to see so that they may participate in his excitement. However, Night didn’t need to feign anything! He was a flamboyant drama queen (or should it be ‘drama-knight’) even on an ordinary day and this display was only in acquiesce with his typical behavior. Oh he really was a burdensome handful at times!

To him this every-day item instantly became a priceless treasure, a gleaming diamond timepiece that represented his duties to his Prince. Finally composed enough to stay still, Night knelt down on one knee as if proposing, held his hands to his heart and said, “Dear Prince, it would be an honor to serve you! I hereby vow to commit myself to you, body and soul. My loyalty to you shall be eternal! I pledge this to you with the utmost sincerity on the basis of my pride as a gentleman!” At this utterance a raucous applause erupted from the assembled crowd. They were enjoying the show; to them both kids were such talented performers. Again, a few coins were tossed into the clearing where Night & James stood.

“Unfortunately, I know not the art of fencing but I shall put my all into studying and mastering the art!” Night proclaimed, grasping the proffered stick. Intent on impressing James; his master and Prince, Night lunged at him, swinging the stick done with great force and shouting out “Hiyah!” as he did so. He hadn’t watched any movies so wasn’t aware that sword fights were usually silent apart from the sound of clashing blades. Furthermore, he was unaware of the proper way of fighting with a weapon of any sort and didn’t have any idea of how much strength was really required to deliver a hit.