A Fresh Town, A Fresh Start! (Solo)

[Mico]

Book I: The Weary Lifestyle of a Fisherman
Part A: A Fresh Town, A Fresh Start!

Step One: A Dream, A Fish, and A Spider

Twitch.

The seas were tossed. Rain fell in violent sheets of thick liquid needles, drilling into the boat’s deck to a hellish drumbeat. Lightning flashed overhead, cacophonous thunder following split-seconds later. Tears fell with the rain, mixed with anger, sadness and a consistent flow of blood.

Another twitch.

A man's hands clenched over a rigor-stricken corpse, its life force gone in exchange for the baby's. The child laid on the drenched deck, arms and legs flailing gently, eyes cold and unfeeling, oblivious. It smiled at the crackling lightning, the dark clouds, the great waves, the rain.

The twitch demands your attention!

Everything melted; became bright- a shore, trees, water, all coated in a sunshine-gloss. The surface of the water glistened, sun rays shimmering across the clear water, piercing deep into the river’s calm, cool currents. The sun hung itself in the sky: not quite midday. Warm. Mico was suddenly standing, finger clamped down on the reel, tugging back the fishing pole a split second after bobber plunked under the river’s surface.

AHA!

The reel spun at Mico’s whim. He tugged his weapon of choice expertly, the captured creature hardly having a chance. It leapt from the river, scales sparkling in the light momentarily, before it clumsily returned to the water. The battle was over, and the fish knew its better as it was lifted free of its river home, wagging its body in a last futile effort to escape.

‘Hmm, well, not my best, but not bad,’ Mico mused, adopting a skeptical grin. ‘Certainly worth the effort.’ He placed the fish in a bucket filled with water. The thing barely fit next to the other fish he’d caught that day, but this was only temporary, anyway. He opened up the fish-box, a patented family designed container, specifically for transporting the catch, removing two slat-shaped cartridges from its sides and filling them with water from the river. Once they were filled, he held the two pieces close to each other, focusing, freezing the contents of each, then replacing them in the fish-box. These would keep the fish cool and fresh, or at least that was the idea.

He placed all the fish he’d caught that day into the box, counting them as he went, then picked up his camp site, taking the fish jerky he’d left on a rock hours earlier in the sun and slipping it into a pouch. Not too much; just enough to get him to town. The guard in Jadet had said that this Underwood place wasn’t far off in this direction. Yeah, he’d been vague, and it had been a few days, but Mico was in no hurry, and the man also said there was a river, so Mico hadn’t really cared; as long as there was living water, he’d survive. He packed his belongings, tethering them to his garment where required, then began his walk.

Yes, the last town he'd spent time in was nice, but he had to leave. No, he wasn't a criminal. Not technically.
...
'Alright, yes, technically I WAS a criminal there, especially in accordance to the rules of the womens' bath house, but I'll turn over a new leaf,' he thought, grinning widely. 'I bet this time I won't have to accidentally peek; there'll just be beautiful women everywhere.' He continued pondering his dream town, jingling the coin bag in his sash. He frowned, finding it rather lacking, coming back to reality and hoping that the fish he’d caught would fetch a nice amount of coin.

Sadly enough, though, fishing wasn’t exactly appreciated in this continent. They had plenty of livestock that didn’t require the fine-tuned effort of a line and tackle, and if they wanted fish they could commission a fishing boat to catch oodles of them, or just string a net across a river.
Sure, Mico owned a net. ‘Every respectable fisherman owns a net. But, nets seem like the cheater’s way out. You can only catch a real fish with an honest line and hook.’ And that’s just what Mico marketed: ‘GENUINE, Real, Fresh and Honest-Caught Fish!’ But it seemed that a genuine catch just wasn’t worth it anymore when you could get a big old crate of fish from a netting company that's "JUST AS GOOD." What a shame.

‘Back when pops was alive and around, those were the days. Pops could bring our amazing catches to town and trade them for everything we ever needed. And then he left. Yeah, it was hard, back then, living on the coast, afraid to leave home for fear of ransack, losing everything I had. I guarded that place with my life for pops. Old news now. I just hope their memorial’s still there…’ Mico’s thought ended and he found himself face-to-face with a spider in its web, a hairs-breadth away from his nose.

“Well, aren’t you a looker,” Mico said sarcastically, taking a step back from the small, prickly looking creature, its legs shifting lightly as it attained a better grip against the slight breeze. Its web stretched all the way across the path, anchoring strands crisscrossing the tinier sticky ones. “Huh, no one gives you enough credit for the work you do,” he sighed, awing at the masterwork. “But I think I’m going to have to relocate you. Any passerby through here probably wouldn’t think twice before chopping your work to bits and stomping you into the dust.”

The spider just rotated a bit, its mandibles flexing. “Well, I apologize for this,” Mico said, delicately placing his fingers at the edges of the center-piece of the web and dislodging it from its anchors. “But if I didn’t do this, you’ll end up dead. Keep on building.” He forged into the woods a bit away from the path, the spider panicking on its now earth-quake-like web as Mico placed it against a tree. The spider crawled off quickly, seemingly grateful for the lapse of the quake, and immediately began to rebuild in the crutch of a branch.

Mico returned to the path, ducking the remains of the creature’s web and continuing his treck.

Special thanks to a good friend for helping me get started on my directive. :D

Oh. And uh. Mods... uh, little help... I messed up the name of the thread <_<; should be "The Weary Lifestyle of a Fisherman", not "A Fresh Town, A Fresh Start!" ... if you could change that, I will be very grateful. x.x;;

[Mico]

Part A, Step Two: More Dreams and a New Friend.

Cool morning air carried the thick scent of smoke through the open windows and door of the cabin. The smoke wasn't alone, either. It carried an even more arousing smell: bacon!

'Bacon!? That means pops went to the market!'

Mico galloped out of his bed, bounding over the unorganized objects of his home, practically tripping over the doorway.

"Pops? I smell bacon," he called, looking about, quickly spotting the fire and jogging over.

Hendricose sat over the flame, doctoring a thin slab of stone over the flames with the strips of delicious flesh sizzling nicely over it. "This is a celebratory breakfast, bud," he grinned wildly. "I finished Mirisa II!"

"She floats and everything!?"

"Well, yeah, otherwise she wouldn't be finished, would she? Just went out yesterday to get the rest of the parts while you were off at the creek, there. Figured I'd surprise ye."

Mico sat down with his father. "So- first fishing trip soon, yeah?"

"Not soon. We'll need to teach you how to work the thing, first, and that'll take time."

* * *

"Very good! Bud, you're fit to be a regular sailor, now," Hendricose slapped Mico's back heartily as they pulled up to the dock and the young man wrapped a rope around one of the dock's posts.

"Thanks, pops. So we're going out, right? We've got to; you said we would, and you're damn good for your word."

There was a pause before the man answered. "Mico, I'm afraid you can't come out with me just yet." Hendricose stared adamantly. "'Till now, we haven't gone far away from home, and when we go out fishing, we'll be gone much farther and much longer than we have been, or rather ... I have been. And I'll need someone to stay here and watch over everything so that nothing horrible befalls our home. Understand?"

Another pause. Mico wasn't one to question his father. He knew better, and he had more than enough respect for the man. This all seemed rather selfish, though. Yeah, someone needed to stay, but it had to be Mico? He let out a sigh. "Yeah, pops. I've gotcha. I'll make sure everything's protected."

"Good! I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Will you help me pack tonight?"

Mico didn't answer; he hopped off of the boat in a downcast manner. Tomorrow'd be the first time he'd be away from his father for more than a day, too. He went to the base of the dock, picking up a crate of fishing supplies and stacking them in the boat's hold.

"'Atta boy, Mico," Hendricose smiled, following his son and stacking supplies.

* * *

"Alright, everything's set, pops," Mico smiled, re-knotting a piece of rigging.

"Great work, bud. Great work," Hendricose congratulated the young man, patting him on the back. "I'll be back in less'n a week, alright? I promise you that."

"Promise is a promise, pops. I'll hold you to it."

The boat shoved off, Hendricose' powerful shoulders and arms bulging as he rowed into deeper waters where the sails would eventually take over, his heart-felt smile perpetually plastered on his face.

Mico waved, tears springing from his eyes as if he'd never see his father again.



An awful flash of light ended the scene. The early morning sunrise that his father rowed himself out to became a warm, sunny day as Mico awoke in the shade of a tree some yards away from the path. The shade had moved some, and now the light from the sun was shining on the reel of his fishing rod, reflecting into the man's eyes. He gritted his teeth, waving at the little spot of light.

A little rest from the open path had become an hour-or-so long nap.

He stood up and picked up the fish box, shaking it. A light slosh told him that the cooling slats were melted; the thing had fallen into the sunlight. Thankfully, when he opened it up, the fish hadn't spoiled. He refroze the slats and slid them back into place, shaking off the sleepiness left over from his nap and picking up his belongings.

Back on the path, a piece of jerky in his hand, his footsteps clicked on the well-worn ground, scuffing every so often through a patch of dry grass. 'Traveling is lonely business,' he thought, sighing and chewing.

Up ahead, a small, dark figure huddled itself half under a bush at the path's side. Mico squinted to get a better look, but he couldn't make it out. He quickened his pace, slowing down as he reached the bush, and kneeling a bit.

It was a young black cat, apparently not too fond of the heat, slumped slightly and panting. Mico approached it cautiously, in the case that it was wild, but all it did in response is pant and stare, not seeming to care whether or not Mico was close to it or not.

"Hey, kitty cat," he cooed. "Y'alright? Thirsty?"

It seemed to react to that. He pulled the water skin from his sash and dribbled a pool of water into his cupped hand, offering it over. The hand was licked dry in a matter of seconds, and Mico began to pour another handful when the animal got up and buried its face in one of Mico's sash pockets, withdrawing with a chunk of his fish jerky.

After that, the cat sat, pleasantly gnawing on the food, lapping water from Mico's hand. When it seemed to have had its fill, Mico stood up. It followed suit.

"You take care. Better get home; some lucky owner must be missing you, bud," he said, getting ready to turn and continue his walk.

The cat stared a moment, then followed the man, sticking to his shadow and avoiding direct sun rays.

Mico didn't take notice. After a while, he glanced back over his shoulder to find the cat still following. He laughed a little. 'Guess things aren't lonely for now,' he mused. "I'll call you Henry," he said as the cat walked at his side.

[Mico]

Part A, Step Three: Ambush!


Mico stopped a few times to play with the cat and feed it water. It had been several hours since he'd found the hapless Henry, and it still followed. Mico had seen plenty of cats in his days traveling, but none that were so attached to him the way this one was.

Henry was full of energy. The heat no longer seemed to be a problem now that the cat had water. He pranced about, swiping at insects that flew by and generally making a kitten of himself.

The path wound on and the sun was readying itself for its dip under the horizon. 'Evening,' Mico pondered, worried. 'I thought I'd have reached the town by now.' Clouds began to roll in around the sun, becoming colored with its fiery setting rays, seeming to paint a picture across the sky.

He shook the fish box gently, then stopped to remove the cooling slats and repeat yet again his preservative ritual of freezing and replacing. Henry watched in silence, licking his chops at the scent of fresh fish. "I'm going to have to guard my fish extra well with you around, aren't I," Mico observed, grinning wryly. Henry replied with a short "mew!" and then lost interest as Mico snapped the lid back on and a dragonfly whirred by.

The evening cooled off considerably; the pair was grateful. And Mico imagined that the town couldn't be too far off, either; the path was worn even more here than it had been before.

And then the noise came. A strange twanging noise, followed by what sounded to be a curse. Alien, yet oddly familiar to Mico. Henry sat on his haunches, glancing about, not alarmed but not comfortable, either.

Twang!

Again it sounded, this time followed by a good "THUD." A stick buried its end in the dirt road a few feet in front of the pair.

"Theah we go, tha's a good'n," a grumbly voice shouted out. "Na' y'all won' be a'movin' at all from then that spot, 'else one o' me stakes'll end up in yer knees!"

Mico looked around for the source of the voice, his eyes focused now to the sudden threat. "Who's there?"

"N'ah, I told yeh, ye won't be needin' ta move, eh! Ye're on me path that I be ownin', 'ere, so ye'd be prepared teh pay oop!"

Mico'd never heard such poor-spoken tongue in a civilized individual, which led him to the conclusion that this person, human or not, didn't live by civil life. He reached for his bow in the same motion that he crouched and placed his bags on the ground. "This is a public path, to my knowledge, used by all who need it, and I won't be paying you anything at all," he replied, his face all business.

"Don' make me stake yah! I'll give ye a good stakin, I promise it!" The familiar twang sounded again and another stick buried itself just a few inches from Mico's foot.

He jumped, grasping his foot dramatically, calling out "Ooh, oww, you got me! You got me!" And as soon as he did, a not-so-tall looking humanoid bounded out of a thicket nearby carrying a short bow and hollering.

"Oy! Oyo, there! Now be droppin' yer shinies and yer val'bles!"

Mico dropped his act, planted both feet on the ground and fluidly slid an arrow from its quiver and drew it back against the bowstring, training it, and let it loose at the small man now only ten feet away.

The arrow thunked into the earth at his feet and he jumped in surprise as Mico knocked another arrow to the bow. "Errh, eh, well, y'see, I thought ye was a pal o' mine, an' I were jus', how ye say, eh, pullin' a joke! Yeha! Tha's it." He smiled toothily, baring several gaps.

Mico recognized the little highway-man as a goblin. "Bring your weapon and my arrow over here or I'll put this arrow into your head," he growled sternly.

"No needa jump o'er anythin' like tha', eh!?" he cried, slowly yanking the arrow from the dirt and holding it and his crude bow above his head, walking over. "Like ah said, jus' a wee joke! A joke!" He put the equipment down at Mico's feet, the longbow still trained on the small man's forehead.

"Step back, then," Mico said, and when the Innari retreated a few feet, he knelt, replacing his arrows in their quiver and his bow on his back. He wedged the short bow into his stash, then beckoned the wee fellow closer. "So why're you out here, all alone? Where's your clan?"

"They's, well, eh, they don' like me ver' much, t'be sure, eh," he grumbled, glancing around as if they'd hear. "They dun kicked me out, saiz I'm too diff'rent, jus' 'cause I speak the 'uman tongue so good." He paused. "Amon'other things."

"Outcast, eh? Walk with me. It's good to have a little conversation." Mico kept walking, Henry sticking close to his side.

The little man hesitated, then, deciding that the bow was worth it to him, he worked his little legs to catch up.

"Name's Mico, here," Mico nodded at the Innari.

"Err, Landry," he replied, displaying his toothy grin again.

"Tell you what, Landry. Let's be pals for a little while, you and I. Henry and I were heading to town. How far is it?"

[Mico]

Part A: Step 4: Stories and Plans of Grandeur


Tiring. That's what the walk was. And Landry was a chatterbox. A particularly loud chatterbox. He told grand tales of how he was the best hunter and the best farmer and the best of just about everything he could possibly be the best at in his tribe, and he explained his exploits in grand, broken Tradespeak that was hardly understandable, but Mico continued to listen and nod in comprehension. Henry just simply continued to walk by Mico's side.

The sun had set and the moon was out, now, accompanied by its army of stars, which all lit up the path in unison. The sight was one to behold.

The sound of running water reached Mico's ears and he immediately recognized it: the river he'd fished from earlier, the Firewiner. As soon as he began to mention it, the Innari interrupted his stories of grandeur to mention the river.

"Town's jus' a wee bit pas' the riv'r, there, eh," he said in his broken tradespeak.

The waters glistened in the moonlight, dark and somewhat foreboding. Mico knew the river, though; nothing too dangerous lurked in there, at least not for him. "There's a fjord, right?"

"Well 'course thur's a fjord! Yuh, sure!" the Innari exclaimed, then added, "what's a fjord, ag'in?"

Mico sighed and walked about in search for a long stick, finding one near a lushly growing clump of grass, then walked to the river's edge where the path left off into gravelly stones. He took a few steps in, Henry following by hopping onto the man's back and climbing to his shoulders.

Taking a few more steps in, Mico prodded at the bottom to make sure it was shallow enough to continue crossing.

The river seemed calmer here than it had been where he'd fished. He beckoned for Landry to follow; in most spots, there was a stone one could stand on that would limit the water to a human's ankles. As for the rest, Mico could help. It was slow going for a human to cross, but by the time they were at the other side, Landry had a new glow of accomplishment and fearlessness and swung into new stories of out-of-proportion wonder and grand battles with sea monsters.

As he told his stories, Mico refroze his fishbox for the umpteenth time. It was second nature by now, after years of practice.

The group continued on. Henry slept on Mico's shoulder; Landry talked; and Mico thought.

His thoughts revolved around life itself, what it held for him. His only real talents were fishing and cooking, which were great for survivability, sure, but life so far had been rather boring. There's the momentary euphoric feeling when one catches a prized fish, and the glorious taste of a well cooked meal but there was no true glory in either. Mico had seen plenty of guards and warriors in his travel, heroes even. They were remembered and revered, often even feared by the average person. A fisherman or a cook... wouldn't be remembered, wouldn't make a new notch on the line of history itself.

Mico remembered a tale his father used to tell him of his ancestors, the Levis of old, who used their Levis Arte for the purpose of battle somehow. He said that his father named him for one of the great Levis warriors, Hendricose Kor Levitas, that the greatest of the Levis were christened with the last name "Levitas" instead of "Levis." And Mico's own father had given him that name at birth... and what did he have to show for it in the eyes of his ancestors? Mediocre marksmanship? He sneered at the thought, ashamed.

'That's it, then,' Mico thought, a renewed smile on his face. 'I'll train hard and master the arts of weaponry and become a hero, thus reviving my family name in history.' He grinned, removing his water skin from his sash, cooling it, and taking a drink. 'And the first stop once I get a decent rest in town is the library if they've got one.'

Mico recalled again his father's teachings, how he'd only taught Mico the bare basics of the Levis Arte, but that the scholars of the family line had written tomes of the Arte that were enchanted and strewn across the world. Mico made yet another vow: 'I'll even unite the books and read from them, gain the full power of my ancestors!'

...and with that, the group continued to walk, the Innari continued to talk, and the night continued to darken.

[Mico]

Part A: Step 5: Depressing Dreams; Uplifting Scent.

Days went by. Everything was quiet and lonely, dulled, drab, boring. Depressing. Cool waves lapped at the dock's pegs. Even the fish seemed depressed; none were biting.

Mico grumbled incomprehensibly, staring out at the horizon, fishing pole in hand. He felt the twitch of his bait fish attempting to get itself free, almost mistaking it for a bite. His stomach rumbled.

* * *

Late breakfast. Might as well be brunch. It didn't matter. 'Your week's up, Pops. You should be back,' Mico thought, his expression souring further.

* * *

A month rolled by, Mico painfully staking out each day with the same routine. He fished, ate, practiced the Levis Arte or archery, fished some more, then ate again and went to sleep, all the while watching the ocean for any sign of his father.

Today had a strange aura though- something was going to happen.
Sometime during Mico's lunch time practice routine, something crackled and fell in the cabin. He went to investigate.

A parchment rolled itself from the box that had fallen from the ceiling supports, apparently deroosted by a draft in the ceiling. Judging from the size of the box, it had been precariously perched in the first place and had been bound to fall.

He picked up the parchment, scanning it quickly, and grinned.

Something swished in the night - something beyond the chirp of crickets and the whistle of wind, and Mico awoke, glancing about, looking for the source of the noise.

The Innari was gone, the feint rustling being Landry's short legs hustling through the brush. Mico felt his coin pouch - not any lighter, and then patted about for his belongings. Everything was there except for the shortbow he'd taken from the little man.

They'd decided to rest outside the town's limits for the night. It seemed that the guards were out in force and the group would end up seeming suspicious arriving at night and walking about. The torches of the guards could be seen glowing and moving about the streets. It would only be a few minutes' walk the next morning.

Mico rested his head and fell back asleep.

The schematics were perfect. Mico got to work on them immediately, gathering materials, making rope, looking for extra canvas and nails.

The parchment was the spirit of his father's boat- the manual of creation, and the box was filled with tools and supplies. After a week of preparation and supply gathering, the young man began working on the vessel, and he completed it quickly and easily. After taking a look around his home, however, he found himself unable to leave.

'What if Pops gets back and I'm not here?' he found himself thinking. 'What if someone comes and takes this place?' Questions rolled through Mico's mind like a river.

A few months became a year. No sign of Hendricose. No sign of his return.

Yet still, Mico waited. He fine tuned his boat, christened Heart-Seeker, as the year melted by.

He waited. Long. Depressing. Crushing. The realization that his father wouldn't return hit him. The man was gone forever. Yet Mico was still anchored to his home, the place he'd spent his entire life, the only thing that was familiar to him. He fished, ate, and practiced day in and day out in silence. There was no one to talk to. Bleak. Maddening.

Mico's voice came out in savage screams as he struck at objects in lonely rage, the most noise he'd made in a year and a half's time. The bark of a tree was spattered in red, blood running from the slits in the man's knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his fists to the pain.

Hours later. Hands wrapped, attempting to fish off the dock. The line snapped for the umpteenth time, Mico unable to reel with his handicap. He rose and left the pole in its slot, the snapped line dangling in a slight breeze.

Years later. No more anger. Just sadness and loneliness and the overwhelming sense of duty. Mico knew there was a town nearby, but he couldn't leave. This was his home and he would protect it. That was what his father told him to do, and by the gods, the man was probably dead, making that his dying wish. Mico erected two massive stones on the shore, set far back from the waves, twin peaks to represent his fallen parents. He engraved their names with a makeshift chisel on both the sides facing inwards towards land and outwards towards the sea.

The early morning sun peaked over the horizon, renewing the world of light. Henry nuzzled Mico's arm, waking the man up instantly, somewhat startled. "Wonder where Landry wandered off to last night," he said to the cat.

Henry tilted his head and mewed, turning about and seeming to beckon towards the town.

"Alright, alright," Mico groaned, lifting himself up and, knowing that the slats were melted in the icebox, lifting it by its sides and refreezing them. He slung his belongings over his shoulders and resumed the trek. He stole a glance at the sky; clouds were forming in the north, and the southerly wind led him to a conclusion. "It'll rain today. Let's go."

They continued down the path, passing the first of the town's buildings: a few small homes and shops. Henry seemed agitated, glancing about every which way, his nose twitching. As they walked, the cat seemed to find something and darted off.

Mico watched him go. He smiled. "Found your owner, did you," he said aloud. "Congrats."

The road stretched on, branching into other paths, connecting the town like one big web. The town was still waking up, its residents going about their duties slowly and lazily. Mico only received a few strange looks.

Mico hid his disappointment. No pretty ladies, yet. But up ahead there was a delicious-smelling food stand, its grills fired up and ready to cook something amazing. Mico walked briskly towards it, ready for a meal that he hadn't cooked himself and for the chance to sell or trade his catch.

He sat in one of the high chairs at the bar of the stand, grinning and removing his hat. "Hiya, there," he said casually to the woman behind the counter, finding her surprisingly pretty as she deftly moved the pair of tongs she held.

"'Oy," she replied. "What can I getcha?" She smiled.

"Well I'm not quite sure, to be honest." He lifted the fish box onto the counter. "Do you cook fish?"

"If we get our hands on 'em, but we don't often." She looked at the leather-bound box. "Why?"

"I just so happen to catch them fresh," Mico grinned proudly. "And I'd be willing to trade a few for a meal, if you'd have them." He popped the lid open, lifting the view flap and pulling a few choice specimens from their cool tomb.

[Mico]

Book I, Part B: New Goals.

Step 6: Busy!

Twin spatulas moved as one, clinking together and against the metal, and the various meats, vegetables and spices danced about the grill in a delicious harmony. Mico flipped a spatula in the air as he worked, catching it on an index finger and spinning it for a few seconds, then dropping it back down, scooping a portion of food onto a platter for one of the customers sitting at the booth and gawking at his handiwork. Lawna had furnished the plates with sides already, and distributed the plates as Mico filled them. She was a good cook, but she wasn't as flashy as Mico was with the utensils... it still awed her a little to watch him. He never lost his focus or his smile, and there was a certain glint to his eye as he cooked for these people.

"There y'are, sirs," he beamed, slashing the spatulas together. "Can I getcha anything else, on top of that?"

The patrons tucked into their flashily prepared meals and Lawna smiled, removing some of the other plates and getting them into the sink to wash. "Thanks for helping out, Mico," she said, dishes clinking as she scrubbed them clean.

"Don' mention it. I'm getting paid to do something I love doing, and I'm in a city where they'll teach me stuff. What's not to love?" His grin widened.

Yeah. He was quirky and obsessed with fishing, and he didn't sleep in town. Slept outside, he'd said. But he had a strange charm about him, and over the past weeks, after he'd taken over cooking for the stall, Lawna thought more and more of him. He was a hard worker, a fantastic chef, and he brought fresh fish every day, broadening the menu and the clientel of the establishment. Since he'd started, more people were coming and paying- almost as many as when her father had worked... but that man was gone now, just as Mico's was.

They'd talked briefly about that a few times. He seemed a little uneasy about it, though, like it was a really touchy subject... which is normal... losing a parent is never easy. She should know.

Her hand slipped and a steak knife slid up her thumb, gouging a cut into her flesh and drawing blood quickly. She yelped at the sudden pang of agony that shot through her limb and into the core of her body. She growled at her mistake.

"You alright, Miss?" Mico perked up, head tilting to look over her shoulder. "Show me!"

"I'm fine. Just slipped," she said, pulling a rag off of a shelf and wrapping her hand up.


----NOT YET FINISHED WITH THIS POST... (My laptop is kinda ... well, bad. And in order to move it, I have to unplug it... but the power cord doesn't CHARGE the computer, it just keeps up enough energy to let the computer stay on... sooooo I'll finish this as soon as I get my computer to its rightful place and power it back on. ----