Loitering. That's what Spectre was doing. And who was going to stop her anyway? By force of habit she had her pan-handling bowl out in front of her but she'd gotten enough for some food and beer earlier in the day so that was covered. Of course, a few more dollars for the beer fund never hurt. Beer. It made everything more tolerable.



The life of a street kid wasn't exactly and easy one and, perhaps, some might say that Specter and her street family brought half their problems upon themselves. After all, the bright purple mohawk, ripped and studded jacket and bad attitude didn't exactly endear herself to those around her. It wasn't as if she wanted to live on the streets, of course, she just didn't know any other way of life. She'd never had a real job and probably couldn't hold one long even if someone was generous enough to offer. Besides, between government welfare checks, pan-handling and the occasional theft of those who probably didn't really need the money anyway, she rarely went hungry and could usually find a dry place to sleep at night. Plus she had her street family. It was all about family and family looked out for one another.



For the moment Spectre's street family were off doing other things. It wasn't unusual, of course, and they'd be back eventually. So here she was, alone and lounging on the cold concrete at the side of the road. Loitering. Mostly people refused to so much as look her in the eye. Occasionally she'd receive a dirty look or, even better, a muttered oath. For those special individuals, she was sure to have a few choice words or a specific finger in response. Maybe being a street kid wasn't the easiest life to have, but it certainly had its perks. Making the norms uncomfortable was one of the big ones.

The streets were certainly active today, and Ember was getting a number of odd looks. Whether it was his long, golden blond hair, or the fading bruises on his jaw and knuckles, he didn't know, nor did he care. He merely turned a hard glare to anyone who looked too long, and in general, they would lower their gaze and hurry on with their day. On top of the looks people kept shooting his way, a bang of the aforementioned hair kept falling into his eye, no matter how many times he tried to push it out of his face. But above all that, Ember was hungry. The idiots he had beaten up, the same ones who had bruised his jaw, had turned out to be as broke as he was. This all added up to a very, very grouchy Ember.



So when he saw a girl with a bowl of change in front of her, he had an idea. Misery loves company after all. He stopped and leaned against the building at what he believed to be a sufficiently discreet distance, and slipped a rather rough and dirty looking note book from his pocket and flipped to a blank page. For maybe a minute or less, he remained unmoving as he composed his little nursery rhyme in his mind, before starting to write.



There once was a punk,

all wrapped in her spunk.

As some goon walked up,

Saying "Put 'em up."

But got the reply,

"My money's tight,

but we could meet at midnight."


It was no work of art, shameful really, but Ember couldn't be bothered with such nuances as he ripped the page from his book and put it back in his pocket as he folded the note. As he resumed walking towards the girl, he held the folded note between two fingers and flicked it towards her as he passed. He didn't bother to look and see if she read it or not, but he listened quietly for whatever response the girl would have.