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"The only heavy labour I do is carry the dead weight," Sledge joked. Ever since he had literally broken out of jail he had become more physical in his gangs. Before he had been the one who had done things that required slight of hand, letting the others who were better skilled than him empty out pockets, and now he was the one who did the breaking of breaking and entering. Having never been able to come out on top in physical spats prior to his mutation emerging Sledge was eager to be able to get the better of something that seemed so solid.

Speaking of solid, the question of Aedus's density was still unknown. The outwardly appearance didn't bother Sledge much, but it was that inside, sloshing noise that was a little disconcerting. It made him feel like he was talking to a shell. Shells aren't suppose to talk back. Also that sound was making him think of the churning of the ocean. Given that his body was starting to forget the motions of the waves he could do without the noise.

Salvation came in the form of a sizzling basket of chips, fat and long, promising the clogging of arteries. Before he could proper start on it Maggie gave him a bump off of his stool. With legs that were recovering slightly still, he staggered. If she had been aiming to offend him, she had missed the mark. To Sledge it simply said that his flirtatious words and smiles were working. If he did this, she said that, and when she did this, he said that. "Iffin a girl did that in primary that meant she fancied a bloke," he told Maggie. As he took his seat back he made sure to give the waitress a little hip bump of his own. "Of course, you aren't a girl. You're a lady. Leaves a poor sod like me wondering where he stands."

"Highly likely," grumbled Sledge, "I'm surrounded by bumbling, lazy, daft apeths." He could not help but to complain about those that he had once called friends. At times they were as graceful as cows, with the social skills to match. It had always been his job to come up with a plan, and they never wanted to take charge. If they were caught, generally it was Sledge who had to worry about the consequences. Not that he had worried too much when they were younger. Let Briggs, may he drown in a pint, get into a frenzy. Sledge had discovered that a prison held no fear to him anymore. It was what happened should he be kept in one successfully.

"Begging your pardon if you mind," he started, listening to the liquid slosh around inside Aedus, "But are you 'ollow on the inside?" It would be interesting if his drinking companion were physically empty inside. For one thing it would explain how he had managed to drink that abomination earlier. How though would Aedus be able to eat if there was no stomach? Food. Sledge closed his eyes in bliss of thinking of eating. Then his stomach would finally stop trying to kill him.

Fish and chips. Sledge's grin, which had grown at his triumphs with Maggie, faded at the mention of the traditional English pub dish. The chips were perfectly fine. Sledge had no problem with chips, he quite enjoyed chips, especially if they had catsup and a little bit of pepper sprinkled on them. No, the issue was the fish, which was always a shady term. Fish could be any sort of swimming thing, any number of things that would make his throat swell shut and well... he didn't want to think of what happened the last time a bit of seafood passed his lips. "Just the chips. Burger might not sit as well."

He knew that going to a bar had been the right choice. Not only did he get the time to settle his stomach but a free lunch as well. Whoever said there was no such thing as a free meal clearly was speaking a load of rubbish. Aedus was confirming that coming to New York was a good idea. Working to make ends meet was the right type of soil for his plans to blossom in. He listened patiently as Aedus explained about his two jobs. He couldn't be making much with the currier business, and internships rarely paid, and if they did, not much.

Lifting his glass of soda water slightly Sledge gave Aedus a nod. "To you then, here's 'oping that your internship goes as you've planned it."

Sledge let himself jump at the sound of the towel crack. Feisty one she was, and talking a little more freely to him now. She might have been repelled by his gagging earlier at the smell of Aedus’s drink, but his stage whisper had the desired effect and broke the ice. He gave Aedus a wink as Maggie started to strut away. Maggie might be playing him, but he was willing to go along with it. Turning around so that his back was now to the bar Sledge decided to do something with that accent of his. “No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere,” he grabbed his hat and held it over his heart, “I see ‘eavens glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.”

With little money to spend when he was a child David had spent a good amount of time reading the classic works. Shakespeare was all well and good, but one of his love sonnets was trying too hard to impress a lady. Better to go for someone as well known, but an unlikely choice for a man to pick up. Sledge considered walking behind her to continue the poem. It went on for awhile and he did know more of it. His legs were gaining back their strength, but for now he felt that he had made his point. If Maggie wanted poetry then he could do poetry. That taken care of he turned back to the bar, setting his hat down.

“As I said earlier, I’m not familiar with the brews ‘ere. For now though I’ll settle for something to put into me stomach. Mite too early for me to get all bevvied up,” he excused himself as he twisted his glass of soda water, “Drunk you would say.” In his mind Sledge was calculating just what he could get out of this stop. A free drink or two for sure, possibly something to eat as well. If he played the right cards with Maggie possibly a bed for a night. “Is the economy really so poor here that you have to ‘ave two jobs or is the internship simply wanting to better yourself?

Money was an excellent motivator. If there wasn’t much bread to go around people would always jump at the chance to make more. When you get like that you’re more willing to believe that you can win at what you know is a con. At that point you just need something to believe in, and everyone wants to think that they can change their position in life.


((The poem is No Coward soul is mine by Emily Bronte))

Everything was going pear shaped. All Sledge had wanted when he risked his neck to hit the car was a home cooked meal, something that wasn't prepared in a microwave, not a little girl who was wrapping him around her minuscule finger. He hated being manipulated. At this point he couldn't pretend that he was legally in the country. Even when that moment was available, it would have been ill advised. She had been told, more or less, that a denial straight away was a confirmation. To say that he wasn't a foreigner would have been just as good as turning himself in to the police. "Don't 'ave much of a choice then do I?" he asked, not really caring to hear the answer.

Though he did have to question why she wanted him to punch somebody. There was no way that someone could be hit by a car and walk fine like he had just done, and she knew enough about him to be able to peg him as someone without a passport. How extensive was the information that was being fed to this little girl and who held the spoon? "What are you babbling on about?" Sledge asked her, shocked that she wanted him to do that in broad daylight. "You don't just punch a bloke on the sidewalk. There's a thing called assault."

Sledge knew that he could punch that hard. He could punch the poor sod hard enough to warrant calling police in to direct people away from that particular area of the sidewalk. The problem was that green sweater had done nothing, and from his appearance, had nothing that held interest to Sledge. "What did he do? Give Barbie a butch 'aircut?" Not that all little girls played with Barbie dolls. It was hard to think of witty remarks for someone who probably still was told to eat their vegetables. "Besides, can't guarantee that the results are age appropriate for you."

Truth be told Sledge wasn't sure if he could keep the punch from ending in disaster. It wasn't that he had qualms with hurting someone, it was the risk of what happens when a punch that can break through a wall meets something as fragile as a human head. "You want me to hit him, fine, but not here on the street. I'll 'azard that he's an easy mark. Isolate him first," he told Kaitlyn, letting the student get a little ahead of them before falling into step behind.

Sledge nodded his head. There was a reason why he had chosen America, and why specifically New York City. He had become too visible in Bradford, too easy for the police to spot. A new Brit in the city was hardly noteworthy. He was just one more person in a large city with a funny accent. Even better he could keep his gob shut and look like any other person. There had to be at least half a dozen people with the same distinguishing features. Nobody really cares about brown hair and brown eyes. They were the most plain colors, nothing that people really look for.

Aedus was picking up the round. Excellent! That solved the issue of how he was going to pay for the soda water. "Dunno what's good over 'ere. I've heard that you Yanks have stronger brews." He was warned against pursuing the waitress, but that wasn't a rule, just advice. Advice is free, but not always to be followed. "I 'appen to like a bird with trouble. Makes the effort worth something."

There was nothing wrong with just a little bit of friendly flirting. It was only his first day in America, and he had no intention of returning to Britain any time soon. Sledge was facing a long stretch of time, no need to rush himself with the ladies. "David Maxwell," he introduced himself after studying the hand that was offered to him. Handshakes were a no no for him.

There were moments when Sledge had to admit that he lost control of the situation. These moments quite often were right before he ended up in a prison cell, waiting until he could call Charlie to bail him out. Right now he was getting that sinking feeling that he was going to end up sitting on yet another hard 'bed' before getting shipped back to England. As much as the thought unsettled him, even frightened him, Sledge would not let himself look intimidated by an anklebitter. Calling her bluff wasn't a good idea. It would just confirm her accusation. "And who exactly do you think you can report me to? Your bit of plastic there might say you're twenty eight, but sadly, nobody will believe you."

He was trying to get her to say who had told her about him. Just because someone has an accent doesn't mean that they are illegal, especially if it's in a city like New York which was bustling with nearly every possible nationality and dialect. Surely if she lived here she knew that. Besides, who ever heard of an illegal British alien? England had already lost the war for America, why would they want it now? The little girl was displaying the confidence that she needed earlier, and he wondered, or maybe rather hoped, that she was trying to pressure him into a slip up.