hate_gettin_older | [milliways: kidplot]

This place is the best.

Okay, yeah, Curtis was a little nervous at first, because he didn't have any idea what was going on, but he figured out the important bits pretty quick. All he had to do was hang back for a few minutes and watch the other people move around -- especially the people who walked up to the bar, said stuff to the air, and walked away with pretty much anything they asked for.

Pretty soon he's gonna have to get home so his parents don't get mad, but first? First, Curtis is gonna get a cheeseburger and the biggest bowl of candy he can carry.

Which turns out to be kinda hard to balance in his arms as he totters over to the nearest table. Whatever. He's still beaming from ear to ear anyway, the bright and slightly nervous grin of every kid who can't believe they're getting away with this.

Someone's coming. Edgar tenses, pulls back as far under the table as he can, and hopes they pass by.

Judging by the size of the feet he glimpses, it's a kid about his own age; judging by the shoes and the cuffs of the jeans, both of which look barely worn at all, he's definitely Front.

No such luck, Edgar.

The feet stop. A couple loud clatters vibrate through the table as Curtis drops his bounty on top; then he hefts himself into a free chair and starts happily swinging his legs as he digs into the burger. (There are french fries, too. Seriously, best day ever.)

Those swinging feet are getting real close to hitting Edgar, in fact.

... oh christ, that smell. He doesn't recognize it at all, but to his nose it says FOOD in no uncertain terms, and sets water springing painfully in his mouth.

Maybe he can get some from wherever this kid got his. Maybe with all the other kids around, he could just sort of ... slip in, and maybe not be noticed.

Maybe he's not paying close enough attention when he tries to slide out at the other end of the table, and one of the kid's swinging sneakers thuds into his shoulder.

The shoe swings away, and freezes.

That definitely didn't feel like he just kicked a table leg or something.

Frowning, Curtis sets down his hamburger and leans way, way over until he can see underneath the table, one hand braced on top to help keep his balance. " -- Oh," he says when he spots the other kid. "Hey. Sorry."

The other kid looks...really scared, for some reason. And he's got dirt all over him. (And he kinda smells, too. Curtis is trying not to make a face, but it's hard.)

The Front kid is going to call the guard. He'll figure out that Edgar's from the Tail and he'll call the guard, oh christ, he's fucked.

And his mouth is still watering, and his belly starting to pinch with sudden hunger.

Edgar swallows, and tries to scoot further away, but there's a table leg in the way.

Curtis's frown deepens in puzzlement. He glances over at the rest of the bar, then back to the kid, and lowers his voice.

"Are you playing hide and seek?"

If so, then Curtis promises he didn't see anything! He'll even say those exact words if anybody asks him.

... Uh.

"Yeah," he mutters, trying hard to conceal the rush of wild hope that the Front kid might actually believe him.

Curtis beams. "Okay," he whispers. "I won't tell 'em I saw you. Promise."

His loyalties have been decided! If the seeker'd found him first, things would be totally different, but as it stands: he's got your back, dirty kid under the table.

Satisfied, he heaves himself back upright to continue eating his burger. After a few minutes, he starts swinging his legs again, but in much smaller arcs this time so he doesn't hit Edgar.

And -- there's no good reason for him to trust a Front kid, but when he says promise, somehow Edgar does actually feel reassured.

... and promptly feels guilty for lying to him.

He chews his lower lip, watching the kid's feet swinging.

"Hey," he whispers, after a long moment.

His feet tuck underneath the seat of his chair; in the same movement, Curtis swings to the side to peek under the table.

"Yeah?"

"No, don't bend down, they'll fuckin see you talking to me!" he hisses frantically.

His eyes go wide as he realizes his mistake -- already, he's swinging back up, leaving a little trail of "Sorry! Sorry!" in his wake.

Curtis scrambles for a couple of french fries as he tries to assume an air of nonchalance. (Or what a ten-year-old considers nonchalance. It's gonna involve some too-casual whistling any second now.)

It's a little weird, really, that a Front kid is apologizing to him. It gets more unnerving the more Edgar thinks about it, so he shakes his head and stops thinking about it.

(But this kid doesn't feel like Front, somehow.)

"Where'd you get that food?"

"At the big counter over there."

Curtis almost points, then remembers at the last second and studiously nibbles on a french fry instead.

"Nobody's there, but stuff'll just show up if you ask for it." That half-excited, half-nervous grin comes back. "They've got everything. And it doesn't cost nothing."

"... if anybody asks for it?"

There's a faint roaring in his ears, like wind battering the walls of the train.

"Yeah." He slants a look toward the bar. "Doesn't look like any grown-ups care anyway."

Probably because the kids definitely outnumber the grown-ups right now.

He has to swallow again.

"Not even the guards?"

A long pause.

(Curtis wants to look back under the table so bad. Just staring at the table in total confusion, like he's got X-ray vision, isn't as satisfying as staring at an actual person.)

Low, "You mean like cops? There's none of 'em around either."

Why would this kid be worried about cops?

...Wait.

"Are you in trouble?"

Edgar, meanwhile, is staring at the narrow slice of floor visible from under the table, in a total confusion of his own.

"None of them around? Like, just now, or ... ever?"

"I dunno. I haven't been here that long. But I can't see any."

Okay, if they're actually gonna be talking a lot it'll be easier if Curtis isn't on a chair. After a surreptitious look left, and another right, to make sure nobody's watching him, Curtis grabs his plate and slides under the table next to Edgar.

And his second glance at the Front kid's face is very brief, as his gaze is almost instantly riveted to the plate.

It takes every bit of self-control he's got to keep himself from lunging and grabbing the food.

Up close, a couple more details are starting to click together. Not just that the kid's dirty and smelly, but he's skinny, too, like Curtis hasn't seen except in pictures. And he's got such a hungry look on his face as he stares at Curtis's burger.

He's homeless, Curtis realizes, stunned. He's like the homeless people downtown.

(But he's just a kid, kids aren't supposed to be homeless -- )

Curtis sets down the food. Carefully, he tears the burger in half, making sure only one of the pieces has any teeth marks on it. "Here," he says, offering the unbitten half to Edgar. "You can have some of the fries too."

For a split second he's frozen, stunned --

-- and then he snatches the proffered piece of food and tears into it ravenously, oblivious for the moment to anything else.

It's hot, and layered in a bewildering complexity of flavors and textures, none of them anything like protein block, and there's some sharp and stinging taste buried in it somewhere but he can't make himself care.

(The half-burger is vanishing with alarming swiftness.)

Curtis puts down his own half-burger and draws his knees to his chest, watching the other kid in silence. He's not smiling any more. Not even a little.

Maybe he should give him all the rest of his food -- even the candy and the bitten parts of the burger. He can probably get more for himself from the counter, right? They don't stop giving you stuff after you ask for food?

Maybe he'll just share for now and show the other kid how to get his own food later.

"My name's Curtis," he says after a minute. "What's yours?"

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