Oliver was in the kitchen, humming as he started to bake his cupcakes, when he noticed he was out of sugar.
"Oh, crumpets!" Oliver said, looking over at the three at the table. "I need one of you to run and get me some sugar."
"Can't," The blonde one with the ponytail said quickly, "need to finish this book."
"And I can't either, I'm busy with the paper." The Frenchmen said, taking another puff from his cigarette.
Allen realizes this leaves only him, he stands up, deciding he'd rather go then be poisoned. "I'll go Oli."
"Thank you, poppet! Now, by the biggest bag, okay?" Oliver said cheerfully.
"Okay."
"And go by the bar and by me some alcohol. Tell the bar tender it's for Francois." Francois says, not looking up from the paper.
Allen nods, briefly wondering if he should take his bat, but realizes its upstairs, and that would mean Oliver would have to wait, and God knows what happens when Oliver waits too long. Deciding that nothing bad would happen, he left it, heading down the street, the sun setting on the horizon.
