A big house.

Yes.

A very big house. Pictures on the walls. Books on the shelves. Maids. Butlers. Cooks. Warmth in the winter, cool air in the summer. Soft beds. Food, all the time, whenever it was wanted. Anything one could possibly need at the flinch of a finger.

It was promised. It was certain.

Though, he supposed he should have seen it coming. At least the part about not getting all of the above. After all, Bill had to be…in his 40s, at least. What did he have but some shabby apartment to share with his girlfriend? He supposed he really shouldn't be surprised at why he was where he was.

This is what he spent most of his days thinking about. Not that there was anything better to do but sit and think.

Today, however, had turned out to be a comparatively good day, as opposed to yesterday when he awoke with some drunken hag leaning against him. So in honor of today being such a good day, he decided to get up and walk around. Pushing himself off the ground and using the wall for aid, he couldn't help but bring his hand to his forehead and groan in pain from the headache he'd probably earned himself from that last helping of…whatever it was he'd been drinking. He sagged against the bricks with one hand over his eyes and the other running back and forth over the hair that had been long missing a familiar hat.

Maybe getting up wasn't that great of an idea, but he'd been sitting for hours and figured it would probably do him good. So, with a final shove to the wall, he began to stumble towards the road, squinting in the midday sun.

Right or left?

To the right…poles with wanted posters leading directly to the heart of the marketplace. Every time he saw them, he'd shake his head (occasionally adding "50£?? That's it??") and then proceed to rip each one down.

Right now though, he wasn't in the mood to clean the streets of such vandalism. Left led away from civilization, and the quiet would be good for his headache, so this was the obvious better choice. He forced his legs to take him down the sidewalk, trying to remind himself "One foot, then the other, then the other again, then the other again," and rewarding himself when he finally got the hang of it, "That's a good man, now you've got it, right, left, right, left." Fortunately, no one was around to hear him talking to himself in such a dazed manner. Working or not, his legs were aching as though he'd been running all night long. For all he could remember, he probably did.

This is the way he'd lived for the past two months. It had seemed like twenty-three eternities. "At least twenty-three," he grumbled, losing his train of thought as he spoke and stumbling over his own feet. He balanced himself again on the wall before resuming the self-instruction, this time internally. He still had enough sense to not shout at the world that he was losing his mind, and he was still aware enough of his current situation to duck his head so the girl passing him couldn't see his face.

-----------------------

What happened next was very peculiar; the girl didn't pass him, but instead grabbed him by both arms and threw him up against the wall.

"What the hell??" he shouted at her, mostly annoyed because this wasn't helping his headache.

"You're the one they're looking for."

He raised his eyes to hers and squinted to keep out the sun. This girl was odd. Her hair was frizzy and unkempt, shoulder-length in all its matted glory, and her face was very tan and smudged with dirt.

The boy frowned at her. "Aye. Planning on dragging me to the traps?" he asked dryly.

"No," she blinked.

"Well good, because I could take on three-a-ya at the same time with my hands tied behind my back."

"Excellent." She replied twice as dryly as the boy's first question. Shaking her head, she brought her focus back to the matter at hand. "I've been looking for you, Mr. Jack Dawkins. What I have in mind for you will earn me much more than 50£. I think you'll find yourself in a pretty comfortable position as well. So either you listen to this 'ere proposition, or," here she smirked rather wickedly and pulled out a revolver that seemed almost too large for her hand, but at the same time fit easily into her grip, making it easy to see that she'd used it before. "I take you to the traps. And in case you try to run, you might be interested to know that I don't miss." The revolver returned to her jacket pocket. "So what'll it be, Mr. Dawkins?"

Now, the boy was rather taken aback by all of this. Today had started out so well! Apparently SOMEONE had a change of plans.

"Well…as lovely a day it is to be shot, I think I just may be more interested in this offer of yours. 'Sides. Ain't got nothin' better to do."

"Perfect." She eased her grip on his arms and finally lowered her hands to slip them into the pockets of her two-sizes-too-big pants. "Let's go find a place to sit down and have a nice chat, shall us?"

-----------------------

She led him into the same bar he'd been into so many times before with the other boys and Fagin, and needlessly instructing him to keep his head low. They sat down at a relatively dark corner. A brunette waitress with a low cut dress came by to take their orders.

"Nothing here," the girl told her quickly. "you?" she looked at him.

"I'm alright, thanks." He replied, (despite his growling stomach) avoiding eye contact. The waitress shrugged and left them alone.

Now the girl turned to him again, her expression grave in the dim lighting, as though what she was about to say was of life-or-death importance. "Ready to listen?"

He nodded.

"I'm willing to offer you a rood to live under, as long as you help me out. Really, there ain't much to disagree with. You come with me, help me collect some boys, and we'll start up a company of sorts."

"You mean thieving?"

"Precisely. We'll set up a daily quota to meet and work each day until we meet it. After a while, it'll begin to add up, you'll see. The main goal, Jack Dawkins, is the life you've always dreamed of."

"The life I've always dreamed of." He echoed skeptically. "What makes you think I'm the right person for this? Why not any other prig out there? Plenty of 'em, that's for sure."

"Aye, thought about that long and hard myself. But one thing made up my mind for certain."

"And what's that?"

She looked at him straight on and smirked. "You're the Artful Dodger."

-----------------------

The boy blinked. The traps didn't know that name. It wasn't on the wanted posters. No one should know except the others and Bet. Maybe she'd run into one of them? Unlikely, yes, but how else... " Where did you -"

"Oh come, we ain't got time to waste on unimportant details. Does it sound like a plan?"

"Do I have a choice?" He frowned. This girl was certainly very strange.

"No. No you don't. The case standin' as it is, perhaps the better question would be: will you do this of your own accord, or must I make this unpleasant?"

"...Well can I at least have your name afore I make said decision?"

The girl laughed now. "Indeed. Keane Torry, it is."

He nodded and extended his hand in a business-like fashion. "Well then, Keane Torry, we have an accord."

Keane smiled and shook his hand. "Excellent!" Her face seemed to have softened, and Jack Dawkins no longer had that itching notion that she might pull out that revolver at any moment and do him in. Either way, he still didn't trust her entirely.

"Why do you want this?" He asked as she flagged down a waitress. Apparently this was cause for celebration.

"Why not?" she answered absently, and the waitress approached the table. "Two ales?"

"You bet," the girl answered and took off.

"Well why now all of a sudden?" he tried again.

"Look," her features darkened once more and she turned back to him. "Questions ain't part of the deal." she sighed. "If you must know, I saw your poster and the reward...well I knew you must be good. The average prig nowadays ain't worth more'n 15£, and even that's a little high. You must've hit every livin' bein' in this city. So I asked around."

Well that was probably the most he'd get out of her for now. Somehow this all seemed too promising to work out. He wasn't really prepared to wind up on the street again, now that the opportunity for something better had presented itself. "Well I hope I'm what you thought." he laughed as the waitress set down two metal mugs and walked off.

"Not a doubt in my mind." Keane lifted her drink with an air of dignity. "To a prosperous future."

"To expectations met," he contributed.

"Cheers."

Aloha! Great to be FINALLY putting something else up. I had to wait for a very important someone's birthday.
And eh...I'll take this opportunity to do a thanks or two.

Firstly, I asked her to pick a name she'd like to go by, so I'd like to say THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU to one Maw for helping me come up with a pretty sweet plot line. Honestly couldn't write half the crap I come up with without her. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Hopefully this and chapter two will make up for the fact that I can't very well give you anything...really...tangible...

And I'd like to state that I don't own the Artful Dodger, he's totally Mr. Dickens'.

If the urge strikes you, I would love you to leave me a review. That would be pretty boss.

-PB

NOTE: Keane is pronounced Key-in, as I've come to learn, not Keen. Just in case you were wondering.