The streets were not somewhere that Dirk Stebbins had ever expected to end up. His only knowledge of them was of romantic land of novels where poor boys fell in love with rich girls and then went from their poor, filthy boys in dirty, ragged clothes to rich men with affluent, successful lives. And frankly, it'd look a lot more like that from the comfort of the other side of his window.

Actually walking on them was just loud and rough and the cobblestones were beginning to make his feet hurt through his shoes. Not only were there mobs of people everywhere, they were mobs of dirty, yelling people who wanted to rob you.

And did he really deserve to be among people like this? He was a first-class gambler, a first-class citizen, and a damn good person. Not sentimentally, of course, but as in that he was certainly a good contribution to society who brought worthwhile things into the cesspool of humanity. That was more than could be said for most people.

He stepped over a large puddle of some unidentified substance that probably was something much grosser than water.

And that was when he noticed the thief.

He was a tall, lanky boy with messy dark hair and a scar across his cheek. He appeared to be running from somebody, and dragging a girl in a cloak behind him. Stebbins couldn't make out her face, but she ran pretty clumsily for a lady. But he supposed that that was the way of the streets.

"Excuse me, sir?" The thief spoke in a light, almost classy accent. "Have you seen a small, dark boy of about sixteen around here? Roughly this tall?" He gestured with one hand, the other one clutching the lady's hand.

Now that he had a closer look at the lady's face, he noticed that it was freckled and dark chestnut bangs fell across her face. Her nose was a bit pointy, but other than that she wasn't homely.

"Never seen him," Stebbins replied.

The thief raised his eyebrows. "Never seen the second best robber in the neighborhood? Other than myself, of course." He smiled at the girl with him. "But his name is Gareth Barkovitch and he's the worst criminal in the neighborhood. I steal with honor, right, Raymond?"

Stebbins looked surreptitiously at the lady. What kind of girl was named Raymond? Taking a closer glance at her face, he noticed that she had no decorative hairstyle or even long hair.

Was that…a boy?

"Don't stare, I'm not a patient person." The thief tapped his fingers against the wall they were standing against. "But say, if you see Barkovitch, tell him that Pete McVries tells him to stay away."

"Why are you fleeing with a boy dressed as a lady?!"

"That, my friend, is none of your business. What's your name, chap?" The overly sarcastic, cheery demeanor of McVries with his leering, slanted smile accented by his scar made Stebbins want to hit him.

"That's none of your business. I don't associate with filth like you, you, you…fruit!" That was what you called boys who slept with boys, right? He hoped it would offend the thief enough to make him go away.

McVries shrugged and grinned. "You're awfully rude for someone of your size. You ought to curb your temper a bit. Well, see you!" He took hold of Raymond's hand and started back to fleeing down the street.

Stebbins decided that he most certainly didn't like Pete McVries.

He'd scarcely made a few feet when a boy fitting the description McVries had given him practically jumped down from the roof in front of him. He was indeed very short and rather dark and terribly dirty.

"Who in the hell are you and why are you in my way?"

Stebbins considered throwing a punch, but then realized that that would be incredibly improper and probably wouldn't be terribly effective anyways. "A dirty-looking, queer fellow called Pete McVries said to watch out for him or the like."

Barkovitch, if that was really he, snorted. "He says that every other day, idiot. He was with the short, brunet boy in the dress, right?"

"He wasn't in a dress."

"Under the cloak he is. It's unsightly, believe me, and I know a thing or two about unsightly." Barkovitch grinned, a scary, far too wide grin. His smile was like a large crescent on his bronze face. "What's a prissy lookin' little flower like you doing down here?"

"Cease to speak."

Barkovitch laughed raucously. "Really, who are you? You look like you're rich as hell! Say, got anything on you?"

"You may call me Stebbins, and no, I do not have anything 'on me,' so to speak. You are street filth and I am diamonds, metaphorically speaking, and I would not like to speak with you."

"You ain't gonna get any slack here with that kinda attitude, dearie." Barkovitch laughed again. Unlike McVries, there was nothing classy about this thief. "Hey, let me take a gander. Y'got kicked out of your house and you're stuck here now?"

"How did you guess?"

Barkovitch shrugged. "Happens every day. None of 'em last too long. Where'd McVries head off to?" Barkovitch crudely imitated Stebbins' voice. "I don't wanna associate with the likes of you."

"That wasn't accurate in the least."

"Don't give a damn." Stebbins spit in Barkovitch's face.

"Say, you're kinda funny. Spittin' in my face like that. Follow me, Stebbins. Dunno why Petie let ya live. He won't stand for your kinda sass normally. M'be he thinks you're pretty or somethin'."

Stebbins glared at Barkovitch, who grabbed onto his arm and dragged him behind him. "It'll look good for me to have somebody like you with me. Good for ransom."

Stebbins paled, suddenly. "I'm kiddin'. Well, not really."

This was definitely not what he'd intended to happen to him when he was kicked out onto the streets.

wow i forgot how much i like writing this