(218 words.)
"This is usually when people run or beg for their life."
The boy's eyes flick upward briefly, looking to the roofs where Billie knows several of her Whalers are stationed. "I don't think it would do much good," he says, calmer than she would have expected.
He's got a Serkonan look about him, and when he speaks, there's enough of an accent to make her think he hasn't been in Dunwall for all that long. The nasty scar running down the side of his face, just barely missing the eye, doesn't look very old either. Billie wonders just what kind of trouble he's been running from and how much of it followed him here.
Still, he's good for an untrained street kid. He stuck to the shadows and kept his footing even on rain-slick roof tiles as he followed her. If she hadn't been at this so long, she might not have ever noticed him. If he could learn what she has to teach…
She leans forward to meet his eye. There's a familiar anger there, a rage against the world that's wronged him that she understands all too well. "Come fight and kill for me," she says, "and you'll be the one they're begging for mercy."
The boy is nodding before she's even finished saying the words.