"Fall in, you laggards! Hup-two-one-two!"
What had been meant as a boom came out as a growling squeak, and did nothing to replicate the soldierly tone its speaker had been aiming for. In authority, too, it lacked power, resulting not in rapid attention but bare acknowledgement.
"Oh, lay off, Squim. We ain't have to get ready for another twenty minutes." was the only response. Squim, an emaciated youth with mottled skin and sharp brown eyes, sneered at the comment, tossing off streams of high-pitched epithets against his denouncer. Nobody ever took him seriously.
The second party, a cool young girl by the name of Tricks, snorted and ignored him. Being a full two years older than any of the boys in their little clique, Tricks knew the best way through an argument was to act one's age. As such, ignore the antics of worms like Squim. He would, in time, calm down of his own accord. She instead spent her time digging small deposits of dirt out from under her fingernails. Even a thief must maintain her image.
Squim, after three odd minutes of cursing and taunting – the others suspected his mind had been warped a little by what ever disease had turned his skin into a patchwork of browns, greens and grays – finally settled down and mumbled incoherently to himself. He crouched, perched as he was upon a thick hunk of slag metal, and glared angrily down into the darkness of the tunnels.
Marlo wondered what he was looking at. It was often hard to tell with Squim. He was the oddball of the group. Marlo, in contrast, was the straight man: seldom heard, even less often seen. He, alongside the last member of the Sewer Rats, made up the primary Thievery Team: Tricks and Squim were generally given the job of raising a ruckus, thus directing a man's attention away from his wallet. Boasting dirty red hair and nondescript features, Marlo blended into the background with incredible ease.
The same could never be said of Squim. Indeed, it was hard to keep the quizzical youth quiet for any longer than a few moments. Leaping bodily off of his twisted throne, Squim began to rant loudly. "Where th'hell is he? Slow, slow!"
A nicely aimed can rebounded off of his head. "Shut it, freak! He'll come when he comes!" Tricks was the only one who knew how to calm Squim down, using her own unique brand of ruthlessness. It probably stemmed from the fact that she was, so far as they knew, his older sister. The tactic worked, at least temporarily: Squim stuck his tongue out at her in defiance and settled down into the refuse.
And there was a lot of it. The whole group was situated in a grimy, darkened tunnel, surrounded by trash of all shapes and kinds. The walls, poorly constructed as they had been in the first place, now shone faintly with accumulated algae and unidentifiable slime. They'd all made a point, long ago, not to lay so much as a hand on the sides of the sewers. It would probably prove fatal to their already poor health.
Silence reigned. Nobody knew what to say, so they said nothing. Squim sorted mindlessly through piles of garbage, searching in vain for something edible. He seemed more animal than human at times. Tricks, her nails now passingly clean, closed her eyes and napped. Marlo waited. He had little else to engage himself with aside from his own thoughts, which were few. He was not an imaginative child. That capacity lay in the final child.
They were not left waiting long. A resounding clang filled the air, followed by the slow drag of metal on metal. The sewer had a visitor. A pale streetlight flooded down into the darkness, dispelling it ever so slightly. The soft padding of shoes, descending down the rusted rungs of a ladder, echoed down the lengths of the sewer. Squim, unusually acrobatic, leapt to his feet within a second and snuffled the air cautiously. Within seconds he disappeared behind the metal slag that had once acted as his seat. Everybody remained deathly still, lest the invader prove hostile.
He was not. As the blackened figure descended, he called out a hushed 'ki la la la' – their own nonsensical password, not to mention occasional battle cry – and came to a rest silently. His face was shrouded by a battered cap, but they all knew who it was. The Sewer Rats were complete once again.
Squim peered out from behind his hiding spot. The only person he actually trusted was Tricks. The other two could, at any moment, stab him in the back; Squim was determined not to let this happen. Marlo emerged from his refuge and approached the other half of the Thievery Team. They exchanged quiet smiles.
Tricks was blunt. "So, we on? The hag over and over?"
The boy nodded. "Yep. Probably halfway to the Uppers by now."
"Great. Off we go, fellas; nice recon, Galley. We go now. C'mon, hup." Tricks was on her feet and treading down the tunnels within moments; Squim followed closely on her heels; Marlo took up the rear, pulling a tattered hood over his head; and Galley, the youth with shining eyes, walked calmly in the midst of them all. He was home, now, if only temporarily, amongst his friends, in the sewers.
