There was a soft breeze as he walked down the street, holding his paper up high, as he called out his new improvisation. A small boy ran over, waving a sword, exclaiming that a fight had broken out. The older of the two followed the younger behind a large, familiar building and saw the brawl that had yanked him away from his job that paid him oh so very . . . little.
He pulled the two apart, throwing one to the ground and yelling for him to leave 'his boys' alone. Turning to the second boy, he glared, thoroughly annoyed, but didn't say anything. Instead, he shoved the slightly smaller boy out into the street again. When they got into the building, he ripped off the hat, revealing a girl, scowling up at him. He told her he couldn't take it anymore and she had to leave. She was messing up his life and, well, he was done. He just couldn't take it anymore; she was just too much trouble.
---
A figure was walking down an alley, a cloth sac in one hand and the other in his/her pocket. A boy jumped down in front of the figure, demanding who he was and what he was doing there. The figure didn't reply, and kept walking but the boy grabbed him/her. Blue eyes flashed as the figure's fist connected with the boy's jaw.
Punches were thrown, clothes torn, but when the figures hat fell, revealing her long, dirty blonde hair, all that was heard was heavy panting. She dropped to her knees, waiting to be struck for the final time, but nothing came. Confused, she looked up at the boy, who, when their eyes connected, pulled her up, grinning as he introduced himself. The first person she met in this new city; just happened to be the leader. Spot Conlon.
