Basically, this is the chapter 'The Dangers of Following a Pretty Woman in the Street at Night', if anyone's read the book. I rather like how this turned out. Thanks to my reviewers for their support and comments :)

It was about 6 o'clock at night, already dark, and the carpark of the Park Ridge Tavern was relatively full. Inside the tavern, people talked and ate and drank, watching the screens mounted on the walls that showed lucky numbers, the news or music videos. Some hung by the bar, others tiptoed into the function room to catch a glance of the special performance. In the kitchen, waiters and cooks in plain black shirts and white aprons ran around, taking orders, picking up plates and cooking meals. Except for one. In a corner of the kitchen leaning on a disused bench was a tall, lanky, blond boy, mid-teens, wearing the uniform but not doing any work. Instead, he was writing furtively in a notebook, muttering to himself as he did.

"Death is the cook of Nature; and we find
Meat dressèd several ways to please her mind.
Some meats she roasts with fevers, burning hot,
And some she boils with... with... dropsies... is that a word? ok, dropsies in a pot.
Some for jelly consuming by degrees,
And some with ulcers, gravy out to squeeze.
Some flesh as sage she stuffs with... with... with... ah! gouts, and pains,
Others for tender meat hangs up in chains-"

"Oi, kid!"

Pierre gasped and jumped to attention, his book falling out of his hands onto the floor. He winced as it hit the ground and quickly stooped to pick it up, bashing his head on the counter on the way up, provoking a yelp of pain. He stood up again, eying the angry-looking man in front of him with apprehension. "Yes sir!"

The man stomped over and snatched the book out of his hand, chucking it at the bin as he shoved him towards the door. "You come here to work, not stand around composing sonnets! Now get out there and serve the customers!"

"Yes sir!" Pierre stumbled past the rushing cooks and waiters and grabbed the tray of pizza, glancing back at the bin where his precious book had been thrown before going out into the dining area.

Pierre Gringoire was 16 but had left school, having more important things to worry about than his education. His only family being a sick mother who couldn't do anything other than sew, he was forced to work to help pay the bills. A dreamer with his head in the clouds, he fancied himself a great poet and philosopher and wrote about serious subjects like religion and nature, passing poetry and essays off to whatever magazine, publisher or agent that would have them. More often than not he was rejected for reasons like 'too boring', 'not understandable' and 'what the hell are these pointless scribbles anyway?'. Nevertheless he persisted in writing, hoping to one day strike out and become a famous author. For now, he was stuck cleaning the floors and waiting tables, but one day, just one day, someone might see his potential...

Pierre blinked and came back down to earth with a bump, looking for the table he was supposed to be serving. Out the front, the door slid open to admit another group of people, all drinking and laughing raucously... except for one. The man had his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he slouched in behind everyone else. As the group examined placards for a table that wasn't reserved, he broke away and skulked into the function room. Pierre followed him with his eyes, squinting a little as he tried to remember where he had seen him before. He was definitely familiar.

Wracking his brain, he found the pizza table and unloaded his burden, then went to serve the group of young people. "Hi guys, you waiting on anything?"

"Nah, we just got here. What's the special tonight?"

"Pizza and beer for $10. You'll have to order it up there."

While they discussed among themselves what they'd get and a few broke away to the counter, Pierre went off to clear a few tables and came back to the kitchen, arms laden with dirty dishes. He was met at the door by a girl, someone who he was friendly with and had saved his butt more than a few times. Her name was strange and foreign, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. All he knew now was that she was annoyed and holding his beloved book, a sight that had become familiar in the last few weeks.

"You'll have to be more careful!" she hissed, shoving it in his face. He only just managed to grab it with his teeth before it fell into an almost-empty bowl of soup. "I can't keep saving your precious book from becoming garbage every time you get busted not doing your work. Found it in the bin. Again. Just managed to grab it before they took them out."

Pierre dumped the dishes on the bench next to the sink and quickly leafed though the book to make sure it was all there. "Thanks, Li... Lio, isn't it?"

"Liénarde. But yeah, you can call me Lio if you like." Her face softened. "So, what is it with all this poetry stuff anyway? What's so important that you're willing to be on the boss's bad side all the time?"

"I'm a writer, Lio. I can't help it if inspiration strikes at inappropriate times."

"A real, professional writer? Do you get paid? Are you any good?"

Pierre let out a breath, thrilled that someone was finally interested. "I'm not professional yet, but I've submitted to several prominent literary magazines and I hope to hear back from them very soon. I won't get paid for anything until I'm accepted, and yes, I do think I am pretty good, if I do say so myself. I was top of the class in English when I went to school-" A sudden buzzing sound cut through their conversation, and he grabbed his phone from his back pocket. "That must be one of them. 'Scuse me a moment." Lio turned to the book on the counter as Pierre eager answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Good evening, am I speaking to Mr Pierre Gringoire?" The voice was female- tired and wooden, as if she was reading off a script. Pierre closed his eyes and forced himself to breath slowly before answering.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Adelaide Brown from Epoch. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your submission 'The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin Mary' was rejected for publishing due to it's length and it's inability to engage. However, we thank you for the-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Pierre gripped his phone harder, eyes widening in horror. "I worked hard on that piece. It took me nearly 6 months to perfect. And you're telling me that it's been rejected? Did you even read it?"

"We assure you that your submission was read carefully by our publishers and editors."

"Then why are you rejecting it? It's a brilliant work of poetry!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but it was simply impossible for us to publish your poetry at this time."

"But-"

"Please accept our sincere apologies. Thank you for the opportunity to consider your work and thank you for supporting Epoch Magazine with your reading, writing, and subscribing. Goodnight."

"Wait-!"

The line clicked off, and Pierre let the mobile slip out of his hand and hit the bench with a metallic 'thud', not caring if he broke it. He sighed shakily and let his body slump against the bench, burying his face in his hands while Lio laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Bad news?"

He groaned, rubbing his eyes to prevent any tears from slipping out. "Just the usual." He stood up slowly and looked at her. "I thought I was so close. I worked so hard, made so many drafts, rewrote it again and again to get it just right. I had all my hopes and dreams riding on that piece. And now it's just... gone."

Lio shook her head sympathetically. "Oh, Pierre-"

"Do you know why they rejected it? Do you know what that Adelaide Brown told me?" He pounded the bench, not waiting for a reply. "She said it's too long and boring to be even considered for publication. Too long and boring!"

"Well..." Lio bit her lip and glanced guiltily at his precious book of poetry. "I suppose you could... I don't know... cut it down a little... maybe?"

He stared at her. "You think so too!"

"What?"

"You think it's long and boring and rubbish, too! Go on, admit it!"

"No, Pierre, I didn't say that!"

"But you're thinking it, aren't you?"

"No!"

He gazed into her eyes, intense and angry.

Lio sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor uncomfortably. "Well, yes, maybe. But you're a good writer, Pierre. You just need to try something different."

"Like what?"

"Stuff that people like to read, like Romance and Drama and Action-"

"Romance!" Pierre collapsed on the bench again. "Drama! Action! I hope the time will never come when I'll have to lower myself to such... trivial... trash!"

She bit back a laugh at his dramatics and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "All right, Pierre, whatever you say." She glanced around and caught the eye of one of the cooks, who was giving them a dirty look, and then at the rapid stacking-up plates of food near the door. "I think it's time to get back to work now, don't you? Or do you want your book thrown out for good this time?"

Pierre straightened up and gave a watery smile. "You're right, of course. I've gotta 'soldier on' and 'smile through the hard times' and all that jazz. Don't wanna lose my job, do I?" He cleared his throat and headed for the table orders. "Thanks, Lio."

"Anytime, man. Hey!"

He turned around.

She snatched up his book and chucked it over. "Heads up!"

He caught it neatly and tucked it into his apron pocket, nodded his thanks and got back to work.

Some time later...

Pierre poked his head through the door, momentarily stunned by the noise and dimmed lights, then balanced his trays carefully as he pushed into the room. By rights he shouldn't be here, for it was a special performance and it was over-18s only, but they were short on staff and he was the only one available to serve at that moment. So he stopped for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and then strolled in, trying not to look illegal.

Up the front was a girl, dancing on a stage. There was nothing inherently 'adult' about her, nothing that exactly screamed 'sex', but her skimpy clothes and suggestive dancing made sure every tipsy, leering eye was on her, including Pierre's for a moment. In the crazy, dancing lights and semi-darkness and loud music and sparkles that shone off her gold costume when the lights hit it, she looked like some kind of ethereal being, a dark fairy with golden scales that twisted and spun to the music and cast a spell on every person in the room. And then he shook his head and tore his eyes away and realized that she was just a young girl, a dancer who was probably desperate for money and attention. Heck, she didn't look any older than him- which made what she was doing pretty illegal. But then, he wasn't supposed be there either, so he wasn't going to say anything.

Coming to his senses, he began to serve out the dishes on his tray, all the while casting glances back at the dancer on the stage. So disconnected was he from his surroundings that when the man near him spoke and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What was that, sir?"

The man said ignored him, and Pierre realized that he hadn't been spoken to- the man was muttering to himself as he stared at the dancer. And then he saw that it was the familiar man he had seen before- the one who he knew but couldn't remember. Sidling closer, he managed to make out the words 'disgusting display' and 'parading around like a harlot' before the stranger took notice of him, suddenly whipping his head around to stare at him. "What?"

Pierre fumbled with his tray and managed to save the drink before it spilled everywhere. "Oh, sorry, your beer, sir."

The man grabbed it and turned back with not an ounce of recognition, and Pierre shrugged and stood back, watching the girl again. She was pretty- extremely pretty- with masses of dark hair piled on top of her head, dark skin and large black eyes that flashed as she glanced around at them. Her eyes caught his for a moment, and he turned away, embarrassed. His tray empty, there was no reason for him to stay, and if he did he would probably get into trouble. So he slowly back out, eyes on the dancer. When he got to the door he looked back at the man, who was gazing at her as intensely as everyone else. But there was one difference- while most of them had drunken grins and leers, he was brooding, almost angry. And for some reason, this troubled the boy.

Later still...

Chucking his apron at the hangers, Pierre picked up his bag and headed out the back door, his shift over. He stopped next to the giant rubbish bins and leaned against one, ignoring the smell, mentally and physically exhausted from the day's work. Looking down at the book in his hand, he scowled, remembering the humiliating phone call from Epoch magazine that still burned in his memory.

"Who am I kidding?" he groaned, holding the book up to the light. It was nearly full, which usually gave him a thrill of pride for what he could do. Now, all his precious poems and snippets of essays suddenly seemed meaningless junk. No-one wanted them. They were useless. And junk deserves to be thrown out.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped back and hurled the book over the side of the bin, turning away quickly and starting to walk away. But each step quickly grew slower as he realized what he had done. He couldn't just throw away all the work he had done that year. And Lio almost believed in him now. She may not have been his biggest fan, but she would be so disappointed to know that he had given up.

What have I done?

With a gasp, he turned and ran back, grabbed the top of the bin and heaved himself up. Looking down into the piles of rotting food and garbage, he spotted it lying neatly atop a tower of food scraps and reached for it. And then his foot slipped. With a yelp, he tumbled into the bin.

Muttering curses, he looked down at the mess he had gotten himself in and reached for the edge. With much huffing, puffing and grumbling, he managed to heave himself back up just in time for the kitchen door to open. Not wanting to be caught in such an embarrassing situation, he quietly lowered himself back into the garbage and peered over the side at whoever had come out.

It was the dancing girl. Although she was wearing jeans and a leather jacket and her hair was down, he knew it was her from the smooth way she moved and her large dark eyes. Also, her shiny gold costume was visible underneath the jacket. He watch as she hoisted her bag on her shoulder and headed away from him, around the building towards the carpark. When she was out of sight, he once again climbed to the top of the bin and jumped down, his shoes making dull, wet squelches on the cement. Making a face, he scraped them off as best he could and then cleaned off his book by wiping it on the back of his jeans. Sighing with both the relief that it was safe and that he hadn't been spotted by the girl, he stuffed it in his bag and headed in the same direction the dancer had.

Turning the corner, he stopped and stumbled back into the shadows when he found her leaning against the wall, staring at her phone. He stood there staring at her shamelessly, illogically afraid of her seeing him. He took the time to examine her face by the light of her phone and found that while her features were perfect , she looked nothing like what she had before. On the stage, she looked fearless, sultry, confident. Here, she looked vulnerable, almost afraid. Her beautiful eyes were sad. She looked like she need a friend.

His fear wearing off, he was about to step out in front of her and perhaps introduce himself when she straightened up, tucked her phone in her pocket and headed off again. He moved to follow but a sudden pull at his shoelaces nearly tripped him up, and with a sigh he bent down to tie them again as she disappeared into the carpark.

And then, she screamed.

In the carpark, almost every spot was taken, and the place was full of shadows. One of the few remaining streetlights that weren't broken shone enough light on the scene to allow Pierre to see the dancing girl struggling in the arms of two men, who were trying to stifle her cries.

Pierre gasped. "Hey, put her down! Security! Help! Help!" he shouted, and ran forward bravely. One of the men turned in his direction; the slanted light revealed a face that was grotesque and terrifying.

Pierre did not take to flight, but neither did he advance another step.

The person came towards him and shoved him away; Pierre fell backwards onto the bitumen and lay there, stunned and winded as he watched him carry the girl towards a car that was bathed in shadows, the other man following with something that gleamed in his hand. Metal handcuffs? The girl continued to struggle and cry out, and Pierre watched helplessly from the ground.

"Stop! Both of you, stop and put her down!" suddenly was called out from the front of the Tavern, and half a dozen guys who had heard Pierre's shout raced out towards the trio, the place's bouncer in the lead.

The would-be kidnappers stopped, surprised, and in a moment of panic dropped the girl and fled for the car. Before anyone could do anything, they had started the engine and raced away.

The rescuers gathered around the frightened girl, who by now was crying and shaking uncontrollably. They helped her up and asked her questions, then made sure she had all her stuff and escorted her into the Tavern. One stopped on his way in and offered a hand to Pierre, who gladly took it and got up, puffing slightly. Dusting himself off, he thanked the man and made to leave, but the bouncer stopped him.

"I'm afraid you can't go just yet, sir. I think the police will want to talk to you."

"Police? But I didn't-" He stopped. "Ohhhh, because I'm a witness. Ok, but they'd better get here soon cuz I have to go home."

He followed them inside, and pulled out his phone to ring his mother. I might be here for a while...

What did you think? Drop me a review and tell me whether I should make Pierre a permanent character, and if so, how? I always like hearing people's ideas :)