The boy was curious about the pull-door situation, but he considered the possibility that time was of the essence. He decided it would be best for him to push forward instead.

  INTERIOR- Terrible Henry’s Hell D**k A** S**t 'n f**k Emporium – Needlessly vulgar den of misery and vice. Poputed exclusively by wretches and sinners. The dimly lit first floor reeks of booze and shame. The main floor contains schemers, drunks, gluttons, gamblers, bastards, scoundrels, etc. Enjoyers of lust are limited her, but far from non-existence, although most head to the lower floors.

  PRESENT- THE BOY (cospying as the girl, but the hat says “BUG” on it), A LOT OF OTHER PEOPLE, DRINKING, SITTING, ENGAGING IN VARIOUS GAMES, BEING HORNY IN PUBLIC.

  TIME- It’s hard to remember anything but darkness at Terrible Henry’s.

  The boy almost fell over as he stepped through the door, the oppressive atmosphere assaulting the entirety of his being.

  Somehow, no light entered the building with him as he stepped inside. It was as though the sun’s radiance was simply repulsed by this pce.

  Though the boy liked to at least try to remain as objective as possible, it quickly became apparent to him that he could not view this pce as anything but unfortunate. The darkness made it hard to process any of the sights, and the noise and the odor made it just as hard to focus on anything else. This pce was antithetical to everything the boy was- there could be no learning here. Not at his current level, at least.

  He wanted very much to leave. But he was on a mission. So, he’d have to do that first. He found this unfortunate.

  He was fairly certain that he was looking for two people, but he wasn’t sure who. Once again, he was disappointed with himself for not asking about that.

  The people around him were enshrouded by all the things that dulled one’s senses. He wondered if he would be noticed at all if he tried to gain their attention.

  He then wondered if he’d be noticed at all if he didn’t. Perhaps he’d try to walk to the other side of the room. Perhaps he’d trip or be knocked over by something. He was smaller than just about everyone else here. He may fall and break against the ground, entirely unnoticed. His voice was small, too. He could shout and go wholly unheard. He could be kicked and trodden upon, and in the end, simply be left to fade into the dark.

  That would be most unfortunate.

  … Still, he had to move at some point.

  So… He walked forward. Into the dark. Slowly. And carefully. With his good arm ready to catch him at the slightest sign of misfortune.

  And he did that. For a while. He stumbled into a number of things, inexplicable puddles, poorly pced tables and chairs, loose trash, undoubtedly a person or two, but he was cautious and careful, and nothing much came of most things.

  Eventually, at about the time he figured he’d be mostly across the room, he faced a much rger obstruction. A rge, tall, long and retively thin wooden table, its top at about chest height. A number of tall stools were pced along his side.

  This pce was like a club or a bar or something, so this was probably the bar, the boy thought. Maybe he could ask the bartender for information.

  The boy did not consider where this knowledge or this idea came from. He did not want to consider much of anything reted to this pce.

  Awkwardly and uneasily, the boy climbed atop one of the tall stools, and sat down.

  And on the other side was Terrible Henry.

  The boy didn’t know how or why, but it was immediately apparent that this man could be no one else.

  Terrible Henry was a mountain.

  His height hovered around 7 feet. It was difficult to tell whether that was over or under. He took up a lot of space, not just in his height, but in the width of his broad shoulders, the breadth of his muscles and the overwhelming bulge of his stomach.

  He had not a hair on his head, save for his rge and thick eyebrows and carefully curled mustache.

  He wore a simple white shirt, every inch of it stained by more substances than the boy was even aware of. Not that he’d be able to tell in the darkness.

  A terrible, hateful scowl was etched into his face. He looked down at the boy with a dismissive, scornful gre. The boy was small under his gaze.

  And, through all things, the man had a heavy gss mug in one hand, and a rag in the other. Always, he polished the gss.

  For a time, the boy couldn’t bring himself to speak. The fear and curiosity the boy felt toward this man was immense, second only to the girl. Though it wasn’t particurly close.