The Demon Boy

Day Five - Evening

     Casper lugs around his sack of 'potatoes'. It's at least twice as heavy as his little bag of gold, but he isn't complaining. Being around this much money makes him lightheaded. He's loaded and never has he felt so alive. Pity he has to hand it over when he gets back. Out of the small fortune he has in his hands, he'll see only one pound of it. A pound is more money than he's ever had, but, compared to the rest of it, it looks like a pittance. What's worse, the sum is accounted for already, meaning if he squeaks so much as a penny-farthing more than he's entitled to...

     Balor was intimidating as is. Add on the fact that he's a goddamn sorcerer of all things and Casper's damn well sure he'll listen to whatever he says. If Balor says he gets one pound, then he gets one pound. Never mind how badly keeping his grubby mitts off is chafing him, Casper has to grin and bear it.

    He goes to the pub to soothe his woes. A hot meal does wonders for one's mood and the company, although overbearing, is welcoming nonetheless. It'll be a nice change from the rest of the day.

     It's well into the opening hour. Tables are filling up and idle chatter fills the air. Casper's only been here on the off hours. They don't let minors in here, but Alicia made the exception for him as long as he made himself scarce by opening time. His being here raises a more than a few eyebrows. The background noise skips a beat, then dully resumes as customers lose interest in him and turn their attention back to one another.

     Alicia's busy acting as waitress, taking customers' orders and making small talk. The patrons seat themselves wherever they please. There's a stout fellow manning the bar counter. He shares the same hair colour and freckled face as Alicia. Her Pa? Whoever he is, he's not happy to see Casper here.

     Casper sheepishly waves to him and approaches the counter. "I know I'm not supposed to be here an' all, and I get that, I really do. I won't ask for booze or nuthin'. I won't cause no trouble. All I want is a bit of bread."

     The barkeep has misgivings. "We don't give handouts to strangers around here. If you're wanting grub, you'll need to pay for it."

     "How much?" A pound's more than enough to cover whatever cost the barkeep demands. Still, knowing the going rates is a must for any market.

     The barkeep inclines his head. "Two pence." It's a bit steep as far as meals go. The barkeep's testing him.

     Casper doesn't skip a beat. "Deal."

     "Woah now. I'll have to see payment up front."

     Casper grimaces. It's not that he intends to dine and dash; he'd prefer to maintain a good relationship with his main food source, thank you. And it's not money he's lacking either. He just can't pull it out in front of everyone.

     The barkeep isn't surprised. "Yeah. Thought as much... Look, as much as I'd like to give you something, I can't go giving handouts. You understand?"

     "So, if I got the money, it's no problem?"

     The barkeep squints at him and gives a slow nod. "That's the gist of it."

     Good. "Wait here a second." Casper leaves the pub, walks a few blocks down the main road before ducking into an alleyway. He looks for any spectators; people were paying him too much for his liking earlier today. He's still jittery. Better safe than sorry, especially when he's got a small fortune to lose. He pulls out a pound note out of the burlap sack and stuffs it in his pocket. It's not ideal, but Smith didn't exactly give him small change.

     Casper waits a few minutes, then exits the alley out its other end. He twists and turns down several side streets, getting himself and his imagined pursuers good and lost before finding himself deposited back on the main street. He reorients himself and homes in on the pub.