calamity / dreamnotfound

Sugar

This would make the second time in twenty-four hours that Clay pulled the tablecloth out, sending whatever casualties there may be tumbling to the floor. George intended today to quit this insane curveball he was blindly following, but he felt just as conflicted now as he did last night.

One glaring question tugged at his mind: who was right? Was that even a fair question in this occupation? Perhaps whose hands are cleaner? would be a better one—Clay's were scraped and bruised, while Maia's were manicured with crimson nail polish. But is that a tell that Maia uses others to do her dirty work while Clay wanders willingly into dangerous situations, and is the latter more noble? Or more idiotic?

How dare he even debate the morality of the two considering the path he wanted to follow most? Every logical cell in his brain screamed at him to drop everyone involved, but could he even do that? He thought of Tommy and Toby—just two young friends that were thrusted into dreadful situations, and how Clay was helping them. And how Wilbur and Niki just want to be together and have found a way to be through Clay's business. Would it even be fair to them to leave their fates at the hand of Blossom, someone who had the full power to harm even more?

George swallowed dryly. She could take them entirely off the market. Why wouldn't she? If George were her, that's exactly what he would do. If she had the intent, she could likely find a way to expose them to the police or desolate their business without chipping a single nail.

"George?"

His head snapped up at the sound of his name and he felt like he had been awoken from a dream. The pair of them were sat in an old diner's booth with tacky red fabric peeling off the seat. The table was plastic but stained from years of spilled coffee and age. Clay was sat on the outside seat next to him, which was strange considering they were the only two at the table. A middle-aged black woman dressed in a pocket apron wrapped around her waist and a notepad in hand, looking at George with a wide smile. "Just coffee for you too, dear?"

He felt himself nod. "Er, yes, but no sugar, please."

She laughed, her nametag glinting from the morning light filtering through the window. It read Essie. "Well I sure hope not, there won't be any left after your friend here has his share!"

George turned to Clay, who smiled and covered his eyes with his bruised hand. "Essie, you're embarrassing me."

"I'll be right out with your coffees, sugar," Essie turned away laughing, folding up her empty notepad. "Ha! Get it? Sugar!"

He turned to Clay. Could he really be trusted? Who's to say he's any different than Maia? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt it was wrong. The bruises on Clay's face did not lie—this was the losing side, and their best chance to stay afloat was if George helped them.

A serious look suddenly fell over Clay's face—he almost looked vulnerable. With lowered eyes, he clearly had something on his mind and was about to speak until he heard the chime of the door signaling someone's arrival. He perked up, and he resumed his natural expression. The diner had a long stretch of counter that acted as a bar, and a few odd characters populated it. Among them were a police officer, a sketchy old man that did not seem to be in the conversational mood, and a woman with her daughter eating pancakes together. Niki and Nick had just walked in the door.

They glanced the pair almost immediately, as if they had a usual spot in this aged diner. After taking their seats together, George noticed that Niki had a warm glow about her.

"I assume everything went well, then?" Clay asked cautiously.

Niki beamed. "Very smoothly. I think we have a long-term deal with them."