A stray piece of paper drifts into the deep shadows of an alley.
Caught in an endless and quiet dance, it twists like it was performing a flexible ballet in the dark, out of sight from the watchful eyes of society.
The graceful performance and its silent audience relying on the wind to guide it further, taking leaps and bounds over the cobbled stone path.
On its path, the paper makes voiceless exchanges with similar elements that go just as unnoticed by the waking world—like pointless cogs in a clock, masked by the eloquent designs of man.
The beautiful dance gracefully making way down the path, contorting unrealistically to exaggerate its emotions.
This performance, one that would naturally steal the eyes of any in its path, would be cut short.
"Hyup! Oof-"
A graceless boy, dropping in from a box with a less than elegant landing. Everything about him was in strong contrast to the ballet.
He was dressed like life had taken a bite out of him. Rags tied together to create a makeshift poncho, stains left behind, fragments of what they had been, and evidence of the abuse they had been put through by their new owner.
Equally as poorly crafted footwraps cover his feet unevenly, climbing up his ankles and calves to hide behind the tears in his brown pants.
"Another crinkled little menace, back where it belongs."
The street rat takes it upon himself to remove the dancer from the streets.
Wearing a smirk deserving of a punch to the nose, he tucks the now sad excuse of parchment into a tightly threaded sack previously hung over his back. On it, the letters 'JR' jump out in bold colors with a regal font.
Checking his laces, the little runt dashes out of the alley onto open streets, with that same stupid smirk growing wider.
"And that is my quota for the day!"
He stops on a cobbled path that had been smoothed out under the endless onslaught of humans treading over in different shapes and sizes.
Posed there like a spandex hero that had just saved the world, Leon scans the bustling activity of the city, his eyes skipping from head-to-head of the crowds, clearly searching for something.
'Where the hell is she? We were supposed to meet up here when we were done.'
He was looking for a white pompom of hair bobbing through the crowds. He couldn't miss it really.
'Not her.'
His eyes meet the grey hairs of an older lady, still showing some signs of youth through the way carries herself.
'God—No. Definitely not her.'
Somehow, someway; he had almost begun to consider if a larger... Wider male had been his close friend.
Before his attempts could have possibly yielded any results, his attention shifted, turning with the approaching smell of food from a nearby stall.
'Well, if she's not going to show that mop of hers... I may as well, right?'
Fishing out what could have been a fashionable wallet, had he owned it decades before he was born, he counts his coins, starting a slow stroll in the direction of the food markets.
It was a special day today; Leon would be celebrating his brother's birthday with a grand feast.
He whistles to himself softly, his focus jumping between stalls.
From dish to dish, he lets his eyes slip through the exotic and local foods served by the markets in a frenzy.
With nightfall coming, the streets were filled with a seductive aroma of herbs and meats cleverly intertwined with each other.
One smell in particular stuck out to him; the scent of roasting onion and garlic. Its smell was the strongest of the alluring mix.
That was also the most common to see, only short of potatoes, which seemingly try to grow in any condition it dares to see fit.
'Scary-tasty things.'
This scent in particular though, did a great job of reminding him of better times.
His mothers cooking, she would put the two with anything that had a hint of meat, whenever they could afford it, or whenever she had managed to scavenge some from prematurely thrown away products.
His family had always been looked at strangely. The visceral memory of pitiful eyes judging through swarms of nightmarish silhouettes appeared through a fog in his head.
Perching himself on a wooden crate, his mood had darkened, and with it, the world around him followed in his steps.
Nostalgia was often something described to be a sweet glimpse of better times, usually as memories to latch onto, complimenting the present or future.
However, just like a sweet kiss there can be a bitter aftertaste, a reminder of what has been lost to time.
'Good one man, way to ruin a good mood.'
His face was written with a sullen attitude, the aura in the area seemed to change. Shadows danced in slower, more tragic motions.
Passersby flowed past the crate in a beautiful arch that betrayed their nonchalant attitudes, clearly, they were trying to avoid the sad sack of rags.
The shift in the crowd let him understand his surroundings a little clearer. Before anyone even spoke. Before a sound had even been made. He turned his head to meet with a fluffy white ball of fun.
"This isn't where we planned to meet up, big guy."
The smart-ass jab came from that fluffy ball. She equally as poorly dressed girl, her skin pale and smooth, with an almost lilac tint finish to it. Her frizzy hair standing out in the crowd like a strangely familiar pompom.
Sable was carrying a sack similar to Leon, smelling almost as bad as his, but not quite. Despite being just as much of a street rat, she uselessly held onto whatever semblance of her feminine elegance remained, which was basically none, but no one seemed to want to tell her that.
"What's with the drab mood old man?"
She pushed her hair up over her eyes, revealing an even paler, delicate face. Despite looking as though she was riddled with questions about his somberly attitude, her tone of voice seemed to pinch Leon in the side as if she had already found the answer.
"It's nothing. Just remembered that the soft meat wraps were raised by one silver."
He muttered, pointing over to a food merchant that was accompanying a sign listing the stores specials for today.
Like adding insult to injury, just as Sables eyes met the sign, the merchant wiped away the price for the soft meat wraps, raising the price to two silver and five copper.
Leon had pointed at the sign when it was listed as one silver and nine copper.
"What? How the hell are we supposed to afford that?!"
Now in just as much of a grumbling mood as the other mouldy rag-sack, she faces her back to the crate Leon is on and throws herself up, joining his little pity party.
"Go find your own box somewhere else. You're ruining my self-loathing with that stench."
Leon waves Sable away like she was some butler accompanying a very wealthy and educated success.
"Wha—Asshole! You smell worse than me—And when the hell was the last time you bathed?"
She batters him with weightless hits and a glare that pierces through her thick layer of frizzy hair.
"I'll have you know, I don't know when the last time I cleaned up was!"
That's just gross.
But Sable didn't seem to react. She basically already knew that. This was the norm of two worthless Junkrats.
Leaning away from the friendly bashing, almost falling off the edge of the crate, Leon breaks into a laughing fit, Sable quickly joining him.
The previously dull aura surrounding the pile of crates quickly dissipates.
Above them; The sun was making one last break through the tall pillars raised by the city.
Some spots like a light show of bokeh through the scaffolding of the unfinished pillars.
A beautiful gradient of pinks and oranges streaked across the sky like an artists palette of mixed paints.
"Oh crap, we still haven't clocked out!"
Sable jumps off the crate, for a second, she seemed to almost glide downward, just for a moment though.
"Come on, hurry! We can't be late again—or Lewis is gonna chew us out again, you know how he is."
Taking a few moments to enjoy the view, he finally gives in to the less than appetizing motivation. Making sure to not lose his string-sack, he picks himself up and gets running.