Selling a paper so early was quite a shock. Hyuk-jae looked his customer over for a moment. She seemed a bit too excited about a simple cargo robbery. The girl was short and freckled, a boyish girl. And like far too many of his customers as of late, she paused to read the story while still standing in front of him. Sighing, the newsie put a finger to his temple.

A headache could just be a headache, but for him, it could also signal... other things. Things he didn't want to be in public to deal with. As long as he didn't start smelling something burning, he'd be all right. Experimentally, he sniffed the air. Nothing. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked down at the girl as she repeated his line about the city.

You don't happen to have any extra information, would you?

Hyuk-jae raised an eyebrow. Like his hair, they were blue-black, contrasting quite a bit with his orange eyes when viewed up close. "Extra information?" he said. "If I do, it's certainly not free."

But a headache was hardly ever just a headache. His vision blurred out for a moment and the young man shook his head. Please no, not today, he thought. Orbs of red and gold filtered over his vision, blurring the surroundings as if he had lights shining in his eyes. At least he'd chosen a spot near a wall. Hyuk-jae put a hand out, vision blacking a little. He caught the wall and leaned on it for a second.

After a moment, it passed, and he sighed. "I — sorry." Had he said something to answer her question? He couldn't remember now.

The girl's face came back into focus. She looked concerned. He must have had a seizure again. Considering the balls of light, and the fact that he could remember them, it hadn't been a bad one. Just one of the small absence or focal types. Yes, the light orbs and everything — just a little one. It was fine. He straightened back up. "You asked me something, right? I can't remember what I said. Will you repeat it?"

But she seemed hung up on the very short seizure. When the girl offered to take him to a healer, Hyuk-jae quickly waved a hand. "No, I — she can't do anything for me, but thank you," he said hurriedly, feeling embarrassed. "I'm fine." But the girl continued, undeterred by his words.

"Just last night I had a black eye, a broken nose, and a concussion —- he was able to take care of it."

Of course. As usual, she was was going to force him to say it. And he had better, too, before he got hauled off to a clinic to see someone who couldn't help him, and then was asked to pay money he didn't have for services that never worked. "No," the young man said forcefully, orange eyes bright, "thank you, but no matter how good your healer is — and it's not that I doubt you — he can't help me, okay?" The firebender sighed, shifting the weight of the papers in his arm. Thank goodness he hadn't dropped them all.

The girl looked tense, watching him closely. What did she think, that he was going to fall right over? While she probably didn't realize how many times that very thing had happened to him, Hyuk-jae was fine. "Listen," he said quietly, hoping his voice didn't carry. He'd never sell the papers that day if everyone heard him talking. "I — I have fits. It's called epilepsy. There's not really anything anyone can do to fix it." If the girl picked up on it, she'd realize that he was also explaining to her why someone his age had the type of job he had. It would explain the thinness, the state of his clothes. It would explain a lot of things about him, depending on how much she knew.

Of course, most people just thought it meant he was cursed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay," he said, sounding frustrated and... dejected. "Everyone pries. It doesn't matter." It wasn't them, not really. It was him. It was always, always him. Adjusting his cap, Hyuk-jae smiled a little at the girl. He was a very pretty person, when he wasn't hiding his face.

"I'm Ling."

"Hyuk-jae." He left his last name out. It probably didn't matter, but he never gave it out unless he had to. He bowed, out of courtesy. "Look, I — I'm sorry to worry you. I'm fine. Really."

“Sure,” he said, “nice to meet you, too.” Was it, though? The girl repeated her question and the orange-eyed boy looked thoughtful. “I might be able to hook you up with someone,” he replied cautiously. He knew that one of the smaller street gangs was involved in the heist – he’d overhead from a ‘client’ the night before that certain individuals had been seen celebrating their prowess. As long as the girl didn’t ask where his information came from, he figured it wouldn’t be too awkward to talk. Besides, if anyone asked, they’d know that his ‘patron’ had spread the words, not him. People like Hyuk-jae were often considered too stupid to be conniving.

She seemed like a nice enough girl. The newsie was torn between money and food. Pushing his cap up a bit, he considered his options. Hyuk-jae needed money. He really, really needed money, but… he also needed to eat. Neither his boss at the paper nor any of his… side job customers paid in food, and he was starving. The young man felt like he was always starving. Living in a perpetual state of hunger was something he had gotten used to. “I’m off work when these papers are sold,” he said, “and not before.” He bit his lower lip for a moment. “… and I guess food will do.”

Now that the promise of a meal loomed bright over him, the young man renewed his zeal for selling said papers. He called out the headline again, getting another stopper. This person thankfully bought the paper and moved right now.

“I’ll stay at this corner,” Hyuk-jae told Ling, “until I sell them all. Luck’s the best in this district when it’s not a sensational headline. You can come back in a while, if you like.” He couldn’t unload all the papers. He’d only been stupid enough to do that one time, and he clearly remembered the beating he’d gotten over it. Tonguing his split lip again, Hyuk-jae waited for her to tell him what she wanted to do.

Preferences? The question of food preference hardly ever entered the young man’s mind these days. He tended to eat whatever he could afford, and it was usually something simple that was easily rationed – plain rice, dried meat. Only once a year or two ago, when he had first run away and had a great day’s pay, had he attempted to eat out at a restaurant. The resulting sickness from rich food on a stomach so used to being empty had kept the newsie from ever doing so again. Now that the question was before him, he didn’t even know what to say. “I… I don’t know,” he said.

"Narook's is pretty good, if you haven't been there. Or we could go cheap and buy a bunch from the various food stalls downtown. They tend to ... uh... move through you a little fast, though."

Hyuk-jae didn’t want to choose. He didn’t even know where to start, honestly. After a moment of silence, he shook his head. “You’re buying,” he said quietly to the woman, “so you choose.” He knew that Narook’s was a Water Tribe food place, and had heard it was good. He couldn’t ever remember going there, though. His parents, afraid of grand mal seizures (or even smaller myclonic types, that jerked a spoon out of his hand) had tended to keep him at home. Hyuk-jae hadn’t even really grown up eating out. “Simple is best.”

He almost laughed at her antics with the businessmen. The suits were always haughty and busy, but Hyuk-jae would never deny he’d gotten quite a few ‘patrons’ around this way. Lawmakers and people who considered themselves important often had a lot to hide, and strange tastes. Some people required more accommodating than others. The newsie pursed his lips and sold two more of his papers before returning to the conversation with Ling.

"If it doesn't bother you too much I can stay here and wait for you to finish. We don't have to talk, if you don't want."

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I have…” a quick count revealed that he’d sold four of the twenty issues he’d taken out that day. “Sixteen papers left,” Hyuk-jae finished. He ought to be able to easily dispose of those. “You stay here.” Walking down the road a bit, he waved the paper again. He was taller than most paper boys, which often worked to his advantage. Hyuk-jae waved the paper with the right arm, the red bracelet catching the sun. It always helped, that bracelet, and soon he had only two papers left. Maybe the headline wasn’t such a bummer after all!

He returned to Ling with all the papers gone save one. Well, maybe he could sell that one on the way. Maybe he could even sell it in the restaurant. Whatever the case, he didn’t want to keep her waiting – and his success with the paper made him wonder if he oughtn’t go back to pick up more issues to sell. Mr. Gil would probably hit him in the face again. Hyuk-jae preferred not to be hit in the face. It made some things much more difficult.

The slim boy’s face was thoughtful as he returned to Ling. “All right,” he said. He knew that she was only being nice to him because she needed something from him but... it still felt good. Hyuk-jae was not used to people who were nice. He wanted to hold on to it as long as he could, even though he knew it wasn't real.

The muscles in Hyuk-jae's shoulders tightened as he noticed Ling watching him closely. Of course she was! She probably thought he was going to collapse again any minute. Steeling himself with the thought of food, the newsie followed the girl to the food stall without saying anything. When she handed him a skewer of tofu, he stared at it for a moment.

Less protein, he remembered the healer telling his parents. An ideal ratio fat to carbohydrate and protein grams combined would be 4:1, but since he is still growing, you can go with 3:1. Even since he'd run away, Hyuk-jae had done the best he could to adhere to the diet. It hadn't been working so well in the last six months or so; the dramatic increase in seizures was proof of that. The diet had decreased them by fifty percent, but to everyone's dismay, he hadn't been lucky enough to be one of the ten or fifteen percent of children who became seizure-free. And on his own? He couldn't buy the appropriate food with enough regularity to adhere to it well enough. The only thing he could afford with regularly was rice, and that was all carbohydrates — something he wasn't supposed to have many of. Tofu was protein, but Hyuk-jae couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten quite a bit of protein, so... maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

Cautiously, Hyuk-jae took a small bite of the tofu. He almost stopped walking as the taste overwhelmed him. It was so, so good. As they continued towards the noodlery, he slowly ate the tofu with the air of someone who knew he'd never taste it again. It was as if he wanted to capture the memory of it by eating so slowly.

Maybe he did.

Ling's next question took him off guard. Did she find silence upsetting? His roommates were always happiest when he didn't say much and stayed in the closet. As such, he wasn't very prepared to carry on long conversations with anyone. He didn't have much practice.

It wasn't so much that Hyuk-jae minded talking as it was that he didn't have anything to say. "I don't mind talking," he said. "But... I don't know what to talk about." The only people he ever spent much time talking to were his 'patrons', and he very much doubted Ling wanted to hear what they wanted to hear. It would be too awkward with a young girl, anyway. No, Hyuk-jae had no idea what to say. He would answer questions if asked, but he didn't usually offer information about himself unsolicited. And he hardly ever listened to Probending matches, so he couldn't talk about that. "Um. Were you applying for something, today, downtown?"

When they got to the Noodlery, he stared in dismay at the menu. How would he possibly know what to choose? After fidgeting and going over everything twice, he decided on something simple that didn't even have noodles in it. It was one of the only things on the menu without, and was mostly meat and sea vegetables, and was coincidentally the cheapest thing on the menu. The noodles sounded better, but he was worried about eating them.

Hyuk-jae turned his head, taking in the scene of people in the restaurant. One hand toyed idly with the bright silver double rings in his left ear. The hugged the curve of the ear and didn't dangle, but he flipped them back and forth in what was obviously a mindless habit. So many people, he thought. He never had experiences like this. Orange eyes softened as he took everything in, hoping to commit it to memory. Nothing escaped his notice — the colour of the light, the happy couple in the corner, a small baby sitting between them.

"It's nice," he said to Ling. "I haven't ever been here before." As if that weren't obvious.

"My sister and I are starting up a detective agency. We're going to be private investigators!"

That explained her interest in the case of the missing cargo, and her wish to ply him for information. It must be, Hyuk-jae thought, so nice to be able to achieve your dreams. When he was little he had dreamed of so many things – things he knew were completely out of his reach. He tried not to think about that kind of thing too often because it was painful to confront the idea that where he was now would be his life forever. The young man didn’t say much for a while, until she broke into his observation of the restaurant with a completely unrelated offer.

”It's got to be tough for you right now, yeah?"

“Times are tough for everyone.” As she paused and then continued with her offer, Hyuk-jae raised a dark brow. Really? “A veiled attempt, I’m sure,” he said softly, “to ask me if I have living parents? Don’t worry. I do. At least, I assume they’re still living. I left when I was seventeen.” Why he left, now that was none of her business. Mostly. Her question was couched in a deal, something that sounded like it would mostly benefit him and not benefit her. Hyuk-jae questioned things like that, things that sounded too good to be true. They always were too good to be true, after all. He’d learned that very quickly. He shrugged and fell silent.

The food arrived and he put a bite of the meat to his mouth before grimacing and putting it back down quickly. “Stone of a peach,” he murmured softly, an alternative to swearing. It was obvious his parents, whoever and wherever they were now, had taught him not to curse. He put the napkin up to his lip, pulling it away to observe a little blood. Ah, right. Mr. Gil had split his lip that morning, of course. It stung like crazy and he winced, putting the glass of water to his lips. The cold was soothing. Maybe he’d just let the food cool off or something first.

“I have a place to live,” he said. “It’s not the nicest place, but I pay my rent.” No matter what I have to do to get it, he added silently. “It’s fine with me if you need information and I can get it, but – I don’t take charity.” Glancing across the restaurant, he blanched to see Dae-ho, one of his regular ‘patrons’, lunching at the table opposite. Hyuk-jae sank a little in his chair, hoping the man didn’t see him. He didn’t want to explain that he didn’t ‘work’ during the day and he wasn’t here on ‘business’ or anything like that…

Looking back down at the napkin in his lap, Hyuk-jae sighed. “My job is fine. I’m glad I have it. I’m not – well, I’m not exactly… qualified… for much of anything else.” He wanted to be an inventor, a machinist, but he would never be able to take such a job. It was too dangerous to any co-workers, and all his skills were self-taught, anyway. He had no credentials.

“Please don’t yell at me,” said Hyuk-jae. When she laughed at him, he said nothing. Her tirade about doing what you wanted and never giving up sounded nice in theory, but it just underscored that normal people didn’t understand – couldn’t understand – what it was like to not be one of them. It wasn’t her fault. She, like most people, had clearly been taught that hard work could get you what you wanted, even if it took a long time. The newsie was aware that, for the most part, that was true. But it wasn’t true for everyone, and it wasn’t true for him.

The first year he’d run away he tried every factory in town. After that, he tried mechanics. After that, clockmakers. But even the nicest ones all said the same thing – if he was just sick, or a normal Firebender, things would be great! But he could potentially burn a building down with no warning, and no one could afford that risk. The only person who had given him a job was Mr. Gil, and that was precarious at best. Hyuk-jae gingerly ate without saying anything. It really was best not to argue with someone who was buying his meal.

Being yelled at was nothing new. The ferocity in the girl’s voice was the same, to him, as yelling. When she slapped her hand on the table he jumped a little, but once again didn’t say anything. What would he have said, anyway? Only when he’d eaten – very slowly – a bit more did he speak at all. The brine on the food burned his lip.

“Okay,” said Hyuk-jae. “You’ll want to find Lee the Gentle. If you ask around people will know who he is.” He continued in a very soft voice to tell her that Lee the Gentle had passed on some information about who was seen celebrating where after that very heist had occurred. He left out how he knew Lee the Gentle, and he left out where they’d been when he got the information. Letting out a breath, the young man looked back down at his bowl and picked up another vegetable, eating it slowly as well. He wouldn't have anything like it for quite some time, and he wanted to savour the sea-like taste.

“I didn’t know,” said a man’s voice, “you came out during the day, Hyuk-jae.”
The muscles in his shoulders tightened back up, and any ounce of emotion that had coloured his face disappeared almost instantly. “I don’t,” the newsie said, turning in his chair, tossing black hair out of his eyes. “I’m not working.”
The man in question eyed Ling curiously. A girl. Unusual. “Guess not, my mistake. How’s your Saturday?”
“It’s fine.”
“Same time?”
“Fine,” said Hyuk-jae, clearly eager to get rid of the man by agreeing.
“Smile a little!” the man said, before leaving.

Hyuk-jae pushed his bowl away, not smiling. “Thank you,” he said to Ling, not looking at her face, either. "I hope that you find the information helpful."

She was immediately contrite. "I apologise for yelling," she said, hoping her voice sounded as sincere as she felt. "I know things are different with ... you know... but I think you can make it. And there's no harm in asking for --or accepting-- someone else's help. You don't have to tell me, but can I know what you want to do? I don't know if I could hire you full time just yet, but depending on what it is, maybe we can give you small jobs that will help you reach your goal."

Hyuk-jae remained silent, eating his food diligently. Ling could've kicked herself. Why, oh why, didn't she ask Mei to just forget about her shift and come with? Feeling like banging her head on the wooden table, the freckled woman nodded her thanks at the newsie's information. Lee the Gentle; she'd have to ask her contacts down at the Docks and the Fan for more information. A lead was a lead, though, and for her first case she felt the price of Hyuk-jae's meal was an entirely justified and reasonable cost.

"I really didn't mean to upset you," she said a bit more quietly, the fire out of her voice. She really did wish that Mei had come; she would know just the right things to say to smooth things over. Ling was entirely out of her element, dealing with people who clearly weren't the... more boisterous types like her cronies at the Docks, the Fan, or her old gang-mates. The young woman fidgeted, taking another bite of noodle.

A fat man suddenly loomed behind Hyuk-jae, and Ling was instantly on the defensive, her middle finger just a twitch away from pulling the mechanism that would let one of her daggers slide out from her sleeve. Her companion was clearly uncomfortable at this man's presence; it wasn't a matter of defending him — for all she knew, he could take care of himself — but it never hurt to be prepared for a fight.

Though, if there was one, she'd probably have to bite the blade and let Mei heal her — she seriously doubted Iluak would be as generous with his fee as he had been the night before.

I'm not working.

It was a very good thing indeed that Ling's speciality was poker; she carefully, calculatedly, kept her face blank; a bland, uninterested look as she took a drink of water. The man turned a piggly little eye at her, appraising her looks. Not because he was interested, but because whatever "professional" relationship he and Hyuk-jae had, he seemed to think she was a part of it.

And Ling had a very good idea what that sort of relationship was. She'd... partook in such a professional endeavour a few times before, though those were always of a fun nature. This, whatever this was, between Hyuk-jae and this pigbear-man was clearly not fun.

Or wanted.

That only went to show how desperate Hyuk-jae was in his situation, and made Ling want to help him more. Internally, she batted away the Mei-zhen that always resided within her head. No questions, she told her sister-conscience firmly. If the young man wasn't doing such a thing because he wanted to, then she had no right to pry. That was friend-level information, and they clearly were not at that point in their relationship — and they might never be.

The two made a schedule for Saturday, and before leaving the man told him to smile, and gave her another look. She kept her face blank, meeting his gaze head-on. Thanking her mother's people for her light grey-blue eyes, she watched in private satisfaction as the man flinched before heading out of the door.

Hyuk-jae pushed away his bowl, and Ling turned her attention to him, her face still that same bland expression. He wasn't looking at her as he thanked her, but the woman could tell he was mortified. She ignored it.

"Would you like another bowl?"

He seemed surprised when she apologized for yelling. Nobody ever apologized for yelling! It was completely unexpected. It warranted a small smile. That smile of course had been erased by Dae-ho’s presence, and Hyuk-jae carefully avoided looking at Ling. He was deeply embarrassed. Maybe he shouldn’t ever go to restaurants.

When she ignored what had happened entirely, he sighed, shaking it off a little with a small shiver. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that she didn’t know, of course. Dae-ho was an obvious man on a good day. But he did pay very well. He always paid very well.

Would you like another bowl?

Hyuk-jae reluctantly shook his head. “I… haven’t really eaten this much in a while,” he confessed, “and I think if I ate more, I’d just get sick.” Smart boy. He wished he could eat until he was full, but honestly? Who even knew how much that would be! Hyuk-jae couldn’t remember feeling full.

Realizing he hadn’t answered her offer, Hyuk-jae shrugged a little. “I don’t mind passing along information when I have it,” he said. It didn’t hurt him any to tell, after all. He idly rubbed his wrist, bruised just under the bright red bracelet. The leather strip was effective for hiding things like that, things that came from ‘side jobs’ often asked for from young men who were supposed to be able to take it better than girls. “I, um. I live in the Dragon Flats. Sometimes I have to stay home for a few days, so…”

It would be embarrassing if she came to the flat and saw that he lived in the closet, but at this point, Hyuk-jae kind of doubted that he could look any worse in her eyes. Living in Dragon Flats was bad enough already, right? So it didn’t really matter. But he heard things even at home, from his gossipy roommates, so… the young man quickly rattled off an address, once again toying with his earrings.

Pausing, he felt obligated to continue. "Look, I — I'm sure you know what you just saw. So I'm sure you know it's safe to say that a lot of my information will come from the... er, horse's mouth, so to speak." Awkward. But true. "So... I hope that's... acceptable." A moment passed and he looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. "It's just," Hyuk-jae voice almost inaudibly, "that I have to pay my rent. I have to have a place to sleep when I — when I need it. And I can't always sell the paper. So."

"I don't mind living in the Flats," Hyuk-jae said. "It hasn't been any trouble for me." He was a Firebender, after all. It was fine. His roommates were all fine; they faded into the background too easy to have trouble. When she waved off his 'working', he felt a great sense of relief — but it was quickly replaced with a sense of strange urgency.

Hyuk-jae refused to take a bowl to go. “I should go,” he said. He had a vague feeling of unease, which usually meant that he would be having a seizure soon – and not the small absence-type he’d had earlier. At times like that he always felt the need to ‘escape’ wherever he was and whoever he was with. Waving off her concerns he pocketed her number and address, just repeating that he needed to leave. He was thankful, but he didn’t stick around.

Luckily, Hyuk-jae made it home before it hit. His roommates knew to leave him alone and so when the jerking movements stopped and he took a deep breath again, they put him in the closet to sleep it off. Normally he slept an entire day, if not more. This time he slept two and a half.

When he finally woke up, Hyuk-jae took stock of the bruises he’d acquired. Elbow, a given. Upper arm? How? Lip – split. From the seizure? He frowned, rubbing his head. No. From Mr. Gil. For… the paper, for some reason. It didn’t matter why, really, as it happened all the time. As usual, the Firebender dug through his pockets. He knew he’d forgotten something, because he always did. Coming up with a slip of paper, he stared at the address and number on it.

“Stone of a peach,” he said to himself, reading it again. “… Why do I have this?”

He didn’t recognize it at all. It had to have been given to him just before the fit, or else he’d remember. The handwriting was female, apparently. A girl? What was he doing with a girl? Hyuk-jae didn’t know that many…

Sighing, the young man got up and took a very, very cold shower. He felt disoriented and still-tired, but now he had this … number on his hands. He should probably call it, right? Hoping he hadn’t forgotten any other appointments, Hyuk-jae left the house in all black to go to the nearest store who would let him pay to call.

Nervously, he toyed with his earrings as the phone rang. This was the worst part, having to cold-call and say, ‘I don’t remember who you are, but I have your information some how’. There was no avoiding it, though, especially not if whoever was on the other end was connected to money.