[address removed]

Call it a grocery store, convenience store, liquor store, or deli -- whatever the title, it's a fixture of a neighborhood. The American bodega is an institution. Be it NOLA or New York, Seattle or San Francisco, you will find these corner stores scattered through the urban sprawl as gracious watering holes in the vast concrete food deserts. Whether it's a family-owned store, or a 7-Eleven, your average American has grown up with at least one. Torn is no different.

[address removed] is the unassuming name and location of one homely little bodega.

The sun-bleached green awning has the words "grocery", "liquor", "cigars", "deli" across its tattered front flap; half the letters are missing and are only legible by way of being discolored differently. The large front window is covered in faded signs showing the prices of cigarette, cigar, and liquor alongside milk, baby formula, and cough medicine; the interior of the shop is visible from about eye-height up between the taped over bullet holes and wrought iron bars. The lock on the glass and steel front door has been bent and busted from a break-in long ago, not that the owner minds much, considering the shop never closes.

Inside, there are five cramped aisles leading to the refrigerated shelves imbedded in the back wall. The fridge's compressor hums lowly behind glass doors with deteriorating rubber seals, its artificially warm lighting bringing a noisy brightness to the back corners of the store; shelved with drinks, non-alcoholic and low ABV alike. The far left of the store carrying the inedible odds and ends most people wouldn't think they'd need but find themselves searching for anywhere from three in the morning to three in the afternoon. Along the front window, hidden behind those old signs, are an overpriced ATM, freezers, newspaper racks, and more useful things. The five aisles are filled with food, mostly of the non-perishable variety.

To the right of the front door, the register sits in a cubby hole surrounded by impulse purchases, those last-minute things you reach for right as you get rung up. Behind it are the many cigars and cigarettes and liquor and lotto tickets, all under the owner's keen and watchful eye. Further in along the right-hand side is the little deli counter, with laminated pictures and prices of various simple sandwiches and foods that make for a decently filling breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the go. The flat top grill always keeps this corner of the shop hot on cold days, and unbearable during the hotter summer months; it's a wonder the cold line of veggies and toppings stays cool.

Most of all, Liam Davis sits behind that register on the same old wooden stool day in, day out. It is by his will that this little slice of peace maintains itself amid the violent chaos of Torn City. It is by his will that the shelves seem to always have exactly what someone needs (within reason), and the cheap food always feels more satisfying than the bougiest restaurants. During summer heatwaves, he'd sell ice cream for half off to the kids, and let them sit by the store fan and watch cartoons on his small CRT TV, keeping them cool and off the streets. This unassuming, balding old man cares for one of the few steadfast fixtures of normalcy in this crazy, crazy city. Robbers are dealt with swiftly by the people that care for this little place, and factions know not to mess with it.

[address removed] is home.

And it is open to you. Whoever you are, wherever you come from. Its doors are open.

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Welcome! This is meant to be a fantastically mundane slice of life centered around a volatile community's rock of Gibraltar. I will DM various goings on at the bodega, and keep a loose plot moving forward. This is all meant to be very casual, so please don't expect any big sweeping plot or world ending stakes. This is meant to be an intimate dissection of what the quieter moments mean to your characters and the world around them. And what they'd do to keep it. I said there wouldn't be world ending stakes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that things will be without conflict.

Please fill out the following before making your first IC post:

Name (and any nicknames)

Pronouns (gender notwithstanding)

Occupation(s) (legal or illegal)

Birthday (the setting is today)

Favorite Food(s) and Drink(s) (can be more than one!)

Smoker or Non-Smoker (if so, what do they smoke)

Description of Character (feel free to include art and links to further information)

Misc Notes (the little things and quirks and idiosyncrasies that make them who they are)

If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out to me via chat, message, or the OOC thread. Please don't clog this thread with questions. I'd like to keep this clear for IC writing only.

-Doodle

NPC LIST

Liam Davis ("Lee")

     He/Him

     [address removed] bodega owner

     July 5th, 1971

     Chopped cheese, macaroni salad; rum, grape soda

     Non-Smoker

Lee is a portly 5'7", whose slight double chin is kept immaculately clean. However, his bushy moustache leaves much to be desired; a contingent of children call it his "lip caterpillar", and the fact he can make it wiggle and roll doesn't help the matter. He has graying brown hair on a balding head, and moderate skin that tans well enough to make on question his ethnicity. His ethnicity is something of a mystery, and his ambiguous looks only make it more mysterious. His hands are rough and arthritic from years of overwork. He waddles slightly with his walk, and struggles to kneel and bend down in his age and physical health. His smile is absolutely award winning, and his wink has a savoir faire that adds even more warmth to his homely demeanor.

Lee gets a little too invested in American football and has been known to be immensely distracted when the game is on. Lee also does this sort of shrug and whining exhale of a noise whenever something is either too much to explain, too little to deal with, he doesn't know what to say next, and frankly it's something of a filler sound in his speech.

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PC LIST

Matthew "Matt" Franco, "Skelly", "Skells"

     He/Him

     Chandler, etc

     August the 17th, 1978

     Club sandwich, ginger ale, and single malt scotch

     Non-Smoker

     Further Information about Matt

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Ash Cruz

     She/They

     Fighter (MMA, Boxing), Burglar, Dumpster Diver, Disposal, Private Security

     May 18th, 2005

     Bacon and eggs with hashbrowns, Chamorro food, Dr. Pepper, beer, Hot Cheetos

     Smoker (Black & Mild, weed)

     Further information about Ash

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Sabrina, "Rabies"

     She/Her

     Florist, Donna of the Luchasy Family

     January 23rd, 2000

     Pizza, sushi, teriyaki yakisoba, soda (root beer), mango juice

     Smoker (Weed)

     Further information about Sabrina

-------------------

Name:Matthew 'Matt' Franco, Skells or Skelly to friends

Pronouns: he, him

Occupation(s): Chandler by day, with some shady business on the side

Birthday: August the 17th, 1978

Favorite Food(s) and Drink(s): Club sandwich, ginger ale, and single malt scotch

Smoker or Non-Smoker: Non-smoker

Description of Character: Despite his striking appearance and tall frame, Matthew has a collected, somewhat withdrawn personality with a strong sense of justice. He is meticulous and tenacious and always tries to reason first. He is loyal to his friends and ruthless towards his enemies.

Misc Notes: Matthew stands at 6'6". He has long hair, usually tied in a ponytail. It used to be pepper-and-salt colored, but time slowly gave a grayish shade the upper hand. He has a well-kept, full beard, which equally shows his age. Bright blue eyes pierce from under his almost constantly frowned eyebrows. He usually wears a plain black t-shirt over a pair of tapered blue jeans. Dark colored sneakers and, when the temperatures outside drop below 10 degrees Celcius, a black-and-red motorcycle jacket complete his outfit. He has a weakness for animals in general, and cats in particular. He strongly leans towards diplomacy but will not hesitate to use weapons when needed. His weaponry has only one consistent item, which is his trusted Desert Eagle, a gift from someone special.

Intro post will follow shortly

Ash Cruz

     She/They

     Fighter (MMA, Boxing), Burglar, Dumpster Diver, Disposal, Private Security

     May 18th, 2005

     Bacon and eggs with hashbrowns, Chamorro food, Dr. Pepper, beer, Hot Cheetos

     Smoker (Black & Mild, weed)

Ash is a laid-back person who skates by day to day with a shit eating smile, a pocket full of whimsy, and a dash of common sense. Ash stands at 5'10", broad shouldered and muscular underneath her light-brown skin; an imperfect body clearly rendered fit by function over form. She keeps her thick black hair on the shorter side with a sloppy undercut, trimming it herself with some kitchen scissors and a hair clipper for the occasional buzz. Their eyes are a bright, cool grey, despite the warmth and fire behind their gaze. A scar breaks up one of her bushy brows, leaving the top lid of her left eye permanently a little lazy; the scar on her left jawline and neck seems to be an extension of this one. Her round nose is crooked with another scar on it, a much older and faded scar. Their left ear has two tears in it, seemingly from getting a piercing ripped out. Other small scars pepper her body from innumerable things she's long since forgotten about, with two or three memorable markings. See art HERE.

Ash's signature grin is a toothy, goofy, lopsided thing that has its own sort of dorky charm to it.

The sound of gunfire tore Matthew away from his musings. He found himself in the middle of the street, close to an intersection. His instincts, sharpened by his years in this Godforsaken city, immediately kicked in. Without thinking, he pulled his Desert Eagle and jumped to the side of the road to find some cover. He landed behind an abandoned car, which, looking at the weeds that had overgrown its shell, had been sitting there for a while. He subconsciously registered that it was an old Buick Skylark from the seventies. It originally had been painted in a shade of brown that was even uglier than the red-brownish color of the rust that had eaten away a substantial part of its extensively dented and ripped body. It was a wreck. All the windows were shattered, and its interior had been stripped of everything useful, leaving nothing but bare metal and exposed wiring. The tires and wheels had been removed, leaving the mangled car resting on its chassis. Still, he was glad it sat there, as it provided him much needed cover. 

Matthew peeked around the bent front fender to try and locate the source of the gunfire he had heard. It wasn't likely the bullets were meant for him, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Being cautious had saved his life more than once before. This time, however, it seemed he had been overly cautious. The streets, or rather the parts he could see, were empty, and the gunfire had died out. He heard the sound of irregularly shuffling footsteps. Judging by its fading loudness, whoever stumbled there moved away from his location. 

Judging by this, Matthew assumed someone had been mugged, a more than common event in Torn. He holstered his Desert Eagle and decided to wait a few more minutes to make sure that whatever had been going on had ended. He used that time wisely and took a closer look at his surroundings. From where he sat, he could overlook the entire intersection and both sides of the street he was in. The view of the crossing street was limited to a few dozen feet both ways. He definitely was in a part of the city that was best to be avoided if possible. It was an urban area, with houses along both sides of the roads, interspersed with a few bars, a handful of fast food restaurants, and the odd shop. Almost all buildings were in a terrible state of maintenance, with faded paint peeling from the rotting woodwork. Most windows were boarded up, and the few that had any glass left were all blinded. For a moment, he wondered why. Neither of the buildings seemed to be worth peeking into. He shrugged. Criminal activity doesn't require a well maintained building, so it was quite likely that that was the reason. He noticed slight movement in the corner of his view and shifted his attention. A large rat rummaged through the junk that littered the pavement. 

'Truly not the best part of town', Matthew thought as he changed position to get a bit more comfortable. As he did, he felt a sharp sting in his left forearm. Somewhat surprised, he raised an eyebrow and inspected his arm. A large gash marred the inside of his arm and was bleeding quite profusely. He had no idea what had caused the injury, but he assumed he must have cut himself on one of the many protruding pieces of torn metal on what once was the nicely shaped bodywork of the Buick. He quickly checked his pockets for a first aid kit, but he didn't have one on him at the moment. He had run out due to some unexpected bumps he had hit on his previous venture. He was on his way back to his private island to replenish his supplies and hadn't exactly anticipated running into trouble again. A misjudgment on his part, although bad luck had something to do with it as well. Still, he had to deal with this now, which meant he needed to find some help. 

A quick search of the wreck he stood next to yielded Matthew a piece of wiring long enough to bind off his arm. That stopped the bleeding, at least for the most part, but wasn't exactly a permanent solution. For now, though, it would have to do, while he went on his way to find some help. There was no way he could make it back to his home without having attended to his wound. He carefully looked around and chose the path that seemed the most promising for finding help. He crossed the street and took a right turn into,  as the faded sign read, Sycamore street. 

Despite having lived in Torn for several years now, Matthew has never heard of this street before. That wasn't too surprising, really, as he wasn't a regular visitor to this part of town. He preferred to be either abroad or on his island. Sometimes, though, having to pay someone a visit that lived here was inevitable. As he slowly walked on, he noticed his arm had started bleeding again. He grinded his teeth as he tightened the wire around his arm. A jolt of pain surged through him, causing him to stumble. He only just managed to stay on his feet. 

Matthew stopped, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and looked further down the street. About fifty yards away, he noticed a green awning that had definitely seen better days. It was so bleached that calling it green was actually a stretch. At some point, there must have been words on it, but most of the pasted letters had disappeared, making it look like an unfinished game of hangman. Still, from what he could make out, this was some sort of 7-Eleven. They were bound to have bandages or at least some cloth.

As he approached the store, located at number 623, he noticed its tatty appearance. The once stately front was battle-scarred and blended perfectly in with the rest of the deprived neighborhood. The wrought iron bars were in serious need of replacement as they had suffered dearly from years of exposure to nature's forces. The window was covered with tape on the outside and old, faded cardboard commercial signs on the inside. Either way, this indeed was a shop.

Matthew narrowed his eyes as he entered and couldn't help but smile widely. Some shop this was. An old school 'we-have-what-you-are-looking-for' shop. It must have been decades since he had last visited one. A few happy memories from his childhood surfaced, but he quickly dismissed them. He had no time to rummage around in the shop's inventory and relive happy parts from his childhood. He needed bandages fast.

Matthew looked around. There were no customers in the shop. The space was packed with all sorts of shop furniture, both refrigerated and normal. There even was a small diner on the right, next to the register. Behind the counter the register was placed on, was an old wooden stool that was occupied by a balding man with a huge moustache. The man intrigued Matthew. He was pretty smart at estimsting people at first glance, but this man was not that easy to fathom, which gave him a somewhat uneasy feeling. Nevertheless he approached him quickly. 'Hello, sir. Do you happen to have some bandages lying around? And some antibiotics, perhaps?' he asked the man with a wry smile and showed him his arm. 'I've had an unfortunate encounter with a sharp piece of rusty steel, and I'm losing a lot of my precious blood.' While awaiting a reaction, he once again tightened the wire around his forearm.

"Well, that's no good," Lee remarks as he sucks air between his teeth and sets down his newspaper. With a small 'hup' to get off his stool, he waddles around the register and into the store. "Now, you wait right there," He casually instructs, not even bothering to look at Matt. It's clear he moves with some urgency, though the limitations of his physique are apparent.

He pulls a box of non-stick gauze pads off the shelf of the back left wall. "You know," He begins off-handedly as he goes back behind the counter and pulls out an old metal toolbox, "I was taking inventory of this just the other day, and you know what? I should have restocked it." He pops the two latches on the front and opens it to an array of first aid materials, but missing the exact size of gauze he pulled from the shelves, and what remains all looks like they're from a generation or two ago. "But, don't you worry, I got what you need," He babbles.

He gestures for Matthew to come around behind the register and chimes in a little more urgently, "Come on now, let me get a good look at you." The older man puts his reading glasses on, and starts filing through the kit, pulling out a roll mostly-used roll of medical tape, a small old metal sewing kit, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and pulls open the box of new gauze pads, ready for Matthew.

Matthew grinned at the man's dry remark and watched him get up, walking purposefully over to one of the aisles.  His walk was slow and careful, and it looked as if his joints couldn't deliver what his mind demanded. It might have been his age, although he didn't seem that old, or perhaps he had some sort of joint issues like arthritis. He grabbed a box from one of the shelves and returned to the register in his shuffling gait. Though initially relieved his wound would be attended to, Matthew's positive enthusiasm turned into worry when he caught a glimpse of the old toolbox the man had pulled from somewhere behind the counter. Inside were some ancient materials, among which a pretty much medieval sewing kit. 

Having been a medic in the army, Matthew was more than familiar with the technique the man was going to apply. The pain the procedure would give didn't really bother him, but he knew the numbers of post-surgical infections and their consequences. Apart from that, he had no idea if the man actually knew what he was doing. 

Matthew wasn't too keen on ending up as a statistic, but his other option wasn't much better either. He took a few seconds to think it through and decided to get his wound sewn up. The man seemed rather trustworthy and was obviously self-confident about his skills. And in all fairness, Matthew didn't know him, for all he knew he once could have been a medic as well. Worst case scenario, he could take some antibiotics as a precaution. The wound was probably dirty anyway, considering the rusty piece of metal that had caused it.

Matthew obeyed silently as the man urged him to show his wound. He hesitated for a second and then stepped towards the counter. He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to have dropped by ten degrees. His vision became blurry, and he wobbled on his feet. He quickly grabbed his of the counter to keep his balance. He shivered while he carefully placed his forearm on the scratched surface close to the strangely intriguing man.

This wasn't fear. It was the blood loss that caused all these effects. 'All the more reason to get this gap closed.' he thought to himself as he leaned against the wooden structure to avoid collapsing. The worn surface felt cool to his overheated skin. He grimaced to the man, who now wore glasses.'Thank you kindly, sir,' he said in a rasping voice.'I'll reward you handsomely when this is done. The name's Matthew, by the way.' He then closed his eyes to let the lightheadedness subside and awaited the man's actions. 

"Oh, don't thank me yet, Matthew," Lee chuckles with a sassy sort of amusement that feels strangely youthful for someone like him, "The name's Lee." He speaks as he begins his work, dousing the wound with hydrogen peroxide to clean it, and wiping around the wound with clean gauze.

"My wife was better at sewing than me," He sighs wistfully, but keeps himself on track, breaking out the sewing kit and the curved needle, threading it after two attempts and putting a lighter to the needle to disinfect it, "So, don't thank me yet." Carefully, he puts in the first stich and draws it taught, pulling the edges of Matthew's cut together for that first most painful time. His big hands are shockingly delicate in their movements.

A mother and daughter walk into the store, doorbell chiming, not even batting an eye at the scene behind the counter. "Hey, Uncle Lee!" They chorus as the little girl, no older than seven, scampers on ahead to the fridges in the back to look for a soft drink, careful not to slip on the blood on the floor.

"Hey, girls," Lee looks down his nose through his reading glasses and greets the two without looking at them, focused on his work. The second stich. The mother and Lee exchange pleasantries. Third stich. She talks absent mindedly of family. Fourth stich. The little girl comes back with a sprite and can barely reach up to the counter to place a dollar and some change down on it. Fifth stich. They say their goodbyes with smiles on their faces, and Lee seeming chipper.

"Almst done," Lee says softly, tying off the fifth and final stich, "There." He cuts the leftover string with old bandage scissors and makes quick work of putting ointment onto the wound and taping the gauze pad over it.

Matthew heard the man chuckle at his own remark and introduce himself as Lee. Under normal circumstances, he would have noted the jolly undertone, but at this point, he didn't care about anything. He didn't even flinch when Lee administered some hydrogen peroxide in the wound by means of cleaning. He knew that wasn't exactly the fluid of choice, but in these conditions, a little skin burn was by far to prefer over leaving the wound as it were. Besides, Lee's store wasn't a hospital. He was lucky to have found  someone willing to help him in the first place. Lee did what he could with what little resources he had. 

Matthew nodded in approval at the sight of the lighter flame being used to sterilize the needle. Knowing what would come next, he inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth as Lee's needle pierced his skin. The pain was bearable, Lee was obviously more skilled than he took credit for, but that didn't mean it was a pleasant experience. He felt the bluntness of the needle as it was pushed through the layers of tissue on both sides of the gash. 

At that moment the doorbell rang, indicating someone had entered the store. Matthew 's instincts immediately put him on high alert, but the tension subsided fast as he heard a girl's voice greet Lee as her uncle. The brief moment had distracted him just long enough to have missed the sensation of the pain of the first stitch. Lee repeated the process four more times, each time closing the gaping hole by carefully but firmly pulling the string. He interacted with the girl and what seemingly was her mother during the entire process without slipping up. Matthew could only admire the man's skills. Both the girl and her mother were unimpressed by the scene at the counter. Either this was a common sight, or they had seen far worse. He hoped it was the first, although both options were worrying enough by themselves.

Matthew let go a sigh of relief when Lee finished his handiwork by covering the wound up with clean gauze. Although he still felt a bit weak from all the blood he had spilled all over the floor and probably outside on the pavement, his mood had definitely improved. He didn't get up right away. He first took a little time to look around. The girl and her mother had already left, leaving the store once again empty of customers. The next thing he noticed was the blood on the floor. His blood. It still glistened in the cold light of the old fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. 'That's a fine mess I made here,'  he thought.

With his earlier lightheadedness in mind, Matthew cautiously tried to get upright. He was pleased to feel he felt almost normal. His heart rate head dropped to normal levels, there were no beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and his sight was no longer blurred by dizziness. He turned to Lee, flexing his imjured arm. 'Thanks a million, Lee, you are amazing. I owe you one. Now, if you would allow me to first clean up the mess I made on the floor, and then we'll discuss payment, be it in cash, services, or a combination. Of the two. Where can I find a bucket, a mop and some water?' he asked, looking the shopkeeper in the eye. 

Lee watches Matthew with that sort of familial concern reserved for uncles and aunts toward nieces and nephews. "Don't pop the stitches now right after you've thanked me," He warns with a chuckle, brown eyes twinkling with kind amusement, before addressing Matthew's questions, "Bucket and mop are in the back." He gestures toward the back right of the shop, where the food prep area sits cattycorner. Between the grill and the counter on the far wall, there is a door with splintered edges along the bottom and a tilted frame. Through that is a cramped storage area filled with nonperishable foodstuff, bits and bobs, and cleaning supplies. A sealed metal door to the left leads to behind the drink section, a refrigerated room where someone can restock the shelves and repair the cooling equipment, as well as store the excess perishables for the deli. A rickety door to the right leads to a single person bathroom -- a modest thing with the bare essentials. And, on the back wall is a door to the alleyway behind the shop, where the garbage bins are.

Lee wipes his hands free of blood on a rag he keeps in his back pocket, before beginning to put away the medical equipment, sure to place the newly opened box of gauze pads in with the toolbox of goods. "Why don't we get you some food first, too?" Lee offers without a second thought, eyes on putting everything away, including his reading glasses, "You lost a lot of blood, and food would be good for that." If Matthew is already walking toward the back of the shop, he simply raises his volume and calls after him nonchalantly.

Matthew followed Lee's directions to where the mop and bucket were to be found, somewhere in the back of the store. He immediately walked towards them, noticing he was still a little shaky. Instead of walking straight, he staggered a little from side to side. The effect of the blood loss still hadn't fully subsided. It would probably take a few more hours. 

While focusing on his tred, Matthew heard Lee's offer to have something to eat. He stopped for a second to consider it. It actually wasn't a bad idea. It would preferably be something with high sugar levels, as was common practice after a blood donation. And however you sliced it, this was, in fact, an involuntary blood donation. You could question its use for the receiver, the floor, but still... 

Matthew reached the bucket without toppling over and picked it up from the floor. It was an old sinc bucket that, considering its battered appearance, had had a rough life. The water inside was surprisingly clean, another indication that there was much more to Lee than met the eye. The mop was a perfect fit to the bucket. A couple of the cotton fibers were missing, and the rest had picked up a variety of indefinable substances over time, discoloring the once white yarn. 

Matthew turned around and walked towards the bloodpool on the floor, careful not to spill any water. One bloodpool  was enough to clean. 'That would be awesome, Lee. Thanks so much for the offer. I'd prefer something violently sweet to boost my blood sugar levels. Of course, I'll pay for this as well,' he then answered with a smile around his lips. 'And, if you don't mind me asking,  you don't happen to have some single malt in the treasure chest this shop is? I sure could use a drink.' Awaiting Lee's reply, he placed the bucket on the floor next to the bloodpool and started mopping it up.

"I got just the thing," Lee announces confidently as he hefts himself off of the stool and starts rummaging around underneath the register counter, "Go ahead and pick whatever candy and snack you want. I consider you mopping payment enough after that ordeal." He chuckles warmly, the sound of bottles and metal and plastic things bumping into each other as he mills through the dark shelves under the register, until he lets out a small 'aha!'. He finds two small low-ball glasses to go along with it.

He takes his time wiping the thick layer of dust from the bottle, as Matthew finishes cleaning up the mess. By the time he's done mopping up (and potentially getting snacks), Lee has set out a small foldable chair for Matthew. There is a collapsable table that hinges up from the side wall of the counter, facing the deli area -- it's a small space, just barely enough for two people to play cards, or chess, or share a drink. Lee waves Matthew over and waits for him to get settled before setting the bottle and glasses on the table with a big grin. "I've been saving this for a special occasion, and you strike me as the kind of man who can appreciate it. So, why not celebrate a new friendship, eh?"

Lagavulin 21-year Single Islay Malt, 1985 vintage. Bottled in 2007. Unopened.

He uncorks it with zero fanfare and pours two fingers worth for himself and Matthew.

Matthew went out of his way to clean up the mess he had caused. The blood was partly dried, making it incredibly sticky. So sticky, in fact, that he initially simply smeared it over a larger surface instead of removing it. He wasn't one to give up, though, so he stubbornly continued, slowly but surely removing his blood from the floor. While he was at it, he noticed that Lee had conjured up a bottle from somewhere. He meticulously wiped the built-up dust off the label, revealing its ancient looking white-yellowish color and its simple layout. Matthew narrowed his eyes, allowing him to read the brand name. It was a bottle of Lagavulin, a name that didn't ring a bell. Nevertheless, Matthew could tell, by the seal and the fact it was a numbered bottle, that this was something special. 

A wide grin appeared on Matthew's face as he watched Lee set up a foldable chair and unfold a small formica table that was mounted to the side of the counter. He placed the bottle of whisky on top of it along with two glasses. Matthew soil his head in amazement. The store really was fully equipped. He quickly finished mopping, cleaned both the bucket and the mop in the backroom, and walked towards Lee. He took, approved by Lee, a candybar from one of the shelves and put it on the table next to one of the glasses that were now filled with the exactly right amount of the golden amber colored whisky. He wasn't going to let the sugar spoil the taste. 

Matthew sat down in the foldable chair, took a glass, and raised it. 'Here's to you, my newly found friend,' he said softly. 'Thanks for saving my life, may the gods protect you. You really are an amazing man, a very rare breed. I can accept you helping me out for no charge whatsoever, but I still am in your debt. And I am going to repay that someday. For one, I'll keep an eye out for you and your store. I doubt you have many enemies, but you never know. And if you like, I'll help out in or around the store as well. I'm happy to take on any odd job, free of charge, of course. Just let me know what I can do.' He closed his eyes and took a sip, engulfing hinself with the intense, smokey flavor of the exquisite whisky.

"To new friends," Lee says with a soft smile in time with Matthew before taking a sip of scotch, "The world revolves around giving and taking, but I'm more of a sharing sort of guy myself." His chest rumbles with a chuckle, mustache upturned. "So, think nothing of owing, Matthew. Life is better when it's in good company, it's simple as that."

Yet, it's clear he's savvy in the realm of favors and social currency. As much as his sentiment is thoroughly egalitarian, the world just doesn't work like that. To declare something like that so simply in a matter-of-fact way, he would need to be in a very, very good social safety-net. Through his sweat stained dickies work shirt, and his patched cargo pants, he still has the bearing of someone who can command a room if he so chooses. But, he doesn't. His connections are hard won by meeting people where they are, and if not that, then halfway. He very much so understands that surviving in the world requires giving and taking, it just so happens that he's damn good at maintaining it to the point it turns into sharing -- a balance. In his ideal, the give and take should gestalt to become share.

That is, if you stay on his good side. For all his friendliness and warm brown eyes and mustachioed smiles, there is an ever-present sharpness in his eyes. He masks it well with dopey congeniality, but if you look hard enough, you can see the true strength of the man who can choose kindness in a city without it.

Matthew scrutinized the man opposite him as he listened to him speak. There was wisdom in every word uttered. Lee was unfathomable for the most part and although he didn't look at all impressive, Matthew knew he was not to be underestimated in any way. The man had likely been around running his shop in this rather dangerous part of the city for decades. He probably not only knew every nook and cranny of his shop but also of the entire neighborhood, including its inhabitants. It was not that he was a dangerous man to deal with, not at all, even. He simply was a man who knew. 

Matthew nodded in agreement, taking another sip, but didn't reply. There was no need for words. The respectful silence spoke volumes, and for a while, he just sat there, staring at the dim light piercing through the amber liquid in his glass. It cast mesmerizingly beautiful refections on the table. For a few moments, Matthew's mind drifted away from the harsh reality of life, away from Torn City. He contemplated his newly acquired place in this community. It was clear to him that Lee had already read him, probably the minute he walked through the door.

Luckily for him, the man had deemed him worthy of his kindness, something Matthew would never forget. From here on out, Lee could count on him and on his loyalty, no matter what. And even though the day he needed it might never come, he would be ready when it did. Matthew snapped out of his thoughts and took another sip, enjoying the peaceful effect this place had on his mental state. He was unsure what to do next. 

Sabrina "Rabies"

She/Her

Florist and inherited donna of the Luchasy family

January 23rd 2000

Pizza, sushi, teriyaki yakisoba, soda (preferably root beer), mango juice

Smoker (weed sometimes)

A blonde girl of taller stature of 5'11 usually wearing jeans, T-shirt, pointy toe boots or sneakers a black hoodie and beanie in winter and short denim shorts, boots, and tank top with a cap on backwards with moon phases on it

She has public anxiety and doesn't like large crowds or loud noises so she often has earbuds in listening to music to help with it

It was a somewhat cold morning as Sabrina made her way to the little store on sycamore Street, parking her insecta just outside going in with some light grocery shopping in mind wearing a black hoodie, dark grey baggy jeans, black athletic sneakers and a beanie, she grabs a basket and starts walking down the aisles one by one loading up on things she would want to eat and drink or snack on, she picks out a bottle of Nesquik vanilla milk, a bag of pizza rolls, a couple mini microwavable pizzas, 2 bowls of yakisoba noodles, a bag of BBQ chips, a pack of Reese's cups, and couple cans of chicken noodle soup and i walk up to the register so i can pay for my items

The companionable silence between Matthew and Lee is pushed aside as the doorbell rings, and someone new walks in. Lee welcomes her in with a nod and a smile. The crinkle of plastic bags and footfalls she trails from aisle to aisle tell Lee where she is in the store, so he doesn't bother getting up or peering down aisles to keep an eye on her. He'd always hated hovering merchants, anyways.

Only when she sets the basket down on the counter, does Lee heft himself to a stand and waddle his way behind the register; the almost-empty glass of whiskey is left on the table with Matthew, but not forgotten. His moustache upturns into a friendly smile as he starts ringing up the laundry list of food stuff and looks up at her with that congenial friendliness he's so well known for.

"Need anything else today, Miss Luchasy?" Lee asks with a casual kindness and well knowing keenness that belies his dopey demeanor. While she'd never spoken a word to him before today, Lee is the kind of socially conscious individual to know at least most Dons, Donnas, and associates. It's a shot in the dark, really, when he drops her name, but he does so with a confidence that speaks to years of calculated risks.

With the doorbell singing its repetitive song, Matthew's much needed recovery time came to an end. He turned his head to glance at the person coming in. From what he read from Lee's reaction, who had already assessed the situation, there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn't help but be alert at all times. The rather tall, dark clothed woman that entered the store started to browse various isles before bringing her fired shipping basket to the counter.

Lee greeted her in a way acquaintances greet echografie, which led Matthew to believe she was a local. He threw her a friendly smile when she seemed to briefly glance in his direction and nodded subtly. 'M'lady,'  he mumbled and took another sip from his whisky, pondering over his next cause of action. The wound on his arm throbbed but did not disable him one bit, which meant he could go look for a job of some kind. He didn't really need the money, but a little extra was always welcome. Plus, it gave him something to do. He decided to ask Lee if he knew where to find a job when he returned to the table.