#and drawing skizz and impulse especially is NOT my strong suit

[nova-skittle]

the skizz that is a man?????? yeah no color on this one either </3 you can really tell whose designs i dont know how to draw well :'D im sorry skizz n bigb and impulse. i just uh. uh. runs.

[frozenjokes]

GoodTimesWithScar Is An Obnoxious And Quite Frankly, Baffling Customer.

[1/6] Next / Ao3 Link

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for Impulse, especially since his stand tended to be more out of the way. He and Skizz had been so excited to rent the little thing out all those years ago, when the prospect of growth and wealth was still a reachable fantasy.

“Everyone starts somewhere, and hey, maybe we’re starting a tad late, but we’ve got our little forge and a roof over our heads, so I’d say we’re doing pretty well for ourselves!” Skizz had said, eyeing the other, more favorable booth locations hungrily. “Yeah, we’ll get there.”

“Sure, if we get really good at this really fast,” Impulse huffed, giving Skizz’s shoulder a healthy shove. “Remind me why I let you talk me into a trade profession so late in life? Most of these people have been doing this since they were kids.”

“Of course!” Skizz never got tired of reminding him, responding with the same energy as he had the first time Impulse voiced his doubts, “It’s because you’re miserable! Well, were miserable, because your new life starts today!”

“I thought it started when I quit my old job? Or when you first showed me how to work the forge? Or when I got started on the paperwork for this stand? Or-”

“Many new beginnings! Exciting, isn’t it?” Skizz sighed contentedly, resting his hands behind his head, “Oh yeah, this is gonna be great.”

And it’s not that it wasn’t great, even all these years later. It was fine . It was more than fine! Impulse loved working in the forge with Skizz, even if Skizz wasn’t particularly talented at the trade and Impulse didn’t have enough experience to feel competent at the job. He enjoyed feeling challenged as well as some of the creative freedom he had now, especially opposed to the monotony of the ocean where he fished the same seas for hours in the overbearing sun. Even still, sometimes he missed the security of the repetition. Impulse had a good idea of how much he’d catch, how much he’d make at the end of the day, and if money got tight, he could just put in more hours! Maybe that’s why he had gotten so depressed in the first place; nothing to look forward to but the same seas every hour of every day, doing the same mindless work.

Now, money was always tight. Always. Impulse had never had the luxury of a life without financial burdens, and typically, he wasn’t too bent out of shape about it. He hadn’t ever known anything else, and under normal circumstances, his social class didn’t cause too much earth-shattering stress.

But Skizz was sick. He always seemed to be sick lately, the instances where he was in perfect health getting to be few and far between. Skizz was sick, and medicine was too expensive.

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, and Impulse found himself staring enviously at the other stalls, stewing in his own stress. He wasn’t as witty or charismatic as the typical shopkeep, his attempts at open charm usually falling flat and making him feel far worse. Was he more of a failure if he didn’t try at all? Skizz made it look so easy, drawing people in with a bright smile and friendly demeanor, as well as that odd half-suit he insisted made him look cool and strong . If you asked Impulse, he’d say it was silly to tear the sleeves off a suit and arguably unprofessional, but whatever Skizz was doing, it seemed to work, so Impulse didn’t tease him too much. Maybe he should be wearing a silly outfit to work. Maybe it would draw more people in. Skizz would probably get a kick out of that, but Impulse wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough in his own body to make anything like that work. Impulse drummed his nails against the counter, wishing Skizz was here now.

“Hello there! Are you open?”

Impulse startled out of his daze, jumping to his feet, “Yes, yes we’re open,” he deflated, silently cursing his own awkwardness before sliding back onto his stool. He’d scare off potential customers by spacing out like that, even more so by jumping up whenever someone approached. However, the man didn’t seem to mind, leaning eagerly over the counter to get a better look at the various swords for sale. He was dressed nicer than Impulse was used to seeing in this part of town, with bright, clever eyes, typical of a young man with little life experience. No wonder he was here instead of another stall; he surely had enough coin to afford a higher quality weapon.

Shit, Impulse should be talking, shouldn’t he. Be friendly and all that.

“Are you well?” he tried, putting on his best customer service smile. Skizz always said he had a good smile for this type of thing. Nice face. Relaxed, if not a little strained. Disarming, like a sad, single dad. Impulse wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that last comparison, but Skizz was adamant it was a good thing. ‘Good for business! Ha!’

“Oh, never better!” the man said, leaning further over the counter, “You’ve got some nice stuff here! Very nice, very nice.” He sounded exceedingly fake.

Impulse quirked an eyebrow. “Right, well if you’ve got your eye on anything in particular, I can bring it up for you to hold and see how it feels. If it’s easier, you can come on back instead for a better look. I’d rather you not break the table.”

The man laughed, leaning forward on his hands before jumping back to his feet, “Not the table! Yes, yes, I’d love to get a closer look. See, I’ve just arrived here a couple days ago and I’m looking for a new beginning,” he kept talking as Impulse gestured for him to come back, “Now, this isn’t to say I don’t know my way around a sword, I do, but I’ve gotten bored with life back home, and I’m looking for a place with a little more action, you know?” He poked at one of the blades, jumping a little when he discovered it was sharp.

Impulse chuckled, “Usually people that ‘know their way around a sword’ know that end’s pointy.”

“Well a good swordsman doublechecks! Can I pick this one up?”

“Go for it.” Impulse watched with great amusement as the man attempted to lift his chosen weapon with one hand, an almost affronted look crossing his face when he discovered it was heavy. He glanced back, not unlike a cat caught in the act of doing something it shouldn’t, before doubling down, apparently deciding he could salvage his pride. Impulse had to stop himself from laughing when the man managed to pull the sword from the display, his arm shaking with the effort of holding it one-handed.

“Usually, you’d use both hands. I’m sure you’ve seen lots of show fights, but those guys are actors as well as swordsmen. You’re going to want something lighter if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I- Well of course! Back home the swords are lighter, that’s all, I just got a bit confused.”

“Uh huh. What’s your name, stranger? Where’re you from?”

“My name? Why, I’m Scar! Scar Goodtimes! I don’t have many scars to show for the name, but with any luck, that’ll change real soon! And you?” Scar held out his hand, struggled for a moment with the sword, then put it hurriedly back on the display before reoffering his hand. Impulse shook it. Clearly this guy was an idiot, but if he had money to offer, who cared?

“You can call me Impulse. So you’re an entertainer then?”

“Not quite! The name is confusing, I know, but unrelated to any profession. Though, I wish it was! I love traveling and I especially love meeting new folks such as yourself!”

“Really? What do you do then?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve got myself a little boat to live in and I’ll occasionally take up cargo shipping for some extra cash, boat people around, the like. Though, I’m looking for something a little different now, and I’m planning to settle here for a while.”

“Interesting,” Impulse mused, eyeing Scar’s nice clothes. That money didn’t come from freelance work, not unless you had a nice reputation, and this kid couldn’t even hold a sword. Scar’s eyes narrowed just slightly, something appraising, with an intelligence that felt unnervingly unlike the person he’d just met. Did he know Impulse didn’t believe him? Impulse suddenly felt vulnerable, like the other man could see right through him. He backed up, just a step, but a step that didn’t go unnoticed. Scar cocked his head, almost innocently. Impulse tried not to frown. What was he looking for? A list of every crime Impulse had committed in the past year shot to the forefront of his mind. Not massive stuff mind you, but enough to make him sweat. Impulse hoped with all his will he didn’t have any counterfeit coins lying around. Was Scar here to scout him out? Catch him in the act?

“Are you a cop?” Impulse blurted, immediately mortified with himself. Scar blinked rapidly before doubling over in a massive laughing fit. Impulse put his hands over his face. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry. Unless you are a cop, in which case, cool, great, I love the law.” Scar only laughed harder, Impulse feeling incredibly awkward as he waited for the other man to compose himself. Scar wheezed as he straightened up, eyes shining.

“I am deeply offended, hurt even, you have- I can’t believe it! Cop. I am not a cop!” Scar yelled in mock outrage, although his giggling dampened the effect. Impulse shrunk away as he spotted a couple wandering eyes drawn to the noise.

“aHah yes! Cops! We love cops. And the law. Yes,” Impulse struggled to save face, but Scar either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“Impulse!” he bellowed, “I’ll say, that is probably the second or third worst thing anyone has ever called me. Why, I should just march right on out of here and back to my boat! Lick my wounds and cry about it! Cop. I can’t believe that.” Impulse shrunk back into his stand, hoping no one would see him. At this point, Scar leaving would probably be best for business, (and not getting arrested) but the man didn’t look like he actually planned on going anywhere.

“Do I even want to ask?” Impulse tried, and Scar lit up.

“Doctor! The worst by far!” Scar threw up his hands, though the facade of his frustration was dampened a little by the smile across his face. ‘Goodtimes’ seemed to suit Scar; he was certainly a performer.

“Doctor. Really.” Impulse didn’t bother to hide his skepticism, crossing his arms, “Wouldn’t be my first guess.”

“Well you don’t have to sound so surprised!” Scar huffed, tutting to himself then continuing in a tangentially related rant. Impulse rubbed the bridge of his nose. No winning with this guy then. Scar was an animated storyteller, waving his arms in sweeping gestures and forcing Impulse to scramble just to keep him from knocking all his wares off the shelves. It was hard to tell if Scar was just clueless, or if he enjoyed watching Impulse fumble around.

“Alright, alright, out with you,” Impulse had to reach to grab Scar’s arms, shoving them to his sides and away from his displays before pushing him out from behind the counter. Scar was not to be discouraged, continuing with the sort of confidence only people who got kicked out of stands often could have.

“-and you wouldn’t believe this lady, I’d say all nice-like ‘sorry, I can’t help you with your dumbass kid,’ and she starts going on and on about how I’ll never be a real doctor and I’m like LADY that’s the GOAL-”

“So you worked in medicine before this? Seems like a good gig, must’ve paid well,” Impulse cut in, struggling between amusement and the desire to preserve any sort of professionalism he had for any potential customers passing by.

To Impulse’s great relief, Scar brought the volume down, resting his elbows on the counter with his head in his hands, “Guess you could say that.” That calculating look returned to Scar’s eyes, searching. For what, Impulse wasn’t quite sure. He turned around, if not to avoid Scar’s eye, then to right some of the smaller displays Scar had knocked askew.

“I’m getting the impression you weren’t too fond of the work.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well for someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice so much, you don’t seem all too eager to talk about it. What, are you squeamish?” Impulse risked the tease, turning around to see Scar’s amused expression turn to mock-offense.

“Say what you want about my ego, but I am not squeamish.”

“No?”

“No! And that’s gotten me into trouble before, let me tell ya. I didn’t realize blood and gore and things bothered people at all for the longest time, I mean, I grew up around that shit, and my dad certainly wasn’t concerned! Now he’s a doctor, a real stiff kinda man, kinda sucks the life out of everything.”

“So not a ‘Goodtime…s’”

Scar brightened, laughing, “Yeah! Exactly! Anyway, so I was with this girl, right? Lovely person, really, she was great, but oh boy you would not believe how pale she got when I was explaining about this crazy livestock accident- I’ll spare you the details, but I did not spare her anything, and whew, I’ve never had anyone grab my hands so tight. She said- well- she said my name, she said I was a freak! I was like thirteen! I am a changed man, Impulse, changed I tell you. I didn’t see her for a whole month after that, and the whole time I thought she was the freak! Y’know I told my dad, I told him, and you know what he said?”

“Hey, are you going to buy something?”

“Women. That’s what he said. Women. He didn’t even look at me! I look down at my own tits like okay, this doesn’t answer any of my questions, but hey! Me and her are still friends now, at least, before I left. I’ll visit for sure, for sure.”

“Scar.”

“Yes, Impulse!”

“You are lovely. You are.”

“Yes!”

“But if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m going to need to free up the stand for other customers. I’ve got to put food on the table tonight.”

“Oh yes, yes, a personality this big takes up a lot of space! I understand!” Scar rummaged around in his pockets, then flicked two silver coins onto the counter, “For your time then, yeah?"

“You don’t have t-”

“Goodbye!” Scar trailed the ‘e’ as he swiveled around, skipping in the opposite direction. Impulse couldn’t help but gape after him, any previous words lost on his lips. He looked at the time and cringed, unsure if it was good or bad that so much had passed. At least he wasn’t bored. Well then. He’d have quite the story for Skizz after packing up for the night, that was for sure. Maybe that alone made the loss of time worth it. Impulse resituated on his stool, looking out over the market.

Maybe he’d see Scar again sometime soon.

[frozenjokes]

Signing In: Impulse - 1

Next

***

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for Impulse, especially since his stand tended to be more out of the way. He and Skizz had been so excited to rent the little thing out all those years ago, when the prospect of growth and wealth was still a reachable fantasy.

“Everyone starts somewhere, and hey, maybe we’re starting a tad late, but we’ve got our little forge and a roof over our heads, so I’d say we’re doing pretty well for ourselves!” Skizz had said, eyeing the other, more favorable booth locations hungrily. “Yeah, we’ll get there.”

“Sure, if we get really good at this really fast,” Impulse huffed, giving Skizz’s shoulder a healthy shove. “Remind me why I let you talk me into a trade profession so late in life? Most of these people have been doing this since they were kids.”

“Of course!” Skizz never got tired of reminding him, responding with the same energy as he had the first time Impulse voiced his doubts, “It’s because you’re miserable! Well, were miserable, because your new life starts today!”

“I thought it started when I quit my old job? Or when you first showed me how to work the forge? Or when I got started on the paperwork for this stand? Or-”

“Many new beginnings! Exciting, isn’t it?” Skizz sighed contentedly, resting his hands behind his head, “Oh yeah, this is gonna be great.”

And it’s not that it wasn’t great, even all these years later. It was fine . It was more than fine! Impulse loved working in the forge with Skizz, even if Skizz wasn’t particularly talented at the trade and Impulse didn’t have enough experience to feel competent at the job. He enjoyed feeling challenged as well as some of the creative freedom he had now, especially opposed to the monotony of the ocean where he fished the same seas for hours in the overbearing sun. Even still, sometimes he missed the security of the repetition. Impulse had a good idea of how much he’d catch, how much he’d make at the end of the day, and if money got tight, he could just put in more hours! Maybe that’s why he had gotten so depressed in the first place; nothing to look forward to but the same seas every hour of every day, doing the same mindless work.

Now, money was always tight. Always. Impulse had never had the luxury of a life without financial burdens, and typically, he wasn’t too bent out of shape about it. He hadn’t ever known anything else, and under normal circumstances, his social class didn’t cause too much earth-shattering stress.

But Skizz was sick. He always seemed to be sick lately, the instances where he was in perfect health getting to be few and far between. Skizz was sick, and medicine was too expensive.

It was a slow day at the Town Centre market, and Impulse found himself staring enviously at the other stalls, stewing in his own stress. He wasn’t as witty or charismatic as the typical shopkeep, his attempts at open charm usually falling flat and making him feel far worse. Was he more of a failure if he didn’t try at all? Skizz made it look so easy, drawing people in with a bright smile and friendly demeanor, as well as that odd half-suit he insisted made him look cool and strong . If you asked Impulse, he’d say it was silly to tear the sleeves off a suit and arguably unprofessional, but whatever Skizz was doing, it seemed to work, so Impulse didn’t tease him too much. Maybe he should be wearing a silly outfit to work. Maybe it would draw more people in. Skizz would probably get a kick out of that, but Impulse wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough in his own body to make anything like that work. Impulse drummed his nails against the counter, wishing Skizz was here now.

“Hello there! Are you open?”

Impulse startled out of his daze, jumping to his feet, “Yes, yes we’re open,” he deflated, silently cursing his own awkwardness before sliding back onto his stool. He’d scare off potential customers by spacing out like that, even more so by jumping up whenever someone approached. However, the man didn’t seem to mind, leaning eagerly over the counter to get a better look at the various swords for sale. He was dressed nicer than Impulse was used to seeing in this part of town, with bright, clever eyes, typical of a young man with little life experience. No wonder he was here instead of another stall; he surely had enough coin to afford a higher quality weapon.

Shit, Impulse should be talking, shouldn’t he. Be friendly and all that.

“Are you well?” he tried, putting on his best customer service smile. Skizz always said he had a good smile for this type of thing. Nice face. Relaxed, if not a little strained. Disarming, like a sad, single dad. Impulse wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that last comparison, but Skizz was adamant it was a good thing. ‘Good for business! Ha!’

“Oh, never better!” the man said, leaning further over the counter, “You’ve got some nice stuff here! Very nice, very nice.” He sounded exceedingly fake.

Impulse quirked an eyebrow. “Right, well if you’ve got your eye on anything in particular, I can bring it up for you to hold and see how it feels. If it’s easier, you can come on back instead for a better look. I’d rather you not break the table.”

The man laughed, leaning forward on his hands before jumping back to his feet, “Not the table! Yes, yes, I’d love to get a closer look. See, I’ve just arrived here a couple days ago and I’m looking for a new beginning,” he kept talking as Impulse gestured for him to come back, “Now, this isn’t to say I don’t know my way around a sword, I do, but I’ve gotten bored with life back home, and I’m looking for a place with a little more action, you know?” He poked at one of the blades, jumping a little when he discovered it was sharp.

Impulse chuckled, “Usually people that ‘know their way around a sword’ know that end’s pointy.”

“Well a good swordsman doublechecks! Can I pick this one up?”

“Go for it.” Impulse watched with great amusement as the man attempted to lift his chosen weapon with one hand, an almost affronted look crossing his face when he discovered it was heavy. He glanced back, not unlike a cat caught in the act of doing something it shouldn’t, before doubling down, apparently deciding he could salvage his pride. Impulse had to stop himself from laughing when the man managed to pull the sword from the display, his arm shaking with the effort of holding it one-handed.

“Usually, you’d use both hands. I’m sure you’ve seen lots of show fights, but those guys are actors as well as swordsmen. You’re going to want something lighter if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I- Well of course! Back home the swords are lighter, that’s all, I just got a bit confused.”

“Uh huh. What’s your name, stranger? Where’re you from?”

“My name? Why, I’m Scar! Scar Goodtimes! I don’t have many scars to show for the name, but with any luck, that’ll change real soon! And you?” Scar held out his hand, struggled for a moment with the sword, then put it hurriedly back on the display before reoffering his hand. Impulse shook it. Clearly this guy was an idiot, but if he had money to offer, who cared?

“You can call me Impulse. So you’re an entertainer then?”

“Not quite! The name is confusing, I know, but unrelated to any profession. Though, I wish it was! I love traveling and I especially love meeting new folks such as yourself!”

“Really? What do you do then?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve got myself a little boat to live in and I’ll occasionally take up cargo shipping for some extra cash, boat people around, the like. Though, I’m looking for something a little different now, and I’m planning to settle here for a while.”

“Interesting,” Impulse mused, eyeing Scar’s nice clothes. That money didn’t come from freelance work, not unless you had a nice reputation, and this kid couldn’t even hold a sword. Scar’s eyes narrowed just slightly, something appraising, with an intelligence that felt unnervingly unlike the person he’d just met. Did he know Impulse didn’t believe him? Impulse suddenly felt vulnerable, like the other man could see right through him. He backed up, just a step, but a step that didn’t go unnoticed. Scar cocked his head, almost innocently. Impulse tried not to frown. What was he looking for? A list of every crime Impulse had committed in the past year shot to the forefront of his mind. Not massive stuff mind you, but enough to make him sweat. Impulse hoped with all his will he didn’t have any counterfeit coins lying around. Was Scar here to scout him out? Catch him in the act?

“Are you a cop?” Impulse blurted, immediately mortified with himself. Scar blinked rapidly before doubling over in a massive laughing fit. Impulse put his hands over his face. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry. Unless you are a cop, in which case, cool, great, I love the law.” Scar only laughed harder, Impulse feeling incredibly awkward as he waited for the other man to compose himself. Scar wheezed as he straightened up, eyes shining.

“I am deeply offended, hurt even, you have- I can’t believe it! Cop. I am not a cop!” Scar yelled in mock outrage, although his giggling dampened the effect. Impulse shrunk away as he spotted a couple wandering eyes drawn to the noise.

“aHah yes! Cops! We love cops. And the law. Yes,” Impulse struggled to save face, but Scar either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“Impulse!” he bellowed, “I’ll say, that is probably the second or third worst thing anyone has ever called me. Why, I should just march right on out of here and back to my boat! Lick my wounds and cry about it! Cop. I can’t believe that.” Impulse shrunk back into his stand, hoping no one would see him. At this point, Scar leaving would probably be best for business, (and not getting arrested) but the man didn’t look like he actually planned on going anywhere.

“Do I even want to ask?” Impulse tried, and Scar lit up.

“Doctor! The worst by far!” Scar threw up his hands, though the facade of his frustration was dampened a little by the smile across his face. ‘Goodtimes’ seemed to suit Scar; he was certainly a performer.

“Doctor. Really.” Impulse didn’t bother to hide his skepticism, crossing his arms, “Wouldn’t be my first guess.”

“Well you don’t have to sound so surprised!” Scar huffed, tutting to himself then continuing in a tangentially related rant. Impulse rubbed the bridge of his nose. No winning with this guy then. Scar was an animated storyteller, waving his arms in sweeping gestures and forcing Impulse to scramble just to keep him from knocking all his wares off the shelves. It was hard to tell if Scar was just clueless, or if he enjoyed watching Impulse fumble around.

“Alright, alright, out with you,” Impulse had to reach to grab Scar’s arms, shoving them to his sides and away from his displays before pushing him out from behind the counter. Scar was not to be discouraged, continuing with the sort of confidence only people who got kicked out of stands often could have.

“-and you wouldn’t believe this lady, I’d say all nice-like ‘sorry, I can’t help you with your dumbass kid,’ and she starts going on and on about how I’ll never be a real doctor and I’m like LADY that’s the GOAL-”

“So you worked in medicine before this? Seems like a good gig, must’ve paid well,” Impulse cut in, struggling between amusement and the desire to preserve any sort of professionalism he had for any potential customers passing by.

To Impulse’s great relief, Scar brought the volume down, resting his elbows on the counter with his head in his hands, “Guess you could say that.” That calculating look returned to Scar’s eyes, searching. For what, Impulse wasn’t quite sure. He turned around, if not to avoid Scar’s eye, then to right some of the smaller displays Scar had knocked askew.

“I’m getting the impression you weren’t too fond of the work.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well for someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice so much, you don’t seem all too eager to talk about it. What, are you squeamish?” Impulse risked the tease, turning around to see Scar’s amused expression turn to mock-offense.

“Say what you want about my ego, but I am not squeamish.”

“No?”

“No! And that’s gotten me into trouble before, let me tell ya. I didn’t realize blood and gore and things bothered people at all for the longest time, I mean, I grew up around that shit, and my dad certainly wasn’t concerned! Now he’s a doctor, a real stiff kinda man, kinda sucks the life out of everything.”

“So not a ‘Goodtime…s’”

Scar brightened, laughing, “Yeah! Exactly! Anyway, so I was with this girl, right? Lovely person, really, she was great, but oh boy you would not believe how pale she got when I was explaining about this crazy livestock accident- I’ll spare you the details, but I did not spare her anything, and whew, I’ve never had anyone grab my hands so tight. She said- well- she said my name, she said I was a freak! I was like thirteen! I am a changed man, Impulse, changed I tell you. I didn’t see her for a whole month after that, and the whole time I thought she was the freak! Y’know I told my dad, I told him, and you know what he said?”

“Hey, are you going to buy something?”

“ Women . That’s what he said. Women. He didn’t even look at me! I look down at my own tits like okay, this doesn’t answer any of my questions, but hey! Me and her are still friends now, at least, before I left. I’ll visit for sure, for sure.”

“Scar.”

“Yes, Impulse!”

“You are lovely. You are.”

“Yes!”

“But if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m going to need to free up the stand for other customers. I’ve got to put food on the table tonight.”

“Oh yes, yes, a personality this big takes up a lot of space! I understand!” Scar rummaged around in his pockets, then flicked two silver coins onto the counter, “For your time then, yeah?"

“You don’t have t-”

“Goodbye!” Scar trailed the ‘e’ as he swiveled around, skipping in the opposite direction. Impulse couldn’t help but gape after him, any previous words lost on his lips. He looked at the time and cringed, unsure if it was good or bad that so much had passed. At least he wasn’t bored. Well then. He’d have quite the story for Skizz after packing up for the night, that was for sure. Maybe that alone made the loss of time worth it. Impulse resituated on his stool, looking out over the market.

Maybe he’d see Scar again sometime soon.