The breathing of the wall nudged Teddy awake.

Poking his head out of the tent flap of his dead-man lean-to, he noted the glow emanating from the living huts had dimmed and the mist was thinning. With a yawn, he wormed his body halfway outside, leaving his legs buried behind the dead-man, reluctant to completely leave the warmth of his lean-to and embrace the day.

Patting around in his jacket, he fished out his chew stick—the adventurer’s toothbrush—and picked at his teeth. Being homeless and destitute was bad enough, the only way it could get worse was also having a mouth full of abscesses. Taking care of his teeth was survival’s greatest secret.

Click. Click. Click. He ignored a nearby sound.

Patting around his pocket, he fished out a flask of bathtub gin, the last of his fortune. Taking a measured swig, he swished the gnarly liquid around and swallowed, finishing his daily dental care.

Click. Click. Click. The sound was getting harder to ignore.

It seemed he was the first to rise in his new alleyway. Fortunately, the other bums were mostly degenerate junkies, cranking out hand-jobs in the corner for a smacking of chalk-gum or some other kind of vice. As such a degenerate lot, rarely did they rise with the sun, an advantage Teddy would take.

Just by rising early, he’d have first pick at the best panhandling spots outside the bazaar downtown. People were much more likely to donate on their way in with their pockets full of sickle bits than on the way out, with their pockets lighter and their arms heavier with merchandise.

Click. Click. Click. A flame hovered over the dead-man’s head. Behind that flame, Teddy could just make out the silhouette of a tall gentleman in what seemed to be a finely tailor suit, a gentleman way out place amidst the destitution all around.

That visitor was hovering a small box, one that emanated a tiny flame, around his lean-to’s head.

“He’s dead,” Teddy said, scratching his pits with a yawn. “Just like you’ll be if you don’t get the fuck away from my shanty.”

The intruder jumped back so fast, his flame snuffed out and he tripped over his own feet, landing smack dab on his rear end.

Teddy spoke in an even tone, one he’d found much more threatening than a basic shout. “Now, git on away, you. Before I decide to rob you and drag your corpse to the Dead-Hut, my honor’d turn a blind eye for coin.”

It was true that gentleman would surely have plenty of coin and valuables on him, and Teddy could even use the reward for dragging another body to the Dead-Hut; in reality, he’d never do either of those threats. He only had his pride and honor left, something he was not keen to shatter for easily spent coin, a quick fortune that would likely earn him the same fate as his victim.

He simply wanted to tell that rich, bumbling idiot just how cruel snooping around the bums could be; fortunately, all those depraved beasts of men were still snoozing in their foxholes, oblivious to the easy target outside. Had they been awake, the gentleman would have been torn to shreds in a blink.

The fact he wore a tailored suit into this mire-pit of a settlement was proof enough of his idiocy.

Turned out, the gentleman was even stupider than Teddy realized. His arm that would have been elegant had it not been shaking like a leaf, pulled some kind of identification from his coat pocket, holding it in front of him as a useless shield.

It was too dark to read the man’s paperwork, but Teddy recognized the bindings. This man was a big-shot from one of the head clans, possibly even backed by a bogavart territory lord. How big of a big shot, Teddy had no clue, but big enough that he treated his paperwork like a shield.

That go-to behavior, relying on his background for protection instead of his wits, affirmed that the paperwork wasn’t fake in Teddy’s eyes. Those spoon-fed, nouveau-riche assholes were nothing if not sniveling behind an unearned background.

Teddy already didn’t like the man.

Teddy stretched and rose to his feet, towering high above the sniveling idiot. That last part was something he wasn’t used to given his short stature and Teddy was determined to milk every moment of it. Feigning indifference and oozing danger, Teddy sauntered right up to the gentleman.

Unfortunately, having a much better view of the man’s silhouette shattered the illusion of power Teddy was trying to relish in. That bumbling gentleman was staring him down from his disadvantageous position. A better inspection made Teddy realize he wasn’t holding his identification out as a shield, no, not with the indifference on the man’s face. He was simply informing Teddy of his status, a situation Teddy was well accustomed to.

That man wasn't shivering out of fear, he was simply cold in the early morning mist.

And his actions appeared more like practiced formalities than a threat. Teddy has misread the situation at a glance, and he knew exactly what was coming next, especially given the man wasn’t staring Teddy down but his jacket, standard-issue Pargol’s wear.

“Theodore of the Pargols?” The man said.

For a second, Teddy’s heart lurched, then a smile crept over his face. His days of sleeping in a freezing alley under dead men were over; it was finally time for his ‘convenient accident’. He assumed he feel fear; instead, he was anticipating the sweet release from this miserable existence.

Teddy sat down, hoping that kind gesture of subservience would be appreciated by his assassin. Perhaps the man would be thankful for an easy job, granting a swift death to Teddy.

“Make it quick,” Teddy replied.

“I require a guide,” the gentleman said.

“I’d prefer the head,” Teddy pleaded. “Seen a few chest wounds, striking the heart’s tricky business. Most folk die coughing and drowning on their own blood rather than an elegant death. Here, a guy doesn’t need an open casket. This place devours the mangled and the elegant all the same. So if you would be so kind, I’ll make your job easy.”

The gentleman glanced over to Teddy’s dead-man lean-to, the one with a slightly more dissolved head than last night. “That appears to be true.”

“Yup,” Teddy suitcase materialized and he grabbed a piece of identification of his own.

He mimicked the gentleman, holding his black slip in front of him and pointed to his temple. “I’d like it here. Soft, easy spot and a sure kill.”

The gentleman tilted his head and chuckled while standing to his feet. He walked right up to Teddy and extended a hand. Teddy would like to say he didn’t wince, but that wouldn’t be preaching truth. And he’d like to say the man ended his life quickly, but that would be false as well.

Seemed Teddy was paying for his earlier unseemly behavior when he lorded above the downtrodden gentleman relishing that shred of power. Seemed the gentleman was determined to do the same.

Teddy closed his eyes and waited and waited and waited…

Venturing a peek, the gentleman’s hand was still extended, that asshole was relishing the moment a bit too much.

“Listen here, guy,” Teddy said. “You wanna play games, right well and good, but I made your job easy, now grant my death the same professional courtesy. We all got places we need to be.”

And the next place Teddy needed to be was the Dead-Hut, far removed from his dead-man shanty and the beastly junkies all around.

The gentleman tilted his head and glanced down at Teddy’s jacket again. “You are Theodore of the Pargols, correct?”

“Why under the sky else would I have a blackslip?” He asked, trying to keep his tone down. “Kill me and get it over with. I got things to do.”

“Ah,” the gentleman began. “I am in need of a guide, after that, Distinguished Pargol is welcome to claim your life, though that has nothing to do with the services I require.”

“For all the mad ramblings…” Teddy began to curse, but stopped himself. “Can you just kill me and be done with it?”

“That would be…inconvenient,” the Gentleman replied.

“Alright, how bout this, I’m tired of waiting and there ain’t no point in living with an eye over my shoulder,” Teddy offered. “I do you some guiding and you deliver me to the Dead-Hut after the job’s through. I’d ask one of these junkies to do it, but I’d rather my corpse not get fucked prior to delivery. A minor hang-up, but one that’s important to me.”

The gentleman stroked his neatly shaved chin. “To recount, your bargain is that you agree to provide me services and in return, I deliver you to this ‘Dead-Hut’ without defiling your corpse? And these terms are favorable to you?”

“Absolutely.” Best deal he’d made since coming to this desert; the bathtub gin was a close second.

The man clapped his hands together and smiled. “Fantastic! Those terms are favorable to me as well, a much better deal than I budgeted for.”

He extended his hand once again, this time Teddy grasp it, pulling himself to his feet.

“I am Monteguem of the Bethhousen Clan,” he introduced.

“And I am Teddy, just Teddy.”

“Fantastic!”

Teddy couldn’t get a read on the guy. Either he was savy or clueless, likely no in-between as flamboyant as his mannerisms were.

Snapping into a professional aura, an impressive feat given his scraggly beard and mud-stained clothes, Teddy asked, “where to, boss?”

Monteguem released his hand. “To the mayor’s abode. I am in need of residency.”

Teddy couldn’t help but smile and nod, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything offensive. It seemed, as of late, he was destined to become a silent guide for imbeciles.