03/08/998: Late Morning, Blackbeam.
Even in the early morning, even after the storms of the previous day have flushed the garbage from the streets and the grime from walls and rooftops, even here, in a city known for its sparkling waterways and exceptional sanitation, the Blackbeam district stinks of squalor and decay. Abandoned buildings gaze hollow-eyed out over the canal where desperate squatters have pried the boards from their windows, creeping into damp, creaking hallways in the night to make their beds amongst the rats.
Jack Dawton picks his way with practiced ease through the narrow alleys that wend and cross in a patternless tangle through the east side of Blackbeam, across from Picker's Point.
Approaching Green Willy's flophouse, an abandoned warehouse, burned out at one point but structurally sound and haphazardly but effectively repaired and cleaned out by the Green Arm gang.
A young tough stands guard at the door. He's a new face, one Jack doesn't know, and, by the looks of him, new to the streets... probably some rich man's son, running from some problems at home. Still, he carries himself with confidence, and looks as though he might actually know how to use the handsomely crafted rapier hanging at his hip.
New boy
"State your business," he demands, obviously taking his duties quite seriously. He stands out here like a sore thumb, though. No matter how good he is with his fancy pig-sticker, he's likely to get rolled the moment he steps out on his own. What Green Willy is thinking, putting a raw recruit on the door, is hard to fathom.
Jack Dawton picks his way with practiced ease through the narrow alleys that wend and cross in a patternless tangle through the east side of Blackbeam, across from Picker's Point.
Approaching Green Willy's flophouse, an abandoned warehouse, burned out at one point but structurally sound and haphazardly but effectively repaired and cleaned out by the Green Arm gang.
A young tough stands guard at the door. He's a new face, one Jack doesn't know, and, by the looks of him, new to the streets... probably some rich man's son, running from some problems at home. Still, he carries himself with confidence, and looks as though he might actually know how to use the handsomely crafted rapier hanging at his hip.
"State your business," he demands, obviously taking his duties quite seriously. He stands out here like a sore thumb, though. No matter how good he is with his fancy pig-sticker, he's likely to get rolled the moment he steps out on his own. What Green Willy is thinking, putting a raw recruit on the door, is hard to fathom.
Jack Dawton