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Anson's in a hurry.

Waking up late meant no time for breakfast, and a foul-up with his calendar means the meeting he thought was tomorrow morning is an hour from now. He moves through the store quickly, grabbing whatever's closest to hand. He's going to have to eat breakfast in the car, so he's not looking for health food here, not that he'd find much in a little corner market like this. He grabs a newspaper, two cheese danishes and a bottle of chocolate milk. A rack of brightly colored packs of gummi bears catches his attention and he grabs a couple on his way to the register. They'll go into his jacket pocket. Never know when he's going to run into Brody later.

He doesn't even notice the boy at first. He walks right past him to the cash register, dropping his purchases on the counter and digging in his pocket for his wallet. He glances over, thinking about grabbing a candy bar for later. He pauses, staring at the slight, dark-haired boy. For his part, the kid's not doing anything. He's not wandering around looking at stuff or grabbing fistfuls of candy from the rack or walking back to the cooler to grab a Coke or a fruit punch or one of those energy drinks that get them all keyed up way more than they need to be. He just stands there next to a display of Snickers bars, looking as if he's not sure what to do.

Anson turns and looks around the store. There's an old man picking out tins of cat food and an Indian woman with a little girl over by the rack of stuffed toys. The boy doesn't seem to belong to either of them. He just stands there, apparently alone, his thin frame swallowed up by the long grey coat he's wearing. Anson pays the clerk and takes the paper bag. He turns to go, but something just won't let him leave without asking the boy what's wrong.

"What's the matter, kid? You lost?"

Edited 2008-06-29 18:39 (UTC)

The boy glanced up at the older man when he began to speak, blinking just a bit before glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else first. The man was so tall. Like Louis. Louis was tall too.

"Non, je viens.. "

He paused. He really needed to stop doing that. He was no longer in France. He knew how to speak English... for the most part. Not expertly or anything. It was still quite choppy.

"No," he started again. "I just.." He didn't know what to say past that anyway. Maybe he was lost. But he still had some hope that Louis would be coming back for him, so he was more in limbo that anything else.

"I'm not... sure..." The boy was obviously out of it somewhat, but there was still comprehension there as he looked up at Anson a little helplessly.

Anson blinks in surprise.

"French?" he asks. "You're from France, yeah?" He frowns, thinking. He's picked up tidbits of the language here and there from Arthur, but he's hardly an expert. If that's the only English the kid knows, they're in trouble. "Comment t'appelles-tu? What's your name, kid?"

He nodded gently.

" Oui Yes... France." He tells him before his head cants to the side at the second question. A name... Louis had one of those. He had asked Louis about it before, to which he had never gotten a straight answer.

"I don't... have one of.. those." He tells him honestly, his words choppy and paused while he thinks of the proper wording.

Anson stares at the boy.

"You don't have a name?" Alarm bells are starting to go off in the back of his mind. There's something very wrong about this kid, but what? It's not just the vacant stare and the difficulty communicating, there's something about his entire demeanor that just seems off. It's almost as if he's an alien, some otherworldly visitor, new to this planet and its customs. Anson sets his bag down on the counter, peers at the boy curiously. "Well...what do people call you?"

He blinked again before just shaking his head no. He thought about the question for a moment before finally responding with:

"Boy. Louis usually calls me boy. Or " he spoke the words casually, yet low as he was aware of their meanings, even if he was saying them in French.

Anson leans closer, thinking he must have heard wrong.

"Pute?" he repeats, incredulous. Okay, so he's no native speaker but you don't have to be a genius to figure that one out. And salope...he knows that one, too. Funny, when you start learning a foreign language, you usually learn the curses first.

He frowns, those alarm bells positively deafening now.

"And who is Louis? Did he bring you here?"

" Oui " He says with a nod. He watched as the other man frowned. He was asking about Louis now, and the boy fidgeted only slightly.

"Louis... and I.. we came... to this place ... to visit... together?" He hoped that he was saying this right. "We were on the...train. And then he was gone. There were... many people." He explained.

"He did not come back for me..." He glanced down at the ground a little.

Shit.

Anson looks at the boy, incredulous. What kind of asshole brings a kid to New York and then just abandons him? Probably the same kind of asshole that uses 'whore' and 'slut' as pet names, he thinks angrily. He pauses a moment, just to get himself under control. The kid has gotten to him, cut right to the heart with seven soft words.

He did not come back for me...

There is a picture in Anson's mind of a small dark-haired boy, sitting on the back porch of a little rented house on a dead-end street. He sits, watching the road, waiting for his daddy's car to come over the hill. He will wait a very long time before he finally understands that his daddy isn't ever coming back.

Someone taps his shoulder. Anson blinks and turns around. The Indian lady is standing there. She has a stuffed dog in her hand, her daughter bouncing up and down beside her, eager for her new toy, but Anson is standing in front of the counter.

"Oh, sorry." Anson moves aside. He glances at the boy, then down at his watch. Fuck. Looks like he's not going to make his morning meeting. He grabs his bottle of chocolate milk off the counter, twisting off the cap and handing it to the boy.

"Here. Drink."

There's more he wants to ask him, but this is no place for conversation. He ushers the boy out onto the sidewalk. There's a homeless man sitting outside the store, begging for change. Anson hands him the bag with the two cheese danishes in it, then digs in his pocket for a ten. He hands him that as well, then walks a little further down the block with the boy. He stops on the corner and pulls out his cellphone.

"Candice? You're gonna have to reschedule my ten o'clock." He listens for a moment, head down like a puppy being scolded. "I know, I know. Just...tell him something came up, okay? Thanks, Candice. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He snaps the phone closed and looks down at the kid, wondering what in hell he's going to do with him.

Edited 2008-06-29 22:44 (UTC)

The boy took the chocolate milk and looked at it carefully, then to Anson but doesn't drink. Though he obediently follows Anson outside, chocolate milk in hand and watches as he gave a man sitting outside some food, and also some money. Now the man is on a portable telephone talking to someone named Candice. He just stands there quietly before Anson's attention is reverted back to him. Anson gets another blink in response to the look.

He briefly wonders where Louis went to, and why the other man did not come to find him when he realized that he was gone. Maybe Louis had gotten tired of him. He was constantly getting frustrated it seemed. Maybe he had not been able to handle him anymore. Maybe... maybe Louis wasn't coming back. But even as he thought all that, no emotion would show through to show as much.

He just looked up at Anson blankly and blinked again. Waiting to see what the other man wanted out of him.

The boy hasn't so much as sniffed at the milk. He's just standing there holding it as if he's not sure what it's for. Anson taps the bottle and smiles at the boy encouragingly.

"Go ahead, drink it. It's good." He nods and rubs his belly in a circular motion, feeling like an idiot. Looking like one too, if the looks on the faces of the passersby are anything to go on. "You like chocolate? Chocolat, oui?" He nods at the bottle again. "Go on. Give it a try."

Edited 2008-06-29 23:19 (UTC)

Watches as the man seems to put on some kind of display for him. He wants him to drink. He knows that. But Louis always told him never to trust anyone but him. Though... his stomach felt as if it needed something in it. And it couldn't really hurt could it?

"Oui.. " He said before taking a sip. It was very good.

"Merci monsieur, il est très bon ... em...very good." He corrected himself at the end.

Anson smiles, being sure to nod approvingly.

Well, now we're getting somewhere.

"Good. Good boy. Bon garçon."

He pauses, scrutinizing the kid. He's thin, too thin, and he looks like he could use a good meal. Something better than chocolate milk and pastries from the corner store, certainly.

"You hungry?" Anson glances around, spotting a diner about half a block up. "Affamé? You want to come with me and get some food?"

The boy takes a moment as the man praises him for... drinking the milk? He blinks. At the mention of food, he bites his bottom lip as his stomach rumbles.

"I have non... argent... argent... money..."

Anson smiles again. He pats his pocket.

"It's okay. I have money. You don't worry about money, okay? Ne vous inquiétez pas. Come with me." He points up the street toward the diner, taking a few steps and beckoning to the boy to follow. "Come."

Edited 2008-06-30 00:14 (UTC)

He pauses only a moment before following after him, much like a puppy would. Very obediently. He sticks close just glancing about as they walked. There were many things to see here. Everything was so bright...in the dinginess of it all.

"You are kind..." He tells them as they make their way toward the diner.

Anson smiles down at him.

"Merci."

They walk up the block and cross the street to the diner. It's late morning, so the place is only about half-full. The counterman looks up as they enter, giving the boy's bottle of chocolate milk a disapproving look.

"Hey, Mac, you can't bring outside beverages in here. We got milk on the menu if the kid wants it."

Anson hesitates. It's a simple matter to order the boy a new glass of milk, but he's not about to take the bottle away from the kid.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, leading the way to a corner booth. "Give him a break already, he's just a kid. I'll spend plenty, don't worry."

The counterman grumbles, waving his rag at Anson before going back to wiping down his counter. The waitress approaches, bringing menus. Anson orders coffee for himself, along with two large glasses of orange juice. Anson opens up one of the menus and puts it down in front of the boy. He hesitates, chewing his lip, wondering if the kid can even read.

"Can you read?" he asks. "Lire? It's okay if you can't, you can just show me what you want."

Like most diner menus, this one features large color photographs of just about every item available. Anson finger moves from picture to picture, pointing out the various choices.

"Oeufs...bacon...crêpes." Eggs, bacon, pancakes. And on he goes, cereal and milk, waffles, toast, oatmeal. Satisfied that the boy has ample opportunity to think it over, he settles back with his own menu, mulling over his order.

Edited 2008-06-30 00:35 (UTC)

The boy followed Anson into the diner, where a man began to speak what seemed angrily. He cast a glance up at Anson, but soon he found himself following to a back, corner booth. He took a seat and watched as the menu was set in front of him.

He was better at speaking English than he was at reading it. But the pictures were helpful, as was the man sitting across from him. Glancing over it he tried to figure out what he wanted. He and Louis didn't go out to these places much. There was a reason, but he couldn't remember it exactly now. He took a moment to try and think of it, but nothing came.

Louis had only been teaching him English for a few months now. He was sure he still had a lot to learn. He bit his bottom lips a little before pointing to a set of blueberry pancakes and glancing at Anson to see if it was alright that he had those.

Anson smiles and nods, very pleased.

"Bon, bon." He raises his eyebrows, trying to indicate that it's okay for the boy to order more. "You should get what you want," he says slowly, enunciating each word clearly. He pauses and frowns, thinking. What's the word for 'eat'? Oh, yeah. "Manger," he says, smiling. "Manger. Bon."

He points at the menu.

"Pancakes, yes. Anything else? What else do you like?"

Edited 2008-06-30 02:29 (UTC)