Kazato Karikay radiates the aura of a pompous bastard; anyone can see that. I litterally run into the women's restroom to vomit up my lunch after he gives me what all the townies believe to be the "smile of an angel". Yuck! I pull out my traveling disposable toothbrush from my other back pocket. I turn on the tap and place the toothbrush under it to wet the hygienic tool. After a two minute waiting period, I begin brushing my teeth. I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth out. Damn I hate that pompous pain in my ass! I growl at the mere thought of him. I want to go out there and slap him across the face numerous of times....

     Then I remember jail is a thing.

     And, that he is the sheriff in Morning's Dew.

    And, that hitting will lead to no where.

    And, that, if I have a criminal record (no matter how justified the reason is!), no one will hire me and I will be stuck in this small-town provincial life! I cannot have that now, can I?

     I know what you are thinking. This guy cannot be that bad. You. Are. Wrong. He is an annoying narcissist that will not shut up about himself. I examine myself in the mirror. My light peridot green with gold tint eyes look softer in the dim light. My redish orange treases of fire glow in the last embers of the sun. My ivory casing reminds me of snow. I could be described as a goddess. However, that is only in the dim light of the dying day where make up is applied to my face to cover up the frequent battle wounds I have obtained through the four years of college parties that I walked passed on my way to my dorms. I only hide it to stop Maurice from freaking....

      Sorry about the tangent. I get distracted easily. I take a deep breath and put on a fake smile. Walking out of the bathroom and disposing the toothbrush, I walk out of the bathroom. A fake smile is plastered on my face as I stop in front of Kazato. The guy looks me up and down. It takes my entire force of will and more to keep from slapping him across the face and telling him to get a life. "Can I get you anything?" I ask through gritted teeth.

     "Yes, can I have a slice of pecan pie and a cup of tea? Also, a bit of you would be brilliant as well--" The door rings once more and I look up. It's the Mystery Man from litterally seven minutes ago. He stumbles in once more and I rush over to help. From the corner of my eye, I see Kazato stand up. "ARABELLA! GET AWAY FROM HIM!" He commands. I do not listen at all.

       "Sir, are you all right?" I ask him after he winces from the yell. I sit him down in a booth. "Can I know your name?" I say thinking it is the better approach. I only get a gruff noise from him. "What was that?" I reply. The mess of midnight black hair looks at me for a striking moment. His eyes are a violent green and bloodshot. They take my breath away for just a second.

      "Grantaire." He begrudgingly states.

       "As in the drunkard from Les Misérables?"

       "Yep. That is who I am named after." The alcohol still penetrates my senses. Obviously, he has been living up to his name sake.

        "Do you need more coffee?"

        "Don't worry about me. Go help the cheif." He slurs. I feel bad. He needs help and is obviously intoxicated once more; however, he refuses to let me assist him. I am about to refute when I see his eyes become unfocused. "Are we human? Or are we denser?" He murmurs. I slowly back away before bumping into Kazato.

       "Stay away from him Belle," Kazato begins.

       "Why should I?" I counter indignantly while getting his coffee and piece of pie. Thank the Lord that Estafan still works as the baker. Otherwise, Kazato would not shut up. I steal glances over Grantaire's way. He seems to be sleeping now. That's good. I wonder why he is like that. Intoxicated, I mean. Why wouldn't anyone else help him?

        "Because, he is dangerous. And a drunkard. And just not good enough for a woman like you." I glare at Kazato.

       "And who is?" I chortle. "You?"

       "I'm glad you see it that wa--" I pour the decaffeinated coffee over his head. I walk to the stairs in the left-hand back corner of the room and sit. I begin reading where I left off. The one thing that bothered me was Grantaire's question.

      Are we human?

     Or are we denser?