Xavier MantrolMature

Xavier's rat squeaked from inside his jacket.

"Shh, Token," Xavier warned. "The people will hear you. A rat like you would scare everyone on a Greyhound bus."

Token, the rat, squeaked again, quieter this time. The street urchin who owned him stroked him through the thin jacket fabric. As he boarded the bus, he noticed a goth-looking girl sitting next to another girl. As he lived on the streets, he had to learn who to trust and who not to. He'd learned to tell who people were. This girl--not the goth one--had a slightly wide-eyed look, and had dilated pupils. This told him that she observed for a living. Her brow ridge was lighter than most were--she had to focus for her job. The absentminded tapping of her fingers showed that she often used her fingers for pushing buttons, perhaps. Her fingers were long, perfect for either wrapping around a pencil or typing. Hmm... a photographer, maybe? No, a photographer would be more visually focused on things. An author? No, her brow would be heavier. Then he knew: she was a journalist!

He grinned. A ratty kid like him who had run away from home and was best friends with a rat didn't have the best life. But he knew how to improve it, and that was by changing what he had. He had learned to do that by pickpocketing.

He began to slowly wander towards the two girls. He sat next to the goth girl--all the better to distance himself from the target. Smoothly, his hand began to snake out towards the journalist's pocket.

The End

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