Grey Area Called Truce

They walked in brisk pace as if they were in pursuit. Of something called foolishness? Potentially. 

He took a sudden turn into a gangly looking alley behind a local fruit stall, unseen from the wary eyes, unless of course those eyes are specifically looking for it. 

"Nice place you got here, M."

The hint of sarcasm was not missed. He brushed it off and kept walking, gave a subtle nod to the guy in the fruit stall, and suddenly several boxes of pineapples oranges and melons were being neatly stacked behind them, blocking their way in. Or out?

She stole a glimpse of shady dark windows above their head, looking damp and miserable. How can she never realize there is this slum part of  Rogue, the city well known for its shiny appearance?

"It's interesting," she remarked.

"What is?"

"How you look like you belong here, after only five minutes ago you looked like a normal middle class in the side of the street of Rogue."

He chuckled.

"We're still in Rogue, and don't think I didn't get your middle class remark."

She shrugged. "What happened, Morocco?"

"I'll explain. Just lose your watch dogs. I know you well, Lola, lose them and I will let you know what happen."


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