[i]"Jiru! You're late!" chirped Luca.[/i]
"Oh God, not Luca," Zhijiru thought.

There was always something contagious about Luca's cheerfulness that somehow always caught Zhijiru by surprise, it was more of the idea or concept of Luca that annoyed him. That damn silver hair reminded him of his father. Zhijiru never spoke about his father to Luca, but the opposite personalities made the encounters more bearable. They were clearly not the same person. Zhijiru took the coin and placed it out of sight and under the wagon.

"My house, if you want to call that garbage heap, is a wreck. I need to move out, build a new one, or buy one." Zhijiru slumped over his stall counter. "But a few silver coins each trip to the market won't help me. I'll be an old man before I can change anything, and that'll only be if I don't get robbed until then." Zhijiru looked back at the wagon, inside had his father's sword hidden. He knew he'd never sell it, but always contemplated the 'what if' if he did.

"And stop trying to get me cured, I feel like something is wrong with me enough as it is." Zhijiru itched the bandage that covered his eye. He diagonally wrapped white bandages around his head and over his left eye and left ear. It wasn't the most classy way to cover his affliction, but he didn't know any pirates.