[i]In an alley in Fairfield, a few of the city's homeless discuss literature in the early of the morning, Eric Dumile among them.[/i] "No man, it's not Cersei, I'm telling you." Eric gives a smile, these men are the closest thing he has to family. He is distinguishable from them though, he still occasionally changes his clothes. "Bullsheeit. Then who?" A toothless black man named Daiquirius asks, his graying hair in uneven dreadlocks. He takes a swig of his 40. "Dude, okay. It's going to seem like I'm pulling this out of my ass, but it was totally Little Finger." "Buuuulllsheeeeit, nigga! Why you playin' so much?" The man practically spits out the alcohol, clearly surprised by the information. "Fucking Little Finger, man. Look, you can tell he's crushing on Cat, right?" "Nigga sprung." Daiquirius comments. "Full on pussy whipped." Another man, "Bazooka Tooth Joe," pipes up, he's an older white man with a severe overbite and dressed several coats too warm. He lives in a really nice box. "Yeah, well, her sister, is... reverse-pussy whipped? What do you...? What is that? When a girl is sprung--" "Dick whipped." "Thanks Bazooka tooth. Okay, yeah, so, y'all might not be far enough in the books yet, but Lysa is basically all over this guy's dick." "Lil' Finger." A middle southern woman responds this time, her name is "Dixie" and she is missing an eye and her eye patch. "Yeah. There's actually this whole love triangle because they grew up together, and LF has always wanted Cat and shit... ANYWAY, he takes advantage of Lysa." Dixie furrows her brow, "How?" "He gets [i]HER[/i] to poison Jon Arryn!" Uproarious yelling and "Aw shit(s)!" follow, in the afterglow of the revelation, Eric digs through his bag, "I actually was thinking about you guys yesterday..." Riffling around a second longer, he pulls out a stack of library books, obviously stolen, all the current 'Game of Thrones' books, and is rewarded with another round of applause from the vagabonds. Bazooka tooth makes a face Eric can't quite discern, it's either sexual, cocky or thankful. "You really do care!" The face makes it really hard to tell if that comment is sincere or not, Eric gives a curt nod before adding. "I'm honestly just kind of getting tired of giving you guys episode by episode synopsises..." Eric stands up with a grunt, "figure you can read while you beg or something. I don't know." He notices the look Bazooka gives him as he stands, not quite as vague. "I've actually got somewhere to be right now though, so I'll see y'all later." "Still pretty early! Ya sure ya don't want no squirrel, it's Frash!" Dixie called after him. Eric couldn't help but sigh at that, "No, Dixie, that's gross as fuck. I'm going to go get my free meal from McDonald's or some shit like a normal fucking person-- no one ever wants squirrel! We're vagabonds, not mountainfolk... Jesus--You don't even know how to cook a squirrel! Dixie, go to the shelter for breakfa-- Bazooka, make sure Dixie goes to the shelter today." He turned to walk out of the alley again, he could hear a distinctly southern grumble in the form of 'all y'all had to say was 'no'' and an enthusiastic 'Alright' from Bazooka tooth. These were the people he called "friends." He put on his headphones with a shudder-- last night... the music had... "spoken" to him. In a different way than normal, the bars gave him rhythmic instructions, some Prophecy Meeting with the savior and the destroyer. It could've just been MF DOOM being weird, but the rhythm was... divine. As he turned out the alley, he turned on his phone, he went to shuffle on the same playlist, and almost as soon as the Deltron3030 track started, he felt the same tingle in his body. This time the song had instructions-- directions. Something big was going on, either that, or he was finally losing it, either way, Eric had his interest piqued, there was no stopping him. The words were tailored for his each step-- he was headed to the Fairfield City Morgue. --- So the morgue guard was dead. Eric was no forensics expert, but he looked like he died because he was an old motherfucker. That isn't really what bothered Eric, nor was it the prophecy thingy-- he knew he needed to go to the morgue, his music had become normal as soon as he got here-- no, what nagged at Eric was the fact that a man could die, and not one person would notice. Why hadn't they noticed? Did it really matter? To be fair he was still pretty fresh, again, not a forensics expert, but the guy felt warmer than everything else. Maybe it was five minutes ago he had died? Eric couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was powerful universal symbolism at play here. He looked at the crowding sidewalks, if one of them died, just snap-- and fell over dead-- would anyone do anything? Probably. But why? It's not like you know them? Even if you did-- so? It was an inevitability. Wouldn't it be better to just walk over the lump and move on? Maybe push the body off the sidewalk for courtesy. He looked at the old guard again. Like this guy was a courteous guy, he isn't going to be in anyone's way... Eric couldn't tell if he was Diogenes reincarnated, or a homeless person becoming a sociopath. He took the guard's ring of keys, and silently entered the morgue, muted music playing out of his headphones. He took them off upon seeing the dark haired little girl. "Oh... hey?"