the difference between hurt and injured

when we buried him beneath the willow

Angel's Share did not have a bouncer. That wasn't a problem, for the bar was laid-back and friendly rather than intense. It had its rowdier days without a doubt, but that was usually when a musician played music that got the drinkers chanting along. Fights were an extremely rare occurrence, and when one inevitably happened, the regulars took care of the problem. They didn't want to see their favorite bar become tainted with violence.

With this information, Diluc never thought a bouncer was needed. If something really bad were to happen, he could always call the police. The station wasn't terribly far, and cop cars constantly patrolled the streets in anticipation of a drunk or speeding driver, or maybe both at the same time. Help was not far out of reach, if Diluc really thought he or his patrons couldn't handle the situation on their own.

Despite this, though, Diluc patted his front pants' pocket where his phone rested safely. He didn't feel that he was in any particular danger, nor did he think that anyone else in the bar was. This situation was just a little bit too out of his pay range, so to speak, which was saying a lot because he owned Angel's Share.

A kid, no older than what had to be twelve, walked into the bar with a bright grin on his face. The door didn't chime when someone walked in as that would do nothing but annoy Diluc during working hours, yet his gaze always managed to find the door when someone entered his bar. It was a habit he picked up after years of watching for patrons he disliked the most so he could mentally prepare himself for the misery to come.

Diluc was not unaccustomed to minors who thought they were older than they looked trying to get drinks. When he was working, he would always deny them and force them to leave the bar. It was also incredibly easy to tell when the ID card they provided was fake or not. The failure had its own tinge of humor, but it wasn't funny when Diluc had to physically drag them out. By the looks of the newcomer, the bartender had a growing sense of dread that this would be one of the cases.

It was strange, though, when he plopped down on an empty seat at the elevated island in front of the bartender. Usually, minors– when they were self-aware that they didn't look entirely adult-passing– would seat themselves at a table further away from the island to avoid suspicion. The more confident ones, who were adult-passing at best, would sit in front of the working bartenders with their form of identification already displayed to show their 'maturity.'

This child did not fit either of those descriptions, or rather, he was all of them at once. He appeared his age in both visage and body language, sat at the island with no form of identification yet maintained a happy grin. He was dressed in an off-white shirt with a worn, unzipped green jacket layered on top. His short black hair was pulled into twin braids against the front of his shoulders. A smudge of dirt, maybe a bruise, lined the corner of his undefined jaw.

The patrons on either side of the once-empty seat gave equal looks of incredulity, both to the kid and Diluc. The woman on the right, a regular at the Angel's Share, opened her mouth to address the child, but the bartender spoke before she could manage a word.

"Get out."

The child did not look phased at all. In fact, he giggled. "I suspect you would think and say as much, for I look young and such," he rhymed, his hands moving along with his flowing words. "A drink in exchange for a story performed, just one for a boy so scorned?"

Diluc did not miss the way his lips pursed out into a pout and the way his eyes widened in an innocent expression. Fortunately, the owner disliked needy children as much as he hated the taste of alcohol. He prepared himself to repeat his statement when the consumer on the left chimed in, "Where are your parents, kid?"

His bright smile twitched. "Under their watch I certainly am. Do not fear, we're not in a jam." The kid laughed it off again, and this time Diluc noticed the dirt crusted under his nails. He felt for his phone again. The bartender knew a liar when he saw one.