The Awakening

Oliver- Para for Pasta

"You're late," the man in the hood said.

"Well, there was a shopkeeper looking the wrong way, so I..." Oliver tried to explain.

"I don't want to hear it. The only thing that matters is the intel. Did you get it?"

"A bunch of prisoners are headed to the palace in two weeks. They are expected to be sent to a labor camp after the so-called trials are over," he droned.

"When will the caravan go to the camps?" the hooded man really wanted this info, so Oliver decided to bargain.

"You know, if you gave me a little extra money, I'm sure I could tell you."

"Don't play games with me, boy. I could have you dead on the floor in two minutes and no one would care," the man growled. "Well, I personally would like to think that someone would care," the man waited. "I'm just asking for twenty more Para, please? It all goes to the kids, you know."

"Fine, but that's it. Now, when will the prisoners be leaving the castle?"

"One week after the trials start, exactly four weeks from tomorrow," Oliver held out his hand for the seventy Para the hooded man now owed him. Para was the form of money used in Breteri.

"I expect you to tell no one of your encounter here today," the man handed Oliver his money.

"Buisness is buisness!" Oliver replied, pocketing the money and mimed tipping a hat.

Oliver left the small, inconspicuous building. If hood-man, Oliver's name for the mysterious employer, had not paid him so much, he would avoid working for someone like him altogether.

Oliver didn't trust people who refused to show their faces, much less people who threatened death and wanted to know about a caravan of prisoners. He much rather preferred jobs that entail jewelry stores and wallets. However, not everyone has his particular skill set, so he might as well use it for good.

A small shop appeared around a corner, Oliver's go-to place to buy food for the poor. Everything was cheap, and he was friends with the owner, Anthony.

"Ah, if it isn't the thieving, smuggling, roof-jumping rat!" Anthony called jovially. He was a middle aged man with dark skin and a very long beard.

"I find that to be mildly offensive."

"If you're only offended mildly, then there's something wrong with you, kid."

"Anything you've got, please! Oliver ignored the playful insult, dumping the seventy Para onto the counter.

"Woah! How did you get all of this?" Anthony went through the store's supply and gathered cans of soup, pre-cooked pasta, and anything else that would last long.

"I took a job," Anthony bagged the supplies and handed them to Oliver, then took all the money.

"Please tell me you're going to save some of that for yourself."

"Not a chance!" Oliver saluted and sauntered out of the store, handing cans of food to anyone he passed on the street.

Once the food ran out, he found an abandoned building to sleep in. Oliver had received enough money to buy himself a feast, but the people came first. They always came first.

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A/N: I love Oliver, he's so pure!