Going home after dark didn't used to bother Atticus. He was big enough to take care of himself, but really, anyone with a pint of sense knew how to get through the slums without much if any trouble. Atticus could count on one hand how many times he had gotten into fights on his way home after dark. Hell, he could count on one hand even if he was missing a few fingers. But with the business on Kirk Street, Atticus couldn't help but feel more jumpy than usual. His sharp eyes were constantly fighting a war. The day's work was busy trying to get the grey things to snap shut, they were tired and worn out, sleep was beckoning and they were about ready to fall out of his head. But his active imagination was interpreting every dark shadow as a crouching madman, the rational part of him was just as weary as his eyes, but still was keeping things in check. Atticus didn't need to get hauled in for assaulting another labourer on his own way home.

He trudged up the broken cobblestones, a grey figure among the night blackness. The suit jacket he wore had at one time been a color, probably brown, but Atticus had owned it for so many years that it was now a faded grey color, filled with the constant stone dust he was around. And while his pants were grey at the top, on the legs they were a dark brown color, mud and dirt. Laying foundations for that bridge had been a mess today, the ground had been wet, a lad tripped and nearly drowned in the river, insanity. The stone dust clung closer on Atticus's face today as he along with several other chaps had gone into the water to fish out the boy. The boy had enough sense to grab out onto a rock before the current pulled him out of reach. His walk was slow, like usual. His mason's bag hung heavily on his shoulder, packed with his tools and scraps of paper with sketches and measurements. Atticus shrugged up his shoulder, shook his bleary, fogged up head and just kept on his way, trying to shirk off that creepy feeling that persisted.

Heading away from the pubs and toward the large, drafty apartment buildings. He still kept the one he and Mary had lived in. Some things in it had changed and initially he had wanted to leave the garret, but all the other places were too expensive these days. Well, the garrets with any safety were. He liked having a lock that actually worked. The building he lived in wasn't too far away now. Jesus, bloody Christ, he thought to himself, he was tired tonight. The walk seemed so much longer than usual, Atticus wanted to just throw down his bag and sleep right there in the gutter he was looking down at. So tired. Losing himself in a large yawn, he took in a deep breath and wound up in a furious coughing fit. The loud coughs forced him to bend over, the mason's bag dropping off his shoulder and crashing onto the street. His black woolen cap fell off his head and into the street as well, but all Atticus was worried with was getting his breath back. His hand reached out to a post, holding himself up, his other hand balled up into a fist, smacking his chest.

A few coughs later, Atticus had managed to breathe normally again. His hand was still practically welded to the post and his eyes were wet and red from coughing, but he was just glad to not feel like he was drowning. Atticus lent up against the pole, just letting himself breathe in and out, his eyelids taking this opportunity to fall shut. His knees bowed and he slid down the pole, propped up against the thing and one foot had fortunately slid around the strap on his bag. Dark hair fell down into Atticus's face, had he been awake, he would have brushed them out of his eyes.

Frances had the day off today and she spent it almost as she always did, visiting a friend who her mother used to work with. It was Mrs. Vande, a widow now and in her late fifties. Fanny would go over there and keep her company, telling her the latest news and how her life was going quite well. Mrs. Vande would then tell her of all the handsome men who would bow down at Fanny's feet if she only had the connections. Fanny would laugh and ignore it, creditting the talk to old age. Secretly she wished she never would talk like that when she would be fifty.

Like today, Fanny bought fresh flowers with her wages and took the same route to Mrs. Vande's small house. Her husband had been a carpnter. They had met when he was doing some work for her old mistress. He left her with some money to live on, but it was not enough for simple luxuries and friends. Fanny spent the day there, drinking tea and being criticized for the simple grey dress she wore, though it brought out her blue eyes and honey blond hair. Tea turned into dinner and dinner turned into card games and soon it was quite late. Mrs. Vande offered Fanny a room for her to stay the night, but Fanny had to refuse since she needed to be at the boarding house in the morning to light the fires.

It was very dark when Fanny finally left. Mrs. Vande had one of her neighbors lend her their dog to walk her home. In someway it was protection as young ladies didn't walk out at night by themselves. Her only real protection was her quick feet that would help her run away if any trouble occured. She knew Olivia would scold her for staying out late and probably punish her somehow, but she would get a worse punishment if she wasn't up early in morning.

As Fanny walked through the familiar streets she saw unfamiliar things. Women out at night dressed in provocative ways and men eying them with lust. A little frightned by that, Fanny wasn't watching her step and tripped over a big lump, causing her to fall to the ground beside it. The overly friendly dog was no help as it began licking the heap's face, which turned out to be a man. A rather good looking man, who was asleep. Fanny scrambled up and tried to pull the dog away, but he didn't want to leave. Instead he began to bark.

"Shh," she said, though it didn't work.

Atticus was rousted at the moment he felt someone bump and fall over him. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and hadn't drifted off very far. He was still drowsy enough though to not jump up to his feet and soon felt a dog licking his face.

"Ach, bad breath doggy," Atticus grumbled taking the dog's face in both his hands, holding the extroverted dog back some. Looking at the golden furred creature, Atticus chuckled. Patting and giving the dog a scritch behind the floppy ears, Atticus had nearly forgotten about the reason he had woken up. Someone had tripped over him. It was as he reached over to grab up his charcoal black cap that he noticed the lead on the dog and that it was being pulled at.

Pulling a knee up to his chest, resting his arm, holding his hat, just above the large tear in the knee, Atticus' grey eyes followed the lead up and saw that a lady was hanging onto it. His back was still resting up against the pole, but Atticus quickly stood up, brushing off the front of his jacket as he did. Like that would magically mend the tears and fasten new buttons that were missing. Small puffs of grey smoke clouded up from his jacket where his hand had brushed at it. And his other hand brushed back the coarse hair that had fallen down in his eyes.

"Yeh alrigh', Miss?" Atticus asked. The dog couldn't have tripped over him and there wasn't anyone else around. Atticus might not have been educated, but he wasn't a coal head. He wasn't a coal head, which made him wonder. He had taken a fair look at the blue eyed girl by now and she didn't seem to fit. Tar, she didn't seem to fit at all. Not for this time of night and in this neighborhood. Atticus was well aware of the reputation on the streets that he lived nearby, but he couldn't afford to move to a better part of the slums. Ha, that was a joke. He laughed a lot about that, snobbery in the slums, the good part and the bad part. Atticus would like to inform the 'good lotters' that no part of the slums was good.

He leaned down and picked up his bag, setting it back on his shoulder. "More importantly, did yeh get lost, Miss?" Atticus asked, pulling his cap back onto his head.

Fanny grimaced as the man woke up. His hands went into the golden fur of the friendly dog. She let the leash relax a little, hoping that he would fall back asleep, or ignore her, but that wasn't how it was going to be. He stood up, his eyes giving her the once over. Fanny lowered her own eyes in slight embarrassement as she wondered what he thought of her late at night. She wasn't dressed like the other ladies, but he could think it was her first time on the streets. She was about to say something, but then he opened his mouth.

"Yeh alrigh', Miss?" He said. "Yes," Fanny replied. "I didn't see you there, I'm sorry," she added, hoping he wasn't the angry type. She took a small step back, but the dog sat wagging it's tail at the man. She looked down again and noticed his dirty fingernails and clothes. He wasn't a gentleman who could possibly see her at the boarding house and tell Olivia she was out late. She could smell the liquor on his breath and guessed that he had drunk himself into a nap, which had stumbled upon.

Then he asked if she was lost. Fanny could either say yes and have him give her some unintelligeble directions, or she could say no and hope she was still going in the correct direction. She decided telling the truth was the best. "Yes, I am afraid so," she said, looking up at him and then to her left and back at him.

The thing about accidentally falling asleep on the curb was that the smell of the street pulled up with your clothes. Atticus caught the rough smell of alcohol on his jacket. He'd have to air it out the window for the whole next day to get that grungy smell out. Atticus sighed and bit in on his lip as he heard that she was in fact lost. Not the best place to be lost in and from the way she spoke, Atticus felt like he'd be a lout to let her try and navigate the streets alone.

He looked down at the placid pup that sat next to his booted feet. Some guard dog, he thought, grinning down at the dog and letting a light laugh escape from him. He looked back to the girl and scratched the side of his head, just beneath the brim of his cap.

"S'no good tryin' to find your way in the dark," Atticus said as he shifted the bag up on his shoulder again. Damn thing seemed to get heavier each day. "Where was it you were tryin' to get to?" He asked. "I know this par' a town prett' well, let me get yeh back into the more decent section," He added.

"I suppose not. I would only find myself even furthur away in the morning," she said with a small laugh. Fanny began to fiddle with the leash in her hands, wondering what his point was. She didn't want him to take her to his dwelling and she didn't think he'd blend in to where she had to go. The Pleasant District tended not to get riff-raff unless there was some manual labor to be done.

Then the man asked her where she was going and claimed he knew 'this par' a town' very well and was willing to assist her. This came to some surprise because all the stories she heard from the maids was that the men at night were ones to stay away from, but there was something in his face which made her feel slightly comfortable.

"I was headed toward the Pleasant District," she said, looking down again. She didn't know if he knew that part of town very well at all. But he did seem eager as he shifted his bag on his shoulder. It looked rather heavy and wondered what could be in it. "What is your profession?" she asked, a little curious.

Atticus smiled and laughed. "Yeah, arn't we all?" He mused when she said she was headed for the "Pleasant District," but Atticus knew where she meant. Mary had liked to walk around there on the weekends that they didn't work. He couldn't tell one shop from the other, but he knew how to get there from the slums. It did seem that this girl would fit in much better there than down here.

"Welp, I can get you back there. Though I won't be much help after that," Atticus said, sticking his free hand into the pocket on his coat. The dog barked up at Atticus as he did that, and he looked down at the jumpy pooch with a raised eyebrow. "Noisy littl' bugger, inin't he?" Atticus asked with another grin, looking back up to the girl as she asked him what he did.

"Stone mason," He said, remembering the heavy bag. Alright, he hadn't forgot about it, but for a moment, he hadn't been paying attention to the stiff weight. "Oh sorry," He said, taking his hand back out of his coat pocket, "Blisten," He said, offering his hand, "Mum would have gotten all over me several minutes ago fer na' introducin' myself," He added with a sheepish grin. "Come on, Miss, let's get you back into the respectable part of town, 'fore my arm falls off," He joked as he starting walking again.