In Time RP (Polo!)

In the year 2169, humanity has been genetically engineered to stop aging at 25 and to be born with a digital clock, bearing a year worth of time, on their forearm . At the age of 25 the clock begins counting down, when it reaches zero that person dies. Time has been turned into the universal currency, giving time for products or services just by body contact, as well as transferring to others. A person can no longer die of old age and can only die by "timing out" (running out of time), having one's clock "cleaned" (murder by someone taking all their time), or simply by being reckless that age is not a factor in that reason (e.g. getting shot, overdosing, etc.). The country is divided into time zones, based on the wealth of its population; Dayton, a ghetto zone whose inhabitants barely have a day if they don't work in the local factory, is one of the poorest with people being indifferent to the timed-out bodies on the streets. The other zone is New Greenwich, the wealthiest zone where the wealthy enjoy the benefits of their immortality and wealth but are constantly surrounded by body guards and are very conscious about their actions to prevent non-age related deaths.

[In Time - Wikipedia]

Now then... Let's hope this works!

Name (more specifically, current name): Tobias Cardwell
Real name (A name he never uses): Byron Willoughby
Age: 28 (Looks 25)
Time: Unknown

Appearance: He is a tall, broad character with strong shoulders and a square jaw. His eyes are a dull, smoky blue and his skin is a healthy pale, hidden behind a thin layer of grease or dirt from working long hours in a bar in the ghetto. His chestnut hair is short, just long enough to take up a style of it's own – usually spikey at the top from him running his fingers through it so many times. He changes his appearance regularly, sometimes he has stubble, sometimes he changes his dress style drastically to look like a completely different person. But presently he has stuck with the simple idea of a long-sleeved v-neck, navy blue shirt and dark, ripped jeans. He is sometimes known to wear arm-warmers, which are rare in the ghetto, but unlike those from the rich Time zones he wears them on both arms. His reasons are because he doesn't own any gloves...

Personality: He struggles with his temper when threatened or cornered, but most of the time he keeps the image of a mellow, dry-humoured barman that blends well into the background.

Other: He is currently working in a bar in the ghetto, serving cheap drinks to anyone who wants them, and attempting to keep a low profile. His boss is a trusty man and they hold a good relationship, but Tobias knows he will not stay long, because the Timekeepers are soon to be on his tail once more...

Character sketch.


Name:
Griffin (Griff) Everett

Age:
25, going 26.

Personality:
Positive Traits:
Creative.
Has great ingenuity.
Highly intelligent.
Nerdy.
Quirky.
Generally upbeat.
Quick thinking.
Brave.
Humorous.
Generally a likable sort, but can tend to rub people up the wrong way.
Lucky, or so it seems. Maybe he just cheats.
He’s not always kind, but he is caring. He doesn’t like to see people suffering, and he usually helps when he can.
Energetic
Spontaneous.
Silver-tongued. He can talk his way out of just about anything.


Negative Traits:
Unpredictable.
A bit of a ‘wild card’. Nobody ever knows what he’s going to do.
Rash.
Can be silly and clumsy.
Short attention span. . (Maybe even a little ADD…)
Doesn’t face his issues at all. He tends to shrug everything off or go into denial, and it’s often difficult to tell when something’s bothering him.
When he gets angry, he can fly off the handle completely.
He tends to do and say somewhat ‘strange’ things that don’t always fit in with the situation or conversation.
Often quite shy.
Insecure.
Often takes risks at the expense of others.
Unforgiving – he does not let go of things easily, definitely not the sort of man you can mess around.
He acts somewhat selfish at times, but he has low self confidence, and doesn’t believe in himself at all.
Stubborn at times, and totally passive at others. It’s impossible to tell how he’s going to react.
Superficial. He’s afraid to get too close to anybody, so it’s difficult to really get to know him.



Appearance:

Griffin is definitely attractive, but not in the bulky, macho style of most men. He is slender, with dainty features, and definitely more brains than brawn. He’s around average height, neither tall nor short, but his legs are long and elegant, making him look taller than he is.
Griffin’s face is, despite the cliché nature of the word, cute. He has a small, pointy nose, an easy smile that dimples his cheeks, and wide, bright green eyes that seem to look right into a person’s soul. He has a soft jaw line and sharp, intelligent cheekbones, giving his face a gentle, almost feminine charm. His smile is one that could melt hearts.
He wears a pair of square, black-rimmed glasses that suit his face, and he’s got a mop of messy dark blonde hair on his head, brown at the roots. His fringe is long, and it would fall over his eyes if his hair didn’t curl up at the ends. The blonde curls frame his face in a friendly fashion, reaching past his ears and almost to his cheeks, and not quite reaching the nape of his neck at the back.
He usually wears a loose, button-up white shirt, often with the sleeves rolled up, and – when he’s cold, which is most of the time, he covers it with a baggy black hoodie. He also has a braided leather bracelet that his mother gave him tied around his wrist – this is one of his prized possessions.
He’ll most often wear loose black pants held firmly in place by a belt, and a pair of black leather shoes.

[Link]

Actions:

Timekeeper. (undercover)
Drinks a lot, apparently just to socialise, but perhaps he’s secretly trying to drown some demons.
Spends a lot of time on the computer, designs PC games, plays online games, goes into chatrooms, etc.
Brilliant at playing card games, especially poker.
Spends a lot of time on his smartphone, Googling things.


History:


Griffin was born the bastard child of a wealthy New Greenwich nobleman. The rich, centuries-old playboy slept with the pretty young woman he had hired to clean his house. When the result, Griffin, was born, his rich father wanted to dispose of him, but Griffin’s mother fled from New Greenwich, and headed straight to the ghettos of Dayton to raise her son.
There the two lived, happy but struggling, for ten years, before Nobleman Charles Renwick’s goons finally tracked them down. Faces hidden by dark glasses and balaclavas, the two men broke into the Everett’s humble home in Dayton, guns at the ready. Griffin’s mother, who loved him despite the hardships he had caused her, shielded him with her life, but the heartless murderers shot through her protective embrace, and to this day Griffin is haunted by the images of his mother’s insides exploding through her ruptured abdomen as the bullets bit straight through her to come for him. He took one to the chest and another to the thigh, and Renwick’s goons left him there for dead.
What they had not counted on, however, was the sheer tenacity of the boy. Though his mother was shot dead, young Griffin pulled through on willpower alone, and took to the streets of Dayton, managing to keep himself alive through clever little tricks and scams. His mother had raised him to be an honest child, but out of desperation to survive, young Griffin was forced to take a different path, which left him with great inner conflict.

As a delinquent teenager, Griffin was arrested by a timekeeper who later took pity on him, and – noticing his intelligence - took him under his wing as his own son. Griffin came to love this man deeply, but after just a few short years, he lost his surrogate father to Dayton criminals who cleaned his clock. This drove Griffin to take revenge, and he made the decision to become a Timekeeper in order to restore some order to the mad world around him.

Always focused on his goal, Griffin made few true friends and remained oblivious to the idea of romance, leaving him rather socially awkward and immature as he reached adulthood.
As a young man, Griffin’s intelligence made him an invaluable asset to the Timekeepers, and he usually works as a detective, gathering important information while working undercover.



Motivations:

Driven by a strong sense of justice, a desire for revenge on the criminals of Dayton, and – in the bigger picture – a desire to reach New Greenwich and try to make a change to the state of the world, not to mention take revenge on his father.


Sexual Orientation:
Sexually oblivious.


Likes:

Anything electronic.
Animated movies.
Antique clocks and watches. (He has a collection)
Salt. He eats way too much of it.
Animal Crackers. Or any other kind of savoury biscuit, really. Give him a cracker, and you can get him to do just about anything.
Apples.
Shiny objects.
Playing games. Whether it’s something as serious and classy as poker or something as playful and silly as tag, he’s in. Don’t expect him to always play by the rules, though… Sometimes he likes to ‘tweak’ them a bit.
Puzzles.
Internet.

Dislikes:

Sci-Fi movies. He always complains about the realism, and how impossible all the ideas are.
Peanuts. He’s allergic to them.
Ice cream, and most other desserts, actually. He isn’t a fan of sweet things.
Shorts. He hates shorts – not just on him, but on anybody.
Being scolded, especially by his boss.
The smell of petrol, smoke and wet paint.
Power cuts.


Fears:

Rats (Bloody disease-carrying rodents!)
Blood

Griffin walked down the street with his hands in his pockets, shoulders raised high to shield his neck from the harsh, stormy weather. The wind nipped at his heels, urging him into a reluctant jog, and he shivered as he raised his bowed head, looking around for some sign of the bar that he was supposed to be heading towards. He was sure he was in the right place; having lived in Dayton for most of his childhood, Griffin knew his way around pretty darn well.
Eventually, his eyes fell upon the sign; more faded now than he remembered, but familiar nevertheless. He could not forget that old sign, with the picture of an old clock, and the words 'Draining Seconds' painted over it. They were peeling off now, leaving the weathering wood almost bare, but that was okay. Everybody knew where to find the place. It was the most popular drinking hole in the whole of Dayton, and in Dayton, most everyone drank. Life was just too hard not to.

Smiling in relief, Griffin pushed his glasses up his nose, and jogged up to the bar, finally pulling his hands out of his pockets to open the door. A bell tinkled overhead as he stepped inside, and Griffin started slightly at the unexpected noise. Then, looking up at the bell, he chuckled at himself, and shook his head as he made his way over to the counter. He sat down beside a man so weary he looked aged beyond his years - and he probably was. He had dark rings under his eyes, long, dirty hair and thick stubble growing out on his chin. A glance at his wrist told Griffin he was not going to make it through the night.
"Nice day, isn't it?" He commented cheerfully, smiling at the stranger in a poor attempt to cheer the man up. This earned him a withering glare, but Griff just ignored it, sliding off his wet glasses, and rubbing the lenses with an equally wet sleeve. "Ah... That's not going to help..." He frowned, then shrugged and glanced back at the stranger, only to find that he had moved a few seats down, and was now sipping alone, drinking a final glass of Scotch.
Unconcerned, Griffin turned back to the bar, setting his murky glasses down on the counter, and raised a hand to catch the barman's attention.
"Can I get an Appletini, please? And try to make it real Appley."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I could make this stuff for less than you charge," sneered the man sat nearest on a bar stool, sipping at his Scotch. He was a regular customer, an ass when he was drunk, and Tobias was not in the mood for his snide comments today.
Unflinching, he scrubbed away at the beer glass in his hand, examining it for a moment, then stocked it away in the cupboard under the till.
"You give me a shout when that works out for you, Eric." He responded dryly, grabbing another glass.
"But seriously," Eric continued, wafting a hideous breath of tobacco and alcohol in Tobias' direction. "An hour just for a pint? That's unlawful."
"What's unlawful," Tobias lifted one side of his mouth subtly into an amused smirk, "is the amount of times I had to scrape your face off the floor last week because of how much you drunk. Maybe the tax rise is for the best."
"Bollocks!" Eric croaked. "I only passed out once. And you could have left me there."
"I would have," Tobias raised his eyebrows. "But you were a health and safety hazard to the other customers."
Eric chuckled, which soon turned into a rasping cough, and Tobias looked away. There were all sorts of diseases you could get in Dayton, it didn't matter how much Time you had on your clock. If things got bad enough, you could rot away to nothing. He didn't care what the rich folks from the other Time zones said.

Another customer appeared at the bar, one Tobias had seen before but had never chosen to have conversation with. There was something about him that was just too... Jolly. It made him look extremely out of place in the grey drinking bar.
Leaning coolly on the counter, Tobias watch him attempt poorly at befriending Eric, fail, and look away, seemingly undeterred. Tobias rolled his eyes. He was Eric's only friend, and that was only because he served him alcohol. In the same way you could befriend a stray cat by feeding it, really.
"Appley Appletini coming up." He replied flatly to the man's order, and turned away to prepare the drink. It was no difficult drink to make, and he only added a drop of vodka, as promised. Spinning he bottle skilfully with one hand, he slipped it back into it's holder, stirred the drink with a coffee-blending stick and handed it to the customer.
"That'll be... An hour and a half." He grunted, retrieving the Time Credit machine from beneath the till and held it out expectantly. His own wrists were hidden beneath black arm warmers, but he just hoped this customer wouldn't have to b the hundredth person to ask him why he wore them. Otherwise, he'd probably snap. An he wasn't having the best of days anyway.
"Don't take him personally," he added, jerking his head towards Eric across the bar. "He doesn't take much of a fancy to strangers."

Griffin took the Appletini that was handed to him, and took a deep gulp, sighing in relief as he placed the glass back on the counter with a dull clink. "That'll be... An hour and a half." The barman told him, holding out a Time Credit machine. Griffin blew a hiss of breath through his teeth, but extended his arm anyway, listening with displeasure to the little beeps that marked the minutes leaving his life. "Hardly seems worth the time, when it's just gonna end up down a loo, huh?" He mused, displaying his inappropriate knack of saying thoughts better left in his head out loud.
The barman ignored this and, jerking a thumb toward the gaunt man down the bar, said, "Don't take him personally. He doesn't take much of a fancy to strangers."
Griffin just shrugged, taking another sip of his Appletini, and murmured brightly, "Oh, I don't mind." Picking up his glasses again, Griffin slid them onto his face, and squinted at the barman through the grimy lenses. He still couldn't make out the man's face properly, so instead he dropped his gaze to his hands, and noticed something rather out of place.
"Arm warmers?" He asked, tilting his head curiously to one side as he considered the black blurs before his eyes. "Good idea. It is pretty chilly today, huh?" Griffin tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, and shrank into his hoodie, trying to warm himself up. He didn't mind the cold, but it did seem to chill him quicker than most men, probably because of his small stature.
Whether Griffin was truly as naive as he seemed or whether he was just acting was hard to tell, but if he did feel any curiosity about the out-of-place arm warmers, then he didn't show it. Instead, he just kept an amiable expression on his face, and sipped at his Appletini like any polite stranger off the street.
"My name's Myles, by the way." He lied pleasantly, rubbing a hand on his hoodie, then holding it out to the barman, "Myles Sullivan."

Tobias frowned at the man's oblivious expression and bright stance, wondering what the Hell he'd done to deserve such annoying company. This man was obviously the type people avoided, whether it was because he was too happy or just down right creepy.
Only half paying attention, Tobias turned away to scrub at the next set of glasses, when the curious voice stopped him.
"Arm warmers?"
He stopped. Clenched his jaw. Don't go there, pal.
"Good idea. It is pretty chilly today, huh?"
Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Tobias let the stress release from his shoulders and continued to scrub away at the glasses. He rolled his eyes. Two words were enough to have him on edge. It was ridiculous.
You're losing yourself, Byron, my lad. Get a ruddy grip.
Clearing his throat, he headed to the sink to get a clean cloth, then began to wipe the sticky marks off the desk in front of him. There were quite a few, and they bugged him. Little imperfections that he could control, he would rid of them. At least it meant he had control of something in his life. Even if it was small and petty.
The customer was talking again. Tobias turned slowly on his heel to face the man, his eyes narrowed in a bored manner. Very rarely did he exchange much conversation except with the stupid drunkard across the table, and there was a reason for it. He didn't much like making friends.
He stared down at the outstretched hand in front of him, then up at Curly Locks looking pleasantly up at him. Mouth set in a firm line, he grabbed the cloth he'd been using and continued wiping the table with perhaps more concentration than necessary. "Tobias." He grunted in reply.
You don't need to know my surname, idiot.
He scrubbed away at an imaginary mark for a bit, then glanced up at Myles and frowned at him. Something about him didn't fit in the ghetto, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"You're not from around here, are you?" He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "I haven't seen you except when you've come in for a drink."

Griffin dropped his hand back to his side when the barman, Tobias, didn't take it. Slightly stung by the second rejection in under ten minutes, Griffin was about ready to finish his drink in sore silence. But then, to his surprise, Tobias continued making conversation.
"You're not from around here, are you? I haven't seen you except when you've come in for a drink."
"I don't live here, no." Griffin answered, shaking his head, "I'm here visiting family."
He decided not to mention that the family member in question was dead, and that a parking lot had been built over her grave site. He took another sip of his drink, feeling shy now that his confidence had been knocked again, and avoided the barman's eyes. He reached for a last gulp of Appletini, but when he lifted the glass, he found it empty. Disappointed, he glanced back toward Tobias, but before he could think to order another drink, something shiny on the man's wrist caught his eye. Just below his arm warmer on the right side was a stunning antique Rolex wristwatch, silver in colour, and clearly well looked after. Sadly, the outdated analogue watch appeared to have stopped ticking.
"It's broken." Griffin informed the surly barman, pointing toward the watch, "Shame, it's a really beautiful one..." He leaned further over the counter, his glasses slipping down slightly as he peered curiously over them, "May I see it? Fixing old watches is kinda a hobby of mine." He patted his pocket, "I've got some of my tools with me. I could give it a go, if you'd let me."
He offered a mild smile, trying not to look too excited by the prospect of tinkering with the lovely Rolex. There was not a doubt in his mind that he could fix it, assuming he could see through his blurred glasses, of course.

Tobias nodded at his answer, clearly content with it. Of course, this 'Myles' didn't look like he was from he ghetto, but he might have been from one of the slightly high up time zones. He didn't look out of place enough to be from the top, at least. That was good. If he was he'd have been beaten up by now, anyway.
He began scrubbing again, when he noticed Myles peering over something on his wrist he narrowed his eyes, daring the man to say something. Yes, he had a watch. One they used to use before people had their own Time. Yes, it was nice. Yes, it had stopped working. What was so interesting about it?
He grumbled irritably when Myles stupidly pointed out that it was broken, and Tobias yanked his arm warmer protectively over it. A watch like that could be worth years in Time, which was why he still wore it. To keep it from being stolen.
"May I see it? Fixing old watches is kinda a hobby of mine."
"No." Tobias grunted, but Myles continued to babble excitedly away.
"I've got some of my tools with me. I could give it a go, if you'd let me."
Narrowing his eyes further, Tobias flicked his gaze down to the man's pocket. Then back up again. He didn't much look or act like a thief, and he looked genuinely interested in fixing the broken clock. Tobias had been rude enough to him today.
Glancing around to make sure no one else was watching, he released a sigh as he quietly unclasped the watch, scrunched it protectively in his hand, and glared at Myles with a cold, warning glare.
"Try to steal it, and I will floor you before you've got to the door. Understand?" He clasped the watch so tightly his knuckles went white, then let it trickle onto the table before the stranger.
"Knock yourself out." He said finally, although he didn't look too hopeful that Myles would be able to get it ticking again. That thing was ancient. He wasn't even sure why he wore it properly anymore.

At first Tobias seemed reluctant, but apparently Griffin was convincing enough, because after a moment's thought, he said, "Try to steal it, and I will floor you before you've got to the door. Understand?" "No doubt." Griffin replied, smiling as he opened his hand to accept the watch, "I'm not very fast, anyway."
He felt the cool silver drop into his hand, and closed his fingers protectively around it.
From that moment on, his attention was entirely focused on the watch. He laid it on the counter, and produced a set of tiny screwdrivers from his pocket. He ran his fingers over them, trying to pick one, and quickly grew more and more frustrated. "Oh, blast it." He muttered at last, swiping his glasses abruptly off his face, then leaning over the bar to grab a napkin. He scrubbed at the lenses with it, muttering to himself, until at last they were as clean and dry as he could get them. Sliding the glasses back onto his face, Griffin selected his screwdriver, and quickly set to work on the watch. He became oblivious for the next few minutes, working in silent contentment on the old Rolex. He could feel Tobias's prying eyes on him as he unscrewed the back of the watch, and opened it up to reveal the clockwork within. He didn't mind the audience, though. If there was one thing that he was confident in, then it was this. He prodded and poked with his little tools, and he soon found the problem; a broken gear in the clockwork. Frowning, Griffin studied it for a while, then opened another compartment in his little toolbox. It was filled with tiny gears and cogs of all shapes and sizes, and after searching through them for a while, Griffin found what he was looking for. He inserted it gently, then placed the cover back onto the watch, and screwed it tightly shut. He fiddled with the dials on the side for a moment, and then a quiet, barely audible ticking sound reached his ears. Smiling at the sound, Griffin flipped the Rolex over, and watched the little second hand ticking away over the luminous dials.
"It's fixed." He said brightly, handing the watch back, "You're lucky. I'd trade most of my fingernails for a watch like that."
He offered a friendly smile, then glanced over his shoulder as he saw the poor man, Eric, get up to leave. His brows creased into a frown, and after a moment, he turned his gaze back to Tobias.
"I should be taking off. Take care, Toby."

Tobias watched with an eyebrow raised suspiciously as Myles took the watch and worked away at it, his eyes wide in anticipation. It was strange seeing someone work with such spirit, especially during such hard times, and he found it... Refreshing. Annoying, too. But refreshing nonetheless.
Eventually he ran out of things to distract himself with, and within minutes had pulled up a bar stool and was watching Myles carefully as he operated skilfully on the tiny objects. There was one thing he knew well: Myles hadn't been lying when he said he could work a clock. In fact, it wasn't long before they were both staring at the tiny, ticking hand with smiles on their faces.
Tobias nodded, secretly glad the damned thing was working again.
"You're lucky. I'd trade most of my fingernails for a watch like that."
"Yeah, you're not the only one." He grunted, taking the watch in his hands and studying it curiously. All that, and all it had needed was a single cog to get it working again?
Shrugging, he clasped it back onto his wrist - the opposite one to the wrist where his Time was hiding - his eyes shining with what might have been pride. It certainly was a beautiful watch...
He noticed Myles stand up but didn't seem too interested until the man spoke. "I should be taking off. Take care, Toby."
"Hey!" He growled, his head snapping up as the man turned to leave. "Don't call me that!" He snapped, although he was only mildly annoyed. 'Toby' sounded a little boy's name. Even though it wasn't his born title it was still his name, and he preferred to sound like a man than a boy.
After a moment his expression softened, and he watched the man with the curly locks begin to leave.
"Hey, Miles."
He lifted his wrist with the watch, and nodded respectfully at the man.
"Thanks."
Then, with that, he turned away. No 'I owe you's or 'I'll see you later's. He didn't push on the subject because he didn't want a friend. It was one burden he left behind a long time ago.

Griffin ignored the scolding he received from Toby, just raising a hand in farewell as he turned to leave. When he reached the door, however, a kinder voice stopped him. "Hey, Miles."
He looked around to see Toby holding up the watch on his wrist.
"Thanks."
Griffin offered a silly mock salute and, smiling, replied, "Don't mention it, Toby."
Winking in a friendly fashion, he turned on his heel, and strode out into the darkening night outside. The cold wind struck him like a fist to the stomach, and Griffin gasped, pulling his baggy hoodie tighter around him. He winced as rain lashed across his face, but as his eyes made out the distant, lumbering figure of Eric in the dark, Griffin pressed on through the harsh elements.
"Hey, you!" He called, battling to run through the wind toward the weaving drunk.
"What?" Eric wheeled on him, snarling. Drops of spittle flew from his lips, and his eyes blazed furiously. Griffin winced. He looked half dead already.
"Don't give me that look. I'm here to help."
"I don't want yer pity."
"Well, tough, because you're so damn pitiful that you've got it, punk."
Silence followed this insult, and Eric watched Griffin through narrowed, bloodshot eyes, his fists shaking with pure loathing. Griffin chuckled and shook his head.
"Relax, I'm not here to mock you. Hold out your wrist."
"No."
"Oh, don't be disagreeable, you smelly old boot!" Griff grabbed the man's wrist with surprising strength for one of his stature, and pulled back the man's sleeve. He was on his last five minutes. "Poor thing..." Griff muttered, ignoring the drunk's angry shouts as he attempted to pull away.
"Calm down." Griffin scolded, "I'm going to help."
Eric froze, and Griffin slowly pulled back his sleeve, revealing a shocking twenty five years in Time. Eric's greedy eyes widened as Griffin closed his hand around his wrist, and there came the soft beeping sound of Time being transferred. After a few still seconds, Griffin has transferred a whole week to the poor drunk before him.
"Don't waste it on alcohol, okay? Use this to get back on your feet, not back on your ass." He smiled kindly, and added, "There's no need to thank me- Hey... Hey wait, what are you doing?!"
Eric's strong hand had closed around Griffin's wrist, and he pulled back nervously as the man approached him with a greedy grin, spittle dripping from his chapped lips, drowning the tiny hints of stubble that crawled like ants up his wobbly chin.
"Tha'sa pretty bit of Time you got there." He grunted, taking a firm grip on Griffin's wrist.
"Hey, wait! No, I already gave you as much as you need. Don't-"
He broke off, gasping, as he felt his time start ticking rapidly away.
Shouting objections, he tried to pull back, but a big hand closed roughly over his mouth, and Griffin just ended up squeaking in panic. Then, eyes narrowing deviously, he bit down on the chunky flesh covering his lips.
"Oi!" Eric exclaimed, shocked, "You bastard!"
"HELP!" Griffin shouted, casting a desperate glance toward the blinking light of the bar in the distance. "He-"
Before he could say another word, Eric cursed, and punched him in the side of the head. Hard.
Griffin saw stars, and instantly crumpled to the ground, stunned.
He's going to clean my clock. I'm going to Time Out here. I'm going to die.

Tobias heard Eric's muffled shouts immediately, but he wasn't quick to act at first. That drunken sod had a shocking temper, especially when he was drunk, and no doubt he was probably just shouting abuse to poor Curly Locks.
Rolling his eyes, he served another customer a pint of beer and ignored the shouting outside. If it turned into a scrap, he'd know. Being a barman, he'd learnt to pick those sorts of things up. But if that idiot started to cause trouble for the other customers, Tobias would have to shut him up somehow.
The shouts soon calmed down, and he rolled his eyes. Eric had probably passed out or vomited somewhere. Good riddance.
Tobias turned to one of the younger customers he must have been about twenty two - and started to make pleasant conversation, when another desperate plea came from outside the bar, and this time, the voice came from Myles.
Another customer wandered into the bar, mumbling, "There's a right carry on going on out there."
Tobias' ears pricked up. What the hell had Curly Locks done to piss old Eric off?
"HELP!"
He didn't need any more persuading. Slapping both hand on the desk, Tobias lifted himself cleanly over the desk, his boots skimming the faces of the other customers at the bar, and landed quickly on his feet. Then, without hesitation, he sprinted out of the bar and skimmed the darkness for the culprits. He recognised Eric's hunched form and Myles' curly locks and hoodie from afar.
He knew immediately what the old drunkard was doing.
Shouting his name would only hurry him.
So, instead, Tobias jogged over and grabbed Eric's wrist, taking him by surprise, and jerked a firm finger into the soft part of his lower arm, between the bones. Eric released his grip - he didn't have much of a choice - cursing gruffly under his breath, and staggered backwards. Tobias watched him with narrow eyes, but before the idiot could flee Tobias grabbed his collar and yanked him close. Liqueur breath wafted in his face, but he was used to it. He grabbed the man's Time arm and glared at the glowing number ticking away beneath his skin. Just under twenty five years.
Rolling his eyes, Tobias grasped his arm and twisted it round, so the numbers began to count down quicker. Instead of lifting his arm-warmer, however, he kept his eyes on Eric's time to make sure he was transferring the right amount. He did not take everything, though, as he left a single year ticking away, then yanked the man's sleeve back down. Eric didn't once try to fight, as Tobias' grip was like a vice, and he obviously knew he wouldn't get away with anything in Tobias' presence.
"I-I needed that..." Eric tried pathetically.
"No, you don't." Tobias replied firmly, releasing his grip.
"But... B-" Eric scrunched his drunken face into an angry frown. "How come you don't show your Time, eh? What makes you so special?"
Tobias narrowed his eyes, and slowly, dangerously slowly, lowered his face until it was merely and inch away from Eric's. "My Time is my business. Now..." He shoved the man roughly until he fell back against his truck, grunting in surprise. "You get that Time to redeem yourself for causing distress to my customers. But if the next person you steal Time from is a Timekeeper I will not be jumping in to save your ass. Do you understand?"
"Fuck you."
Nostrils flared, Tobias lifted a hand and wrapped it around the man's throat, just behind his jawline. "Do you understand?!"
Swallowing, Eric nodded.
Tobias nodded, released his grip, and shoved the drunkard roughly back against his truck, then turned on his heel and headed back over to Myles, who was still on the floor. One side of his head was slightly discoloured, probably from the blow of a fist. Sighing, Tobias knelt down beside the man, and checked his time. He only had ten minutes.
"Here." He murmured, grabbing his arm and transferring back the twenty-five years he owed. Unbeknownst to Myles, however, he had taken a year of his own time in the process. Then, shrugging, he added another five.
"For my watch." He muttered, then released the man's arm. He hadn't once removed an arm-warmer to check his own time, but kept an eye on Myles' to make sure he'd got the right amount.
Sighing wearily, he lifted Myles' locks on his brow to check the bruise on his face, then pulled away again. "You're an idiot, d'you know that? If it were possible for heroes to exist in the ghetto, don't you think there'd be a few around by now?" He jerked a thumb to the grumbling figure getting into his truck. He didn't get in the front, though. Apparently, he slept in it. "There's a reason why drunken hags are drunken hags. They're beyond saving."
Despite his scolding, Tobias took the harshness of his words by softening his eyes, and he winked subtly, then offered a hand.
"Come on. I'd better get that sorted out, you might be concussed."

Griffin cast a desperate glance at his wrist as he saw his last hour vanish, the only movement showing in the dwindling minutes that blurred before his eyes. He was dying, but he was still too dazed by the blow to his head to do a thing about it. Then, like a saviour out of the storm, Tobias came racing up, and shoved Eric off him. Relieved adrenaline raced though Griffin's veins and, yanking his abused wrist protectively to his chest, he crawled quickly away. He could hear Tobias and Eric fighting it out, and he watched the scene through hazy eyes, his glasses lost somewhere on the cold tarmac.
Eventually, he heard Eric give in, and managed to shift himself into a more dignified position on his knees as he saw the vague form of the barman approaching him. Toby knelt beside him, and Griffin flinched when the man took his wrist. Were it not for the gentility of the touch, Griffin might have feared that his rescuer was in fact stealing the rest of his time. He wouldn't put it past a Dayton resident. Times were hard, and people were desperate.
He blinked as he saw the fuzzy numbers restored to his wrist, a green streak of movement showing an increase in the hour column.
"For my watch." Toby explained, and Griffin realized that the barman must have replenished more than his share. "You don't have to-" He began objecting, gazing up at the foggy form of the man as he felt a touch on his bruised head. Before he could finish speaking, Toby quickly silenced him.
"You're an idiot, d'you know that?" Griffin bowed his head in shame.
"If it were possible for heroes to exist in the ghetto, don't you think there'd be a few around by now?"
"I wasn't trying to be a hero..." He murmured in a small voice, "But he was going to time out, and I-"
"There's a reason why drunken hags are drunken hags. They're beyond saving."
Griffin did not deny this, but he looked away as he muttered under his breath, "Still, I had to try..."
Seeing an outstretched hand out of the corner of his eye, Griffin turned back to Toby, and took it clumsy, fumbling with the man's fingers in his semi-blindness.
"Come on." Toby encouraged, "I'd better get that sorted out, you might be concussed."
"I might be a totem pole if I get any more bumps on my head." Griffin grumbled, allowing Toby to pull him to his feet. The moment he stood up, dizziness struck him viciously, and he had to grip the other man's shoulder to keep from toppling over.
"Oops," He murmured faintly, "That's quite swirly..."
Griffin shivered slightly from the cold, looking weak and pathetic in his dizzy blindness. He blinked in a bemused fashion as he tried to track the spinning world, but the more he tried to focus, the more his poor head throbbed.
"It's like there's a monkey with cymbals in my brain." He moaned sorely, "Who punches a guy in the face?"

Tobias, despite himself, had to smile at Myles' sense of humour. It was so evident that he didn't belong in the ghetto. He grabbed the man's arm hen he felt his weight falter, and quickly hooked it around his shoulder to keep him from falling again.
Poor guy. He really didn't have a clue, did he?
"Oops, that's quite swirly."
Tobias rolled his eyes. "Don't look at anything if you feel dizzy. And give me a heads up before you vomit, okay? I still have to work, you know."
Yanking Myles' arm further around his shoulder, he began to shuffle awkwardly around to the back entry of the bar, then shoved the door open with his shoulder. Myles was still muttering bizarre things in his ear, which he mostly ignored. Until, that is, he heard, "Who punches a guy in the face?"
"Wow." Tobias stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and led the swaying man into a sitting room, used only for break times, and threw him unceremoniously on one of the ratty old chairs. "You've lived a sheltered life, haven't you, mate?"
Turning away, he disappeared through another doorway, and called out, "Dan! Danny!"
A man appeared on a staircase heading down to the cellar where they kept all the booze. He was a lanky man, with messy black hair dangling just past his ears and dark green eyes. He wore a thick, brown coat with a patch on one shoulder. It was cold in the cellar. "What is it?"
"I've got a customer in the back, he got into a bit of a scrap outside. . Could you watch the bar for a bit whilst I get him sorted out?"
The man sighed, but nodded. "Fine, but it'll cost you Time."
Tobias was unfazed by this. "Take what you want when I get back." He lifted a hand in a grateful wave. "Thanks, boss."

Heading back into the other room, he grabbed a damp cloth and a small, dirty bucket, and threw them both back in Myles' direction. He probably wouldn't catch them. Oh well.
"Oh," frowning, he pulled a pair of glasses out of his back pocket. "I think these belong to you." He murmured, handing them over to Myles. After further study he realised they were scratched, probably from the drop to the ground.
He then went over to a small water machine and poured some into a plastic cup, then handed that over, too.
"Here you go. You shouldn't need too much, since you didn't exactly go off your face earlier."

"Wow, you've lived a sheltered life, haven't you, mate?"
"Not really." Griffin grumbled, "But it's the twenty second century, and people are still fighting like blasted cavemen."
He glanced around curiously as he was lead into what he assumed was some sort of lounge. He stood there, confused, until Toby pushed him into a ratty chair, where he sat meekly, studying his fingers while Toby made arrangements with a man called Danny. He was still feeling rather frustrated by the injustice of Eric's actions, and not for the first time, he found himself truly understanding the meaning of the phrase, 'No good deed goes unpunished'. This was exactly why Griffin was not the extroverted man that most people expected him to be. Because somehow, for some reason, everybody always seemed to take advantage of him.
"I think these belong to you." Toby's voice said, jerking Griffin back to the present. He blinked in surprise as he accepted the cracked glasses, sliding them back onto his face. "Ah, that's better." He said, smiling in relief at the three Tobys standing before him, "Although I'm pretty sure there were less of you before."
Ignoring him, Toby walked over to a water machine across the room, and poured a glass for Griffin. He accepted it, and gulped it down thirstily. Shock always made him thirsty. He drew in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, then said earnestly, "Thanks, Toby. I appreciate it. Y'know, this... And what happened back there." He flicked his fingers airily, gesturing to the incident with Eric, "I won't forget it. Well, unless I'm really concussed, then I might... Maybe I should write it down..." He trailed off, then grew distracted by the reflection of the dim light in the water droplets left in the bottom of his cup. He began amusing himself by tipping the cup from side to side, watching the little droplets race around, leaving their reflective slug trails on the plastic surface.

Tobias was about to complain again about the new nickname he'd been given, but when Myles went on, he soon forgot about how annoyed he was that people were going to start calling him 'Toby'.
"I won't forget it. Well, unless I'm really concussed, then I might... Maybe I should write it down..."
Tobias watched his concentration slip to the cup of water, and he rolled his eyes. For a clever guy, this 'Myles' could be pretty stupid. Hell, this was the second time in less than half an hour.
It occurred to him that he could just up and leave the concussed idiot to stare at his water and avoid getting charged for staying out back. But he'd already sacrificed enough. An extra hour or so wouldn't do anything, would it?
"Oi." He grunted, gently patting Myles on the side of his head, purposely doing it right on his bruise so it would get more of an effect. "Stay with me, Myles. I'm not supposed to sacrifice a fraction of my pay for nothing, you know."
He pulled up a fold-up chair for himself, along with a cup of water, and sipped it quietly.
"If you keep acting like this you'll pass out. Don't make me pour this all over you." He warned, gesturing to his own water, but his eyes were twinkling.

Griffin yelped when Toby patted his bruised head, and he shot the man a hurt glare when he said, "Stay with me, Myles. I'm not supposed to sacrifice a fraction of my pay for nothing, you know."
Griffin uttered an indignant huff, still rather annoyed about being patted on the head.
"If you keep acting like this you'll pass out. Don't make me pour this all over you." Toby gestured to his water, eyes twinkling, and Griffin rolled his eyes, allowing a smile to pull onto his thin lips. "I'll be okay." He said, "I'm already feeling a little better. I just got a bit of a shock, I think... I mean, if you hadn't come when you did-" Griffin broke off, shuddering, "Like I said, I owe you, Toby." He smiled weakly, then reached up to tenderly touch the bump on his head. "Ow, ow, ow..." He winced, drawing in a hiss through his teeth, "God, it's like his knuckles are steel! I hope he hurt his hand. Greedy punk."
With a self-righteous huff, Griffin took out his smartphone - a sleek black Nokia - and scrolled quickly down the list of contacts.
"Let me take down your number." He said, glancing back at Toby. It was clear that Griffin's train of thought never stayed on one track for long, "I owe you now, so if you're ever in trouble, you can just give me a ring. Although then you'd need my number..." He trailed off for a moment, thinking, then shrugged and concluded, "I'll text it to you."
He filled in the word 'Superman' onto his contact list, adding 'Toby' in brackets. He tended to nickname most of the people he met - it helped him remember who they were, and what he thought of them. With the new contact prepared, he glanced expectantly at Toby - Superman - and waited to hear his number. It didn't matter if he gave it or not. Griffin would find it. He could find out anything if he put his mind to it. That was how he had got to be where he was in the Timekeeping force.

"You'd better be." Tobias smirked. "Because any mess you make I'll have to clean up."
Ignoring him, Myles started poking his wound, then complaining that it hurt. Tobias was going to scold him for it, butt hen he decided the idiot was probably just going to keep doing it anyway, so he didn't bother. Let him learn himself that it wouldn't make it any better.
"God, it's like his knuckles are steel! I hope he hurt his hand. Greedy punk."
"We'll find out in the morning." Tobias replied with a snide smile. "He usually comes most Wednesday mornings when he isn't working."
Just then, Myles pulled out a fancy, touch-screen mobile phone, and began to press away at different buttons. Tobias tensed. He wasn't fond of mobiles. Hated the things. They were tracking devices, listening devices for anyone who wanted to listen, and could be used to track down anyone you had contacted. Besides that, whenever the one at the bar rang he always jumped out of his skin. They sounded too much like sirens, like the ones on the Timekeeper's cars...
Blinking himself out of his thoughts, he watched Myles fiddle dizzily around with his phone. It was an old model, but it seemed to do it's job anyhow. It was certainly more fancy than anything you'd find in the ghetto.
Myles typed in 'Superman' as a contact, then started talking about mobile phone numbers. Tobias just stared blaly at him, his eyes flicking from Myles to the phone in his hand. Then, when Myles finally asked him for his phone number, he lied, "I don't have a phone."
Of course he had one, he just didn't want any contacts on it. Or some annoying sod ringing him all the time.
"Listen... You don't owe me anything. You fixed my watch, I-..." He rolled his eyes. "I saved your Time. We're even." He peered over at the phone again, seeing the 'Superman' in bold, white letters, and sat back, annoyed. "And for goodness' sake don't put me down as 'Superman'. I'm not a hero. They don't exist."
Seemingly in a huff he stood up, and headed to a small barrel in the corner. Then, after opening it, he scooped a handful of ice into his palm, closed it, then headed back over to sit in front of Myles. He took the damp cloth and wrapped it around the ice cubes, so it looked like a small sack, and handed it over to the man. "Put that on your head. It should get rid of the swelling."

"Funny, really, what you consider 'even'." Griffin mused thoughtfully, accepting the rejection with a shrug, and sliding his phone back into his pocket, "I'd think a person's life is worth more than a watch, usually... But then again, I am a little odd, and it is a really nice Rolex, so not a bad trade then, I suppose." Griffin nodded, pleased with his reasoning, and looked up to find Toby still grumbling at him.
"And for goodness' sake don't put me down as 'Superman'. I'm not a hero. They don't exist."
Griffin narrowed his eyes, and retorted waspishly, "Well it would have been offensive to put you down as 'grumpy barman', wouldn't it? Besides, don't flatter yourself, I never said you were a hero." He stretched his arms over his head, "Maybe you earned the nickname by being ridiculously buff, or having stupid hair? I don't know. I'm more of a Spiderman fan, myself..."
He continued chatting away, but luckily Toby had the good sense to ignore him, and Griffin trailed off when he approached again, handing him a cold, damp cloth. "Put that on your head." He said, "It should get rid of the swelling."
Griffin obeyed meekly, pressing the cloth tenderly to his head and wincing at the contact.
"Thanks, Toby." He mumbled in a small voice, seeming slightly shy. He appeared to have calmed down a little now. For the moment, anyway. He was quiet for a while as he held the cloth to his head, then he lifted up his phone, checked the time, and sighed heavily.
"Damn..." He muttered, "I've missed the last train back home." Another sigh, heavier this time, dropped from his lips, and Griffin turned his head to stare at the door in a distracted fashion, silently trying to puzzle out how he could get home without having to spend the night on the unforgiving streets of Dayton. He would have asked Toby, but he didn't want to call in another favour. He already owed the surly barman far too much.

Tobias wanted to complain for the hundredth time that he didn't want to be called 'Toby' but eventually he decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Besides, the idiot had had a rough day already, and for some reason Tobias couldn't stay angry with him for long.
Wait, what?
This was bad. He'd known the man an hour and already he was going soft.
Get a grip...
Grumbling at himself, he concentrated on sipping his water, and stared thoughtfully out the grubby window in the corner of the room. It was getting far too late at night for things like this to be happening. He should have been at the bar right then, exchanging pointless pleasantries with the customers, talking about how wet it was when it rained, and dry it was when it didn't. He wasn't supposed to be getting to know anyone personally. In fact, he wasn't even sure why he'd not left the idiot to look after himself, since he only needed to sleep a bump like that off.
Still, it may have been wrong, but he was grateful for the company, anyhow.
"Damn... I've missed the last train back home."
Tobias lifted his eyes and narrowed them, wondering if this was a joke. Was Myles trying to imply something?
Shaking his head, Tobias stood up and began slowly pacing the room. Renting a room in this inn would probably cost him at least six months in Time, but it was his own fault for missing the train. Plus, there were too many personal things at home that he didn't want asking about. For a man like him questions, especially about him, were bad, and he was keen to avoid them.
"There are a few rooms upstairs." He murmured, gesturing to the ceiling with a single finger. "It'll cost you, but since you're loaded, it should only be a fly on your shoulder." His lips twitched upwards slightly, then he stood and folded up his chair, resting it against the wall behind the door.
"I need to get back to the till. Head up and take your pick, and shout me if you need sheets or anything. My shift ends in an hour, so if you need anything after that, just give Dan a shout." He jerked a thumb to the door, gesturing to his boss. "And Myles?" He started towards the door and turned his head over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. "Stop thanking me."
Then, with a softer, less annoyed voice, he added, "It's annoying."

When Toby told him of the room upstairs, Griffin smiled and nodded in response. "I suppose I'll take it, then." He said wearily, "Since I don't have much of a choice. Guess I'll be working overtime this month."
"And Myles?" He looked up, noticing that Toby was at the door already, "Stop thanking me. It's annoying."
"Sorry." Griffin smiled gratefully, then shook his head and waved Toby off in a friendly fashion, "Alright, no more thanks, but I do appreciate what you've done for me." He stood up carefully, keeping hold of the chair so he didn't get too dizzy, "And I really will remember it. You'll be glad you saved me some day, I promise." Griffin flashed a wink, then raised a hand in farewell, and turned to stomp up the stairs.
It was slow progress, as sore and dizzy as he was, but he soon made it to his room. It was a small, humble thing. Not as nice as his own home, but certainly nicer than the dirty, rat-infested streets of Dayton. He paused as he entered, looking around. The floorboards creaked underfoot, and the wooden walls were full of dust and cobwebs. The whole room had a distinct smell of rat poison, but Griffin didn't mind that. Where there was rat poison, there were no rats. Well, no living ones, anyway. Or so he hoped.
Shuddering at the thought, he rubbed the goosebumps from his arms and crept up to the bed. Peering nervously at the gap below it, Griffin gulped, and leaped onto the bed, coughing as a cloud of dust rose up from the covers.
"Oh maan..." He groaned, collapsing face-first into the pillow, "This is what I get for trying to help someone. Stupid Time."
Huffing irritably, Griffin rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, trying to decide whether he was motivated enough to take a shower. When he failed to make a decision, he turned his head to take a whiff of his arm pit, thought for a moment, then nodded in approval. He smelled amazing. No need to shower, then.
Content, Griffin snuggled his aching head more comfortably into the pillow and, shivering, pulled the duvet snugly around him. Then he just prayed to God that no rats would crawl on him in his sleep.

"That's still a 'thank you'." He murmured, pointing an accusing finger at the man, his eyes narrowing. "Shut up." With a roll of his eyes he left Myles to stumble up the stairs - he was wobbly on his feet, but Tobias had wasted enough time off the till, and he needed to earn his keep at some point.
Sighing, he nodded at Danny to assure him he was done skiving, and told him about the resident that would be staying for the night.
"As long as he pays up, he can stay as long as he wants." Dan mused, then placed a hand on Tobias' shoulder, passing him to get back to stacking the barrels in the cellar. "I'll be up in thirty. If there's no one in after that lock up early."
Nodding, Tobias turned back to the till and smiled wearily at the customer.
"Alright squire ((XD)), what can I get you?"

It took him half an hour to get home on his rusty, old motorbike, armed with two extra weeks on his clock, and pulled up to the ratty apartment block. Rarely did he come home, as it wasn't really much of a 'home', but a half-empty box. But anywhere was better than the streets at night.
The hallway lights weren't working.
He hissed in a breath and wandered limply up the stairs, feeling the blood drain from his body the higher he got. He didn't like the dark. It reminded him too much of his past, his childhood, and-
No, no he wouldn't go there. Not when it was so late. Not if he wanted any sleep that night.
Pulling out his key, he slipped it into the frail lock and wandered into the apartment, averting his eyes only to the bed at the othe end, opposite the door. Besides a single bag hung on a coat hook, along with a few jackets and a tiny bed-side table, it was the only thing in the room.
It looked like a prison bed.
He hated it.
Swallowing, he wandered to the bedside table, opened up the draw, and pulled out some clean underwear and a pair of grey jogging bottoms. Then he dressed into them briskly, still wearing the same shirt he'd worn all day, and sat shakily on the bed. He leant back against the wall, wrapping the scratchy sheets around himself, and pulled his knees to his chest.
Just like that, the young man he was crumbled away like sandstone, revealing a scared little boy who hadn't managed to escape from a living knightmare.
Teeth chattering - and not necessarily from the cold - he clutched the covers around himself, rested his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.

For a few moments there was silence. The horrible, anticipating silence that only occurred before something horrible was about to happen. Then, a desperate voice echoed through his ears.
Get out of here, Byron!
What're you doing, you idiot? Move!
Forget about me. GO! RUN!!
Then, gunshots.

Byron's eyes flashed open in an instant, his brow plastered with cold sweat. He couldn't have been asleep any longer than five minutes. Clenching his jaw, he stood and wandered round to the corner where the bed didn't quite reach, where he'd be wedged between the rusty, metal bars of the bed legs and the wall. It was a common spot for him to stay. Colder than the bed, but somehow safer and less exposed. It was the closest to a comforting embrace that he was going to get.
Eyes bloodshot, he curled up as tight as he could possible go, shuddering under his breath, and rested his head against the could, damp-ridden wall.
It would be another sleepless night, then.

Griffin did not sleep well that night. His dreams were riddled with images of huge black rats, beady eyes glistening as their teeth clicked threateningly together, and he tossed and turned fretfully until the light of dawn freed him from sleeps cold clutches. It did not, however, free him from the vice-grip of the blankets twisted around him. He had to do that himself.
Once he was free from the warm maze, Griffin swung his legs out of bed and stood up, stretching dramatically. Yawning, he reached up to rub his head, then uttered a yelp of pain as his fingers brushed the bump on his head.
Grumbling to himself, Griffin gathered his things, and left the dusty room, creeping nervously back down the stairs. The incident the night before had shaken him, but still, it would not do to be afraid of Dayton. He had lived there for most of his life, after all, even if it had been highly unpleasant. He would just have to deal with it until his mission was complete...
Griffin lifted his phone out of his pocket, and frowned thoughtfully at the screen, his eyes finding the word 'Superman' with the empty space for a number beside it. Somehow, he had a feeling the mission might not take quite as long as he had expected.
He was still staring at the screen when, suddenly, he felt himself collide with something warm and faintly squishy. Flimsy as ever, Griffin lost his balance right away, and toppled over to plop butt-first onto the ground like a surprised toddler, glasses slipping from his face to land with a tinkle on the floor.
Startled, he squinted up through blurry eyes to see what he had collided with, and found a damp-haired, shirtless Toby staring down at him from beneath the wet towel that hung over his head.
Looking up at Toby's toned abs, Griffin found himself reminded of the many 'Men's Health' magazines that he had been forced to read at work. His boss had hoped that the magazines would inspire Griffin to work out, and perhaps become more physically appropriate for his job, but that notion had never amounted to anything. It wasn't that Griffin was lazy - he just didn't build muscle like most men. And, sadly, that had made him the butt of many jokes back at the station.
Shaking off his thoughts, Griffin fumbled around for his glasses and slid them back on, then blinked bemusedly up at Toby.
"God, it's like you're a bloody freight train." He complained, wincing and rubbing his chest, "That's definitely going to bruise. Thanks for that, Mister Muscle."
Taking the sting from his taunting with a smile, Griffin rubbed his curly hair - on the non-sore side this time, because he had learned his lesson - and heaved himself clumsily to his feet.
Once he was standing, Griffin found his face in line with Toby's, and as he studied the man's dark-ringed eyes, his head tilted curiously to one side.
"You look terrible." He pointed out helpfully, "Run out of sheep to count last night?"

Tobias showered in a dozy state, neither awake nor asleep, but swaying in the horrible grey area between the two. The cold water was the only thing keeping him standing, and as he scrubbed away at his greasy hair with thinly soapy hands, he stared firmly at the light of the bathroom, refusing to close his eyes and let the darkness engulf him again. He'd barely slept that night, and work would be a bitch, but he could only hope the lack of sleep would mean he had more hours that night than the previous one.
Shuddering, he turned off the shower and dried himself off with the towel, then yanked on some trousers. His shirt would need washing, so he left that to do later on.
Wandering out of the bathroom, he didn't notice Myles until it was too late, and when the cold feeling of the phone hit him in the stomach, along with a face planting his chest, he jumped back in surprise.
"What the-" He began, but suddenly the image of Myles on his backside, staring stupidly up at him with no glasses was not worth being angry at.
"Do you want a magnifying glass, or is this view good enough for you?" He asked dryly at the pair of squinting eyes beneath him. ((That sounds so wrong. >.<))
Ignoring him, Myles scrabbled around for his glasses and slipped them on. "God, it's like you're a bloody freight train." He complained. "That's definitely going to bruise. Thanks for that, Mister Muscle."
"Hey, I'm going to have a bruise the shape of a brick come tomorrow." He replied, gesturing to the red mark on his chest.
He waited for Myles to get up and out of his way, but instead the irritating man stared right at his pale, tired face, and commented, "You look terrible"
That was it. Whatever pleasantness Tobias had had in his face went at those three words. He attempted to shove past the skinny man, but Myles just added teasingly, "Run out of sheep to count last night?"
"You could say that." He grunted, when a horrifying thought came to him. I don't have my arm warmers on. Clenching his jaw he moved his arm away, just out of sight of Myles, behind his back, trying to be as subtle and slow as he could me. No one saw his Time. No one. Not even Danny.
There was a reason why his arm warmers were black. The numbers glowed like torches through his skin. To someone at another angle, one million years glowed in a fancy, digital format.
Clenching his jaw, Tobias turned his arm in attempt to dull the glow from his lower arm and shoved unceremoniously past Myles. Then, feeling slightly guilty, he turned his head over his shoulder and asked with some warmth, but little curiosity. "How about you? Did you sleep okay?"

"You could say that." Toby grunted in response, seeming rather irritable. Suddenly shy, Griffin dropped his gaze, and as he did, he caught a glimpse of something that certainly piqued his curiosity. The glowing number on Toby's wrist stretched on and on to an ungodly amount, certainly an amount unbefitting of a humble Dayton barman.
Yes. This mission certainly will be over quicker than I anticipated... Shame, really. I was promised a challenge. I was looking forward to it.
Griffin winced as Toby shoved past him suddenly, knocking him out of his thoughts. The other man's weight must have been at least double his own with the bulk of his muscle, and even the small shove from those strong shoulders was enough to make Griffin stumble backwards. He frowned after Toby, shoulders slumped in dejection, until the other man paused, and glanced back.
"How about you?" He asked, clearly attempting to be pleasant, despite what appeared to be an unpleasant mood, "Did you sleep okay?"
"Quite horribly, actually." Griffin replied cheerfully, "I thought I heard a rat scampering around past midnight, and that was it." He shuddered, "Horrible little creatures. I couldn't sleep a wink thinking of them."
Rubbing the goosebumps from his arms, Griffin thought for a moment, then trotted after Toby. The truth was, after the previous night, he was afraid to face the streets of Dayton alone. He didn't want to lose his muscly protector. Not just yet. And besides... 'Toby' was likely to be seeing a lot more of him over the next few days anyway.
"Hey, wanna get some coffee or something?" Griffin offered, eyes shining in a friendly fashion, "Whatever you like - my treat. I owe you for yesterday anyway, and you look like you could use a dose of caffeine." Winking, Griffin stopped, and waved Toby off, "Go get changed and meet me back here. Unless you want to go out like that." He shrugged, "It's a little odd, I guess, but I won't judge."