Thank you for that, James. "Epic." Anthony will need this brief time alone to reflect, anyways.

Luckily for Anthony, James returned half an hour later. "What do we do now?" he asked.

Anthony had some time to think, and so he did that. He didn't enjoy it—he didn't exactly like unpacking all the shit he's internalized. As James returned, he glanced towards him, then away. "Hell if I know. We'll see," he said. "not like you can do much, anyway."

James climbed up on the bed again. He loved running around outside and causing trouble, and now that he couldn't, he felt bored. "Will you tell me a story?" he asked.

Anthony fidgeted with his hands, picking at the skin around his fingernails. He hadn't told stories before. Is this what parents are supposed to do? His parents had never told him any stories. He didn't know what he's supposed to sayn "Well....what kind of story do you want me to tell?"

James thought for a moment. "You can tell me about some time when you robbed someone and you were really clever and you almost got caught, but you didn't!"

A lot of the people in this city were absolute pushovers who didn't even try to fight back when he tried to rob them (or they tried and failed which might be worse). "Well, I have quite a bit of stories like that," Anthony said. "but I can tell something about. A guy who I tried to rob." Very specific.

James bounced on the bed. "I want to hear! Tell me!"

Anthony looked at the ground and kept fidgeting out of pure, unfiltered anxiety.

"Well, once I was going to rob someone but he was smart and I almost got caught but I didn't because I was smarter." Is it obvious that he has never told a story like this in his entire life?

James looked at him long and hard. "You're not very good at telling stories," he stated.