December 1st. Three P.M., Eastern Standard Time.

Clouds swirled above the concrete jungle's canopy, bringing the chill of winter and the threat of snow. Below, the ants scattered the streets, wrapped up tightly in scarves and jackets and hats and gloves, breathing out clouds of mist as they sighed at nothing in particular or laughed with their friends. The asphalt was chilled, gleaming in the sunless light as the boots that trotted over each pothole attempted to stay steady on the somewhat icy patches that coated the road. In the streets, hulking beasts honked and groaned, still as death as their colors, dulled by salt and exhaust, reflected off storefront windows and coated Alphabet City in faded reds and grays and blues.

Garbage bags and homeless gathered against buildings and alleyways. Dirty blankets and patched clothing covered the begging folks, and as they shivered through their clothing, they held out cans and boxes and signs and all seemed to groan in a similar way. They were indeed pitiful, but most who walked by ignored them. There were better places to be than this East Village in Manhattan, far beyond the garbage-filled streets, and they could not be held up by the beggers that clutched at their ankles and cried for mercy.

Then there was music. Street performers, banging against pickle tubs and strumming old looking guitars as crowds gathered and dispersed with each song. On one of the many street corners, just at the cross section of East 11th and Avenue B, were two performers. A girl with massive hair and a heavily painted face, and a boy with a rather thick, patchy parka. Kaya and Kimbal, regulars at that particular street corner. Her eyes were shut lightly, mouth half open as her hands repeatedly hit the tub between her legs. A catchy rhythm was born from her erratic hand movements, though it didn't seem to be the main focus of the performance. Instead, Kimbal seemed to be the main focus. He was speaking, familiar words, one of the monologues of a popular play that was currently dominating Broadway, and with each tap of the drum he would move, dancing slowly to the words that he uttered and the beat Kaya conjured. It was a show, a very odd show, but beautiful as well. Dollars and coins had piled up over the time frame of a few hours. When they both turned to look at the clock, it had just ticked to three-ten. Kimbal turned back to Kaya, a goofy grin dominating his face as he watched her still the tub and reach for the money filled can.

"Got enough for lunch?" He questioned, moving closer and dropping down to peer over her shoulder. Slender, shivering fingers flicked through the contents, pushing away random business cards while at the same time gathering what ever cash had been rewarded. Eventually, the total came up to ten dollars and fourteen cents. Kaya turned to smile lightly at Kimbal, gathering the cash in one fist while she chucked the can and whatever was in it away.

"Should do, I'll be working a bit there today too, in case we're a little under. Hopefully the tips will be generous." She shoved the money into her jacket pocket, forcing the broken zipper closed and standing. Kimbal nodded once, straightening as well and offering his arm to the taller, thinner woman. She took it graciously, leaning against him as a gust of wind threatened to blow her frail self away, and then they were walking, both set on one destination. The Life cafe, the place where they spent most of their mornings, afternoons, and nights. At the far corner of Avenue B and East 10th street sat the tiny establishment, a mere corner diner surrounded by industrial buildings and homeless. Only one window was visible from the outside, allowing passing folks to peer in at the colorful, yet somewhat dirty crowds that flocked to the cheap food and light atmosphere. A single stage was sat in the corner, and atop the stage was an old piano and a microphone and stool. The two friends watched as their destination grew with each step, talking about nothing in particular just to pass time and watch their breath swirl above them.

The two often stayed close, almost like lovers, though they were anything but. Kimbal definitely considered Kaya to be his sister, as the dating thing didn't really seem to work out for them, and as a good big brother did, he protected her. Glared at the cat-callers, sneered at the potential gropers, anything to keep other men away from her. If only she was as cautious as he was around men, instead she would smile at them and bat her eyelashes, acting cute for something return (and that something was, of course, money). Hard to take a dancer out of her club, it seems.

"It's so cold!" She suddenly exclaimed, scaring the thoughtful man, "it's gonna be a cold Christmas, that sucks. I don't wanna start setting fires again. Hate fire..."

"Too bad, kitten, only way were gonna stay warm is fire and an overabundance of blankets." He sighed, reaching forward to pull open the door of the cafe as Kaya let out a loud moan of distress. Fires, always fires. No such thing as a heater when they lived. The warmth of the diner and smell of food quickly overwhelmed the two, silencing their previous conversation, and the host nodded and forced a smile upon the two, obviously not a fan of the duo. He wrote a quick note into his pad, then nodded towards the few empty tables that were gathered around the center of the cafe.

"Table for two just over yonder, and be sure to keep it down. Don't want you bothering the other guests-"

"Thank ya, Jimmy! I'll be playing today though, and more people might show up, so expect some table moving." Kaya smiled, blowing a kiss to the vaguely annoyed worker before stripping off her ratty, black coat and bounding towards the stage. Kimbal gave an apologetic look to Jimmy before wandering over to one of the empty tables, flagging down a waitress to ask for a few menus as Kaya prepared herself on the stage. She had allowed her coat to gather behind the piano seat in a messy heap, and as her heeled feet once again got used to the brass peddles she tried to recount some nice, cheery songs. A not so cheery song, however, claimed her senses. She hadn't played the lovely Musetta's Waltz for awhile. That could be nice. She stretched her arms, nonchalantly kicking forward the tip can she had started storing near the piano, and then lowered herself down to play.

The keys were worn, and loose, and the strings were somewhat the same, giving the song a hollow, disconnected sound, but it was okay. Kaya still got into the musical, swaying and humming as if she were sitting a top on concert stage. But what what famous pianist used a ratty sweater to hide the needle marks, what famous pianist wasted money on all that junk. Music always made her feel somber, always made her regret everything.

Bang

'Wrong note'

Kaya felt her eye brow raise in a grimace, glancing at the fleeting afternoon crowd before continuing onto another song, and once again her face became stone-like in concentration. There were no tips yet. Meanwhile, Kimbal was busy ordering for both of them, two black coffees, grilled cheese and tomato soup combo, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Kaya didn't eat much, anything other than soup or noodles would make her a sick, but they were working on fixing that. They were working on fixing a lot of things within their lives. He passed on the menu again, leaning forward on the table as Kaya's music filled the once quiet room as the booth just two tables away was in a hushed conversation about Christmas.

'Ah, right, it's December... Wonder what we should do for the holidays...'

One of Shiloh's favorite things about his commute to the clinic, was the street performers. They were all so unique and fun- all of them not given nearly as much recognition as they should as artists. He always made a point to carry some spare change for them. He wasn't exactly living a luxurious life, but he knew enough and saw enough to know that having a warm home to got to and three square meals a day already counted him in as one of the lucky ones.

To his delight, his favorite pair of performers were out today. With hurried steps, he approached them, a two dollars firmly clenched between his fingers in his pocket and quickly dropped the money into their can. He stepped back and took a moment to absorb the performance. Shiloh thought he recognized the monologue from somewhere, but it was the boy's movements that and the music that accompanied he found to be the most spell-binding. He had only meant to stay for a little while, but they had finished and ten minutes had gone by with him standing and watching.

Shiloh swallowed thickly and debated on paying them a compliment before he kept going, but he hesitated. And hesitated some more, quietly fidgeting as he watched them pack up their things. No, he wasn't going to waste their time. He averted his gaze and kept walking, happy to at least have given them some money.

A few blocks down, he stopped when he spotted someone leaned up against the wall of an alleyway, getting violently ill over a pile of trash. His medical instincts took over.

"Are you okay?" He asked and began to approach the boy. Oh, God. He was a boy. Couldn't have been a few years younger than him.

"I'm fine," Aleksey groaned and spat the bile from his mouth. His temples throbbed and his throat burned, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced before.

The quiet, effeminate voice of the stranger pressed on. "Are you sure? I can take you to-"

"Said I'm fine," Alex insisted, batting a hand at the man without looking at him. Shiloh flinched away, but was still skeptical, to say the least. He fished his wallet out of his pocket and plucked a business card from a slot.

"If you change your mind..." He gingerly reached over and slipped the card into the boy's jacket pocket, then beat a hasty retreat. He had a shift to do that the clinic. Probably shadowing again.

It didn't matter to him. Alex was never going to drink again after today. For real this time. It wasn't worth all of this bullshit.

The Russian spat once more and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before straightening up. What he needed now was a hot shower and a couple of glasses of water. And his apartment was in the building right next to him, too. No problem. Except that when he got upstairs, all this shower gave him was icy cold water. Then with clumsy fingers, he broke his last glass. Mad at life, he went next door to Kimbal and Kaya's only to find that they weren't in either. He resorted to drinking straight from the faucet, which wasn't so bad. He still needed some new cups, but- surprise, surprise. He had no money. None that he could spend, anyway.

Aleksey was pretty good at saving money for rent at the sacrifice of food and clean clothes, but being homeless was worse than starving in his mind. And at least he wasn't completely out of means to make money. Grabbing his guitar and notepad, he set out for the Light Cafe.

He walked swiftly there to get in and out of the cold as soon as possible, not just for himself. His acoustic, Iskra, could get very temperamental in cold weather. The less she was out, the better for both of them. When he stepped into the cafe, he nodded a greeting to Jimmy who in turn gave him a wary nod in return. Alex was more of a night-owl, and a rowdy one at that. Like sunlight was his supernatural weakness. But upon seeing his neighbors, he brightened with a smile and approached the table Kimbal was seated at.

"Hey, Kimbal," He greeted and invited himself to sit across the booth from the man. Alex's voice was hoarse, but it was always a little rough from smoking and singing as much as he did. He adjusted his guitar in the seat beside him. "How are you?" His accent rang clearly through his words, but did little to distort his speech.

Mississippi yawned against the cold – a defense that didn't do much other than let a blast of freezing air reach her lungs, coughing and spluttering. To counteract it, what else could she do? Take another drag of life from her cigarette. Her nose was stuffed up with some unknown illness and the only thing she could clear it with was nicotine and smoke.

Her fourth of the day, as it was, for someone who only woke up at nine and half-ran, half-staggered her way to work, late. It was lucky the Bossman knew she was sick and gave her a free pass; however, it might've just been because the business in the morning was slow as all hell – she wasn't needed. Didn't that just describe her life in one neat, easy to swallow parcel?

Putting the cigarette out on the dank back wall of the cafe, Mississippi cleared out all of the phlegm from her lungs with one last, sustained fit of nearly choking to death and peeled off her gloves as she headed back inside to the heat of the tiny kitchen. The chef was working overtime, Jimmy was discussing something seriously important with Bonnie (the other, slightly more incompetent waitress) and then they turned to look at her. Well, that was never a good sign. While she didn't feel that her job was at risk – she'd always been good with the customers, at least the ones who gave her even an inch of the respect she deserved – a stare like that rarely meant something good.

“You want to take half-a-day off, Missi?” she was asked. No, the answer was no; she had bills to pay, debts to avoid paying and a whole lot of Christmas presents to herself that she could buy to make the holiday season a whole lot more interesting.

Mississippi shrugged, sniffing slightly in response. “I'd rather not... but,” she started before raising her shoulders again to cut herself off. “My innards tell me I should reconsider that opinion.”

Jimmy emulated her shrug. “If you're short on cash after this, I'll lend you the dosh again for rent.” And Jimmy had always been like that, for as long as she knew him. A right bastard, sure, he rarely had a smile on his face, but she'd worked for him for years now – slept on his couch one or two times back when things were getting too tough to handle, when she hadn't had her own flat.

Bonnie hesitated, twirling her blonde hair around her fingers. “You could take one of my tables, if you wanted,” the waitress said. Mississippi could clearly see her biting off 'and the tips' – most of her friends, she knew, rarely if ever tipped. From the sounds of the piano filtering through the old bricks even into the chrome kitchen, she had a feeling she knew who it was.

“Sure.” Mississippi meandered over to the ready-to-go dishes, nearly tripping over a mop and bucket as she went, and stacked them up on a dubiously clean tray. Two black coffees, grilled cheese and tomato soup combo, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It looked like someone was feeling under the weather, judging by the drool-worthy bowl of chicken and noodle-y goodness. It was just about torture, given she hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday morning, and carrying out to the front to find Kimbal and Kaya and – was that uh, the Russian? Alex or something? If she remembered correctly, they were all her neighbours.

It was almost providential.

It seemed Kaya was busy earning a living with the piano. Well, at least she was trying. “Here you go, guys – all this lovely food here, probably just for Kimbal,” she said with a sly grin as she delicately placed the plates and bowls and cups down on the table. “Now, I'm on my break for the rest of the day, so how's it going?”

Mississippi stuffed her hands in the pockets, stilling the shaking from hunger and... something else she didn't want to think about until she had cash.

As Kaya lost herself the off-not music, Kimbal was busy greeting everyone. Alex was the first to enter that he knew, the young, accented lad whom Kimbal had taken an easy liking to. He, like Kaya, was a musician, and of course had his share of sadness like the rest of them. A natural black sheep. Kimbal greeted him with a wide smile and a short hello, listening idly to the boy's Russian-filled voice before sitting back, head lowered for a moment of thought as Alex asked how he was.

"Indifferent and cheerful, as always," he smiled his signature smile, leaning forward as Alex sat across from him, "what about you? Feeling okay?"

On stage, Kaya was swaying to and fro, though hunger was slowing her work down. A constant growl from her stomach continued to interrupt her thought pattern, and her fingers trembled with the anxiety that always came when she even saw anything that could be devoured. The tin can at the edge of the stage was fuller than before, at least by fifty cents, and the clouds that had threatened to cover the earth in frozen whiteness had just opened up, allowing the flakes to slowly drift down passed the cafe window and onto the cement just out of view. The lunch crowd seemed to be dispersing, probably ready to return to work or home with their now full stomachs, and as more and more people left Kaya began to feel her playing was rather pointless.

She stopped mid-song, dark eyes raising to scan the restaurant while her fingers reached up to curl in her curly hair. She smiled at the table where Kimbal and Alex sat, and continued to frown at the rest, especially the suited pair at the far left table, near the backdoor. Possible politicians, or landlords, or whoever else would want to wear suits to such a shitty part of town. The rest of the cafe was as it always was, mostly empty, comfortably warm, and glowing in the cloud-covered sunshine. She slowly stood from the piano stool, crouching to grab her jacket and whatever money had been left in the tin, and then jumped from the stage, striding over to the table with her head high, just as another figure arrived at the table. Mississippi Lowe, the cutie waitress and neighbor that Kaya always liked to look at. She glanced at the table for a moment, then turned and dragged over an extra chair, grinning sweetly as she poked Missi's side to get her attention,

"Heeelloo patrons of the Life Cafe!" She greeted loudly, pulling the chair up behind Missi while she hooked the spare with her foot, dragging it forward and sitting quickly. Kimbal smiled at her, pushing the bowl of soup and coffee forward while he took his own food to his face, eating quickly.

"Give me all the lovely food, M.L., I'll eat anything you bring out!" He waved towards the kitchen, a small, awkward gesture of thanks, and then he returned to the grilled cheese, dunking it viciously in the tomato soup as Kaya watched on with disgust. She lowered her eyes towards the amber-colored liquid before her, mouth twitching with discomfort before she pulled the coffee forward, taking a small sip. The warmth of the drink quickly dispelled any remaining cold that tainted her body and she sat back, a small smile gracing her face. Kimbal watched out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows furrowed slightly, but instead of complaining he continued to eat and drink.

Kaya sat up slowly, smiling at Alex and Missi as she glanced over their current appearances. Alex was as he always was, pale, skinny, and guitar-clad, but perhaps his skin was a bit... Too white. He looked ghost like, as if he had just woken from a bad dream, or perhaps he had a cold. Her hands clasped together, fingers interlocking tightly as she stared at him for a long while, before finally turning to examine Missi. The pretty, short-haired waitress was shaking, but not from cold it seemed. Kaya normally got those kind of shivers when she was hungry, or craving that... Perhaps...

"Hey, lil' Missi~" she rose her voice to grab the girl's attention, and then she pushed the still-warm soup and a spoon towards the other girl, "I'm not hungry, you can have this, kay?" Kaya took another sip of coffee and grinned before turning to Kimbal, making dough eyes while he seemed to grumble angrily for a moment.

"I'm good with coffee, baby. You worry too much~." She leaned forward to pap the man on the nose before sitting back, letting out a loud whine,

"Anyway, what should we do tonight? I'm free from work, and I don't wanna be cooped up at home. Any suggestions?"