Pauper Syndrome

5

In between zooming past the various stalls of food ranging from all colours of the rainbow, booths for clothing with every color of the rainbow, and tents with just about every type of street food imaginable, we finally arrive in the city.

"Look over there!" I shout, sticking out my finger like a poorly placed broom in a shed. I stand up, carefully steading myself on the two thin pieces of metal on either side of the motorcycle. My eyes are glued to the fast approaching gelato booth.

"Anastasia, sit back down!" Liam ignores my observation.

"Oh? You're calling me by my name now?" A teasing smile blooms across my face. "Are you really that concerned for my safety?"

As soon as the words exit my mouth, a sudden jolt sends my body forward. The motorcycle comes to a halt. My vision tumbles like a tossed dice, eventually refocusing on the view of a bright blue sky with a red stoplight hanging in the middle, floating almost.

"God, you are way too reckless," Liam grunts. His arm is twisted backwards to the left, placed gently on my waist. It takes me a second to realize he's holding my entire weight. It takes me another second to realize just how close my head is to the ground.

I quickly scramble to set myself upright. Unhooking my foot off the metal foot stands, I gently place myself on the ground. Liam relaxes his arm and takes a deep breath.

"Sorry," I say, my face flushed wth embarrassment. My lips are pressed into a flat line across my face, my are eyes big. I feel like a frog.

He carefully removes his helmet, revealing a head of messy hair that I have the urge to pat it down.

"What is it you wanted?" he asked, surprisingly calm. When I get fussy with the maids they're always so dejected.

"Oh," I say, feeling a small smile form. My finger points back towards the shop, as if there was a magnet glued to the tip of my index finger. "The gelato. Can we get some?"

"No."

I feel my jaw drop. "What?" I stand there blinking, confused. "Why not?"

"Because no."

"But-"

"But what?"

"This isn't how Roman Holiday goes."

"Well, according to the script I was given, we weren't shooting that movie."

I cross my arms. "But I still want ice cream."

"No means no, Ana."

"What's your reason?"

Liam runs a hand through his hair. "The gelato might not be completely sanitary. Who knows what they put in the ice cream."

"Why would you care? It's not going to be your fault if I die. Besides, I want to try it so I will."

He shakes his head. "You really don't understand. This is the slums it's not the palace."

"Yes. I know that better than anyone. Just let me try it, Liam. For all that I know, this might be the last day I ever spend in Triton." I throw on a sloppy grin. "It'll be my treat."

I'm almost surprised that when I look at him, he's got a stupid smile on his face too.

"Alright then," he says, "you're treat."

We walk over to the shop. It's got thin glass windows and little to no decoration. The walls are painted a dark green that chipps away by the second, probably from the sand and wind that fills the air around here. The sign at the door reads Grey's Creamery. No slogan or credentials to indicate the residence of a master chef.