He stepped inside. A Hispanic boy in the front hall whistled sharply as Kid Win stepped inside, while a group of Asian-American boys and girls in dirty clothing ran around him, screaming at a ear-piercing volume as they continued a game, some pointing and hooting at the superhero. Occupants aside, it was dark, with only two dingy lightbulbs and no open windows.
I can’t say I’m not getting Oliver Twist vibes from this moment.
I’m guessing the Hispanic boy is Chariot?
It’s nine o’clock at night. Don’t these kids have a bedtime?
Hehe.
He checked the folded paper he had in his hand, found the room number, and headed up the stairs. A morbidly obese, older man sat halfway up the stairs, maybe a babysitter for the kids.
Seems I was wrong.
It’s definitely not Fagin over here, though. Not exactly the kind of guy the Wards would try to recruit.
Kid Win hoped the man was a babysitter, because the man was white and the kids weren’t, meaning he probably wasn’t family.
Babysitter or genuinely good adoptive father are the two good options. One of the bad ones would be this situation being more like Oliver Twist than I first thought.
If he wasn’t getting paid, there was only one uncomfortable explanation for why the man would be willing to tolerate that yelling and squealing.
A couple uncomfortable explanations. One more uncomfortable than the other, but both fucked up.
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