Wanting to find a place to eat and get away from his paranoia under the red eyes, he quickly slipped into the doorway of a store called Spelunca Alta, which held a menu next to the doorway with drinks. Hari assumed a place which specialized in drinks also sold food of some kind. He had to wait to adjust to the darker inside of the cavern; only flickering torches lit the scene other than the small windows that lined one wall facing the busy street.

Hari heard cheering, clinking of classes, and the shifting of chair legs against hardwood. He felt his shoes stick to the floor as he walked. When his eyes caught up to his surroundings, he recognized what he vaguely understood was a dining area, only more chaotic than he had guessed a public dining area would be. He had lived in the forest for so long, he had no frame of reference.

The center had a square counter that stretched around a woman handing out brown drinks with foaming tops in lovely metal glasses. The surrounding tables were bursting at the seams with people who all stood around in groups as they laughed and shouted gleefully. Hari noticed that many of the individuals he had the misfortune of being in earshot of had a vulgar vocabulary that was slurred. They fumbled about on their feet as if it was hard to keep themselves upright, causing their drinks to poor on the wood below. He peeled his shoe from the floor again, understanding now why it was so sticky. He sighed.

He made his way to an empty stool at the counter, squeezing between a beast of a man with tattooed muscles bigger than his head, and a tall skeleton of a human without a shirt on, scars trekking all about his bony skin. Hari tried to ignore them as he tried to flag down the woman at the counter.

She waddled over with a salty indifference to his gesture to order, leaning over the table on her elbows, greeting him with a forced bat of her eyelashes, obscenely clad in a black outline that seemed washed out over the day. Hari had noticed her shirt was designed to prop up her breasts to the point of almost peeking through her shirt to greet him. Her glossy lips pursed to hide the fact they were cracked underneath all the product, briefly showing yellowed teeth that hid behind the glamour.

"What can I get for you, sir?" she croaked, the size of her figure making her voice travel through the loud banter around them. Before Hari could ask about what food she had here, the man with the many scars slammed his fist on the counter, shaking his drink on impact as he howled loudly.

"Hey foxy, can you give me a bit more of those knockers? I'm beginning to pitch a tent over here!" His voice matched his canine demeanor. Hari wondered what "knockers" were and why this man was acting so absurdly- there was no room to set up a tent in this place, let a lone a reason to. His foolishness didn't stop the man with the tattoos from joining in.

"They are a fine pair, I'll give you that." His words were slurred as he slightly swayed in his seat. "Isn't that right, youngin'?" He slapped Hari's back, causing him to tense up at an unexpected touch of a stranger. The men laughed loudly, not waiting for Hari to answer.

"How much for you to give us a show?" the scarred man inquired, leaning over the table top to give the woman a smolder. Hari smelt a sour and bitter smell on his breath, making his stomach churn.

"How much you got?" she replied with a wink and a giggle, causing the two men to rummage through their pants for money. She turned her attention to Hari again.

"What can I get for you, Handsome," she said with a silky voice, a tone that seemed performed too many times.

"I was wondering if there was any food here?" Hari asked politely, finding it hard to push his voice through the ruckus of the area.

She looked him up and down, making a bead of sweat journey down his neck. He wondered why everyone was doing that.

"Men of your age usually come for a good time," she said with a smirk, having her lips catch the light from a candle chandelier that hung above her head in a flash. "We don't get a lot of food orders in these parts."

"Oh, sorry," Hari said sheepishly, worried he had wasted her time. "I'm new to town. I haven't eaten for a day or so."

She smiled at him, her performed facade fading from her face to be replaced with a genuine look of tenderness, if only for a moment.

"Tell you what; for a polite kid weary from travelling, I'll get the chef to whip something up for you, for a nice tip of course." She pulled open her shirt, revealing the crack of her breasts. Inside Hari could see a glimmer of a coin lodged between them.

"Just a few coins will do" she said, the men next to him cheering like animals.

"Oh, sonny you're lucky!" said the scarred man. "She only allows her favorites to use her like a piggy bank."

"Go ahead and reach inside, boy" slurred the tattooed man, raising his glass in congratulations and giving him another slap on the back. This one left a sting from the impact.

Hari paused. He felt very uncomfortable with this, but he wanted food. The pressure for him to complete this dirty task was mounting as his stomach gurgled to remind him of how long he hasn't eaten. He reached for four gold coins from his bag and, with a gulp, stuck them in her shirt. His face was red, and he pulled away faster than he meant to, but the three of them didn't seem to notice as they celebrated with a shout.

"I'll get the chef going," she said as she sauntered off with a wink. Hari's face was hot still, and he looked at his hand that had reached in her shirt. At least he had gloves on.

When the food arrived with a huge glass of water, Hari shoved it down like it was a race. The men next to him had now lost a large part of their ability to talk coherently, so they now just slumped over their half filled drinks to leave him to eat in peace. That was until they started to gain a second wave of energy, prompted by a recollection of an interesting story.

"Did I tell you I was at the concession for Simba's return from the mission yesterday?" said the scarred man, slowly picking himself up from the counter to sit up. The tattooed man propped himself up as well, talking through Hari who froze at the mention of Simba's name.

"You lucky son of a bitch," he stammered. "How did a sorry wretch like you get to attend such a snazzy rodeo?"

The smell of whatever they were drinking that followed their words was overpowering at this point. Hari wished they would close their mouths to stop the flow of the rancid stench.

"The King's guards... invited me," he recalled slowly, as if it was hard to remember. "He said the King wanted the people to know of his son's success, even peasants in his city should see his victory. Too bad the Prince failed."

"The Prince? Fail?" the man hiccuped, sounding shocked. "The Princess wasn't with him?"

The scarred man shook his head.

"Not even his squadron survived. He was outnumbered by a witch who used magic against him to keep the Princess captured. He did everything he could."

The tattooed man slammed his fists on the table suddenly, causing Hari to jump and silverware on the table to rattle.

"The nerve!" he hollered. "Hasn't witches' magic taken enough from us?"

The scarred man sighed.

"Apparently not. But the poor lad can't take his crown until the Princess is saved. He's going out again to find her on his own terms, with the whole army at his disposal."

"Will he be able to beat the witch?" the shirtless man croaked, having to put down his hand on the tabletop to stop himself from tumbling over.

"We'll see. But one thing for sure is that he's not going to let anything get in his way this time."

The two men sat in silence, letting their heads fall to the tabletop yet again as their wave of energy was used up and faded away.

Hari sat in horrified silence. His plate was empty, glass without a drop, but he just sat and stared at the smears of sauce and grease left on the glossy surface.

He was the Princess. Simba wasn't done with him yet. He'll come back for him now, hunting him down like a flightless bird who fell from his nest. He had sauntered into his den like a foolish canary, only to realize now the lion sat perched behind a gate ready to pounce once the door lifted at the delight of a spectating crowd. He started to shake uncontrollably as if it was cold, but the heat of the diner was undeniable.

The red eyes, Simba, the unruly nature of the city's tenants. It was all too much. He was stupid to think he could live a normal life. The fact a layer of old fabric over his hands could make him believe that proved how deluded he has become over his escape from the forest. He was now permanently tied to Simba, no matter where he went or what he did. As long as the Prince's mission remained the same, Hari would never be safe. He had to get out of here.

Before he knew it, he was outside again. The musty air of the restaurant was replaced with the familiar stench of the streets, the light blinding him as he headed back to the stable. There had to be another city he could run to; one away from Simba and away from this place that watched him like wounded prey, ready to bring him to justice. He was a fugitive after all, he reminded himself. He was illegal, a broken man looking for a normal life. But he was clearly unwelcome and unfit to live in such a place that wanted him dead with every fiber of it's being. He did ruin their land, so he couldn't even argue against their anger. But didn't want to learn what this "cleansing" was. He knew very little, but the city taught him enough to know he needed to avoid finding out at all costs.

The world spun around him. The eyes smeared in blood splatters in his vision, the people around him rushed like a river; Hari being swept away in the streets. Where was he? Where was his horse? Was he lost? His heart hurt his rib cage as it knocked against it like a hammer.

He suddenly fell as his shoulder was pushed back by something hard, tumbling into a mud puddle as he hit the ground. He looked up, the world settling around him once he was finally still on the stone walkway. A figure loomed over him, dressed in all white except for his face. Hari squinted, the blurs fading to reveal a red eye staring at him with a haunting intensity. The sock from the puppet show held a shocking resemblance to the figure before him as a full body shawl cascaded over him in a seamlessly clean silhouette. This white figure was broken only by the mask it wore with the ever so familiar eyeball glaring down to his panicked state. Hari's heart stopped.

The Community Watch had found him.