For those with the thrill of adventure thrumming in their bones - who feel that the life of a child in the world of Pokemon would suit them more than the inside life - Alastair would like to put a dampener on those spirits and tell you: no.

First of all, it's cold.

A bone chilling wind bit into his bones, making him shiver, teeth chattering loudly. But at the same time, he felt warm - his body flushing hot under his thin hoodie, cold sweat trickling down his back as he sought shelter from the night breeze. 

Second of all, being so eye-catchingly pretty fucking sucks.

The number of dreary-eyed, stumbling drunks that had approached him was irritating, to say the least, and the number of sleazy people looking to stick something where it does not belong made Alastair want to revert back to his bald phase.

He was tempted, but when nothing more than a wistful look at a middle-aged man's spot on a (covered) bus stop bench accompanied by an over-exaggerated shiver and a pitiful whimper got him both the bench and a blanket, Alastair quickly decided that he was going to keep the hair as is.

Shaking slightly under his (old) new blanket, he huddled into the bench.

The metal was still slightly warm.

This sucks.

Well, what had he been expecting? A five-star hotel for the homeless? It was a miracle he hadn't encountered any-

Oh.

Oh no.

He groaned, cursing as he pulled his legs closer to his chest, watching the six-legged devil spawn scuttle in his direction. It was huge - unnecessarily so. Alastair watched it with narrowed eyes as it changed direction and scurried by, not blinking once before it disappeared from sight. He exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes as he felt the beginnings of a headache.

Thud!

Alastair almost jumped out of his skin as something hit the back of the bus stop cover, the bench rocking with the force behind whatever had hit it. He held back a curse as a man began to speak.

"You're just loaded, ain't you?" It was a voice similar to those of the drunks who had approached him before he had found bus stop, "Man I could even sell the clothes off your back for a decent price."

Alastair shivered at the voice - it was slimy and had a roughness that resembled nails scratching against a blackboard. It made goosebumps rise on his arms and back.

"I could even get some good dough for that face of yours," He didn't need to see the man to know that there was a perverted grin on his face, "Y'know what, kid, I think after taking everything that I can sell, I'm gonna give you to a nice ol' mate of mine down the-"

Alastair slowly maneuvered his feet from the bench. He let out a startled squeak as his foot got caught in the blanket, and floundering, he found himself on the ground, nursing sore knees as annoyed cursing sounded from behind his temporary bed.

He was tempted to join the man's stream of colourful language, but something told him that he should find his footing as fast as he could. Being sometimes-right is helpful, when (in the instance that you are right), you're prepared for anything to come next. 

Alastair refound his feet and had his (new-but-not-so-new) blanket slung over a shoulder by the time the stranger had dragged himself and his victim around the side of the bus stop. The wiry, rat-like man that appeared matched the image Alastair had been forming in his head, but the willowy red-head being pulled behind him definitely did not match any of Alastair's imagery.

The man had a look on his face that said he definitely couldn't believe his luck.

Alastair lunged, eager to smother the man's bright expectations. 

Pretty or not, he had a reputation for kicking ass - successfully.

The man was down in a matter of seconds, his neck in Alastair's hands as he choked him with everything he had. Alastair wasn't a play-by-the-rules fighter; he was more than happy to jump the gun by playing a little dirty. He grinned down at the man, watching his eyes bulge as he struggled for air.

"Hey sir, hope you don't mind but I'll be taking the little prince with me while you take a little..." He paused as the man's eyes bulged further, before finally rolling back and going limp under his fingers. Alastair let the man drop to the concrete. "Nap." He finished, dusting off his hands.

Finding his footing (again), he turned an appraising eye on the boy he had rescued. He looked from the pristine white tracksuit to the terrified amber eyes of his new 'friend'.

"And what were you doing out here, at this time of night?" He hated sounding like some mother hen, but he had no other way to phrase it.

The other teen pursed his lips, obviously offended as his fright faded.

"I ran away from home."

Alastair short-circuited, giving the boy and his ridiculously clean clothes that basically screamed 'ROB ME'! an unimpressed look.

"Runaway my ass, you fucking idiot."