Chapter 2 - Henri

        Henri leaned against a wall outside of a fancy French restraunt, tossing a coin he'd found on the sidewalk up and down.. up and down in a mesmerizing sort of way. He yawned lazily and pocketed the coin, stepping through the door after a couple of humans. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and skirted the entryway, his eyes on the waiter, whom was busy with the couple he'd followed. He sneaked through the door that led to the kitchen. He found a plate of food that was waiting for a waiter to pick it up. Snickering, he plucked the steak carefully from the plate and began gnawing on it happily beneath the table. Henri heard the door open and he pulled his feet in beneath the table.
        A waitress walked into the kitchen with a tray, she went to pick up the plates Henri had just stolen from. "Oy, Terance, you missed something!" She yelled back at the cook. He looked around at her.
"Hmm?"
"This plate looks like it's missing something.." She brought it over to him.
"That's odd, I put the steak on here not a minute before."
"Uugh, it must be Puss stealing the meat again." Groaned the waitress, walking into another room and picking up a hissing, spitting cat. Ha ha, blame it on the cat. They always blame it on the cat. Henri thought as the cook left the room and walked into the bar. Thirsty, the teenager crept along the floor to the refrigerator. Looking around, he opened it quietly, grabbing a bottle of Pelligrino. Too fancy, but it would work. He scurried into another corner and grabbed a lemon from a basket, then returned to under the table. The Pelligrino opened with a faint pop just as the cook walked into the room. Henri froze, clutching the bottle tightly.. Appearantly, the cook thought his mind was playing tricks on him, because he walked back to the stove. The boy sighed quietly and took a drink of the fizzy water. He grimaced and ripped the lemon open.
        Murphy's Law is limitless in length, but one law states that whenever one squeezes, rips, or punctures a citrus fruit, the juice always lands in someone's eye; and most fruits of that nature are often very acidy. This is no different when it comes to Henri. The lemon was torn in two, and a shower of juice sprayed directly into his pale face. He gasped and bit back a cry of pain as the acidy juice stung his eyes. The cook turned around at a sudden gasp behind him. Something was definately not right here. He stared around, then shrugged and returned to his cooking. Henri let out his breath, and returned to stuffing the lime into the bottle of fizzy water. He continued to eat quietly underneath the table. Deciding he was in the mood for some dessert, he waited for the chef to leave again. He did, walking with a tray of desserts to the door nearest Henri. On his way out, he set the tray on top of Henri's table. How convenient! He waited for the door to stop swinging, then he reached up without looking and grabbed a cup of something. He pulled it back under, it was a jell-o parfait. He shrugged, not his favorite, but began eating it anyway. When the cook returned, he looked back at the tray and counted the desserts.
        "One, two, three, four, fi.." He stopped, "Wait a minute..." He counted again. Four. One was missing. At that moment, the spoon dropped from Henri's fingers. As it clanged across the floor, he became white as a ghost, his heart pounding in his throat. The chef's eyes followed the progress of the spoon, it came from under the table. He slowly leaned over to look underneath the surface. To gain time, Henri desperately shoved the lemon into the cook's face, leaped over him, and ran toward the door.
        The waitress turned the corner at just that moment, looking up just in time to see a teenager with long, pointy ears slam into her, sending them both to the ground. They both yelled as Henri landed on top of her. Before she had time to ask, he was off of her and almost out of the restraunt. But again, he crashed into someone, some tourists at the front door.
The woman, seeing what he was, grabbed his wrist yelling, "I got him! I got him!"
"Get off me!" Squawked Henri, clawing at the lady. The cook and waitress reached the battle. He reached down and plucked the struggling elf from the woman, holding him at arm's length. Henri grabbed the man's arm with both of his clawed hands, scratching him like a psychotic, rabid cat until he let go. He dropped to the sidewalk, scraping his knees, and getting to his feet inhumanly fast. He ran down the street, humans didn't give up chases very fast, but he could easily outrun a car if he needed, just not a helicopter. He glanced up and sighed. No helicopters, but that didn't let him off the hook. He turned into an alley and leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor. He was safe.. for now..

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