Tao Song been on his own and self-sufficient since he was fifteen years old, but as the number of kids who’ve joined him and Marcus has grown, it’s gotten more difficult to get everyone the things they need. Food and medicine especially. So the simple act of walking in to the shelter is a sizable blow to Tao’s ego.
Unfortunately, as they’ve finally settled in one place, nearby shopkeepers are starting to get wise to his usual tricks, making it harder and harder for him to lift merchandise, money, and canned goods, among other things. He’s somehow managed to provide enough to keep the rest of his friends--his family, really--fed, but for the last few days, he’s gone without. Marcus had tried sharing his rations with Tao, and when Tao had refused, he’d convinced him to come here. For himself, yes, but also for the rest of them: he can’t protect them effectively if he’s starving.
Thankfully, that bit of guilt-tripping worked.
As he walks through what looks like a converted gymnasium, his shoulders droop, and he feels small, like the child he was when he’d left home the first time. There are eyes on him, and he knows it’s because they’ve never seen him before--and because he looks so young--but it still raises the hair at the back of his neck in an unpleasant way.
His mouth waters as soon as the smell of the cafeteria hits him, and despite his wounded pride, he wanders that way, picking up a tray and shuffling toward the woman serving food. He can’t, however, stop his paranoid eyes from roaming about the room. Where there’s kindness, in his experience, there’s always a price to pay. Especially when it comes to humans.
By the time it’s his turn to be served, his knuckles are stretched white, and the whole plastic tray shakes just enough to be noticeable.
“--can I get an extra piece of bread?” He may as well ask, he thinks; he’s already here, and with any luck, he’ll have a little something to take with him when he leaves. “I’m, uh... My friend didn’t want to come.”
Tao is used to conning stores, businesses, restaurants. They’re insured, and most of them waste disgusting amounts of food every day anyway. But this... This is different, and the knot forming in his stomach is entirely unwelcome. It’s hard to lie to her, but it’s harder to tell the truth.