It was another dreary day down in the slums of the west side. Renuir, the place he was raised. He loathed it.<br/>December ran his fingers through his hair on the side of his head, slicking the dew resting in the dark strands. He adopted a slightly unnerved look at the discovery of a wet mane. He shook it out violently, and the drops of water scattered. Feeling a bit refreshed with some of the cold water on his face, December stretched; his black backpack's strap dug into his neck.<br/>"Well, let's get going, then..." He spoke to himself, which was becoming a habit lately.<br/>Stopping only to take off his dark boots to dump out a pebble, he hastily made his way back to work.