That Sunday, 8 a.m. came and went, with no sign of Glenn. The minutes kept ticking by...8:05...8:15...8:25. Finally, at a little after 8:30, he showed up.

Glenn sprinted up to the shop and threw the door open with enough force that it banged loudly against the other side of the door frame and echoed through the store. He was, to put it bluntly, a mess. His normally shaggy hair was flat, hanging in damp tendrils on his head and down over his eyes and ears. His white tank top was wet in some places and smeared with mud in others, as were his pants, although the brownish hue of those hid the mud better. He smelled of the river, with a faint odor of alcohol that couldn't quite be overpowered by freshwater. A look of sheer panic was on his exhausted face as he looked around for someone, anyone, to explain himself to.

?I am so sorry I'm late. I haven't been feeling well since I got off work yesterday and I overslept and I forgot to clean up. And I got my clothes all messed up when I took my bath but it's okay, right?? Glenn brushed aside some of the locks of hair that were obscuring his vision, then touched his forehead, wincing a bit at the headache he had. He felt fortunate that his hangover wasn't too bad, and that he would probably still be able to get some work done today. Assuming he didn't just fall asleep while leaning over his workbench. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he started patting his head, adjusting a hat that was clearly no longer there. He cursed sharply under his breath. ?And do you have anything I can wear on my head? I need it to keep the hair out of my eyes when I'm working. A hat would be nice, but a bandanna would also work. ? When he finished talking, he finally felt the effects of his run and the lack of sleep over the last couple of weeks. He leaned over, gasping for breath in giant heaves. He felt like a slight breeze might topple him, and secretly, he kind of hoped one would.

Glenn took the hat off quickly, but spoke immediately after he did so. He didn't want Carley to think he was ungrateful for the hat. ?Thank you for the hat. I'd better dry my hair a little bit better before I put it on though.? He held it carefully in his left hand as he took the offered drink with his free hand. He started out sipping it slowly, but his thirst quickly kicked in, and the drink was practically chugged before he set the empty glass back down on the counter. He didn't notice the faint orange film left under his nose by the beverage.

?Thanks for the drink, too. And thank Eddie for me when you see him again. It was really good.? Glenn smiled faintly, an attempt to make her feel more at ease. He had been lying long enough that he had a good idea when people weren't buying his lies, and he was pretty sure Carley hadn't. Hell, he wouldn't have bought his story if he'd heard someone tell it to him; it was pretty weak, as far as excuses go. ?Well, I'd better get started. I don't want to fall further behind schedule.? His next words didn't sound as gracious as he'd hoped they would, and he winced slightly as soon as he'd finished speaking them. ?Thanks again for being so understanding.? He then quickly headed upstairs, hat cradled under his arm, into the Lords' room.

Glenn grabbed one of the pink towels that was out, sighing at the color. First the hat, now this? At least nobody would see him using the towel, and hopefully the same would go for the beret as well. He vigorously dried his hair, making sure the ears were covered, then put the hat on his head and tucked the now light-brown strands beneath the hat. He had to spend a minute or two trying to position the thing on his head, feeling faintly ridiculous the whole time. Once he had convinced himself that the hat wasn't going to fall off, he left the Lords' room and went straight to the workroom.

Glenn spent the next couple of hours working off of the adrenaline he had built up from his early morning run, but once that energy left his system, he felt his body hit the wall. He would feel his eyelids drooping shut and suddenly start, sitting straight up and wide-awake, at least for a few moments. Finally, he realized that he couldn't keep working like that. He was going to accidentally drive a nail through his hand, or over-sand a piece of wood. He needed a nap. Fifteen minutes should be enough. Glenn took the hat off, carefully laying it off to the side, then dumped most of his tools out of his knapsack so he could use it as a pillow. He wished he had some sort of mattress or blanket, but the floor would have to do for now. He laid down on his right side and curled into a ball.

Fifteen minutes later he was fast asleep, the sounds of hammering and sawing replaced with the fainter sounds of snoring.

Glenn's sleeping behavior was much the same as his behavior while he was awake: fidgety. He rolled over from his right side to his back to his left side, then reversed the process. His left leg occasionally kicked out at the air; it was like watching a cat or a dog dream. His snores and the occasional murmurs were muffled by the knapsack he was sleeping on.

Although Carley hadn't confirmed suspicions by peeking at his ears, Glenn's sleeping provided her with an opportunity to more closely examine him. What she found would've left her suspicions intact. He sort of looked human, but the build of his body was a touch too lanky for most humans. Certainly, he had the sort of upper body strength one might develop from hammering at nails and pulling up floorboards all day, but nothing terribly impressive, and certainly nothing compared to the musclebound standards of many men in Rhydin. And he almost seemed too thin in places, like he hadn't been eating enough, or eating well. The shape of his eyes and face were also a bit strange for a human male's, but since his eyes were closed, Carley wouldn't have been unable to use that as evidence for her suspicions. His entire face was visible though, including his forehead, which had a small, horizontal scar across the forehead. It almost looked like the sort of scar that would've been caused by a childhood injury (from jumping on a bed and hitting the headboard, perhaps?) except that it was a little too pink, too fresh. It had to have come from a more recent injury. Glenn's facial structure was inconclusive, because it was obvious on close analysis (and from the bags under his eyes) that he normally wasn't this gaunt and exhausted. Clearly though, he was never going to appear fully masculine. What was he?

Glenn didn't stir at all. Not when the door was opened, or the blanket was placed on him, or when the bell rang as Carley went out the front door. There was a faint smile on his face as the blanket was placed onto him. He unconsciously adjusted the knapsack for comfort, then curled up further into a ball on the floor.

It wasn't until part-way through Carley's lunch that Glenn woke up, much more gradually than he was used to waking up. His first immediate thought, as he stretched his arms, was wonder. He had slept soundly for once! No nightmares waking him up, or the sounds of fellow co-workers jarring him from sleep. Then he looked down at his torso and legs, at the dark blue and purple blanket. That hadn't been there when he fell asleep...Glenn bolted upright, shaking the blanket off his legs and standing. There was only one possible explanation for this. Carley had caught him sleeping! And the wheels started turning further in his head. Had she looked? Had she pried open his eyelids while he was sleeping? Had she pushed aside the strands of hair that laid over his ears? He had no way of knowing. He sighed. He used to be so good at hiding things, and he knew that regardless of whether Carley had looked or not, the awkward behavior that was going to result from this situation was going to make him seem even more suspicious. What had happened to him?

And then his thoughts became more practical. She caught him sleeping! On the job! By all rights, she should have fired him! He would've done the same, were the roles reversed. He had betrayed Carley's trust, and the trust of the owners of the Stitch, and he didn't know how he was going to get it back. Or if he even could. Would they just fire him on the spot? He carefully crept over to the door and opened it. No one seemed to be upstairs. He snuck quietly down the stairs. No one was there either. He spotted something on the front door, and as he cautiously walked up to it, he quickly realized it was a ?Out to Lunch? sign. He breathed a sigh of relief, then paused for a second. What should he do now? After a moment of deliberation, he decided to go back upstairs, to the workroom, and continue his job. He would not discuss his sleeping on the job unless she brought it up. After all, maybe the blanket magically appeared there...

It must have been weird, watching Glenn work, having only seen him at the Inn or when he had stopped by the Stitch the first time. All the nervous tics and fidgeting that accompanied him during his normal interactions seemed to vanish when he was hammering a nail, or sanding a board of wood. Sure, there was the same sort of quick motions involved, but there was something different. It felt smoother, like each move he made was clearly planned and designed to flow into the next one. It felt like there was no wasted motion at all. In other words, he appeared calm, peaceful, in control. Confident, and not at all nervous.

And almost completely oblivious to Carley's approach. Glenn didn't hear, or didn't pay attention to, the sounds of her footsteps coming up the stairs. He only dimly registered his name being spoken. When she walked into the room, he had paused for a second to wipe the sweat off his brow with his forearm. When he was finished, he sat there, still. His hands didn't move. His leg didn't jog in place. He looked up at her briefly, pride shining in eyes that were, for once, not mostly obscured by hair.

Then the moment was gone, once Carley's presence had fully disrupted the reverie of his work. He scrambled to put the beret back on, and cover up his eyes as much as possible. He didn't fidget physically, but his eyes kept darting back and forth between the blanket. Did she know? She must know! Why wasn't she saying anything?

?Thank you,? Glenn said, a bit hesitantly at first. ?It shouldn't be too much longer before I'm done and out of your hair.? The words were dismissive, but there was a touch of wistfulness in his tone. It had been stressful at times, but he had enjoyed what he was doing, and would miss the opportunity to make furniture. It didn't seem like there was much of a chance for him to continue working like this in the future. Just this one job, on top of his full time construction job (which was really full time plus whatever overtime they could plead, threaten, cajole, or trick people into doing) had been pushing him to the limit. ?Are you sure you don't want me to stick around and work longer today?? Glenn didn't sound very convincing. A simple push would easily convince him to leave early. After all, he thought, as he glanced back towards the blanket again, he was pretty tired. And not very useful when he was tired.

Glenn had to resist the urge to reach out and grab the food when Carley swung it in front of him. He hadn't been eating well since he'd moved into that boarding house for his job. If he had a simple kitchen in front of him, he could've made something quick, easy, and nutritious for himself, a stew perhaps, or even sandwiches. But he didn't, and he was dependent mostly on the dining hall to provide him with adequate sustenance. Which it didn't. The soups were too thin, the bread was too hard or too old or too disgusting to eat, and the meat (when there was meat) was frequently stringy and under or overcooked. No wonder so many workers skipped meals there and went to the inns and taverns. He hadn't, and was paying for it. He got tired easily, and had lost some weight from an already wiry build. The food was unfamiliar smelling to him, but it also smelled pretty good. And even if his nose was wrong, it at least smelled like it was properly prepared.

?I would love some food, if you're offering. I'm gonna go outside and eat this. You're welcome to join me, if you like.? The bag of food finally handed over, he walked past her, out the door, down the stairs and outside. He sat in front of the Stitch's entrance, and dug the food out of the bag. It was a mess at first; he couldn't quite hold the fajitas right at first, and meat and sauce spilled all over his already dirty pants and t-shirt. He stopped and looked down at his clothes the first time he spilled, but after that, he plowed through the food, ignoring the messy consequences. It was quite clear he could barely contain himself from pigging out. Still, the meal was finished quickly. He wiped his hands on his now-ruined clothes, then stood up and stretched. He was exhausted, and he quickly decided that it was a good idea to head home now. He could make up the work later, after all.