[Flashback] The joke's on you (Ulric)

[Bob Barton]

37th day of Summer 507 AV

There is all sorts of entertainment available in Ravok for those who want it. Kelvics, ravosala trips, slaves and brothels but all of those were a little bit too normal for Bob's tastes. He wanted something a little bit exciting and heard that the Jester's Corner might have them. He went there to have a look around but the first thing which caught his eye was of course the shopkeeper and his strange mask. "Do you have any masks like that one?" Bob asked wanting to buy one for his own but since it was not one of those things in stock or the question might be considered offensive it would be a "no?" He tried to push a little further or this man will not be getting any of his mizas today but then Bob was forced to back down after a little while because it was not the mask which made him scary. It was the way he talked or refused to talk when he zipped up the mouth. "Not even where you got it from?" That was it! Bob did not need this sort of treatment and the musical instruments did not interest him at all just as he had no use for the entertainment gear in the shop. So he left.

The Jester's Corner was not the only shop which would have what he wanted even if it was the easiest to find and access being in the Merchant's Ring. Desperate times called for desperate measures and Bob headed over to the docks where other stores were even if he found the place a little bit unpleasant. Just what sort of person would not want to go into a shop which prominently displayed the word exotic in its name? Bob got in and asked for "a cool mask like the man in the Jester" and looked through the selections a bit picking a happier looking one. There were a lot of other things that Bob wanted the more he browsed through like a tuning fork just because it sounds really nice when it is used but he will leave it for another day. The more choices he had to pick from the next time the easier it would be for him to kill time.

Bob wore his mask right away and headed into the docks which fortunately was where everyone was to enter or exit Ravok so he got a lot less attention that a person would normally get. A good thing too because people had better things to keep them occupied like the brothel instead of a strange man walking around. Unfortunately since Bob has not been that long in Ravok yet he did not know what the people normally do or he would not have to resort to cheap entertainment like this for himself. Besides Victor and the Lark family he knew no one else, for now...

OOCGuess it will come under fancy mask?

[Ulric]

Caught up in the labyrinth of canals, dark ribbons that wound as serpents through the irregular blocks of sheer, crumbling edifices of heaped brick and plaster, the grunts of a laborer were but whispers in the wind, lost amid the reek of a thousand reeking bodies, the acrid wisps of smoke curling away from chimneys. Bending down, he hefted a sack of flour, sinews cording, and flung it over the ledge of the docks, so that it struck the larger pile with a thud. Noise was everywhere, raised voices pouring through cracks in the shutters, the ring of a forge, the lap of the waters. Though he’d bided in the city for so many years, a faint, dankly claustrophobic tendril of dread crept up his spine, had to be forced back.

The ravosala was nearly empty, but though the sun seared his back, he couldn’t relent, couldn’t just say petch that and head off for a drink, because he owed the man a certain debt. He was bared to the waist, a sheen of sweat on his brow, beads coursing down his broad shoulders, over the taut ridges of muscle traced by a web of scars, whorling pink and vague purple. The routine did not change.

Ulric leaned over, sloshing in the rank water of the scuppers, and reached for a sack, fingers curling as they clutched at the crudely woven fibers. So, what does this make? The curve of his spine unbending, he hauled at the burden with an abrupt jerk of his knees, joints creaking, and swept around, leaden arms bunching, before he flung it away to join the others. He scowled after it, wishing the whole, shyking stack would burst into flames. That’s another, he thought, May some fat bastard choke on one of the dismal loaves, or better yet, poison every praying soul on these the canals. Grudgingly, somberly, he clutched at the next burden, clucking at the leaking powder from a frayed seam, a stifled grunt erupting as he hefted it over his head.

And flung it after the others.

The problem was, there was a squat figure of some child, wearing a fiendish, yet utterly abysmal excuse for a mask, directly in the way. There was a thud, a swirling cloud of flour.

I’m going to stomp on his face.

“You fool,” Ulric snarled, clambering from the ravosala, using a length of tarry cord to yank himself over the dock. “You’re going to feel my foot up your arse if you don’t shyke up a few coins.”

[Bob Barton]

Hooray for new horrors which want to do nothing but blame someone weaker for their mistakes. Until he ruined it with his bad attitude, Bob was actually enjoying making some observations of how busy the docks were. People walking along the docks, entering and exiting the shops to go on with their daily lives and other more privileged people as Bob would think seeing that they were capable of taking their own ravosala down the canals for pleasure if not work. Much like this brute of a man who suddenly flung a sack right at him. It was happening too fast for Bob to even realize whose fault but without a doubt he would admit that "you're the fool here!" Just what sort of a person would throw things into a busy place. Bob would call him lazy too if he could since he knew that real sailors and seamen carry their own burdens from their ships.

But Bob was wayyy to busy for that. With that freakish mask on him and the white flour which settled throughout his body it was like he became a walking apparition which leaped backwards away from the flour cloud in surprise. If this man had his way of putting his foot up Bob's ass then he probably would become a real ghost. Classic bullying technique. Try to intimidate someone so that they will give you what you want but there was a little flaw to the man's technique. "You are going to have to use your feet for something else first vagik!" Bob said while he tried to stick out his tongue to give the insult more of an impact but fortunately the man will not see that because the mask blocked it all giving Bob a little taste of flour and a soggy face after. Give the man his mizas? What a joke! But Bob was going to have to waste some mizas because of him anyway. After this his clothes and his new mask are going to need a wash and that would also cost quite a bit...

Without waiting for the man to successfully yank himself over to the dock, Bob already started running towards the front of him telling everyone to "get out of the way!" as he threw his arms to the side to get them to make room but he did not have to waste his breath saying that. If they thought that the mask was fiendish before, they have yet to see the mask on a whitish imp spreading a trail of flour in the air behind him. Bob ran along a stretch of dock without stopping for anyone or anything because if they did not get out of his way, he would have no choice but to get out of theirs. A little bit troublesome to waste more energy to run around them but the alternative of getting caught by the real monster was worse. He doubted that this man is going to be a lot nicer than a certain akalak. What were the odds? The same scene in two different cities.

[Ulric]

Vagik. Now that was a hurtful word, yet a grin crept over Ulric’s face as he gained footing on the rough, slimy dock. Already in a foul temper, he couldn’t choke back the chuckle that burst from his chest. Vagik. That meant only one thing, that he’d been sufficiently provoked. And now, legs churning, he’d charge into the throng, ignoring the confused cries, and indulge his fury. Not after a child, though. But fortunately, the voice was deep, not high and reedy, and a brush of his smoldering eyes found that the legs were stunted and irregular, as befitting a dwarf, and that the vanishing slope of back and shoulders was vaguely fleshy.

Now that’s fortunate, he growled, pushing past a rotund, bending doxy, her flab clinging horridly as she swept a wicker basket in his path. Presumably, one of the vast sausages that joined over her splayed fingers had grown weary from the task of carrying, which was unfortunate. For her. “Move,” he snarled, just a fraction of an instant before he hurled the flat of his palm against her flank. The ignominious thwack drew an outraged squawk, a string of curses as her basket wavered, a few turnips leaking over the edge to tumble upon a coating of muck.

Ulric didn’t care.

Turnips weren’t exactly a vital concern. That man in front of him was, though. Hefty, a hedge of whiskers poking over his stained tunic, and beady eyes like a fistful of mud, he definitely wasn’t going anywhere. Ulric thought as much. Even up to the final instant, when that sour, reeking blast caught him in the face, those ruddy, cracked incisors meaner than the pop of knuckles, couldn’t keep from mulling over the chances of him leaping the heap of crates on his left.

However, this was easier. “Excuse me,” he growled, and snatched at the man’s trousers, fingers crushing around his fruits. Ah, what a fertile shyke you are. The grip turned torturous, inducing a grunt. The elbow that scythed past his jaw was a reminder that a majority of men didn’t enjoy having their tackle clasped by a stranger. Then his left hand swept under the man’s shoulder, and he bent down, using his straining legs for leverage. Oof. The sum of his thoughts, reduced to a lonely grunt. Just like a sack, he lifted the ungainly bulk over his head, trying to ignore the fidgeting, the rap of a fist upon his back, and swinging around, hurling it on the dock. There was a crunch of bones, a hiss of foul breath from abused lungs.

And then he was free, the way open to the dwarf. Vagik my arse, he snarled, with half a mind to nudge the freak into the noxious waters.

Ulric pushed by a pair of girls, ducked under an awning, and found himself nearly within reach, longer legs eating up the span of dock that rose into a tapering bridge. Got you. There was a quick yank at the darkly frosted locks, an abrupt end to the chase, a few, torn hanks left to float away.

“Don’t run,” he growled, “You might end up taking a dip in the canal, and you really, really don’t want that.” The lingering stench of shyke, putrefying flesh, and rotten vegetables clung as nauseating witness. "What's with the mask?"

[Bob Barton]

Who would expect a big clumsy oaf who cannot even throw a sack right to have it easier than Bob in running through the crowded docks? Not Bob if he compared his small statute used to avoid and run past all the pedestrians. The man could only use his big and uncouth self to scare people out of his way. With that thought in mind Bob afforded a quick glance back to find out what was with all the commotion coming from where he was running from. It was then that he found that his guess was not so far off when he saw the scene of "the vagik!" using his size to lift another man and throw him to the side. Bob was not the only one just looking as far as he could tell. This chase had not only interrupted the poor turnip seller of a man if Bob could guess with all the turnips scattered around them, it also distracted everyone else from their business like the woman who was glaring at Ulric behind him and the rest of the people who were watching if they bothered to stop.

Never one to look at what is past and always looking forward, Bob turned to continue his escape and that life philosophy did not disappoint. A pair of rather attractive looking girls were walking towards him and instead of trying to dodge he stopped right in front of them and said "hello. As you can see I am having the run of my life. Perhaps once I succeed as I always do we ca...bye!" Bob's time trying to have a pleasant conversation which is far better than what would happen when a certain man caught him was cut short by the very same man. Taking a few quick steps in the front Bob stopped and turned back again to give a winning smile and a pointing pose of victory to the girls before heading off again. He headed over to the first building he saw hoping to take refuge in it but there was just too many people blocking his way and Bob had to contend with running through the awning at the side instead of running through the door. He thought he finally reached the next stage when he was at the front of the bridge but he was wrong. Bob was moving his legs as quick as possible, true, but then he was not going forward at all finally knowing the reason why. He was being held back by someone holding on to his hair. "Knew I should have gotten one for my whole head..." he mumbled to himself dissatisfied.

"Who's running?" he asked as he stopped hoping to make his new captor think that Bob had given up, but he did not. It was even worse than Bob thought. He was not only big and a little bit grouchy but he was also disgusting. Of course he was just working earlier so it was understandable but it was not a good excuse to hold Bob back even for a good reason. Who would not want to know where to get an impressive mask like he was wearing because "sometimes you just need to get some nice things to feel good about yourself right?" not like he would believe that this man knew what he meant. Bob waited until this not so good person who wanted to do not so nice things like sending him in the canal that "I don't" want to happen to weaken his grip on the hair and then Bob put all his weight forward to try and break away to run away but it only made him slip and fall face forward. "Ouch! Now look at what you did. Can't you be a little bit more considerate for other people?" he asked as he tried to get up.

[Ulric]

Splash. Nearby, a slender ravosala carved trenchantly through the inky waters, prow daubed with a sickly red. The man at the stern sullenly clasped at his long pole, barely sparing them a wayward glance.

Ulric knew the apathy wasn’t feigned. He’d wasted most of his youth in the city, trying to defeat the other rats. He’d crept over the docks, where plaster and brick erupted sheerly, fought with rusty nails, slabs of rock, the cruel, barbed mauls of splintery planks. He’d hid in myriad jigsaw of canals. He knew what to say, and what not to say. He also knew when to leave well enough alone, too.

Right now, creating a larger uproar would be very, very bad, for the guards would surely be around with their spears and jaded, nearly glazed eyes, vainly yearning for a pair of felons to skewer, and consequently sunder the monotony. He didn’t fancy being one of the ragged, bloated corpses drifting in the fetid waters.

For some reason, they faintly reminding him of rotting cheery blossoms. Strange, he scowled. There was only a fading of frayed nerves, a lank grip on the greasy mop of hair. Then the squirming, masked thing tumbled over. He scowled deeper, for it was only vaguely amusing. He felt as though it was scantly worth the sweat, but that didn’t even make him angry.

“Why should I?” Ulric gave a sigh, wiping the stray ends of hair on his sweaty chest, and jabbed a finger. “Go on, answer.” He began to grin, his eyes smoldering fever bright. “Why should I? Give me a reason, give me a rhyme. Why?”

[Bob Barton]

At that moment even with so many other people around them, Bob knew that the reality was only the two of them mattered. In Syliras and Zeltiva maybe someone would most likely have interfered in the scene now where a brute was bullying what seems to be a child but here the people of Ravok just refused to see it hoping to spare them any troubles. Ever since Bob entered Ravok he has felt the same oppressive feeling that he had in Syliras though, especially from those Eboar...Igor...Ebonstryfe people who are patrolling around. Maybe if he let out a yell one would come and help him out as the law of the city but he will not be able to do that especially not after what that boy in the bar told him about them. Thinking through about how he was going to handle this very big problem that he had before him.

The question brought him to a very simple answer of "why don't you answer that for yourself?" as Bob simply started brushing down his clothes with a frown feeling how sweaty it was to try and ignore the man. Taking his time until he was done or until a reaction he will with a grin on his face exclaim "see what I did there? How did you like it?" It was the best way that Bob could think of to try and show why he should be more considerate and at the same time make him feel as bad as possible for chasing him around for his own mistakes. "But..." wagging his finger "if it is a rhyme you want I don't mind trying but everyone else would hear about it too" looking around the passerbys with a glint in his eye hinting that any rhyme he would make is not going to be entertaining to anyone but him "especially when the star himself is right here" finally looking back.

[Ulric]

By now, he was just getting weary. The whole scene was inanely farcical, what with that garish mask. They were both jabbering, too. The jumble of words unladen by meaning, just a whorl of argument. The cogs in his head began to grind, jerking gears, hurling at pulleys and levers as he swiftly reached a decision.

They were going to have some fun.

“You keep your squawking down, son,” Ulric grated, pointedly glaring at a man trundling past with a cart of turnips, a woman jerking her child after the bulge of her skirts. Dried-up hag, he thought, swiftly wrenching his eyes away to the lumpy white and purple bulbs in their lining of rough canvas. Why all the turnips? Nobody even [b]likes them. But turnips were the least of his concern. He grasped at the child’s collar, poking a finger before his nose. “You don’t want to disturb anybody, do you? And don’t suck your gums like that, you shyke. It’s unseemly” He gave the child a shake, pushed his face closer.

“Guess what we’re doing next?”

Ulric was quite familiar with this region, so it wasn’t long before he was dragging the squawking child through a warped timber door, bound by iron and decorated by rusty studs, with bars set just below his eyes. They emerged in a tiny, squalid chamber, hung with tawdry tapestries, a few pieces of clay pottery on the trestle, and everywhere the reek of sweat and spilled beer. There were uneven steps leading upward, though they swiftly vanished in a darkness that was broken only by a few candles.

This early, there wasn’t much anything going on. The pale, painted harlots were either sprawled in disarray over the chamber, or snoring in their rooms. “Listen up,” he growled, loudly enough to make their heads jerk up. “My son just turned eleven, and it’s about time that he had a proper woman milk his eel, not one of those girls he keeps raping to satisfy the nasty grotesquery he hides under his trousers.”

Ulric glanced around. There were three harlots there, one chubby with lank blonde hair, a pendulous, saggy breast hanging from her blouse, another a sallow, hooked nose and a sour grimace on her face, and the third, fairly decent with red tresses and most of her teeth intact. Her face jerked up from the table, eyes bleary, hair stuck to her face by a sticky gum of beer.

“Why’s he wearing a mask?”

Ulric gave a frown.

“What mask?”

[Bob Barton]

From his attempt of hinting that he might just call for help, Bob expected...no, he wanted the man to run off leaving him alone but he did not take into account the uncaring attitude of the Ravokians that Ulric knew better about. While being called "son" was nothing new since people always mistook him as a child, the surprise came when Bob got dragged off in front of all the people who did not seem to care. Now he knew why he was called son. To set up the ruse. Bob tried his best to get free crying out about "this vagik is trying to kidnap me! How the hell can I be your petching son when I am twenty-two?" but most probably all that would accomplish is strengthen the image that a father is just about to go and discipline his potty mouthed son.

After sending out a few cold glares at people who would just look at him before moving on, Bob realized that he was on his own but he already made it this far that way. The difference with those times was that he is now wearing a mask, a mask which obscured his vision quite a bit. With some failed attempts of wrenching himself free from his now much hated father's grip because his hand just could not catch the right fingers, Bob tried to drag his feet doing nothing but nearly ruining his own shoes from the friction. "So what are we going to do next...vagik?" Bob asked as he squeezed on the arm that was holding him. If that would get him released that would make him very happy but if getting the man angrier could do the same he would take it too.

Even more surprises when Bob was taken into the brothel and what they were going to do next was "a proper woman?" Never one to say no to something free, Bob looked at the choices that were available but he would have been better off raping a girl himself, not that he would in a city with some semblance of order provided none other than the Stryfe. Trying to get out of it with some dignity intact he said "D-A-D! You mean you...pulled me out in the middle of that just to join you for your own? I know you don't like my choices but...calling it rape is too far" just as much as calling his manhood an eel or grotesquery was. Bob gave an appraising look to the third harlot though it will not be seen through the mask just because she is the only decent looking one among the lot and, if he really had to go through it "even if you are paying old man."

At least the mask somewhat did a good job to hide Bob's identity because it just will not do to be known as someone who had to pay for companionship. He always tried to get through with charm though failing miserably but he had wishful thinking that if he kept at it eventually he will pull through. Mimicking "what mask?" he acted like the undefeatable child he was introduced as telling the woman that "it is only the current...pr...fe...look that women are into. Would you like me to give it over to dad instead? Maybe it will make him a lot more appealing to you." Bob was not one to allow himself to be talked down by a bunch of loose women or led on by a strange man and started to take out his mask to throw it over, driven by the moment. However the clean and shaven face, unmistakably would not belong to a child could be still seen as a youth especially with the common assumption provided by Bob's unusual height unless people actually cared to look closely enough. Not like the women who were still looking at him the same way because they would only want one thing but Bob was not watching them. He was watching the man's reaction to his challenge, if it could be called that.

[Ulric]

Ulric gave a snort, delaying any sort of banter until they were grubbily ensconced by the sultry debris of the flesh chambers. “Twenty-two what, exactly? Twenty-two fingers?” He pretended weave them together, comparing the knot of his hands with the extremely squat man, apparently, that rearing defiantly before him, squawking away. He was fairly certain he’d made a lame jape, though the tarts were probably too hung over to notice, or even care. They had that glazed, glassy-eyed look, devoid of any sort of response, even if you’d flung a purse of silver at their chests. That wasn’t going to happen. That’d just be dismal, though for some reason he couldn’t halt his raging conjectures on how many fingers he could jam inside the larger girl. Maybe as many as I want, he thought bleakly, Provided I do some cutting.

Fortunately for her, he wasn’t quite into the perversions of that particular grotesquery. There was hurting, and there was another sort of hurting.

“You’d like me to wear the mask?” The tiny, scar-broken hairs of a brow jerked up. There was a tug at the edge of his lips. That wasn’t quite so awful a proposal, considering that it’d probably keep him safe from, say, a whiff of stale breath or thick squirts of phlegm. “That’s kind of you,” he held out a hand, again casting a wary glance over the harlots. “There’s a catch, though. I’m only going to fork over any money if you’ll take the chubby and sticky ones, at the same time, while I entertain the one with the funny nose.” Though his words were brash, pointed, he was aware that this was heading on the verge of crazy. He’d been unloading a few sacks of flour, and now he was proposing to petch a bunch of whores, in the company of some short, foul-tongued freak. He didn’t feel very good about this, either. The fiery haired girl belched wetly, maybe choking back down the contents of her unsteady guts.

Ulric forced back a grimace. He didn’t even think he’d be enjoying this, but he wasn’t going to back down. Not after he’d already flung down the gauntlet. Ovek, please make him argue, he scowled.