The 91st of Winter 513AV
In the shadows of a nearby alley he lurked, hidden by the dark embrace and using them in his advantage. The sun goddess was not ruling the heavens but the moon god was, the bluish-black sky twinkling with uncountable of Lady Zintila’s stars and of course the silver glow radiating from the current ruler of the heaven was present as well. However, the light emitted by them illuminated the night a little bit, it wasn’t enough to banish the dark out of the streets. This was their time to come out, and with them did the practitioner of a certain occupation.
The bat had left his roost tonight, fully equipped for having a good time or, as the people liked to call it, a break-in. His onyx orbs had glistered with malice, less of the mean and more of the naughty kind. Bran had been planning to enter someone’s house uninvited, the night was fabulous tonight for that sort of thing, yet as he’d noticed the squares of light falling on the street, cast from the windows of the Scholar’s Demise, he had decided otherwise. The muted merriment sounding from within the tavern had kept him here, calling him like a moth to a lantern.
So here he stood, obscured and conspicuous in the shades cast into the alley, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. Though it didn’t seem to be, waiting was quite exciting as well, considered the circumstances, it always is when one’s up to no good, which is an accurate description of what the evening would bring. The thief didn’t even feel the cold, nor did he notice the white puffs of his breath being carried away by the wind, for his attention was centered on the entrance of the Demise and the few passerby’s, along with any suspicious noises.
Patience was generally rewarding, and that rule applied now too, as the door of the bar swung open, projecting a yellow rectangle of light on the pavement and lighting up the street, chasing away the dark for as long as it lasted. A man stumbled out, his shirt unbuttoned but apparently he didn’t feel the cold, since he didn’t go through the trouble to close it up. Bran wondered if the man could have done so in his current state. Probably not. Not that it was important, the only thing that was, was if he could approach the guy. You never knew with drunks.
The thief gave it a try, it didn’t hurt to make an attempt so why wouldn’t he? Casually he walked up to the man who, seeing him from up close, was quite a giant and raised his hand in greeting. However, the man didn’t seem to care about friendliness or maybe he sensed the objective of the bat even with his fogged senses, since he turned towards him with an angry glare. “Whaddo ya want, huh?!!!” The man was incapable of normal speech, but shouting was something he still was able to do. “Yer here to pick a fight with me, eh? Yer lookin’ for trouble with Sam Oakly, ehhhh?!” The yelling was accompanied with wild gestures of his massive hands, swinging them to and fro, clenching them into fists all the while.
That was all the thief needed to hear in order to make him drop his hand and turn on the heel of his boot mid-step, his friendly expression frozen on his face for a moment. ‘Hey! Where do ya think yer going ya coward?!” For a moment the bat feared the guy, Sam, would come after him and fastened his pace, disappearing in the darkness, the safety of the alley he’d been waiting in. His fear was ungrounded though, as Sam Oakly didn’t have such aspirations at all. He merely hurled a taunt at the fleeing thief, claiming he’d better get out off his way while he still could and something about his strength being mythical.
***
Eventually though, someone more suitable exited the tavern quite inelegantly, landing on the street face first and staying down for a while. Meanwhile Brandon made his way over to the chap, pretending to be worried, which he obviously was not, or actually he was, but only about how much Kina this drunk still had left in his pouch. That was the only problem of robbing drunks; while their senses were stumped and their judgement poor, easy to steal from, the odds were high that such person had wasted all his coin on drinks, and that naught was left.
Nevertheless, Brandon supported the man, helping him stand up, even allowing him to lean on his shoulder, all for the sake of making money, for the hope of making money. He’d forgotten to add the stink of alcohol to the problems, something that was torture to his nostrils, making him gag multiple times, but he managed to keep his latest meal contained in his stomach. The man failed in that however, and the bat could just about jump out of the spray of stomach contents’ way, dragging the man he still held with him. Most of the vile substance came down on the guy’s shoes and clothes because of that. Yuck. The task of searching the drunk for his coin pouch had suddenly become less attractive.
Tugging the man, who was blabbing about how miserable he felt, to the alley while keeping an eye on any signs another load of vomit might make its way up was exhausting. They made it there safely, and the bat positioned the man against the wall, letting go off him. Then, with a swift gesture, he grabbed the man’s head roughly with one hand and slammed it into the wall pretty hard. The poor fellow fell down like a bag of stinking potatoes without a sound, knocked out cold. Now here was someone who’d have the worst hangover headache ever. The thief knelt down, holding his breath so he wouldn’t smell the vomit, but only the thought of it was enough to make him gag. Still, he did what he had to do to get his money and started searching the man hesitantly, not wanting to place his fingers where the contents of the man’s stomach had landed.
In the shadows of a nearby alley he lurked, hidden by the dark embrace and using them in his advantage. The sun goddess was not ruling the heavens but the moon god was, the bluish-black sky twinkling with uncountable of Lady Zintila’s stars and of course the silver glow radiating from the current ruler of the heaven was present as well. However, the light emitted by them illuminated the night a little bit, it wasn’t enough to banish the dark out of the streets. This was their time to come out, and with them did the practitioner of a certain occupation.
The bat had left his roost tonight, fully equipped for having a good time or, as the people liked to call it, a break-in. His onyx orbs had glistered with malice, less of the mean and more of the naughty kind. Bran had been planning to enter someone’s house uninvited, the night was fabulous tonight for that sort of thing, yet as he’d noticed the squares of light falling on the street, cast from the windows of the Scholar’s Demise, he had decided otherwise. The muted merriment sounding from within the tavern had kept him here, calling him like a moth to a lantern.
So here he stood, obscured and conspicuous in the shades cast into the alley, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. Though it didn’t seem to be, waiting was quite exciting as well, considered the circumstances, it always is when one’s up to no good, which is an accurate description of what the evening would bring. The thief didn’t even feel the cold, nor did he notice the white puffs of his breath being carried away by the wind, for his attention was centered on the entrance of the Demise and the few passerby’s, along with any suspicious noises.
Patience was generally rewarding, and that rule applied now too, as the door of the bar swung open, projecting a yellow rectangle of light on the pavement and lighting up the street, chasing away the dark for as long as it lasted. A man stumbled out, his shirt unbuttoned but apparently he didn’t feel the cold, since he didn’t go through the trouble to close it up. Bran wondered if the man could have done so in his current state. Probably not. Not that it was important, the only thing that was, was if he could approach the guy. You never knew with drunks.
The thief gave it a try, it didn’t hurt to make an attempt so why wouldn’t he? Casually he walked up to the man who, seeing him from up close, was quite a giant and raised his hand in greeting. However, the man didn’t seem to care about friendliness or maybe he sensed the objective of the bat even with his fogged senses, since he turned towards him with an angry glare. “Whaddo ya want, huh?!!!” The man was incapable of normal speech, but shouting was something he still was able to do. “Yer here to pick a fight with me, eh? Yer lookin’ for trouble with Sam Oakly, ehhhh?!” The yelling was accompanied with wild gestures of his massive hands, swinging them to and fro, clenching them into fists all the while.
That was all the thief needed to hear in order to make him drop his hand and turn on the heel of his boot mid-step, his friendly expression frozen on his face for a moment. ‘Hey! Where do ya think yer going ya coward?!” For a moment the bat feared the guy, Sam, would come after him and fastened his pace, disappearing in the darkness, the safety of the alley he’d been waiting in. His fear was ungrounded though, as Sam Oakly didn’t have such aspirations at all. He merely hurled a taunt at the fleeing thief, claiming he’d better get out off his way while he still could and something about his strength being mythical.
***
Eventually though, someone more suitable exited the tavern quite inelegantly, landing on the street face first and staying down for a while. Meanwhile Brandon made his way over to the chap, pretending to be worried, which he obviously was not, or actually he was, but only about how much Kina this drunk still had left in his pouch. That was the only problem of robbing drunks; while their senses were stumped and their judgement poor, easy to steal from, the odds were high that such person had wasted all his coin on drinks, and that naught was left.
Nevertheless, Brandon supported the man, helping him stand up, even allowing him to lean on his shoulder, all for the sake of making money, for the hope of making money. He’d forgotten to add the stink of alcohol to the problems, something that was torture to his nostrils, making him gag multiple times, but he managed to keep his latest meal contained in his stomach. The man failed in that however, and the bat could just about jump out of the spray of stomach contents’ way, dragging the man he still held with him. Most of the vile substance came down on the guy’s shoes and clothes because of that. Yuck. The task of searching the drunk for his coin pouch had suddenly become less attractive.
Tugging the man, who was blabbing about how miserable he felt, to the alley while keeping an eye on any signs another load of vomit might make its way up was exhausting. They made it there safely, and the bat positioned the man against the wall, letting go off him. Then, with a swift gesture, he grabbed the man’s head roughly with one hand and slammed it into the wall pretty hard. The poor fellow fell down like a bag of stinking potatoes without a sound, knocked out cold. Now here was someone who’d have the worst hangover headache ever. The thief knelt down, holding his breath so he wouldn’t smell the vomit, but only the thought of it was enough to make him gag. Still, he did what he had to do to get his money and started searching the man hesitantly, not wanting to place his fingers where the contents of the man’s stomach had landed.
Credit goes to Cylos Marn
