{OOC: Okay... I'd like to make this blindly obvious fact aware of people. I am new here but I am in no way, shape, or form, new to roleplaying.
If I'm doing something wrong, posting on the wrong board, or whatever... Just tell me. Sensibly, please. I don't get into hissy fits. I just like to write and I whether people read my rp's or not is irrelevent to me.
All I ask is that if you do happen to read, you do happen to enjoy and you do happen to want me to continue as much as possible, know that I am only doing this as a diversion to my mainstream place of RP'ing.
Feel free to join if you want... Just don't expect miracles.}
It was a tavern in the deepermost part of the city. It was a place where people didn't need to bother about the names of towns, or any other place of geography. Mainly because most of the people were aimless travellers. Not warriors or adventurers. Just ordinary travellers that scowered the world over for a place to call home. It was also place where people came to lose themselves in alcohol and the strange attraction of being social.
Not that anyone was particularly social here. They stayed seated alone, staring into their drink and not saying a word. Occasionally, you might see someone walk through a door and if you looked across the bar, you might see someone give an indifferent nod towards them.
To put it bluntly, this is where social activities came to die.
The torchlight flickered in the air as the discreet wooden door opened and a figure stepped in. It removed it's cloak and shook the sparse raindrops from it. In the light, you could see that the figure was a man. Not particularly strong or charismatic. Truthfully, he looked a lot more like an accountant than he did being someone interesting.
The man walked over to a bar, had a brief exchange of words with the barkeep and then slid into a nearby booth while nursing a mug in his hands.
Who are you...?
I don't know. I think my name is Agress.
Away from all the others, a young man suddenly hunched his shoulders and stared vigilantly into his drink.
It was a short stud glass half filled with ice and had the dregs of a bourbon collecting with the waters of melting ice.
He stared into it as if it was a well of knowledge. Perhaps it was.
Why are you here...?
I don't know... I don't even know where "here" is.
This young man was dressed more extravagantly than the others. If this was a different type of place, the others would be whispering the word "Poser" in hushed dark corners.
...Do you believe in fate?
No. I am above fate.
The young man closed his eyes slowly and started to whisper soundlessly to himself. His red bandana slipped slowly over one eye and his body seemed to slump slightly, losing all of its attentiveness.
Fate believes in you.
The young mans eye's opened and he pushed his bandana back to his forehead to come back into the world of depth perception.
He stood up quietly and, as if talking to himself, spoke in a loud voice.
'I'm not playing these games. All I want to do is go home. I want to go back to the comfort of my theatre. I want to go back to the warm glow of my friends. I want to go back... I don't like it here. Things around me don't play by my rules.'
The clientel of the tavern looked up in suprise. It was an unspoken word agreement that no one talked about their personal lives. For that matter, it was an unspoken agreement that no one talked. Or if they needed to ask for a drink, did it quietly. They stared at him and, suprisingly enough, he noticed. He was writhing in their gaze.
'Ex-Excuse me.' He stuttered. His once proud stance and his once confident tone was now reduced to nothing. Maybe less than nothing.
He walked out of the tavern as if the legions of hell were upon him. From the look in his eyes, they very well might have been.
The rain beat heavily down on him as he walked onto the streets. He had run out of the money that those people had given him when he first came into this world.
It was their fault, now that he came to think of it. They were the reason he was in this predicament. As soon as they found that he wasn't the one, they cast him away like a useless peice of garbage.
Anger welled up in the very depths of his soul.
It was their fault.
His fists began to clench of their own accord.
It was their fault.
His eyes opened and closed as if he was in the clutches of a seizure. Each time their opened, the romantic deep blue eyes that he had were replaced with red burning fury.
It was their fault.
He stopped and his body turned, his left fist sped towards the brick wall to his side and slammed into it... and then there was the crackle of bone.
'AH! GODDAMN IT!' he yelled in pain.
His hand instinctively was pushed inbetween his legs. It was the sort of thing a child would do, in the hopes that it would relieve the pain. It wouldn't.
It was their fault.
He was so preoccupied by the pain in his hand, and the rage in his soul that he hardly noticed the silent noise of a blade being taken from its sheath.
Before he even knew it, he was pressed against the wall with a knife against his neck.
'Foreigners shouldn't wander too far into the city, friend.' The voice came. 'You're lucky that I am not a criminal like the others. My forte is in the sale of the flesh. Merely give me your wallet and I'll let you keep your life.'
The victim shuddered. The seedy tones of his assailant gave the same effect as fingernails down a chalkboard. His arms moved slowly up to his jacket and then stopped.
'How do I know you won't kill me anyway?' The young man asked.
'You don't know. You'll just have to trust fate. If you have more than five hundred in there, your fate will be strangely kind.'
The young man seemed to think about this for a second. He then took out his wallet and held it out. His assailant took it and opened his own jacket, placing it inside. As the attacker took his hands from his prey, the young man fell against him.
'S-sorry!' The young man stuttered.
'Get away from me!' The assailant yelled angrily.
The young man did so. Quickly. He didn't stop until he was safely three blocks away.
He reached into his jacket pockets and took out three wallets. He inspected them industrialously. They held quite a lot of cash, as well as one rather full one held the names and addresses of quite a few people. The names belonged to females. It must have been his attackers.
He put the wallets back into his pocket.
'Ah. At least this still works...' He thought triumphantly while half keeping a mind on what he should do with his newfound money.
His shoe nudged something on the ground. He looked down.
A small crumpled peice of parchment lay there. He picked it up and unravelled it. Spidery words read an address.
He shrugged and set off. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do...
After a while and a lot of directions, the street name and number loomed up in the distance. He was beginning to become unsure of himself. This didn't seem like his area. He saw the words "Painted Ladies" scribbled in grafiti on an alley wall, and he thought that meant that it was a place of actors. He was wrong. Very wrong. He didn't know it though and people say that ignorance is bliss, so he hardly hesitated to knock on the door hidden beneath a small alcove.
After a while a feminen voice spoke from behind the door while echoed footsteps showed that the speaker was coming down a staircase.
'I paid already Sydney... Now just leave me alone. I'm expecting a very important client to come in half an hour.'
A panel slid away from the door revealing a young woman's face.
'Oh. You're early. You must be Cydril. I'm sorry about that. Let me open the door.'
He stepped back as the door swung out, revealing scantily clad late teenager. His jaw dropped as he caught a glimpse of what she was wearing. As a moral reaction, he quickly pushed her inside and took off his jacket to cover her. She merely looked at him as if something was wrong.
'What's the matter? I was advised that this was to your tastes...' She said.
The man seemed to quickly come to a conclusion of what a painted lady was.
'How much were you offered?' He asked quickly.
'A week's wages but wh-' She replied before being cut off.
'I'll pay you double that if you let me take you out of here.'
'I was paid this morning but wh-'
'No more questions. Let's just get out of here.'
He reached to the side, grabbing a cloak from the corner of his eye and wrapped it around her. They left.
And hour later, he found himself watching her as she wolfed down a portion of pasta. They had found a cafe that was out of the rain. It wasn't far, but to the young man, it wasn't far enough.
She wasn't paying attention to him. She merely ate as if it was her first in a long time.
He looked at her face. It was one of the prettiest he had ever seen... and he had seen a few. He couldn't help but think that it was a bad stroke of luck that she fell into her profession.
'So what's your real name, Cydril?' She asked with a full mouth.
It took him off guard. She really was paying attention.
'Huh?' He managed.
'It's alright. Since your taking me out for dinner, I guess we are on a first name basis. Most of my clients don't use their real names. But... I'm curious. What's yours?'
'Mines... Well...'
'Don't be shy. I don't bite unless they want me to.'
'Agress. I think.'
'Agress... That's a nice name.'
'It means to always be on the agressive offense I think.'
'Does Agress have a last name?'
'Uhm. I don't know.'
'What do you mean you don't know?'
'I just... Don't know.'
'Alright... I get the picture. I won't ask anymore.'
'No! I mean... No. I want to tell you. I just don't know it.'
'Oh. Okay. My names Jone. Jone Vernand.'
'For some reason that sounds really familiar...'
'Jones a common name.'
'No... The other one. Vernand. Nevermind. It's probably nothing.'
'So what brings you to the city of LeCancia?'
'...If I told you, you wouldn't believe it.'
'This isn't pretend you know... I suppose it is in a way. Maybe this is how you get off. But please, if it is, I am only new at this and I don't appreciate being led along like this only to find out that you are just satisfying your own sexual desires.'
Agress closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. Sometimes, people like this really annoyed him. Maybe it was the fact that they didn't understand, no matter how easy it seemed to him. Maybe it was because that people were too wrapped up in their own lives, that they were too busy to take any outside notice of anyone elses.
The count reached ten. He took a deep breath and took the not-so-subtle approach.
'Consider for a moment that I am not your client. Consider also for a moment that I do not know my last name. While you're at it, also consider that I am not sexually interested in you and that sex is the last thing I would ever ask of you. Consider that I merely paid you to take you away from your dreary existence in the hopes to save you the pain of having another man voilate you in the most intimate of ways. Now wrap that up in a little package of reality and that is what you are faced with!' He ended with a yell. This earned him nothing but a slap in the face.
'How dare you!' She screamed, getting up and storming off onto the street and out of his life.
Agress sighed and leant back in the chair he was seated in.
It happened again. He had only managed to keep two people in his life. All the others happened to walk in and out like actors on a stage. The fact that the two other people were actors wasn't a comforting thought.
He looked over on the table at the half eaten plate of pasta. A meal was a meal, and by his stomachs urgent requests for filling, he realised that he needed something to eat. It took him a few seconds to realise that the woman had pocketed the fork.
He was starting to catch the feintest glimpse of what this town truly was. He fully understood what this town was when the bill arrived for the meal.
----------------
There will always be more ninja. ^_~
- Zuljin.
Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=zuljinvernand>ZuljinVernand</A] at: 1/9/03 5:48:19 am