It was a delicate frame of mind,” said the insane dealer of dietary requirements to a fish stick.
The fish stick could hardly argue but did, none the less.
“You’re telling me that a renowned dietitian of unknowable proportions, thinks this,” It had said in a primordial sense of the state of being; a fish stick, as it were, was gesturing to its own unpropitious dissatisfactions with unimaginable imagination, “Is an indelicate use of omnipotence’s questionably unfathomable fashion-sense in re-addressing one whom; was if not satisfied, with a third half-cup of water?”
Frank Stoché was being underhanded and has thusly managed to have underplayed Connor, and his own merciful one chance yet more The man would have given.
He was unable to help but agree with one who would at least fundamentally attempt to undermine one such as was a foundation of sanity for those who deserved perhaps better but would have trodden on all of the kingdom to have taken it; hand over foot; his foot in their mouth, over fang and claw to perhaps at least imagine they were fooling three quarters of them, with the one quarter of Connor’s pinky nail of common decency that he may or may not have had taken from him while he was not paying attention.
“Perhaps.”
“…And even I would do little to stress the doubt, of uncertainty itself, in the given pretext; of concern of otherwise, a foreseeable fortunate context that would re-establish the second fifth of a sentiment I no longer remember.”
“The analogous walking fish, that one may or may not have been the one responsible.”
He and or she was.
~
The dealer fronted him saying,
“For crimes pertaining to the lack of having the mystical ability to re-accomodate my sensible although pardonable ability, to having no reasonable amount of sanity…”
A long dry pause whose significance was lost on all save the one who spoke it’s fore-bearer lingered longer than was comfortable.
Mock trials in the rogue community were hardly a laughing affair even if they were comedic.
“And being able to deign to imagine the identity of perhaps one without a clue regarding the reconceptualising of an endangered amphibious blue creature, how would everyone antagonising Mr. Reade, like to have plead?”
“Ask him then; yourselves, but, you might’ve done so prior to him eating the meal before his poor-man’s dinner.”
“I have heard he is more reasonable during breakfast.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead on a weekend attempting to wake myself prior without at least the smell of something bitter and or the smell of burning fat accompanied by more than most likely what ever it is that is not unlike the grain of the ocean... at least before nine.”
“A.m?”
“Is it Wednesday?”
They resolutely deigned to express in unison their dissatisfaction with bothering each other let alone him, dissatisfiedly,” P.M”

Connor; not being half the presumed monster he may well ‘could’ have been, was tapping away on a slate presumably re-un-insane, quietly, anything but contented with the dreary dissatisfaction of those around him.
Contentiously, he approached every judge within arms reach; blindly as one may have, thanking divination of providence for the auto-romanisation enchantment in Braille he indented on the gold coins he made his fortune with.
He re-pronounced his one inflected accentuation into anything other than a pronoun by giving them something shiny to dither over.
“What do you have to say regarding the offended nature of this walking-fishes hurt feelings?”
“I am a fish out of water, yet, I do not swim through Earth; nor do I eat fish fingers.”

Secretly he wondered in thoughts not his own, How should/would/could he have known, he was neither gifted with the reasoning to know an amphibian’s gender, the lingual ability to converse with what I can only presume is the source of fish sticks.
“How can I; for sake of certainty in the greater collective of those without pardonable undue treason, be completely and utterly glib to the point that I would have been perhaps gifted with seeing what one quarter of three parts would blindly attribute to being another tale from the book of the elatedly blind?”
“For upsetting the sanity of one; best left well-enough, as alone as he seemed to be most days, how does the aggressor confide?”
The defended babbled something about short tempered pastries being restored to the field of the subliminal, and lemons... respectively.
Not even the authenticated author could scarcely believe the restoration of his faculties; for the sense of recollection, was unto him like a feeling of unimaginably dissatisfaction of poignantly being reminded of disconcerted irrelevances thrust upon one and, now all.
“The aggressors have with confidence piled up; gracious amounts of, in their own words, self-inflicted diatribe, having picked through my-diadems.”
~A box labelled only~ Freer.
To be used in dire circumstances should grievous injury or assault be warranted for more than any one particularly disintegrating insult.
“I would like for to please plead for un-insanity.”
“Asserting with as little confidence as I usually keep; though reliquaries within a sieve named ~ of lack of better consideration, I am probably more than most likely myself; and or, and I do stress liberally, I am who I understand; usually, I am.”
“God; for your sake, I hope not.”
Connor slipped past the inebriated drug user’s delusions and mentally ridiculed himself for having even thought to reflect with his sun-conscious why he would have to eek out a living contending with such miserable examples of human life wasted.
“If not the ones they are expecting, then the ones they have forgotten.”
A new con can sometimes be hard to sum up to others, the oldest one in the world was time management and Connor couldn’t help but vouch that deception was akin to the high road when it came to commoners.
Dubious as it were, it paid in more than Yul, and Connor was happy to dissatisfiedly provide the kingdom’s neurotic peasants with every excuse they needed to be out of his way.
For lack of aptitude or perhaps the incorrect measure of hemlock he smuggled into their dosages, Connor couldn’t really put his finger on one reason they were not fit for able bodied work or to serve the kingdom as knights.
Squires maybe, knaves certainly.
But knights?
They; and their hysteria, would not only be the distraction, that would last for weeks he needed; to get away with their money, but they as well were more or less his only clientele that with the pride spoke his name as a person not to be trifled with.
Half a dozen times Connor had been waylaid on the road not just by prejudiced thieves and humble would-be buyers not wanting to spend their Yul, he was almost always certain to say, “I can afford to be holding something of someone else’s, they will be the ones angry if I don’t arrive at my destination, not me.”
Irritation and abysmal consideration for being lucid enough to give a damn often gave the albeit subtle impression that Connor’s nonchalance served to remind them he served a higher power.
As so did they all, they respected the unspoken question that was his non-contradictory presence in the streets of one of the nicer towns of the forsaken regions, and that was a peace Connor could abide.
Be it on his own head that if these materials did not make their way to their recipients, fingers and very likely knees would be put out of place.
Or worse, debt.
Connor shuddered at the thought.
His house was untidy enough without repossession crews sorting his house into a new; more fashionable, persuasion.
Last time that happened they had settled on a look that wasn’t exactly the middle-class commoner rogue look that Connor was going for.
Decorative differences, what could he do?

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