”Sometimes accidents happened…” Connor trailed off absentmindedly as he practised his speech in the mirror, brushing his hair in frustration.
Jobs like this were hard to come by, harder still because it was the nice part of the country side; Aries Garse, and Connor would have to be assertive albeit subtle.
The merchant was your run of the mill noble, answering a supply and demand need or something like that.
Connor couldn’t help but reflect on the menace that he would have to become, an easy stereotype would just have him calling for the guards.
Certainty was not his right to bear as far as his employer was concerned, “Assurety was in the eye of the beholder,” said his witless contact.
The man was ruthlessly simple and as far as he and his friends were concerned Connor was the man for the job, “Just tell him what’s what then forget about it,” he continued, as if it were the simplest task in the world.
“First of all, it is beauty that is in the eye of the beholder; you’ve taken that phrase out of context…”
The employer interrupted and gestured towards a chair, grinning a wolfishly toothy grin that spread from ear to ear, “Sit down.”
By the gist of the sentiment Connor was curious, as to whether he entirely had a say in whether or not he could have refused, and was genuinely at a loss of words to retort with in the face of such a generous offer.
Taking a seat; Connor was fundamentally challenged by nature, not to blend in with his surroundings, not to start cycling his reverse breathing tricks, and challenged ultimately to be at the mercy of a bigger fish.
“Who exactly am I telling what, and why?” Connor queried for lack of something better to converse about, filling the silence between the two of them.
The man only dismissed his query and proceeded to stand on Connor’s metaphorical toes for the umpteenth time, in as few as the three minutes they had known each other Connor was already picking a bone to break over the matter.
“Not important, it’s the how much; you’re gonna tell him, and that’s that, sorted?”
This guy was a joke and a punchline clipped into dark suedes, his pinstripes were nauseating, and although Connor could only really fault him on was his lack of accentuated inflection, you had to give the man his props.
He was a three piece zinger down to the suit and tie.
Their meeting ended shortly hereafter, Connor was offered a sandwich; tomatoes, cheese and lettuce, which he accepted with no real qualm.
Further more it was insisted that he ate it prior his departure, which all in all; not being bad, was odd.

The man lightly slapped him a couple times, insinuating familiarity and actively breeding contempt, after which Connor was thrown out like he was a friend.
Which meant that they didn’t throw him through a window or spit on him, it was only business after all.
No need for things to get ugly or messy.
Connor dusted himself off obviously disgruntled but otherwise expecting more or less, boom; the last thing he remembered was the sound of some greasy accent kicking him while he was down, “Badda Bing Badda Boom.”
Startled Connor awoke, “What a cheesy so and so.”
They had knocked him out and hauled him off down some street in Aries Garse, gambling with Connor’s own health and life just to keep their hideout anonymous.
They had done the same thing bringing him in as well.
Checking his teeth Connor stood and stretched out his sore limbs, rotating his forefingers against the grain of his shave and his temples respectively.
One hell of a headache in the morning, he patted his clothes to see what he had to work with and was taken slightly back by his appearance in a nearby window.
He was wearing one of their suits, pinstripes and suede.
Flaunting what little desire he had; to be so well dressed, Connor hid his true feelings about the matter and what they did with his old clothes.
Looking down he was relieved to notice he was wearing his regular attire underneath, however uncomfortable at least they didn’t undressed him after flattering him.
Connor could probably sell the suit itself but resigned to at least wear it as a disguise for the time being, he looked regal although not in the least bit fashionable.
It was just his fit, his aesthetic craved something more suburban but he made do with the lean of his rounded shoulders, which he had painstakingly crafted after hours of slumping.
Making no mistake as to having as hollow an expression as possible, primarily his objective was to deliver a message and to get things done.
To this merchant ’primary concern’was entirely arbitrary, probably a noble trying to rub elbows with the poverty to slum up some extra Yul.
Connor didn’t make it personal, he himself was making a ludicrous amount of Yul doing just what he intended to do.
Steal from the those who couldn’t sow.

His pockets were tucked neatly into their respective hidy holes with his hands fumbling a coin in each.
Connor entered the merchants store nonchalantly and began critically analysing ever square inch of the locale.
Familiar things caught his eye, chairs; they were replaceable, he picked one up and tested its weight.
A perfect example of how bad things could be, Connor could have thrown it through a window; which is what he told the merchant, ”Accidents happen.”
He ran his gloveless, pale finger down the wall; internally critiquing the wallpaper, externally telling the merchant it would have to be replaced and that Connor knew a guy who could do that real cheap.
Pointing to the appointed fire place, the merchant picked up on what Connor was saying before he had even began insinuating how flammable the merchant himself was.
Connor elaborated how the merchant would need to buy this particular brand of flame retardant hair cream; which in truth was very durable, and how Connor himself purchased it regularly.
The glasses that were on the merchants face; they were inadmissible, as they were purchased from the wrong optometrist; should have went to spec savers.
He was now made more aware of how glass could damage the human eye, he thanked Connor for his subtlety.
It may have been embarrassing if anyone knew he was going blind.
Counting off the top of his head and on his fingers, Connor relayed how woefully inept a lack of insurance could be, financially.
Spreading his hands out on the table a number of Yul denominators fell to the floor, palming an intimidating amount of the kingdom’s currency was more than a magic show, it was a display of force for Connor.
He metrically and imperially converted the by gram mass index of every dissimilar coin that was glinting in the light of the store, ferociously and calculatedly like he was a squadron of royal knights hired just to throw money and numbers around.
The shopkeeper was horrified by his complex algorithms, his pythagoras was flawlessly astounding, Connor’s math was rendering the merchant as mute as a derelict who had swallowed his tongue.

The guards outside were none the wiser, patrolling the forsaken region like they were being paid to do it, which made sense as that was their job.
But not one of them could help the merchant, Connor’s words struck him with a sense of panicked urgency.
He ‘needed’ this insurance, the assurance of his safety was not certain and Connor made this abundantly clear by the time he started nonchalantly leaving.
Sometimes the simplest con was the easiest con.
“Look man; please, you need this insurance; there are demons and crazy people out there, in the forsaken region, I mean; it is a basic necessity.”
Connor looked around; like that crazy person or demon was just around the corner or hiding in the cupboard, waiting to hurt this particular man, at any given moment.

Wc: 1360

A man entered the store, Connor’s blood ran cold.
Almost kind of like an octopus or squid trying to hide; although in plain view, Connor’s eyes slowly panned over to focus on Jorah.
This guy was known, the steady gait, the ease, the overall genuine joviality and his gaze.
A big fish was currently in the pool.
Rather than recoil or run, Connor put his hands in his pockets and started looking for something that would perhaps protect him from this guy.
Subconscious reckoning prevailed and Connor would portray himself to be as not apparent as possible.
Hiding in plain sight; sharpening his knives, his acute senses telling him this was not the guy he wanted to take on, even for a cup of tea.
Where the lack of anything apparent or tangible was, this guy filled in the vacuum of empty threats.
The guards being none the wiser, the storekeep, being that he were at the peril of two stand-over merchants, the situation was feasible.
Rather than upping it another notch, Connor decided to take it back a step brandishing one free hand, while juggling a half dozen Yul coins through his fingers in the other.
The greedy glint in his eyes hungering for a mistake, had he the recollection to tote his Grimoire he may have, but as for now, it was idle and remained on the table to his left.
His free hand tapped an impatient sum of two knocks on the wooden surface, “Gold has got some weight to it.”[/b]
A vaguely sincere prospect of a threat as he summoned a single coin, “Change.” Connor said with the conviction of a man who needed to be paid.
“Wealth is fleeting, sir… Gold lasts.” Using an honorific to keep him blindsided and the merchants eyes on the prize, Connor leant against the golem with a sincere amount of force.
Pressing it through the table with enough force to splinter it, for good measure he kicked the wood; hefting it with his foot as it made a dry cracking sound under the weight.
The hand sign that Jorah gave was rudimentary and fairly straightforward, Connor didn’t want to leave the place without breaking something, at the very least.
Whether or not this was sycophantic was far from his thoughts, their prospective employers were adamant that a display of what ‘could’ happen was albeit unnecessary, it was expected after such an inane amount of positioning.
Proffering no more than the general thematic, Connor pointed out how helpful insurance may have been; had he had it, for just such an occasion, “Insurance would have covered that.”
Not wanting to outright bully the guy, Connor was given props to the extent that if he acted tersely, he was almost certain the taciturn thought processes of the merchant would be succinct enough to agree with the two of them.
Being a Jack of all trades was a feeling second to none, the work practically did itself after a certain points and although he wasn’t turning on his heels to leave, he felt as though badgering the man further would be otherwise unnecessary.
Noting the attitude of Jorah; a man who had yet to introduce himself, any more than, that they were ‘employed’ by the same fence, Connor was eager to learn a few more tricks to the trade.
Where as Connor was devoid of a jovial sentiment, Jorah was more or less comfortable with the rigamarole of the rhetoric than Connor had previously ever seen.
He took mental notes ascribing the overall reasoning one must have to be so blatant as to demand what one would have to ask for usually.
This guy must be the real deal; the powerful sort of bloke you didn’t have to fancy a guess as to whether your best interests were at this man’s sole interest.
Not withstanding the various debts that Connor had accrued, it made him sweat to think if he were on the bounty board for collection and made his mouth dry.
Connor gestured towards Jorah, “This guy.”
Almost uncertain about his presence, how much intake on the action was Connor’s primary concern.
In hindsight, retrospective as it were, it seemed the employer didn’t entirely trust Connor to not mess up the job.
Which was fine, for now.

Word Count: 723
Total Word Count: 2083

Connor almost chuckled at the insinuative stance this kind of work took with some people, the persuasive limerick was almost poetry to his ears.
The pleasing sound of Yul transferring hands, at whose ever cost; it always had a unique flavour to it, how ever it occurred.
Never had any one person been so relieved to part ways with their cold, hard-earned money, as this merchant had been.
After all the problematic causalities were outlined, Connor could only imagine the genuine happiness this much money had brought to the man, that it would soon impart on Connor himself.
Unlike the worry that may have concerned the man having the whole sum total, Connor’s relief would be whet when they split the cash; the jovial man who took lead, was very professional and almost hospitable but something about divvying someone else’s money in-front of them seemed unwise.
Taking the initiative upon himself to follow behind Jorah, Connor’s breathing relaxed and while it was probably unlikely that he noticed him, he followed at the pace he would require to not be outright lost in the crowd of people.
Assumptions were a dangerous vocation, some times the mark didn’t take any of the the false facing and would hoon down a squadron on you.
With all the confidence of a man backed up by the wizard king himself, Connor had run into half a dozen swing and miss associates that hadn’t handled the situation as half as smoothly as Jorah had naturally.
Appearing half as enthusiastic as he usually did when completing a task, he may have pat Jorah on the back but thought about it and didn’t feel like having a knuckle sandwich sunk into his miserable expression.
So, instead he cleared his throat to get the man’s attention, not entirely being one to be conversational or friendly, but, trying to be none the less.
Wanting to impress the jovial Jorah, he started with flattery; which was known to get you far, then he tried using manners, which in turn had gotten Connor much further. “Good job, thank you very much; much obliged.”
Being internally not as social as he would have liked to be, he offered his naive self as a person willing to learn from the man who was quite obviously more comfortable in this line of work.
A good counterpart was difficult to find, an amalgam that was easy to work with was harder still.
Not wanting to mess up a good working relationship by anything he’s said or done, he apologised, “Sorry if I made things more difficult than they needed to be, thanks again. Much appreciated.”
Compressing the need to hide from the man, he eased himself into another breathing exercise before nervously broaching the subject about their employer.
“Coin is coin.” Connor said socially, the only thing of import that would be more or less conveyed was in his tonal accentuation.
Misleading people had become a way of life for Connor, and he was getting more familiar with being less familiar as the days dragged on, one after the other.
He tried to sound only so desperate as one might need to maintain his part of the cut, a weary edge from lingering on the thought of a long day getting longer.
All in all, it was a good take.

Word Count: 564
Total Word Count: 2647

Connor sympathetically nodded along to the sentiment without a hint of conviction, all of it was good advice, he how ever was not the receptive sort.
His thoughts idiosyncratically already shifting to what he would have liked to do with the money.
The possibility of work in the future had Connor prick up his ears, not wanting to appear disinterested he resolutely bargained with himself to listen a little closer.
Connor followed suit and entered the establishment of their prospective employers, a certain zest in his step that came with finishing a job.
The worst part being over and done with, Connor regarded them with snide recognition.
Our enemies deserve our forgiveness but only after they are hanged, he errantly mused to himself not forgetting how callously he had been treated.
Reparation was scant, Connor wore their clothes but didn’t share their sympathies, he had no real intention of returning the three piece.
It fit well after all, and clothing this expensive was hard to come by.
He unbuttoned the top button for some breathing room while Jorah conversed with them.
The knife wobbled after having made the statement it was meant to, impressive marksmanship thought Connor.
Pity it hadn’t sank right into the mafioso’s forehead, lettuce and tomatoes; how indignant.
Being served nicer food when Connor was capably thought of as a noble was hard enough to live without, without some assholes rubbing it in with tomatoes and lettuce.
There was no meat to the claim of tax, even Connor’s hackles were raising at the insinuation of a tithe or fee because this ‘secret’ hideout wasn’t that secret anymore.
Jorah spoke of the benefits of being a known criminal, a sentiment that Connor didn’t exactly share but one he listened to regardless.
His bid for anonymity, that was something Connor agreed with, “Ditto; right back at you, have a nice day.”
Connor himself didn’t have too much planned for the rest of the day, being that it were nice enough, he thought of some lavish gift to buy himself to allay his current concerns of being caught.
Nothing to prosecute him with if he didn’t have the money, having to keep one step ahead of the breadline was no longer a problem after this job.
He secretly blessed the man for having appeared as he did, Jorah would be an excellent associate, and Connor felt slightly more confident just having been acquainted with him.
Connor, being a small fish, had less to worry about now that he had swam prone beneath a shark of a predator.
He could already here the whispers that coursed through the streets, not one of those words about him, and this sat well with Connor.
Anonymity was a dagger that he couldn’t afford to relinquish as of yet.

Word Count: 473
Total Word Count: 3120
 -exit-