Living a pious life didn’t settle too well for some, being that it was Thursday, everyone was thirsty.
Few of them were actually sober, mild forms of inebriation were consistent with nearly all of the victims over the course of the evening.
Connor would bump into them, apologise, pick pocket a few of them.
Blatantly assault some of them with a thump to the back of the head with something heavy.
Gold was malleable and the glimmer gave off a greedy sheen, glinting off of their peripherals.
Distracting the marks was as easy as jibbering some nonsense at the them in gibberish, interesting and conversational enough to draw them in for a second consideration and then wham-o!
A fierce left would glance off of their cheek and sink into their lips, they would fall to the cobblestone, some of them bounced off of it but Connor was gone long before they; with any lucidity, would look for him.
Cold-blooded and preying on the filthy drunk, Connor was lucky enough to pass them off as drunken brawls, efficient and coercive enough to win them.
Savage bare-knuckle boxing rings were a common occurrence in some dark alleyways, and Connor would milk the crowd for every penny, to pay for the drunken boxer’s medical bills, of course.
When he disappeared with the Yul, he was competent enough to waltz away with the confidence that was necessary that everyone had gotten in good with bending the noses of each other and thumbing it to the law.
It wasn’t a long time before the guards were notified, only absconding really out of the sheer prevalence of ignorance and anonymity.
He worked out the misconceptions of real authority early in his life when he responded with a scathing remark that glibly had led to his families abdication of their noble roles in society.
The number of assaults counted one and thirteen more, the guards were beginning to get suspicious and Connor had to pay the bills some how.
He looted various things from the comatose drunks, he stole a pair of shoes from one, a wallet from another and a hat from the next.
Almost filled his entire pantry with the days loot from the drunks, he would sweep around the corner and act real friendly like and then, on the turn of a drab iron penny, he would thump them with a haymaker.
Sometimes even paying for them to get even more drunk, mixing in inebriant when they weren’t looking.
Having no real need for a knife, he made do with his drunken fistfight themed escapades until his knuckles were skinned and sore.
Only a few of the citizens of clover had gotten wily enough to return a few blows here and there, but for the most part, Connor was king of the hill.
The bar fights were almost choreographed, he would prey on their num senses and hone in on their weaknesses, almost immediately sizing up the room in a matter of seconds.
Crowds would roar approval when Connor rabble roused, they were a part of a large denominator that unbalanced the scales of the law, a few purse snatchers even caught wise and got up to mischief themselves.
Connor fancied him self a bit of a role model as far as that was concerned, random fight clubs or bar fights would start at the drop of a hat or the turning of heel.
It was an anarchistic nightmare for the guards to deal with, the magic knight’s patrols were nearly doubled, Connor avoided them and put his hand up to his lips when the easily overtaken drunks would stare back with panic in their eyes.
Wearing a mundane mask with a smile on it was becoming a customary response to facing the world, feeling so hollow from the soul baring work, Connor had to find more suitable wastes of his time than common premeditated assaults.
Theft was simple, just be present where they’re not expecting you, robbing those drunks was as easy as taking their attention and putting it elsewhere after hitting them out of absolutely no where.
Some of the drunks had jewellery, fine pieces of gold and silver, trinkets and odds and ends that Connor could fence through the black market.
A couple of them seemed more than mundane but Connor didn’t really have a mind for artefacts and the artificers secrets were just that, secrets.


It seemed pretty matter of fact when reports were hazy at best of some masked delinquent causing trouble for the populace, but rumours where scarce were quelled fairly frequently rather than acted upon.
The law enforcement figures had more important things to do apparently, it wasn’t martial law; but God damn it was close, for the citizens had greed in their hearts as sure as larceny found home in Connor’s own black blood pumper.
Colourful folk were popping up all over the neighbourhood with reports that they had been jumped by a man who would disappear without a trace.
Connor cycled through his breathing exercises that helped him keep calm in situations such as this, always listening for his name when he indulged in gossiping with his fellow commoners.
Mindfulness had many avenues and approaching the subject needed for the participant to be as pragmatic as one should be curious,
Healthily aware that everyone knew someone, and informants would be paid about as much as Connor had made through thievery, to find the one responsible would be a good pay day.
Connor had stitched up half a dozen other people using insinuative tip offs as a way of eliminating those suspicions that some people harboured in their hearts.
To the outside world, Connor was just your average commoner living a common, mundane life.
He did his chores, he did his math, he considered himself to be just as lucky as the next fellow.
Making sure to stay sober outside of his home was just one of the lessons he learnt from his own actions, being aware and on your toes was another thing he learnt.
Connor administered caution every step of every day, never relenting.
Keeping one step behind the drunkard, breathing clean unrestricted air from his cold lungs that were scarred by the world’s oxygen.
Fearless eagles flew with the same breath in their lungs, loftily seeking out its prey, much as Connor had done when he selected to steal from the drunken citizens of clover.
It was all the same to him, another meal ticket, another pay day.
His wealth giving him a fundamental security that was as solid and malleable as gold.
Bright and shining, hope inspiring, a little crookery on the sly, it all served a purpose.


Word Count: 1127