Connor had already recovered the money that was expected to repay the debtors, this intimidation tactic was more or less one of principle.
Not one of overall importance, but, having felt the circumstances of the man going back to the way they were before, Connor couldn’t help but notice the that he still had fat to burn.
A grumpier man may have already done this but it was not until the last few seconds of consideration that this farmer; as he were, was capable of rallying up his courage to summon his grimoire.
Connor spoke with the sudden hesitation of a man who wasn’t quite prepared to fight,

“Brought out the book, huh?”

Not quite knowing the extent of his prowess Connor hesitantly stuck his hand into his pocket and shifted what he had thought was his wallet from his back pocket.
What it were, was not of importance.
What it had been was subterfuge, a pleasantry to this messy business.
Now, Connor wasn’t sure what it was but it sure did put the farmer to his tracks.
The water that flooded the area around the farmer suddenly turned into a meagre chariot.
Connor inwardly sighed before producing his quasi sized pocket book, plucking a coin from its pages and; aiming with keen precision, took his mark.
The coin that sailed across the area between them was proportionally larger than it had been when it smote the farmer square across the jaw, Connor had leant into the swing and was now patiently waiting for it to strike his target as he knelt now upon the ground.
The farmer had just began to run or rather fly?
Away, rather than running, he was sort of levitating... Connor sure as hell didn’t know how else to explain it to his employer later other than he tried to flee using a magical construct.
But now, the farmer; lain heavy with the burden of outrageous fortune, did not think it nobler were it the arrow from the bow.
Not did he think by comparison fairer that the sword should be his release from the mortal coil.
It was the coin that struck in him that silence to his questions, where it now was shining if not gleaming with the ruby essence that were the farmer’s vitals.
If not weary from it’s travel, it was vehement when it struck.
A cladding sigh of avarice as Connor suddenly sprinted to the goal, he did not wait for blood to fly when The Farmer’s spell dissipated.
Had this not been the second time today that The farmer had told him to off the fuckward.
Connor may have mercifully left him with two coins to rub together for ironies sake but as it were Connor skimped him the tomatoes and went right for the gold.
The boot that next hit The Farmer; that had savagely ripped into his gut, leaving not the impression but the shadow of a welt, elicited a painful cry of anguish as he collapsed to the ground.
Connor could have sworn he felt The Farmer biting his ankle, a more than ample reaction he supposed.
When he struck again, The Farmer, coiled into a ball.
The sight was sickening, Connor felt it.
The Farmer sure as hell was feeling it.
When had Connor resorted to bullying the people; his people, like the nobility; like the magic knights, how was he any different?

When The Farmer spat on him a measure of the salt and iron Connor could see burning in the eyes of him, he knew then that this man would not just lay down and die.
Connor bit his thumb in consternation, how long would he have to keep kicking this guy before he would stop biting him?
He could always kick his teeth in but his stomach was already knotted with the gruesome carnage he had willingly exacted on this poor fellow.
Why was he acting this way?
No answer sprung to mind.
This did not reassure him, he apologised to The Farmer before kicking him again.
Unfortunately, this man would not forget him.
Perhaps one day he would return the favour?
Maybe, maybe.
Connor smiled but he couldn’t help but stare at him.
He really couldn’t help but think there was forgiveness for these sorts of things but absolution did not fall on his shoulders.
Feeling undeserving, he recoiled from the idea of taking another job like this.
There had to be a more circumspect way to go about his business than assaulting the people he was ultimately trying to protect.
The rich remember what they were before they were rich when thieves prosper.
Thieves prosper when the rich remember.

Connor’s payday was down the line, he didn’t so much as leave the house for a week afterwards.
He had already made his money, given his employer the desired amount and sent the message that they had wanted to send to the farmer.
Now all that was left was to find the next job, the next meal ticket for young Connor, although he felt like he wanted for nothing he still some how had something to prove.
This god damn farmer.
Damn him.
And his farm.
Question marks?
Profit.
Connor certainly had gotten all his chickens in a row, unfortunately for the god damned farmer, they were delicious with seeded mustard.

WC: 890
TWC: 1667