Post by Lawrence Brown on Nov 11, 2006 20:38:03 GMT
After the newly-shaven man left with a thanks, Lawrence Brown brought the exquisitely sharp straight razor to his hanging strop, passing the blade over the soft leather until any bends in the blade's fragile edge from the morning's shave were worked out. He folded the razor into its ivory handle, and placed it on the countertop, alongside his other instruments of the trade.
Speaking of a shave, the gaunt, hard-featured man pondered, rubbing his scratchy brown stubble. He'd had to forego his morning practice today, for waking up less than half an hour before he opened shop. I'm not cut out for this laborer's life...
What are you cut out for, he attacked, killing men, raping women and kidnapping children? The violent critique made him wince, as though hit with a small stone thrown hard. I hadn't a choice, he pleaded, but his conscience was relentless.
You could have died; fought to the death for what was right, like every farmer you slaughtered. Lawrence Brown shook his head as though arguing with another man, and even though he stopped berating himself, he could still feel his unspoken words echoing sinisterly as he began sweeping the shop's still-clean floor.
His opening door's ringing bell wiped away his thoughts, and he turned to greet his newest patron with as friendly a smile as his cold features would allow. The attempted smile dropped when he saw his newest patron: two youths, dirty and ugly and armed with small wooden cudgels.
"Yes...?" he asked, even though in the back of his mind he knew what this meeting was about.
One boy casually patrolled the barber shop, looking into various drawers and cabinets, while his partner simply watched Lawrence while gently patting his cudgel against his palm. The first youth finally made the move Lawrence knew was coming, by turning and accidentally sweeping a glass jar from the counter with his cudgel, shattering it on the floor. At the sound, his friend spoke up.
"Ah, sorry about that pops. My friend here is a bit clumsy. I'll be sure to keep him from breaking anything else of yours, in the future..." he lingered there for a moment, and Lawrence nearly smiled when he finally continued.
"Of course, it'll cost you, this protection. But, you should know it's not just me offering this. It's my employer, he does a lot of protecting in this town. Has a lot of associates. Understand...?"
Lawrence rubbed his stubbled chin with large, powerful fingers, and nodded silently. Gods, but this is a joke. If this dullard or his 'employer' had half an idea who Lawrence really was, they'd be pissing themselves the entire flight out of Aldorm. Wouldn't stop 'til they reached Efarien, either.
Lawrence sprang into action when the closest tough momentarily dropped his eyes. His powerful hand engulfed the boy's smaller hand, pinning his cudgel. His other hand thrust upward, hard, a stiff-fingered jab into the boy's soft throat. With the crunch of cartilage, the boy gurgled and dropped to the floor, struggling to breathe through a ruined throat. When his friend swung his cudgel for the barber's ribs, Lawrence caught the blow with one hand, placed his other behind the boy's elbow, and broke his arm...
"I said, 'understand?'" Lawrence opened his eyes, and sighed. He was the Foxbird no longer; that life was over and he was glad for it. Barbers do not kill, even lowlife extortionists.
"Yes, of course. Thank your employer for me."
The two grinned, thinking they had cowed another victim. As they left, one could not resist breaking the door's window on the way out. Lawrence leaned against his counter silently for some time, until finally going for the broom to clean up his mess.
If I can't take care of this myself, maybe I should go to the town guard? It's been two years since the Foxbird's defeat. None could possibly recognize me. Yes, that's what I'll do.
(Sorry for a one-post thread, but: Out, for the Guardhouse)
Speaking of a shave, the gaunt, hard-featured man pondered, rubbing his scratchy brown stubble. He'd had to forego his morning practice today, for waking up less than half an hour before he opened shop. I'm not cut out for this laborer's life...
What are you cut out for, he attacked, killing men, raping women and kidnapping children? The violent critique made him wince, as though hit with a small stone thrown hard. I hadn't a choice, he pleaded, but his conscience was relentless.
You could have died; fought to the death for what was right, like every farmer you slaughtered. Lawrence Brown shook his head as though arguing with another man, and even though he stopped berating himself, he could still feel his unspoken words echoing sinisterly as he began sweeping the shop's still-clean floor.
His opening door's ringing bell wiped away his thoughts, and he turned to greet his newest patron with as friendly a smile as his cold features would allow. The attempted smile dropped when he saw his newest patron: two youths, dirty and ugly and armed with small wooden cudgels.
"Yes...?" he asked, even though in the back of his mind he knew what this meeting was about.
One boy casually patrolled the barber shop, looking into various drawers and cabinets, while his partner simply watched Lawrence while gently patting his cudgel against his palm. The first youth finally made the move Lawrence knew was coming, by turning and accidentally sweeping a glass jar from the counter with his cudgel, shattering it on the floor. At the sound, his friend spoke up.
"Ah, sorry about that pops. My friend here is a bit clumsy. I'll be sure to keep him from breaking anything else of yours, in the future..." he lingered there for a moment, and Lawrence nearly smiled when he finally continued.
"Of course, it'll cost you, this protection. But, you should know it's not just me offering this. It's my employer, he does a lot of protecting in this town. Has a lot of associates. Understand...?"
Lawrence rubbed his stubbled chin with large, powerful fingers, and nodded silently. Gods, but this is a joke. If this dullard or his 'employer' had half an idea who Lawrence really was, they'd be pissing themselves the entire flight out of Aldorm. Wouldn't stop 'til they reached Efarien, either.
Lawrence sprang into action when the closest tough momentarily dropped his eyes. His powerful hand engulfed the boy's smaller hand, pinning his cudgel. His other hand thrust upward, hard, a stiff-fingered jab into the boy's soft throat. With the crunch of cartilage, the boy gurgled and dropped to the floor, struggling to breathe through a ruined throat. When his friend swung his cudgel for the barber's ribs, Lawrence caught the blow with one hand, placed his other behind the boy's elbow, and broke his arm...
"I said, 'understand?'" Lawrence opened his eyes, and sighed. He was the Foxbird no longer; that life was over and he was glad for it. Barbers do not kill, even lowlife extortionists.
"Yes, of course. Thank your employer for me."
The two grinned, thinking they had cowed another victim. As they left, one could not resist breaking the door's window on the way out. Lawrence leaned against his counter silently for some time, until finally going for the broom to clean up his mess.
If I can't take care of this myself, maybe I should go to the town guard? It's been two years since the Foxbird's defeat. None could possibly recognize me. Yes, that's what I'll do.
(Sorry for a one-post thread, but: Out, for the Guardhouse)