Post by DIRK LANNISTER on Jun 16, 2015 19:42:13 GMT
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
The foul stench of death hung in the air, the sounds of flies buzzing filled Dirk's ears, and dinner was about to be handed to him on a rusted platter. Flea Bottom had been a shithole when Dirk had gotten there eight years ago, and has remained a shithole, but a lovely one at that. All around him was death, pestilence, and violence, and Dirk wouldn't have it any other way.
Evening had arrived and the local soup kitchen was doing its daily handouts. Peasants and bottom feeders stood shoulder to shoulder hoping to get a scrap of food before it all ran out. Yesterday was rabbit (?) stew, and today was stale bread, food fit for kings. On a normal evening Dirk wouldn't task himself with doing something so foul, but gold reserves were low and Gilbert hadn't eaten in a few days. Gilbert, Dirk's second in command and the greatest friend a runaway noble could ask for. He was much younger than Dirk, around fifteen years old, but showed Dirk the ropes when he arrived eight years ago. At the time the duo were just babies, but they managed. Dirk used his wits to supply food, and when that failed Gilbert always pulled through as the starving child. The two had been through thick and thin, and together they founded Dirk's army of thieves. Gilbert didn't know that Dirk was of noble blood back then, and still doesn't to this day. Nobody does, and Dirk wants to keep it that way.
Creeping forward, nearing the front of the line, Dirk inspected the persons in front of him. A homeless couple, practically skin and bone, wearing nothing but rags. They smelled like death, and Dirk had to refrain from gagging less he would sound rude. They also had no money on them. Dirk had checked their pockets a little earlier in the line, and had come up short. It wasn't that surprising though, money was scarce in this area of Flea Bottom, so Dirk would have to use other methods if he wanted to eat something other than stale bread. The couple in front of him had received their food and shuffled out of line, leaving Dirk face to face with the cook. "'Aven't seen you 'round in a while, Dirk. Whatsa mattah, ran outta lives to ruin?" Dirk sheepishly smiled and looked at his rusted platter, avoiding eye contact.
The cook had been one of the many victims of Dirk's shenanigans. Gilbert had taken three pieces of silver from the cook and had gotten caught. Dirk had to save his young friend from being arrested by breaking the cook's leg with a piece of wood and taking off. The cook had walked with a limp ever since, and still holds a grudge against Dirk. "Eh? You deaf lad? Look a' me when I'm talkin to ya!" The cook was getting impatient. Dirk slowly looked up at his ugly, bald head, and responded. "No, not deaf yet. I'm just here to pick up some bread for Gilb-" Dirk realized his mistake before he finished the sentence. The cook's eyes got wide, and then squinted. He tossed the bread into the puddle at their feet, and smiled at Dirk. Dirk clenched his teeth, and slowly bent down and picked up the bread to inspect it. It was soggy, inedible. Dirk met eyes with the cook, who was still laughing. Tightening his arm, Dirk connected his platter with the cook's jaw, sending the shit stumbling backwards. The cook continued to stumble, and tripped over his robe, landing on the road with a poof of dust. The crowd behind Dirk went silent. Now he had done it.
Acting before the cook could recover, Dirk grabbed three loaves of bread and took off, bobbing and weaving through the crowd who were now in an uproar, scrambling for the free food. Dirk leaped down some steps, bumped into a few pedestrians, and continued to run through the streets. He turned a corner with a little too much haste, and accidentally tackled a stranger. His bread escaped his grip, and rolled away from the wreckage. Dirk rubbed his head, and yelled at the stranger. "Watch where you're fuckin go- oh." He had just noticed who he had run into.
Evening had arrived and the local soup kitchen was doing its daily handouts. Peasants and bottom feeders stood shoulder to shoulder hoping to get a scrap of food before it all ran out. Yesterday was rabbit (?) stew, and today was stale bread, food fit for kings. On a normal evening Dirk wouldn't task himself with doing something so foul, but gold reserves were low and Gilbert hadn't eaten in a few days. Gilbert, Dirk's second in command and the greatest friend a runaway noble could ask for. He was much younger than Dirk, around fifteen years old, but showed Dirk the ropes when he arrived eight years ago. At the time the duo were just babies, but they managed. Dirk used his wits to supply food, and when that failed Gilbert always pulled through as the starving child. The two had been through thick and thin, and together they founded Dirk's army of thieves. Gilbert didn't know that Dirk was of noble blood back then, and still doesn't to this day. Nobody does, and Dirk wants to keep it that way.
Creeping forward, nearing the front of the line, Dirk inspected the persons in front of him. A homeless couple, practically skin and bone, wearing nothing but rags. They smelled like death, and Dirk had to refrain from gagging less he would sound rude. They also had no money on them. Dirk had checked their pockets a little earlier in the line, and had come up short. It wasn't that surprising though, money was scarce in this area of Flea Bottom, so Dirk would have to use other methods if he wanted to eat something other than stale bread. The couple in front of him had received their food and shuffled out of line, leaving Dirk face to face with the cook. "'Aven't seen you 'round in a while, Dirk. Whatsa mattah, ran outta lives to ruin?" Dirk sheepishly smiled and looked at his rusted platter, avoiding eye contact.
The cook had been one of the many victims of Dirk's shenanigans. Gilbert had taken three pieces of silver from the cook and had gotten caught. Dirk had to save his young friend from being arrested by breaking the cook's leg with a piece of wood and taking off. The cook had walked with a limp ever since, and still holds a grudge against Dirk. "Eh? You deaf lad? Look a' me when I'm talkin to ya!" The cook was getting impatient. Dirk slowly looked up at his ugly, bald head, and responded. "No, not deaf yet. I'm just here to pick up some bread for Gilb-" Dirk realized his mistake before he finished the sentence. The cook's eyes got wide, and then squinted. He tossed the bread into the puddle at their feet, and smiled at Dirk. Dirk clenched his teeth, and slowly bent down and picked up the bread to inspect it. It was soggy, inedible. Dirk met eyes with the cook, who was still laughing. Tightening his arm, Dirk connected his platter with the cook's jaw, sending the shit stumbling backwards. The cook continued to stumble, and tripped over his robe, landing on the road with a poof of dust. The crowd behind Dirk went silent. Now he had done it.
Acting before the cook could recover, Dirk grabbed three loaves of bread and took off, bobbing and weaving through the crowd who were now in an uproar, scrambling for the free food. Dirk leaped down some steps, bumped into a few pedestrians, and continued to run through the streets. He turned a corner with a little too much haste, and accidentally tackled a stranger. His bread escaped his grip, and rolled away from the wreckage. Dirk rubbed his head, and yelled at the stranger. "Watch where you're fuckin go- oh." He had just noticed who he had run into.
MADE BY MINNIE OF FTS & GANGNAM STYLE
