The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity.
-Edgar Allen Poe
Runt lays his back against the corner of the butcher's shop, huddled underneath the overhang as thin driblets of rain splattered across the plaza of
Van Gowen Way.
All things considered, this morning was perfect for begging. The reality that the rain would likely keep people indoors, giving him fewer marks to beg from was entirely offset by other positive factors. Firstly, the rain would also keep away other panhandlers, giving Runt an exclusive market, but more important, the cold and wet would make Runt about as pitiable as was possible, which was exactly what Runt was looking for. It was perfect. Not cold or wet enough to make things really miserable, but just enough to make it seem like he was.
Runt placed his cap out in front of him, a stained and moth-eaten thing that was far too large, and jingled a copper of his own into the rim. It was enough to give the impression other people thought well enough to give him some money, but not enough to think Runt was doing just fine.
Suffice to say this was not the first time Runt has sat on a corner and begged for money. Far from it. In fact, Runt would guess he was probably one of the most gifted beggars in the whole of Craine.
Runt brought out his wood flute, licking his lips a touch before brining it up to play, though a glance down the street gives him enough pause to bring the instrument back down. It was Deng.
Deng Learen was a man of little ability and less intelligence. A true nothing, who seemed to have not an honest bone in his body and who got along in life only by taking what he could from those who couldn't or wouldn't resist. Sometimes Runt would give the man a copper or two to leave him alone. He almost always regretted it.
"What do you call this?" Deng sneered at Runt, grabbing the single coin in the cap before Runt can react. He holds the farthing up, displaying Runt his own money as he looks at the tarnished coin himself.
"I thought you were supposed to be good at making money, pipsqueak, but it seems like you're no better than the rest of us. This isn't even enough for my effort of coming down here." Deng flips the coin in his hand and despite his words he places the thing in his pocket rather than give it back. With an indecent leer, he places his hands on his hips and looks down upon the youth.
"You know what? I think you may be losing your touch. People don't feel sorry enough for you any more." Deng's lips twist and curl into a wretched smile.
"Tell you what pipsqueak, I'll trade you a favor. I need ten more of those by this afternoon. If you can do it, great. If not, I'll help out and make you so desperate looking that no one will be able to ignore you... I think two broken legs should do it. You'll be a real moneymaker then."
Deng pauses his speech, sizing Runt up as he glares downward.
OOC: It is 0800 on the 30th of October, 2005. Welcome to the game and the thread! It is 0800 on the 30th of October. If it isn't clear, Deng is extorting you. He has already taken a farthing (which has not been deducted from your starting wealth) and is demanding 10 more by this afternoon. If you fail, he is threatening to break your legs to make you better at begging. Feel free to react in any way you feel is appropriate. You have all of your items within reach, including your broom handle which is just beside you, though the majority of your money (you only have 3 more farthings tucked away on your person) is hidden around the city in places only you know. Good luck!