Hands Off The Merchandise [Tristaan]
Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2018 10:50 pm
Bethas 8th, 2718 - Late Afternoon
The beauty of the Rose was something not many people appreciated. Mostly, they saw the dingy unbelly of beast with its drunks and pirates and unsavoury activities. But when one stopped, at just the right time, in just the right place, she was not a beast but an elegant tropical maiden swathed in blues and greens of the island. Dusk was one of those times, the sunset approaching and leaving the Rose dressed in a blush of pinks and purples laced with orange. For one to catch this moment, down on the beach or out in the harbour it was a sight to behold.
Unless you were Wesley Mallukon.
The beefy wick had grown up in the Rose, just a kid under his mother’s feet and his father’s belt. He’d been fed and such, raised well enough he supposed, but still it was a harbour life. He’d fallen in with the wrong crowds as a teenager, big enough that everyone wanted to be his friend, and no one wanted to be on his bad side. It hadn’t taken long to get the attention of a one Silas Hawke, and with hard fists paving the way, Wesley became one of the Bad Brothers. He’d started on the Vein, keeping the merchandise safe from prying eyes or sticky fingers. He thought he’d been doing alright, alright enough for a promotion. When he’d been given the job to switch to bodyguard-aka-security for the lofty red headed Madame, the burly man had been unimpressed. By promotion, he’d excepted moving to be the King’s right hand man, or something of the sort. Not the Queen’s lapdog.
Still, he’d come to find had its own personal perks. Certainly not enough to make him a nice guy, but enough to make the ‘promotion’ worth it.
“Hate the sunset.” He muttered, spitting into the dirt of the street as he walked towards the docks, shielding his eyes from the glare of the light. Beside him walked a tall thin human with dark lanky hair and a scar across one cheek, the other side a mugrobi wick almost as large and beefy as himself. The mug made a sound, rubbing a hand over her cropped red curls and grunting.
“It’s clocking magical Wes’. Ent no one told‘ you that?” From the other side of Wesley, the lanky human snorted, picking his nails with the tip of a thin dagger.
“Magical. Sure. As magical as Scarlett’s hairy—“ The burly man grabbed him by the shirt and growled.
“Shut your head Dom. Both of you. We gotta find this Tristaan fellow. Last I heard, he’s down here on the docks. Shiphand or something for the King. You’d think he’d know better, working for Hawke, not to mess with the goods. Stupid bastard.” Letting the man go with a shove, Wesley’s hazel eyes scoured the dock, looking for the short firecracker of a wick.
“Is this a talking to, or a talking to?” The mugrobi woman said with a grin, adjusting the bandages on her knuckles and flexing her field slightly. Sneering, Wesley rubbed his bald head and laughed wickedly.
“Whatever it takes to keep his nose outta the King’n’Queens business Takii. He thinks he’s top shit, and now the Dove’s got some fuckin’ bee in her bonnet.” Dom groaned, wetting his thin cracked lips with his tongue and grabbing his breeches.
“I’ll give her a bee for her bonnet.” He growled, and they all laughed, eyes scanning the dock for their man.
Unless you were Wesley Mallukon.
The beefy wick had grown up in the Rose, just a kid under his mother’s feet and his father’s belt. He’d been fed and such, raised well enough he supposed, but still it was a harbour life. He’d fallen in with the wrong crowds as a teenager, big enough that everyone wanted to be his friend, and no one wanted to be on his bad side. It hadn’t taken long to get the attention of a one Silas Hawke, and with hard fists paving the way, Wesley became one of the Bad Brothers. He’d started on the Vein, keeping the merchandise safe from prying eyes or sticky fingers. He thought he’d been doing alright, alright enough for a promotion. When he’d been given the job to switch to bodyguard-aka-security for the lofty red headed Madame, the burly man had been unimpressed. By promotion, he’d excepted moving to be the King’s right hand man, or something of the sort. Not the Queen’s lapdog.
Still, he’d come to find had its own personal perks. Certainly not enough to make him a nice guy, but enough to make the ‘promotion’ worth it.
“Hate the sunset.” He muttered, spitting into the dirt of the street as he walked towards the docks, shielding his eyes from the glare of the light. Beside him walked a tall thin human with dark lanky hair and a scar across one cheek, the other side a mugrobi wick almost as large and beefy as himself. The mug made a sound, rubbing a hand over her cropped red curls and grunting.
“It’s clocking magical Wes’. Ent no one told‘ you that?” From the other side of Wesley, the lanky human snorted, picking his nails with the tip of a thin dagger.
“Magical. Sure. As magical as Scarlett’s hairy—“ The burly man grabbed him by the shirt and growled.
“Shut your head Dom. Both of you. We gotta find this Tristaan fellow. Last I heard, he’s down here on the docks. Shiphand or something for the King. You’d think he’d know better, working for Hawke, not to mess with the goods. Stupid bastard.” Letting the man go with a shove, Wesley’s hazel eyes scoured the dock, looking for the short firecracker of a wick.
“Is this a talking to, or a talking to?” The mugrobi woman said with a grin, adjusting the bandages on her knuckles and flexing her field slightly. Sneering, Wesley rubbed his bald head and laughed wickedly.
“Whatever it takes to keep his nose outta the King’n’Queens business Takii. He thinks he’s top shit, and now the Dove’s got some fuckin’ bee in her bonnet.” Dom groaned, wetting his thin cracked lips with his tongue and grabbing his breeches.
“I’ll give her a bee for her bonnet.” He growled, and they all laughed, eyes scanning the dock for their man.