Northern Wharves • Anaxas/Old Rose Harbor
on the 23rd of Bethas, 2717 • during Afternoon
If there was one thing that Jobe was sure of, it was that he wasn't very good at this yet.
Back in Old Rose Harbor, near the northern Docks, he walked the cobbled streets with his usual walking cane leading the way.
They'd warned him against carrying the pistol cane in anything other than a true life or death situation. So far, he'd kept his word at leaving it in a secret compartment in his flat. He'd only taken it outin order to try it on some bottles, to see just how wide the spread of buckshot was. Wide enough that he didn't need perfect aim.
In any event, he didn't anticipate that this was the day he'd need it, being that this was his first day back in Old Rose. After some trouble in Vienda, they'd taken him aside. Must've been serious, for him to get sent over back to Old Rose, with all the acrimonious acquaintance that existed there for him. Nevertheless, it was made abundantly clear that his shit was his own, and not belonging to the Resistance.
So he made his way down along the wharves. Through the fishmarkets, he made his way, until he overheard a small hint of a conversation between a group of sailors.
"And lo, she spread her legs to reveal... a cluster of blue shankers. I nearly shat myself!"
A rumble of laughter spread among the men listening in, while a few ladies nearby just rolled their eyes and kept about their business. Jobe had no choice but to pass them by, as this was his path to his apartment. His knee had been bothering him again, and he didn't want to make a circle around the block to get where he was going.
"Came at me! Like a fireship, she did! Well, I did what any Circle-a-feared man would do! I stuck rapped her about the fore'ead and crammed it in ol' Gil's mouth."
Gil? He wasn't talking about Jobe's Gil. It was a common enough name, but that mention of a familiar name was enough to give him pause. He didn't like the thought of the mother of his child consorting with slimy fisherfolk and smugglers. He not much less the admission of how he'd treated this whore named Gil.
Grinding his teeth, he stood stock-still in the street for a moment. Leaning on his cane, his other hand drifted toward his hammer but stopped halfway there. He shook his head. Not worth bloodying his hammer.
The sailors meanwhile were snickering and guffawing at the heinous story the man had told, slapping him on the back like he was some hero returned from mortal danger. Jobe turned on his heel then and decided to say his mind. He began hobbling over and stood a few feet off from the men.
"I 'ear ya like ter wear yer sister's undies!" He uttered the insult with the ease of a crusty old-sailor. If that didn't...
"Wot?"
"That yer nursed on a donkey's teat till yer was a man grown."
The shaggy sailor's face drooped. And he turned to face Jobe, his hand on the hilt of a hangar knife. Jobe meanwhile, was ready, favoring his right leg so that the man wouldn't expect a cane rap agains the forehead.
"I'll give ya ta three seconds to go hobblin' along, ya gray cripple!"
Jobe did no such thing.
"Well then, spread out lads, let's see how fast this cripple can flail his arm..."
Jobe lifted his cane with one swift motion, holding it like a sword and thrusting at the man's adam's apple. It connected, and the old sailor stumbled backward, coughing and sputtering. Several of his fellows gathered back around to try and help him up, but he waved them off.
"Ya gonna regret tha'! Hope ya like ta swim with the sharks!"
The sailorman rushed at Jobe. The ex-soldier sidestepped his easily telegraphed tackle and stuck out the but of his cane, tripping him while striking at the man's shin.
The sailor howled in pain, and a commotion began to gather around the two men.
Back in Old Rose Harbor, near the northern Docks, he walked the cobbled streets with his usual walking cane leading the way.
They'd warned him against carrying the pistol cane in anything other than a true life or death situation. So far, he'd kept his word at leaving it in a secret compartment in his flat. He'd only taken it outin order to try it on some bottles, to see just how wide the spread of buckshot was. Wide enough that he didn't need perfect aim.
In any event, he didn't anticipate that this was the day he'd need it, being that this was his first day back in Old Rose. After some trouble in Vienda, they'd taken him aside. Must've been serious, for him to get sent over back to Old Rose, with all the acrimonious acquaintance that existed there for him. Nevertheless, it was made abundantly clear that his shit was his own, and not belonging to the Resistance.
So he made his way down along the wharves. Through the fishmarkets, he made his way, until he overheard a small hint of a conversation between a group of sailors.
"And lo, she spread her legs to reveal... a cluster of blue shankers. I nearly shat myself!"
A rumble of laughter spread among the men listening in, while a few ladies nearby just rolled their eyes and kept about their business. Jobe had no choice but to pass them by, as this was his path to his apartment. His knee had been bothering him again, and he didn't want to make a circle around the block to get where he was going.
"Came at me! Like a fireship, she did! Well, I did what any Circle-a-feared man would do! I stuck rapped her about the fore'ead and crammed it in ol' Gil's mouth."
Gil? He wasn't talking about Jobe's Gil. It was a common enough name, but that mention of a familiar name was enough to give him pause. He didn't like the thought of the mother of his child consorting with slimy fisherfolk and smugglers. He not much less the admission of how he'd treated this whore named Gil.
Grinding his teeth, he stood stock-still in the street for a moment. Leaning on his cane, his other hand drifted toward his hammer but stopped halfway there. He shook his head. Not worth bloodying his hammer.
The sailors meanwhile were snickering and guffawing at the heinous story the man had told, slapping him on the back like he was some hero returned from mortal danger. Jobe turned on his heel then and decided to say his mind. He began hobbling over and stood a few feet off from the men.
"I 'ear ya like ter wear yer sister's undies!" He uttered the insult with the ease of a crusty old-sailor. If that didn't...
"Wot?"
"That yer nursed on a donkey's teat till yer was a man grown."
The shaggy sailor's face drooped. And he turned to face Jobe, his hand on the hilt of a hangar knife. Jobe meanwhile, was ready, favoring his right leg so that the man wouldn't expect a cane rap agains the forehead.
"I'll give ya ta three seconds to go hobblin' along, ya gray cripple!"
Jobe did no such thing.
"Well then, spread out lads, let's see how fast this cripple can flail his arm..."
Jobe lifted his cane with one swift motion, holding it like a sword and thrusting at the man's adam's apple. It connected, and the old sailor stumbled backward, coughing and sputtering. Several of his fellows gathered back around to try and help him up, but he waved them off.
"Ya gonna regret tha'! Hope ya like ta swim with the sharks!"
The sailorman rushed at Jobe. The ex-soldier sidestepped his easily telegraphed tackle and stuck out the but of his cane, tripping him while striking at the man's shin.
The sailor howled in pain, and a commotion began to gather around the two men.
Roll
