[Flashback] Riff Raff (Jokor)

[Hawkins]

35th Spring, 508 AV The Docks Oh, balls. They were fast. Hawkins, no more than a heads distance away from his pursuers, felt his muscles burned as he pumped his arms, legs thudding against the thick wood of the Leg's Other Leg, passing the various docked ships and the torrent of traffic that often accompanied the midday tide. And what a day it was! Clear skies and a bright, sunny day, with the seaborne breeze the temperature was a pleasant, crisp mix of jolly and adequate. Why, Hawkins would have spent the day in a jovial had he not three very angry, very armed men attempting to separate his head from his neck. His coat fluttered behind him as he sped off, long, powerful strides sending him sailing past the commoners and other variant bunches that crowded the docks. Egressing from his pier, the sailor jumped, slid, and half-flipped over a cart obscuring his path, his entire body slumping at the end and hitting the ground with a dull roll that lasted for entirely too long. Fortunately, his pursuers were not so dedicated. By the time the cart was moved from the path, Hawkins had pushed himself up and the chase was on yet again. He twisted. Leaping over a small gap between the upper docks and one of the lower levels, the man slipped his way into the Seaside Market. The men followed. Hawkins cursed. A sudden turn brought him down a flight of stairs that erupted into the crowded bazaar flooded up to the stalls themselves with seawater. The merchants were well about in the daily meanderings, shouting, gouging, and otherwise making a living while various hired boats drifted through the narrows in their designed tasks. Hawkins was not bothered. He made his way from one platform to the next, hurling, jumping, and skipping about as the obstacles came. One bound after the next. On his last leg, Hawkins vaulted over a stall full of assorted jewelery and plowed past the salesman. He stopped, sudden, and spun about, his hands shifting beneath the counter and lifting the merchandise up. In a matter of moments there was a scattering of priceless gems littering the platform. The chaos was palpable. A mass of shoppers assailed the lose jewels, clawing, biting, and fighting their way toward the mass of it. In the rush Hawkins pursuers were swallowed. And yet he did not stick around to see it. Several long, arduous strides later, the sailor set himself down near the edge of the rocky shore, hunkering down beneath one of the piers and settling in with his back up to a firm mast. Whew. He bothered to breath. Grasping at his hat, he let his hair down and shook himself out, relaxed and relieved that, once more, he still owned his head. How nice. Maybe he would stay down here for a little bit. Away from the traffic, he caught the smooth, cool sounds of the shoreline. Waves crashing against rock. Gulls called to their companions, men shouted from distant docks. Out on the ocean he watched as ships passed in and out of the harbor. That was nice. It was only a matter of time before something else tortured him.