86th of Fall
“Tighter,” Ulric growled, thrusting back his annoyance, even as he cursed the tiny fingers that kept trying to lace up the suit of padding over his bare chest. “Tighter.” Squirt gave another heave, straining thin arms. The effort was sadly deficient. “Never mind, then.”
“Fine.” The boy’s face twisted as though he was ready to stick out his tongue, jaw jerking up pugnaciously. “Your breath stinks, anyway.”
“You’re one to talk,” Ulric snorted, beckoning over his Gasvik, who deftly laced the padding and reached for the scaled pauldrons. “You’re probably afraid of your own piss, much less taking a dip in the waves.” Desank gave a chuckle at that, a reedy rasping from deep in his chest, bursting forth from the scar of his lips, the bluntly curving tusks that protruded from angular, azure features.
“I’m not scared!”
“Yeah? Bet you can’t swim, either. Not that it matters. Hurl a rat in the water, it thrashes around for a while before it drowns. We used to wager on that in the canals,” he explained, while the pauldrons were buckled over his back, the scales backed by leather cinched over his knees and elbows, and then around his chest, skirt dangling to his lower thigh. “Had lots of rats, y’see. And water.”
“But you ate them.” Squirt sidled away furtively, no doubt making for the cask in the corner. Ulric just grunted.
“Rat isn’t so bad,” he scratched at his chin, fondly reminiscing. “Just a bit stringy, though you’ll soon find out if you walk just a bit further, or shyke forbid, break my last mug." Naama, you cruel slut, he frowned, the brutal sundering of his most beloved object of crockery yet an aching thorn in his back, a festering sore in his gut. Even now, he was staunchly unable to forgive. Squirt jumped, blanching as if struck, but kept his bearing and wandered back to the edge of the pit, where he nudged a tiny rock into the gloomy depths with his toe.
“Why won’t you say what it’s for?”
“You’ll see, maybe.”
“Can I pee in there?”
“Don’t.”
“You did last night. You were drunk, again.” Squirt’s face melded into a vicious grin, as though scenting victory, fingers tapping against the stained, crumbling plaster. Me, drunk? Ulric stifled a snort, cast around for a biting retort as the plates were fit around his back and chest, the straps jerked until they were taut.
“The door was too far away.” He lifted his arms, let the brown surcoat drape his shoulders, and then reached for his cloak, draped the heavy sable around his neck with the worn silver inlay of his father’s whalebone clasp. Fathering, now there’s a strange notion, he thought absently, fingers lingering on the circular clasp, trying to recall that kindly, bearded face. Sadly, we forget very quickly. “And besides, I can do that shyke because I’m large and enjoy crushing faces.”
“We should move.” Squirt scratched under his arm, no doubt trying to eradicate yet another nest of fleas. “You have loads of money, right? Why do we have to stay in this dingy shack?” He’s like a dog, a feral, reeking dog. Ulric began to snarl, but he was rudely interrupted by Desank, just contented himself with ferociously yanking on his gauntlets, hungering to bash something to a pulp.
“Jsu dauf woone dfbub, adubf weon.”
“Desank says you talk too much,” Ulric growled, even though he hadn’t the faintest notion of was the Gasvik was trying to say. “And besides, my shack is comfy, clear, and very near to my heart.”
“Ha, you rhymed.”
“Shut your face, and cease your griping.” Ulric slung the shield over his back, eagerly grasped the haft of his bearded axe, vaguely debating a swift, yet gentle poke in the arse. “And in case you forget, you’re a petching orphan, a rat of the winding lanes and heaps of dung. If you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your belly, why do you keep grumbling?”
“You peed in the pit.” Squirt frowned, hands on his hips, skinny chest thrust accusingly.
“So?”
“Ysun adif bb oafn u yafbubd abfb. Winf abfb onf yadibfb yd adfv oomafd qbw.” Desank was on the prowl, unfurling his long, barely splayed legs, making nearly frantic gestures to accompany his jabber.
“What did I say before?” Ulric wagged a finger. “Don’t upset the Gasvik. That’s another blemish against you, lad.”
“But… I was in the pit last night,” Squirt veritably snarled, his entire body convulsing vehemently, face twisting in a paroxysm of horrified anger. “You peed on my face!”
Ah.
Shyke.
Didn't improve the stench, either.
“Um, sorry?” Ulric fought back a grimace, while simultaneously biting his tongue to keep from bursting into laughter. “You really shouldn’t hang around there.” Squirt’s jaw thrust at him again, eyes flashing.
“You’re an awful person.”
“Probably,” Ulric gave a shrug. “Now come on, and don’t drag your heels, lad. We’ve got to buy you some… shiny toys.”
OOCNaama consents to the use of her NPC.
