Don't Drink the Water

[Lazybones]

"What's troubling me," William scoffed, pausing to give a parting glance to the woman he'd startled, "is that some random cretin has been following me around the city. If you're looking to rob me, you should know I have no qualms about cutting your throat, much less scaring pretty young women." The ravosalaman winked slyly at the lingering woman. She cringed in revulsion and hurried along the street, quickly melting into the steady current of passersby.

The weapon was lowered as a courtesy, but remained candid at his side, still ready for use. In William's other hand was his pay satchel, little more than a cheap burlap sack that might make a decent flail if he needed a second means of defending himself. In reality, he doubted the stranger would fight him or even harbored malicious intent, but again—a Ravokian doesn't take chances. As a ravosalaman, he'd seen his share of trickery and back alley murder.

"Your opinion of my health has been duly noted, I assure you," William chuckled, not even trying to sound convincing. He assumed a more lax posture, leaning back again on the lamp post. "Is that why you followed me? A stranger's concern for his fellow man's well-being? That'd be touching, if I were moronic enough to believe it."