Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Site Write Entry #27: The Beggar

Prompt: June 2, 2012 - While in Stormwind, your character is stalked by a homeless fellow. He doesn't say a word to you and won't let you outrun him. There is nothing pleasant about him, so much to your character's annoyance, you're forced to interact with him. What happens? Ultimately, the beggar just wants a slice of cheese you may or may not have.
. . . . . His was the dirt of a thousand nights spent in alleys, and the stench of those nights spent wallowing in the trash bins for scraps. He was ragged and torn, matted with gummy substances she had no desire to identify. What might well have been blood crusted on one ear and he limped in a manner which suggested the leg had been broken and healed back funny. But most annoyingly of all, he would not stop following her.
. . . . . She tried to lose him down a side street in the Trade District, but he caught up. She tried to escape with a quick detour over the canal on a path of frost, but he jumped into the foul black moat and swam to follow her. She even tried a chilly glare which - when coupled with her dead grey skin and the unholy blue glow of her eyes - could quell even some hardened military commanders, but he just tilted his head to the right and gave her a droll stare.
. . . . . Quite soon, she would be at the unit's branch office in the Dwarven District, and the last thing she needed was to have this filthy thing follow her all the way to the door. Valdiis needed to shake this beggar off before someone noticed and started asking questions. Hooves ringing on the cobblestone, she darted starboard into one of the tributaries of Cut-throat Alley. One hand on the hilt of her axe over her back, she turned to level a second cold glare at her follower. He sat down on the ground in front of her.
. . . . . "Oh, for Naaru's sake," she muttered. "Vhat is it you vant?"
. . . . . Slowly, his muddy blue gaze traveled from her face down to the fawn-colored pouch buckled to her hip.
. . . . . "Zis? Zis has been empty for two years now!" She pulled the pouch off and opened it, turning it inside out to show. Out fell a half-inch square of Emmentaler cheese. Quick as a cat, her follower was off his behind and snatched up the fallen morsel. Equally as quick, he was gone, his dun-colored tail swishing behind him as he sauntered off with his prize.
. . . . . "Huh," she muttered. "And here I imagined ze cats had ceased followink me."

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