Drake Caine ⚔ Theseus (abductorofwomen) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-01-10 00:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !zurvan, theseus |
I know what I am [closed/complete]
Character: Theseus + NPCS [solo log]
Date/Time: January 10th, after midnight
Location: Camlann, brothel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of abuse and violence, very subtle implications of sex
Summary: Problem solving.
In their neighbourhood, they ruled like kings (better than kings). From the rich they stole, to the poor they gave. They struck balance and they could also take it away. They spoke the words that had to be acknowledged. And they had the muscle to deal with certain types of disputes.
Such as the half of one that had come to him one afternoon. A pretty face on one side yet a swollen mess on the other. She was on the smaller side - bird-like, really. Plaintive complaints about her injuries before the more vulgar-worded ones were made about a man who came to her now and then, knocked her about too hard when he came to her for her services. The brothel owner was turning the blind eye, she told him vehemently while he traced a pattern over her knee. Likely taking an extra bit of coin to let him get away with it.
Lazily, he smiled at her, one hand on her shoulder nudging her backward, and told her he would look into it.
For several days now, Theseus had watched and waited. Women lied as much as men and there was no reason to believe her. A number of reasons came to him as to why could be lying and equal number as to why she could not be. And then he saw the described fellow, saw payment be made before an extra amount slid over, just nearly out of sight.
He waited for the man to go up the stairs before strolling in, offering the brothel owner a smile - don't go anywhere, your turn's after his - and followed the target. In time to hear the outraged cry of a female and a barely stifled sob of pain. His casual and sudden entry was objected to, of course, but he offered no apology. None whatsoever as he crossed the room with swift steps and planted a balled-up fist to one side of the man's face.
It wasn't the cleanest fight he'd ever had. He'd walk away with a split lip, gash on his forehead and aching ribs. But by the end of it all, he had come up victorious, had grasped his opponent by the hair and had delivered him his only choice outside of death.
"Leave Camlann. I recommend Glastheim. Should cool that ardour of yours."
He was not a hero, would likely never be a true one. But sometimes he could be something less than a thorn.