Post by Vash Zwingli on Jul 21, 2010 14:33:09 GMT -5
Vash burst out of the alleyway onto the decrepit roadway. Who would be the person with all the information about street performers, in a city? It would have to be someone who spent just as much time on the street as Roderich... so a vagabond would be the best choice, most likely. Well, it seems like I'm in the right place. Vash looked on at the slums before him, disgusted at the neglect and squalor. How is it that in one place, there can be opulent manors and ramshackle shacks?
Vash was brought back from his thoughts by the sight of a figure running towards him.
"'scuse me, sorry! Whoop!" The boy ran into Vash, but quickly brought himself back to running. Vash brushed his shirt off when he felt something different: his pocket-watch was missing! Did I leave it at the shop when I left? Did I leave it at home? No! Where is it? The boy! That boy must have stolen it! Vash darted around, pulling the iron crossbow off his back. Vash ran in the direction of the boy, winching the crossbow. The pocket-watch was a parting gift from the leader of the exiles: "A Swiss watch, for a Swiss merc!" he'd said with a laugh. It was actually tougher on Vash than he'd expected; he'd grown attached to his close-knit group of friends while honing his skills with the outlaws.
"Come back here, thief!" Vash yelled, bashing through the crush of people. Suddenly he saw the boy in an opening of the crowd. Without hesitation, he leveled the crossbow at the boy. The seconds slowed as he pulled the trigger. He watched the gears free the string, watched the bolt move off of the crossbow. The bolt slammed into the boy, who crumpled to the ground. The onlookers screamed in shock and ran in all directions. Vash walked steadily towards the form laying on the ground. When he reached the boy, he rolled him over, and searched his pockets. Finding his pocket-watch, he righted the boy, sitting him up against an abandoned wagon.
"Get over it, you're not dead. I used a blunt-tip bolt. You're lucky I didn't kill you. Next time you steal from me I'll only use barbed tips. Next time you steal from me, you die. Remember that."
Vash turned and started on his way back home.
Vash was brought back from his thoughts by the sight of a figure running towards him.
"'scuse me, sorry! Whoop!" The boy ran into Vash, but quickly brought himself back to running. Vash brushed his shirt off when he felt something different: his pocket-watch was missing! Did I leave it at the shop when I left? Did I leave it at home? No! Where is it? The boy! That boy must have stolen it! Vash darted around, pulling the iron crossbow off his back. Vash ran in the direction of the boy, winching the crossbow. The pocket-watch was a parting gift from the leader of the exiles: "A Swiss watch, for a Swiss merc!" he'd said with a laugh. It was actually tougher on Vash than he'd expected; he'd grown attached to his close-knit group of friends while honing his skills with the outlaws.
"Come back here, thief!" Vash yelled, bashing through the crush of people. Suddenly he saw the boy in an opening of the crowd. Without hesitation, he leveled the crossbow at the boy. The seconds slowed as he pulled the trigger. He watched the gears free the string, watched the bolt move off of the crossbow. The bolt slammed into the boy, who crumpled to the ground. The onlookers screamed in shock and ran in all directions. Vash walked steadily towards the form laying on the ground. When he reached the boy, he rolled him over, and searched his pockets. Finding his pocket-watch, he righted the boy, sitting him up against an abandoned wagon.
"Get over it, you're not dead. I used a blunt-tip bolt. You're lucky I didn't kill you. Next time you steal from me I'll only use barbed tips. Next time you steal from me, you die. Remember that."
Vash turned and started on his way back home.