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Message: <blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 1485245" data-attributes="member: 41">Ready’reat 4, CY 59384—Breakin’ up is hard to do. (Part 1)And so the general of hot desireWas sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.This brand she quenched in a cool well by,Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,Growing a bath and healthful remedyFor men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.--Shakespeare, CLIV.The Boon Companions run the city, no question about it.  Hennet likes to look the part—in fact, if you ask him, he’ll tell you that accessorizing is a must.  If you’re a hot-sh-t, high-speed adventurer, you need two things: leather clothes and magic items.  If you’re also a big-time stud, you’ll need leather, magic items, buckles and tattoos.  Take a look at Hennet—take a good look:  Buckles?  From bits to t-ts.  Leather?  Nothing but the finest calfskin, baby.  Magic items?  Slap on a d-magic on and watch him light up like a daylight spell.  Tattoos?  Sh-t, Hennet’s wearing more ink than most scribes use in a lifetime, and it’s all masterwork.Look, when Hennet walks into a room, he’s checking for the second finest bitch, because the first is who he came with.  Got it?The patrons of the Terrible Two Linnorm get it.  Big time.  So do Kerwin and Regdar.  Now, Hennet is used to being approached by strangers.  Most of them just want an autograph, or to tell the lads at work that they shook hands with Hennet.  Yeah, man, the Hennet.  So he’s not that surprised when a trio of hay-seed provincials show up and start in on Regdar, without so much as an “aren’t you the guy who . . .”.  Something in the tone of the conversation draws Hennet’s attention.  Who let these dumbasses make Charisma their dump stat?  “Come again?” Hennet asks, his confident sneer summarizing his first impression.“I’m not talking to you.”  The balding pasty-skinned man is standing in front of Regdar with his little toothpick arms crossed in front of his chest.  His clothes are cut from the ends of the bolts, and there’s not a stitch of leather to be seen any higher than his ankles.  “Redga . . . r, I’ve come for my things, and then I’ll go.”“Oh for f-ck’s sake,” Regdar says, his deep baritone dropping to a whisper.  “Not here, Crim,” he hisses.“You used to call me Jespie.”  The scarecrow starts to cry.“Reg.  My man.  Who the f-ck is this?”  Hennet is looking around to make sure that people know that he’s still asking the questions around here.“I thought we established that nobody’s talking to you.”  The sawed-off little black-haired bastard pulls up a chair and leans on it, staring hard at Hennet.  Hennet’s seen that look before—usually from things that Jozan then dismisses.  He opens his mouth and then closes it. “You’re first,” the little man whispers.  “So you know.”“What?”  Hennet’s still smiling, but this doesn’t feel funny.Regdar stands up, his plate armor clanking.  He seems embarrassed to be so overdressed, but Hennet always insists that the Boon Companions be “ready to rock—any time, any place.”  Of course, Hennet doesn’t wear 80 pounds of gear.Regdar is sweating.  “Jespo . . . Jespie.  Let’s take this outside where we can talk.”  The barrel-chested fighter casts sideways glances at Hennet and Kerwin, then shoots Jespo a pleading look.“No, Redga.  No, I am not going to let you sway me with your sweet talk.  You lied to me.”  The tears are streaming freely now.Hennet laughs out loud.  This must be a joke.  “Well, sh-t, Regdar, if you have friends in town you should have told us.” He leans back and tucks his fingers into buckles.  “Why don’t we all relax and have a drink?”  Hennet waves his arm-candy away.  “Why don’t you go get us some drinks, doll . . . across town.  All of you, get lost.”At this, the tavern begins to clear out, the patrons reluctant to leave, but also eager to please.Lucius smiles, but doesn’t take his eyes off Hennet.  Kerwin leans back in his chair.  There was a stretch of Kerwin’s life where he was concerned with rounding himself out and becoming distinctive.  But that time has passed.  A long adventuring career has taught him that violence trumps personality every time; a smart rogue should be concerned with striking first.  He casually puts his fingers on the brace of daggers hidden under the table and lets the black-haired human catch him sizing up the whimpering mage.   Two can play at this game.Regdar grabs Jespo by the upper arm, and leans in close.  “Let’s take this outside, please.”“Ah, look here f-cker.” The filthy, wild-eyed dwarf hasn’t spoken before, but he steps forward and plants his palm on Regdar’s chest.  “Nobody’s going outside, and nobody touches Crim.”“I’m here for the magic items I made you,” Jespo snivels.  “You can keep any other treasure you earned.”Hennet’s smirk has returned.  Ah ha, it’s all about money.  “Regdar, you sly dog.  You’ve been adventuring behind my back?”“Hennet, I got this,” Regdar says over his shoulder.  “Jespo, you need to leave,” he pleads softly.  “Hennet is getting mad.”“Hennet?” Jespo shrieks.  “Is that what this is about?  How can you be so concerned with his feelings, when you don’t even care about mine?  We were betrothed, Regdar.  Doesn’t what we had mean anything to you?”Regdar puts his face into his hands.  “What the f-ck, man?” Hennet is staring at Jespo disgustedly, shaking his head.  He starts to say something, but Lucius interrupts him.  In the throat.</blockquote>

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