>> The Coin Purse
Bale Andros stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. Stretching his arms out, he allowed the heat to pour over his bare chest and sore muscles. Half his face still throbbed from the pain. Ork had served him quite the beating and shown surprising swiftness behind his immense strength. Bale’s victory, however, had not been so surprising; he was after all the best damned clandestine pit fighter in the city. Still, the Roegadyn had been more than he bargained for. Bale could not help but grin at the thought. In truth, and he would never admit it, Bale wasn’t particularly good with his fists. His endurance, earned from years of mining under the desert sun, was his saving grace. He could take more punishment than any of his adversaries. He could endure the beating and land key, decisive blows.
“Good fight,†he commented to himself cheerfully as he stretched, enjoying the heat warmth of the sun.
Bale just wished he’d bet more money. The matchmaker had lied to him. Most spectators had in fact put their money on Ork, not Bale. Fools, the lot of them, he thought with a shake of his head. I should’ve bet more than ten gils, damnit. Still, the bulging coin purse at his side would have to suffice.
“Could’ve gotten a second one like that,†he grumbled as he checked the pouch to make sure it safely hung to his belt.
A group of guards rounded the corner as he stepped away from the tavern beneath which the clandestine fights were held. He dipped his head, passed by them avoiding eye contact, and picked up the pace. The guards were clearly heading for the tavern, and armed as they were, they were not looking for a drink. One of the guards halted and turned to Bale.
“You come from in there, boy?†asked the guard, poking a thumb over his shoulder at the tavern.
Bale turned and gave his best, full-teethed smile. He couldn’t help but laugh: the guard was a short, baby-faced Hyur with thin, scraggly chin hair. In every way, Bale dwarfed him. He was over twelve inches taller, and twice as large at the shoulders. His biceps alone were as thick as the guard’s body. Sure, Bale was young, maybe younger than the guard, but he did not look the part.
“What are you laughing at? I asked you a question!â€Â
“Boy? I mean, really, sir? I gots more facial hair than you do,†Bale shrugged, still smiling.
The guard’s expression darkened, his cheeks infused with glowing red. Bale could hear the leather of the guard’s gloves tightening around his lance. Bale threw his hands up before his chest apologetically.
“No, sir, I don’t come from there. I live in the district beyond, I’m heading out to the mines.â€Â
“At this time of day?â€Â
“Aye! A man does what he can for his monies.â€Â
The guard looked Bale up and down. His eyes settled on the pouch dangling at his side.
“Don’t seem to be doing all too bad for yourself,†he said, his eyes narrowed.
Bale followed the gaze and gulped. His mind raced for a moment before he smiled again and said, “Oy, I’d be doing a whole lot better if that wasn’t destined for the smithy! Gots to pay for the repaired gear, yes?â€Â
The guards glared silently, struggling to decide whether they believed him or not.
Bale broke the silence, “Maybe I can join you boys for a drink after work, ya?â€Â
This seemed to jolt one of the guards. He first looked away, then waved his hand at the pit fighter, “Carry on, lad.â€Â
Relieved, Bale turned and made for the market place. The real trick would be to bluff himself out of trouble a second time should he bump into these fellows again today. He would have to try and remain inconspicuous. Shouts and the sound of shattering glass exploded from the tavern as Bale rounded a corner.
While walking, Bale touched the purse at his side. He had lied to the guards. The money was not destined for the smithy. It would pay the weekly rations for his parents and himself. What with his mother senile and his father having lost the use of his legs in a mining accident some years past, he’d long become the family’s bread winner. Mining represented his main source of income, but that was not enough. Repairs were often needed. The rest paid the rent and the essentials. Pit fighting allowed him to round off the week and provide more than dried, black bread and hard cheeses. Life wasn’t easy in Ul’dah but Bale wasn’t one to complain.
“I really wish I’d bet more,†he muttered...
Laina slumped against the wall of her hideout and burped. Simpering, her little hands over her full belly, she leaned into her makeshift pillow fashioned from a hay-filled linen sack. After such a feast she was struggling to stay awake. If she slept now, though, she would be up all night; a concept she didn’t much care for. While night in the desert was by far the best time of day, it was also ruled by gangs and ruffians. Over the years, she had faced her fair share of trouble with their lot, some only days before, and now vowed to steer clear of them. She would die before becoming some gang’s plaything! Daytime was much safer... albeit boring as hell, she admitted.
She rolled to her stomach, stuffed the grass pillow beneath her stomach and chin, and watched as unsuspecting citizens passed under her rooftop hideout. There were so many people in Ul’dah. Even more now that the parades were mere days away. She couldn’t wait, either. Parades meant crowds; lovely, chaotic crowds.
To pass the time, she made up stories for those passing below her. Where were they going? Where were they born? What were their goals? Where had they gotten those scars? Why was that woman so sad? Sometimes she saw children tagging along with their parents. She watched and daydreamed as they passed in and out of sight, in and out of her life. She sighed. She rarely contemplated what life might have been if she had known her parents, if she had a family, if she had someone at all, but when she saw children with their parents, it touched her.
Laina observed the passersby for a while longer, fighting sleep. She was about to give in when her blurred vision locked on a muscular, shirtless Hyur-clearly a fighter-and, more importantly, on the bulging pouch hanging from his belt. The clinking sound of coins sang in her ears. At that moment, all thoughts of sleep were gone.
With her tongue poking out the side of a mouth like a child mooning over candy, she considered her potential target. The man was tall, rugged, big and definitely strong. There were bruises on his upper chest and his thick arms, and there was dried blood around his split lips. Shoulder-length brown hair, streaked with lighter, golden strands, tied back in a ponytail, framed his strong-featured face. The days old stubble gave him an unkempt, rough look. He looked every part the ruffian, but something about him seemed different. He was exhausted. Laina couldn’t help but grin. An easy mark if I ever saw one, she thought.
Suddenly enthusiastic and alert, she kicked her legs over the edge and hopped down to a small overhang. From there, she nimbly climbed down to a window silt, then another before she dropped into the street. Dusting her hands, she looked around for the man. She spotted him some ways ahead. He was rubbing his neck and motioning frantically, clearly flustered. She couldn’t hear his words, but he seemed to be apologizing to a Lalafell that, she suspected, he had unwittingly trampled. The tiny doll-like creature did not look offended one bit though, and was grinning up at the man. The Lalafell said something, and pointed to his head. Laina noticed that he was wearing a copper helmet. It was partially dented, but otherwise, he seemed no worse for the wear, if a little dusty. As she crept closer, she could hear him speak.
“No worries, friend!†said the Lalafell, standing with his fists to his hips and his chest puffed out proudly, “With Jango’s fine helmets, you don’t have to worry about being stepped on by the tall folk!â€Â
The Hyur man was blank faced, still trying to mouth an apology. He blinked once, scratched his head and said, “Jango, huh?â€Â
Meanwhile, Laina edged ever closer, using passersby as cover, trying to maintain an innocent, uninterested look. It wasn’t easy. She swallowed the urge to giggle at the Lalafell merchant’s amusing peddling.
“Indeed, mister! Jango’s the name! Look at that face of yours! All bruised up and bloodied! You should buy a helmet and protect that noggin’. How about it, mister...?â€Â
Looking abashed, the Hyur man frowned and looked to his coin purse. “Call me Bale. So er... how much?â€Â
“How much you got?†asked Jango, shrugging.
Bale fingered his pouch for a moment before answering, “291 gil... but...â€Â
“Oh no! No no no. That’s no good. I’d be out of a house if I accepted that price. No no no!â€Â
“Well, its all I got,†answered the Hyur. He was looking relieved, if somewhat bewildered. He crossed his arms, regaining some of his composure.
This was her opening. Laina closed in on Bale swiftly, keeping in his shadow so that the Lalafell would not spot her.
“Maybe next time,†said Jango gleefully.
“Well, again, I’m sorry about that,†apologized Bale, “At least accept this for the trouble.â€Â
Laina wrapped her hand around the pouch, felt the weight of coins and... a large hand closed around her’s.
Bale Andros stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. Stretching his arms out, he allowed the heat to pour over his bare chest and sore muscles. Half his face still throbbed from the pain. Ork had served him quite the beating and shown surprising swiftness behind his immense strength. Bale’s victory, however, had not been so surprising; he was after all the best damned clandestine pit fighter in the city. Still, the Roegadyn had been more than he bargained for. Bale could not help but grin at the thought. In truth, and he would never admit it, Bale wasn’t particularly good with his fists. His endurance, earned from years of mining under the desert sun, was his saving grace. He could take more punishment than any of his adversaries. He could endure the beating and land key, decisive blows.
“Good fight,†he commented to himself cheerfully as he stretched, enjoying the heat warmth of the sun.
Bale just wished he’d bet more money. The matchmaker had lied to him. Most spectators had in fact put their money on Ork, not Bale. Fools, the lot of them, he thought with a shake of his head. I should’ve bet more than ten gils, damnit. Still, the bulging coin purse at his side would have to suffice.
“Could’ve gotten a second one like that,†he grumbled as he checked the pouch to make sure it safely hung to his belt.
A group of guards rounded the corner as he stepped away from the tavern beneath which the clandestine fights were held. He dipped his head, passed by them avoiding eye contact, and picked up the pace. The guards were clearly heading for the tavern, and armed as they were, they were not looking for a drink. One of the guards halted and turned to Bale.
“You come from in there, boy?†asked the guard, poking a thumb over his shoulder at the tavern.
Bale turned and gave his best, full-teethed smile. He couldn’t help but laugh: the guard was a short, baby-faced Hyur with thin, scraggly chin hair. In every way, Bale dwarfed him. He was over twelve inches taller, and twice as large at the shoulders. His biceps alone were as thick as the guard’s body. Sure, Bale was young, maybe younger than the guard, but he did not look the part.
“What are you laughing at? I asked you a question!â€Â
“Boy? I mean, really, sir? I gots more facial hair than you do,†Bale shrugged, still smiling.
The guard’s expression darkened, his cheeks infused with glowing red. Bale could hear the leather of the guard’s gloves tightening around his lance. Bale threw his hands up before his chest apologetically.
“No, sir, I don’t come from there. I live in the district beyond, I’m heading out to the mines.â€Â
“At this time of day?â€Â
“Aye! A man does what he can for his monies.â€Â
The guard looked Bale up and down. His eyes settled on the pouch dangling at his side.
“Don’t seem to be doing all too bad for yourself,†he said, his eyes narrowed.
Bale followed the gaze and gulped. His mind raced for a moment before he smiled again and said, “Oy, I’d be doing a whole lot better if that wasn’t destined for the smithy! Gots to pay for the repaired gear, yes?â€Â
The guards glared silently, struggling to decide whether they believed him or not.
Bale broke the silence, “Maybe I can join you boys for a drink after work, ya?â€Â
This seemed to jolt one of the guards. He first looked away, then waved his hand at the pit fighter, “Carry on, lad.â€Â
Relieved, Bale turned and made for the market place. The real trick would be to bluff himself out of trouble a second time should he bump into these fellows again today. He would have to try and remain inconspicuous. Shouts and the sound of shattering glass exploded from the tavern as Bale rounded a corner.
While walking, Bale touched the purse at his side. He had lied to the guards. The money was not destined for the smithy. It would pay the weekly rations for his parents and himself. What with his mother senile and his father having lost the use of his legs in a mining accident some years past, he’d long become the family’s bread winner. Mining represented his main source of income, but that was not enough. Repairs were often needed. The rest paid the rent and the essentials. Pit fighting allowed him to round off the week and provide more than dried, black bread and hard cheeses. Life wasn’t easy in Ul’dah but Bale wasn’t one to complain.
“I really wish I’d bet more,†he muttered...
***
Laina slumped against the wall of her hideout and burped. Simpering, her little hands over her full belly, she leaned into her makeshift pillow fashioned from a hay-filled linen sack. After such a feast she was struggling to stay awake. If she slept now, though, she would be up all night; a concept she didn’t much care for. While night in the desert was by far the best time of day, it was also ruled by gangs and ruffians. Over the years, she had faced her fair share of trouble with their lot, some only days before, and now vowed to steer clear of them. She would die before becoming some gang’s plaything! Daytime was much safer... albeit boring as hell, she admitted.
She rolled to her stomach, stuffed the grass pillow beneath her stomach and chin, and watched as unsuspecting citizens passed under her rooftop hideout. There were so many people in Ul’dah. Even more now that the parades were mere days away. She couldn’t wait, either. Parades meant crowds; lovely, chaotic crowds.
To pass the time, she made up stories for those passing below her. Where were they going? Where were they born? What were their goals? Where had they gotten those scars? Why was that woman so sad? Sometimes she saw children tagging along with their parents. She watched and daydreamed as they passed in and out of sight, in and out of her life. She sighed. She rarely contemplated what life might have been if she had known her parents, if she had a family, if she had someone at all, but when she saw children with their parents, it touched her.
Laina observed the passersby for a while longer, fighting sleep. She was about to give in when her blurred vision locked on a muscular, shirtless Hyur-clearly a fighter-and, more importantly, on the bulging pouch hanging from his belt. The clinking sound of coins sang in her ears. At that moment, all thoughts of sleep were gone.
With her tongue poking out the side of a mouth like a child mooning over candy, she considered her potential target. The man was tall, rugged, big and definitely strong. There were bruises on his upper chest and his thick arms, and there was dried blood around his split lips. Shoulder-length brown hair, streaked with lighter, golden strands, tied back in a ponytail, framed his strong-featured face. The days old stubble gave him an unkempt, rough look. He looked every part the ruffian, but something about him seemed different. He was exhausted. Laina couldn’t help but grin. An easy mark if I ever saw one, she thought.
Suddenly enthusiastic and alert, she kicked her legs over the edge and hopped down to a small overhang. From there, she nimbly climbed down to a window silt, then another before she dropped into the street. Dusting her hands, she looked around for the man. She spotted him some ways ahead. He was rubbing his neck and motioning frantically, clearly flustered. She couldn’t hear his words, but he seemed to be apologizing to a Lalafell that, she suspected, he had unwittingly trampled. The tiny doll-like creature did not look offended one bit though, and was grinning up at the man. The Lalafell said something, and pointed to his head. Laina noticed that he was wearing a copper helmet. It was partially dented, but otherwise, he seemed no worse for the wear, if a little dusty. As she crept closer, she could hear him speak.
“No worries, friend!†said the Lalafell, standing with his fists to his hips and his chest puffed out proudly, “With Jango’s fine helmets, you don’t have to worry about being stepped on by the tall folk!â€Â
The Hyur man was blank faced, still trying to mouth an apology. He blinked once, scratched his head and said, “Jango, huh?â€Â
Meanwhile, Laina edged ever closer, using passersby as cover, trying to maintain an innocent, uninterested look. It wasn’t easy. She swallowed the urge to giggle at the Lalafell merchant’s amusing peddling.
“Indeed, mister! Jango’s the name! Look at that face of yours! All bruised up and bloodied! You should buy a helmet and protect that noggin’. How about it, mister...?â€Â
Looking abashed, the Hyur man frowned and looked to his coin purse. “Call me Bale. So er... how much?â€Â
“How much you got?†asked Jango, shrugging.
Bale fingered his pouch for a moment before answering, “291 gil... but...â€Â
“Oh no! No no no. That’s no good. I’d be out of a house if I accepted that price. No no no!â€Â
“Well, its all I got,†answered the Hyur. He was looking relieved, if somewhat bewildered. He crossed his arms, regaining some of his composure.
This was her opening. Laina closed in on Bale swiftly, keeping in his shadow so that the Lalafell would not spot her.
“Maybe next time,†said Jango gleefully.
“Well, again, I’m sorry about that,†apologized Bale, “At least accept this for the trouble.â€Â
Laina wrapped her hand around the pouch, felt the weight of coins and... a large hand closed around her’s.
Shiny, lets be bad guys!