- Thrown away dirty parchment blowing somewhere close to the Scholar Stairs -
I asked her not to play with me. To tell me the truth. For is that not all that one has for another; truth and respect? Love takes time. I don't ask that she not cheat, that she not go out and flirt with other men, talk to them and let them buy her drinks. Gods, at least I don't have to spend my own coin.
I met with Stryk and Piperel talking when I came into the Pony. As for the man's previous transgressions, none worse than mine, being as drunk as a bastard's son, I came to appreciate his humor. It was an interesting conversation. Piperel was a bit taken by drink by that time, celebrating her new job with the company. I could see the man's lustful leers, undressing her in his mind. I don't blame him, I'd have done the same in his circumstance. She seems to revel at the attention, bask in the knowing other men would ravage her, but as long as she comes back home to me, and I am the one alleviating her enthusiastic desire, I don't mind.
I'm not one to run after a woman. I never will - never shall. I want her to understand that completely. She can do as she pleases. I will not cage her. Not force her. Not bind her. Not make her promise. I will give her freedom. To do as she wants. She's too precious to me, and want her happy. All I ask for is honesty, the truth. From there we can see. I love her, I think.
It was when I returned from her apartment and striding through Bree's streets, on my way to the blacksmith to inquire about that sword I saw for sale, that I started thinking about the sad state of my dastardly purse. All my pay all poured down my eager throat. I have that Shire contract I run with the wagon to deliver supplies, there's still a lot lacking. I dread the day Taala ask about the demon horse I was to retrieve from Rohan. It's quite a while ago and I think she knows. She's knows I fucked up there. All I can do now is just be prepared for the worst, perhaps look for other means of income. Yet, I have no skill beyond my blades. I can't cook, build, or even make a damn table for that matter; and to cut wood would be just too bloody boring.
It was within that frame of mind which I entered the Pony once again, having paid my visit to Beggars Alley, that I saw the big bundle of joy who I thought was "The Bear" standing in the smoke riddled room. Corrben was there as well, which proved to be a damn hindrance more than anything. Perhaps I wanted to be fucked up, bludgeoned, beaten to a pulp. I get those strange urges to torture myself. I should, then, probably thank the cunt for stopping this. In the end the contract got away and I'm still without gold. At least Corrben got his arse handed to him. There's always joy to be found somewhere.
