tirocks

Chapter 2

Dec 31st, 2017
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  1. It's a brisk walk through the meandering streets, the soft scuff of your leather boots contrasting the loud clops of your new purchase's hooves on cobblestone as the two of you hastily make your way out of the more destitute district of the bustling city. While not a haunt that you would almost never willingly find yourself in, today's excursion was a necessary evil in order to secure your purchase. You can't help but frown to yourself as you notice the impending weather above. The cloudy, overcast grey skies threatened rain as the rapidly moving front brought with it chill winds. You draw up your coat, bringing up the collars to help protect your neck from the air's cold fingers as your eyes lazily wander over your captive. Glancing around, you are not quite sure what is it that makes you more uncomfortable- the leers of the ragged denizens at your personage or their covetous stares at the horned creature. While normally a well-accepted badge of pride, your well-kept and custom-tailored clothing only serves to make you stand out. And with your general dislike of this class of folks, that attention was not at all welcome, with the odd choice of companion only eliciting more of the distasteful stares.
  2. You give the lead a slight tug, eliciting an angry huff from her as you quicken the pace, eager to distance yourself away from the crowd. Despite the clear envy in their unwholesome stares, the attention served to feed the unicorn's ego as she drew herself up demurely. The way she held her head aloft, showing off a gentle neck unharmed by hard labor despite the slight dirtiness of her previous state stirred a sense of admiration in you. However, that brief moment of distracted enjoyment was quickly dashed as, to your annoyance, you notice a particularly unpleasant wretch of a man following behind the two of you. It was obviously his intention to gain on the two of you as he shuffled behind rapidly, his eyes flittering between your purchase and your personage as he stumbled along in your wake.
  3. "'Scuse me, sirree," the man rasps as he catches you around the corner, the stench of fresh alcohol and stale sweat and less pleasant stains assailing your sensitive nostrils. Your companion stirs uncomfortably and glares back defiantly as the man leers at her, licking his cracked lips where a line of browned spittle tried escaping his poorly-fitted mouth. His pockmarked and dirty face only served to make him all the more hideous, as his piggish, deeply-set yellowed eyes continued glancing at your property in a way that did not sit well with you at all. You were only too painfully aware of the blank walls and shuttered windows staring down at this scene, the isolation only serving to heighten your trepidation at a vague, approaching unpleasantness.
  4. "I do not believe we have any business," you say firmly, drawing yourself up, though that does not offer any relief in this perfunctory posturing. He easily towers over you and, to your unhappy noticing, his bulk far outstrips yours. Were there to be a mugging, he would easily be able to overpower you. And there was no telling if there would be anyone around to help you were this man to engage in whatever he decided in his inebriated state.
  5. "No, sirree," he starts, stepping towards the two of you with an outstretched hand. You notice with disgust that the chipped and yellow nails are caked with dirt and filth, blackened scum accumulated under the split tips."I's bus'ness wit' that there hossof yours," the hulk slurs. Before you can react or make sense of the strange words, the man stumbles forward and reaches a hand to your unicorn, giving her blue gem emblemed flank an oddly audible smack. The loathsome sound is quickly followed by the unicorn's squeal of disgust, pain, and indignation from the repugnant touch. Paralyzed by essential shock at the sheer absurdity, your shout of "What the hell?!" is drowned out by what takes place.
  6. There's an angry whinny followed by a whirl of amethyst hair and a splash of liquid red punctuated by the man's yelp of pain. Her coat is flecked with the sprayed droplets, some of it dripping down onto her face from where her horn was stained by the goring. "Disgusting knave," she screams at him, her teeth clenched in anger as she brandishes her horn again, ready to give him a second stab to which he wisely retreats from before it is delivered. A stream of a shouted curses and howls of pain mark his exit as your jarred out of apathy, reflexively drawing your scented handkerchief and using it to try and wipe away the blood. The normally-soothing scent of lavender goes unnoticed as you let out a muttered "Stay still, dammit," between clenched teeth as she tried to pull her face away. You wipe up the mess the best you can and accidentally smearing that which you could not. You notice her quivering body, trembling with anger and shock from what just took place. "We'll talk about this when we get home. But for now, haste," you grumble, a gentle but firm push on her shoulder with your hand pushing her out of her temporary lethargy as the two of you finish the rest of your journey home uneventfully.
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