Alright, there was some talk of other writings, So I have another. Many people took my first one as a dream to show the difference I have written a scene from a dream I have had a few times. It is kinda of long so I will break it up into two posts. This one was harder to write becuase it wasn't the result of a burst of inspiration but here goes:
I walk in to the tavern with the cowl of my cloak pulled up over my head and my cloak obscuring the sword I wear at my hip. As I enter, I quickly scan the room. I see the usual inn crowd, a few people drinking quietly, in groups or alone, as well as a few of the more boisterous patrons. A group over in the corner seems a bit more tumultuous than the rest; I may have to watch them. Reaching the bar I raise my head and signal to the bartender for a drink. I pay, then I collect my drink and move over to the wall to relax and observe.
The tavern is a simple affair with a bar at one end and some tables scattered around a fairly open center. At the moment the center is occupied by a young man engaged in an excited and animated retelling of a recent amorous adventure. Most of the patrons are engaged in quiet discourse amongst themselves. I sip my drink and let the cold beer wash away the desert that has been masquerading as my throat, when I hear a cry from the corner. It seems the group in the corner is getting even more raucous than before. The yelp was the effect of a serving girlÂ’s smacked seat. She scurries on past and seems no worse for the exchange, so I relax anew.
I am about to move towards the bar to get my second drink when the group in the corner acts up again. This time one of the group has the struggling serving girl on his lap while his buddies roar in drunken laughter. I glance at the bartender but he is a small timid looking fellow and he appears to be in genuine fear of this unruly gang. I could sit here and ignore it but why?
I rise from my seat and casually stroll over to what I have started to call the quarrelsome quartet. They look up at me as I reach their table.
My hood obscuring my face, I summon up my best Clint Eastwood voice, “I think it is apparent that the lady does not share you feelings. Why don’t you let her go? I am sure someone of with your obvious……good looks should have no problem finding another.” My voice is dripping with so much sarcasm that I am surprised that I’m not standing in a puddle of it.
Mr. Handsome spits on the ground by my boots, “Why in ‘ell should I give a rat’s **** what you think? Why should I do what you say? Huh?”
I pull back the hood of my cloak, so he can see the grin on my face, “Frankly, my friend I’m hoping you don’t.”
The man across the table from Mr. Handsome stands up, and up. Jesus, heÂ’s large. He walks around the table while I look for the trembling glass of water. Reaching me, he looks down at me and jabs his finger in my chest repeatedly.
“You better go sit down, little man. Or I’m fixing to do somethin’ real bad.”
I look at the sausage that is causing my chest to concave then back up at Godzilla. Man, that hurts my neck.
“You sure are big. I mean, damn, I wouldn’t have a hope in a fair fight.”
He grins back at his buddies. Idiot.
I smile up at him, my voice barely above a whisper, “The problem is… I cheat.”
With that my right hand whips out, grasps his finger and wrenches it back as I pull it down to my center. The snap is drowned out by GodzillaÂ’s sudden scream. His face now down at a human level, I twist my hips forceful and smash a left elbow into his temple. I use the rebound to pirouette back to create some distance, my cloak flowing out around me. I return to a solid stance as the others start to move.
Two of the remaining three move, a balding fellow with a big ears and bad teeth, and Mr. Handsome. Mr. Handsome pushes the serving girl off his lap as his buddy Prince Charles charges me. Princes Charles looks like he wants to tackle me. So I hit him with a chair. Idiot. Now itÂ’s me and Mr. Handsome.
Mr. Handsome is taking his time, it appears he is smarter than his friends. He brings his hands up in a boxerÂ’s stance, his back hunched over and his chin down. I bring my hands up as well, palms out. With one hand, I gesture for him to come here and I smirk, my eyes cold. He leads with a tentative jab, which I parry dismissively. He jabs again; I slip it and smack his face before skipping back out. Mr. Handsome is getting red in the face and he comes on more aggressively this time. The jab is stronger, so I slip it. The cross that follows almost connects but I parry it in time. He jab, crosses, again. I slip both. He is beginning to fall into a pattern. I slip his next jab and when the inevitable cross comes, I snap my head forward. My forehead smashes into his fist and Mr. Handsome jumps back, shaking his injured fist.
Before he can regroup, I charge him. I sweep my cloak out in a wide arc as I spin, disguising the heel that follows it. At the last second, Mr. Handsome gets his arms up to block, so instead of breaking his jaw, I only knock him back a few feet. I pursue, relentless, intercepting his punch by smashing my forearm in to his bicep. Grabbing his neck, I fire a knee in to his stomach and stomp his thigh as I push him away. This time I wait for him to get up, for him to come to me, I want to prolong this a little.
Mr. Handsome is limping a bit but he isnÂ’t done yet. He leads with a low side kick, which I step over, then follows with a hard jab. I lean away from the jab and fire a front kick to his mark. The toe of my boot penetrates between the ribs and he bends over, gasping for air. The second my front foot hits the ground my rear shin crashes in to the back of his thigh, driving him down to one knee.
I am about to land the finishing blow when, behind me, I hear the sound of metal sliding from leather. I quickly launch into a spin, my hand reaching for my sword hilt. As I spin I see the fourth of their group charging me, dagger aimed at my back. My spin places me out of the line of attack and I catch the extended arm between my hilt and my forearm. My other arm reaches out and catches his collar. We jerk to a halt, the naked blade of my sword resting on his neck. A tiny rivulet of blood disappears down his shirt.
We pause there a second, like a freeze frame, nobody moving. Then the door to the tavern bursts open and the city watch rushes in. My sword is back in its sheath in an instant, my cloak covering it again. As the watch commander begins to clear the bar, I put my cowl up and blend in with the crowd trying to force its way out the door. Once outside I disappear down a dark alley, on my way to more fun.
This was a much harder thing to write but I hope you enjoy it. This is what my dreams are like. And yes I know it is full of anacronisms but since it's my dream I guess it can work.
Tony
