The Urchin Prince

[V0idsoldier 1139]

 

He sat in relative silence, downing the shots as they came, his hat tipped down to cover his dirty face. He'd just managed to fence enough to buy a couple shots at his favorite pub, and he wasted no time to do so. He'd downed more alcohol in a few minutes than most would do so in a entire day, and he felt the effects weighing down upon his young body. But he ignored it. He needed to make another hit tonight or else he would go hungry, like he did the night prior. Being an Urchin, even an Urchin Prince, was tough. He slowly stood, uneasy on his feet, stepping across the squeaky wooden boards, glancing back to his table and tossing a few leftover minas as a tip. His favorite pub deserved it.

 

 

He felt his eyelids closing, and reached his pale hand up, slapping himself gently on both sides of the face. He needed to stay awake. He tipped his hat down and stepped to the exit of the pub.

 

 

Rain. His favorite. Rain made all the lazy guards and peasants head inside. It allowed him to own the streets like he deserved. He looked around, and couldn't spot anyone. A smirk crept across his lips, now was a good time to find some coin.

 

 

His footsteps echoed across the barren city. Everyone was snuggling with their fur coats by a warm fire. No one to stop him. He laid his Onyx hued eyes upon a sign, squinting at it. He had never learned to read very well growing up on the streets, so the sign was mostly just a blur. But he knew the town like the back of his hand, it was probably an advertisement for the market down the road. On busy days he liked to go down to the market and stick his hand into some pockets. Noble's coin purses were always stacked, though he'd gotten Nibbed a couple of times. He continued stepping down the path, now relatively soaked.

 

 

He came across a open doorway, above a sign was hinged. He could barely read common, let alone whatever gibberish this non sense was. His mind raced, fancy words like this usually equated in nice loot, and it wouldn't hurt to get out of the chilling rain. He felt something in his bones, and when someone as poor as him gets ill, they don't recover.

 

 

More signs. People around these parts liked to talk, liked to write big. He shrugged it off, his attention swinging to the open pathway to get behind the counter. They didn't block it off. His clothes dripped muddy water onto the lavish rug beneath him as he stepped across and went behind the counter.

 

 

"W...Works" He sounded out the word before him. Work, he knew what work was. He was put to slave labor since he was twelve, working around the docks. Works must be some kind of tool storage, he thought, quickly scrambling to the chest. He kicked it open and looked inside.

 

 

What was this non sense. Paper and books. Lots of it. He groaned at the lack of riches within the chest, reaching his lengthy arm inside, more water dripping off of him onto the fresh books and paper. He grabbed one book and pulled it out.

 

 

The last time he held a book in his hand was a long time ago. It must have been at least 4 winters ago, by now. The last time he saw... Whatever. It didn't matter. He quickly opened the books and scrolled through the pages. Empty. Empty. Empty. All of it ******* empty. What use was a empty book to him. He couldn't even sell it to some old snob and make some money. He growled and spit on the wooden boards beneath him. He clutched the book and spun around, a quill in one hand. He spotted a door.

 

 

He let out a brief snarl, but slowly calmed himself down. Stomping a few times, he stepped towards the door. A balcony. A balcony over looking his kingdom. He was the true heir to this beauty. The Urchin Prince of the Abresi Underworld. He strode outside to overlook his kingdom.

 

 

The Docks. Where he was born, where he was abandoned, and where he had done more work than most people twice his age had done in their entire life. He used to be a slave to the trade that went on around there, barely able to keep himself alive. Reflecting back on those dark memories lightened his current mood. He didn't find any coin yet, but he would. He always did. Luck had a way of shining down upon him. He opened the book and took the quill, pressing it to the paper. He barely knew how to read or write, but he had learned to write one thing. One thing the man had taught him to write, and he scratched it into the book.

 

He turned around and tossed the book into the chest, snapping it closed. He turned to the exit and stepped to it, looking outside

 

 

He tipped his top hat down and stepped outside, leaving behind the book. Within it's confines a phrase scrawled upon it.

 

"Tha Urchin Prince Was Here"

[Aislin 4354]

((Sweet!))

[Insomnic 129]

((Enjoyable read, very nice!))