Reclaimed Property

Thomas of Looe wrote:-somewhere south of here-

"I don't want to be seein' ye about these parts no more," the tavern owner said brusquely as he dragged Thomas through the front door. Behind him, the last of Thomas' money, and then some, sat on the gaming table.

Thomas bristled with indignation. Who did this man think he was anyway? A mere tavern owner, pftt. Why his family raised horses for the Baron of Looe. This one-step-from-the-gutter barkeep didn't know who he was dealing with.

On the street outside, Thomas shook his arm free from the man's grasp. He gave the man a sneer, his tongue going to his top right incisor that had started to rot since getting broken in a fight a couple years back. He sucked a bit of meat from between the teeth and spat after the man as he returned to his establishment.

Thomas looked up and down the street making sure nobody had witnessed this humiliation. A cocky spring in his stride, he returned to the room he rented by the river. Not much of a home to begin with, it was a place he wouldn't be able to call home any longer. Two years' income couldn't cover his gambling debts and his name was now known in two or three counties. He shoved his meager belongings into his satchel, relieved himself in the corner and slammed the door on the place for the last time. Best get out of town before the landlord comes looking for his rents.

Several slugs of whiskey warmed his already ruddy complexion as he rode out of town on his aging gelding. The horse was the only thing he had left with any value. There was a time that one might have almost found Thomas to be an attractive man. He stood taller than most and had a finely-carved jaw and cheekbones. But too much drink and hard living had left him bent and worn well beyond his twenty-six years.

Of course, Thomas blamed his situation on a string of bad luck, not his unwillingness to work and desire to live beyond his means. Part of that bad luck was that scrawny lass running away. He kicked his horse in frustration at the thought of her. The horse lurched forward in response to the jolt. Oh, but he'd get her back. Hell, he needed to now.

Thomas of Looe wrote:North. It seemed as logical direction as any. He couldn't go south, not with his reputation in Cornwall. So he plodded on, oblivious to most everything but the rumbling of his stomach and the emptiness of his purse. After several days with no food, he considered eating his horse, but quickly dismissed the idea as it would mean he would have to walk. Thomas thought himself above traveling on foot and was quite probably too lazy to butcher and cook the animal.

A couple more days and he would reach Thomas Allwright's home. The old wool merchant had been his father's cousin and best friend. They had been so close that Thomas' father had named his only son after the man. Surely he'd be good for a meal and a few nights' lodging. Maybe even a small loan, Thomas thought, trying to ignore the pain in his belly.

Hunger made Thomas more surly than usual. As he rode up to old Allwright's place, he twisted his face into an expression of congeniality. The smile almost hurt as he greeted the old man with a hug. He had three goals, food, money and the location of that lass, but knew he would have to play the game a while to get what he wanted.

"Is that really you, Thomas lad?" the older man asked, looking him over from head to toe. "Ah, it's gotta be, I'd recognize your daddy's blood anywhere." Allwright snapped his fingers as though he had made a great discovery. "Come let's get you a bite. Alma!" he called to his wife, "Look what dragged in, fix up a bit of that pottage."

One down, thought Thomas, his belly rumbling. He allowed his expression to return to a sneer at Allwright's back, but quickly put the smile back up upon entering the house. "Aunt Alma...."

Thomas went through the motions of being polite. It got easier as he ate up the rest of the pottage and wiped the bowl clean with the end of the bread. He stretched and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. Small talk over, it was time to get to goal two. "I am actually up here for a reason," Thomas began, "You remember Aasha, my cousin? Well, she's gone missing and I'm afeared sumthin bad has come to her. You hadn't seen nor heard from her have you?"

Old Allwright scratched his beard and thought a moment. The wool trade meant he spent a lot of time on the road and saw many places and people. "You know," he replied furrowing his brow. "I thought I saw a lassie looked a lot like her over in Shrewsbury. Though I can't be sure, it's been so long since I've seen either of you." Alma and Allwright launched into speculation of what might have happened to Ash then into stories of the past.

That night, as Thomas tried to fall asleep on a straw mattress next to the hearth, he couldn't get Shrewsbury out of his mind. Quietly, he got up, filled his satchel with food and left the Allwrights behind. He could make Shrewsbury by sunup.

Thomas of Looe wrote:Thomas had hoped to make Shrewsbury by dawn. The sun was high over his head when he finally rode into town.

The Frisky Feline beckoned to him as he rode past but he had no money. He hadn't been able to bring himself to steal gold from Old Allwright; he may need the man's help one day and a few loaves of bread could be forgiven.

His teeth aching at the thought of honest work, he made his way to the orchard and found the overlord. A convincingly good act got him hired on for the afternoon. He dragged his borrowed ladder about the trees, making small-talk with the other pickers hoping, eventually, one would lead him to her. This was going to take longer than he'd hoped.

That evening, his fingers stained, his back aching, he made his way back to the Frisky Feline. It was going to take more ale than the money in his purse could buy to improve his mood.

Aimar wrote:He had never been entirely convinced ale was worth wasting money on but if someone else offered it he was alright for a drink or two. Of course he was hardly ever in the tavern late at night but he did go in a few hours before the usual crowd. It was surely the best place to catch a nap before dinner without anyone knowing. Later, he thought his time was better spent sitting with Aasha on the grass in Anne's well kept lawn or even leaning over the fence surrounding the pasture until they tired of talking nonsense or just enjoying the silence in each other's company.

He was sitting alone in the tavern again today, his eyes closed, chair tipped back on the back legs and his injured right arm in the sling while he enjoyed his little nap when someone entered the tavern and the sound of the door woke him, oh...he--ll--o he said as he greeted the stranger, not entirely managing to stifle his yawn. It was usually travelers that came in at this time anyhow, as the deputy sheriff in Moose's absence, he had convinced himself the timing and the place for his nap was the best for the town somehow. Of course greeting newcomers and travelers kept him updated better than spending the hours at home with three women would!

Come in matey, he said and gestured towards a chair as he hailed the bartender for drinks for the man...if he was any good he would return the favor later...his lopsided smile may have betrayed the mischief in his mind, if only the stranger knew him better.

Thomas of Looe wrote:Errgh, company. Thomas shuddered at the thought of having to make small talk when his back was aching as it was. But free ale was a big lure and it wouldn't hurt to have an ally in this Jah-forsaken town. Maybe he could even shake a few pounds out of the guy at the tables.

"Much obliged, my friend." Thomas forced out the pleasantry with a crude smile as he sat next to the man. "We pickers need sumthin for the aches and pains." He made a big display of stretching then drained about half his tankard in his first gulp.

"Ahhhhh....." He tipped his mug towards the other man and clandestinely summed him up, planning his next move. The man appeared to be slightly better dressed than the average picker. Thomas decided to make a play for a better job. Until he got that girl back, he'd need money and dragging a ladder everyday wasn't the easiest way to get it.

"Ach, this pickin' is new to me. I'm a horse man by trade." Thomas took a slug of his ale and looked for a response from his periphery.

Aimar wrote:Ahh, yes, picking is a tiring job, especially if you have to do it one handed, he grinned and gestured with his head towards his injured arm, but you can get a decent day's pay for chores for field owners too, animal slaughter and tending to crops, he shrugged his left shoulder having learned finally that shrugs did not suit his injury a lot.

If it is not too crude for you, I need a worker to slaughter my pigs too...or...he thought of the horses he had seen around, there was Anne's and Jasmyne's just to name a couple,...I have seen horses owners around town too, maybe you should meet one and see if they can help?

He smiled and took a swig while he assessed the man before him; he looked fine enough...well built and a view of his oddly broken teeth when he spoke told Aimar he was not one to spare a fight when provoked...or maybe he too had taken a short cut down a ditch, he thought, taking a comical view of his own injuries before asking, Must say, I have not seen you around before, new to town? or passing through? He was certainly not going to recommend a stranger to Anne for her mare, he still remembered the incident with the horse from the neighboring pasture...his smile deepened again as he waited for an answer.

Thomas of Looe wrote:Thomas' eyebrow lifted at the mention of work on the farm, the horses especially. The thought of slaughtering a pig turned his stomach a bit, more from the amount of work it would be than from the gore. "If you're serious, I'm looking for honest work. I'm not much on heights so picking just don't agree with me."

He flagged the barmaid down and motioned for another pint, maybe it too would go on this other fella's bill. On his ride north, he'd given a lot of thought to how to answer questions of his past.

"I'm new - thinkin' of settlin' down if I can find some good work. My wife and new babe passed a couple months ago. I couldn't stay there no more."

That ought to draw some sympathy and stop more prying questions. Thomas put on his best expression of sorrow and took another slug of ale.

Aimar wrote:Ohh...sorry to hear that he mumbled and was at once more attentive knowing of the man's family. Empathy came naturally to him, other than during his fits of anger, the man needs help and that costs me nothing more than just referring him to the right people...I am Aimar de Balboa... he was going to hold his hand out to shake but ended up grunting and offering a nod of the head to accompany his introduction when the pain in his arm stopped all else. The quizzical look on his face was obvious enough though; he expected an introduction.

Thomas of Looe wrote:"Name's Jack," Thomas lied and thought to himself that he needed a name for the non-existent dead wife. "I'd be much honored if you'd give me a chance to prove myself slaughtering that pig."

Balboa. Thomas had heard that name and could practically taste the good fortune he'd just stumbled upon. It wouldn't kill him to slaughter a few pigs to get in with that family. If anyone had connections around here, it was them. Ash couldn't hide forever. That thought brought a genuine smile to Thomas' face.

"Tell me, how'd you get the broke arm?" People loved to talk about themselves.

Aimar wrote:Welcome to Shrewsbury, Jack he said with a grin ...and sure, my ranch is not far...I would be honored to help whenever I can, he was only too happy to see the smile on the man's face, surely losing a young family would have been hard. Oh my arm? It was nothing, he was glad the tavern was never too well lit so it hid the color that always rose in his face when he admitted he was too clumsy to even walk without getting himself dented, I heard I fell into a ditch...he could see the funny side of that now though, only I was not awake to find a clear path down-- he shrugged his left shoulder again and grinned, 'tis is not as bad as it looks, he bluffed trying to get attention off himself.

Thomas of Looe wrote:Prolly drunk, Thomas thought as he took another look at the guy's arm. Some folks just can't hold their liquor. Thomas filed away that tidbit of knowledge for future use. "Sounds rough, looks it too."

He drained his second mug and decided against a third as it may tarnish his act of respectability. "Tell ya what," he said, "I'll be at your farm in the morning to deal with that pig. Just need directions."

Aimar wrote:Hmm...directions...he pondered, and thought it best to give the easiest way around. Well I'd say you can find the Ale Monument easy enough, it is behind the town hall and on the Castle Street...follow the Castle Street towards Shrewsbury Castle in the North East-- Jah I did not know directing someone would be this hard, You will see the Weavers Corps to the right...do not turn there, follow the next fork to the right and then first left-- Good, almost there...My plot is the one next to Severn, the second on the road -- he smiled, There are only two this side of the river so it would be easy to find.

He made a mental note to get up early to get to his house before the man arrived; he was, after all, new to town. Being in sight when Jack gets there will ease him into Shrewsbury well, thought Aimar as he made to get to his feet, I should be getting along now, my good man, I will see you on the morrow. He nodded and mumbled g'day, only waiting to give Jack a chance to answer before he made his way out the tavern to head to the market...

Thomas of Looe wrote:With the man gone, Thomas ordered another mug and pondered tomorrow.

Thomas of Looe wrote:The man's home was quiet and seemed to be vacant when Thomas arrived. He wondered if he was in the right place. He'd replayed the directions in his head all night as he'd laid awake waiting for dawn. A good night sleep was something he was seldom able to grasp and it usually took a significant amount of alcohol to get any sleep at all.

Oink, oink, snort.

"You must be dinner" Thomas muttered at the fat hog. With a look of distaste, he went to work. It wasn't long before the animal was strung up by his back legs, bled dry and ready for the butcher. Thomas still hadn't seen the young owner and didn't want to leave before he'd had a chance to thoroughly impress the guy. He looked around for more work. A pile of wood sat at the edge of the field and after a little poking around, Thomas found a maul. His back ached just at the sight of the pile, but he set in on it anyway. That lass don't know what I do for her.

As he stacked the newly split wood neatly by the house, all Thomas could think of was a hot tub and a bottle of whiskey to soothe away the blood, blisters, aches and sweat that this day had heaped upon him. Jah curse me, this had better be worth it. He carried the last bit of wood into the house to stack next to the fireplace and took the opportunity to look around the place a bit.

Thomas of Looe wrote:Thomas poked around the kitchen and parlor still carrying the armload of wood; should he be interrupted he could always claim to be looking for another fireplace. August? What the hell, at least the kid wouldn't think he was trying to steal something if his arms were full.

There wasn't much of interest in the place though the jug on the shelf in the kitchen was haunting him. Thomas dropped the wood by the hearth. Nobody's home. He grabbed the jug and pulled the cork. Just as he brought it to his lips, there was a thud in the next room.

Startled and angry, Thomas recorked the jug, placed it carefully inside the dust ring on the shelf and followed the sound. He'd been so sure nobody was home. He paused, listening.

"'ello?"

Did I say my name was Jack or James? Gotta keep better track of my aliases. A small scratching sound on the other side of the door replied. Thomas opened the door and a small kitten burst out, its tail in the air. A light odor of cat urine followed the animal.

Satisfied that he had a good excuse to have been in the house now, Thomas headed back to the kitchen to let the cat out and sit on the porch to wait for its owner to return. He needed information more than he needed any of this guy's stuff. And Balboa kept running through his head.......