I… all at once I feel like I have to know and yet simultaneously like I should never ask…
MIHH was engaging in SLIGHT hyperbole. I wasn’t wearing panties, I was wearing a tank top and shorts. To....to pull poison ivy. A lot of poison ivy. In uh...in my defense, I was afraid that if I went in to change clothing, I’d never get back out and actually get the job done, and I’ve never reacted much to it before. So it was a calculated decision, but man, am I bad at math.
Very bad. I have so much poison ivy. It is torture. And I have it exactly everywhere I deserve to have it for pulling poison ivy in shorts and a tank top.
So I promised @penbrydd fic on Anton using a peanut as a weapon and I’m going to sit on this forever, so here’s a ficlet about the same.
Working off a year’s debt with smugglers wasn’t the ideal situation Anton wanted to be in, but the regular visits to the Blooming Rose definitely made up for some of it. The workers were fun too, even if most of them turned their nose up at him the first time he made a visit. But gambling paid off and soon enough, he knew most of the workers by name or by the shape of their ass. Granted, the same could be said for him too.
“Don’t you get tired of losing, Jethann?” Anton clicked his tongue, counting the coins he’d just won from his partner. “If you’re this loose with your coin, no wonder you’re still working here.”
“Nobody likes a sore winner, Tony,” Jethann chuckled. “And I wouldn’t be losing if you weren’t cheating.”
“Slander and calumny,” Anton said promptly. “Another round?”
“I think I’m done for today. I think I spotted one of my regulars at the bar and I have to go seduce him. Give me five minutes and I’ll be flush with coin again.”
“Five minutes? You should give him a discount,” Anton said with a grimace. “For pity if nothing else.”
“Hey, his five minutes is thirty for me,” Jethann said, smoothing his hair out and straightening his outfit. “I’ll see you in a bit if you’re still here.”
“Well, I don’t know, I really want to get back to my uncle’s hovel with my mother and four siblings,” Anton said, rolling his eyes. The moaning and groaning in the brothel was a big improvement over Gamlen’s snoring.
Speaking of which, there was an underlying sound of shouting that was overtaking the more pleasurable sounds of the night. Anton peered through the bars of the banister down at the main foyer.
“Get back here, you skittish bitch!” one of the patrons shouted at the back of a woman who was fleeing in terror, ducking behind Madame Lusine as she moved between them. Anton may not have appreciated the snotty attitude when he’d come to the Rose the first time, but he had to admit she took care of the workers.
“Sir, you are disturbing the other patrons. What’s the matter?” she asked, looking at the man with a neutral expression.
“He won’t pay up,” the woman, Anton recalled her name was Cora, said.
“I’m not paying one copper until I’m satisfied with what I get,” the man said, obviously drunk.
“That’s not how it works, Sir. You pay upfront and then get the service,” Lusine said with a tired expression that spoke of the number of times she’d had to have the same encounter.
“Let me tell you how it works,” the man growled. He gestured at a table of men, “We get what we want or we trash your business. Maybe a few of your whores too. Now, give me the slut and get me a room!”
“Sir, if you don’t calm down, I will have to summon the city guard,” Lusine’s tone turned hard and Anton had to give her props for selling that lie. The guards never bothered with the brothel, not unless it was to make use of the services.
“We’re the ones who make the threats, woman,” the mercenary snarled, drawing his hand back to swing at her. A peanut pinged off his head, drawing his attention away from Lusine to the source on the stairs.
“Now what’s all this ruckus about?” Anton drawled, leaning against the banister like it was made for him to sprawl on. The thug sneered at him.
“None of your business, whelp,” he snarled, “get your nose out of it before I cut it off.”
“Now that’s not very nice,” Anton said, flicking a peanut up in the air to catch it in his mouth. “I could say the same about that pickle in your pants.”
The workers tittered behind fans as the thug’s face turned an ugly shade of red. He drew out his knife. “You must have a death wish, boy. MEN-” the shout dissolved into a hacking heave.
The ambient noise of the brothel went silent as the thug clawed at his throat, mouth open wide, great hacking sounds leaving his throat as his eyes bugged out. Anton watched on as the man’s choking sounds increased in volume while his men desperately tried to figure out what was wrong.
“Now, see what you did,” Anton said with a sigh, flicking another peanut into his mouth. “You’ve gone and pissed me off. Now, I may be well known for my daggers-” another peanut struck one of the encroaching men in the eye, making him yelp and drop his knife in favor of clutching it “- but I’m far more than that. Now, will you make like a nice piece of shit and leave the people in this brothel alone? Or would you rather choke to death?”
The thug’s glare would have melted glass if it weren’t for the terror in his eyes. He barely got a nod out before Anton hauled him up and punched him hard in the abdomen. The thug’s eyes bugged out followed by a loud hacking cough and then a peanut flying out of his mouth and landing on the ground. The silence was comical as the eyes of the patrons went from the peanut to the thug, who was now wheezing for breath for a different reason. Anton let him slump to his knees and patted him on the shoulder.
“Now, get out and don’t come back, hm?”
The thug didn’t even bother to retort, scrambling to his feet and rushing out the door as fast as he could, his men following, throwing wary looks as they went. Anton watched them leave, then sauntered back up the stairs to take his seat at the card table.
