The gazpacho soup downstairs would have to wait until later. It was not often that Eutropio would reject his wife's simple cooking, but there was an urgency in his eyes that told of trouble. Seeing this she'd approached the window beside him. Peering out, the loving couple gazed down with a plummeting sensation in their empty bellies, acknowledging the three soldiers climbing off their magnificent stallions and turning with a look of disgust to the front door.
He told her, not in any manner which prompted worry to stir but as a simple request, to remain in their ebony bedroom while he saw to their needs, whatever they may be.
Not a drop of booze had passed between his cracked, stained teeth for some time. Nothing illegal had been brought …show more content…
Not wishing to have the close-up view of the three fighters on his doorstep, gawking into his home. Twisting the rusty knob, he acknowledged them some five or six feet from his home, staying close to their horses, staring at him like men of ice.
Closing the door behind him, Eutropio was intent on getting it over with and sending them back on their way as soon as possible. The couple had no neighbours, nobody who could bear witness to his impending arrest or beating. However, he got the feeling that nobody was here to cart him away to a rat-infested cell, at least not …show more content…
"Good..."
There was an eerie silence, prior to the rapid, shaded movement of a balled-up fist meeting with the wall of his grumbling stomach. He groaned but knew better than to complain.
The man in his face, sporting one of her majesty's illustrious uniforms, grinned and swiftly explained his actions. "That was for the incident with the rum, on board The Manic Giant. Do you remember that?"
"Of course," he groaned, straightening himself up and implementing the illusion that nothing hostile had just occurred between them. That the air of fury that exists between them wasn't really there. That they could still string him along and have some fun with him. "I don't remember your name, I fear, but I remember your punches."
"Yes." His eyes flared. "You were one for the booze, were you not, Señor Antton?"
"Very much so. No more though. And you -" He begged his brain to conjure up a name but it still refused to come. "- how did you fare afterwards?"
"You're wanted," he said, changing the subject with a developing glint in his blood-lusting
He told her, not in any manner which prompted worry to stir but as a simple request, to remain in their ebony bedroom while he saw to their needs, whatever they may be.
Not a drop of booze had passed between his cracked, stained teeth for some time. Nothing illegal had been brought …show more content…
Not wishing to have the close-up view of the three fighters on his doorstep, gawking into his home. Twisting the rusty knob, he acknowledged them some five or six feet from his home, staying close to their horses, staring at him like men of ice.
Closing the door behind him, Eutropio was intent on getting it over with and sending them back on their way as soon as possible. The couple had no neighbours, nobody who could bear witness to his impending arrest or beating. However, he got the feeling that nobody was here to cart him away to a rat-infested cell, at least not …show more content…
"Good..."
There was an eerie silence, prior to the rapid, shaded movement of a balled-up fist meeting with the wall of his grumbling stomach. He groaned but knew better than to complain.
The man in his face, sporting one of her majesty's illustrious uniforms, grinned and swiftly explained his actions. "That was for the incident with the rum, on board The Manic Giant. Do you remember that?"
"Of course," he groaned, straightening himself up and implementing the illusion that nothing hostile had just occurred between them. That the air of fury that exists between them wasn't really there. That they could still string him along and have some fun with him. "I don't remember your name, I fear, but I remember your punches."
"Yes." His eyes flared. "You were one for the booze, were you not, Señor Antton?"
"Very much so. No more though. And you -" He begged his brain to conjure up a name but it still refused to come. "- how did you fare afterwards?"
"You're wanted," he said, changing the subject with a developing glint in his blood-lusting