[Jessari]

((Yup, another money-making thread. This one is going to be absolutely horrid - only three sentences per post - so shield your eyes and leave this thread as soon as possible. ))

Foul Old Ron (hereafter referred to as FOR) lay underneath the bridge he called home. The dirty river oozed by, carrying a scent that would make some of the strongest stomachs in the world retch. He found it appetizing.

[Jessari]

A week-old newspaper lay over his face as he slept. His snores made the paper flutter. The horrid sound, much like a constipated tiger, made the people passing over the bridge jump and walk just a little faster.

[Jessari]

A sign was propped up between two broken pieces of concrete nearby. It said 'Will leev you alone fore a shiling." It shook slightly in the wind.

[Jessari]

The wind seemed to be in an impish mood. It worked at the sign for several minutes, pushing it this way then that. After a time, it tottered, falling over to smack its owner in the face.

[Jessari]

FOR awoke with a shouted curse. He sat up, the newspaper falling from his rather frightening, scarred face. "Millennium hand and shrimp!"

[Jessari]

Once he had regained his senses, which didn't take long as his IQ numbered in the single digits, he stumbled to his feet. He was a rather imposing figure, several inches over six feet even though his hunched back took a bit off his height. His jacket was a dark brown, but that might've been because of the dirt instead of the original dye color.

[Jessari]

Pulling his jacket open, he packed the old newspaper inside of it. It was cold outside, and he could use all the extra insulation he could find. He then buttoned the three remaining buttons.

[Jessari]

With a rough groan, FOR bent over and picked up the fallen sign. It was time for breakfast. If he couldn't find anything tasty in the slum's garbage cans, he'd have to raise the money for something.

[Jessari]

It was an odd, asymmetrical walk that carried him through town. Limp, slide, limp, slide. It was as if one of his legs was shorter than the other, and the longer leg was lame.

[Jessari]

The first person FOR ran across was Roscoe, the blind beggar boy. "Foul Old Ron!" the boy said, a smile spreading across his face even as he brought his hand up to cover his nose. "I hear tell there's a conference going on in the better part of town. Sounds like good pickin's to me."

[Jessari]

Though nothing in his expression changed, FOR directed his milky-grey eyes at the boy. A conference meant people from out of town, people who hadn't yet built up a tolerance to his smell. He grunted, a grumpy sound, but one intended to convey his thanks for this little tidbit.

[Jessari]

Rosco took FOR's grunt as a sign of encouragement. With his wide smile still on his face, he stood, taking a tentative step towards the hulking beggar man. "Would you...take me with you? My cup's been a little empty lately, and so's my stomach."

[Jessari]

FOR didn't move, a solemn statue. For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to respond in any way. Then, turning down the road that would lead him towards the conference center, beckoning the boy along.

[Jessari]

Unable to see the gesture, Roscoe sat back down on his box. His lip puckered out as he listened to FOR walk further away. He'd thought he'd gotten used to being alone, but FOR's perceived rejection hit him hard.

[Jessari]

FOR had gone several steps before he realized no one was following him. He turned to see the blind boy back on his box. His small mind worked overtime, until finally he realized what had happened.