Oh this would do just fine! Serigan's grin stretched for ear to ear as he sat in the lounge with his boots kicked up on the table. He'd had a bowl of the fine stew they offered here, better than the slop his old cuz used to throw together, and sipped on his glass of whiskey. It was a good vintage too. His boys had made a whiskey back at home they called 'Cuttah brew' and it was as foul as the air. They brewed it up from the leavings in the trash heaps and alley ways of old Ullarn. Serigan downed the drink with an appreciative sigh.[i] Oh yes, sirrah, this'a'do jus' fine[/i]. His blue eyes followed the old man who he'd seeing wandering around the halls lately. The old bastard had been here longer than Ser, but, that didn't matter. What really mattered is that old tough looked like he'd seen a few daggers with blades stuck in someone else's back. Ser knew the look. He might not be a [i]'Jumpah'[/i] anymore, but, he could be again. He saw the codger's fingers twitch and itch. That's a stabber shuffle if he'd ever seen one, and he had. Him and the perky red head that had a kind of [i]'Y'lookin' me up? I'll bash'er 'ead in!'[/i] sort of feel to her. Yep, those two would be the first. Serigan stood after a few more minutes of contemplation and swept his swagger stick up into his hand. "Time'a be on 'is way, eh?" he said to the open air and strode from the room. His buckler and dussack clinked together with a soft ringing sound, the rhythm to the beat of his heavy cane on the floor. The old gangster crossed the guild entrance and eyed the contract board. "Wasted on weed pickin', loves." he reached one of his griddle-like hands out and snatched a seperate contract from the board. The one they would do, well, once he offered it to them. The massive man walked through the entry hall and raised his cane in a mock-salute to the guild administrator. "Off'a pick weeds, I am. Be back t'discuss ou'futya chillun, eh?" he gave her a playful wink and exited the Guild before he could stopped or rebuffed. 

Serigan walked down the center of the cobbled road. The sun was shining and everything was right damn pleasant. It made him ill. He couldn't even remember seeing the sun back when he was young. The sky was black and gray and everyone in Ullarn knew it. This, this was just obscene. Too bright, too hot, too fresh. He could breath the air in and not even worry about getting a cough. He wondered how these people ever stopped thieves. No tracks in the soot and no untimely coughs as preamble to untimely demise. The farm was not too far off, that was good. The less time he was out in this oppressive light was always a good thing. As the sight of the farm came into view Serigan caught sight of his two marks as well. Yep, there they were, wasting time and effort pulling weeds like children. Well, here was their opportunity. 

Serigan walked over to the two with his usual gang-leader swagger. He raised his cane in salute to them before he walked over to the edge of the field. There were so many plants. People back in the soot would have, and did, kill for food like this. Now, here it was, all layed out in rows. Serigan scanned the horizon almost shocked he didn't see any bandits waiting to strike and snag all the lush greens. "Hot'ere, eh?" he said with a grin on his face. "He gestured down to the weeds the two were pulling out, "N'er seen nuttin' like this'n where I come from." Serigan walked over, making sure not to step on the precious food, and whacked one of the weeds out of the ground with the weighted end of his cane. The plant flew in a graceful arch over the few rows of plants to his left. Serigan let out a quiet whistle in admiration of his shot. "Lis'en'ere." the tall man said in a quiet and cheery tone, "I gos' me an evil brain an'a angel heart. Ol'Cuttah comes t'ye with a way t'make some real stacks." he turned his eyes back to the other two. "Pullin' weeds s'fine, fer'chillun, Ol'Cuttah knows things though." Serigan tapped his forehead with the head of his cane and his mouth pulled into a preditory grin, "See, ol'Cuttah here has the touch, see. He can see the future. ol'Cuttah sees three champions. He sees 'imself, a'course." he gestured with the tip of cane at Mable, using the thing like a teacher's ruler, "A beau'ful an'dangerous Kilie," the point of his cane trailed over to the old man, "An' a ol'knife tha's still sharp's'a razor." his impromu ruler swung down and pointed to an imaginary pile at Serigan's feet, "Wit a pile of dead pigs at their feet." Serigan planted his cane in the hole where the weed he had smashed used to sit. "Thas'a stack a'clips as tall as ol'Cuttah 'ere. T'ousand for each of'em champions." Serigan pulled the contract for the death of the boars that had been troubling caravans. A three star contract. "Three stars. Three champions. Three t'ousand clips we split. N'more weed pullin' fer our ilk, eh?" Serigan spread his arms and waited for the response. He thought he'd been compelling. He just hoped they could understand his eastern accent. 

[@Masterkeun] [@karlettto]