TC Bywater loves New Bastion. It wasn’t his birthplace. It wasn’t where he grew up. But it is a city he fell in love with. Sure he would travel a lot. Sometimes he would get too much heat with the city watch, sometimes the Marks would wise up. Sometimes  he went to places where The Greedfather, requested he go. To run his errands. Sometimes,  he went home to visit his mother. But, he always came back. Always checked in at The Plastered Fly, caught a show at The Dancing Dryad. Always to reap the new crop of suckers, too loose with their coins.
 
The plays and cons got a lot easier after Mrs. Bywater’s baby boy became an errand boy for The Greedfather. But, they didn’t become any less fun. TC had set up shop at The Boorish Hound, he wouldn’t hustle at The Fly, he liked it’s owners too much, and they wouldn’t put up with his shit. But, The Boorish Hound always had a new batch of marks and the owners never paid him any mind. [color=00aeef]“Aww, shucks TC you got me again, you're just too quick.”[/color] a young sailor from Evenshire says goodbye to a hard earned gold piece. [color=00aeef]“ But, you always were even when we were young.”[/color] TC reveals a bright red ball from under a wooden cup. [color=39b54a]“ Yeah, that is true [color=ed1c24][i]friend[/i][/color]. Listen, I’ll reign it in a bit and we go double or nothing. I’m not breakin’ ya balls, real slow like.”[/color] Doubt crosses the young man’s face,[color=00aeef] “ I, uh I don’t know TC.”[/color][color=39b54a] ” Hey come on ya, ya whimpering little..., listen [color=ed1c24][i]friend[/i][/color], look at these little hands, can’t be that quick, walk out of here with 8 brothers, get ya self a nice broad at The Soft House.”[/color] He brightens up and slams, two more coins onto the beer and wine stained table. The red ball is rolled beneath a cup, and TC begins to shuffle them about. The cups slide smoothly across the table, never reaching a fast pace. The sailor watches the cups with a burning intensity. The cups stop, and the sailor points at the red balls cup without hesitation. But when TC lifts the cup, no ball. [color=39b54a]“ Sorry [i][color=ed1c24]friend[/color][/i], listen, you head down to the bar, I’ll join you in a bit….”[/color] The dejected sailor turns and heads down a steep wooden staircase,”...you dumb motha fucker you.” TC stacks the cups on the table. There never was a ball, just an illusion. Just a trick of light, cast through a demonic lens. TC had never met the sailor before today, just honeyed words on an enchanted tongue.  Four gold coins are swept into his pocket. 

He exited through the back of the tavern, through the kitchen. The little folk are often overlooked. TC had headed to the East Stairs that lead up to Trader’s Terrace. His destination was The Plastered Fly, where he could enjoy pleasure, not work. But first, he had to conquer these stairs. [color=39b54a]"These fucking stairs."
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