Muscle, blood and bone... all of it brought together and honed into a killing machine of brutal strength and grace. All of it straining to escape from a prison of tweed! Oh but Oscar wouldn't have it. His feudal spirit was out in full force as he stared himself down in the mirror, mustache twitching as the tailor went about the final touches of sewing him into this latest suit. All while Oscar's bulging veins and heaving back muscles threatened to undo this very expensive piece of work. 

"Mr Betteridge, If I may..." The hunchbacked old man piped up. "It's not that we don't appreciate your custom, Sir, but wouldn't it be easier for you if you were to simply allow me to take your measurement and have a suit made for a later date?" 

"And allow myself to be dressed in something... BAGGY? Do you want me to walk the streets looking like some kind of unemployed street tough begging for his next half-spent cigarette? Dear god man, have you never worn tweed before?!" The buff Brit guffawed at the pittiful store owner. 

This really was too much! Oscar was gracious enough to allow this peasant to busy himself around his superior form and allowed them a hand in crafting one of the finest feats of fashion humanity had yet to create and this was the thanks he got. Disgraceful! Honestly it was enough to make a man feel victimised, having to put up with such terrible service. Yet suffer Oscar did, gritting his teeth and allowing the cretin to finish the work they had begun together. He had an important meeting today with his fellow assassins and had to be sure to look his best! Oscar had no idea what it was about but one had to look one's best when going out into the murderous public. Especially if there was a strong chance of it turning into a deadly ambush!

Finally it was done! Once again Oscar could go out into the world as a picture of form fitting elegance. 

"Now sir there is the matter of your tab to discuss..." The shopkeep said, quivering behind his cash register. 

"It's rude to talk about money like that, Mulligan." Oscar snorted, his mustache flaring in a show of disdain. "You should know that as a proprietor of gentlemanly wares. I swear by thunder man each time you open your mouth it is as if you wish to push me into the arms of one of your rival tailors!" 

"But Sir this is the fiftieth custom tweed you've had me make! What could you possibly want them all for?" 

"As I've told you!" Oscar said, assuming a suitably noble and heroic pose. "Before each fight I must flex my physique in such a way as to to properly channel my killing spirit and intimidate my foes." Indeed such a thing made him look like a hero of old, one that no doubt made the Asian warlords who's techniques he had [s]stolen[/s] perfected roll in their graves with shame. 

"But is it necessary for you to rip each of your suits apart, Sir?" Old Mulligan whimpered. 

"Each one died a warrior's death!" Oscar Roared back at him. Enraged hat the man could not see something so obvious. "And I shall hear no more miserly complaints from you!" And with that he stormed from the premises and headed off for his meeting. 

Of course it didn't help that the wretched serf had raised a valid point. Oscar could get by on the free services that were owed to him by right of birth and strength for now but his funds were steadily depleting. Running a tea room and dojo combo wasn't cheap and although his muscular apprentices were willing to work for little pay and the chance of being thrashed by him... his need for supplies for the business and his personal life were a taxing him ever more. The contracts he was getting right now were petty things given his low ranking and it galled Oscar to stoop to such a level. yet what was he to do, give up on his love of combat? This lower ranking made him an entry point for would be assassins and he was fed a regular supply of challengers looking to get on the ladder by using his corpse as their first rung.

Still... perhaps it was time he set his sights on more ambitious rankings. Even if he couldn't get the quantity of opponents he wished it stood to reason he would receive a high quality one instead. Damn and blast but it was tough to be a wealthy aristocrat these days! 

And they only got harder once he got to "The Dirty Babe"!

"Oh this is deplorable." Oscar groaned as he looked around the dark and grimy interior of the public house that he'd been called to for this meeting. 

Indeed it looked as if the cleaning staff hadn't even looked upon its dust and grease soaked walls for nigh on a year! Now this was simply unacceptable. He had expected what ever passed for a delegate of the UAA to at least have a sense of class and style when it came to choosing their clandestine rendezvous spot. Dark and out of the way was one thing but making a place so vile that it repelled any dignified form of life was a low way of thinking. Indeed Oscar felt tempted to take out a handkerchief to cover his mouth lest he risk breathing in any particles of this unrepentant poverty. Honestly!

Yet after scanning the interior Oscar could not deny that the inhabitants certainly fit the bill for trained killers. Why some of the patrons even sported masks of varying design that no doubt fitted the wearer's sense of drama. The box hat struck Oscar as grotesquely unrefined but he'd learned to stop expecting much from the denizens of Santa Destroy. Then there were those sporting the usual flowing black long coats, an industry that must have earned at least half its profits from hired killers if Oscar's experience with them was anything to go by. At least one woman among the bunch seemed to be sporting armour! A choice Oscar usually forwent in favour of speed and maneuverability but one he could understand and respect in a theoretical sense. 

Yes this was, unfortunately, the right spot. Since he was possibly going to be here a while there was no sense in suffering any more than needed. Oscar strode across the filth stained floor that dared to try and stick to his shoes and made his way to the bar. Slamming his fist down on the counter top to get the attention of the degenerates that worked it. 

"Barkeep. A pint of stout, I say. I'll be needing some of the strong stuff if this is the standard our host sees to!" He didn't bother even trying to hide why he was there. Why should he? Oscar had nothing to be ashamed of! If any civilian cared to take offence then Oscar would simply defend the honour of his vocation from any uncouth lout that dared challenge him. They brought the drink in a chipped glass and drink was weak as tap water! Oh someone would pay for the frustrations that were being heaped upon him once he got back to the dojo if not sooner. 

Indeed this was turning out to be a very unbully day for Oscar Betteridge!