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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter of Misplaced posted!
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There's a scuffle outside, then your window bursts open! A perfectly spherical ball of dung splats right into the centre of your breakfast plate.
Having leapt out of his chair and tumbled a safe distance away within a heartbeat of his window bursting open, Entreri warily regards his ruined morningfeast, jeweled dagger in hand. He cautiously circles to the edge of the window and uses the cover of the still-swinging shutter to invisibly assess the situation. His keen eyes immediately recognize a small retreating figure, skulking into the shadows.
As he marvels at the utterly low worth that some apparently assign to their lives, the assassin turns his flinty gaze to the brown projectile. A careful survey reveals that, aside from its oddly deliberate shape, it is nothing more than the most prevalent “commodity” found in stables. Sneering, the disgusted man heads for the door, but pauses mid-step to sheath his blade. One who finds recreation in hand-shaping horse manure is hardly worth his time, which is much better spent finding something else to eat.
