It was late afternoon, but the sky donned the cool, wispy colors and atmosphere of a rising dawn; burdened by heavy rainfall.
Sharp, relentless water drops beat down on a thin window, hardly capable of taking such a brutal pounding. It rattled loudly and trembled with agony, looking ready to cave to the storm's assault. A bored child could stare at it, wondering if it would burst in the same way that a belt would explode from a rotund culinary candidate at a festival steak-eating contest.
But there were no children in this rusty smelling cabin. The room was coated in darkness and a surprising amount of warmth. A fire had long been kindled and the heat lingered within the thick wooden walls like a pulsing oven. The storm outside rolled in waves of severity as the droplets now came down in lesser number, but were colder, heavier and rounder. Their fall still maintained an intrusive angle that harassed the windows. But the frail glass that shielded their invasion withheld stubbornly. It merely gave a prattling hum that was constant enough to jab the sanity out of those unaccustomed to such weather. Regardless, the clamor was a welcome substitute to travelers that would rather not be taking the same abuse as their shelter.
This is exactly what would be figured out by the body that was suddenly thrown out the front door, heels sent skidding on the slippery, splintered porch, tripping on a protruding knot, landing skillfully on his feet until the mud gave way and soon became indented with his face.
"Argh! Ye stupid whore hounding bastard! If my gun wasn't in the shop I'd blow off yer ass!"
A second pair of footsteps was heard rushing at the door, soon accompanied by the shrill voice of an incomprehensible housewife. The young man in the mud got to his feet cautiously to avoid another spill when he started to get bombarded by random objects and food items; everything from rain rotted leather boots to a tin cup full of cold coffee, which conveniently managed to stay inside the cup until it crashed and drenched his favorite vest. He hoped the pouring rain would sidle its staining affects, otherwise a new one was in order. He really didn't want to have to spend his hard earned stolen money.
After the onslaught of projectiles stopped, the young man figured the wife had run out of valueless things to throw, until he looked up from his shielding hands.
He froze.
Their gun may have been in the shop, but unlike the emotionally distraught husband, the wife apparently had enough clarity to know what else could be used as a weapon as she tightly clutched a dislodged bayonet.
No other words of vile wrath needed to be spoken before the rain soaked intruder would show them how fast he could run in mud.
But before he dug in his heels, he felt the need to open his mouth. After all, he never got the chance to introduce himself or explain the situation.
And for a moment, that's exactly what the older couple expected as he straightened himself out.
"By the way, your husband just called your daughter a whore. You might want to give that some thought before you decide who to stab," came the suggestion as he pointed between himself and the husband.
He then shrugged, waved, and swiftly went on his way, disappearing behind a misty wall of fog and rain, his footsteps confident and nimble despite the overbearing descent of water. His deep footprints in the slushy mud were quickly erased by wind and densely gathered water that left the mass of land torn by storms, but appearing untouched by man— not leaving a trace— as if he had never been there.
The doors of a pub more drenched in beer than rain was opened, and a broad shouldered, sopping wet figure stepped in, water spilling out the brim of his boots. The crowd was only a fraction of its normal size, since regulars with any wit chose temporary sobriety over getting drowned.
But those that felt the lack of beer and rum was a greater death than pneumonia— found themselves slouched and sprawled over a single table; warm, awkwardly comfortable, and dry for many hours.
"Shit, Rider you just come up from a wet hell or what?"
"Wet heaven to be exact," he said lamely, taking up a seat closest to the fire. There was an exchange of universal praise in the form of 'ohhs', 'ahhs' and grunts of chuckling.
"You picked a fine day for it. She must've been somethin' huh?"
"It wasn't raining when we started," Flynn shrugged, and then grinned.
Another gritty, bad breathed applause made the rounds.
"Luckily I was already dressed and about to leave before the parents caught sight of me. They came back a day early because of all the good weather," he added sarcastically.
"Ahhhhahaha dumb young studs and their lack of discernment," one grumbled through his smile.
"The weather was on my side anyway. There's no way I was gonna get caught. It worked out in the end… like always," he added the last aside with a hint of mystery. Sometimes even he wondered how he always managed to get away, despite how highly he regarded his skill.
The sentiment was shared by disbelieving snorts, shaking heads, and cautious grumbles to his gloating.
"By the way, do I look like a giant walking coffee stain?" Flynn asked looking down at himself, but distrusting his angle and the weak lighting.
"There ain't a trace of any of your romping; coffee stains or otherwise, Rider— not if you've been out in that hell storm."
"Good…then getting this...really was worth it." He deftly slipped a handful of glittering trinkets from his belt pockets.
"I'll take the snuff pouch," hungrily said a normally quiet thug, eyeing the trinket greedily.
"You will? Fine. Anyone else want to bid on my goods? Otherwise I'll be waiting till Russell gets here."
"He's here. Passed out. He ran outta whiskey yesterday, so he ran here on foot. Got here in a fit of tears and then binged until he puked and fell in the bath tub."
"I guess that still means I'll be waiting for him to get here," Flynn said through a sigh, pocketing his recent belongings before taking off his boots and scooting closer to the fire.
He stared at the wavering flames as pockets of warm air reached him and dried his clothes, thawing his shivering bones.
A ripple of tire traveled through a body now realizing it had been drained of most of its adrenaline.
"I'm gonna crash right here, if no one minds…and I'll do it anyway, if anyone does," Flynn announced.
"Dry yourself off, lad. No one's gonna mind."
Flynn took off his vest, dragged the bear rug closer to the inviting flames and plopped down on it. Sleep came to him as he smiled crookedly and thought just how well everything was going despite the usual minor mishaps.
Morning arrived and Flynn hastily rose with it. He heard movement upstairs, and with any luck, Russell's hangover was either non-existent; or would cloud his judgment into coughing up more money than deserved. Whatever the scenario, he hoped the man would still be willing to bargain.
"A varying assortment of random items, but once again, of superb quality," Russell said, having no physical ramifications of the night's drunken coma. Russell was eloquent and very precise with his words; which made it all the more oddly funny that he could get piss drunk like it was nobody's business.
"I'll give you 10 for the frame, 25 for the necklace, 15 for the brooch and another 10 for mirror…" he laid down his eye piece, "and 30 for the rest of it. You make out with 90 silver pieces. My God, are you trying to get rich or something?" he joked scratchily.
"It's a thought."
"Where did you get it this time?"
"Doesn't matter…but let's just say I look a lot better than a stray dog wandering around lonely cabins in the woods; especially when there's an equally lonely girl who works the garden and never chances to visit the town."
Russel's brows twitched upward.
"You do realize that you could be stealing their life savings? Family heirlooms?"
"You do realize that you're buying them?" Flynn countered, lazily examining his fingernails.
Russell tightened his lips before throwing a bag of coins carelessly onto the table.
"Count it. 100 silver if I don't have to see your mug for another two months…at least."
Flynn picked up the bag. He could tell by the weight of it that its amount was sufficient and he walked out the door with a wave and a shining smile.
With a successful sale behind him, he felt the enticing restlessness of adventure nip at the bottom of his feet.
It was time to move on.
It was time to become unfamiliar to this place.
It was time to be forgotten.