I've been thinking about writing this fanfic for a long time but I'm just getting around to it. If you had read the summary you will know what this is about, obviously. I'm not really sure where this story is going yet. I wont update at all unless I get enough reviews.

Disclaimer: No ownership whatsoever T_T

I hate Bloodstone. I hate it. The dirty cobbled streets, the grey sky, the people; just because I live here, that I'm apart of these dirty disgusting people, means nothing. I still hate Bloodstone. Oh, how I ache for the wonderfully cheerful Bowerstone Townsquare! Those delicious wafts of produce and freshly cooked pie and steak. The little kids underfoot, playing and laughing and running. I haven't been there in nearly five months or so. Only when my job demanded my presence in Old Town did I get to visit there. A rather intimidating place, now that I think about it. All those middleclass and aristocrat townspeople staring at me with all that disdain. Perhaps I had brought it on to myself, what with wearing my patchy coat over my corset and raunchy skirt.

Anyway, back from my reminiscing. I've got a job to do. A dirty thug starts to walk by, that hungry look in his eyes. Stepping forward and leaning towards him slightly, I whisper invitingly "How would you like a wild night, bad boy?" Not ashamed a bit, the thug looks me up and down.

"Oh yeaaah," he growls throatily.

The thug grabs my arm and walks me down the steps and streets until we reach a rundown hovel I guess is his house. People stare at us the whole way, knowing exactly what's going to happen. My "client" opens the door and gestures for me to go in. As I enter he shuts the door behind us. For a second I hesitated, staring at the dirty bed.

"Lay down!" he yells harshly, poking me in the back. Silently I go forward and stretch out, staring up at the man. Slowly he stalks forward and crawls on the bed and on top of me. Immediately he leans forward and starts to kiss me roughly. The kiss goes on and on until I swear my face starts to go blue from lack of oxygen. The thug fiddles with the buttons on my corset until he just rips it apart. Finally he breaks our lips apart to stare at my bare chest with a leer. His yellow eyes scared me about as much as his green and brown teeth disgusted me. Just then he shatters the silence that had only been filled with his gasps and moans. Staring at me with a wild gaze and breathing heavily he smirks "I'm ready for my wild night." That's when he starts to scoot himself down the bed. When his face becomes level with my thighs he stops and starts to lift my skirt. That's when I close my eyes and will myself.

Will myself to a better place.

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"How would you like a ballad, my dear Hero?" I ask hopefully. The Hero of Bowerstone passes by with nothing more then a disdainful glance before continuing up the street. "Only ten coin a song!" I call after him hopefully, needing to earn some gold. This time the Hero turns around completely, staring at me with blank eyes. At first glance he seems beautiful, I think suddenly. With his bright blonde hair pulled up in to a ponytail and his sapphire eyes; they were enough to make every woman and a lot of men fall over themselves. His build is tall and muscular with light blue will lines webbing across his arms and neck. The image of a perfect, good hero.

Then, as I let my gaze linger on the hero, Lionheart, other things start to show. Like the way his light tan skin had quite a few blemishes. And whenever his teeth showed they were green and yellow dentures. Finally there was the fact that flies flew around him in great numbers, probably attracted by the barley audile stench that wafted around him. Sure, maybe he is good enough to sacrifice his family to save thousands of lives. But he is also corrupt enough to over tax all his buildings and food stalls or eat enough meat and drink enough liquor that a potbelly is starting to take shape.

I had just finished my quick observation when the hero finally reacts. With a sneer he lifts his fists with the middle fingers sticking out. Then, to add insult, he keeps gesturing like that until he seems to think the message sank in. Then he turns and once again walks up the street, this time not even looking back. But even after this awful act I swear I could still see what looked like a halo float above his corrupt head.

Felling my dark cheeks redden I turn towards the docks, leaving behind the jeering voices of the Bloodstoners. Once I felt I was at a respectable distance away I fall to the ground with a huff. Pulling off my hat and lute, I lean against the wall behind me. From my spot I could see all across the Waterfront. Which might not be such a good thing now that I think about it. Smiling to myself softly, I wiggle around a bit trying to get comfy. But soon I find that stone walls can never really get comfy so I settle for just sitting there, listening to the sounds of the busy port. So it wasn't the bustling chatter of Bowersone, the crackling fires of the Gypsy Camp, or the quiet murmur of growing in Oakfield. But it was still people, people around me so I wasn't alone. Alone in a forest filled with rustlings an snappings and…

No, I mentally scold myself. Don't think about that. Not tonight. Once again I twitch around, ending up with my head tilted back. "Good night, Roland," I whisper to myself sadly, closing my eyes and falling asleep as the sun goes down.