Flynn knew better than anyone that the richest people aside from the king and queen— were whores...
Somehow that realization could always make him chuckle. The one facet such opposite ends of life and status could relate to was finances. Sounded right to him.
Flynn knew this, but only because he had robbed them blind so many times... like now for instance. He wasn't about to walk to his deliberately planned destination, no. He was now saddled up on a shiny, fit, young, brand new, never abused stallion with big, tight joints and conveniently massive, ground covering strides. Dappled black, lightly feathered and imposing in posture and carriage; with an equally smug and puffed up rider sitting evenly on his powerful back. These two did not look like the endeavors of petty thievery.
Flynn was a bandit of the upper class.
But thieving from well to do harlots was often tricky and, he had to admit, not always successful. There were ground rules established of course. Self imposed ground rules based on common sense and experience. For one thing, Flynn never slept with whores.
Never.
Because whores slept with everyone.
Everyone.
Everyone including the walks of life he had no desire to relate to intimately; from the sweat-engulfed pub rats he may have swindled the night before, to desperate, raucous palace guards, to unsuspecting teenage boys...
He got a shudder every time. He preferred the disease-free variety. This mostly included housewives, midwives, new wives, soon-to-be wives and ex-wives. Plus his personal favorite, (at least salaciously speaking) included young women who just barely graduated from girlhood and had very searching eyes and very obvious desires in spite of themselves; plus whatever moral fiber was instilled in them—or ignored. Flynn could spot them from a mile off. He could weaken them by his mere approach.
But back to the whores…
These women who got paid for their philandering were amongst the most cunning and clever to walk the earth. If they channeled their skills in other areas, they would be immensely successful, with a deserving reputation of prosperity. Such a realization made them look all the more tragic in Flynn's eyes. However, few of these women thought of it this way, considering how effortless it was for them to pay the bills and carelessly indulge.
For Flynn, in order to channel that payment into his pocket, (without ever having to defile himself with them) he had to keep his wits about the moment they opened the door. Those wits were hair splitting sharp with years spent honing, crafting, and meditating on full-proof tactics. He was an experienced veteran of every imaginable form of internal warfare— perverse or otherwise.
These musings cluttered his thoughts after galloping for nearly a mile. The tireless stallion eventually reached the top of a slick, mud coated hill. He was pulled up for a brief pause, as Flynn looked back on the territory of his most recent accomplishments. A break in the weather, but not its aftermath, aggravated him. It seemed like he would have to leave the country entirely to be liberated from soggy soil. The rampaging blanket of free falling storms had ravaged the land for the past several days. The remaining remnants slowly heaved through the countryside, like a misty serpent dragging its countless foggy tails— until it finally faded into cloudy obscurity, allowing the sun to bake the landscape into stability again.
The eyes of a thief scanned the chilly valley with attention and scrutiny. He would leave it the way he came— on the back of a stolen horse. If he didn't feel a need to stay, he didn't. If nothing intrigued him to return, he wouldn't. Flynn gathered the reins, patted his newly acquired steed on the neck and turned his back, for what he was certain would be forever.
"Break time, buddy," Flynn dismounted swiftly. His boots clicked against the rounded cobblestones beneath as he stopped to tie the big, plucky stallion to a hitching post in front of a tavern. He asked a lot of his stead by having them travel over a hundred miles in the past three days. Now, Flynn found himself at the outskirts of a village he hadn't visited in years, but easily recognized.
He entered into what was secretly yet not so secretly a gilded thieves den; pretty and prim on the outside, vile, lecherous and corrupt on the inside. Not unlike himself. Of course, he would replace the word's 'pretty' and 'prim' with 'handsome' and 'rugged'. Other than that, this place was a mirror of himself, and he liked it.
He casually strode into the bar and stopped. The place was full and nearly all of its occupants were women; young, pretty women who were now ignoring their partners and eying the stranger who entered.
To the disappointment of the adjoining mass of women that decided they wanted a closer look at the handsome intruder, Flynn had no desire to exhaust himself by impressing them with his sexual exploits— as much as he would have liked to. He had traveled a hundred miles from his last crime, and a hundred miles was not far enough, not for him. He wanted to keep moving.
This didn't mean he wouldn't allow himself to be caressed and groped as he took brief respite and sipped a drink that burned more than the growing monotony of their hollow touches. When he finally told them he was just passing by, he was received by a chorus of suggestive protests, pouting lips and suddenly barren shoulders. He promised he would return in exchange for the direction to the capital.
"You gotta girl waitin' for your there, mister?" cooed a leggy gypsy.
"No, clearly all my girls are here," he smiled, wiggling his brows, looking idiotic to the entire male populace, but dashing to the grabby females.
Getting the information he sought, he bailed swiftly so that he wouldn't 'accidentally' expend his preserved energy on the verbose groaning of clearly unsatisfied women, or pick a slew of fights with spitefully jealous men.
"So, how do you like the kingdom of Corona so far?" Flynn asked his sleepy eyed steed on approach. The stallion perked up, anticipating more travel.
"We just barely crossed the border, but this is officially sun symbol territory. I use to have a reputation here. I think it's time to freshen some sore guard's memories. I even remember some of them by name. Good times…" he droned, half to his horse, half to himself. Flynn tightened the cinch and mounted up.
This particular kingdom had a spacious circumference of territory. It allowed for all kinds of larceny that could be accomplished with many victims that would take too long to investigate, before he was already on the other side of the kingdom. The fact that Flynn Rider once had wanted posters tacked over every tree and tract proved that one had to be pretty damn notorious. To Flynn, it was a badge of honor…as long as they got his nose right.
However, it had been at least five years since he last stepped foot in this kingdom. He didn't need directions to the capitol because he forgot. It was because routes change, construction happens, and guards change their routines. He doubted he was half as infamous as he was before, but he knew when to take risks and when to stay elusive. For all he knew, they had all but forgotten Flynn Rider. He was a living legend that was passed down for all posterity and brought life to their boring, steady lives. Now, he was again real in the present, and ready to have a new chapter spoken from their perpetual scowls.
As he casually rode through open streets, he noticed various wanted posters of thieves he had no recognition of. He felt there was little to worry about at this point, but remained cautious as he entered among a throngs of citizens. They looked harmless and unsuspecting enough.
Flynn took his horse to a boarding stable and surveyed his surroundings. Even though much of it had changed, the soul of it…the foundation it was built on… still lured him from any distance he traveled. He could never be away for too long, and five years was nearly unbearable. It almost made him feel sad that he was going to have to delve into old habits that got him so infamous here in the first place. He was setting the wheel in motion again, as if he never left, or perhaps— to return like a ghost to haunt an old place filled with new people.
"Sign here…" mumbled the stable manager. Flynn used a 'fake' name before observing people…strangers…helping other strangers set up celebratory kinds of stands, booths and purple flags with highly contrasted yellow sun emblems. There was gentleness, happiness— yet also a melancholy way about their tasks. Flynn stared with his hand to his chin before the realization hit him.
"They're not still doing that celebration, er…tribute, whatever— the lantern thing they do every year, are they?"
"Every year," the man answered, storing the signed document and sliding a similar parchment toward Flynn.
"But…still?" he inquired, "How long are they going to do it? Hasn't it been twenty years or something? God, I remember it when I was a kid."
"It'll be 18 years this Friday," the man corrected. "The king and queen will probably uphold it until their death beds. It's such a deep tradition now. It may go on forever."
"Kinda sad," Flynn shrugged, staring at the dangling flags, velvety and aloft in the light breeze.
"Still possible…" came a grumble.
"What?" Flynn turned with a dubious expression, "you— grumpy, frumpy, sluggish old man who hasn't said ten words, still thinks there's hope for the lost and probably dead princess?"
The man looked up with a dark gaze, unfazed by the insult, but soon making it clear that he was very loyal to said lost and probably dead princess.
"You watch what you say, boy. I can tell that you haven't been here a while, but you know what? We're still here, and we still commemorate her birthday. So I suggest you be a bit more respectful. There are others less sluggish but still grumpy who might throttle you."
"All right, all right. I didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. Don't poison my horse, okay? I'll be back tonight."
And he went on his way, feeling the need for another round of drinks. With the shifting weight of a decent fortune continually reminding him of its presence, he decided he'd spend a bit of it at a nicer, cleaner, safer tavern in the heart of the kingdom. Of course he didn't bring all of his earnings; having carefully spread most of it in various hiding places on his way here. But he still carried enough to make life pleasurable for the better part of the year, if he decided to stay that long. He hadn't made up his mind yet. The idea seemed nice though.
He entered the relatively quiet pub. The bartender had his back turned and made no effort to acknowledge the new visitor. Flynn quietly slid up to the bar without bothering to sit.
"Chen…" he muttered.
The bartender stopped and turned around. Flynn gave him a grin.
"Been gone too long, huh kid?"
"Too long for my liking; five years," Flynn answered.
"Then it seems Chen left about the same time you did. No one knows where he went, and some think he died. Then again, everyone thought you were dead too."
"Well, it took you long enough to remember me," Flynn shook his head, "I'm hurt. How could you forget this face?"
"Trust me, I tried. My efforts were successful right up until this moment. You might not find Chen here, but some of his associates remained…" he gestured over to a far table with a pair of burly redheads. They sat across a short, pudgy man whose feet couldn't reach the floor. He wore thick silver spectacles, insisted on keeping his hat on, and donned grubby, muddy colored clothes that was surprisingly expensive in quality. Sitting next to him was and a harshly trodden, middle aged woman wearing a pale dress, with pale eyes, a pale complexion; and looking miserable in general. It was an odd sight altogether.
"Have what you will with those boys, but keep me the hell out of it this time," he growled.
"Never again, I know. It looks like I have to improvise anyway," Flynn got up, "enjoy the festival," he waved before strutting to the table. He stood before them, proud, bold and intentionally exposed; the only way he knew how to communicate peace among these type.
"Excuse me guys and gals, may I have a seat? I'm an old friend of a certain Chinese settler who apparently is no longer present. But I was told you knew him. Of course I use the term 'friend' very loosely."
The three men at the table stared wordlessly. The woman never lifted her head.
"And what do you know about Chen?" finally spoke the pudgy man.
"I think I'm the reason he's gone. I helped him get his fortune. He took a little more than half of our bargain. I planned on getting it back, but he's not here. I'm not surprised and I'm not too sore about it either. I would've done the same, considering the stupid lot we were working with."
There was an exchange of tense glances, and the pudgy man pulled out a chair.
"Sit."
Flynn took up the seat and eyed the woman.
"Your secretary?"
"My payment."
"Ah…" Flynn didn't hide the mixture of amusement and disgust. He didn't like when women were used as payment. He liked when they came at him willingly. It was one of the few real things in his life, and he liked when they chose him fiercely and freely. But as a matter of payment? He looked at it as a dull, diluted fantasy. Fitting for the disgusting pork-wrapped man sitting beside him that could never get a decent woman otherwise.
The pudgy man spoke in a low, greasy, congested tone, "Go wait in the carriage dear, I'll be there in a few minutes."
Immediately feeling sorry for the woman, Flynn struggled against the sudden pang of nausea as she shifted away from her high bidding captor. Her neutral features somehow remained intact, and without looking up, she stood and floated out as quietly as a ghost, pride and shame the only semblance to the living.
"So, what are you boys up to? And are Chen's whereabouts completely untraceable?" Flynn skipped the small talk. None of these men looked able to tolerate it.
"He's dead," uttered the growling voice of one of the redheads.
"Figures," Flynn sighed.
"I killed 'im…"
Flynn eyed the redhead expressionlessly, then back to the squatty man.
"So what brings you here, then? Couldn't find his fortune?" Flynn asked, showing no fear of what he internally acknowledged to be his new associates.
"That's where I come in, young man," spoke the pudgy one. His fingers were short and stained. His nails looked as yellowed and unkempt as his teeth. And yet, he wore the clothes of an upperclassmen, just of the disheveled sort. Flynn could tell; he was a ratty, sneaky swindler with fine taste, but little cleanliness and etiquette.
"Indeed, his fortune was found," the greasy piker continued, "but something else of interest—something in paper that needed proper interpretation was also discovered..."
He had Flynn's full attention now.
"Fortunately for you, all of the cryptic work has been resolved. All we need at this point is someone to do the deed...the timing of your arrival is uncanny," he breathed, speaking solely through his teeth now.
All three men sternly locked eyes with Flynn.
"Ah, well everyone has their role, don't they?," Flynn mused haughtily, adjusting his vest, "how many women am I going to have to 'woo'?"
"None."
"Darn."
"This is a stealth job."
Flynn leaned forward and eyed them all just as critically. His previous arrogant airs were masked long enough for them to know that he was taking this job, like every previous one, very seriously.
"And how well does this stealth job pay?"