"Yer a pretty little fing, ain't ya?"
Angelo rolled his eyes. He supposed that, here in Pickham, the question would be considered the height of sophisticated conversation; just one more reason to hate the place. Still, it was going to be amusing to see how Jessica dealt with the questioner.
"Oy! I'm talking' to you!"
His shoulder was roughly jostled; he turned to glower at one of the town's over-muscled thugs, and belatedly realized that the others had already abandoned the pub's inferior food and drink for the inn's inferior beds.
"Wot, yer too 'igh an' fine a lady to talk to a bloke?"
Shock - and perhaps a bit too much of the troll piss this place sold as ale - held Angelo silent a moment. "I'm not a lady."
Coarse laughter greeted his words. "That's wot I like to hear!"
"No, I mean," Angelo shoved away the hands that were suddenly all over him, "I'm not a woman, you buffoon."
"Wiv that pretty face, an' all that hair? Tied up wiv a ribbon, an' all?" And abruptly, his hair was loose, the tie dangling from meaty fingers.
"I assure you, I am not a woman, nor have I ever been mistaken for one." He rose with as much dignity as he could muster amidst the sniggering of the pub's other patrons, grateful that at least none of his friends were witnessing this. "And while I would love to stay and give you the education you're so clearly lacking, I'm afraid--"
He broke off with a yelp as the man's hand suddenly shot between his legs and felt for a good deal longer than was necessary, despite Angelo's efforts to shove him away. Angelo was on the verge of drawing his sword and damn the consequences - it wasn't as if Pickham had a prison, after all - when the man snatched his hand back with an affronted howl.
"Wotcher doin', pretendin' to be a bird?"
Angelo didn't bother to answer, just tossed down a few coins which vanished almost before they hit the scarred wood of the bar. Another time, Angelo would have been impressed by the barkeep's reflexes; as it was, he simply wanted to forget he'd so much as heard of Pickham, much less visited the wretched place.
He turned and saw Yangus standing just inside the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed. Easy enough to judge from his expression just which part of that altercation he'd arrived to witness.
At least, he thought wearily, things can't get any worse.
Six pinches and one slap on his ass later, he realized he'd been wrong.
"I di'n't mean t' interrupt nuffin'," Yangus mumbled in apology as Angelo walked past him and into the safety of the empty courtyard.
Angelo resisted the urge to punch him, the urge to laugh hysterically, and the urge to rub one spot where he was sure he'd have a bruise, instead pressing his fingers to his temples in an effort to banish the headache forming behind his eyes.
They could not possibly leave this place soon enough to suit him.
Yangus cleared his throat. "Anyway, Eight figgered you'd want to know we'll be stayin' on a few days, doin' them jobs Dodgy Dave talked about..."
Hysterical laughter once again bubbled up in Angelo's throat.
And this time, he didn't even try to stop it.
Written for 30 Tortures. Session #27 - gender confusion
