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"It will do you no good."
Rosvaal's hand froze halfway to his belt. His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"The diluent I spiked your potions with will have rendered them impotent by now."
"You're a right bastard Sam. Beatitude be damned."
Samuel licked his lips. "Just hand over the bag. No need to make a fuss."
Dust swirled about their feet. They were beginning to attract looks, standing in the street. Both were sweating from the heat. "We've come this far into town. Wait 'til we get back to the hostelry. I'll hand it over there."
"Don't try to prolong it. You've lost, Ros. This bootless proclivity of yours will only exacerbate things in the end - there is no nobility to such a futile gesture and I have no desire to hurt you if you don't make me."
"Save your gilded nonsense. We're going back to the hostelry. You won't try anything here." The wizard's voice was contemptuous as he started walking, apparently prepared to push through his betrayer if the other man did not move.
"Stop!" Rosvaal stopped. His expression declared no patience for further foolishness. "Do you think I chose this spot randomly? My subaltern is standing by in case you try anything." His gaze flicked back over Rosvaal's shoulder. "Drop the bag. That's all I want, you can go free."
"Yes." Rosvaal sighed and loosened his bag. Sam got a faceful of potion before he realised the prize was not being handed over and by then he did not care - it may have lost its potency but shards of glass are still sharp as ever. One gunshot rang out from behind before Rosvaal had him too busy dodging glass, secured from the brim of his hat the one vial Sam had missed, and was gone before the smoke cleared.
[Should I link the words or would ye rather guess? Should be extra easy to pick this time]
Rosvaal's hand froze halfway to his belt. His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"The diluent I spiked your potions with will have rendered them impotent by now."
"You're a right bastard Sam. Beatitude be damned."
Samuel licked his lips. "Just hand over the bag. No need to make a fuss."
Dust swirled about their feet. They were beginning to attract looks, standing in the street. Both were sweating from the heat. "We've come this far into town. Wait 'til we get back to the hostelry. I'll hand it over there."
"Don't try to prolong it. You've lost, Ros. This bootless proclivity of yours will only exacerbate things in the end - there is no nobility to such a futile gesture and I have no desire to hurt you if you don't make me."
"Save your gilded nonsense. We're going back to the hostelry. You won't try anything here." The wizard's voice was contemptuous as he started walking, apparently prepared to push through his betrayer if the other man did not move.
"Stop!" Rosvaal stopped. His expression declared no patience for further foolishness. "Do you think I chose this spot randomly? My subaltern is standing by in case you try anything." His gaze flicked back over Rosvaal's shoulder. "Drop the bag. That's all I want, you can go free."
"Yes." Rosvaal sighed and loosened his bag. Sam got a faceful of potion before he realised the prize was not being handed over and by then he did not care - it may have lost its potency but shards of glass are still sharp as ever. One gunshot rang out from behind before Rosvaal had him too busy dodging glass, secured from the brim of his hat the one vial Sam had missed, and was gone before the smoke cleared.
[Should I link the words or would ye rather guess? Should be extra easy to pick this time]
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Date: 2010-12-20 19:50 (UTC)From:Others: Beatitude, subaltern (had to look it up)
I find it amusing I can eliminate any word you use more than once (such as hostelry)