Post by Elric Vlarintos on Aug 15, 2011 21:33:24 GMT -5
Ev'ry once in a while some clueless sod walks up to me and asks, "So what's the chant about that Aure character?" I ain't the type to go lanning people 'bout such things--I'm no tout. But it's happen enough that I might'n consider wigwagging 'bout the matter so you don' get caught a bunch of leatherheads.
'Kay, so 'ere's the dark'o'it: Aure started off as a spiv. The kind what lived by 'er wits and no berk or basher would'n get the best o'er. A charming lass she was til' the day she turned stag. A blood like no other, she takes kindly to the jink to give 'er the top-shelf comforts. A well-lanned sort, I wouldn't be counting on 'er not knowing about you if'n you be worth knowing about. Word o'warning: a nick from 'er is good enough to pen ye in the dead book right fast.
She's a cutter what with a chiv what will give ye the laugh. Ye'd be barmy to say she ain't a looker, though. In particular, she be fond o'th'sparkle. Giv'n the chance she'll pretty 'erself right up with it. The way she glitters, ye'd think she have a bit'o'th'fiend in 'er blood. The way she acts dun help that image none either. And she plays a rough game. She'll tell ye to pike off one moment, and then peel ye the next with her pretty lashes and pouty lips. That bone box o'ers just rattles away the most charming chant ye e'er did hear. If she's twiggin' to ya, ye best give her the laugh before ye get lost. Ye catch all that, bubber?
Powers be damned, none knows where the chit makes her kip, but best you keep away from her. You'll wish the Lady 'erself had crossed your path if ye don't. Take it from a graybeard! This blood has been banging around th'lass fer a while. I'm not tryin' to part ye and yer jink, jes tryin' to shake yer wits and rattle yer brain-box so ye have more sense than a sodding bubber!
'Kay, so 'ere's the dark'o'it: Aure started off as a spiv. The kind what lived by 'er wits and no berk or basher would'n get the best o'er. A charming lass she was til' the day she turned stag. A blood like no other, she takes kindly to the jink to give 'er the top-shelf comforts. A well-lanned sort, I wouldn't be counting on 'er not knowing about you if'n you be worth knowing about. Word o'warning: a nick from 'er is good enough to pen ye in the dead book right fast.
She's a cutter what with a chiv what will give ye the laugh. Ye'd be barmy to say she ain't a looker, though. In particular, she be fond o'th'sparkle. Giv'n the chance she'll pretty 'erself right up with it. The way she glitters, ye'd think she have a bit'o'th'fiend in 'er blood. The way she acts dun help that image none either. And she plays a rough game. She'll tell ye to pike off one moment, and then peel ye the next with her pretty lashes and pouty lips. That bone box o'ers just rattles away the most charming chant ye e'er did hear. If she's twiggin' to ya, ye best give her the laugh before ye get lost. Ye catch all that, bubber?
Powers be damned, none knows where the chit makes her kip, but best you keep away from her. You'll wish the Lady 'erself had crossed your path if ye don't. Take it from a graybeard! This blood has been banging around th'lass fer a while. I'm not tryin' to part ye and yer jink, jes tryin' to shake yer wits and rattle yer brain-box so ye have more sense than a sodding bubber!
