One Day: An exercise in the mundane...

[Bloodrose]

Solo

Rising out of bed these days was harder and harder with every passing morning. Teric could remember the bygone days in which his younger self was rarely found horizontal after four in the early hours of dawn. Disciplined routine was the one thing he missed about military life; rising before the sun has lifted its light over the horizon and asleep long after it has lowered itself again. As an added bonus, that was all assuming you even slept at all.

Enough short or sleepless nights can change a man - can make him strong. The body learns to operate without rest, and eventually you'll find yourself waking after two hours sleep just as you would after twelve...

Twelve hours was more sleep than Teric was accustomed to getting in a week's time, but lately the decades of wear and tear on his body were getting to him. His knees and hands ached in the morning, and his lower back was always stiff. 'Hypertension', caused by years of constantly waiting for someone to sneak up behind him, never let his muscles relax. Twelve hours of sleep wouldn't have been so bad if it was peaceful, but Teric's nights were always filled with fits of half-awake, half-asleep tossing and turning on the soft feather mattress where he made his home.

Silence prevailed in the cool room above the Starlight. The inn and tavern had become the mercenary's adopted home anytime he was in Radasanth - so much so that the tavern keeper kept his room key on reserve. A simple bed, a dresser, and a dirty mirror were all that adorned the space. It didn't matter really, that there was no decoration, because Teric spent most of his time staring blankly at the ceiling between bouts of restless sleep.

Ask a hardened fighting man what loneliness feel like. To some, loneliness is an empty bed devoid of the warmth and comfort a woman can bring to that thin space between the sheets. To others, loneliness is a lack of good friends with whom to pass the daylight hours. And yet still others, the truly damned and lost, find loneliness in the bottom of ale mugs and the brief, pleasant respite of other vices. How truly lost then must I be? A veteran alone contemplates, for he knows deep down all three, these forms of loneliness...

[Bloodrose]

Inclined pushups, dozens of them. The simple exercises that don't take any fancy equipment or utilize a lot of space are the ones that can quickly become a man's best friend. With his feet up on the edge of the bed, and his hands splayed out on the floor, Teric's body rose and fell to the rhythm of his own internal count. Up and down, up and down - his back as straight and solid as a steel bar as he pumped his arms. Minutes passed to the steady count of practiced breathing. In came each breath through the warrior's nose as he pushed himself up off the ground, and out went the same breath through his mouth as he lowered himself close enough to the floor to lick yesterday's dirt off the hard wooden surface.

Chest, shoulders, and arms burning, Teric moved away from the bed and turned himself so he was sitting on the floor. Knees tucked together, legs pulled in, the veteran transitioned and did fifty crunches. At each count of fifty he'd tighten his abs and extended his legs out in front of him - heels just up off the floor - and hold it there like he was going to do a leg lift. A few seconds to catch his breath, and then back in came the legs and into another set of fifty crunches went the old man.

At his age, all this simple workout crap on the hard floor probably wasn't doing his achy joints and muscles any good. It was a long standing habit though - a daily habit older than half the people Teric passed on the streets each day. The type of habit that was near impossible to break.

Maybe that's all it was these days, a habit. Goddess knew the warrior didn't see any real benefit from the simple workout. Through his fighting and his adventuring Teric had already reclaimed the strength and the speed of his youthful years, perhaps even surpassed those levels. Each pushup was a drop in the bucket as compared to the veteran's battles with the likes of Viral, Torgrim, Lorenor, and Godhand Striker. Each crunch a leaf in the wind as compared to his exploits in Salvar, Corone, and Dheathain...

The fine sheen of sweat that glistened on Teric's skin by the time he was done could be considered a false indicator of the fighter's exertion. It didn't take much to raise his core temperature and cause him to sweat, but the veteran's breathing was steady, his heart rate only slightly elevated. Most of the time Teric wished he didn't sweat quite so easily, because then he wouldn't have always needed to bother with what came next.

The Starlight had several rooms, but all shared a communal bathroom at the end of the hall. It was there, in that dark, cool room that Teric filled a basin with cold water from the antique pump jutting from the wall. The water was bitterly cold on the skin, but it was clean; more than could be said for the water in some other establishments. The cold water he splashed on his face and chest, running his wet hands over his arms, shoulders, and through his hair. Never one to carry a towel around with him, Teric generally wandered back to his room still wet, and there he drip-dried before pulling on his clothes and moving downstairs.

[Bloodrose]

The Starlight was quiet in the mornings, the big double doors from the main room to the outside barred and locked. Last call was usually sometime between three and four in the morning, and after the inebriated patrons had left, Sloan the bartender would lock down the whole building. The inn stayed like that, closed to anyone but the paying guests upstairs, until lunch time.

"Morning, Teric." Isabella was one of several young ladies that waited tables and cleaned the rooms at the Starlight, and it seemed the young red-head had drawn breakfast duty this morning. She stood at the end of the bar, against the far wall, cooking over a flat metal stove. The sleeves of her blue blouse were rolled up to the elbows, one hand flecked with dough and batter, the other hand deftly wielding a big fork. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Teric took his normal seat at the same end of the bar as the stove, sitting close to the radiating heat and the pleasant aroma of sizzling breakfast meats and cooking dough. Normally he was the first guest to rise in the morning, but the stove was always going when he came downstairs. Food for the employees. Teric always found himself thinking, despite the fact that he never saw any of them eat.

"We've got griddle cakes and bacon." Isabella flashed him one of her endearing smiles as she spoke. She was a comely enough lass to be sure, but still young. Young enough to make even a heartless old bastard like Teric shift awkwardly when he found himself daydreaming about the soft white skin under that blouse...

"Uh-hum!" Teric cleared his throat forcefully, looking down the bar towards the stairs as though he heard someone else coming downstairs for breakfast. "That'll be fine." He added, drumming his fingers on the smooth wooden surface of the bar. It was a relief when Sloan, the hulking six-foot-five, two hundred and seventy pound protectorate of all the Starlight's girls came wandering into the main room.

"How did you sleep?" The barman asked off-handedly as he set to work pulling overturned chairs off of tables and setting them neatly on the floor.

"Fine." Teric answered simply, more interested in the steaming plate of home-style food Isabella set down in front of him. The cakes were soft and fluffy, the bacon still sizzling in its own juices, and all of it together bordered on being the best thing Teric had seen since yesterday's breakfast.

"Room and board for the week is coming up." Sloan's voice behind him wasn't menacing or gruff, like it would have been with a freeloading traveler who failed to pay their bills. It was a matter-of-fact statement; a reminder. "You stay here often enough, you're welcome to start a tab if you'd like."

Teric inhaled sharply, trying to rapidly cool the hot strip of bacon already in his mouth. His tongue and throat smarted as he wolfed it down, patting his pocket and turning even as he ate. "That's alright." He replied to Sloan for what must've been the third or fourth time. The barman always offered a tab to longstanding customers, but Teric wasn't much for owing people money. "I'll just pay it all tomorrow morning."

"Alright." Sloan went back to pulling down chairs and scrubbing down dirty tables while Teric ate his breakfast and Isabella cooked. The main room was silent except for the bumping of chairs hitting the floor, sizzling food on the grill, and the first sounds of life from outside on the street. The weather in Radasanth was going to be nice today, if the hearty sunlight filtering through the curtained windows was to be any sort of indicator, and Teric was glad.

[Bloodrose]

Debt collection is the bread and butter of any mercenary outfit, mainly because people trying to skirt their bills are always in plentiful supply, and because the bean counters looking to get what's owed them don't like to get their hands dirty. Threatening "lumps" (an old industry term) and breaking kneecaps when necessary; such work is the proverbial foot in the door for guys looking to make money as a merc. Proving your everyday worth (and showing you knew the basics) made you far more appealing to the average Handler looking to hire reliable guys. It was the kind of work that Teric could have given up decades ago, back when he started making more money off jobs that involved fighting goblins or bolstering the vanguard of a warring army - real mercenary work.

The veteran never gave up on debt collection, though. To be truly "old school", one had to keep in touch with their roots, stick to the basics, and never assume they were above such rookie work. Like the simple routine of pushups and crunches on the floor every morning, hunting down debts and settling them, with extreme prejudice if necessary, was a habit older than time for Teric...

On the street in front of the Starlight, his breakfast still warm and comforting in his belly, Teric started out on what had become a daily loop around the city. Every afternoon he'd visit the banks, the loan sharks, and the gambling parlors dotting the Radasanthian landscape looking for work, and would collect a healthy list of names, addresses, and amounts that needed collecting. Then, the following morning of every day, the veteran worked through that list in rapid succession, blitzkrieging most of the debtors before they disappeared to wherever they went during the busier hours of the day. Few expected to see a strong-arming collector early in the morning, so that made it the best time to catch them unawares.

The knock, knock, knock of Teric's fist against front doors was the periodic soundtrack that tied the whole morning together into one continuous job. He would start in the Bazaar, near the inn, and then loop his way around through Pinecrest, the Docks, Beggar's Alley, Highgate, and Downtown. All along the way he'd be checking the list of addressed and stopping at doors that matched, knocking politely and being very cordial with anyone who answered. More often than not the debtors would grumble, let out a big "you caught me" sigh, and pay up without a fuss. That was the effect the sight of a man dressed in black and carrying a sword at his hip usually had on people.

Teric would stress the word USUALLY, because not everyone was as smart as those who paid up quickly, if not willingly...

First, and most common amongst the trouble causers were the "Deniers". These were the guys who swore up and down the street, on their mother's graves, and on the lives of their first born that they didn't have the money to pay up. Days, weeks, sometimes even months were the units of time that they would beg for, pleading for a lenient deadline by which to come up with what was owed. Deniers were in actuality more annoying than they were trouble, but the hassle of threatening them until they magically coughed up the money was aggravating.

Next, and even more annoying than the Deniers, were the Runners. You'd think quick, agile fellows who knew they stood a chance fleeing would make up this group, but you'd be surprised. Most Runners turned out to be chunky, middle-aged debtors who just didn't think their choice of action through far enough to realize they had no chance. Sure, there were some Runners who lived up to their names and made a good break away through the city, but most pursuits ended within a block of where they started.

Lastly, and the most dangerous, were the Fighters. Not surprisingly, the majority of these types could be encountered on the Docks, with the level of danger being proportional to the number of dockworkers standing nearby at the time of collection. Corner a guy alone, and usually there was no trouble. Get them in a group, though, and the twin ugly heads of pride and reputation reared up and made things a little more difficult...

They all paid up in the end though, and by noon Teric would be settling down to lunch with a bag full of other people's money...