Somewhere unimportant, perhaps athwart a ghostly tavern riddled with rodent feces, or in a crooked alleyway tossed out with the bathwater, there was a commotion. The jaded voices of shaggy men shredded the cinder block walls with decaying teeth, thick breath seeping from between the holes and cracks like murky wasteland sludge. There were two of them, both six feet tall, husky, and bristling with an indignation that befitted only the dumbest of mugs. They appeared to have something cornered, towards which all of their seething manly stench was directed.
"Pay for it." One of the brutes barked, sweat-caked face crunching into something akin to a beast's gnarl. "Pay or I'll break your face."
At this time, another voice made itself known. It was a stark contrast to the entire environment, a voice laced with regal diction and tame imagery that seemed out of place in such an impoverished corner. The owner was a young man, dressed in foreign wears that spoke of thrilling adventure and compelling experience. His face was Asiatic, cinereal eyes shaded by long lashes that presented a soft expression absent of calamity. Perhaps his most striking feature was his hair, whose alabaster hue shimmered gracefully at a length just beyond his hips. Everything about this man was resplendent to a dangerously magnetic magnitude; so what was he doing here?
The man drew back his foot, which had been grinding away at some shattered glass whose contents, whatever the variety, were now in a medley of heavily-trodden dirt.
"You should know that greed is a sin." His words were cold, like those of a blindingly loyal officer of the law. "I am doing you a favor, but you needn't thank me." The man began his pursuit of an exit, which presented itself in the form of a convenient gap between the ruffians. "Now if you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere."
"You're not going anywhere!" One of the hoodlums spat with gruff outrage as they swung their fist in the direction of the foreigner's face. Eyes widening with more disappointment than surprise, the foreigner ducked, neatly groomed hair flashing with almost comical elegance. Taking advantage of his current station, he proceeded to kick the towering thug in the back of the knee, initiating a mixed cry of pain and surprise, followed by a thud as they fell onto the ground; something or another had been dislocated, rendering them a pitiful puddle of untrained muscle.
The second pea of the pod now wore a face of ignited fury, the kind sported by arena-risen gladiators before making their first strike. They swung in a similar fashion to their first mate, and was unfortunately met with a similar fate; a dislocated shoulder. Both of these men, despite their barbarian-esque physiques, were simply drug-hyped addicts triggered by the destruction of their lifeline product. The foreigner, having experienced a significantly different upbringing and existence, was too used to such tedious brawls.
"Wrath is also a sin." He commented plainly, placid facade so evidently natural that it would seem it was his dominant visage. "I will be taking my leave now. I wish you both good health and prosperity." With that the man went on his way, unscathed in both appearance and mentality. The brutes watched with building indignation as he walked on, eyes blistering with foreshadow of revenge.
