The Singe Rigmarole [ON HOLD]

Moore Shoelaces

 I came here by express unicorn – the very best in the business that provided a cushioned saddle and complementary limestone soap.

Basically, I managed to travel faster than my ass of a half-brother, arriving into the next kingdom in 8 hours, 8 minutes and 1 second. A personal record, if you ask me.  

Previously, I had invested in a small, shabby inn situated in a street nook in complete darkness and obscurity under the name of Moore Shoelaces. One of my colleagues, Gregorius, has seen the world several times and he told me with great sternness that Shoelaces was a common surname in this kingdom; which gave it a cultured air amongst the people. I had approximately 4 hours to spare before my brother arrived so I purchased some poorly-made yet excellent clothes from the market hexagon to act as a disguise: a pinstripe vest that once belong to a circus ringmaster with arthritis, a grey barber’s apron, baggy, patchy trousers that was once a part of a discontinued fashion line, a green velvet shirt with cats’ eye buttons and a jacket made from hemp and dried hay.  

However, it is quite unfortunate that I couldn’t hide my large feet just as well as the rest of my appearance. Sometimes, I never really had them, just normal-sized ones instead. After being hung up by my feet above the palace moat, I was punished further by cleaning the royal pigsty. In that moment of time, I liked pigs. They were humble pink creatures with continuous jiggle. That’s why I liked them. Because of their continuous jiggle, it made them easier to talk to. Alas, that day, their continuous jiggle bombarded me in a psychotic form as they raced towards me looking for food. One of them chomped onto the toes of both of my feet, resulting to permanent swelling.

To this very day, I have never really trusted pigs.

Anyway, I dressed in this strange arrangement of clothes and continued to set the place up, making it look as if it had business. It had business before I arrived. It turns out that the inn has been used as a go-to get-up for all kinds of men who wanted to talk about their troubles and hang about to their hearts’ content.

In other words, it was a brothel.

In an hour, I had convinced all the street corner whores to stay upstairs, put on some normal clothes and pretend they were guests that had decided to stay in my inn for a holiday or more likely, for business. One of them came up to me and asked;

“So Mr Shoelaces, what is your real name? We’re not gonna rat you out, darling. We just want to know what’s going on. Who you waiting for?”

I stared at her in disbelief. She knew it wasn’t my real name but then again, she may have slut senses beyond my understanding.

“My name is Léo. I’m waiting for a guest. He’s a wealthy man and I guarantee that whoever he chooses, they’ll receive a great sum of money.”

The prostitutes all raised their eyebrows, did not ask me any more questions and went upstairs, into the last room. The last room was a very large dormitory that could accommodate up to ten people at once – so it was ideal to keep them all in there because there were so many of them. In the hours leading up to his arrival, they went about their business and waited with me for Olivier.