1595 A.D. - England - LondonThere was always something funny about this time period. Not the people that were encountered in this time period. More like a filthy kind of odd air scent that seem never able to be wavered off. It was a feeling that could lingered onward for many incarnation.
London. The city of fog, or was it the city that smell too much like the stinking Thames River? Either one of these names really never linked much back to a city rich of poets and culture value.
Night was hovering over the city of fog. The light chime of boat passing by the Thames River gently echo through the night. The moon gazed down onto the city through layers of playful clouds that decided to play hide and seek with the moon. The night among this busy city for once was lingering into pure silence. Only a few light footsteps clicking onto the cobble stone could be heard.
It was such night that among a noisy inn that this story was unfold.
The inn was just having another feisty night as men tried to forget the harsh life through water down beer that taste no better than the Thames. Light fights normally break out during one of the drunk hours among the night as the men were chunk out of the inn politely by the boss. It wasn't something new in this area that men found their destination either on the streets with a heavy hangover or in the moldy bed bury deep among prostitute.
It was among the usual business of the inn that this small matter broke out. Located on the second floor at the far corner of the inn a loud chunk was heard before a pile of papers were sent flying in every direction in the air.
"You filthy animal! You have no grace among the art of expression nor any culture in that stinky buck mind of yours!" The sound of insult was gashed across the room as a man slammed his fist hard onto the wooden table rattling the items on the table. The man who lashed out was red in color as if able to burst out with massive blood spill, maybe it was a bit exaggerate on description but it fitted the bursting barrel better.
The person across the angry bull was a petite size male, leaning into a slight feminine look though not easy mistaken as a female. He was gazing up on the wooden ceiling as he considered if he should kindly point out the man was merely a low slump poet that write cheesy poet as a living, or he should point out cheesy poets are not even close toward William Shakespeare's work.
"Mister Dumpy, I would re-frame your own mouth from further insulting anymore. After all, we all knew the market is lacking its own taste in poets. Mister Shakespeare's work is still the latest glory item around." The petite male finally kindly pointed it out as a bar maid walked in on the whole incident that caused her to drop the tray of food she was holding before she flee the scene in quite horrified look on her over powdered face.
The angry male puff and huffed as he posture himself promptly onto the wooden stool again making the stool squeak lightly due to the weight of the male. He even tried to flapper his collar to make him seem gentleman enough, which was quite a fail attempt. "I am a refine gentleman, if I need to remind you once again, Mister Heisenberg Hummer."
The petite male as Heisenberg Hummer rolled his grey green eyes lightly before patting down his cotton selves with his bare hand as if trying to dust off the horrible dirt feeling that Mister Dumpy radiant off in some nasty little method. "Well... Mister Dumpy, I fear our talk will need to be cut short." He simply refuse to stay in the same room with this horrible pile of dirt anymore. It even made Heisenberg felt his lungs were degrading down into worst condition than the Thames River. He dam sure will find away to make people see some kind of good in the work he wrote, not some cheesy poet writer that claim to know art. His work wasn't to be scattered around like nasty papers that could be stump on by horses.
Heisenberg picked up all the scattered paper before he made a prompt look at Mister Dumpy, "Just so you know, your work isn't even legit enough to get pass this inn." He than walked out and slammed the wooden door hard.
"You filthy animal! You have no grace among the art of expression nor any culture in that stinky buck mind of yours!" The sound of insult was gashed across the room as a man slammed his fist hard onto the wooden table rattling the items on the table. The man who lashed out was red in color as if able to burst out with massive blood spill, maybe it was a bit exaggerate on description but it fitted the bursting barrel better.
The person across the angry bull was a petite size male, leaning into a slight feminine look though not easy mistaken as a female. He was gazing up on the wooden ceiling as he considered if he should kindly point out the man was merely a low slump poet that write cheesy poet as a living, or he should point out cheesy poets are not even close toward William Shakespeare's work.
"Mister Dumpy, I would re-frame your own mouth from further insulting anymore. After all, we all knew the market is lacking its own taste in poets. Mister Shakespeare's work is still the latest glory item around." The petite male finally kindly pointed it out as a bar maid walked in on the whole incident that caused her to drop the tray of food she was holding before she flee the scene in quite horrified look on her over powdered face.
The angry male puff and huffed as he posture himself promptly onto the wooden stool again making the stool squeak lightly due to the weight of the male. He even tried to flapper his collar to make him seem gentleman enough, which was quite a fail attempt. "I am a refine gentleman, if I need to remind you once again, Mister Heisenberg Hummer."
The petite male as Heisenberg Hummer rolled his grey green eyes lightly before patting down his cotton selves with his bare hand as if trying to dust off the horrible dirt feeling that Mister Dumpy radiant off in some nasty little method. "Well... Mister Dumpy, I fear our talk will need to be cut short." He simply refuse to stay in the same room with this horrible pile of dirt anymore. It even made Heisenberg felt his lungs were degrading down into worst condition than the Thames River. He dam sure will find away to make people see some kind of good in the work he wrote, not some cheesy poet writer that claim to know art. His work wasn't to be scattered around like nasty papers that could be stump on by horses.
Heisenberg picked up all the scattered paper before he made a prompt look at Mister Dumpy, "Just so you know, your work isn't even legit enough to get pass this inn." He than walked out and slammed the wooden door hard.
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