They called it the lace of beggars, the place where the most hopeless gathered with the hope that their wretched masses would build enough sympathy to sway the wealthy's steps in their direction. It was located between the market and the Outer-ring of Binoria, a barrier that marked the distinction between the middle-class and the lower-class. It was the only place where the City Guard did not harass the beggars for begging and hence it had grown to be the only place where they gathered to do so. Passers by scoffed at those upon the lace, pinching their noses at their stench and turning a deaf ear to their pleas, yet, this did not deter the beggars from calling out with their bowls in hand.
Two men called out the loudest, they had dark holes where their eyes once were and they held their bowls pressed between stumps that once had hands attached to their ends. Their boney legs folded and supported their weight beneath them, their knees were bruised and hardened after taking up the role of motion since their feet had been chopped off. They were naked but at first glance one wouldn't have noticed for a thick layer of dirt caked their shriveled bodies and might as well have passed for cloth. They screamed for aid, cried out for it and shook their empty bowls. Between them sat a silent man with an empty bowl placed before him.
The man wore brown pants and a brown shirt that had both turned as dark as the skin of the men beside him. His face was smeared with coal dust from his daily work of shipping coal, one wouldn't believe he was a pure Binorian with pale white skin, blond hair and blue eyes. His eyes that were once blue and clear were now hazy and sunken with bags of rings lined with dirt beneath them.
Still, the man did not carry himself as one who belonged to the lace of beggars. His legs were pulled in and his chin rested upon his knees, he stared straight ahead and was a contrast to the vigorous motion of limbs all around him as beggars shook their bowls at passers by. He was oblivious of the stench, oblivious of the crowds that passed by and regarded him as one would waste stuck to a boot's sole. He did not make a sound, the bowl before him served the only purpose of making him look like he belonged with the beggars he sat with, if anyone were to drop a coin into it he would place said coin in the bowl of either of the two blind men beside him.
"Rank eight and nine." Orgeeg said, breaking his silence. He knew they couldn't hear him, their eardrums had been perforated. Still, he always came when he could and talked to them even as they shouted for help to the passers by as he addressed them. "I've been working hard, sorting and stacking coal with the hopes of recognition, the man in charge of the whole venture is cruel and his recognition spells doom but he has taken a liking to me, he says I remind him of his third wife." Orgeeg laughed, a dry humorless laugh that one could liken to a dying man's last attempt at imitating joy.
Rank eight stopped his screams and lowered his head, his shoulders shook and sobs escaped him though tears did not stream down the holes his eyes once were. Orgeeg turned his head to him. "Do I resemble a woman, Rank eight? I've been working twice as hard as anyone else just so I could be given the job to deliver the stacks of coal to the Palace but in the end its not my work that gained me recognition, it was lust.
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"I told the man, 'Let me be among the ones who'll take the coal to the Palace, it has been my dream since my reincarnation into this realm from the gorgeous woman I once was in another life, to just set my hand upon the palace wall, to be as close as possible to the dwelling of he who holds the Jojoh Meena if only for a moment.'" Orgeeg fell silent, remembering the man's beady brown eyes, a mark of Remu ancestry, monitoring him as he begged to be among those destined to carry coal into the Palace.
"He'd refused of course, claiming only experienced workers earned the right to venture into the Palace. 'I can't have you embarrassing me with your lack of knowledge about the Palace's layout huh?' The man had said. I'd laughed a genuine laugh at the irony of his words and had ran my finger upon my lower lip, hoping his third wife did the same thing, then I'd said 'Once free of the Palace, I will ride you until you beg me for death.' I'd giggled and blown him a kiss before walking away."
"Meena, take my life, please. It does not have to be Tabrimas, bring me back as anyone, anyone other than who I am now." Rank nine whispered from beside Orgeeg, causing him to turn and regard the man. His cheeks stood out like stakes upon the ground, his breath was rugged and the sincerity of his plea for death moved Orgeeg to the brink of tears. Orgeeg reached out with one coal stained hand but hesitated and pulled the hand back.
"So, a day or two ago, he'd called me," Orgeeg continued, "he'd said, 'I rarely do this but you're to be among the people carrying the next shipment of coal to the palace in a week's time.' I'd thanked him profusely for the opportunity and he'd replied, 'You'll thank me by making me beg for death.' Then, with no one looking, he'd run his hand up my thigh, I had bit my lower lip and winked at him."
Orgeeg watched a rare sight, a nobleman dressed in gold silk with a retinue of servants approached his begging position, the beggars all around pushed their bowls towards the man but the nobleman ignored them. Dropping two bronze gorents into Orgeeg's bowl he said. "You're a quiet one, they ought to learn from you. It'd be way more enjoyable to have a stroll without a beggar's loud pleas interrupting the peace." Orgeeg nodded his head in thanks. The nobleman turned and slapped a beggar who'd gripped his gold robe, the beggar cried out at the force of the impact and fell on her back. The nobleman spat on her and departed the lace, his servants in close pursuit.
Orgeeg took the two coins and put each into Rank eight and nine's bowls. "Thank you!" The former Royal Black Guards said in unison as they felt the coins hit the inside of their bowls through their stumps. Orgeeg sighed. "Don't thank me for this, brothers, thank me once I gorge out Masutap's eyes and hack away at her limbs, I will not leave that Palace alive but vengeance will be served for both of you, myself and the late Prince Desan." Orgeeg picked up his bowl and departed the lace, behind him the former Black Guards continued their chorus of pleas.