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The next one came and went quickly. Buffel hadn't been more than a hundred paces when he saw a bunch of scruffy teens down an alley. As he past by the opening, he gently heard cries of pain. Curious, he paused for a moment, looking in. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the small alley, he saw amidst the group of about four trolls was one figure lying on the ground. Buffel slipped into the alley quietly. From the conversation, it seemed like the one on the ground was an awfully unfortunate third party in a matesprite spat. The one closest to him was one of the other parties and the likely organizer of the scuffle. Walking closer, Buffel unveiled his six-iron, aiming it high as more show than threat.

”Oy, miscreants! I ain't privvy to what the one on the ground did, but it seems they got whatever message you were fixin’ to learn 'em. What say we all kick dirt from this hideaway here?” The three supporting trolls looked to the cuckolded troll, who was equally confused. Which a shower crack of his neck and some unsightly language, he strode toward Buffel. Sighing, the young yellowblood took out his lasso. This would probably hurt them both. Whipping it right quick, the teen’s flailing arms did nothing but get him tangled in it. Tightening it at the shoulders, the furious teen ran gawkily at Buffel, his arms now useless. Knowing this'd be the only good hit he'd get against someone much bigger than him, the boy made it count. Grasping the loose rope and pulling it down, he sent the teen careening straight into his now-raised knee. A shock of white hit his eyes as the pain of the impact met with his other senses, and a look at the green blood from the teen suggested he didn't much fancy the interaction neither. Loosening the rope from the older troll, he walked past the others, his gun drawn again.

”Any more tak-!!” He stopped as his show of force was halted by the greenblood, who spun him around and socked him in square in the eye. Knocked galley-west, Buffel's gun misfired. Fortunately it just put a fresh hole in a dumpster, but the shot's noise sent all four teens, plus the one they'd given the smackdown to, sprinting full tilt out the alleyway. Buffel righted himself and strode out as well. Carefully teasing the bruise on his eye, he made his way as far from the vicinity as he could before guards showed up.

”Least the u grateful varmint's safe. S’pose this shiner on my eye is proof enough.”

As Buffel continued down quieter streets, he came across an unwieldy sight. An orange blood with dyed streaks in her hair hung from a wire by her hands, yelling desperately for assistance. It was apparent her laundry had gotten the better of her and she was currently hanging by a thin rope. Below her, a small crowd was forming. A rather buff tealblood was waiting below with arms outstretched, but it was clear the high blood had no idea where she was gonna land. With so many people in the way, she'd never be able to get under her in time. Acting fast, he pulled out his still knotted lasso from before.

”Don’t kick up a fuss now, I'm catchin’ a rope 'round yer ankle!” He yelled, throwing the rope as he did so. Puling it taught, he took the remainder and slung it over a sign off to the side of the street. Calling over the burly tealblood, he asked her politely to hold the lower end of the rope to support her weight when she came down.


Buffel skittered quickly up a drain pipe to a fire escape near the sign.


”Alright now, you're gonna wanna toss yourself this way! I know it's scary, but if you aim it right and put your arns out this way, you'll swing from the sign and together we'll stop ya from face-plantin’ into the wall, sound good?”


After a few second of worry, the orangeblood flung herself best as she could toward him. The crowd gasped as she flew, careening just into Buffel with nary a scratch on her. The tealblood below slowly lowered her as crowd members caught her and helped her right herself. Climbing down, Buffel made sure the girl was alright. He was granted a lipstick heavy smooch on the cheek for his quick thinking, a more passionate embrace being shared between her and the tealblood lass. Clearly they knew each other! Marking his cheek as evidence, Buffel continued onward. The third hours was coming to a close, he'd have to step his game up if he wanted to win. But then again, he already knew he had this in the bag, didn't he?

Also, last one: It was hard to move frantically and also keep to the shadows. Buffel had been quickening his pace, frantically looking for any more fights or thievery. But as he passed an intersection, he took note of a yellowblood on the corner. From his left knee down he didn't have a leg. It was an unfortunately common occurrence that those without beetles couldn't afford much in the way of prosthetics, and with how violent their culture was it was a bigger issue than most would like to discuss. This would do.

As he offered the man his shoulder, they got to chatting. The yellowblood man was a cook and a baker, and he'd lost his leg when a pressure cooker exploded, removing half his limb from the menu. The man couldn't afford a replacement on his wages and so he just made do with what he could and tried to get by as best he could. They slowly hobbled across the street and Buffel explained the nature of the contest, and his plans with it. The man called him quite the clever one for his interpretation of it, but how she handled her side of it would be the true test. On reaching the other side, it was almost the end of the fourth hour. He'd need to use the rest of the time to get back to their meeting place. The man thanked him for his help and wished him luck. As they shook hands, a small cookie appeared in Buffel palm as they parted. The man gave the young lowblood a knowing ink and a nod, before merging with the foot traffic. Buffel nodded back at the man, and started to make his way back.

Buffel came up panting to meeting place, completely dragged out but otherwise doing dandy. His smile visibly dropped at the phrase “pissblood,” however. This girl sure knew how to dish a troll. But upon bringin’ up the contract, Buffel perked back up.


”I did alright, bit of a slow day in town, no?”


As he idled with chitchat, the boy was producing pen and ink and writing on it. The top of it read “BUFFEL AND AUSTRI’S HERO-OFF TALLY.”


”I figured to make it all official-like, we'd write up a tally of all the good we did! Care to start?”
As he listened to her tales, he quietly sketched a picture on the tally paper...

Buffel listened intently to the greenblood as she laid out her intentions and nodded along, smirking. His smile almost broke at her jab at beating up a group of lowbloods, but it weren’t no great scratch. She rattled off her heroic duties, proof in tow. He was honestly surprised that she’d helped any lowbloods at all. O’ course given who she was her stories probably were a touch skewed, but the gist of it were good.


”You’ve really made a mash on me Austri, I’d never pin you for a hero of any lowbloods at all! We are such feeble folk, y’know. In fact I helped a few myself!” The boy shot some blow about his heroic efforts, how he’d gotten the black eye and the kiss mark on his cheek, no extra chiselin’ to any of the tales. His eyes were aglaze as he talked about the reunion kiss of the orangeblood and the tealblood, or stared at the adorable drawing from the little redblood girl. By the time he’d discussed the old yellowblood and the wise drone of his voice as he talked with Buffel, the boy was shouting and acting out the motions relevant to his story. At the end he plopped down, completely dragged out.


”That’s four for me as well. Guess we know who won huh?”


Buffel gestured out towards the rest of the city.


”They did. How often would you say you help lowbloods out durin’ yer hero excursions, huh? From the sounds of it, not often. And I listened to yer tales, it was nice of ya to help them lowbloods out. Ya might try to do it more often.” He folded the tally paper up three ways, closing all writing and pictures on the inside. On the top he carefully wrote Austri’s name, underlining it neatly.
”’Cause if ya don’t, I’d hafta come in here and help ‘em for ya, and I don’t think you’d take too kindly to that, would ya?”

Buffel couldn’t hide it. He was full-on grinning as Austri stood there, spittin’ venom and green in the face. It was clear that either way this went, she’d have to compromise.


”That’s perfectly keen by me Miss, but if you don’t do your job for the lowbloods, somebody’s gonna have to, ya get me?”
He turned ‘round toward the light of the street. People bustled past, making their way to their destinations. The sight of a calmed burg warmed the child’s blood-thumper. He looked back at Austri. Maybe it was just his imagination, but even she seemed better off. Before, the hatred in her eyes was dark, oozing slowly like a poison in her pupils. Now there was a glint behind them, a fire of heroics. So many acts of good will do that to a person, or at least that’s what he reckoned. He turned back and passed her the tally.


”Here, you can keep it. I wrote my address on the front, write me if ya ever have a hero problem that could use a quick shot, okay?”


He flashed his holstered six-iron flippantly and made his way into the crowd.


”See you around, Lightfoot.”