The Onion:

 

The Onion:
A heavy stomp, the clink of plates shifting with each step. Townsfolk stop, some stare. Ambling down a cobble path, the Onion walks on, their sword bloody, and their shield with a fresh chip.

Finding an empty corner, they lay their arms. The Onion slowly places themselves upon a bench, taking care to not drop right through, feeling the chair creak with strain beneath the heft of their mail.

Sat in rest, sat in mild prayer, the Onion is still, breathing slow and deep. feeling the aching muscles from a battle recently fought, they whisper prayers that echo in the hollowness of their great helm.

huddled in an alleyway, a group of thugs gabble about their harlots and their "jink", shooting ugly stares at passerby. their attention shifts, a mother, dropping her gaze, her expression calm but her pacing frantic.

Licking its lips, the younger one turns to his friends. "say lads... reckon she's up for it?" he pipes up, baring a toothy grin.

A heavy sigh. "don't be daft lad, boss wants no trouble for the rest of the week." one replies, the older one .

"besides, you forgotten already? last bird you tried that on got all aggro on you, painted you *three* shades of red!" the third chimes in, belching a hearty laugh.

"Y-yeah, you havin' a laugh?!" the younger one says, drawing a dagger, face flushing red.

"Gods... knock it off you half-inches." the older one says, stepping between and clasping the younger one's knife hand. "We've better things to get all winded up on. 'Sides, we've got an officer of the law starin' us up, best we behave."

The two shift their gaze over, the bench, the hulking suit of armour. The Onion stares, blankly, but unshifting. Hands crossed over their thighs, but their sword well in reach.

"Right... r-right..." the younger one says, yanking his dagger back, missing his sheath. "Best we do..."

"Creepy little git 'ent he? Bet e' thinks e's tough under all that armour" the third says. "Bet all that'd fetch a pretty price..."

"D-don't be stupid, I've seen what that thing's done." the younger one hisses. "E's just waiting for an excuse".

A beat of silence passes, neither three making a sound, neither three wanting to look up and check if it's still staring. "Say, chief, let's get out of here..."

As the Onion remains sat, they watch the thugs pour out the alleyway, heading away from the town square. Beneath the armour, a smile tugs at their lips.