RP:The Patchwork Thief

Part of the The Seven Sins of Sagittae Arc

Summary: Bards are a thief's best friend.

Cenril

Raphaline has never been afraid of heights, but there is always something a bit daunting about the chasm between Kelay and Cenril. While others might be crossing the bridge without a care to the depths below, the bard is trying to keep from glancing down. She hurries across the first bit of the bridge but as she nears the center of the structure she finds herself caught behind a overstuffed and tall wagon. With a line of wagons and people coming from the opposite direction, she tries to carefully slide around the side of the wagon. At first it seems like her plan is going accordingly, that is until she stumbles into someone. As she begins to tumble, she reaches out and grabs a hold of what might be their shirt? Jacket? To try and keep from falling onto the dusty bridge floor. “I am so sorry!” She says, hand up in apology as she finds her footing once more.

Seteth was inside one of those wagons. The Amyran thief chewed on the last of his third yam and tossed its skin outside onto the stone behind the carriage. He had considered reaching for a fourth but decided not to press his luck. There was a brief window of opportunity to make his escape; the nearest wagon had tilted left and sped past the one he had hidden himself within. The closest wagon behind the yam merchant was over ten meters to the west -- there was plenty of time for the black-clad Seteth to slip through dusk’s creeping shadows and play the role of pedestrian traveler. Seteth’s nimbleness was his greatest physical attribute. He leapt from the wagon into an immediate roll and stood upright with the quickness appropriate to his profession. The action was all but silent and the timing was suitable: a man in a preposterous patchwork coat with his back turned to Seteth had just been bumped-into by a half-elven woman with hair the color of sunset’s last traces. The man in the patchwork coat mumbled something about his day’s poor luck, which proved apt. Cast in shadow and crouching in an effort to hide his lithe form, Seteth snuck his arm out behind the man and delicately plundered his coin purse. Now the thief would make haste in the opposite direction -- the direction which the half-elven woman had been headed -- content with his evening bounty.

Raphaline tries to dust off the man and smooth over his obvious disgruntled demeanor with one of her infamous smiles. It starts just at the right corner of her lip before flashes into the kind of smile that is coy but inviting. “Hopefully your luck might turn around,” she says as she wraps her hands around the strap of her traveling bag. The man huffs at her, choosing not to be benign about the whole situation. He mutters something about mixed breeds being such sullied creatures, and elves being too into their own needs to ever given a damn about much else. Raphaline’s features never fall as she begins to step to the side to circle around him and leave before she decides shaking the bridge and making sure this man ends up over the side is the best idea of the day. As she moves around him, she spots person masked by shadow move towards his back and pull something out of his pocket. Her grin lifts to one corner as it changes into a secret smirk--let him get robbed. Once she gets away from him, her emerald gaze sweeps outward towards the crowd before her, looking for the sneaky thief. There, in between a group of cowherds and farmers, she spots a rusty haired human with that same bag. With a dancer’s grace, she makes her way across the bridge and passed a few merchants before she lands a hand on his shoulder and leans in to say, “That was quite skillful.”

Seteth had once been the jumpy enough sort to have scrunched up and struck whomever lay a hand upon him. One of the young man’s earliest tricks of the trade was learning to recognize the sort of touch that tended toward the benign. He knew the hand on his shoulder did not belong to the man in the patchwork coat. Tilting his head but keeping his back to the stranger, Seteth kept his expression casual and subtly adjusted the sleeves of his shirt to ensure they covered him down to his wrists. “Likewise,” he said. “It’s a rare enough feat to spot me at my craft.” There was little cause for modesty here. The woman was either a threat or she wasn’t. Either way, it was best to remain guarded, even if his first impression toward her was marked by an act of gentility. The cowherds and farmers surrounding the two of them grew thicker for a moment before turning thinner as numerous accompanying wagons passed them by. “If you are here for a share of the spoils, I must regretfully decline the invitation.” Seteth began to walk briskly toward the far end of the bridge. “Either way, I don’t intend to stick around until that comedian realizes what he’s lost, and there are fewer people masking my whereabouts now than there were twenty seconds ago.”

Raphaline offers him a coy grin as she slips her hand from his shoulder down to his elbow. “One of the first tricks you learn as a bard is to notice when and where and what people are feeling and doing while you are around,” she says as she casually leads them across the bridge. “Other than that bigot, I don’t think anyone will think the worst of you while I am walking near by.” She throws friendly smiles and small waves to those who recognize her from her nights at the Inn and the Kelay tavern playing her violin or dancing. Once across the bridge, her gaze moves from her temporary companion towards the roads leading down to the market area. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea and a pastry?” Her emerald eyes flicker back to him once more as she releases his elbow and shrugs. “It isn’t often I run into someone both of interest and easy on the eyes,” she says, her voice teasing as she takes a step towards the southern region of Cenril.

Seteth recognized the woman’s usefulness at once. She had ingratiated herself into the locals’ hearts and minds. ‘Of course,’ he thought to himself in silence, gritting his teeth behind his unflinching lips to conceal the pain in his poisoned arms when his elbow was touched. ‘She’s a bard.’ No matter how far he traveled, Seteth had never seen the golden rule of bards broken: they were as keen at spycraft as they were beloved by the ignorant masses. The night was proving nearly as fortuitous as his time in Vailkrin; a stuffed coin purse was in his pocket and a bard was offering conversation. “Lead the way,” Seteth said smoothly. “I find you fittingly interesting as well.”

Raphaline needs no other encouragement, so she waves her hand for him to follow her into the tightly packed streets of the Cenril market. Even with the talk of balls and parties tonight, the streets are littered with people already indulging themselves. Some are walking the streets with tankards in hand, others are playing music off to the side of the road for roving crowds of onlookers. She reaches back to take a hold of the edge of his sleeve so neither of them get lost or lose each other amongst the singing, dancing and smoke coming from those cooking in stalls. “Not too much further,” she says, as she turns back to him for a brief moment. “Seems the crowds are already preparing for the mage’s ball tonight. I guess a few of the guests will be beyond inebriated once the event actually starts.” She stops in front of a stone building that smells profusely of freshly baked bread and caramelizing sugar and pulls the ornate door open. Once inside, she is warmly greeted by the women working behind the counter and told to sit wherever she likes. One of the waitresses comes by with a pot of her regular, black tea and a question of what today’s choice of treats will be. She defers to Seteth with a small nod and a ‘whatever he is getting.’

Seteth weaved his way through the meandering path of people and kept an easy pace with the bard. The hustle and bustle of West Cenril was not unlike the inner quarters of Sagittae, the coastal Amyran city from whence he hailed. Cenrilian architecture seemed to favor a more classical stone style than Sagittae’s brick buildings with haystack roofs, and even the drunks here kept better care of themselves than many of Central Sagittae’s so-called minor lords, but otherwise the resemblance was striking. The thief maintained awareness of his surroundings at all times, doing his best to etch the memory of his precise whereabouts into his mind as well as the quickest and safest exit points. Bards being bards, it was not entirely out of the question that this one was less of a prize than he hoped. She could have been working for any number of individuals from foreign lands with a dubious view of Seteth at best. She might even have been one of Baron Alm’s spies. Once seated inside the bakery, Seteth gave the waitress a simple smile and provided her with his order as quickly as he was bidden to do so. “Two cinnamon rolls with extra icing.” Now it was time for the sweet-talking. When the waitress had departed, preparing a total of four cinnamon rolls for he and the bard, Seteth clasped his hands together. His elbows rested gently on the table. “Let’s get down to business. I am, plainly, a thief. If you’re the sort of person I hope you are, you may be curious to know about a certain well-paying job.” He studied the woman for her reply.

Raphaline sits back and watches the interaction between the thief and the waitress. In her many years of travelling, she has found the best way to get a sense of character is to see how someone might treat the staff of a restaurant or store. With his behavior up to par and polite, she reaches for the tea pot and begins to pour some of the hot liquid into each of their cups. As for his interesting, and to the point statement she lofts a slender brow and allows for a short silvery chuckle to escape her. “I do love a man who is quick to the point. I would say honest, but frankly, we haven’t had enough time together to make that sort of judgment call quite yet.” She sets the teapot carefully back down on the table as her gaze drifts up to him, her head slightly canting to the side, dropping a few red curls into her line of vision. Smiling, she says, “What kind of job is it? One where I distract as you pilfer them of their fine goods? It has been awhile since I played a hand in such a high stakes act of rebellion. Trouble would be thoroughly proud to know her Muse might be convinced to commit a few unsavory acts of smuggling and thievery.” The thought of Meri makes the bard’s features a bit wistful but she is quick to shake it off and return to the seemingly serious stance of the situation.

Seteth was uncertain of the meaning of the bard’s final sentence but took it for the tone in which it was stated. In their short time together, names not yet even offered, this woman had flirted twice and expressed no hint of surprise that she was immediately being offered a bit of employment. A bard through and through -- it seemed the architecture wasn’t the only thing that was classical about their locale. Seteth placed a small, thin object not unlike a sealed-off straw into the cup of tea he was offered and observed its interaction with the hot liquid. After several seconds, he was satisfied with the device’s lack of reddening and wiped it off on his tablecloth. “Just checking for the usual suspects,” the thief said dryly, meaning the more common (and a few of the less common) drugs and poisons in this part of the world. “One can never be too careful. That said, I’m sure it would have been delicious even if it killed me.” He sipped a lengthy sip of tea. By the time Seteth put the cup down he had consumed nearly all of it. The waitress arrived with the cinnamon rolls and curtsied. Before she could say anything, Seteth reached into his pilfered coin purse and handed her whatever it was that he happened to pull out. A coin of pure and shimmering gold no doubt valued well beyond the reach of a dozen or more silvers was placed into the waitress’ hand. “Next time, have the cinnamon rolls ready as soon as I arrive. Keep up the excellence and I’ll continue handing you enough to make such tedious work well worth the long hours.” The waitress giggled, her mouth gone wide. “You bet,” she said with a self-assured smile, prancing off to another table with a lighter step than before. “The job,” Seteth began to explain to the bard, “is more complicated than what you witnessed on the bridge. I’m not at liberty to speak specifics with such an audience around us -- several of these patrons can’t seem to take their eyes off of you, which in turn places those eyes uncomfortably close to myself -- but it will involve ample sleuthing and espionage followed by a series of high-stakes heists. You can choose to play a role in as much or as little of the affair as you desire. Your pay will be significant regardless.” Seteth devoured both cinnamon rolls with a street urchin’s hunger before placing two of the shimmering gold coins in front of his prospective partner so as to prove his point. “The name’s Seteth,” he said, rising from his table. “You’ll find me at the tavern in the province of Kelay if you’ll find me anywhere at all. Let the barkeep know you’re there ‘to speak of the whispering wind.’”

Raphaline doesn’t add anything to her own cup before she lifts it to her lips and takes a small sip of the brisk liquid. At his comment about not being too careful of poisons, the woman forms a knowing smile around the lip of the china cup before she sets it down with a clink back on the table. Again, his kindness towards the waitress adds another check of goodwill in her book--respecting the common worker is very uncommon in a land of rulers. “The tea wouldn’t have killed you love, I wouldn’t have allowed it to do so,” she says with a blase tone to her statement. “Performer isn’t my only mode of work in these lands.” She reaches for one of the cinnamon rolls and takes a small bite of it before licking off the icing from the crook of her lips and casting her gaze in the direction of one of the onlookers. She offers them a playful wink before turning back to the thief with her own questions beginning to form. “When should I seek you out? Are you more a night owl, or one of the few morning doves who goes for an early glass of whiskey at Kelay Tavern?” As she waits for her answer, she reaches out and slides the gold back towards him after watching the way in which he devoured those rolls. “You can call me Raphaline if it pleases you. I am sure, with time, you’ll have your own nickname for me as well.” She picks up her cup of tea and savors a bit more of the warm liquid as she watches him stand from the table. With a playful glint in her emerald eyes, she offers a brief pout as she says, “Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were getting along fondly.”

Seteth laughed. “We are,” he confirmed, “but I have pressing business elsewhere. The night is young and opportunity is about to increase exponentially. Whoever this guild of mages down in the Xalious region is, I’ll have to thank them for all the easy scores.” Raphaline. Seteth wondered if it was the woman’s given name or a name she had given herself. The thief retrieved the gold he’d offered, betraying a hint of a quizzical glance. It was out-of-character for a bard of Seteth’s imagining to refuse payment. Then again, it was remarkably in-character for a bard of his imagining to play the long game for maximum success. “My schedule shifts with the rise and fall of my luck. Fortune favors the insomniac,” he added dryly. “As it happens, I presently consider your acquaintance a lucky uptick, so come when you choose and I’ll elaborate on my proposal then. If you’ll excuse me,” Seteth said with nothing more than a nod, finishing off his tea before he left. With the bakery door behind him, it was time to see how much coin the denizens of Hollow brought to their posh festivities and how little they minded its ownership. Like patchwork, this was all coming together.

Raphaline doesn’t hold him up any longer. Playfully, she waves him off to go and score himself more gold from the overly full pockets of the revelers dancing in the streets. As for her, she already has turned her thoughts to said ball and her obvious invitation to such. For most of the day she had not thought on whether or not she might go, but now with a turn in her own fortunes, she finds herself craving a bit of lively fun tonight. “I shall make sure they are thanked, I shall be seeing some of them this eve,” she calls to him as he leaves. As for her, she finishes off her own tea before deciding it best to stop down in enchatment before she heads out. Dresses and fancy things, maybe she might enjoy wearing them once more.