Ever since he had gotten that letter from his mother and step-father, right before the holidays, telling him that they were leaving the city of Rhydin for good, Locke had known it was only a matter of time before he would be evicted from his family's old apartment. The entire time he had been staying there, he hadn't bothered to pay rent or bills, assuming that they had taken care of those things before they went on vacation. Now that the vacation had become a permanent departure for them, he was living on borrowed time. Today, that time ran out.
Most of Locke's family's belongings had been moved out sometime over the holiday season, when he had been out of the apartment on one of his marathon gambling sessions. Still, it shocked him to see his bed sitting on the sidewalk in front of his apartment complex, the sheets soaked with snow and slush kicked up by passing carriages. His stomach sank, and he felt nauseous as he walked up to the entrance. Fortunately, they hadn't been smart enough to change the locks on the doors to the lobby yet. He could feel the dread climbing up his throat as the elevator took him up to the second floor, where his flat was.
As soon as Locke arrived at the door, his worst fear was confirmed. Pasted to his door was a large, yellow sheet of paper with the words ?EVICTION NOTICE? written in big, black, bold letters. Locke skipped the legalese, written in a much tinier font, that was sandwiched between those first two words he saw. Then, his gaze dropped a little, to what looked like a letter written on lined white paper. He crouched a bit, to better put himself on eye level with the note.
We've taken the liberty of removing anything of value you had left inside this apartment, in order to pay off the costs of fixing the pipes that burst because you refused to turn on the heat in there. Thanks a lot, @#$%&!
He grimaced, and tried his old key in the lock. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. He sighed, set down his messenger bag, and unzipped it. After a few minutes of digging through the contents, Locke found what he was looking for. A small, unassuming metal case that, when the lid was opened, revealed a set of lockpicks. He eyeballed the lock for a second, sizing it up, and then grabbed one of the picks. Before he started, he glanced around carefully, making sure no one was in the hallway. Then, he stuck the smaller end of the pick inside the lock and started jimmying it around. Within a minute, he felt the lock catch and heard a familiar *click*. He was inside.
Locke's first step was accompanied by a splash, as he stepped into a few inches of standing water. Apparently, the landlord had made good on his word. His parents had been kind enough to leave some of their electronics and furniture behind, but now, there was nothing inside but soaked carpeting and linoleum. He guessed that the furniture had been ruined by the accidental flood, but losing that stereo, the accompanying speakers, the microwave, DVD/VCR set, video games, CDs and records smarted. A quick check of the apartment revealed that only a few things had survived the frozen pipes and the subsequent purge: the family pictures hanging on the wall, and a small dresser in his mother's room that had inexplicably been overlooked. When he opened the drawers, he saw why that might have been the case. All of them were empty, save for one, on top. Inside was a dusty old book, bound in blue-dyed leather, with what looked like elvish script on the cover. He flipped it open, and immediately noticed how fragile the onionskin pages were. He tried to puzzle out the meaning of the words, but his grasp on the language wasn't enough. With a frustrated sigh, he carefully grabbed the book and placed it inside his messenger bag, then went back into the living room and took the pictures of his family down off the wall. Once that was done, he stood there for a moment, surveying what was left of his abode, before he sloshed his way out the front door. He didn't bother to close the door behind him.
Most of Locke's family's belongings had been moved out sometime over the holiday season, when he had been out of the apartment on one of his marathon gambling sessions. Still, it shocked him to see his bed sitting on the sidewalk in front of his apartment complex, the sheets soaked with snow and slush kicked up by passing carriages. His stomach sank, and he felt nauseous as he walked up to the entrance. Fortunately, they hadn't been smart enough to change the locks on the doors to the lobby yet. He could feel the dread climbing up his throat as the elevator took him up to the second floor, where his flat was.
As soon as Locke arrived at the door, his worst fear was confirmed. Pasted to his door was a large, yellow sheet of paper with the words ?EVICTION NOTICE? written in big, black, bold letters. Locke skipped the legalese, written in a much tinier font, that was sandwiched between those first two words he saw. Then, his gaze dropped a little, to what looked like a letter written on lined white paper. He crouched a bit, to better put himself on eye level with the note.
We've taken the liberty of removing anything of value you had left inside this apartment, in order to pay off the costs of fixing the pipes that burst because you refused to turn on the heat in there. Thanks a lot, @#$%&!
He grimaced, and tried his old key in the lock. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. He sighed, set down his messenger bag, and unzipped it. After a few minutes of digging through the contents, Locke found what he was looking for. A small, unassuming metal case that, when the lid was opened, revealed a set of lockpicks. He eyeballed the lock for a second, sizing it up, and then grabbed one of the picks. Before he started, he glanced around carefully, making sure no one was in the hallway. Then, he stuck the smaller end of the pick inside the lock and started jimmying it around. Within a minute, he felt the lock catch and heard a familiar *click*. He was inside.
Locke's first step was accompanied by a splash, as he stepped into a few inches of standing water. Apparently, the landlord had made good on his word. His parents had been kind enough to leave some of their electronics and furniture behind, but now, there was nothing inside but soaked carpeting and linoleum. He guessed that the furniture had been ruined by the accidental flood, but losing that stereo, the accompanying speakers, the microwave, DVD/VCR set, video games, CDs and records smarted. A quick check of the apartment revealed that only a few things had survived the frozen pipes and the subsequent purge: the family pictures hanging on the wall, and a small dresser in his mother's room that had inexplicably been overlooked. When he opened the drawers, he saw why that might have been the case. All of them were empty, save for one, on top. Inside was a dusty old book, bound in blue-dyed leather, with what looked like elvish script on the cover. He flipped it open, and immediately noticed how fragile the onionskin pages were. He tried to puzzle out the meaning of the words, but his grasp on the language wasn't enough. With a frustrated sigh, he carefully grabbed the book and placed it inside his messenger bag, then went back into the living room and took the pictures of his family down off the wall. Once that was done, he stood there for a moment, surveying what was left of his abode, before he sloshed his way out the front door. He didn't bother to close the door behind him.