A man's very highest moment is, I have no doubt at all, when he kneels in the dust, and beats his breast, and tells all the sins of his life.
(Oscar Wilde)

Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.
(Dorothy Dix)

October 7, 2009 R.S.C.

Locke was lallygagging in the marketplace, slowly traipsing from window display to window display at the various wares on display. The shoes from the cobbler, the hats from the milliner, and the bouquets from the florist were almost enough to raise his spirits. Almost. His heart sank yet again as he thought of the latest sacrifice he'd made, in a futile attempt to assuage his guilt.

His place in the spring season fashion show. He had spent so much time before the trip to Hope preparing for it, but when he got back, his interest plummeted. On more than one occasion, he had found his mind wandering while staring at a bolt of cloth that he was planning on making a dress shirt out of, his hands idly crimping the soft fabric. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that he was better off not presenting in the show. If the inspiration wasn't there, he shouldn't be as well. Cottar had been disappointed, and Athelstan could barely contain his glee. Gerard, however, had shown little emotion, once he had made sure Locke wanted to pull out. He'd just told the ice elf to start working on the fall show. It took all of Locke's willpower not to laugh in Gerard's face, or break down before his mentor.

Would Gerard have been as supportive of his wunderkind designer if he knew what Locke had done? Would he have even listened to Koyliak and taken on an intern, if he knew that Locke had robbed a bank, right before he'd started? Of course not, Locke thought, leaning forward to rest his head against a glass window. The cool sensation only brought momentary relief. No one could understand. It's a bloody millstone, weighing me down, day by bleeding day. It's a cancer, sucking the life out of me slowly but surely. First my friends, then my job, then my beloved. And after that, there will be nothing left but a bitter, broken man.

Absorbed in his misery and his lean against the storefront, Locke could only feel and not see the familiar brush and bump against his backside. Instinctively, he reached out to grab the arm of the street urchin who had just picked his pocket, before the pickpocket even had a chance to mutter an apology to cover up his crime. The boy yelped and tried to squirm away, but the frost elf just tightened his grip on the lad's forearm.

?Ouch. Ya hurtin' me!?

?Trust me, mate, if I wanted to hurt you, the gloves would be off.? Locke's toothy grin reflected equal parts charm and menace. Realizing he'd been caught, the would-be thief stopped struggling, though he still scowled at his captor.

?What ya want??

Locke wanted to tell the kid he was a damn good pickpocket. It was the boy's bad luck he had targeted Locke, and not an average RhyDin citizen. Just about anyone else would have been an easy target, and if they had been in a marketplace crowd? Forget it. Locke would have never noticed his missing money until he'd gone to pay for something later. But he couldn't say that. His sense of responsibility won out.

?First, I want my dosh back.? Locke stuck his free hand out, palm up. The boy attempted to break away from his grip again, but he simply tightened his grasp and kept him close. That brought forth another scowl. The ice elf responded by tapping a foot. ?I am waiting, mate.? The street kid tossed the wallet in Locke's general direction, but low, attempting to force him to let go to get it. The ice elf's reflexes were quick, and he was flexible enough to lean forward and grab his money without letting go. Locke didn't skip a beat before continuing. ?Second, I want you to go to High Spires. Are you familiar with the place??

?Sure am,? the boy replied, before spitting on Locke's shoe.

?You are going to go to High Spires, and tell them that Locke D'Vestavio, a friend-? He paused for a beat longer than he intended to on the last word, as he winced involuntarily. ?of Lirssa's, told you that you should stay there. They will have food, and a bed, and they will help you find a trade to apprentice at. One that is not as dangerous as being a natty lad. Savvy? Savvy?? He placed more emphasis on the repeated word, catching his captive staring off into the distance.

?I got ya.? There was no enthusiasm in the kid's tone, but Locke let him go anyways. Cobalt blues watched the boy scurry down the street, run into another well-dressed gentleman further up the road, and rush off with a mumbled apology. Locke watched as the man took a few more steps down the sidewalk, pause suddenly, and whirl around in the other direction, crying out. ?Thief! That child stole my coin purse!? The culprit had quickly vanished from sight, though, leaving the man with no recourse but to tell his tale uselessly to a city guardsman who had quickly arrived on the scene. A small crowd gathered around the two men, but Locke just shook his head sadly and headed off in the opposite direction.

***

1999 R.S.C.

The formerly abandoned warehouse in Dockside was loud and boisterous, filled with the shouts and yelps of teen-aged hoodlums playing cards and roughhousing with each other. In the island of this storm sat Locke and Granaff, the former on the cold concrete floor, the latter on a makeshift throne, a garish high-backed chair that had been haphazardly covered with gems and gold across nearly every square inch.

?Will you ever go straight?? Locke asked, looking up at his mentor.

?Go straight, boyo? Why??

?Well-? Granaff immediately interrupted Locke before he could even start to formulate his thoughts.

?Why would I ever want to go straight? I make good dosh, you lads all make good dosh, and we live as we please. Tut-tut-? Granaff held up a hand, as Locke began to protest. ?Wethrin, if there is one thing I have learned in my years ? and I certainly hope there is more than one ? but if there's just one, it's that the game never leaves you. Boyos come, and boyos go, but I know the urge to fork and filch never goes away, even if they do. Once you get a taste of how easy it is and how much quid you can take, with none the wiser, it sinks into your blood and bones, and you can never get it out. Never. Savvy??

?I g-? At the dirty look from Granaff, Locke mustered up a smile, and started over. ?Savvy. I'll never leave you, mate, and I'll never peach, no matter how they poke and prod me.?

?Good to hear. Now run along, boyo. You should be having fun, not shilly-shallying with an old fart such as I.? Granaff waved Locke towards a group of young thieves playing poker, smiling weakly all the while.

November 20, 2009 R.S.C.
Star's End Spaceport

The impeccably dressed Japanese businessman pushed his way through the crowd of arriving and departing space travelers, paying little attention to the dirty looks and outraged cries his rude behavior provoked. He was in too much of a hurry to pay them any mind. A careful observer might have supposed he was on his way to interplanetary customs, to sign off on the last bit of paperwork before whatever goods he was importing passed through. They would have been surprised to see him veer off towards one of the lesser used corridors of the station, towards a small sushi shop with just a single employee present. It was mid-afternoon, between lunch and dinner, so the lone worker, a man who bore a striking resemblance to the businessman, was alone in the store, cutting up slices of salmon in preparation for the evening. The chef set his knife down and removed an erasable marker from his front chef's coat pocket, when he spotted the other man through the store's front glass windows. He tucked the market back into his coat, and smiled broadly.

?<Ryosuke, what brings you here?>? He asked pleasantly in Japanese, leaning up against the front case with his forearm draped over the plastic display. Ryosuke responded by pulling a datapad from his trouser pocket and slamming it down inches from the chef's arm.

?<You know damn well what brings me here, brother!>? Ryosuke twisted the datapad around, so that it was now facing his sibling.

?<Actually, I do not.>? He tapped the blank screen of the pad. ?<You have not turned it on yet.>?

?<Yusuke...>? Ryosuke gritted his teeth, then pressed a few buttons beneath the screen. The device hummed quietly and displayed a serious of brightly colored logos upon start-up, before shifting to a decidedly less colorful database. The pad displayed columns and columns of numbers, with Japanese headings describing them at the top of the screen. ?<There is money missing. Where is it?>?

Yusuke scanned the datapad, then scrolled through the screen with his index finger. After half a minute of examination, he answered his brother's question. ?<I presume you are asking about Locke's investment?>? Ryosuke's angry nod answered the question. ?<He pulled out.>?

?<Yusuke!>? Ryosuke tugged at his hair, before slapping his hand on the sushi bar. ?<I told you to do everything you could to keep that money in our company! Now, we cannot expand into the Marketplace and Dragon's Gate like we had planned.>?

?<Not now. Eventually, though, we will.>?

?<Not without money! Not if you let our investors pull out whenever they want to!>? Ryosuke leaned over and took back his datapad, putting it back in his pocket.

Yusuke removed his chef's hat, smoothing over thinning strands of black hair. ?<Locke is more than an investor to me. He is a friend. He told me that he was in financial trouble and needed his money back. We can afford it. How could I refuse him? It would not be honorable to do so to a friend. And to dishonor a friend would be a grave sin, indeed. Ryosuke, in the short term, this is not an ideal situation, but if he still thinks of me as a friend long term, then there is a chance our patience may be rewarded further than with two stores elsewhere in the city.>?

Ryosuke looked ready to speak, but when he opened his mouth, all he could do was stammer in response. His brother was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. He sighed, before responding once more. ?<As much as it pains me to admit it, brother, you are most likely right. Still...we need more capital, despite what you may think. This divestment does us no favors.>?

It was Yusuke's turn to sound aggravated, as he turned around and headed into the back, where the sink for washing hands was. Even over the sound of running water, his annoyance was audible. ?<My job is to develop the menus, hire the service staff, and make sushi. Your job is to make sure I have the money to do so. Has something changed, that I no longer have the money to run this place?>?

Anger flared in Ryosuke's eyes, but it went unseen by his sibling. He dulled his voice in response. ?<No.>?

?<Then raising capital for new stores is a discretionary goal at this point. Do not forget that.>? Yusuke turned the faucet off, then walked back behind the sushi bar, his hat back on his head, transparent plastic gloves on his hands, carrying a knife. ?<If you will excuse me, I have to prepare for dinner.>?

?<Of course.>? Ryosuke bowed, then spun around quickly on his heels. Only when the glass door to the store was shut behind him did he start muttering curses about his brother. A traveler or two looked at him with quirked brows and puzzled expressions, but the glare he shot back at them had them quickly scurrying on their way.

"This is Rhydin.? To be cautious is being prudent," he conceded to the man.? He sat back in the chair and regarded the man as he spoke about crime, punishment and a plea bargain.? Nothing was betrayed upon the barrister's features as he listened.? There was a light quirk of his brow when he spoke once more.? "That would depend on the crime that was committed, the reasons behind said crime being committed.? Not to mention, if it could even be defined as a crime to begin with."

Locke laughed lightly, although it was tinged with bitterness. "Even here, I cannot imagine that bank robbery is something that blokes will let pass with a slap on the wrist or a stern finger shaking." He paused briefly, to gather his thoughts. "The long and short of it is that I needed money to pay off a debt of 14,548 silver nobles, was recruited to help break into, enter, and lift some things from an iron, and came out on the other end with considerably more dosh than I was expecting to. This occurred in May of last year, and, after having the money laundered, I invested most of it in sundry businesses across the city to keep it out of sight, out of mind." He shook his head, faintly smiling. "And I completely got away with it, too."

"But now you want to turn yourself in for a crime that you got away with?"? There was obvious puzzlement in the barrister's expression as he regarded the well dressed man.

Locke shrugged his shoulders. "I can't live with the guilt." He unfolded his hands and rubbed at his temples, brows furrowing. "Look, I am engaged to be married. Someday, I hope to have children. I cannot have a wife, have a family, and have this secret looming over my head like a Sword of Damocles. I wouldn't be able to look them in the eye and teach them right from wrong, when I had not done right. It was a colossal mistake that I made, in a moment of panic and nostalgia for my younger days as a footpad, and I regret it immensely." He slumped backwards into his chair, and the fatigue that lurked in the dark rings around his eyes became clearer.

Lucien didn't speak immediately, instead he regarded the man thoughtfully.? His fingers were pressed together before him as silence settled over the room briefly, the fire crackling in the fireplace.? The barrister shifted in his seat and sat forward.? "How much was stolen, all told?"

Locke's eyes shut, as he did the calculations and pulled the numbers from his memory. "Approximately 1.4 million silvers. With the returns on my investments, and additional savings scrounged up from my legitimate employment, I can account for half of that. My partner in the crime, presumably, has the other half."

The barrister's brow rose at the figure that Locke gave him and he shifted in his seat once more, coming to sit near the edge of the seat.? He weighed the measure of that amount for a moment, then his brow knitted to a thoughtful furrow once more.? "What manner of plea bargain were you looking for?"

Locke sat up, resting his fingers on his chin and tilting his head to the side slightly. "Well...I would assume it is a given that I would give back my share of the dosh. I would suggest turning in my partner, except for the fact that I do not know for certain that they are in the city anymore. I have heard nothing from them since that night, and they are a master of disguises, to boot. I-" He cut himself off, glancing over towards the dancing flames and then the floor, before continuing in a softer voice. "I don't wish to be imprisoned, but I do not imagine that is a wish that will be granted to me."

December 26, 2009 R.S.C.

The comm started chirping insistently at Locke, interrupting him as he flipped through another legal volume. With a slightly annoyed sigh, he set the book on the coffee table and walked over to the device. The screen flashed, in big red letters, TAYLOR FAMILY. They called yesterday, Locke thought to himself, as he pressed the button to answer the call. What bloody gives?

?Hello?? he said, trying not to sound annoyed as the screen flickered to life.

?Liam proposed to me! We're engaged!? Eavan hung over Liam's shoulder with her arms around his neck, practically shouting into his ear. He had a smile on his face that looked awfully familiar, and Locke couldn't help but reflect it back to the happy couple.

?Congratulations, mate! When did you pop the big question??

?Yesterday. After Christmas dinner. We walked on the beach, and I...? Liam trailed off, looking up at his fiance.

?He dropped to one knee in the sand, and asked me!? she chimed in immediately, before kissing him on the cheek.

?Bleeding romantic, mates,? Locke said, chuckling. The happy couple seemed to take no notice.

?I know!? Eavan held her left hand up in front of the comm screen, showing off her ring. The band was platinum, with a solitaire diamond sitting on top of an intricately patterned undercarriage. He whistled, loud and slow.

?Very nice, mate.? He wished he was there in the room with Liam, so he could nudge his brother playfully in the ribs. Instead, he held back a sigh and brightened his smile. ?Have you selected a date yet??

?Not as yet, but we are thinking the spring after this upcoming one.?

?I will do my best to be there, but no guarantees.?

Liam frowned, switching to elvish as he talked to his brother in a disappointed tone. ?<I do not mean to offend, brother, but have I done something wrong? I would like you to be one of the groomsmen.>?

?<No...>? Locke looked at Liam, then Eavan, muttering something under his breath in elven. ?<Can you ask Eavan to leave us alone for some time?>?

?<Certainly.>? Liam turned around and whispered something in Eavan's ear. She didn't look entirely pleased, but she exited the room after giving him a peck on the lips. ?<What is wrong, Locke?>?

Rather than respond right away, Locke started tapping on various buttons on the comm, cursing as whatever he was attempting to do didn't work right away. Finally, though, he heard a beep, and the words RECORDING DISABLED, COMMUNICATION ENCRYPTED flashed on the screen. He grinned from ear to ear, before looking back to Liam. ?<Are mother and father nearby?>?

Liam looked over his shoulder. ?<No. They are out walking. Why do you ask?>?

?<I have something to tell you, but I do not want them to know yet. Will you promise not to tell them, unless I tell you that it is all right?>?

?<Yes, Locke.>? Liam's brow furrowed, and he ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. ?<What is wrong?>?

?<I may not be able to attend your wedding because I may be in jail.>?

?<Locke...>? He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers. ?<Locke, what did you do?>?

?<Something rash and foolish that I am regretting more than anything I have ever done before.>? The ice elf trained his gaze somewhere over Liam's shoulder.

?<You stole something, did you not?>? The lack of immediate response confirmed Liam's suspicions. ?<How could you do that?>?

?<Did you not hear me, Liam? I was rash and foolish. It is not like this happened yesterday, brother.>? Locke slapped a hand weakly against the wall beside the comm.

?<When did it happen?>?

?<Last May.>? Locke saw Liam opening his mouth to speak again, and he cut the half-elf off. ?<Liam, I do not need a lecture from you. I have already punished myself enough for my sin, and the courts will soon have their say. I...want to ask your forgiveness. For whatever may come of what I have done, and if I am unable to make your wedding. I am sorry for putting you through this, and I am sorry for putting mother and Arnand through this.>? Locke reached for the screen, then pulled his hand back.

?<Locke...I forgive you. But->? Liam quickly added on, ?<Will Katarina?>?

?<I-I hope she will.>? Locke's eyes drifted toward the floor, downcast.

?<I cannot speak for mother and father, but I think you should tell them sooner rather than later.>?

?<I...will take that into consideration. Now go, brother. Celebrate your engagement. Do not worry about me. I will be fine, one way or the other.>?

?<All right.>? There was a long pause, before Liam continued. ?<Take care of yourself, Locke.>?

?<I will. Until next we meet.>?

?<Until then.>? Liam reached for the side of his screen,and Locke's view flashed to black, with the letters CALL ENDED superimposed on the comm. The ice elf stared at the number pad for a few seconds, his hand slowly curling into a fist, before he finally relaxed and walked away with a sigh.

Fashion Week had the already impeccably dressed ice elf stepping up his wardrobe even more, cutting quite a dashing figure through the Marketplace in his gray pinstriped suit, pale pink dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, and brown leather cap-toed lace-ups shined to a sheen. The looks he got from passers-by as he carved his way through the throng made it worth the extra attention to details he'd spent. A shame his days of wowing RhyDin's residents might be coming to a close soon.

Lucien had sent word to Locke at his shop that he wished to meet with him, and Locke knew that likely meant one thing. It was time to pay the piper. It was time to learn the price of his mistake. He held his head high when there were crowds present to watch, but as soon as there were no others in sight, as soon as he arrived at Lucien's townhouse, he sighed deeply and kept his head down. He knocked politely at the door, and waited patiently.

The barrister had been buried in his office, as had been his wont of late, pouring over scrolls and books and journals.? He had made an appearance at the gallery opening and the fashion show and made several purchases (several more than he planned thanks to Tara), but since then, he'd spent most of his time in his office or at the shipyard.

He lifted his head up when he heard the knock at the door and pushed up from his desk.? He made his way out of the office, closing the door behind him and started for the front door rubbing the sting from his eyes.? "Coming," he called aloud.

Lucien swung the door open to see the well dressed elf standing there.? In contrast, the barrister stood looking like he had slept in his shirt.? "Evening, please, come in," he greeted Locke, stepping aside to let the elf enter.

Locke stepped inside, his facial features seemingly at war with themselves. His usual smile was on his face, but it wasn't reaching his eyes. He stepped inside, into the foyer, and waited for Lucien to direct him elsewhere within the house, though the ice elf took a half-step or two towards the front hall. He suspected that was where the barrister would bring him to talk once again. "Thank you most kindly, mate."

Indeed it was to the front hall that he indicated they would meet with a nod of his head as he closed the door and secured it.? He started that way himself.? "I see you've fully embraced Fashion Week," he offered casually with a grin.

Once through the doors of the front hall, he immediately started over to the bar.? "Would you like something to drink?"

Locke followed Lucien, shoes clicking lightly on the floor as he walked. "Fashion is in my blood and bone, I am afraid." His smile turned crooked, as he took a seat in an arm chair. "Gin and tonic, if you do not mind?"

His grin tugged to an easy smile.? "Well it suits you well," he replied, preparing the drink with a nod.? "I saw you at the gallery opening.? You did great serving as master of ceremonies for Koy's fashion show."

Gin and tonic was prepared with a twist of lime and a scotch was decanted for himself.? Lucien made his way across the room to join Locke and offered the elf his drink.

"Thank you. I saw quite a few familiar faces in the audience that evening, but did not have much time to mix and mingle afterwards, sadly." Locke took the glass and took a taste sip, smacking his lips a few times before nodding and smiling. "Aces, mate."

The barrister settled in the seat across the the ice elf and smiled.? "It was well attended.? Unfortunately, I couldn't stay very long myself."

He took a drink of the scotch, then drew a breath and sat forward, his conversational expression settling to a more sober one.? "I imagine you are not thinking I asked you here to talk about the events of Fashion week."

"In a matter of speaking, yes."? He answered.? "The Bank was not happy about dropping any charges so that there would be no prison time.? However, they were willing to do so, if someone would be willing to say take responsibility for you."

He frowned once more as that didn't seem to make sense even for himself.? "Basically they want someone they would accept, as insurance, to be responsible for your possible future actions.? To make sure that you won't commit such an action again.? Does that make sense?"

"Someone to take responsibility for me? What precisely do they mean by that?" Locke's eyebrow remained lifted, and he twisted his wrist slightly, sending the ice cubes swimming and spinning in what remained of his gin and tonic. "And who?"

"I have, on more than one occasion, had individuals released on bail to my custody.? By doing that, I take personal responsibility for that individual, and I must personally make sure that the person shows up for court dates and that person doesn't commit any other crimes or disappear," Lucien explained to offer a point of reference.

"The Bank is looking for a similar arrangement.? Basically they are afraid that you may steal from them again and they want someone they can go to, to hold responsible, in the instance that they can't find you, like the last time."?

Lucien held up a staying hand.? "I've explained to them over and over again, the circumstances of the theft and that for you, that was a one time deal, a single mistake in judgment and that the very fact that you are looking to make amends is a testament that you are a changed man."

"A bail bondsman." Recognition of what the man was actually proposing dawned in the blue elf's eyes, and he nodded his head. He lifted the glass to his lips, and slid an ice cube into his mouth, chewing it slowly. "I cannot ask you to do that. Even though I do not plan on breaking the law again, it is too much of a burden to ask of you. Is there no one else, or no other insurance policy of sorts that they could not implement in place of that?"

Lucien ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully.? "The Bank is looking for a person, but I can ask them if they would be willing to entertain another option.? I am not opposed to taking on that role.

?"After all, I trust that you aren't planning on breaking into the bank again," he added with a grin.? "However, barring that, would there be someone else, another that would be willing to take on that role on your behalf?? Someone you would be willing to have do that for you?"

"I would think the issue is not in my willingness for them to do that for me, but vice versa." Locke rested his fingers on his chin, deep in thought. He swirled the ice in his glass again. "I can broach the subject with my fiancee if she would be willing to do so, but again, I feel uncomfortable having someone else put themselves on the line for me, even if there is low risk. That, and I am not certain the Bank would find her acceptable collateral. You seem more..." He paused to search for the right way to gloss over the rumors and suggestions he'd read from the GangSTAR. "skilled, in ways that would interest them, then she is."

"As I indicated, I'd be more than willing to take on that role on your behalf," he reassured Locke.? "I've given you a lot to think about and I don't expect you to give me an answer immediately."

Lucien sat back in the chair once more.? "Think about it.? Discuss it with your fiancee and let me know how you would like me to proceed."? A light grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.? "I don't have any qualms about going back to the Bank officer for another round of...negotiations."

Physically tired after his journey from New Haven to Lucien's townhouse, and emotionally drained after his meeting with the barrister, Locke opted to take a carriage back to his home. The slight sway of the cab combined with the clacking of wooden wheels and horse's hooves on the cobblestones nearly lulled him to sleep. When they finally arrived, the driver had to call out to Locke several times before the ice elf became fully aware that the trip was over. Locke apologized profusely at the delay and tipped the man extra, before dragging himself up the sidewalk, up towards his house and onto the porch. He tested the door knob, to see if it was unlocked or not.

Not only was the door unlocked, but the opera music was barely contained within the walls. The recording of the Spanish-themed music was loud enough to be heard from each corner of the house, and would more than likely mask the normal tone of conversation. It was a bad habit, but Katarina would rather blast the music from downstairs to her place upstairs than to move the player upstairs with her. While pulling out clothes from the dryer, her body would move in mild movements to her steps, with a twitch of her arm or ankle.

"Hello?" Locke strained to be heard over the sound of the music as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He searched the living room, kitchen, breakfast nook, dining room, and even the makeshift workout room with weights and treadmill, before finally giving up and going up the steps to the second floor. "Hello?"

She nearly ran into the metal door of the dryer, after finally stopping Locke as he reached the top of the stairs. Giggling sheepishly, she reached for a small remote left on top of the washer, casually pressing a button to make the music stop. "Oh, sorry. I was.. practicing."

The look on his face was strange: an enigmatic smile that was a little tighter than normal, with a slight droop to his eyebrows. Even stranger was the way his voice caught in his throat momentarily, before he forced a brighter smile for her. "No worries." He glanced around a bit, one foot pawing nervously on the ground. What was the big deal?

She frowned at him, before bending over to reach the basket of clothing and placed it on her hip. The frown didn't leave her face as she ducked her head slightly to try and catch his moving gaze, "Everythin' okay?"

"I-There is good news. Possibly. And I am not quite sure what to make of it." He sat on the top step, looking down to the first floor below. "I just returned from talking to Lucien."

The frown relaxed into something more neutral, "Okay, jist giv' me a momen', yeah?" Taking the clothing to her room to be put away later, she tried to contemplate what news could have been good, and came up blank. Returning to the stairs, she leaned against the wall beside him, "Ya wanna talk 'bout it?" She offered her hand down to him.

"Yeah." He took the offered hand, a question in his eyes as he did so. "He laid out the choices I will be facing as far as my punishment goes." He swallowed, and before he could think to go over the options in order, he blurted out what he had been dying to tell her since Lucien had first put the idea in his head. "I might not have to go to prison."

She had intention of pulling him up to his feet, but after blurting his announcement of good news, her body went still. "....no?" Contained excitement for the hope in that simple sentence colored her cheeks, and made her heart race. Taking a deep breath, sitting seemed to be a good option, and so she sat next to him on the top step.

"If I give them back what dosh I have left, agree to tell them who my co-conspirator was, agree to identify and testify against them should they be caught, and agree to work with the bank as a security consultant and tell them how we managed to pinch that iron, they may consider that...enough. According to Lucien."

She studied his face intently for several moments, before rubbing the back of her neck. Her mind was racing into several directions all at once. "They.. may. Meanin', tha's nah definite."

"They would also need someone to be responsible for me, in case I decided to go barmy and burgle some more banks." Locke's smile went crooked for a moment, before he continued. "My other options include turning myself in, throwing myself upon the tender mercies of the Magistrate, and keeping the dosh. Lucien said in that case, with his best efforts, I would likely face a 1-2 year prison sentence. Or...I can turn myself in, give back the dosh, do nothing else, and spend a few months in the rusty."

She closed her eyes briefly, and gave a slight shake of her head,"I don't.. I don't want you to have to go to prison if you don't have to." While she assumed the feeling was mutual, she opened her eyes to gauge his response.

Locke was in the kitchen, the sleeves of his brightly striped blue, green, purple, and pink dress shirt rolled up past his elbows as he chopped up green peppers on a cutting board. He had gotten into a good cutting rhythm, the staccato sound of the blade on thick plastic accompanying his loud whistling. With the amount of noise he was making, he didn't hear the comm chirping at him from the other room.

Katarina idly hiked her dress above her knees so that she could safely run down the stairs to try and reach the loud comm. "I'll git it." A mumble to herself as Locke seemed too preoccupied with his whistling and cutting to answer it himself. Nearly tripping on a particular bunched section of her thick black leggings, she pressed on the comm without looking on the screen to fix the material. "Ello?" The words might have been partially muffled since her mouth was facing the ground and not the mic.

"Katarina?" The surprised face of Liam, Locke's brother, appeared in the frame. Behind him was what appeared to be the dining room of their home, simply furnished and cozy. "Is Locke available?" He spoke quietly and nervously, fidgeting with his pale blonde hair and tucking some behind a well-hidden ear.

"Liam!" Surprised, pleasure first came to her features from habit, before she picked up on his subtle cues of nerves. "Yeah, sure thin'. Lemme go grab 'im." Leggings fixed, Katarina moved into the kitchen, making sure to be in Locke's peripheral in case he couldn't hear her approach, "Melamin*, yer brother's 'n th' comm."

Locke looked over his shoulder as he was addressed, a small smile crossing his face. "Right-o. I will be right there." Locke set down his knife, before turning on his heel to head to the comm. The smile vanished, though, when he saw how nervous Liam was. "Liam, are you quite all right mate?"

"Yes, Locke, I am all right. How are you doing?" Liam rubbed his nose vigorously.

"Fine, fine," Locke waved off the question, pressing his concern. "Pardon me for saying this, toror'*, but you seem like a bloody wreck."

Even though she wasn't really asked to be a part of the conversation, Katarina followed Locke to the comm, but tried not to stand in direct view of the camera.

She also took a moment to study Liam. While Liam wasn't exactly a familiar face, nerves were rather universal, and she encountered seeing them often on stage, "Is everythin' alrigh'?"

Liam licked his lips, glancing behind him for a second. Hearing Katarina's voice, he instead addressed Locke. "Does Katarina know?"

Locke's eyes narrowed, suspicious and unsure of what his brother was getting at. "Know what, mate?"

"About...you know." Liam switched to elvish, in an attempt to converse with his brother without Katarina understanding. "Angband*."

"Uma.*" Katarina smiled slightly for Liam, and took a small step closer to Locke, "I know wha's goin' 'n."

Liam looked a bit flustered, as he realized that Katarina could understand what he was saying. He sputtered a bit, before stammering out an apology. "Amin hiraetha*, Katarina. I did not know you understood me. I know it is rude to speak in another language when you know the other does not understand, but...you understand?"

A small nod and reassuring smile, "Ya dun hav'ta apologize ta me. I know tha' yer jist concerned like th' res' o' us, yeah?"

"I haven't told mum or father yet. I kept your promise, just like you-" Liam's moment of pride was interrupted by a quiet, oddly formal and accented voice from off camera that immediately set the half-elf on edge again.

"Told me what, Liam?"

"Uh, uh...nothing, atara*!" Liam turned nervously to face Raina as she partially entered the frame, looking a bit tired but otherwise in good spirits. "Locien, Katarina. It is...excellent to see you all."



*My love
brother
prison
yes
I'm sorry
mother

Locke reached for the offered hand gratefully, giving it a light squeeze as he looked at Katarina. "<I am truly getting married, mother, but...that was not what Liam was talking about. We were attempting to protect him, but->" Locke laughed a little, gesturing to where the chair had been on screen. "<He was not prepared for something he did not know.>"

"Mrs. Taylor.... <Liam was only honoring Locke's wishes. There is no need for him to become involved in this.>." She kept her sentences slow, trying to erase the traces of her own accent out of the Elvish as best as she could.

Upon hearing Katarina speak in perfectly passable elvish, Raina's even-keeled demeanor was rocked. She took an noticeable step back from the comm screen, eyes wide open and mouth agape. She placed a hand over her throat briefly, before it fluttered back down to her side, where she smoothed out the wrinkles in her blue floral-printed sundress. "<You speak Elvish quite well, Katarina. Quite well.>"

"<I have been tutoring her for a year and a half now, mother.>" Even in Elvish, Locke's voice contained both pride for the accomplishment and the desire for his mother's approval.

"<Indeed.>" It was not quite the ringing endorsement he had been looking for from Raina, and his ears flattened a bit in disappointment.

Katarina bowed her head in acknowledgment, accepting the compliment regardless if it was fully meant or not, "<I thought it would be important to learn the language of the person I care for deeply and his family. I did not mean to startle you or seem under false pretenses.>"

"<I wish that I had the same fortune you did, to be able to learn Common as well.>" There was still no praise, implicit or explicit, of Locke's teaching skills, which had the ice elf pawing at the floor nervously with one of his feet. "<Now Locien, are you going to be honest with me, or have you not changed as you so often claim to have?>"

"<Locke.>"

"<I beg your pardon?>" One of Raina's thin, white eyebrows lifted in confusion.

"<Mother, I prefer to be called Locke. How many years have you known that, and how many years have you insisted on returning to a name you know I do not like?>" He squeezed Katarina's hand again, a little bit stronger than before.

Katarina returned the hand squeeze, biting her tongue about Locke's point of his name. She didn't feel like this was the appropriate time to bring it up. Frowning slightly, she took a deep breath, "<Mrs. Taylor, before Locke talks to you, I would like to have words,> yeah?" Her nerves were bringing some of her Hope grammar into her Elvish, but she continued anyway, "<I believe I know as much of Locke's background as possible without actually being there to experience it. I know that as a parent, you have been justified in your feelings, and punishments. Not all but most.>" She rubbed the back of her neck, "<I like to think that my parents gave me a good sense of right and wrong. I don't accept ill treatment of people lightly.>" A light clearing of her throat, "<So I know that when I tell you that I believe Locke is a person that I want to stand beside, I hope that you can understand me and the situation a little bit better than before.>"

"<What situation are we talking about?>"

"<Mother, I am in trouble with the law. I->"

Raina cut him off before he could finish, sighing lightly as she did so. "<You stole something, did you not?>"

"<I did.>"

"<In recent days?>"

"<In May 2008.>" Locke seemed to wither under the rapid-fire questioning of his mother.

?You wanted to see me, sir?? Locke cracked the door to Gerard's office open just enough to slip inside. The ice elf's mentor sat at his desk, fussing with the keyboard on the ancient beige computer he used on occasion. As soon as he heard Locke, Gerard looked up at Locke and smiled, gesturing for him to have a seat.

?I did. I do not suppose you are familiar with the inner workings of RTPCs, are you??

At the question, Locke laughed warmly, prompting chuckles from his boss. ?Sir, Katarina practically has to hold my bloody hand every time I want to make a call on the comm. I am positively lousy when it comes to technology.?

?It was worth asking, I suppose,? Gerard said, folding his hands and sitting up just a little bit straighter. ?Do you know why I called you in here??

Locke's smile faltered just a little bit. ?I have an inkling. My internship is just about finished, is it not??

?Indeed. Hard to believe two years have passed. I...let me be perfectly honest. No beating around the bush here. I want you to stay with Highlife Haberdashery on a permanent basis, as our tie designer. Locke, I am sure I am not the only one who sees you as a rising star, and I think with you on board, we can push Highlife even further towards the cutting edge and into the hearts and minds of this city. What say you??

Locke rested his elbows on the table and rubbed slowly at his nose. He breathed in a deep sigh, then looked straight at Gerard. ?Sir...there is nothing more in the world that I want then to work for you...but I can't right now.?

?I beg your pardon?? Gerard's eyebrows lifted, and he looked nearly ready to fall out of his chair.

?I just-? The word stuck in Locke's throat, and he swallowed to try and force it out. ?I just can't.?

?Have you gotten an offer somewhere else? I will match it, Locke. You are too valuable to us, to me, to lose you to that Vance bastard.?

Locke had to resist the urge to laugh at Gerard's rare use of coarse language. Instead, he shook his head slowly. ?No. No offers from any other stores or designers.?

?Then why can you not take this job, if it is something you want, and something that I know you want??

As soon as Gerard asked the question, Locke's hands dropped into his lap. The ice elf interlocked his fingers and wrung them, as he searched for what to say. ?I can't tell you why precisely, except to say that it is personal and, God willing, temporary. Long enough that I couldn't take a leave of absence, but not forever. I have...things that I need to take care of, and they are going to take some time to handle, but once I have done so, I hope to return to the industry, if not here at Highlife Haberdashery. I know that I cannot expect you to hold a position for me indefinitely. I...know.?

?Locke...is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?? Gerard's face creased with concern, and he leaned back in his seat momentarily before straightening up again.

?Thank you, sir, but no. Time away will be the only thing I need. I shall give you my official two weeks notice later in the afternoon.?

?All right. And hey...? Gerard held up a hand to Locke as the blue elf began to rise from his seat. ?Take as much time as you need to wrap up your projects. Two weeks, three weeks...I do not care. Do your best work, like I know you are capable of.?

?Will do, sir. Have a nice day.? Locke stood and walked to the door, but turned around at the exit and looked back at his mentor. ?And thank you for thinking so highly of me. I appreciate the opportunity you gave me, and I hope you do not feel I was a waste of your time.?

?Not at all, Locke. Call me crazy, but I do not think this is the last that Benson Boulevard has seen of you. I am quite confident you will be back someday. You have it.?

With the compliment, Locke flashed a warm grin at Gerard, and dipped his head in half-bow, half-nod. ?Thank you, sir. That means a great deal, coming from you.?

?Of course, Locke.? Gerard matched the smile, before shooing him playfully with a sweep of his hand. ?Now back to work you go. I have to strike while the iron is hot, you know.?

?Savvy, boss.? With a sharp salute that prompted laughter from both of them, Locke turned on his heel and stepped out of Gerard's office.

Locke D'Vestavio
27 Belling Street
New Haven, RhyDin City, RhyDin
Home Comm: D'Vestavio/Smith-1-New Haven


June 2, 2010 R.S.C.

Gerard Smith
Highlife Haberdashery
99 Benson Boulevard
New Haven, RhyDin City, RhyDin

Dear Mr. Smith,

As we previously discussed, I am hereby submitting my official letter of resignation from my internship, effective June 16, 2010 R.S.C., and declining your job offer for a position as a tie designer. Personal circumstances beyond my control have forced me to leave the fashion industry entirely, although it is my hope that my absence will be a temporary one.

It has been a great pleasure, both professionally and personally, to work with you and the entire staff of Highlife Haberdashery over the past two years. It is my hope that you have learned as much from me during my time here as I have learned from you and your staff. I hope that someday I will be able to take the knowledge and skills that you have helped me develop and apply them to fashion design once more, hopefully at Highlife Haberdashery if the opportunity is available.

Please keep in touch. I can be reached at my home comm or home address, written above.

Once again, thank you for everything that you have done for me while I was here. I am indebted to your kindness, generosity, and understanding.

Sincerely,


Locke D'Vestavio

Locke hadn't been in handcuffs since he was a teenager. The last time he had been arrested had been a fluke, more than anything. He'd been playing cards late one night with some of the boys from Granaff's gang by the light of an oil barrel full of burning trash. It was their bad luck that evening that a guardsman happened to smell smoke and managed to trace the odor to the alley they were playing in. Worse luck for Locke that his first reaction to be found gambling in the early morning hours with other teens was to bolt up and scale the fence behind them. He cringed as he heard the bleat of the watchman's whistle, making the mistake of looking behind him instinctively when he heard it blow. What little was left of his luck for that evening ran out as he ran cheek-first into a heavy-set guardsman responding to the alarm. Locke staggered backward as the guard, with surprising speed, kicked out at Locke's legs. He fell hard on the cobblestones, his breath escaping with a pained grunt, and before he could react, he felt a knee pressed between his shoulder blades and rough hands pulling his arms behind his back. Locke attempted to escape the guard's grasp, twisting and writhing, but the knee kept him from getting off the ground, and the man easily overpowered him into a pair of handcuffs.

?What's the hurry...boy?? Locke could hear the sneer in the guardsman's voice as he paused between words. He was probably thinking of a racial slur, Locke thought.

?Oy! I ain't done shite, bloody rozzer!? That earned Locke a cuff to his ears, courtesy of a police baton. ?Bloody 'ell! I said I ain't done nothing!?

?If that's so, why were you running??

?I know you bobbies. You always look for a way to bugger us lads. I swear, we was just playing cards. Cross me strawberry.?

?We shall see about that. I don't suppose you could tell us where your friends went.?

?Who, me?? Locke blinked rapidly, the very picture of innocence. ?I can't imagine where they'd run off to.?

***

In the end, Locke had actually been lucky, or as lucky as someone picked up for a curfew violation could be. He hadn't been caught pinching an apple (like he had been before), or captured while retreating from a successful heist. After a night spent cooling his heels in a cell that was more comfortable than many of the places he had slept in on the streets, he was released with a boot to the rear and a muttered warning about ?staying out of trouble.? He had cheerfully followed the warning right until he made it back to Granaff's headquarters. Once there, he joined in the gang's next criminal scheme in earnest.

Locke's current stint in handcuffs was less defiant and less dramatic. He was standing in a small room in a city guard precinct office, head down and hands cuffed behind his back. Two gentlemen in navy blue suits sat at the interrogation table, glaring daggers at him, while a detective in a tan suit with the jacket unbuttoned leaned against the wall near the door. With shaky hands, a beat guardsmen in brown leather armor was strapping a pager-sized black box to Locke's ankle, above the ice elf's brown socks and below where he had lifted the cuff of his khakis. Observing Locke and the leather-clad guardsman was an white-haired man in a vivid red robe with a white tab collar.

?Are the handcuffs quite necessary?? Locke asked in a quiet voice.

?The gentlemen from the First Inter-Realm Bank of RhyDin,? the detective thumbed towards the men sitting at the table. ?insist that we follow protocol.?

?I understand, sir.? The bank officials murmured back and forth between themselves, but silenced themselves when they heard the snap of the ankle bracelet being locked into place around Locke's ankle. This was the red-robed man's cue to speak. It was clear by his monotone and the fact he was reciting the speech from memory that this was a monologue he had read hundreds of times.

?As part of your plea bargain with the RhyDin County Court of Common Pleas, and with the permission of Mr. Morgan and Mr. Witter, we have attached the home monitoring bracelet to your ankle. It is water proof and...? The judge paused here, eyes sharpening on Locke's skin, and a tiny smirk broke out. ?suffice it to say it is quite sturdy, no matter what extremes of temperature or pressure it might be exposed to. Monitoring sensors have been installed in and around your home and at the First Inter-Realm Bank of RhyDin. You will have 20 minutes to travel to and from work each day before an alarm will be raised. If the sensors at the bank or your house do not register your presence for five minutes, an alarm will be raised. If you attempt to tamper with or remove the anklet, an alarm will be raised. If the bracelet detects that you have consumed alcohol or illegal drugs, an alarm will be raised. Even though your house arrest sentence is one year, you will wear the bracelet for five years. And as obvious as this may seem to you, West End is absolutely off-limits. Believe me, we will have a pretty good idea if you have went there, and if we suspect you have gone there, there will be a manhunt. Please do try to avoid that. Do you have any questions, Mr. D'Vestavio??

At that moment, Locke finally looked up, eyes slowly panning across the room. The bankers' lips were curled up in sneers, the young guardsman who had put on his bracelet was still visibly trembling, the detective was smirking, and the judge's face was blank. Once he was finished examining them, his head dropped into a bow. ?No sir. May I leave now??

With a nod, the detective took a step away from the room's door. It was the judge, however, who addressed Locke. ?You may leave, Mr. D'Vestavio.? As he made his way to the door, the judge stopped him. ?One more thing.?

?Yes?? Locke asked, swiveling back to face the magistrate.

?Good luck.? The judge smiled, faintly, prompting the same response from Locke.

?Thank you.? And with that, day one of Locke's home arrest began.

Bank work was boring. As much as his life as a thief had depended upon him stealing items of value, the value itself was a means to an end. He appreciated the fact that he could fence jewels and watches and rings for large amounts of coins, but he had little interest in money besides the fact that it paid his keep with Granaff. The adrenaline rush, the thrill of breaking into and escaping from places he wasn't supposed to be, that was the real pay-off. It was the same with gambling. It paid the bills, but the reason he was a gambler and not, say, a butcher or baker or candlestick maker, was the thrill of it all. The risk, the reward, the sheer satisfaction of catching an opponent smirking too soon and wiping that look off his face by laying down a winning hand of cards. It had taken some time after his return to RhyDin, the right friends, and the love of his life to find something greater than that excitement.

His work bore no tangible fruits. No coin in his purse, no dress shirt or tie on display on a mannequin. Beriadhwen ? the female elf he had worked with to re-break into the First Inter-Realm Bank of RhyDin ? had almost certainly written a report about their exploits, and Locke had never seen it, nor heard another word or had another question asked about the experience. She had already grilled him about every aspect of the thieving business that he knew about, and he had shared his wisdom, although most of the time, she had seemed more interested in her fingernails than in hearing what he had to say. Still, despite her seeming disinterest, he had told her about how he picked locks, how he had bypassed wards, even going beyond what was useful for protecting a bank and detailing how to pick a pocket or snatch a coin-purse. He knew he was running out of things to tell them, and he didn't want to figure out what they would do if they had no use for him. Let him sit in his tiny little closet of an office with no windows and a door that couldn't lock, or have him sent back to prison? Neither choice was appetizing.

That was why he was devoting half of his lunchtime effort to eating and the other half to skimming a biometrics handbook he had sweet-talked a librarian at the local university's library into lending him for a week. It was dry and dull material, but Locke struggled through it, wiping his hands carefully on a napkin now and then so that crumbs from his turkey breast sandwich didn't get all over the pages. This was his life now. Sitting at his desk to avoid his ?co-workers?, reading books about topics that bored him to death, waiting until the calendar flipped over to the next day, the next year, the next summer, when he would be free once more to do what he loved, and not what he was obligated to do.

?I hear you?re a celebrity now, Locke.? Beriadhwen leaned against the door to the room Locke was sitting in as the ice elf pored over several sets of blueprints. He had been tasked with looking at design submissions for a new bank branch in Yasuo, to see if he could find any flaws in the layout. The fact that Mount Yasuo was a technology black hole and did funny things to magic to boot made it difficult to contemplate both how to secure and how one might break into this building. Happy for the distraction, Locke turned to face the blonde elf. She didn?t seem to be smiling, but he didn?t take notice of that. Instead, he beamed, hoping she?d smile back.

?But of course! How else would you describe a bloke who rose to the rank of Emerald in the Duel of Fists, who was mentored by three-year Opal holder Koyliak VanDuran-Simon, who interned under renowned designer Gerard Smith, and even presented a collection on his behalf?? Locke popped his collar out with pride.

?I?d call him a thief.? Beriadhwen narrowed her eyes, watching as he visibly deflated.

?Well, yes, technically, but-?

?No technically, Locke. You are a thief. You were a thief. You always will be a thief.? She brushed blonde strands of hair off of her face with quick, jerky swipes of her hand.

?Wh- was what I said so bloody awful, Beriadhwen? I thought- I thought we had some sort of camaraderie, some sort of connection, you and I both having been thieves-?

?Still are thieves,? she corrected.

?Wait, you are?? Locke tilted his head to the side.

?It?s no different for me than it is for you. We may work these legitimate jobs, or be forced to work them, but it?s always in our blood. You know this. You think you can?be some sort of jet-setter with the GangSTAR, or rock star fashion designer, or top-rank duelist, but deep down you and I both know that thieving is in our blood, and our crimes will always define us.? Her lips puckered, as if tasting something sour.

?No. No, no, no. I refuse to accept that, Beriadhwen. I refuse to let one small mistake define the rest of my life.?

?Small?? she scoffed. ?You stole 1.4 million silvers.?

?With a partner. And I returned nearly all of my share, and am here now to work off the remainder, and have probation and a lifetime voting prohibition and-? He stopped short, rubbed his eyes, and tried to look right into her own. She turned away, but his gaze didn?t waver. ?I just don?t understand why you?re saying all these things to me, mate. You?re the one person I get along with even remotely well, and here you are just tearing me down because I said I was a celebrity, because I did some designs for some bleeding fashion show! For charity, no less!?

?Come back to me in a hundred years, Locke, when you?ve seen what I?ve seen and done what I?ve done and lived what I?ve lived, and maybe we can talk and you will understand what I?m saying. If you live that long.? Her heels clacked sharply against the tile as she spun away from Locke?s makeshift office, leaving him unable to get the last word in.

"Do you?" He dodged the question with one of his own, afraid to look directly at her. The fear was probably baseless, but it was still there, beaten into him by months of work in an environment where everyone expected the worst from him.

She waited only a beat, before finished the rest of the rather full glass and ignored the taste. "Bugger that." Her cheeks flushed as she tried to quickly untangle herself from the blankets. Her anger was making that rather difficult, "I didn't come up here to listen to your doubts of me. I've been by your side through this for over a year, and have a ring on my finger. Apparently that's not enough."

He pulled himself up into a seated position, knees pulled up close to his body and arms around his legs. He rocked gently in place. "I-How is anyone supposed to deal with this? How is anyone supposed to put up with this? With someone who is going through this?" He switched to elvish, but the words seemed too flat, nearly devoid of musicality. " Sina naa beika tangaa."* And just as soon as he said it, he tugged at the blanket. " Amin hiraetha. Amin uuma sinta mani um..."**

She wanted to shake the weakness and doubt out of him. Still, she stilled when he reached out and tugged on the blanket. The angry red blots still adorned her skin, mostly around her exposed neck. "I never said that this was easy. Don't you know I'm practically under house arrest too? What joy is there in going out, if you are not with me? But don't you bloody sit there and tell me that you don't think I believe in you. I can't believe you would let one stupidly foolish person get in the middle of that."

"I just- I tried. I'm just...tired. Just...please hold me." He had bottled up a great deal of his emotions in order to deal with his work, and it was all rushing out at that moment, in a way that made him feel more vulnerable than he could ever remember feeling. He pulled feebly at the blanket again, before finally burying his face in it.

Locke's emotions always seemed to find a way through her defenses. She was still upset, and tried to temporarily lock it away. She wrapped an arm around him, and tried to take the blanket away from his face. "Yeah Locke, 'm here." She wanted to add that she always had been, but kept that to herself.

He let her pull the blanket away, revealing his tired, near-heart-broken face. "I did try. I tried to tell her it didn't matter, that it was all a mistake...I'm just..." He let the words die right there, and tucked himself against her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the fabric of her dress.

"Why do ya need ta convince her?" She was calming down a little, with her anger tucked away to the back of her mind, "Some lady who dun know a lick 'bout ya? I believe ya, Jo and Si believe ya, 'm sure Liam believes ya. How ar' ya gonna say all those people dun know ya as well as some lady who doesn' believe 'n change?"

"I just wanted to have someone standing in my bloody corner there, and I thought she would, and then she dropped this bleeding bombshell on me, savvy? I...would you mind if we talked of something else? Or...just not talk? It is quite lovely outside, and-" he pulled his head away from her long enough to turn toward the sky, which was mottled purple with fiery flecks of red at the edges. "the sky is gorgeous. Not so much as you, of course, but, well, what could possibly top you?" One corner of his mouth curled up, just waiting to turn into a smile. "We're wasting a quality sunset."

He was doing it again. Forcing her emotions to go into a thousand different directions at once. She didn't know what would be best - to comply with his wishes or to gently (or not so gently) deal with the situation. She exhaled a quiet sigh before rubbing his back in slow circles, "It's never a waste wit' ya, yeah?" A slight warm smile, "Bu' definitely betta than th' view fra inside yer ol' place. Up close an' personal an' all."

"The apartment? Or without the mods?" Deep down, he knew he was avoiding the uncomfortable conversation they needed to have, but having dealt with the situation throughout his work-day, he craved a break from that mental stress. Her words made him smile further, and giggle softly against her shoulder.

"Both. Definitely both." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, "I wouldn' trade th' mods fer anythin', an' havin' ya close by ta me always is much betta 'n ya livin' somewhere else."

"Even if I'm high maintenance?" He lifted a hand up to touch his hair, making sure every strand was in its proper place. The doubt was creeping back again, but he pushed it aside by shutting his mouth.

"It would be difficult if we had'ta share th' same mirror." A quick wink, "Yer high maintenance, 'm high maintenance. I like ta thin' o' it as a mutual understandin'." She removed her arm around him to rub her other one briefly. She tried to change the subject, "Talk ta Liam lately?"

*"It is too difficult."
**"I'm sorry. I do not know what to do..."

Exercise wasn?t enough. Talking to Katarina wasn?t enough. Taking a nice, cold bath wasn?t enough. Locke had just one month left at his job, but every day there felt like a lifetime, and he found it hard to imagine that hell or purgatory could be any worse than this. Fire and brimstone may scorch the body, but his job seared his soul.

When he was younger and angrier, Locke had wondered why his mother had abandoned?well, whatever faith it was exactly the losedhil had for his step-father?s Anglicanism. Locke had occasionally asked about it, sometimes politely, sometimes less so, but his mother had never given him what he considered a straight answer. ?It?s good to believe in something bigger than yourself,? he remembered her saying. ?It wasn?t for Arnand?s sake?? he had asked with some cheek and malice. Raina said nothing back to Locke. She just shook her head, sighed under her breath, and walked out of the room. It wiped the smirk off of his face. He knew he had made her angry.

Right before Locke left for university, his mother had given him a Bible. Bound in fake marbled burgundy-dyed leather, with equally fake gilded pages, she?d had his name engraved on the lower right corner of the front, and written a message in black ink on the first page inside:

?Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20). I love you, A'maelamin utinu. - Atara. *
He had chucked it aside as soon as he moved into his room in New Northumberland, but since moving in with Katarina, it had found a place on a book shelf, along with a plethora of books about fashion and fabric patterns. Tonight, he decided he needed it.

He flipped to the back, to the concordance, and searched for the word ?forgiveness.? He traced his finger over the citations, and the beginning lines that accompanied them. He turned back towards the beginning of his Bible, to Psalm 25:18. He read it, paused and blinked a bit, then skimmed his way a few verses back. He read again, this time in a hushed whisper.

?Turn to me and be gracious
to me,
For I am lonely and afflicted.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
Bring me out of my distresses.

Look upon my affliction and
my trouble,
And forgive all my sins.? **

Locke snapped the book shut with a satisfying thump, and carefully wedged it back into its spot on the shelf. He stood there before his books in silence, eyes shut for a moment or two, then reopened them and exited the room.

*My beloved son. - Mother
** (Psalm 25:16-18)