February 14, 2 a.m.
Kwerejacek's, Marketplace District
The night was cold and mostly cloudless as Locke stalked from rooftop to rooftop through the marketplace. Occasionally, when the roofs were too far apart, he scaled down fire escapes, or windowsills, to the alleys and streets below. He spent as little time as he could on the street before making his way skyward again. Finally, he found his next target: Kwerejacek's. A smaller, up-scale jewelery store in the Marketplace district, previous walk-bys and walk-throughs suggested it had little in the way of security, magical or technological. He landed on the rooftop of the building that contained the store, heading for the back towards the alley and away from the street. After a few hops onto a few well-placed windowsills, he landed silently in front of the back door. He fished through the small black bag slung over his shoulder for lock picks and, finding them, used them to quickly unlock the door. He opened it swiftly and shut it behind him silently, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the near pitch-blackness. A quick look told him he was in the office area. Checking to make sure every inch of his flesh was covered by his all-black outfit, he crept towards the front of the store.
Her steps were quiet as she moved behind the display case in the center of the room, gloved fingers running across the glass slowly en route. Her touch left little, quickly fading streaks on the surface, but no identifying marks. She was a dark-colored figure amongst the shadows, clad in fitted, soft leathers that offered mobility as well as concealment. Lock pick in hand, she crouched behind the case, and the lock clicked open readily to her deft touch. She grinned and quietly eased the glass door open. A bag was open and waiting for the pieces of jewelry that were carefully placed within. She worked quickly, skillfully, with practiced ease and amorality.
He stealthily made his way through the corridor, passing storage rooms and empty offices and desks that had long been abandoned by the salesmen, diamond cutters, and gem fitters that worked here during the day. After a short walk, he was at the door that led to the front end of the store. With a quick rush of air, he pushed the door open and shut it silently and swiftly behind him. Cobalt irises peered from behind that black balaclava that hid his face and hair (but couldn't hide the faint impression of pointed ears), sweeping the store for an ideal place to leave his "present." Eyes finally settled on the large, circular display case in the center of the store and- was that movement' Locke leaned against the back wall, watching and waiting, smirk hidden behind dark-colored wool.
A breath of air was all the warning she had (and perhaps all she needed). In a single, fluid motion, she closed the case as she sank down to the ground, splaying down onto her stomach and laying flat beneath her cloak. Her hood was down, but her dark hair masked her pale skin from sight and helped her blend in better with the carpet beneath. Watching through the glass and behind a veil of hair, she lay still, her breathing calm and even and quiet, even though her heart raced. She hadn't yet been caught. And even if she was"...Her hand crept a path beneath the cover of her cloak down toward her boot, and she silently pulled a knife free.
His bootsteps were barely, just barely, audible on the navy blue carpet. Only a sliver of moonlight, sneaking through the drawn curtains at the front of the store, illuminated his movements. Gloved hands idly fidgeted over the dagger and black jack sheaths on either hip as he approached. Slowly, carefully, Locke snuck over to the display case, before putting his own leather gloved hands down on the glass. He leaned over and peeked at what was lurking on the other side. The accent he spoke with seemed a bit coarse, but further conversation with the man would most likely reveal the extent to which he was faking it. His voice definitely seemed to smiling though, as did his eyes. "Evenin', mate."
She was found out, but the guards weren't being called. Was she in the clear, or did he fancy himself a vigilante" Of course, that mask of his didn't exactly suggest moral uprightness. Still, as she rose into a crouch, she brought her knife up slowly in a visual warning. In the darkness, she cut a rather androgynous figure, but the hair spilling back from her now quite visible face revealed nothing short of a woman. Her golden eyes were far too bright in the lack of light, her skin much too pale, lips too dark. She quirked a brow up at him and replied with a measured, "Evenin' yourself." He might have been amused, but she was clearly opting for something more cautious.
Knife out, he removed his hands from the display case and pulled back a little. He held his palms up, beside his face, indicating that he had no weapon, nor did he intend to reach for the weapons sheathed on his hips. "Easy with th' fife luv. Don' want to be getting claret all over th' rug, savvy?"
The night was cold and mostly cloudless as Locke stalked from rooftop to rooftop through the marketplace. Occasionally, when the roofs were too far apart, he scaled down fire escapes, or windowsills, to the alleys and streets below. He spent as little time as he could on the street before making his way skyward again. Finally, he found his next target: Kwerejacek's. A smaller, up-scale jewelery store in the Marketplace district, previous walk-bys and walk-throughs suggested it had little in the way of security, magical or technological. He landed on the rooftop of the building that contained the store, heading for the back towards the alley and away from the street. After a few hops onto a few well-placed windowsills, he landed silently in front of the back door. He fished through the small black bag slung over his shoulder for lock picks and, finding them, used them to quickly unlock the door. He opened it swiftly and shut it behind him silently, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the near pitch-blackness. A quick look told him he was in the office area. Checking to make sure every inch of his flesh was covered by his all-black outfit, he crept towards the front of the store.
Her steps were quiet as she moved behind the display case in the center of the room, gloved fingers running across the glass slowly en route. Her touch left little, quickly fading streaks on the surface, but no identifying marks. She was a dark-colored figure amongst the shadows, clad in fitted, soft leathers that offered mobility as well as concealment. Lock pick in hand, she crouched behind the case, and the lock clicked open readily to her deft touch. She grinned and quietly eased the glass door open. A bag was open and waiting for the pieces of jewelry that were carefully placed within. She worked quickly, skillfully, with practiced ease and amorality.
He stealthily made his way through the corridor, passing storage rooms and empty offices and desks that had long been abandoned by the salesmen, diamond cutters, and gem fitters that worked here during the day. After a short walk, he was at the door that led to the front end of the store. With a quick rush of air, he pushed the door open and shut it silently and swiftly behind him. Cobalt irises peered from behind that black balaclava that hid his face and hair (but couldn't hide the faint impression of pointed ears), sweeping the store for an ideal place to leave his "present." Eyes finally settled on the large, circular display case in the center of the store and- was that movement' Locke leaned against the back wall, watching and waiting, smirk hidden behind dark-colored wool.
A breath of air was all the warning she had (and perhaps all she needed). In a single, fluid motion, she closed the case as she sank down to the ground, splaying down onto her stomach and laying flat beneath her cloak. Her hood was down, but her dark hair masked her pale skin from sight and helped her blend in better with the carpet beneath. Watching through the glass and behind a veil of hair, she lay still, her breathing calm and even and quiet, even though her heart raced. She hadn't yet been caught. And even if she was"...Her hand crept a path beneath the cover of her cloak down toward her boot, and she silently pulled a knife free.
His bootsteps were barely, just barely, audible on the navy blue carpet. Only a sliver of moonlight, sneaking through the drawn curtains at the front of the store, illuminated his movements. Gloved hands idly fidgeted over the dagger and black jack sheaths on either hip as he approached. Slowly, carefully, Locke snuck over to the display case, before putting his own leather gloved hands down on the glass. He leaned over and peeked at what was lurking on the other side. The accent he spoke with seemed a bit coarse, but further conversation with the man would most likely reveal the extent to which he was faking it. His voice definitely seemed to smiling though, as did his eyes. "Evenin', mate."
She was found out, but the guards weren't being called. Was she in the clear, or did he fancy himself a vigilante" Of course, that mask of his didn't exactly suggest moral uprightness. Still, as she rose into a crouch, she brought her knife up slowly in a visual warning. In the darkness, she cut a rather androgynous figure, but the hair spilling back from her now quite visible face revealed nothing short of a woman. Her golden eyes were far too bright in the lack of light, her skin much too pale, lips too dark. She quirked a brow up at him and replied with a measured, "Evenin' yourself." He might have been amused, but she was clearly opting for something more cautious.
Knife out, he removed his hands from the display case and pulled back a little. He held his palms up, beside his face, indicating that he had no weapon, nor did he intend to reach for the weapons sheathed on his hips. "Easy with th' fife luv. Don' want to be getting claret all over th' rug, savvy?"