SIMMONS FAMILY MANOR ONE WEEK AGO: The enraged footfalls of metal-clad guards overwhelmed Gwenevere, sending her quaking body into a frozen state of panic. The resounding echo within that claustrophobic hallway boomed within her skull, as gooseflesh began to erupt across her chilled flesh. The girl released a small whimper, at the very notion of these men finding her. A wrinkled, yet warm hand graced her cheek, coaxing the fretful girl back to the peril at hand. Gwenevere's eyes eased open, the visage of her most cherished handmaiden settling her chaotic nerves. "Child. I understand how very frightened you must be," the old woman crooned. Then, her weathered features grew firm. "But you must control yourself far better than this. Once you're out there, no one will be able to safeguard you as I have. You, will be responsible for your own survival." Gwenevere's eyes widened, before flooding with cold, bitter tears. She reached out for, and clutched Olaura's hands tightly. "Oh Nana," the girl creature whispered, "Are you sure I'm ready?" The kindly beldam smiled, sympathy lacing her lips and soft periwinkle eyes. Gwenevere's tears continued to flow, trickling down her cheeks and dripping onto both their hands. Olaura frowned, surprised by just how reluctant this child was to obtain true freedom. "Darling girl, I have taught you what little magic I know. How you choose to use these powers, will inevitably decide your fate." Gwenevere shook her head, causing the deep blue curtains shrouding them to flutter. "B-but Nan, I don't even know where to go once I'm out there!" she protested. Olaura clasped one of her young mistresses' frail shoulders, and squeezed. The adamant gesture prompted Gwenevere to settle again, and with all the hesitation of a timid child, she faced her guardian. There was now a faint hint of reluctance and trepidation within the old woman's expression, though it was apparent that Olaura was struggling to conceal it. As much as she did indeed desire to keep Gwenevere with her, realistically, the maid knew this was impossible. Simmons would eventually kill the girl if she stayed, and whatever weak spells the old crone still possessed would only delay this wicked desire for so long. No, the fact of the matter was clear: Gwenevere, did not belong in captivity. She needed, to be free. Her bloodline demanded it. Wild beasts, did not make good pets. But, they could be invaluable friends. "Listen to me, my dear," the elder began, her voice cracking as she handed Gwenevere a small indigo knapsack. "You may not understand right now, but you will. Goodbye, is just another hello, my dear. We will meet again one day, and on that glorious day, you will demonstrate all the strength and heart which I have always known you to possess." The withered maid pulled the trembling young girl into a warm, gentle embrace. A single greasy tear slid down her bedraggled, sagging cheek. Gwenevere hugged her tighter, her eyes squeezed shut as though to hide her innermost personal doubt. "But what if I can't do it, Nan?" she squeaked, "What if all I am--all I've ever been--is some tool to be used by one who possesses far greater power?" Olaura's fading eyes shimmered, stricken with pain by the innocent girl creature's wonderings. Simmons, had been far from the first wicked soul to believe such filth. To try and mold this wondrous being of infinite potential and spirit, into little more than a puppet with a singular purpose. Prying the girl tenderly away from her chest, the tired old woman stared Gwenevere dead in the eyes. "You, are nobody's tool, child," Olaura declared solemnly. "Only you, can decide your place in this world. There exists a myriad of possibilities for you beyond these manor gates, but if you choose to remain here with me--with Lord Simmons--then the only fate awaiting you, is death." Gwenevere's eyes grew wide, and she sniffled a bit. Her guardian was right, and she knew it. Even though the very notion of fleeing terrified her, deep down, staying here with Simmons terrified her even more. She knew the time was drawing near. She could not risk another sacrifice attempt. This time, there would be no interruption from a pair of misfortunate thieves. This time, the horrible ritual would be successful. Simmons and the Baron would get what they so coveted, and Gwenevere's short, miserable life would be snuffed out. Giving her handmaiden an accepting--albeit hesitant--dip of her head, Gwenevere wiped away her tears. "I...understand..." she whispered, her voice scratchy and timid, like the soft warble of a fretful dove. Olaura nodded, a look of pride replacing the fretful tears upon her weathered face. "I am pleased to hear that, my dear," she complimented, leaning forward. "Now, listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you: Go down into the lowest reaches of the City, where only those who have truly lost all hope reside. There, you must seek out a man named Basso. He'll be able to help you obtain the vengeance that you seek..." The old woman reached into the knapsack she'd handed to Gwenevere, and opened it. Inside, were packs of kept leaves and herbs, a pouch of unknown contents, and a rolled up parchment. Olaura grabbed the last item, and unfurled it for Gwenevere. "This map, should help you get there. But you will need to do some legwork in order to find Basso himself. He is a fence you see. A criminal. Ergo, he will not have his whereabouts posted somewhere for all the City to see," she explained. "Then how will I find him?" Gwenevere cocked her head, taking the map from Olaura's extended hand. "Ask around when you get there. I'm sure someone down in the slums knows exactly where you can find the man." Gwenevere listened intently, absorbing each word into her memory like a thirsty plant. Then, she began to frown. "How do you know all of this, Nan? How do you know that this Basso will help me?" she inquired. Olaura's eyes gleamed with a mysterious hint of power. "Because, you have something he desperately wants. Something men have been both curious and cautious about since the dawn of time." "And that is?" "Magic," Olaura winked. Without hesitation, the elderly servant pulled Gwenevere back into a long hug. She squeezed tighter than before, restoring the seepage from the emotional child's brilliant green eyes. Pulling back, Olaura's smile began to falter ever so slightly. "Now go," she ushered, her voice cracking as she reached the last word. The last syllables she would be speaking to the young maiden for a very long while. Wordlessly, Gwenevere did as she was bade. Opening the large window behind them, she looked downward into the dark foyer  below. Long, thick vines shot forth from all corners of her body, temporarily giving the demure girl the appearance of something frightful. Using these newly-sprouted appendages, Gwenevere exited through the open window, and proceeded to shimmy down the side of the manor. Once on the ground, she rushed over to the towering sandstone walls surrounding Simmons' stately home. She repeated the process, climbing up rather than down this time. Once she reached the top, Gwenevere hesitated before descending back down the other side. She looked up at Olaura, tears still twinkling in her celadon eyes like starlight. She watched as her trusted guardian gave her a slow, reassuring nod, before disappearing down the opposite side. The City, and all the freedom and possibilities within, were waiting for her. *** THE CLOCKTOWER PRESENT DAY: Gwenevere was jostled from deep slumber by a pair of nimble hands giving her shoulders a rough shake. Still locked within a dreary stupor, the girl's eyes eased open to identify the source of the commotion. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. Her entire world appeared hazy, and even though Gwenevere knew she'd gotten a full night of rest, she still felt incredibly tired. Her body hurt, her head was throbbing, and there was a constant, vile churning of fluids within her gut. "Good. You're awake," a familiar voice grumbled, "took ya long enough..." Gwenevere rubbed her sore eye sockets, and squinted up at Garrett. The thief had his back to her, still draped in that long ebony cloak of his. Looking around her, the young woman realized that they weren't upstairs in the clock room, but rather further below in the old Hammerite dormitories. She recognized the piercing red tapestries forthwith. For some bizarre reason, they always filled the girl creature with unspeakable tenacity, and animosity. This sudden surge of emotions and recollection, brought forth an overpowering need to vomit. Scrambling for the chamber pot concealed beneath the bed, she held the rancid thing just below her chin, and emptied the fermenting contents of her stomach. Wiping her mouth upon her sleeve, she heard Garrett muttering to himself. Although she couldn't quite be certain, it almost sounded like, 'yep. Such a lady indeed...' When the thief did eventually turn around, he was holding something in each of his hands. Steaming mugs of what Gwenevere could only presume to be either coffee or tea. "Here. Drink this. There's a reason why the bluecoats are always so damn jumpy on night patrol..." Garrett smirked, handing her one of the beverage containers. Gwenevere took it graciously, her icy fingers soothed by the new source of warmth. As she began to sip, Garrett sat down on the cot across from hers. He began to drink his own brew, surveying the strange, hungover lass with pondering eyes. Basso was quite possibly one of the dumbest taffers Garrett had ever had the misfortune of knowing. But by some ludicrous jest--likely conjured up by a god or goddess with far too much time on their hands--the old boxman always grew incredibly cognizant--even downright insightful--when he was pickled. For as long as he'd known the man, Basso had always been an intellectual drunk. And for once, Garrett was adamant to make that work for him. If Gwenevere was going to be staying with him long term, the reluctant thief decided that he should at the very least figure out why she'd come into his world in the first place. In that respect--and that respect alone--Basso did in fact have a good point. "Uhhh...why do I smell like pee?" Gwenevere mumbled in a soft, tired voice. The girl sounded as though she hadn't slept in several days. "I'm sure Basso's hovel smells a lot worse..." Garrett answered. Gwenevere faced him with a worried expression. "W-what do you mean?" "Forget about it," the thief groused. It didn't concern him, and truth be told, Basso's home had never exactly smelled like a basket of roses. Garrett doubted his fence would even notice. Gwenevere paused for a bit, looking around the room they were in with dazed confusion in her eyes. "Garrett? Why are we in the Hammerite sleeping place again?" she at last inquired. "The dormitories?" he corrected, his cynicism at its pique after a sleepless night. "Look. I know you said that you like sleeping on the stairs for whatever reason, but I need my space. And so do you." Gwenevere's face contorted in disapproval. "But Garrett!" the girl started to protest, before her own outcry prompted the pounding in her skull to intensify. She flopped backwards onto the bed with a low moan of great discomfort. The sides of Garrett's mouth twitched upwards a little, as he watched his young apprentice clutch at her forehead and eyes. "Don't try to fight me on this, Gwenevere," the thief spoke, before taking another drink of his coffee. Then, with a reluctant smile, he added, "after all, you're pretty hungover." "No, I'm not," Gwenevere grumbled. "I'm laying on my back over here, not upside down!" "Uh-huh," Garrett mused, shaking his head at her ridiculous response. Sometimes, the thief genuinely couldn't tell if the girl was just that naïve, or if she really was making some terrible attempt at a joke. This, was one such time. He looked around him, the scent of dry rot and wood oil permeating his nostrils within the forgotten bowels of that place. Old and forgotten though it was, the clocktower was nevertheless looking much nicer. Gwenevere's cleaning had returned the upper levels of the clock room to at least some semblance of tidiness. Something the creaky old husk hadn't been privy to ever since the Hammerite's forced departure. But even still, certain factors caused the thief to wonder. Queries and thoughts kept secret behind his stalwart glare. His hideaway seemed...somehow brighter in the recent weeks. Warmer even. The two figures sat in silence for a time, as a grand stare-down commenced between the jaded cynic, and the passionate idealist. But surprisingly, it was the former who would inevitably break this stalemate. "You uh...were mumbling something in your sleep last night, Gwenevere," Garrett cleared his throat. The girl sat back upright and blinked. She reached for her coffee cup again, and wisps of steam began tickling her sensitive nose. She sneezed, sending her messy bangs tumbling forward into her face. Garrett compressed his lips together, concealing a nearly inaudible scoff. Flushed, Gwenevere looked back up at him, brushing the strands of unkempt crimson from one of her wide, green eyes. "Sorry...it's so musty down here," she smirked. The thief, was unamused. When she realized that he wasn't about to participate in her attempted conversation, Gwenevere's face reddened even more. "Ummm...so, what exactly was I saying?" "Something about doing your best, or making someone proud. I don't know, something like that," the thief answered her, taking another sip from his cup. "Oh..." Gwenevere looked down at her teacup in deep shame, watching as the dark liquid reflected the tragedy and deep unrest looming within her eyes. "What's your deal anyway?" Garrett inquired, in a crude, almost mocking tone. "Why are you so obsessed with what other's think of you? Is it a superficial noble's thing, or?" "No," Gwenevere released an annoyed sigh, leering up at him. "I'm not some attention-seeking brat, Garrett. I just want to help people. That's all." "That's all, huh?" the thief chuckled, before abruptly rolling his eyes. "Riiight...So tell me, what sort of game are you playing here, Gwenevere? What makes you want to devote your life to crime anyway? You looking to get revenge on your old man?" Gwenevere hastened to finish the last of her coffee. It tasted horribly bitter, given that her host hadn't added any cream or sugar. But it was doing an excellent job or banishing her first hangover. "Not entirely, no," she replied. "And if I am in any case, it's not because of what he's done to me..." "It's a yes or a no question. Do you want revenge on Simmons or not?" Garrett demanded, growing irritated with her cryptic nonsense. He'd gotten enough of that from the Keepers to last him a lifetime. Hence, it never ceased to personally irk him whenever anyone spoke in riddles, or offered vague responses. Gwenevere set her cup back down upon the large wooden chest beside her new bed, and stood. She began to pace around the dormitory, running her thin fingers through the dust and cobwebs. "Simmons has very little to do with any of this. I had to get away from him to live my life. That's all. I want to become a thief in order to help the poor. If I steal money or food, or anything of substance really, I can make their lives just a little bit better," the young woman faced him, passion and virtue glistening within her unassuming little face. "That, is my goal. I want to be the vigilante and protector of this city!" Garrett nearly dropped his coffee cup when she relinquished that information. Gwenevere, wasn't some mere noble's brat thirsty for the taste of danger and defiance. No, it was far, far worse than that. The starry-eyed youth before him, was dead serious. But she'd built all of her plans on the foundation of a dreamer's mentality, without any thought or foresight for what this would realistically entail. Memories of Erin's death, her fall upon that horrible night one year ago, came flooding back to him, as Garrett glowered back at the innocent redhead. "Are you serious?! That's what this is all about?!" "Yes," Gwenevere responded, as casually as though the thief had just asked if she'd like some more coffee. Garrett stared at her, his face darkening and dumbstruck by her sheer naivety. "But you have no idea what you're even doing!!" he finally exclaimed, slamming his half-full coffee cup onto the chest beside hers. Gwenevere startled at his sudden outrage, her emerald eyes awash with bitter upset. "Then maybe instead of pointing out all my mistakes, why don't you just teach me so I can improve!" she countered. Garrett swallowed his frothing rage, and began to massage his aching temples. "Gwenevere. Do you even know what being a vigilante entails?! You'd have to be leagues ahead of where you are now, and that would require years of training on my part. And if you think I'm gonna house your sorry hide for that long, you are out of your mind." The girl's lips grew taut, and for a moment, Garrett was sure she was about to cry again. But somehow, Gwenevere gulped down her tears, and collected herself before answering him. "But I thought you were the best," she countered. "Surly, it wouldn't take nearly that long for you to train me..." Garrett frowned. Oh, she was good. Using his own pride against him like that. He stood, staring down at the curious girl, still baffled by what to make of her. At times, Gwenevere seemed downright stupid. But then, there were moments such as this one, where she would spout something quite clever and poignant. Such instances, never ceased to surprise him. "I may be the best, but you're the absolute worst. I can't train what isn't there to begin with, Gwenevere," he spoke coldly. "If you possessed some semblance of talent, then maybe. But I'm a thief, not a priest. I can't work miracles." "But you told me just the other day that you wanted me to be able to pickpocket someone by the end of the month. You said that was a reachable goal for me. If you can teach me something like that so fast, then I can't be all that hopeless, now can I?!" Gwenevere argued, once again demonstrating the quick wit she was more than capable of. "So what's the real reason you won't train me to do so much more? Why won't you help me reach my goals, Garrett?" "Because you don't belong here," he muttered. "That's what you keep saying, but I think--" "--Listen to me. For all of your idiocy and clumsiness...you're actually a pretty nice girl. I don't know your situation with Lord Simmons, but I do know one thing: This city will eat away at your soul real quick if you continue to stay here." His honest words, prompted the girl to shiver. Gwenevere watched as a look of great disturbance registered upon Garrett's face. The rusty-haired runaway narrowed her eyes, as the pieces of this macabre and depressing puzzle gradually began falling into place. The moonlighter quickly turned away when he realized she was now staring directly at him. The realization of what he'd just divulged to her--albeit unwittingly--was harrowing indeed. "Is that what happened to you? Is that...why you're so mean?" Gwenevere asked, half assertive, and half compassionate. Garrett still refused to look at her. He resisted the urge to shout, or otherwise flay her with his cruel tongue and biting words. Instead, he grimaced, and stared upward at the cobweb-coated ceiling above them. Knave. Charlatan. Murderer. All accusations he'd been saddled with over the years, and all more or less true. Others, saw more in him. They saw a hero, a chosen one who could deliver this foul world from the brink of disaster. These portrayals too, held grains of truth--however small. But in truth, the Master Thief, acted of his own accord. He did as he pleased, and damn the consequences. Killing Karras, the Trickster. Saving the City, nay, the world, from their madness. It had all been done, for personal reasons. Garrett, was a survivor. And if the rest of the city survived along with him, that was acceptable. But it didn't make him a hero. Nor did it make him a malevolent demon of the night to be feared. He, was what he chose to be. Nothing more. "No. I've been like this for as long as I can remember," Garrett finally spoke. "I'm nothing like you. And you're nothing like me." "Be that as it may, I DO want to change an unjust world, Garrett! I can't stand all the pain and injustice that pollutes this place!" Gwenevere proclaimed, her face twisted in emotional anguish. She'd seen more suffering and death than any girl of eighteen should ever be privy to, and it was silently killing her from the inside. Garrett sneered at her. "It's the City. Get used to it or leave," he snapped coldly, masking his growing interest and to a lesser extent, concern for her. Like a beautiful flower struggling to grow within this place, the thief knew this girl too would be trampled if she remained much longer. Gwenevere's eyes widened in response to his bitter statement. "What?! But I can't go! I'm your student now! I made a commitment." "You didn't commit yourself kid. You begged. Basso bought your doe-eyed charms and paid me to train you, even though you clearly have no promise or motivation to become a thief," Garrett barked. "And just so you know, you're probably gonna get yourself killed." He turned away, leaving her stunned into silence. For a time. As the thief began  to exit the dormitories, Gwenevere's soft voice reached his ears. "We're all gonna die one day." Her unexpected words caused Garrett to halt outright. He turned slowly, and glared down at the girl through his venin green prosthetic. "What did you just say?" he hissed. Gwenevere, didn't even flinch this time. Whatever remained unsaid, it far outweighed her uncertainty. "Death finds us all eventually," she croaked. "But it's what we choose to do before we die that matters. If I go out trying to help people, trying to steal bread for a mother and her children who can't eat...then that will be enough for me. I'll know I lived a good life." Garrett stared transfixed upon her, hardly believing how noble this girl truly was. When he'd first encountered this precarious, genial young lady, she'd been jumping at her own shadow. The thief thought he had her pegged as just another pampered snob. But for some inexplicable reason, he'd gotten everything wrong about her. He stared down at Gwenevere, wordlessly watching as that ineffable thirst for purpose and justice shimmered like diamonds within her eyes. Garrett did not feel his lips move, as a grumbling modicum of decision eked its way off his tongue. "Gwenevere. You don't have to die," he stated, in a low, hesitant voice. "What?" Gwenevere blinked, her face contorted into a half-stunned stupor at his proclamation. "Look. It seems as though you've got your mind set on this. Not that I approve, but..." "But?" Gwenevere stepped closer, her body trembling in anticipation. A part of Garrett wondered still, how he'd allowed a simple sack of gold to effectivly control him to this extent. But something was beginning to tease and irritate the far reaches of his subconscious. Was this even about his arrangement with Basso anymore, or the gold? Was there perhaps another reason why the stubborn criminal continued to endure the exasperating chatter of this skinny little imp child? Such wonderings, troubled him greatly. But Garrett did his best to ignore them. For now, he had a new apprentice to teach. "If you listen to me, if you learn to do this right, I can keep you alive." 

Garrett ended up falling asleep at his work station that night, after carefully removing his metal prosthetic so as not to accidently crush the more delicate components. After the difficult day he'd had, the thief was hoping to enjoy a long and dreamless rest. But his slumber, was far from pleasant: *** A storm was imminent, though not the sort Garrett was expecting as he remained hunched atop that domed rooftop, surveying the expanse of that sullen midnight sky. It was almost numbing, having her so near. He could have reached out and touched her in that moment if he'd so chosen. But like the phantasmic specters of an impossible dream, the thief feared that such an attempt would shatter the precious veil between reality and fiction. For the moment, she was there. And she was speaking to him again, though far from the way he would have preferred. "Have you caught your breath yet, old man?" she asked with that mischievous, uninterested smirk of hers. An expression she'd long ago acquired from her mentor, and perfected over the course of her short lifetime. Garrett glowered up at her, his bi-colored stare far from amused by her little jest. "I wasn't catching my breath, Erin," he sneered. "I just happened to see something down below," he explained, bobbing his head in the direction of the intricate glass skylight. His accomplice  shot him an incredulous look. "Riiight..." she crossed her arms. "And I have a husband and twenty-seven kids waiting for me back home." "Don't be a smart ass," the older thief discouraged her sarcasm. Erin just rolled her eyes. "Come on Garrett. Basso told me you'd help out," she groused, taking a few moments more to survey the billowing smog as it snuffed out the moon. "Okay, first of all, yeah. And I am," he reassured her. "Second of all, take a peek down there yourself if you don't believe me." The thief pointed a thin and smudged index finger, encouraging the girl to peer down over the precipice of the stately manse. Erin did as she was bade, her cyan eyes narrowing as they began to make out the forms of several hooded figures below. Atop a mahogany pedestal towards the center of the room, was a silvery blue stone glinting with an almost otherworldly luster. "Cult activity?" Erin asked, turning back to her mentor. Garrett said nothing, as he continued to survey the suspicious gathering below with pensive eyes. "Perhaps," he muttered, "certainly seems like the sort of layout for that." As he had done countless times over the course of his time with Erin, Garrett was only telling half-truths. Keeping his apprentice--no, his daughter--blind to that which could potentially harm, or otherwise greatly upset her. After all, what sort of parent could possibly do less? Consequently, he knew full well that a ritual was indeed transpiring far below his piercing glare and stiff form. There were other artifacts resting upon similar pedestals, relics which had been used in a sinister ritual fifteen years before. And as he began to recognize each of the objects involved, a trill of primitive dread traversed Garrett's spine with a sinister shock. A gleaming heart of ruby red, impossible luster and impressive in size. A crown of twisted and savage design, its cold silver and aquamarine adornments visible even from this high up. A golden chalice, a mummified paw. The recognition of the four relics gave the master thief pause. He wondered, if it was down there too. The unshakable sensation of disquieted uncertainty which ravaged his person mere seconds after, gave Garrett his answer. As he leered further still down into the darkness of that place, the hooded criminal could see it leering up at him. Silent and frozen, but watching him all the same. The Eye had promised to return to the City one day. To return for that remaining coal-brown optic which now sat mismatched alongside a venin replica. And now, it was finally here. But it wasn't the presence of that sentient nightmare that gave the thief pause. It was the sacrificial podium which the hooded ones now encircled. More specifically, it was the masked soul strapped down atop it. Even from his present height, Garrett could see the victim writhing and trembling within their tight bonds. The green mask they wore was intricate, frightening. It reminded the thief of Pagans, although there was something almost mocking about the peculiar design. The lost eyes which seemed to stare directly into him from that painted smiling face. It genuinely chilled him. Garrett stood from the window, clasping his ward's shoulder in the process. "Nope. That's it. We're not doing this." Erin gawked up at the thief, as if he'd just revealed the impossible to her. And, in some sense of the word, he had. Garrett: The Master Thief, abandoning a job? It was beyond comprehensible for her. She had watched him take risks far greater, and come out even wealthier still. Her blue eyes darkened against the backdrop of gloomy sky and turbulent weather. "What?!" the word was but a breathless whisper. Garrett deigned to respond, having neither time nor interest for her blatant disapproval. As the thief turned around to leave, Erin jolted upright, stomping across the rooftop after him. "Hey!!" she hollered. That, at least gave him pause. A puff of dense mist exited the girl's dark lips, as she began to seethe. "What are you doing?!" Garrett looked over his shoulder at her, the blustery winds tearing at his cloak. "The job just fell through. I'm going home," he remarked. Erin acquired a stunned expression, her mouth wide open as she struggled to process what the thief had just told her. "You're BAILING on me?!" she gaped. "No way!" "Way," Garrett sneered. Erin gestured furiously with her arms, before throwing them up over her head in a blatant tantrum. "I don't get it!" she shouted, "Basso told me you'd be fine with this!" Garrett hesitated, a deep sigh leaving his lips as he massaged his throbbing temples. In his youth, the thief could recall his own mentor, Artemus, doing this quite regularly. Now, Garrett finally understood why. Turning around, the hooded misanthrope walked up to his child, and gave her a most unsettling glare. "Erin. Look, I'm sorry. But I didn't expect this. Not even the greatest of criminals can prepare for every contingency," he explained. But Garrett could tell by the headstrong look on her face, that the girl was far from convinced. Far from sated. "That's why you have skill. Aces up your sleeve," she retorted, "So what if the nobles are dabbling in the unspeakable down there? The stuff we're after is in the East Wing! Why in the hell are you letting what's happening down there bother you like this?!" "You don't get it," the thief growled. "This isn't about feelings, or blind fear, kid. This, is about past experiences. Mistakes that I don't want you getting tangled up in, Erin." Impossibly blue eyes surged through the darkness as the spry young huntress glowered up at her paternal guide. Garrett had been far from an astute role model to her. He'd disappointed at Christmas, and forgotten birthdays. But seldom had Erin been more disappointed in the man, as she was in that intransigent moment. "I don't care," she snarled, blue eyes vibrant in the dark. "I need what's in the East Wing. And I'm not leaving here without it." Erin's attempts to assert herself proved futile at best. Before her stood a man who'd seen much, and suffered so much more. His eyes served as bi-colored windows into that which an imperious child such as she could never hope to comprehend. A dismal, inescapable prison of his own design. One that he secretly aspired to safeguard her from at all costs. "You can always come back for it later," Garrett rebuked, as the midnight rain grew frigid. "Whatever it is, it isn't worth your life..." The young woman stared awestruck at him for several moments, before releasing a raucous, mocking chorale. "My LIFE?" Erin blinked, brushing a strand of jet black hair from her pallid face. "Okay, Garrett. I have time to play. I see...hmm, maybe six gaudy trinkets, a masked sacrifice, and some hooded freaks down there. No offence," the girl grinned up at him. Garrett refused to dignify her with a response. After a while of cold, awkward silence and raindrops, Erin cleared her throat. "Okay, so my point was, just what exactly do you suspect's down there anyway? Just what are you so afraid of?" The thief glared at her, his cloak billowing in the air behind him like an imposing black flag. Garrett could smell the trepidation laced upon those chilling gales as they stung his face. It was as though the nocturnal abyss that surrounded them, was preparing for war. He glanced down at his boots, memories of perilous encounters long since past racing through his head. They were mages, and they knew the baron. He didn't have to ask why--the situation spoke for itself. Something frightfully dubious, was happening down there. Something that involved that sinister winking relic. "It was the first real commission I ever took--and the last. An enthusiastic nobleman and his consort contacted me regarding the thing," Garrett explained. Erin raised an eyebrow. "You? Working for a noble?!" "I was young and stupid back then," Garrett grumbled. "All I could focus on, was the promise of wealth beyond my wildest dreams. What sorts of things I could have done with all that money..." The thief trailed off for a moment, closing his eyes in profound shame. Bitter lament. Thoughts of fine wines, a lavish manse by the sea. His own concubines, and enough treasure to make even a pirate king envious. Such worldly desires had corrupted and clouded his mind, much like Constantine's curious green wine had the eve of their first meeting. Garrett still chastised himself for never recognizing the obvious. The Trickster's façade had been only skin deep, that devilish grin prominently out of place upon the old man's face. And yet, the thief had taken the bait regardless. Erin's cold fingers tapped his hand, snapping Garrett from his disquieting stupor. "So, you stole this dude an artifact back when you were my age? So what?" she snorted," and what the taff does that story have to do with anything?" Her mentor glared at her. "The thing I stole for him--it's down there right now," Garrett responded in a distant, unsettled voice. Erin peered over the skylight again, watching as one of the hooded figures reached for a large and tattered tome. "Which one?" she asked, more curious and casual than the thief was comfortable with. Reluctantly, Garrett pointed out the object in question. Though he couldn't be certain, the thief thought he heard the thing emanate a gravelly chuckle as he did so. "That one. It's called The Eye." "The Eye?" his ward parroted, a derisive grin contorting across her face. "Stupid name. It doesn't look anything like an eye." "That's far from the point," Garrett sneered. "It has one. Two, actually. And it's looking to obtain a third..." The moonlighter fought to contain a hitched shudder, but Erin caught the troubled grimace upon his weathered face. "Garrett? You okay?" she asked, genuinely concerned but still grinning. The thief released a loud, shaken sigh. "No. I'm not," he replied, his gaze never leaving that horrible relic. It was watching him too, and the thief knew it. "Look, we need to leave now, Erin. That thing...it's..." Garrett's mouth went dry, rendering him momentarily speechless. Erin inched closer to where he sat hunched over the edge of the skylight. "It's what?" she inquired, trying her best to sound genuine, and helpful. Garrett shook his head, standing once again from the rooftop. "Never mind. We're leaving," he commanded, starting back towards the  edge of the building again. "Come on." Erin started off after him, nearly tripping herself in her haste. Somehow, she managed to reach and intercept Garrett before he could begin his decent back down the side of the building. "Wait a minute!" she panted, arms outstretched. "You're seriously abandoning this heist because you're afraid of a ROCK?!" Garrett scowled at that, his pupils gyrating in a deep, personal fury. He had always known better than to reveal too much of his past to the girl. But for whatever inexplicable reason, that night, he had. Perhaps it was the overwhelming elation he felt to see her again after nearly four years of alienation. Or perhaps, it was the thief's own distorted brand of paternal instinct, fighting against his aloof personality in order to keep her safe. "It's sentient, and it's very evil. Let's leave it at that," he snapped. But Erin, was far from satisfied. "So what?" she argued. "You're Garrett! You single-handedly blew up the Trickster. You broke up the entire Mechanist order by using their own prophet's weapon against him. Hell, you even destroyed that horrible hag who murdered my parents! You expect me to believe for even one second that you're THIS terrified over a 'very evil' sentient bauble?!" Lighting lit up the night sky, revealing the thief's innermost turmoil to the girl he'd raised since she was twelve. Erin wasn't prepared for what she beheld chiseled there upon his gaunt, grizzled features. The unspeakable stillness, the icy and detached expression of a man who had seen more than his fair share of evils. Garrett ground his teeth beneath stiff, compressed lips. His eyes closed, and as the thunder rocked the foundation beneath his feet, the criminal wrestled with an extremely delicate conundrum. He had never told Erin the specifics regarding the loss of his right eye. The details were far too preposterous for anyone to believe, far too agonizing for the thief to relive. But if he stood any chance to convincing her to abandon the mission that night, risks had to be taken. Sacrifices, had to be made. This reveal, would be his final attempt to try and illustrate the severity of peril to his headstrong charge. It was a moot decision, but one made out of desperation rather than practicality. A part of him knew Erin wouldn't listen. She never did, once the prize was in sight. But another part of him--a part only a handful of souls had ever been privy to--had made the attempt out of some improbable hope that tonight would be different. "It's also the reason I lost my eye..." he managed, his voice low and distant. For the briefest of moments, Garrett's heart surged with hope when he beheld the mortified expression upon the girl's pale features. There was not a hint of skepticism  locked away behind that lapis glare. Erin, believed him. But the thief's hopes were to be dashed just as quickly. Because although she did indeed believe his harrowing tale, Erin still possessed the same regrettable weaknesses that he did: Arrogance. Tenacity. Greed. After all, he had raised her that way. Children often inherit the traits of their guardians--both good, and bad. She did not understand. Why, after all this time, all of her personal sacrifices, should SHE admit defeat?!  Her eyes widened for a moment, before glazing over once more with those less-than-desirable traits. "Alright, I think I get it," she hissed, turning away in an exasperated motion. Again, Garrett assumed that he'd gotten through to her. But hope, often has a way of amplifying disappointment, and pain. Erin faced him, her blue eyes shimmering with brazen confidence. "But I'm not like you. This doesn't effect me," she hissed cruelly. Garrett's eyes grew wide beneath the shadowy confines of his hood, as the grueling ultimatum of the situation overtook him. Despite everything he'd just explained. Despite everything he'd risked and revealed at the sake of his own comfort, his ward would not be stopped. It was as though her mind was deadlocked, her body acting for the sake of another. Even at her most unruly, Erin had never been this blindingly foolish. It made Garrett wonder, with a sickening shift of his gut, just what she was truly after? And why? As the girl proceeded to head back across the rooftops in the direction of the Eastern Gallery, something rough grabbed her arm. Erin whirled around, dagger at the ready. Only to see Garrett, the most bothersome look of severity present upon his face. "Don't..." he snarled, though his features reflected far more concern than anger. Erin broke away from his grasp with a sharp, unexpected strength. She sneered up at her mentor, the midnight breeze ruffling her unkempt black bangs. "Cut it out, Garrett!" she shouted, shoving him backwards. "You know what? This, is beyond stupid. If your gonna be stuck on this roof having  little PTSD episode, then I'm going on without you." A sensation like cold electricity swelled within the thief's chest the moment those careless words left her mouth. He could accept her sassy attitude. He could endure her defiance. But when she dared to make light of the hell he'd suffered, after he'd just revealed a particularly terrible experience with her. That was the one thing Garrett couldn't tolerate. "What the hell do you know about it?!" he shouted, extending his hand and slapping her. "I'll tell you: You don't know shit! So keep your damned mouth shut, Erin!" His outburst was an instantly regrettable action. A last resort to try and get his heedless waif to listen to reason. As the Keepers would have put it, a lapse in judgement. Yet another loss of balance. The look of deep fear and pleading within his weathered face emphasized this, but the girl at his side felt only the burning in her face, and a vicious resentment budding within her chest. Erin grabbed her cheek, growling in frustration as she leered up at the man whom had practically raised her. "I won't. I'm not a child anymore Garrett! And YOU..." she snarled, hesitation holding her venomous tongue for but a moment, before her sinister reprisal bit through those conscientious bindings, "...you, will NEVER be my father..." Her words tore away at him, wounding the thief in a place his headstrong charge could never hope to see. A myriad of callous words flooded the thief's mind like briny water; murky and chilling. But in that conflicted moment, the wounded moonlighter could only bring himself to ask one simple question in response. "Erin, why is this damned gem so important to you?!" The girl's breath hitched in response to his unexpected quandary. It was as though she could once again feel the knife at her neck, smell the bile and whisky upon her captors. Erin's eyes flooded with hot tears, as she recalled what they had said to her at the start of the week: "You dare to defy us?! We lost Vanessa 'cause of you, bitch. Now, you're gonna get us that taffing gem, or I'll have your heart instead!" The Burrick's Soul. One of the largest diamonds in the world. A marvelous prize indeed. Her 'employers' had made their rather passionate request known, but despite all of her previous experience with both thieving and assassination, Erin knew that obtaining the gem would be difficult indeed. That's precisely why she'd contacted Basso, asking him to recruit Garrett onto this little excursion of hers. Despite her arrogance, Erin knew that she couldn't do it without him. But for his sake--and for hers--she couldn't tell him the truth about this job. Thunderclouds rolled overhead, and Erin released a loud, distressed sigh. "Listen Garrett...I-I can't tell you, okay?" she tried. The hooded rogue glowered down at her. "And why the hell not?" "I just can't, alright?" Erin snapped. "It's...complicated." It had been almost four years since they'd last spoken, and suffice to say, the evening hadn't been anywhere as hospitable as she'd hoped. When she first encountered her old mentor atop that roof beneath a vibrant sea of twilight and newly-birthed stars, Erin had expected a look of surprise to overtake his rough features. Perhaps even a smile. But instead, Garrett acted as though time itself had been absent for the last four years. She continued to eye the thief, how his face now displayed such shock. Though for a different reason entirely. In truth, Garrett had his own ways of expressing intense emotion. That was to say, he disliked doing it at all. Outwardly, he preferred his features to remain steadfast and stoic. However, what transpired within, was a different story entirely. He hadn't said a word, hadn't asked for even the slightest of details when he'd met her atop the shingles that evening. Garrett didn't bother, because he didn't care. Seeing his girl again after so many years. Seeing her back, not only alive but according to Basso, doing quite well for herself. It filled him with an indescribable joy, a pride which even an arrogant man such as Garrett had never experienced before. Garrett didn't question Erin's whereabouts, because simply having her back was more than enough to satisfy him. But now, how he wished that she'd stayed away. The truth can be a very damaging thing, regardless as to whether or not one choses to believe it. While Erin hadn't meant them, even now as she deeply regretted those words, the tragedy remained. They were still undeniably true. He was but a bereaved misanthrope, trying to pay homage to a dead man he'd never so much as thanked for saving his life. Erin, had simply tried to pickpocket the wrong man at the right time. As the malevolent ritual continued to commence beneath their feet, Erin looked up at her mentor again. Her eyes were large, pleading. Desperate to correct a disastrous slip of the tongue. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said. You...you're the one who saved me. That's more than my biological father could do. I owe you my life, and I don't tell you that enough. I--" Before she could conclude her apology, Garrett held up a hand to silence her. Rubbing his temples, the thief allowed his balance to slip for the second time that night. "--Erin. Just stop. You've been gone four years. You made your choice. You're an adult now. Why the taff should I care how you feel about me?" Upon receipt of those callous words, Erin's entire world crumbled. Her sapphire eyes shimmered with tears there against that rumbling leaden sky, as she stepped backwards. "Is...is that how you really feel?" she gasped, her hushed voice nearly drowned out by the vile storm. Garrett turned to face her, his movements stiff and constricted. Remorseful, yet far too proud to admit his guilt. Another clap of thunder echoed throughout the City, as veteran and apprentice made eye contact. The thief's tongue brushed the roof of his mouth, as though the act would ease the flow of words from his tight throat. But before he could even open his mouth, a shrill crackling sound disrupted the night. Both Garrett and Erin began to survey the area, seeking a culprit for the peculiar interruption. However, it was the blue-eyed girl who found it first when she looked down. A sickening twinge of dread overtook Erin's person, when she at last realized just where she was standing. Before Garrett could react, the skylight began to splinter outwards around her boots. He lurched forward, his instincts overtaking both reason and guile in that horrific moment. "Erin! Get back!" he barked. But his warning came far too late. The world around him faded to a inhospitable grey, as the thief felt the blood drain away from his face. His heart plummeted into his quivering stomach, and Garrett could only watch through his helpless stupor, as his entire world shattered beneath her. *** Garrett sprung from his mattress, panting and drenched with sweat. It ran like blood from his temples, the clammy chill of the clocktower tickling his face. Clutching at the sheets, he stared through one maddened eye at his lap. His body was a trembling mess, his perception hazy at best in lieu of the nightmare and lack of depth perception. But that was until he noticed her. Gwenevere was kneeling beside his bed, and as his vision gradually swam into focus, Garrett registered on just how concerned she actually was. Her cherubic face was riddled with an intense worry, her large green eyes almost luminous against a dismal backdrop of filthy shadows. "Are you okay, Garrett?" she asked, the moment he glowered up at her. "I'm fine!" Garrett barked, catching his breath with a shout. "Why wouldn't I be?" "Because," Gwenevere crooned, resisting the urge to rest a comforting hand upon the thief's quaking knee. "You were screaming." Garrett gawked up at her, the lack of symmetry within his features giving him a frightful appearance. Had he really been screaming? Considering what his nightmare had been about, the thief didn't doubt it. He clutched the bedsheets tighter beneath his thin fingers, chastising himself for allowing the brat to hear him in a moment of weakness. "Yeah, well even if that were true," he huffed, "I'm fine now." Gwenevere scooted away from him, her eyes narrowing in response to his cutting words. "Yes, I can see that you are," she snorted. "Back to your usual, jerky self..." "Then what are you still doing here Gwenevere?" Garrett stared pensively at her. Gwenevere looked up at him, focusing her two eyes into his one. The remaining dark optic seemed to take on an almost sinister tone in the dead of night. She could tell that this sort of prolonged eye contact made her mentor very uncomfortable, but all the same, she needed him to see the gratitude written within her eyes. Furthermore, she had to know why he'd done what he had. "Garrett?" she asked. The thief's brows furrowed at her bell-like voice. "Shouldn't you be getting back to bed?" he sneered. Gwenevere bit her bottom lip. "I-I haven't been able to sleep at all tonight, actually," she admitted. "I mean, I tried yes. But..." "But?" the thief raised a cautious eyebrow. Gwenevere looked down at her crossed legs, and began chewing on her hair again. "Garrett?" she mumbled through a mouthful of red. "What?!" he snapped, feeling beyond uncomfortable by this point. Gwenevere shot upwards, allowing the moistened strand to slip free from her mouth. Once again, she locked her gaze into Garrett's, though there was an glint of skeptisim and intrigue written within her face this time. "Garrett, why did you keep me from those men tonight?" Her question rattled him, causing Garrett's entire face to warp into a look of utmost perplexity. "What men?" he decided to play the fool, knowing full well just what scum Gwenevere was indeed referring to. "The bounty hunters outside of the tavern," she explained. Then, the young woman acquired a authentic bleakness within her features. "I may be ditzy. I may be clumsy and naïve. But I know that you despise me, Garrett. No doubt you've come to understand that there's a reward offered for my safe return, and--" "--considered," the thief corrected. Gwenevere blinked. "What?" "A reward is being considered. That's what your poster said anyway," Garrett grumbled. "Right," the girl nodded. "So, if you indeed hate me so much, why did you hide me back there? Why didn't you just hand me over to those men?" Garrett sighed hard, cracking his knuckles as he contemplated the esoteric reasoning behind that innocent question of hers, and the actions he had taken earlier that night. Truth be told, he'd been asking himself the same question. He did despise Gwenevere. More than anything, he wanted her out of his tower. Out of his life. So why had he allowed such a superb chance to be rid of her to slip from his grasp? "I just hate bounty hunters," he shrugged, perverting his response with both lies and truth. "So don't you go getting it into your senseless little head that I actually care about you, or anything like that." "I...never said you did..." the girl smiled. Feeling flustered, the thief's discontent intensified. Despite her best efforts, Gwenevere soon found herself captivated by the empty void on the right half of his face. It seemed to be pulling at her, dragging her down into the unsafe realms of his morose world. When he noticed her incessant staring, Garrett grimaced. "What is it now?" he barked. Without even thinking, Gwenevere blurted out exactly what was on her mind. "How did you lose your eye?" she asked. The question had been innocent, but it caused a surge of torment to seize Garrett by the chest. No one--not even directly after the incident--had ever possessed the bravery to ask the thief that question. But now, out of all the possible inquisitors he had come across, it was this insolent girl who had just unwittingly requested more than she could ever possibly understand. Her clumsy hands and wanting mouth had just ripped open those horrific scars which Garrett had tried so desperately to forget. The thief ground his teeth. She had no right. Initial chagrin, was soon replaced by a savage fury. "Don't you EVER ask me that question again! Keep your nose in your own affairs!" he bellowed, before abruptly jerking his face away from hers. Gwenevere remained motionless upon the floorboards, her mouth drawn open into an exasperated gape. The girl continued to watch him, feeling for him as he brooded there in the darkness. However he had lost his eye, one thing was now eminently clear to her:  It must have been beyond awful. "I'm so, so sorry Garrett..." she finally spoke up, holding back tears as a lump began to form within her frail throat. "I never wanted to hurt you like this. I-I just--" "--Go. Away," he snarled, his slouched posture heaving with every breath he drew inward. Gwenevere stood, tears shimmering at the edge of her remorseful eyes. "Thank you, for today," she curtsied, before returning to her place atop the stairs. Garrett remained motionless for a time, perched within the serene blackness of his tower like a statue. He shook his head, beyond baffled by the entire situation. Why did she waste those frilly manners on him like that? Why did she stare at him so? And quite possibly the question which haunted him most of all: Why did she--upper crust lady that she was-- want anything to do with a thief like him? When he was sure that she was indeed asleep this time, Garrett felt around the empty socket with the base of his thumb, and stood. Slinking past a now slumbering Gwenevere, Garrett ascended the stairway, and propped his elbows against the window ledge. With his remaining eye, the thief looked out over the slumbering city, lost in a sea of deep contemplation. 

Just Garrett eating an apple and contemplating...

It was the first time Gwenevere had ever walked these streets with another soul, yet she'd seldom felt so alone. The man beside her clearly did not believe in decorum, because as they made their way through those chilly, derelict alleyways, Garrett made no attempt to hide his displeasure. Every so often, Gwenevere would hear him release a loud huff, or mutter something about Basso under his breath. A few times, she'd been brave enough to inquire--but her friendly investigations were always met with a horribly daunting glare. Gwenevere huffed herself, gazing up at the sea of chimney smoke dancing above her. The moon was her only source of illumination, as she continued to trail the reserved hoodlum further into the unknown blackness. She chanced a look at her reflection within a murky puddle of half-frozen, stagnant water, and noticed that the celestial body seemed to be trembling as much as she was. Almost. How she wished the man would at least acknowledge her as more than some unwanted tag. After all, she was to be his house guest for at least the time being. And from what Gwenevere had observed thus far from the rancorous criminal, that arrangement was doomed to be awkward, at best. "So...what street do you live on anyway?" she tried her best to smile, before adding with a quick little giggle, "it feels like we've been walking forever." "It's only been ten minutes," Garrett groused. "Don't tell me your fancy shoes are hurting your feet already?" Craning her head to the side, Gwenevere lifted her leg and began examining one of her fur-lined slippers. "Oh no," she remarked, hoping to alleviate his misidentified concern, "no, these are actually quite comfortable." Well la-di-da... the thief shook his head with a loud snort, neither slowing nor ceasing his pace. He rolled his eyes when not thirty seconds later, his unwanted trainee piped up again. Garrett wondered if they indeed manufactured muzzles for girls like her. If so, he sincerely planned on obtaining one. "I was just wondering, because we seem to be heading towards the center of town," Gwenevere added. "Excellent observation," the thief quipped in a snide tone, "you sure are one clever girl." "Not particularly," Gwenevere blushed, missing the obvious sarcasm in Garrett's words, "but gee, thanks!" "Uh-huh..." the thief muttered to himself. "So, where DO you live? There aren't any houses in the center of Stonemarket, ya know? That's why I asked. It's all just stores, and street vendors mostly. But there's also a potion shop, and a few small bakeries too," the girl leaned forward, eyeing him cautiously, "Say, you don't happen to live in one of those bakeries, now do ya?" Garrett finally stopped walking, and glared down at her. "Do I look like the sort of guy who bakes bread?" "Well, no..." Gwenevere shuffled her feet. "I just supposed there would be no harm in asking..." "Idiot," Garrett grumbled, before resuming his pace. Gwenevere shrugged off his latest insult, and ran forward to catch up with him. "So, where DO you live?" she asked again, breathless with excitement. "If I didn't answer you the first time, what makes you think I've changed my mind?" the hooded man snapped. "Well, it's been a few seconds at least anyway," the girl grinned. Garrett contained another sigh behind his taut lips, coming to a halt. "We're here." Gwenevere stared up at him, watching with burgeoning interest as the thief pointed his finger up towards the one structure in all of Stonemarket that the naive girl had dismissed as his possible abode. Her green eyes widened, her mouth flopping open in abject wonder as she beheld the majestic structure. The spire of the tower seemingly pierced the moon, as ravens and smoke encircled it like a living nocturnal crown. The girl tightened her grasp upon her navy blue cloak, as if trying to keep her spellbound heart from leaping straight out of her chest. "Wow..." she gaped, her mouth so wide that Garrett could have peered down her throat if he'd desired. "You live there?!" "Yes," he grumbled, still incredibly uncomfortable with her being privy to that delicate information. Garrett had known random passersbys better than he knew this girl--and he'd had a much better rapport with them to boot. In all honesty, neither himself--nor that jolly drunk pal of his--were entirely aware of just what this strange kid was capable of. What her true nature was like, or why she had chosen to become a thief--beyond snubbing her obviously conventional parents. A more trusting individual might have laughed at his paranoia. After all, how could the rogue possibly suspect such a foolish child of foul play? Even if she wanted to be, Gwenevere was far too clumsy and small to be any sort of threat to him. But an unfortunate--and frankly, horrifying--event nearly two decades ago, had taught Garrett two very important lessons: Never trust a noble, and never trust a pretty face. Even still, the moonlighter had a difficult time picturing her pulling a knife on him. But he'd be keeping a constant eye on her, just to be sure. "So, shall we?" Gwenevere's voice rang like a church bell through the dreary streets, causing Garrett to tense. "Shall we what? And keep your bloody voice down!" he hissed. "Oh, sorry..." she reached for a strand of her lavish red hair again, with the full intention of chewing on it. It was a nervous tick of hers, and one which disgusted the thief most thoroughly. "I was just wondering if I should start climbing?" The way his face revolted, gave the girl her answer. "You want to climb up the side of the clocktower?" he asked in a cynical voice, raising an eyebrow at her. "Well, I suppose that's one surefire way to get yourself killed." "B-but, I mean, isn't that how YOU do it?" Gwenevere stammered. "Tch, no. You'd get spotted by the city watch for sure pulling a stunt like that. You'd have to be a right taffing idiot to access the clocktower that way. The Hammerites built doors around the parameter for a reason." "Oh..." Gwenevere looked down at her feet, shame coating her sullen posture. "I'll show you the simple entrance, Gigi. Come on," Garrett gestured for her to follow, then pointed at her busy mouth. "And drop it. You really shouldn't be chewing on your hair like that." Gwenevere did as she was bade, spitting the damp tresses away from her teeth and lips. Then, she gleefully skipped down the street after a very frustrated Garrett. *** Chasing after Garrett by fleeting moonlight had been challenging enough. Now, betwixt a forgotten realm of dust and cobwebs, Gwenevere found herself positively lost. Uncertainly crept and teased at the corners of her confidence, as her eyes struggled to find her mentor amidst the blackness. It was fruitless; like  trying to locate a single drop of rain amidst a raging river. The thief, truly was the master of this place. A shade, wandering the gloomy and depressing confines of worlds long forgotten by most. She called out for him several times, but to no avail. It was within this stretch of their untoward acquaintanceship, that Gwenevere became all-too aware that Garrett was trying his best to be rid of her. To lose her within this sinister city of murky danger. Brushing a cobweb from her sanguine mane, the girl began to crawl on all fours through the remainder of the musty tunnel. She found it was much easier to get her bearings in a new situation, when she could feel the earth beneath her fingers. Thankfully, little deduction proved necessary, as the tunnel neither branched nor veered. Gwenevere yipped in discomfort as the top of her head bumped into something hard, and quite creaky. Rubbing her forehead with a miserable little groan, she pushed upward on the obstruction. It lifted with ease, revealing the inner workings of Garrett's secret domicile. In the time it had taken Gwenevere to find her way through dark and unfamiliar territory, the thief  had managed to get a rather healthy fire going within a large steel barrel. The girl stared from her place below the floor, mesmerized by the vibrant hues of amber and red as they crackled and danced. She watched as Garrett ran his hands over their luster, his face sullen, and his eyes dark. Almost as though, he'd already forgotten about her. Sensing that something was amiss, Garrett turned in the direction of the trap door. He blinked when he saw Gwenevere there, the wooden hatch propped up by her mop of messy red hair. She smiled, and crawled free from the passage, a sheepish expression donning her cherubic face. "Took you long enough," Garrett sneered, turning his attention back to the fire. Gwenevere began dusting herself off. "Well, I might not have gotten lost down there, if you hadn't run off like that!" she snapped. "How do you get lost in twenty feet of direct passage?" Garrett smirked. "That isn't the point!" the girl crossed her arms, after flicking a cobweb from her hair. "How can you call yourself any sort of teacher, when you don't even keep a close eye on your students?!" The thief's brows furrowed at her uppity little attitude. Turning to face her, Garrett pointed a stiff, accusatory finger in Gwenevere's face. "Stop right there," he growled. "First of all, you're not my student. Second of all, I'm not your teacher. I'm doing a job, and you just happen to be part of it." "I see," the girl sneered. "So, just how many 'jobs' like me have you completed thus far, huh?" "Seven. You're the eighth," Garrett replied coldly. "Oookaaay, why do you keep doing this then, if you hate it so much?" "Typical of your kind to ask that," the thief belittled her. "I do it to get paid, princess. It keeps me in shape, and it's the easiest way to make good coin these days, thanks to 'Old Man Existentialist'..." "Who?" Gwenevere gawked in utmost confusion. Garrett took notice of the fact that she hadn't denied being a princess. Also typical, he mused, and went back to rubbing his hands over the fire. "Basso," he grumbled. "Basso?" Gwenevere repeated, beginning to wonder why someone like Basso still lived in the slums, if he had so much extra money. A part of her wanted to ask Garrett about it, but she quickly deduced that he wouldn't give her a straight answer. It was, after all, none of her business. However, the young woman decided internally that she would inquire about it to the boxman upon their next meeting. Basso was, after all, far less uptight than his hooded companion. "Yeah. But housing a snotty little whelp like you cost him extra. The others were all at least competent enough to have their own places..." Garrett demeaned. "Well," she cleared her throat with a delicate cough, "you didn't exactly give me much time to find a place." Garrett glared at her again. "What?" he hissed, irked by the girl's near-constant disrespect towards him. Intimidated, Gwenevere felt her bold composure empty out of her shuddering body like blood. "W-what I mean is," she stammered, "I-I'm a runaway who's been living in the slums for less than a week..." "Yeah? So where were you staying before Basso found you?" "Beneath a bridge in Dayport," Gwenevere proclaimed, puffing out her chest. "And actually, I found him." "Huh, I would have guessed a flophouse," the rogue grinned. "Course, they usually charge money, and I doubt you've successfully stolen any of that." Gwenevere's eyes went wide in stark astonishment. "A flophouse!? Why, that doesn't sound safe at all! Wouldn't it just fall over?" Slowly, Garrett's eye began to twitch in reaction to the naive girl's peculiar response. His jaw taut, the thief swallowed the lump of warm saliva within his throat as he gawked at her. After a few seconds of awkward stares and silence, he finally shook his head and uttered a mumbly, "forget about it..." Gwenevere, did just that. It was quiet for a time. Garrett continued to warm his frigid body by the fire pit, while Gwenevere listened intently to the way the crackling flames echoed throughout the heart of the City's forsaken timekeeper. She wondered how long the massive structure had been standing; the girl's knowledge of anything beyond the gilded walls of her palace, sparse guesswork at best. Perhaps more than anything, she wondered why Garrett had chosen to live here. Flames reflected within her wild emerald eyes, as Gwenevere marveled upward at the long shadows cast against the now lifeless clockface. The mangled beams and motionless gears especially, served to create quite monstrous silhouettes. "Garrett?" Gwenevere finally decided to break the torment of silence. The thief, did not respond. "Garrett!" she tried again. This time, Garrett answered her with an annoyed grunt. Taking his crude acknowledgment as a sign of progress, she tried once again. "Hey! GARRETT!!" "WHAT?!" he snarled, whirling around to face her, his eyes ablaze. The girl gulped, recoiling from his furious outburst. "Umm...well I was just curious, is all..." she peeped. "Of what? How long it takes to get a rise outta me?" the thief sneered. "No," Gwenevere pouted. "I was just wondering about the other trainees. You know? The ones you helped before me?" Garrett sighed hard, then stepped away from the fire pit to face her. "Alright. First of all, I didn't 'help' anyone, okay? I was paid. Second of all, why the taff do you care?" "Well, I just kind of want to know what's going to be expected of me. I want to know what sort of things I'll be learning, so I can strive to do my best!" the girl proclaimed with a smile. Garrett rolled his eyes again. He realized that he'd been doing that almost constantly since meeting Gillian. "I wouldn't worry about any of that. I don't expect anything out of you. You're nothing like the others..." Gwenevere wilted, visibly hurt by his callous remark. But her demeanor perked up with ease, when another question entered her ever-curious mind. "Well, that's okay. I'll still do my best out there!" her eyes seemed to glisten within the dim light of that forgotten place. "So, what were the others like?" "They were from the streets. Their parents were criminals. They'd leave a girl like you battered and bleeding in the gutter if given half the chance. Some of them, even had actual talent," Garrett growled. "Like I said; nothing like you..." "Aw, come on!" Gwenevere begged. "That doesn't tell me anything--be a sport, Garrett!" "I'd rather not." The girl began to pout again, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. "Well then, what about your first trainee? What were they like? What made you decide to begin taking on apprentices in the first place?" Garrett's body grew rigid, his eyes flashing like diamonds in the darkness. Whether this obnoxious brat knew it or not, she'd just asked a loaded question. One that the thief would sooner slit her throat than answer. "Thought Basso told you about that already..." he muttered in a reticent, dismal voice. "Well, he told me there was a girl involved, so I decided not to pry," Gwenevere cheeped in a cheerful tone which juxtaposed his own. "Sounded personal...romantic even!" "It wasn't anything like that," Garrett snorted, noticeably disgusted by the very notion. Gwenevere craned her head to the side like a curious puppy. "Oh? So what was it like then?" she asked. "I've told you before--you should mind your own business." "Okay, fine. Be like that!" she fumed. "Let's move on. How long have you been doing this sort of thing?" "What? Housing ignorant little rich kids? As I told you before--this would be a first," Garrett sneered. "Oh come on. Don't be like that! You knew what I meant!" she encouraged. "And what if I don't?" "Oh, you..." Gwenevere rolled her eyes. "What I mean is, how long have you been stealing stuff?" "I, 'steal stuff' to survive, Griselda," Garrett groused, clearly offended by how disrespectful she was being. "A man's gotta eat. I had rent to pay. Had equipment to purchase, so forth and so on," he trailed off nonchalantly. Gwenevere looked around, examining the inside of the immense and dusty clocktower again. She crooked a brilliant red eyebrow in utmost confusion. "But...you live here. Surely the City doesn't rent out the clocktower!" From her tone, Garrett wasn't sure if the girl was being sarcastic, or completely stupid. In his opinion however, it sounded much more like the latter. "Don't get cute," he scoffed dryly. "Was I? Whatever did I say that was so cute?" Gwenevere inquired. Garrett shook his head, and started back towards the fire pit. He wasn't going to enjoy this, and yet, he had to endure it. After all, he had done worse things as 'favors' for Basso, always with the reminder of an owed favor cajoling him from the back of his mind. A favor for a favor. It was about the only honor code people in his line of work had. At least in Garrett's bitter opinion. As the flames crackled and danced, devouring the sparse bits of charcoal and paper in their wake, Garrett began to wonder if he truly needed an extra favor. His instincts had only sharpened over the years, and he rarely required anyone's assistance anymore--even for maps or information these days. However, the bulging sack of silver at his belt, placated these nagging thoughts. "Garr-ett!" Gwenevere cried out, once again pulling the rogue away from his personal thoughts. He had a sinking premonition, that this was going to be happening a lot. "What is it now?" Garrett groaned with utmost annoyance. "Isn't it past your bedtime or something?" "So, what DO you do with all of your money?" Gwenevere asked, ignoring his question. "I thought I told you to mind your own business," the irate moonlighter groused. "Like, four times already..." Gwenevere crossed her arms, beginning to pout again, her long red bangs dangling over the sides of her face. Another man might have found the entire display relatively cute, but Garrett had never cared for the self-entitled, prissy types. Girls in women's clothing, who believed that their looks would secure them whatever it was they fancied. Tramps who believed themselves akin to sirens and nymphs in relation to the alluring powers they held over most men within their domain. How he delighted in seeing the look on their pretty little faces, when these privileged ladies discovered that their so-called 'powers' were useless against the hooded shadow invading their boudoirs. Garrett's blackjack, had never been discriminatory. And neither, had he. "Fine. Then I'm not going to tell you anything about me either!" the girl affirmed, turning up her tiny nose. "Works for me. Keep your trap shut, and maybe you'll actually learn something from me. The sooner you learn how to steal correctly, the sooner I can have my tower back," Garrett countered. "We're not partners, and we're not friends. I don't give a rat's ass about you. Try to remember that." Gwenevere frowned. She turned her head, the fire illuminating her ruby hair in a soft orange glow as she began to examine the surrounding area. Peering upward, the tower's core seemed to ascend forever. Only the sparse rays of moonlight filtering in through long-neglected cracks in the foundation served to prove otherwise. From what few first impressions the place gave, Gwenevere could tell that the tower was well-lived in. There was a filthy mattress practically thrown into the corner of the room, and several broken barrels and crates lying nearby. Crumbled up wrappers, and bent tin cans presumably used as food containers lay scattered about, some quite thick with dust. About the only part of the room that wasn't in a state of decay, was the bright area to her right. Illuminated by the gentle radiance of the moon, were several display cases, each housing rare and beautiful treasures. One in particular--an elegant yet simple bronze ring, caught Gwenevere's eye. She would never have even noticed such a mundane trinket, had it not been situated on its very own pedestal in the center of the thief's collection. The tactful and loving way such prizes had been arranged, caused the morose girl to smile. "You certainly take great pride in your work, regardless as to why you do it, Garrett," she complimented in a sincere tone. He didn't bother to answer her this time, so instead, the young woman began to quietly observe his every motion with a keen, and utmost interest. As she did so, more questions began to eke into the folds of her mind. Why would one as skilled and wise as this man choose to live in a dilapidated tower? Had something terrible happened to him, or had things always been this way? Although Garrett acted content within his realm, Gwenevere was certain that there was a very good reason as to why he seemed to treat all others with an aloof, and distanced contempt. His bi-colored eyes held a serious, almost fractured expression. The girl's own inquisitive green optics flashed in the darkness. Though it had been a very long time ago, she had observed such an expression once before. It was the visage of utmost suffering. Silent grimaces, and dead eyes struggling to keep ones darkest traumas chained and hidden. But naïve and unassuming as she was, Gwenevere knew such struggles always proved futile in the end. After all, master thief though he was, Garrett was still a mortal man. And mortal men, could not wrestle back their demons forever.