Thick, hot liquid runs down my arm.
Blood.
Funny, I don't remember the guard nicking me with his sward before my fist connected with the face. Despite being a Flash, he apparently couldn't manage to move faster then my right book to his jaw.
The smell of soot stings my nose, forcing me to clamp a grimy hand over it to stop a sneeze from slipping out.
That would be a very pathetic way to get caught.
When I'm sure that my nose won't alert the Imperial lurking beneath where I'm hiding, I return my hand to the filthy wall my back is currently pressed against with my feet planted opposite me. after taking a deep breath that nearly has me choking on soot, I slowly being my climb upward once again. With things burning almost as much as my nose, I force my body to continue shimmying while stiffing the sneeze.
Climbing up a chimney isn't exactly how I thought I would be spending my evening. The small space has me sweating, swallowing my fear before scrambling to the top of the cramped corridor, eager to replace grime-caked walls with a starry night. When my head finally peeks over the top, I greedily gulp down the sticky air, then climb up and over, immediately bombarded with a new concoction of smells far more unpleasant than the stench of soot clinging to my body, my clothes, mt hair. Sweat fish, spices, and I'm quite certain some sort of bodily fluid, blends to create the aroma that surrounds Loot Alley.
Balancing atop the chimney, I strain my eyes on the shadowed roof to inspect my sticky arm. I'd nearly forgotten to examine it without the usual biting pain that accompanies a sward slash to remind me.
I rip off a strip of cloth from the sweaty tank tank that clings to my body, dabbing at the gash with it.
Adena's going to kill me for running her stitching, Again.
I'm surprised when don't feel the familiar twinge of pain as I rub at my arm with the rough fabric, impatiently sopping up the stickiness. And that's when I smell it.
Honey.
The same honey that belong to the sticky buns oozing out of the many pockets in ragged vest and dripping down my arm mistaken for blood. I sight, rolling my eyes at myself.
It's welcome surprise, nonetheless. Even honey soaking my clothes beats trying to wash blood out.
I take in a deep breath and look out over the crumbling, rundown buildings cast in shadows by the flickering lampposts dotting the street. There's not much electricity here in the glums, but the king generously spared us a few lampposts. Thanks to the volta and Scholars using their abilities to create a sustained power grid, I have to work exceptionally hard to shay in the shadow.
Farther from the slums, the more the rows of shops and homes slowly improve in condition and size. Shacks turn onto homes, homes turn into mansions, leading up to the most daunting building of all. Squinting through the darkness, I can just barley make out the looming towers of the royal castle and sloping dome of the bowl Arena that resides beside it.
My eyes flick back to the wide street stretched out before me, scanning the surrounding sketchy buildings. Loot Alley is the very heart of the slums, pumping crime and trade throughout the city. I trace the dozens of other alleys and streets jutting off from it, getting lost in maze that is the city before offering a sigh and smile to the familiar street beneath me.
Home. Sort of. Technically, a home implies that one has a roof over their head.
But stars are far more fun to stare at than a ceiling.
I would know, seeing that I used to have a ceiling to stare at every night, back when IU had no need for the stars to keep me company.
My traitorous gaze sweeps across the city to where I know my former home lies wedged between Merchant and Elm Streets. Where a happy little family is likely siting around the dinner table, laughing and discussing their day with one another---
I hear a thump, followed by the murmuring of voices that drag me from my bitter thoughts. straining to hear, I can just make out the muffed, deep voice that belongs to the guard I so kindly relieved of his duties a short while ago.
'---came up right behind me, quite as a mouse, and then . . . then the next thing I know, I get a tap on the shoulder and a first to the face.'
A very irritated and very shrill female voice echoes up the chimney. 'You're a Flash, for Plague's sake, aren't you supposed to be fast or something?' She takes a deep breath. 'Did you at least get a look at his face before you let him rob me? Again?'
'All I saw were his eyes,' the guard mumbles, 'Blue, Very blue.'
The woman huffs in irritation, 'How helpful. Let me just stop every person on Loot to see if their eyes match your vivid description of very blue,'
I stifle my snort as something creaks from the other end of the room, followed by a chorus of muffled footsteps. From the groan of rotting wood shifting beneath several new pair of boots, I immediately deduce that three more guard have joined the hunt.
And that's my cue.
I hop off the chimney and gram onto the raised ledge of the roof, swinging my legs over the side to dangle above the street, Blowing out a breath, I let go and bite my tongue against a yelp as gravity yanks me towards the ground. With a soft thud I drop ungracefully into a merchant's wagon brimming with hay. the stiff straw pokes through my clothes like one of Adena's pincushions, and a cloud of soot and hay rises on the breeze when I jump out onto street.
Passing the time by plucking straw from my tangled hair, I begin my journey back to the fort, weaving through beat-up merchant carts, all abandoned for the night, feet dancing over trash and broken trinkets. Looters slumped against alleys or tucked in between buildings whisper among themselves as I pass.
I feel the weight of the dagger tucked into my boot and relax at the comfort of the cool streel as I pass groups of fellow homeless huddling together for the night. I can see the faint shimmer of purple forcefields shielding some, while other don't even have an ability strong enough to allow them to sleep peacefully, which is the exact reason they call the slums their home.
I keep my steps swift and sure as my eyes sweep back and forth across the alleys, never letting my guard down. The poor don't Discriminate. A shilling is a shilling, and they don't care if they jump someone worse off than them to get it.
Several guard cross my path as I zigzag down streets, forcing me to slow down to steer clear of them. Every shop, corner, and street has been bestowed the gift of leering, white-uniformed law enforcers. These brutal Imperials have been stationed everywhere along Loot Alley by decree of the king due to a increase in crime.
Clearly has nothing to do with me.
I slip down a smaller alley, making my way towards the dead end. There, tucked in the corner, is a mangled barricade of broken merchant carts, cardboard, old streets, and plague knows what else. Before I'm even halfway to the pile of garbage we call home, a face obscured by wild shoulder-length curls pops up over the Fort.
Did you get it!?'
Untangling het her long legs from where the sits, she effortlessly stands and phases right through the three-foot wall of our trash barricade without a second thought, and then she's bounding towards me with so much hope in her eyes that you'd think I've offered her a real roof over her head and a warm meal. A though I can give her neither of those things, I do have something far better in her opinion.
I sigh. 'I'm offended you doubted me, Adena, I thought you'd have a little more faith in my abilities after all these years. ' I sling my pack from my back and pull out the crumpled red silk from within, unable to supress my smile as a look of awe settles on her face,
She greedily claws the silk from my hand, running her fingers through the soft folds of the fabric. Peeking up through the curly bangs hanging in her hazel eyes, she looks at me as though I've just singlehandedly eradicated the plague rather than steal fabric from a woman not much better off than we are.
Like I'm the hero and not the villain.
Adena's smile could rival the sun over the scorchers desert. "Pae, you and your sticky fingers work magic, you know that?'
She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a crushing embrace that causes more honey to ooze down my vest and pool in my pockets.
'Speaking of sticky fingers . . .' I peel myself from her huge to fish around in my pockets. I retrieve six smashed sticky burns, only slightly Unappetizing with the hay now decorating them.
Adena's eyes go wide at the sight before snatching one from my hand just as greedily as she did the fabric, She turns mid-bite and strides right back through our fort without a second thought, plopping herself down on the colorless, rough rugs that lie on the inside of the barricade. She pats the spot beside her expectantly, and unlike her, i ungracefully leap over the wall before I can take a seat.
'I bet maria wasn't too happy about her shop being lotted. Again. Poor thing should really up her security,' Adena says between bites, a crooked smile joining the crumbs on her face.
Despite my robbing the woman at least once a month for the past several years, she's still only managed to conclude that I am he. At least she's trying.
'Actually,' I say with a shrug,' she had two more imperials stationed around her shop than normal. She must be getting tired of all the stolen sticky buns over the years,'
Adena narrows her hazel eyes at the sight of my smile. 'Thank the plague you didn't get caught, Pae.' As soon as the familiar phrase slips past her lips, my jaw sets instinctively While hers falls open mid-bite, She visibly cringes, her brow crinkling and throat clearing. 'sorry. Bad habit. ; My fingers Drift to the thick ring on my thumb, spinning it mindlessly while I muster a weak smile. This topic is one we typically try to avoid, though it's my fault the subject became suddenly awkward to speak of in the first place.
All due to a moment of weakness that I wish I wasn't to relieved about, 'you know it's not the words that bother me, it's----'
'It's the meaning behind the, ' she cuts in with a smile and a shockingly accurate imitation of my voice.
I nearly choke in my laugh and a peace of sweet dough, 'Are you quoting me, A?'
BY way of answering, She takes a bite of sticky bun before declaring between mouthfuls, 'And it's not the plague that make you sick, it's what come after.'
I nod slowly while absentmindedly tracing the rug's worn pattern beneath us, the feeling familiar beneath my finger, The idea of thanking the plague that killed thousand of Ilyans makes me lose my appetite for even sticky buns, Thanking the thing that caused so much pain and death and discrimination.
But all anyone cares about now is who the plague didn't kill. The kingdom was isolate for years to keep the sickness from spreading to the surrounding cities, and only the strongest in Ilya survived the disease that altered the very structure of humans. The fast became exceptionally faster, The strong became Unbeatable, and those who lurked in the shadows could became the shadows, Dozens of supernatural abilities were bestowed upon Ilyans alone, all varying in strength, purpose, and power.