Flashback Girls' Night Out

[Kit Rowan]

Day 89, Season of Winter, 502 AV

Rechail planned her heist like a general in a war room.

"Nim!" She speared the other girl with a purple-tinted finger. "First I want you to go up front, and charm the lock, while I keep watch. Once you're done, what do you do?"

For her part, Nim was lounging back against the alley wall, grinning thin and wry. "I back off," she said. "Keep watch, signal if someone looks like they're coming."

"And if they do?"

Nim's legs buckled, her shoulders shrank in on themselves and she stared big-eyed up at some imaginary grown up. "I'm lost, please . . . I want my mom . . ." Rechail grunted in approval, paced back and forth, chewing on a finger. Kit had noticed this; no matter what happened, no matter how good they were doing, Rechail always managed to find something to worry herself over.

Kit had perched herself on a barrel. She slapped her knees, watching as her legs propelled themselves forward through no will of hers and slapped back against the barrel. Her shoulders were hunched. So far, she could see little need for her to be there herself. She had hoped to belong by now, to be friends by now, but still she felt like a burden dragged alone at their back.

Nim pointed a finger toward Kit. "She could get up to a window easily enough," Kit smiled at her friend, and Nim smiled back. She had an ally here at least, even if it was one that she couldn't trust with a hug unless she'd already hidden all her trinkets in a shoe. "She could get in just as sure."

Rechail turned, gave Kit a good, hard look. Kit felt herself wilting away a little under that stare. "No," the half-Isur said. "She'd too loud. She might wake half the neighborhood." Kit smashed a fist into her leg, sighed through her teeth. Another night as a useless girl! But Rechail wasn't finished. "No. You'll go with Shy."

[Kit Rowan]

Shy was near the back, out of sight, arms tucked behind her head. Not as small as Kit, but still small, with narrow shoulders, slight as a shadow in late evening, graced with a forgettably pleasant face. She had been nodding along with Rechail . . . But now she'd stopped, stepped from the wall and turned narrow eyes toward Kit. She made a sharp, cutting motion with her hand; no! Kit had learned it meant. The mute put both hands on her hips and telegraphed her displeasure with a scowl.

"What's the worst that's gonna happen if she gets you caught, hm?" Rechail raised an eyebrow. "You get yelled at, maybe? 'Speakers, Speakers come quick, two girls were watching us!'"

Shy crossed her arms and huffed, blew a strand of hair out from in front of her eyes.

"I know how you feel," Rechail said, and Kit looked at her feet. Again, she was just a burden, dragged along behind everybody else! "Believe me, I do. But she's gotta learn, and there's no one here as good at sneaking about than you. You got that? I trust you, Shy."

The mute sighed, ran both hands over her face. She mouthed something at the sky—Akajia something, Kit thought—she gestured yes, her haggard look not accepting but resigned.

"He'll be spending the night at Ionu's Wager, if the pattern holds true." Rechail said. She turned to Kit, and did not smile. "It'll be easy; just watch for him to go in and out, and get word back to us once he does. With luck, we'll be in and out before he steps out of the den. If he sees you, he might get some hint of what's going on. So . . . Don't be seen."

Kit licked her lips, breathed in through her nose. "Got it, boss."

[Kit Rowan]

And just like that the pair of them were off in search of the Wager. Shy stopped when they turned a corner, turned around to face Kit, one hand propped on her hip and eyes narrow. She made a quick gesture down the street, you first, and Kit felt an urge to squirm. She took the lead, moving slowly, tip-toeing down the lonely street, trying to keep to the dark places quietly as she could manage. She made it perhaps halfway down when she felt a hand on her shoulder, turned, and saw a scowl attached to Shy's pretty face.

The other girl pulled Kit back and showed her how it was done. She didn't tip-toe; not at all. Instead, she took long, loping steps, spreading out her weight further. She was utterly soundless and graceful, an alley-cat wandering and never seen. Kit followed in her footsteps, adjusted her stride on the cobble to better match her elder. Shy turned around, watched, held up a hand for her to stop, started moving again, slowly. Kit saw but did not understand.

Not until she tried to mimic Shy's action exactly; she was putting her weight on her back leg, and then the front leg, slowly moving her weight from one foot to the other. When she stepped forward it was with a foot that carried little of her weight, and thus was less likely to make a sound in the first place. Shy watched, nodded incrementally, shrugged, gestured come and started walking down the street.

Kit stared after her, scratched at the back of her head. Had all of that been a lesson? Evidently so.

The silence weighed on Kit as time passed by, though Shy gave no sign that it made her uncomfortable . . . Well, it wouldn't, would it? Silence was the only option left to her. They made their way down streets that changed in color from black to white to blue and everything in between.

It seemed tonight the city was on their side; they found the Wager with little issue. There was no sign, no indication at all that this was the place they were looking for, but Shy turned her face toward a door and smiled and Kit knew they were in the right place. What did they do now? Stakeout? Kit wasn't sure what that entailed . . .

But Shy was. She marched over to the building opposite, knelt down and made a cradle with her hands. I'll throw you up, her posture said. To the roofs, huh. Kit stared at the thief and cocked an eyebrow up. She shook her head no and took off toward the wall in a run.

She stepped on the wall, relying on her momentum to hold her to it, took another step, and as gravity began to assert it dominance Kit seized hold of the lip of the roof. She didn't allow herself to stop, but instead pulled, her arms burning as Kit cleared the roof's lip. She panted for ten ticks before finally looking over the edge of the roof down at Shy, waving. The mute tilted her head to the side and hrrmphed.

Kit held out her hand for the thief to take, and she did. Kit pulled, trying to lift her friend all the way up over the edge and failing. But still she pulled far enough; with her other hand Shy grabbed hold of the roof and turned her own strength toward pulling herself up onto the roof.

[Kit Rowan]

Shy settled down on the rootop, laying down on her belly and nestling in for the stakeout. Kit did her best to mimic her. Shy turned, held two fingers too her lips quiet. Eyebrows knitting together, Kit nodded. Did Shy think her an idiot? Who would make noise right now?

But Kit did not understand.

Ticks to chimes. The wind blew over them. The chill came closer. Men and women wandered over the street and nothing happened. Kit squirmed, and earned a sharp elbow in the ribs from Shy for her trouble. Kit turned her head and met Shy's severe eyes. "We can't move at all?" Kit whispered, and felt a chill run down her spine as Shy gave a firm nod.

Kit breathed in, out . . . The awareness that Shy was watching, waiting for her to screw up was a powerful deterrent. Her muscles ached to move, they begged to move, they demanded to move and Kit closed her eyes and made a soft, frustrated sound in the back of her throat—And earned another jab from Shy for her trouble.

Time passed and Kit felt her arms, her legs, her body begin to ache in truth. She allowed small, slow adjustments to her stance for relief, shooting Shy anxious glances . . . She hadn't noticed. If Shy hadn't noticed, no one else would, so she felt safe. The pair stayed perched atop a building, overlooking the Wager in absolute stillness as the world passed on by.

Another prod, more gentle this time, and Kit turned to see Shy looking down at something else. She followed her gaze, found a in dark clothing walk up to the Wager's door. He stretched his back, knocked, whispered something and went on inside. Was this their mark, then? Now, all that was left was watching. "How," Kit whispered, strained, "how do you take it?" Shy turned, raised an eyebrow and smiled before turning back to watch again.

[Kit Rowan]

To make the passage of time bearable, Kit played a game. A woman moved across the street, huddled into her jacket, speeding on her way. She was in a hurry; why, Kit wondered? Was she running from someone, had she been harmed by a gambler out drunk? A man came out of the wager, whistling a tune high enough for Kit to hear from her perch. Well he had certainly won big. Mostly though? The people who came out send dejected or frustrated.

Only the city and the people changed, so Kit kept close track of them. While her body begged for stimulation she could not give it, Kit struggled to occupy her mind. Tick-tock-tick-tock-ticktockticktock. Kit took a long shuddering breath; it had been too long. She stretched out her arms behind her, shook out her legs, felt them crack pleasantly at the joints. This time Shy turned to watch for a long moment, but allowed it without prodding. She still hadn't moved! Her will could not have been chipped by isurian steel!

She reached over, rested a hand on Kit's shoulder and squeezed. Shy smiled, something like forgiveness, or at least allowance in her eyes. It was perhaps the first gesture of affection the mute had ever shown Kit. "Thank you," Kit whispered, and Shy held a finger to her lips, pointed toward the wager. And once more they waited.