Flashback Call Me A Sinner,

[Raylan Ramsey]

15th Day Of Fall, 501 A.V. ~ [The Gibbets]

Raylan did not hate the Gibbets itself, which was reason enough to question the state of his sanity; a fourteen year old boy, content to hide amid the degradation found in the Underground as he searched for a better way of life.

That was not to say that he liked it, or liked the world he lived in much. He simply understood The Gibbet's purpose and, if anything, owed it. Its filth covered streets hid him from someone he hated, but did nothing to control him. It was confirmation that, on some level, he was his own person, that there was still something of Raylan left in himself, however twisted after what he'd been through.

Raylan grabbed onto the edge of the broken dresser beside him and used it to pull himself to his feet. He tried to wipe the sleep away from his eyes with the back of his wrist. But could only manage to stop and smile. A strange, wide smile that was unfamiliar, mismatching the pain that he felt. Forcing himself to actually express happiness rather than grit his teeth. He stood motionless while he examined the blackened signs of rope laceration encircling both of his wrists. Even if if hurt, he would not give his father the satisfaction that came with acknowledgment; even if the man wasn't even there.

It was hard not to slip into the madness of dark thoughts, the deep reflections of what had happened and what it had meant for him. But he put up a brave front, hide all of that emotion behind deep within.

Raylan lifted one of his hands to brush a finger softly against the matching set of rope burns around his neck. For whatever reason, his father had tied him to a chair, forced him to stare into a mirror for days on end. And despite Raylan's anger, his father had succeeded in tutoring; more like tortured, Raylan towards pulling a power from where it laid dormant within his psyche.

For better or worse, he was now a hypnotist like his father.

And almost as if Ionu were playing some cruel trick on him, Raylan glanced up to see a scattering of broken mirror shards on the ground on the other side of the room. Raylan's eyes narrowed in as he approached them, taking a moment to look at his reflection within the largest shard before lifting his foot to crush all of them with the heel of his boot.

Once he'd finished crushing all of them, he stood there out of breath with his eyes wide and hair frazzled from frantic exertion. If he'd ever seen a mirror another day in his life, then it would be too soon. And as his eyes focused on the ground, Raylan quickly realized that there were no mirror shards on the ground.

He'd been stomping at nothing.

"He awake?" A bald boy asked curiously.
"Shut up, he'll hear us." A red headed girl said hesitantly.
"You shut up, we want him to hear us. An aye, he's gone zany."
A second boy who wore a dirty rag around his face like a bandanna responded. Each of them pale, dirty, and nothing but malnourished skin on bone.

The forced smile Raylan held firmly on his lips did not waver even as he shifted his gaze towards those who were speaking. He spotted the three children watching him through a large hole in the closed door. He kept the profile of his face directed away form the door so they'd only seen his ear, letting his long hair drape down his face, not wanting them to see him.

"What do you want?" He spoke aloud, using the questions as a way to focus his thoughts.

"Oi, Hangman. We need your help to get past a door. Some of the others said that you can do it. You in?"

He'd pushed a the broken dresser in front of the door front as a barricade to keep the door closed. As he approached the dresser, Raylan picked his backpack up off the ground that he'd been using as a pillow, picked up his mandolin, then slid a black mask over his face which he'd gotten to hide his features while living in the Gibbets. Then looked into the hole to see if anyone else was with them. Once he was sure that it wasn't some kind of trap, he grabbed the back of the dresser to pull it out just enough for him to get out.

Upon exiting the room, Raylan found himself in the hallway of a rundown house filled with children sleeping on the ground, lounging on blankets and ragged pillows shoved against the walls. It was a house overrun with urchins that had nowhere to go, so clung together like a hive of rats. Most of them were younger than him, a few older. But within this place, Raylan had 'somehow' managed to get most of them to agree to live him alone in the room. As he walked away from the room, he could hear several of them clamber into the empty room like cockroaches. He'd no doubt need to work on getting it back later...

He'd not told any of them his name, and as all kids managed to do when faced with a mystery, they gave him a nickname to match the rope burns around his neck. They called him Hangman. And as he stepped over a child in the middle of taking a nap, he glanced over his shoulder to look at the three kids following him towards the exit.

"I don't care why. Just watch my back and we'll get our reward... it better be worth it." From the deep wellspring of his psyche, a soothing river of djed pooled into the forefront of his mind, then flowed down his spine like a waterfall. Raylan empowered his force of will through the use of Hypnosis, sending a Hypnotic Suggestion to the lead urchin through the use of a gesture.

The act of turning of his head to look at the Bald one. He suggested that the Bald Boy 'watch his back'. Laying the small suggestion down in his subconscious to 'Keep Raylan Safe'. He did not know or trust him, so hoped that it would keep the leader from abandoning him if things went wrong. Since they already needed him, he figured that they might have already been thinking the suggested thought, so Raylan just wanted to embolden that idea.

[Raylan Ramsey]

Location: [The Streets Below]

Hangman followed along side Bald Boy as Red Head tagged along closely behind Dirt Rag.

It did not escape Raylan's notice that they were the most motley of crew to ever gather to go after a mark. Raylan adjusted the strap of his mandolin to pull the instrument into a playing position, then lightly caressed the bridge of its neck. He set his index finger to the third string string at the second fret, then used the long fingernail on his free hands thumb to strum the string he held down, then shifted his finger to press on another string that he strummed. He played a small song as they all walked, simply humming to himself happily. Letting the world believe he was at least aware and happy to be walking through the Gibbets. Allowing the mask he wore to hide his sullen expression.

Raylan followed Bald Boy's downtrodden form as they ventured out of from the Gibbet alleyway to shamble around a corner onto the Streets Below. A sudden paradigm shift occurred once they were away from the Gibbets where Raylan now seemed normal and the malnourished urchins appeared to be out of place. They walked without rhythm through a winding trail of narrow alleyways. To anyone else, they'd have thought they were lost, but the urchins knew it was the correct path to their target.

Raylan wanted to make sure that he could find the Gibbet's again if he needed to escape from danger. So started to take a few mental notes of any landmarks: a building with one blue wall, the door with green dots, a foggy shop window where you could see a rocking chair beyond it. "A left, a right, walk for a while, then another left" He thought before turning his attention over his shoulder towards Red Head. The girl had to be about eight years old, maybe nine, and he could feel her eyes burning a hole into the back of his skull. "You look like you have something to say. So say it."

The girl perked up as if she'd been waiting for him to notice her. "Can I see your music thing?" Halfway through a narrow corridor, Raylan halted before a large set of double doors that meant that one of the buildings around them was some type of wearhouse, then cast his gaze to the girl. "Its a mandolin... Say it. Say the word." He stood just staring at her as the other two boys watched curiously. "Mandolin. Can I see your.. Raylan cut her off before she could finish speaking. "No. No, you can not see my mandolin. That was dumb of you to ask. Now remain quiet until I need something from you." His voice was sharp, his tone bitting. The girl couldn't read him or his intent, it confused her, and partly because of the mask, scared her into silence.

The whole situation caused Dirt Rag to scowl at him. "Hey, don't talk to her like that!" Before Raylan could say anything, Bald Boy interjected on his behalf. "You shut up!" On some deeper level, Raylan's suggestion urged the urchin to Keep Raylan Safe from the other members of the crew.

Raylan's fingers continued to strum a soft melody as he started to continue walking. "All of you shut up. We have things to do and you are all wasting time." No one could see Hangman's smile beneath his mask, but from his proud posture, he assumed Dirt Rag could just... tell. He cast his gaze back to Bald Boy as he walked. "Everyone, keep pace. And You... Tell me everything. I want to know what I'm walking into." He spoke out, trying his best to manage the group of kids into doing what he said. And having Bald Boy on his side seemed to help aid him in that venture.

They all did their best to huddle around Hangman's sides while Bald Boy caught him up on the details of the heist. “Okay, so listen... There’s this cook, a butcher to be specific, living and working out of his house here in the below. Butch mostly sales cut up rats, dogs, cats... ya'know, things most don't want to eat. But, I tried to steal a dog steak a few days ago and got chased away. But before that, I saw where he hid his lockbox where he hides his gold pieces. Its under a floor board to the left of the bookshelf where he keeps his preserved meats." The boy paused for a moment to make sure Raylan got all of that. "We have the opportunity to pull off a nice score. His place is up ahead, so you still in?” The boy asked, trying to gauge if Raylan thought the boys plan was a good one.

Raylan halted playing the mandolin as he stopped walking. “ To be clear, you need me for the door,” he whispered out, shifting to look at the group so he could get a better look at al of them, “And the lockbox?” Then, at the sudden quiet after the question, asked, “ We can either get the box when he's working by drawing him out of the house, distracting him, then snatching and grabbing the box. That would eliminate the need to unlock the door. Or we could wait until he sleeps, then sneak in.”

"Bald Boy" #00BF80, "Red Head" #80FF00, "Dirt Rag" #80BF80

[Raylan Ramsey]

“If I had to chose, I say we wait. For no other reason than because I want to try opening the door. It looks like fun to me.” The young teenager known as Hangman suggested to the other urchin children, not because he feared the butcher, but wanted to have some amount of fun on this endeavor. “But, I am willing to allow the other option if the three of you all agree to that option.” He said with the hint of agitation in his voice, making it clear that he did not want them to take that option. Dirt Rag chimed in quickly, causing the rag covering his mouth to flap as he spoke. “I like the second one.” Raylan narrowed his eyes at the boy, knowing he voted for that plan to wreck his plans.

Hangman shifted his gaze to Red Head, simply staring into her eyes as she stared back. The more they remained lock, the more she started to notice his eyes narrow behind the eye holes of his mask. It was an intensely focused gaze He knew that see seemed to crumble under pressure, which was obviously a bad trait to have in when planning a theft. But knew how to push her towards his vote. Since she had already been the at the receiving end of his biting tone, causing her to squirm uncomfortably where she stood. “I... I like the first one.” Raylan held out one hand to the little girl, for her to take his hand.

It was a gesture that surprised each of the kids. And it left Red Head confused as to what to do. So, she lifted her hand to set it in his. He pulled her towards him, closer to him and away from Dirt Rag. “What about you.” He directed the question to Bald Boy. “The first is the safest. So, I like it.” Raylan smirked, then pulled Red Head to stand behind him. “Three against, one. Looks like its my way. Well, both were my way. We are just doing the one I want to do” He said with a slight chuckle. “Red, stay close to me and you'll be fine. I'm the best person here to keep you safe.”

She stammered, not sure how to take his offer of safety. Hangman seemed mean, but she knew the streets were always mean. And give that even Bald Boy seemed to follow the older boys lead, she accepted Raylan as the leading authority figure. "Okay. We look after you, you look after us. Like family?" He nodded at her. "Like family.

Raylan was lying through his teeth. He didn't care for any of them. But, at least it meant he could use their loyalty against them if things went bad. "Lets get back to the task at hand... navigator, man the helm." He spoke to Bald Boy, using sailing terms that he'd learned from a close family friend, sailing with the woman he wished was his mother; A Svefra named Coral Seadrifter.

The group trudged on a little further until they walked to a corner of a narrow ally. Bald Boy pressed his back up against the corner of the building to remain out of sight while peeking around it. The boy glanced back to wave Raylan over to case the building. The two traded places as Hangman knelt down into a crouch to peek around the corner.

He saw the usual scatterings of lost or homeless people wandering the streets in the distance. His eyes locked onto the side of an old building that had its door open; the only one open on this stretch of street. There was one normal window on the front of it, opaque with age, draped in frilly window dressings. It was broken with one few hole punching through the glass as if someone threw a rock at it, but the glass was strong enough to not fully shatter.

A haggardly beggar walked out from the door chewing on what he believed was some type of dried meat. "Wait here. He does not know me, If caught I shall go buy something to eat. But we stay on plan."

He walked over to the door while holding his mandolin up in a playing position, hiding just behind the door frame as he peeked his masked face in. Half hiding. But If spotted, he'd simply walk in. The building was nothing special, just your basic cottage type abode. He spotted a roaring hearth fire, a bunk covered in bloody sheets where a dog laid half decapitated, am open chest filled with cooking pots and utensils, a chair were a portly man dressed in only pants and an apron sat facing away from him while slamming a knife into a rat on a small table.

It looked like the man lived there and just so happened to be a butcher by profession. It was just as Bald Boy had said, their was a bookshelf on the far wall beyond the table. It held a vast quantity of jars where meats were being preserved. And other meats were just sitting out in the open on the shelves, slowly rotting, or waiting to be bought. He looked down at the ground to see that it had a well maintained wooden floor. As if the butcher only took pride in keeping it free of blood.