Closed The Artist and the Thief

[Reign]

Summer the 15th, 513 AV Past the 12th Bell Oh, how much she despised fish. As a child she was taught (more accurately forced) to tolerate the foul things. Nearly every day the cuisine was fish or seafood related, Reign could remembered crying her spoiled eyes out to the chef, to prepare her something else for a change. But, even through all of her pathetic begging nothing was ever altered meal wise. By the time she had fled Zelvita, Reign had become almost immune to her hatred of it. Though her seasons away in cities where food was joyously plentiful and diverse, had spoiled the thief and caused a new even deeper enmity had been forged henceforth. If asked, it was difficult for Reign to identify exactly what she loathed about fish, many things could be said on the subject; the overpowering stench, the slimy taste, the never ending abundance of it in Zelvita. No wonder she regarded the city as her personal hell! So it would be regarded as an odd occurrence for Reign to arrive at the fish market willingly. The smell is what often put her near submission; although to remedy that Reign would pull her scarf from her chestnut brown hair and tie it around across her mouth and nose. As much as it wasn’t ideal, pickpocketing in the crowded, dingy market had its perks. You were less likely to be noticed while engulfed in a crowd of people, especially if you held the same size and stature of Reign. Shedding her leather jacket and worn boots behind a tree beside the vile fish market, she noted that a man was there as well. Blonde and stuck in an age that couldn’t be described as old or young, Reign made an effort to ignore him and simply stash her things on the opposite side of where he sat. Being a burglar often made one paranoid of their belongings, but this man didn’t appear the type. Stalking out into the scene, Reign crouched down low; although she wasn’t much of a sneak, she had realized through careful practice that walking heel first could make one’s steps less noticeable. Going about barefoot had its toll though; her feet were often sore, swollen or blistered. Peering through the buyers, attempting to spot any snatch-able, glimmering objects Reign’s eyes met with a busy vendor’s fat purse. Licking her lips, Reign lay flat on her belly like the serpent she was, sliding behind him. Glancing around, none of the market goers could see her, concealed behind the vendor’s heavily built frame. Sure, that man behind the tree had full view of her antics but, the contents of that purse could surely feed her for a week… She had to be swift, the potential costumers could disperse at any moment. Pulling her knife from her back pocket Reign reached up and with two quick saws freed the purse. Wincing Reign braced herself for the noise that the coins from within the purse made as they met her palm. But the sailor (he had to be a sailor he reeked of the sea even more than the foul place did) didn’t turn, he was absorbed in a conversation with a pretty dame asking about the freshness of his catch. Shoving the purse down her shirt, Reign rolled back into the market. Casually Reign rose and with a smug expression on her face made her way back to the tree. It was the first time in a long while she had not been caught.