Slowly rising back to his feet, the thief cursed repeatedly at his own stupidity. He ruined his cape. Well, maybe not ruined for life, but still. Fortunately, the reddish colour of the blood would be hard to notice on the black fabric. And he could always wash it, right? Although there was no guarantee all of the blood could be washed out of the cape. He cursed again a few times.
There was no need to uphold the sneaky act. With such a large puddle of the scarlet fluid of life formed on the floor, there was just no way the person the liquid belonged to could have survived. The bat sighed deeply. This was quite the mess. He scanned the room and searched for a candle or something else that could illuminate the chamber. There had to be one nearby.
He was right. On the nightstand, the lone stump of a half molten candlestick was located, spilling large solid drops over the edge of the tile it was placed in. Stepping out of the blood, the bat took a detour around the bed. His boots made a rather soggy sound when they hit the floor. The thief sighed again. Not only was there blood on his cape, but also on the sole of his boots.
Reaching out to the candle, Brandon scanned the nightstand for a tinder-box. Finding one didn’t take much time, as it had been placed behind the tile with the candle. Quickly, he made a small flame appear. Gently feeding it the wick, the flame grew slightly, radiating just enough light in order for the thief to see.
First, he checked his cloak. Fearing great discoloration, the lad was relieved to see that the bloody dye was hardly visible. Then, he studied his boots. Much to his grief, there was a small border of blood present on the sides of them and some speckles on the top. He groaned. That would be a pain to wash.
With the help of the small circle of light the candle radiated, the thief let his eyes scan the bedroom of the old man. The floor, fashioned from wooden boards, was stained with scarlet footsteps. His footsteps of course. The trail originated from a pool of blood located on the other side of the two-person bed. Leisurely the thief walked around the sleeping tool. The puddle of scarlet became more and more visible with every step he took. In the middle of the red pond was the body of a man. Lifelessly lying on his belly, head turned sideways, one cheek dipped in blood, the old man was no more.
Pulling the man out of the pool formed by his blood, Brandon dragged him to the other side of the bed, where he’d have more space to examine the body. A scarlet trail marked the way the body came from. Mixed with the footprints, the floor had become a lugubrious painting. The thief rolled the body over, making the old man lay on his back. His blue eyes looked dim. The light of life had vanished some time earlier, extinguished by a deep wound in his chest.
The cold, wrinkled face gazed at the ceiling, half of it dyed in red. The bat shook his head, a sudden wave of sadness washing over his body. Death was never a pleasant matter, murder even less. The thief sighed, kneeling down by the old man’s side. With gentle fingers he shut the man’s eyelids. “May Dira guide you safely to your final destination.” he whispered.
He guarded the silence in the room for a chime, paying his last respects for the man he never knew. What he did know was that his soul had passed on too soon. He briefly wondered why anyone would want to kill this man. Then he reminded himself that it actually wasn’t a concern of his. It was too bad the man was dead, indeed, but he had no relation whatsoever with the man, except a…businesslike one.
As such, there was no reason for the thief to burden himself with any useless quests for revenge. After all, he wasn’t one to kill, and he only came here to steal, which was exactly what he was going to do right now.
He stopped right in his tracks, trouble clouded his eyes. He felt like he had to tell the man his decision. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be going through the trouble of searching for your killer.” A pause. Maybe he needed to explain why. Just in case. His ghost might still be haunting this place. “I- it’s not like I don’t want to- No wait, I don’t want to. I didn’t know you and all- Closing your eyes and speaking those lines were about the only things I can do for you. I mean, I would report this to the Shinya, if it weren’t for my…eh…profession.”
He rubbed his arm absentmindedly. This whole situation was quite uncomfortable. “I would move you to a place I could give you a proper burial, but…well…I don’t really know how and I would look pretty suspicious if I were to leave here with a dead body hauled over my shoulder. The bat gave a nervous laughter and scratched the back of his head. “I’ll be ridding you of your belongings if you don’t mind. You won’t be needing them in your next life yet anyway.”
Now he did start to scavenge through the man’s belongings. Although he was fully clothed, there was no coin pouch to be found on his person. “Strange…” he mumbled. A quick look around revealed there was no pouch in the room either. “One would think he’d keep his money close by…He always was pretty protective and paranoid about it.” He’d observed the man for three days and he never, ever loosened his grip on the pouch dangling at his hip.
Starting to think he must have overlooked it, he searched the man once more. He still couldn’t find anything. He thought about possible scenarios for a tick. His mouth fell open when it dawned on him. The person that murdered this old man didn’t only send his soul to Dira, he also stole his money! Money that belonged to Brandon! Gritting his teeth together in anger the thief stood up. Grabbing his sack from the bed, he started walking to the door when he suddenly turned around.
“Forget what I said. I will track the culprit down and make sure you’ll get a proper burial!” He placed his fist on his heart. “I swear!” And he’d keep himself to it. How dared they?! He was the only one allowed to steal from his targets. If anyone else did it, it was like they were stealing form him. He would not allow that! Eyes blazing with rage, he pounded through the house, heading towards the front door in order to leave the building.
He’d start with the burial. For that he needed someone to report the death of the man to the Shinya. They would take care of the rest. Probably. Hopefully. Finding someone to do that wasn’t a problem. There was a particular girl that owed him a meal and a favour. He nodded. Yes, she’d help him. the only problem was locating her. He grinned. He had all day to find her. Time shouldn’t be a hindrance. Good, he had a plan. Determination was etched on his face.
When his hand touched the knob, he froze. He realized what he was about to do. Broad daylight awaited him outside. People would come out of their houses soon. A man walking through the streets with a sack thrown over his shoulder would be suspicious looking. Also, he noticed upon looking down that his cape was dripping, staining the floor with drops of crimson. He had been leaving a trail behind. He had to do something about that. Maybe he’d find something usable in the bloodied bedroom.
He threw open the wardrobe. Clothes hung neatly lined up within its belly. Browsing through them, he searched for something he liked. He had decided he’d need a change of clothes before he could leave. The Shinya patrolled a lot during this time, and he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t being watched. Another set of clothes might serve as a great disguise. He found something he deemed to be suitable. It was a common brown robe. A bit like the Shinya’s, but not entirely the same. Great. On a whim, he pulled a white ribbon from one of the other clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Suddenly, an idea popped up. Gathering his locks behind his head, he bound them together with the white strap. A few rebellious hairs escaped the grip and placed themselves back like the used to lie.
He took of his cape and wrung it out above the puddle of blood. He kept doing it until he could not force any more crimson liquid out of the cloth. Then, he laid the piece of clothing on the bed to dry. All he had to do now was to wait until the rest was over. Only then, he could go outside. Via the back door or a window. He’d put the robe over his clothing, but not his cloak. That, he’d place under his shirt, making him look fat. His bag of loot he would have to hide somewhere outside this house, so he could go and pick it up later. And his hands he would cover with a pair of gloves that were lying on the bottom shelf of the closet, for his hands were painted with blood. He grinned. Now he had a plan. He was starting to feel excited again. His muscles were itching to carry out his scheme, but for now he’d wait. |
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by Brandon Blackwing on October 17th, 2013, 3:23 pm 
