tonight was going well – perhaps suspiciously so. the fall of dusk brought out the shadows and the thieves, and jieun had been one of them. she fell in step behind guards and blended beneath peaks of black to hide. it brought her far, brought her to her target with no issue which was, in fact, a rarity for the less-than-perfect thief.
she stares at the large silver’s manor with nervous confidence, her skin buzzing and her fingers trembling. the adrenaline is there, pumping and screaming through her veins, pushing her to go. and go she will – this is her chance. this is the start of something so much more. proof, she can do this. solid proof that she is a better thief than she appears. and the gold. good lord the gold that this family’s artifacts would bring – she silently thanks the general for serving her so well.
and then she speeds off. and lady luck is still on her side. the guards, posted around large and tower gates, do not catch her. she uses her grace and lifts herself up and over the fence and drops, rolling into the grass. she makes a shift of a noise and darts behind shadows. a guard, curious, wanders by and glances to where she fell.
to him, there is nothing.
so he continues on. as does jieun, moving across the vast and decorated yard with the stealth and grace she puts into her court dances. she slides behind sculptures and rolls under fountains. and it works.
her heart is humming, loudly, in her ears. holy shit its working.
when she gets to the manor house, she stands beneath a set of windows. her eyes focus on the second story, where her informant had told her would lead her directly to the safe room.
she scales the brick of the wall, her fingers tips ripping under the edges even under the fabric of her clothes. but its only a price to pay.
when she reaches the window she pulls her face mask over her mouth and lets herself balance on the edge of the window sill as her fingers go to work. from her pocket she pulls the two thin pins, inserting one into the top of the keyhold and another into the midpoint. she begins to tinker and toy with them, moving them and shifting them left, right, up and down until finally the window clicks.
jieun can feel her heart light aflame. excitement, fear, it all awaits her through that window.
she slides in, jumps to land.
and she slips and slides against the rug. it knocks her and a standing vase off its showcase, both tumbling to the floor.
she let’s out a groan, the vase lets out a loud crash.
and jieun’s blood leaves her body, she goes cold.
tonight was a good night.
when he has been a child, yoongi has been often told he was destined for greatness. the silver under his skin was something pure; of power and luxury and success. he wouldn’t have to lift a finger, wouldn’t have to bare callouses on his hands. he wouldn’t have to do a single thing other than exist– and he’d be great.
and he is. he’s the face of the min family; the son of a general, the youngest sibling to a family of military men. he’s held in such high regard, under the royal family – has long since pledged servitude, loyalty. but yoongi, himself– isn’t a military man at all. only a face. no motivation, no will to work, no will to oversee. he doesn’t want to be a general, doesn’t want to be in some high position of power. he quite enjoys his life as is; alone, for the most part– without worry, without need of change.
but he’s dreadfully bored.
an informant is blabbering is in ear; an assistant of sorts as he spouts on ideas his father has, how he’ll go about them. what’s expected of yoongi. it’s the same old spiel he’s heard countless of times. tired eyes stare forward, fingers curled around the handle of a teacup– once warm, not hissing in reaction to the sheen of frost that glistens over it. he’s never liked his tea hot anyway.
“your father expects your presence at the palace, m'lord. there is to be a wonderful show, a performance– handpicked by the prince i’ve heard.”
“lovely.” yoongi states, dry as ever. a sip to his drink has the older gentleman wincing– eyes focused on the frost on the cup. “i’m sure it must be grand.”
“o-of course. only the finest.”
he nods– mouth parting to speak, but the shattering of glass has both of them stilling. yoongi blinks, slow as he stares off into the direction of it. the male at his side splutters, twitches– mouths off some sort of comment about a servant with clumsy hands. yoongi pauses. there’s no servants allowed on this side of the manor– not so late at night. his eyes narrow.
“you’re dismissed.” he states shortly. he offers the teacup to the man who takes it with a splutter, a hand waved in dismissal. “i’m retiring once i check up on that. alert my father i’ve heard his orders. have a good night.”
his footsteps are soft, quiet as he moves further and further away. he dives around the corner of a hallway– pauses near one of the few rooms. his eyes flicker, pause on the door nearest to the safe room, and slides over. his fingers curl around the handle– and he watches, the frost glaze over at it’s touch. it’s comforting, the reminder. and he slowly opens the door, eyes sharp in the dark as he watches for movement carefully.
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