Don't slip in the blood on your way out

@maelys-taishi

Inspiration and RP blog for the OC Maelys "Mae" Taishi, Red Bird Captain in the Scepter's Army. Faceclaim is Rishma Gurung. Header photo by Reza Hasannia on Unsplash

2,764 posts

bath tubs that can’t submerge an entire adult body should be illegal

Okay I know what you meant but you sound like a murderer

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. “…Huh,” is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

That reaction might not be the most awestruck response they’ve ever had to one of their tricks, but Iris bows like it was a riotous applause from a theater full of people. Slow, flourishing, dramatic. When they rise again they take the offered card, look at it like they’re not quite sure what to do with it now that it’s all folded up and can’t really be used again, and then shrug and make a little motion with that hand and it disappears to somewhere. “Well, have a good night!” they say before turning to head toward the door to the building’s stairwell, starting the journey off with a couple of skipping steps. Then they stop, reverse the motion (including the skip-steps) in a way that really almost looks like time itself played backwards, and turn to look at Hawke again. “Hey, do you know how to get to a good cafe from here?”

“…Not one that’ll be open this time of night. But there’s a couple diners? Depends on what you’re looking for.” They’ve still got a ‘what the actual hell and fuck’ face on - brows knitted, slightly narrowed eyes, solid frown.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Warm,” they answer. “I’d be freezing my tits off out here if I had any. That isn’t where they went, ef-why-eye. Anyway, a warm place to hang out and a hot beverage, mostly A diner would probably serve nicely, since I could probably stand to eat something too.”

“Frank’s is a couple blocks away, they’ve got decent food. Simple, basic, you know. Diner food. Good coffee.”

dragons-of-a-feather

“Perfect.” Iris just starts to move, stops again, and turns back once more. “A couple of blocks which direction?” the ask before pointing one way, another, another.

“Eh…” You know that professional once-over they gave the roof? They’re giving it to Iris now, gauging their threat level. And their ability to follow directions.

“…D'you want me to walk you there?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Threat level? Iris is fast. Like, inhumanly fast, judging by the way they were able to casually catch windblown cards. They were also able to cleanly slice a playing card in two, somehow, without apparently having anything in her hands, but then again, they’re a magician, so they could have just been palming a razor blade or used some other trick. But there doesn’t seem to be any hostile intent. Everything in the posture of Iris’s body is loose, casual, friendly. They may be odd, but they give no hint that they have ill will. “Are you asking me on a date?” they ask with a sudden, teasing grin. They have perfect white teeth, but those canines seem just a little too long, a little too pointed. Not like full on vampire, not at all, there’s just something sharp about the smile.

“…No?” Hawke sighs, and runs a finger through their short hair.

“I’m…offering help to someone who requested it?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs, clearly not offended by the answer not being “yes, I was flirting.” “Thank you,” they say. “If you just point me in the right direction, that will be fine.” They take out their phone and give it a little wiggle. “I have GPS too, anyway.”

A quick nod, and they take a few seconds to look out over the city before gesturing.

"That way. 'Bout...five minute walk?"

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. “…Huh,” is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

That reaction might not be the most awestruck response they’ve ever had to one of their tricks, but Iris bows like it was a riotous applause from a theater full of people. Slow, flourishing, dramatic. When they rise again they take the offered card, look at it like they’re not quite sure what to do with it now that it’s all folded up and can’t really be used again, and then shrug and make a little motion with that hand and it disappears to somewhere. “Well, have a good night!” they say before turning to head toward the door to the building’s stairwell, starting the journey off with a couple of skipping steps. Then they stop, reverse the motion (including the skip-steps) in a way that really almost looks like time itself played backwards, and turn to look at Hawke again. “Hey, do you know how to get to a good cafe from here?”

“…Not one that’ll be open this time of night. But there’s a couple diners? Depends on what you’re looking for.” They’ve still got a ‘what the actual hell and fuck’ face on - brows knitted, slightly narrowed eyes, solid frown.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Warm,” they answer. “I’d be freezing my tits off out here if I had any. That isn’t where they went, ef-why-eye. Anyway, a warm place to hang out and a hot beverage, mostly A diner would probably serve nicely, since I could probably stand to eat something too.”

“Frank’s is a couple blocks away, they’ve got decent food. Simple, basic, you know. Diner food. Good coffee.”

dragons-of-a-feather

“Perfect.” Iris just starts to move, stops again, and turns back once more. “A couple of blocks which direction?” the ask before pointing one way, another, another.

“Eh…” You know that professional once-over they gave the roof? They’re giving it to Iris now, gauging their threat level. And their ability to follow directions.

“…D'you want me to walk you there?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Threat level? Iris is fast. Like, inhumanly fast, judging by the way they were able to casually catch windblown cards. They were also able to cleanly slice a playing card in two, somehow, without apparently having anything in her hands, but then again, they’re a magician, so they could have just been palming a razor blade or used some other trick. But there doesn’t seem to be any hostile intent. Everything in the posture of Iris’s body is loose, casual, friendly. They may be odd, but they give no hint that they have ill will. “Are you asking me on a date?” they ask with a sudden, teasing grin. They have perfect white teeth, but those canines seem just a little too long, a little too pointed. Not like full on vampire, not at all, there’s just something sharp about the smile.

"...No?" Hawke sighs, and runs a finger through their short hair.

"I'm...offering help to someone who requested it?"

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. “…Huh,” is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

That reaction might not be the most awestruck response they’ve ever had to one of their tricks, but Iris bows like it was a riotous applause from a theater full of people. Slow, flourishing, dramatic. When they rise again they take the offered card, look at it like they’re not quite sure what to do with it now that it’s all folded up and can’t really be used again, and then shrug and make a little motion with that hand and it disappears to somewhere. “Well, have a good night!” they say before turning to head toward the door to the building’s stairwell, starting the journey off with a couple of skipping steps. Then they stop, reverse the motion (including the skip-steps) in a way that really almost looks like time itself played backwards, and turn to look at Hawke again. “Hey, do you know how to get to a good cafe from here?”

“…Not one that’ll be open this time of night. But there’s a couple diners? Depends on what you’re looking for.” They’ve still got a ‘what the actual hell and fuck’ face on - brows knitted, slightly narrowed eyes, solid frown.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Warm,” they answer. “I’d be freezing my tits off out here if I had any. That isn’t where they went, ef-why-eye. Anyway, a warm place to hang out and a hot beverage, mostly A diner would probably serve nicely, since I could probably stand to eat something too.”

“Frank’s is a couple blocks away, they’ve got decent food. Simple, basic, you know. Diner food. Good coffee.”

dragons-of-a-feather

“Perfect.” Iris just starts to move, stops again, and turns back once more. “A couple of blocks which direction?” the ask before pointing one way, another, another.

"Eh..." You know that professional once-over they gave the roof? They're giving it to Iris now, gauging their threat level. And their ability to follow directions.

"...D'you want me to walk you there?"

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. “…Huh,” is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

That reaction might not be the most awestruck response they’ve ever had to one of their tricks, but Iris bows like it was a riotous applause from a theater full of people. Slow, flourishing, dramatic. When they rise again they take the offered card, look at it like they’re not quite sure what to do with it now that it’s all folded up and can’t really be used again, and then shrug and make a little motion with that hand and it disappears to somewhere. “Well, have a good night!” they say before turning to head toward the door to the building’s stairwell, starting the journey off with a couple of skipping steps. Then they stop, reverse the motion (including the skip-steps) in a way that really almost looks like time itself played backwards, and turn to look at Hawke again. “Hey, do you know how to get to a good cafe from here?”

“…Not one that’ll be open this time of night. But there’s a couple diners? Depends on what you’re looking for.” They’ve still got a ‘what the actual hell and fuck’ face on - brows knitted, slightly narrowed eyes, solid frown.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Warm,” they answer. “I’d be freezing my tits off out here if I had any. That isn’t where they went, ef-why-eye. Anyway, a warm place to hang out and a hot beverage, mostly A diner would probably serve nicely, since I could probably stand to eat something too.”

"Frank's is a couple blocks away, they've got decent food. Simple, basic, you know. Diner food. Good coffee."

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. “…Huh,” is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

That reaction might not be the most awestruck response they’ve ever had to one of their tricks, but Iris bows like it was a riotous applause from a theater full of people. Slow, flourishing, dramatic. When they rise again they take the offered card, look at it like they’re not quite sure what to do with it now that it’s all folded up and can’t really be used again, and then shrug and make a little motion with that hand and it disappears to somewhere. “Well, have a good night!” they say before turning to head toward the door to the building’s stairwell, starting the journey off with a couple of skipping steps. Then they stop, reverse the motion (including the skip-steps) in a way that really almost looks like time itself played backwards, and turn to look at Hawke again. “Hey, do you know how to get to a good cafe from here?”

"...Not one that'll be open this time of night. But there's a couple diners? Depends on what you're looking for." They've still got a 'what the actual hell and fuck' face on - brows knitted, slightly narrowed eyes, solid frown.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

“Ff -” they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris is still as Hawke reaches for the card, letting it be taken without any movement at all, and then they step back slowly to make sure Hawke has space to feel like Iris isn’t a threat. “Go ahead,” they say. Presuming that Hawke unfolds the card to check it, it is in fact an entirely in-tact two of hearts.

Their eyes jump from the card to Iris and back. "...Huh," is all they say, and go to hand the card back.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

“Probably not the two of hearts.” They’re deadpan.

dragons-of-a-feather

“You’re right,” Iris says. They glance at it again, then turn it around. “It’s the four of hearts. That’s, like, twice what I was looking for.” They frown, thoughtful, dramatic, like they’re not quire sure how to salvage this. The contemplation is interrupted with a lightning-fast motion, a flick of the fingers of the same hand that’s holding the card, and its cut cleanly in half horizontally. With a fingernail? Then, in a matter of a couple of seconds, Iris takes the remaining half and folds it in two, then fold it once more before stepping forward and holding it out toward Hawke, the folded bit of card held between two fingers. “Here,” the say with a wide grin.

"Ff -" they stiffen at the sudden motion, their right hand twitching. And slowly reach for the halved card after they can assure their brain that any perceived danger has passed.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

“No that’s not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -” They’ve taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

“I’m doing card tricks, and you picked a– whoops!” When Hawke took a step back, there was a card under their shoe. It was fine, right up until another gust of wind came blowing through and picked it up, and it when wheeling into the air. And like someone picking a fly out of the air with chopsticks in a kung fu movie, Iris catches the fluttering card deftly out of the air, palms it, and then looks at it without showing it to Hawke. “Where was I?” they ask. “Oh, right, you picked a card because it’s a card trick. That’s how they work! It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for fun. Guess what card this is?” How did it get under Hawke’s foot, anyway? And it doesn’t seem like it should be POSSIBLE for Iris to have caught it so deftly when the wind picked it up. It seemed almost as casual as someone just reaching out to pick something up off a shelf.

"Probably not the two of hearts." They're deadpan.

patricklockleyrp

The bell above the door jingles, and a rush of cold air streams into Patrick's shop. The person entering is short, huddled into their coat, and gives the small place a thorough once-over. Eyeing the doorway behind the counter, the windows, before stalking up to the counter. "Hey - looking for lockpicks?" Their voice is accented. Indian, maybe? Depends how well Patrick knows Southern Asia.

Patrick is drinking a mug of tea at the counter. Looking behind him, they’ll see a dark, cluttered area with a well-used workbench and a single door. Lots of locks on it. The window up front is small and looks out on the street. There are… wait… three security cameras, maybe, inside this room, that they can see.

The old man stares at them from over a pair of glasses; it looks like he was reading a library paperback that’s on the counter. “Lockpicks. T’buy? What ye needin’ them for?” His expression is stern and his voice thick with the Dublin accent.

patricklockleyrp

Patrick smiles, then looks under his counter. “Hmm… maybe this’ll work?” He produces a liquid chalk pen: it should show up slightly better against the dark metal of the casing.

He slides over a pad of paper and a pencil, as well.

“Perfect.”

Sides labeled, they start to work in an organized manner. Slowly, methodically, though actually they’re having to work fairly hard not to let the excitement affect them.

patricklockleyrp

Once or twice the excitement nerves force them to stop and relax the tension from their hands. With a logical approach and a sensitive touch, however, they make steady progress in figuring it out.

About thirty minutes pass, testing the keyholes in different ways, when a bolt of inspiration strikes. Within five minutes, there are four sets of tools sticking from the padlock and the latch pops out with a clean *click*.

Patrick has been watching the entire time, smiling and taking notes on his own pad of paper. When it opens, he claps his rough hands together. “Aaaah, good job now! Fine show.”

They exhale a short, triumphant breath and carefully set the lock back on the desk.

“Felt like I needed about two extra sets of hands on that - I’d ask if you have more, but I don’t wanna waste more of your time…”

patricklockleyrp

“Not a waste if it helps me work.” He waves the notepad. “Always need t’improve, y’know. I got plenty of ideas to improve the design.” He takes the lock and safely removes the picks, handing them back to Hawke.

“I make tings like that jus’ to test meself. So I’ll always have somethin’ in progress. Y’can stop by whenever, see what’s new. Or I can send word if I want somethin’ tested. Another person’s eyes an’ all that.”

“I’d…I’d fucking love that, yeah.” They nod absently, and tuck the picks back into their case, then scrawl a number onto the page they’d been using for notes.

patricklockleyrp

He takes the paper, sliding over a business card (key shaped) at the same time. “D’ye mind leavin’ me a name? Helps me to remember the face, since the old brain’s turnin’ to mush.”

"Ah - Hawke." They nod. "Was eh...good to meet you, great way to spend some of my afternoon."

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

“Wh…” They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing’s changed.

“What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just…whatthefuck.” They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

“Oh! Right, so rude of me.” Iris steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Iris,” they say. As if that’s what Hawke is wtfing about. Not being introduced. “And you are?”

"No that's not - what the fuck are you doing here, why did I just pick a card what did it mean -" They've taken a step toward the edge of the roof.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. “Got plenty of ideas.” Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. “Who the fuck were you waiting for? ‘Cause it certainly wasn’t me.”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris laughs at that retort, like instead of taking any sort of implied threat from it, they just find it humorous. “Oh, anyone really, so unless you think you aren’t anyone, then I think it was you.” They stop, there, backtrack mentally a little bit, and start again. “I believe you are definitely someone, so I think that it was you,” Then they look over at the card their other hand is still holding up and look like they’re surprised. “Oh, right!” And with that, they toss that two of hearts into the air, where the wind catches it and starts blowing it away. “Bye!” they call after it.

"Wh..." They look at Iris, then the card, bink a few times. Rub their eyes. A flash of hope dies when they open them again to see that nothing's changed.

"What. The fuck was that, who the fuck are you, do you just...whatthefuck." They seem to be running out of words.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

“Ah -” their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it’s a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

No cameras. No other people. A bit of wind, which doesn’t do anything at all for taming Iris’s wild hair, but nothing else that makes this seem like some kind of weird setup. “Oh, nobody’s watching,” Iris says in response to the professional risk assessment. “If you decided you decide you need to burn me for being a witch after you see me perform this magic trick, there won’t be any witnesses.” They says it like this is both a real danger, and totally okay with them. Happens all the time. When Hawke steps forward and touches a card, Iris plucks it out of the rest of the deck with long finger nails – which all look painted with pearly, iridescent polish – and then deftly closes the fanned out deck with her other hand. They turns the card around to look at it, shows it to Hawke, and says, “hey, it’s the two of hearts.” Then they narrow their eyes a bit, raises the other hand to cover their face shyly (where did the deck go? apparently it’s just gone) and says, “oh my. Don’t get any ideas.” As if.

Hawke narrows their eyes in return. "Got plenty of ideas." Their voice is accented, a little rough. Heavily laced with suspicion. "Who the fuck were you waiting for? 'Cause it certainly wasn't me."

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

“Jesus - fuck -” Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

“Who the - right on time? Wh…?”

dragons-of-a-feather

Iris starts shifting as if to move to try to catch Hawke when they start to fall, but keeps their distance when the catch happens, and then they step back enough to make room on the roof. “Ah, no thanks, I’ll pass on the Jesusfuck. I’m ace,” they say with a laugh. “Thank you for offering, though.” With a few flourishes that dance portions of the deck of cards across and between their hands, they stop with them fanned out in an array of beautiful precision. “Pick a card,” they urge again. Grinning. It’s a rather serpentine grin, but there’s no malice in it. There’s just something about Iris’s features, their sharp cheekbones and angular lines, the intensity of their gaze, that seems a little… ophidian.

"Ah -" their gaze flicks around. Cameras, other people, anything? A way out of this fucking situation? If Iris has any familiarity with it, it's a professional and practiced scan of their surroundings.

If nothing immediately appears out of the ordinary (you, know, apart from literally the entire situation,) they inch forward to place their hand on a card.

dragons-of-a-feather

It's still close enough to winter for the nights to get chilly - and this one is particularly cold. Hawke has taken the opportunity to do a bit of recon, scaling a building in one of the more rundown parts of town to get an overview of the streets below. But has the roof already been occupied?

It is! And in this town, it doesn’t seem to be that weird to find other people on roof tops.It’s probably a little weirder to be immediately greeted by a bright, cheerful voice saying, “you’re right on time! Pick a card.” While holding out a deck of what seem, yes, to be ordinary playing cards. And the person making the offer is definitely talking to Hawke. It’s not like anybody else is up there.It’s also a little weird that they’re wearing a tie-dye maxi dress, an unbuttoned bright red jean jacket covered in pins and patches, and uggs. Except one of the uggs is yellow, and the other is purple. They also have a ridiculous poof of wild curls that make it look vaguely like they got hit by a lightning strike, but given all the colors in the hair it may have been a rainbow instead.

"Jesus - fuck -" Hawke nearly lets go of the edge of the rooftop, but manages to hold on and hoist themelf up the rest of the way. As soon as they do, they take a generous number of steps away from whoever the fuck this is.

"Who the - right on time? Wh...?"

patricklockleyrp

The bell above the door jingles, and a rush of cold air streams into Patrick's shop. The person entering is short, huddled into their coat, and gives the small place a thorough once-over. Eyeing the doorway behind the counter, the windows, before stalking up to the counter. "Hey - looking for lockpicks?" Their voice is accented. Indian, maybe? Depends how well Patrick knows Southern Asia.

Patrick is drinking a mug of tea at the counter. Looking behind him, they’ll see a dark, cluttered area with a well-used workbench and a single door. Lots of locks on it. The window up front is small and looks out on the street. There are… wait… three security cameras, maybe, inside this room, that they can see.

The old man stares at them from over a pair of glasses; it looks like he was reading a library paperback that’s on the counter. “Lockpicks. T’buy? What ye needin’ them for?” His expression is stern and his voice thick with the Dublin accent.

patricklockleyrp

Patrick smiles, then looks under his counter. “Hmm… maybe this’ll work?” He produces a liquid chalk pen: it should show up slightly better against the dark metal of the casing.

He slides over a pad of paper and a pencil, as well.

“Perfect.”

Sides labeled, they start to work in an organized manner. Slowly, methodically, though actually they’re having to work fairly hard not to let the excitement affect them.

patricklockleyrp

Once or twice the excitement nerves force them to stop and relax the tension from their hands. With a logical approach and a sensitive touch, however, they make steady progress in figuring it out.

About thirty minutes pass, testing the keyholes in different ways, when a bolt of inspiration strikes. Within five minutes, there are four sets of tools sticking from the padlock and the latch pops out with a clean *click*.

Patrick has been watching the entire time, smiling and taking notes on his own pad of paper. When it opens, he claps his rough hands together. “Aaaah, good job now! Fine show.”

They exhale a short, triumphant breath and carefully set the lock back on the desk.

“Felt like I needed about two extra sets of hands on that - I’d ask if you have more, but I don’t wanna waste more of your time…”

patricklockleyrp

“Not a waste if it helps me work.” He waves the notepad. “Always need t’improve, y’know. I got plenty of ideas to improve the design.” He takes the lock and safely removes the picks, handing them back to Hawke.

“I make tings like that jus’ to test meself. So I’ll always have somethin’ in progress. Y’can stop by whenever, see what’s new. Or I can send word if I want somethin’ tested. Another person’s eyes an’ all that.”

"I'd...I'd fucking love that, yeah." They nod absently, and tuck the picks back into their case, then scrawl a number onto the page they'd been using for notes.

patricklockleyrp

The bell above the door jingles, and a rush of cold air streams into Patrick's shop. The person entering is short, huddled into their coat, and gives the small place a thorough once-over. Eyeing the doorway behind the counter, the windows, before stalking up to the counter. "Hey - looking for lockpicks?" Their voice is accented. Indian, maybe? Depends how well Patrick knows Southern Asia.

Patrick is drinking a mug of tea at the counter. Looking behind him, they’ll see a dark, cluttered area with a well-used workbench and a single door. Lots of locks on it. The window up front is small and looks out on the street. There are… wait… three security cameras, maybe, inside this room, that they can see.

The old man stares at them from over a pair of glasses; it looks like he was reading a library paperback that’s on the counter. “Lockpicks. T’buy? What ye needin’ them for?” His expression is stern and his voice thick with the Dublin accent.

patricklockleyrp

Patrick smiles, then looks under his counter. “Hmm… maybe this’ll work?” He produces a liquid chalk pen: it should show up slightly better against the dark metal of the casing.

He slides over a pad of paper and a pencil, as well.

“Perfect.”

Sides labeled, they start to work in an organized manner. Slowly, methodically, though actually they’re having to work fairly hard not to let the excitement affect them.

patricklockleyrp

Once or twice the excitement nerves force them to stop and relax the tension from their hands. With a logical approach and a sensitive touch, however, they make steady progress in figuring it out.

About thirty minutes pass, testing the keyholes in different ways, when a bolt of inspiration strikes. Within five minutes, there are four sets of tools sticking from the padlock and the latch pops out with a clean *click*.

Patrick has been watching the entire time, smiling and taking notes on his own pad of paper. When it opens, he claps his rough hands together. “Aaaah, good job now! Fine show.”

They exhale a short, triumphant breath and carefully set the lock back on the desk.

"Felt like I needed about two extra sets of hands on that - I'd ask if you have more, but I don't wanna waste more of your time..."

Don't slip in the blood on your way out @maelys-taishi - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag