This account is for the lore or random writing prompts associated with Mari Cochran, a young thief in a fencing ring. Side account to the main RP account @thefailingthief. Requests are accepted within reason! No smut. NSFW (gore or suggestive situations) and common triggers will be tagged!
Hello! This blog is a secondary one to @thefailingthief, and it’s separated from it for a reason.
You see, I want to improve my writing, but the blog mentioned is an RP blog. While writing RP is super fun, it’s not quite the same as writing for a prompt, or a short story, or anything like that. That’s where this blog comes in.
I am going to try to post things written about Ms. Mari Cochran here. They’ll usually be born from random prompts, but sometimes, they’ll be actual lore pieces. It’s my hope that I can use this to improve my general writing techniques through this, as well as connect to other writers out there in the tumblr verse. I think it’s important to be able to connect to other writers for feedback, whether positive or negative. I have to know what I’m doing wrong to learn, right?
I’ll post maybe once or twice a week, depending on when inspiration strikes. Thanks for reading!
"Tell your story about when you had an unwelcome visitor in your home—human or animal."
Something woke her up.
Mari opened one eye. In the darkness of her room, the clock read 3 AM. Jesus, her night off, and one of her neighbors had to be making noise. It was a quiet rustling, but now that she'd heard it, she couldn't ignore the sound. She blew a breath out, groaning. All she could do was hope they shut up soon. She rolled over and covered her head with her blanket, sighing.
Whatever that sound was didn't stop.
Several frustrating minutes later, Mari kicked the blanket back and glared at the clock. Whichever neighbor was rustling plastic was about to get an earful for making her get up. She scooted herself to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs out and sitting up. She shivered, immediately wanting the warmth of her blankets back. Getting up was always just the worst. She stood up anyways, shuffling across the floor. Even though she rubbed her eyes, she found the door with perfect accuracy. She was used to the half-asleep, sleepy night shuffle by now. The doorknob shocked her with the static she built up, but she ignored it. She was too focused on what she was going to say to her neighbor.
Something about thin walls and it being 3 in the morning and her needing to work tomorrow, even if she didn't have to until the evening. Yeah, that sounded good.
She ran her hand along the living room wall, fumbling. It was here somewhere, she was sure. Her fingers brushed plastic in the dark, and she grinned. Flipping the switch, she stepped towards the door only to freeze as her eyes landed on the kitchen counter across the room. The rustling stopped, but sitting on the counter by the bread, whiskers wiggling, was a small brown mouse.
"God damn it!" She started for the mouse, but it took off faster than she thought possible for a creature that tiny. In seconds, it was off the counter. She didn't see where it vanished off to on the floor, but she knew where it would go. There was a small hole in the side of her counter, chewed out by countless tiny teeth. Anytime she had mice, they lived there.
Crumbs were scattered across the counter when she reached it. She could only glare at the loaf of bread. The little shit had bitten through the plastic, then helped itself to the bread. She'd have to throw away the whole thing. And disinfect everything. And set the traps again. And complain to the building owner, just for good measure. It wouldn't do any good - he still hadn't fixed the elevator, so tenet happiness wasn't a priority - but she'd feel better about it.
She picked up the bread and dropped it in the trashcan with a sigh. "Hope you enjoyed it." That was her bread for the next week. There went sandwiches for lunch or dinner. God, she had to check everything on the counters now, then somehow fit them into her cabinets. The cereal would be the hardest. She picked up the box, inspecting it. No holes, thankfully. The mouse had a heart! She opened the cabinet and turned the box sideways, shoving it in. Some cans were knocked over in the process, but she didn't care right then. That was a problem for future Mari.
The Mari of Right Now crouched down in front of the sink and opened the cabinet. She scooped up a mousetrap and stood up. She started for the cabinet she'd shoved the cereal in when she stopped. She turned around and went back to her trashcan. The hole the mouse bit into the bag was super convenient, at least. She pulled a chunk of bread from the loaf and pressed it onto the trap. Then, she carefully set it and crouched down, putting the trap down by the hole in her counter. Hopefully, there was only one of them this time.
Given the building, she doubted it.
"Eat that, little shit." She stood up again and went to the sink, washing her hands thoroughly. She dug out her generic cleaning spray and pulled a paper towel loose. Spraying the counters down, she wiped them clean. Damn mouse. As adorable as they were, they needed to keep their greedy little paws to themselves. What did they eat naturally? Grass or seeds or something? Couldn't they go to a park or a field and live there? Why did they have to come into her home and eat her food?
She sighed, balling the paper towel in her fist and looking back at the mouse trap. She didn't necessarily want to hurt the little thing, but it couldn't stay in her apartment, eating her food and touching her stuff. It might invite friends, if it hadn't already. A whole nest of mice throwing a party under her counter. That would be just perfect.
She dropped the paper towel into the trash and put the spray away. All she could do was wait now.
So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.
I love the lawyer metaphor, because whenever I see “John knew that...” in prose writing I immediately think “how? How does he know it?” Interrogate your witnesses. Cross-examine them. Make them explain their reasoning. It pays dividends.
"Writing Advice": by Charles Palahniuk- In six seconds, you’ll hate me.
But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.
From this point forward – at least for the next half year – you may not use “thought” verbs. These include: Thinks, Knows, Understands, Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred others you love to use.
The list should also include: Loves and Hates.
And it should include: Is and Has, but we’ll get to those, later.
Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write: Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”
Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking and knowing. And loving and hating.
Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like: “The mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave. Never his.”
Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader wants it.
Instead of saying: “Adam knew Gwen liked him.”
You’ll have to say: “Between classes, Gwen was always leaned on his locker when he’d go to open it. She’d roll her eyes and shove off with one foot, leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the smell of her perfume. The combination lock would still be warm from her ass. And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”
In short, no more short-cuts. Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.
Typically, writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph (In this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against those, later) In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph. And what follows, illustrates them.
For example:
“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline. Traffic was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits. Her cell phone battery was dead. At home, the dogs would need to go out, or there would be a mess to clean up. Plus, she’d promised to water the plants for her neighbor…”
Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows? Don’t do it.
If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others. Better yet, transplant it and change it to: Brenda would never make the deadline.
Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking and knowing. And loving and hating.
Don’t tell your reader: “Lisa hated Tom.”
Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail. Present each piece of evidence. For example:
“During role call, in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout: ‘Butt Wipe,” just as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”
One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone. Writing, you may be alone. Reading, your audience may be alone. But your character should spend very, very little time alone. Because a solitary character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.
For example: Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take..”
A better break-down might be: “The schedule said the bus would come by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57. You could see all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus. No doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the line, taking a nap. The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was going to be late. Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic accident…”
A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.
Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.
No more transitions such as: “Wanda remember how Nelson used to brush her hair.”
Instead: “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”
Again, Un-pack. Don’t take short-cuts.
Better yet, get your character with another character, fast. Get them together and get the action started. Let their actions and words show their thoughts. You -- stay out of their heads.
And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”
One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone.
For example:
“Ann’s eyes are blue.”
“Ann has blue eyes.”
Versus:
“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”
Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures. At its most basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.
And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters, you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for: “Jim sat beside the telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”
Please. For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use “thought” verbs. After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t. End ID]
Mari shivered, pulling the strap of her small purse further up on her shoulder. She wasn't worried about someone jumping her that morning. She had remembered to snag her pepper spray before leaving home last night. Besides, she could see the first colors of sunrise around the buildings. She would be safer once the sky brightened.
Warmer, too, Mari thought. One thing she hadn't thought to bring was a jacket. It had been warm enough last night without one. She sure regretted that decision now.
The man she went home with last night - she didn't remember his name and, honestly, she didn't care - wasn't smart enough to take her to a hotel or anything. He had taken her straight to his home. As disappointing as he had been, the jewelry she snagged on the way out that morning made up for it. Wherever his wife or girlfriend had been last night, she would be very surprised when she found her jewelry box gone.
Mari had to smirk at that. How would he explain himself? She wished she could see it. She wasn't worried about him using her name; she had told him her name was Celia. He might remember her face, even though he'd been drinking, but he would have to come clean to everyone if he filed a police report.
The sky was brighter now. Mari ducked into a convenience store, getting herself a cheap cup of coffee and a sausage sandwich. She had been in a hurry to get out of the home before she was caught, so she hadn't raided the kitchen. She had seen a few things she wished she could've taken - a camera on his desk being the most valuable of those, she bet - but it wouldn't fit with the jewelry box in her purse. The biggest bang for her buck had been the box, so that was what she took in the end. If she had shown up with a bag or something to carry more, it would've looked strange. She had to work with what she had.
Maybe she should invest in a bigger purse, though.
The world was starting to light up further when Mari finally got to the bus stop. The shelter around it - a plexiglass structure with delightfully-profane graffiti on one side - would block the breeze, at least. She plopped down on the bench to wait, switching her coffee cup to her other hand and shaking the first when some splashed out onto her skin.
Street lights flicked off after a bit. She fished her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. She had a bit of a wait ahead of her, but that was okay. People would start arriving soon to keep her company.
She shifted on the bench to sit in a patch of sunlight that had started to creep across the seat. It was slightly warmer there. She sat back with a sigh, holding her coffee cup close and closing her eyes.
Unfortunately, I think this blog is gonna slow down quite a bit for a while. I started my last semester of school recently, and it turned out to be more draining than I thought it would.
I’ll still post things as I get inspired, but I’m not gonna force myself to do it. Hopefully, things pick up again when I have more free time!
Nothing is inappropriate under the cut; it’s just to keep myself from clogging dashes.
Mari watched the new surroundings through the window. She sat up straighter in her seat, digging her nails into her palms. She had been holding herself together for nearly an hour, but now that she was close to Point Fermin Park, she was having trouble holding still. She didn’t look at Mitch as he turned into the parking lot. People were walking towards the beach already. A pair of women laughed as they walked. Some kids with skateboards rolled by them, one holding a camera. Mari wiped her hands on her jeans as Mitch searched for a spot to park.
It took far too long for him to pull in somewhere. As he shifted into park and turned off the engine, Mari was already unbuckling her seatbelt. She unlocked her door and all but hopped out into the parking lot. She closed the door and straightened out her shirt, turning to face the car. On the other side, Mitch was stepping out himself. He stretched, raising his tattooed arms high as he bent his back. Without a word, he pocketed his keys and started after the people she had seen earlier. Mari hurried after him with a grin. She drew up beside him, squinting ahead. “Where is it?”
“Bottom of the cliff,” Mitch said. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as she shot him a look. “We’ll have to get through the fence, but it’s easy. There’s a hole in it.”
“Why’s it fenced off?” Mari wanted to jog ahead. The easy pace Mitch set was far too slow for her liking.
“It’s technically trespassing to go in there, but I haven’t seen anyone arrested yet. People go there all the time.” Mitch looked down at her, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. It’s not going anywhere.”
Mari bit down a complaint. She wanted to see it right then. He promised she would love it, or at least have fun. “Is it at least that fence?” She pointed ahead at a metal fence stretching to either side ahead of them, the top curved into spikes.
“That’s the fence.” Mitch squeezed her shoulder before letting go. Mari bounced up on the balls of her feet, letting out a small squeal. Mitch let out a laugh at the reaction before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Jesus Christ, kid.”
Mari picked up her pace, ignoring the fact that Mitch called her a kid (she wasn’t a kid; she was 20!) in her eagerness to find her way through the fence. She saw people on the other side already. How hard could it be? She spun around to ask Mitch where to search for this hole he’d mentioned only to find that he was smirking at her from the parking lot. He hadn’t sped up at all. She crossed her arms and rolled her weight back on her heel, tapping her foot. It took far too long for him to catch up. When he was close enough for her not to yell, she straightened back up. “So now where?”
Mitch, still wearing his amusement on his face, didn’t answer her out loud. He turned and started walking along the fence with the same easy speed. He wasn’t in any kind of hurry, much to Mari’s irritation. She blew a breath out between her teeth and followed him again. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
The thrill of mischief touched Mitch’s eyes for a few seconds. “I just want to see your head explode.”
Mari rolled her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself. She settled in by Mitch, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking through the fence. She could see a few people standing at the top of the cliff, water bottles in hand, but everything else had dropped down out of sight. She eyed their colorful shorts and T-shirts. That wouldn’t help them explore a place like this. They’d get scraped up, if they weren’t careful.
She shook her head, looking forward again only to find herself walking alone. She stopped, frowning, and turned around to see Mitch leaning on the fence, watching her with that irritating smirk. “You missed the hole,” he called out.
Mari perked up, jogging back. “Tell me next time,” she said, but she was looking for the hole instead of chastising him. She spotted an opening on the bottom of the fence and grinned, ducking down and crawling through. The bar across the bottom of the fence rubbed down her back, but other than that, it was easy enough. She pulled her legs under her and stood up on the other side. She dusted off her jeans and straightened out her shirt as Mitch squeezed himself through the hole.
Watching him, she was glad that she was smaller than he was. It was easier to get in here when she wasn’t having to use the fence bars to pull herself through. Mitch had to drag himself past the bars, wincing when he had to wiggle his shoulders through. He made it through, though. He stood up himself, sighing heavily. “Hate that part,” he mumbled, dusting himself off.
Mari shifted from foot to foot again. “So…can we go?”
Mitch gestured towards the cliff. “Yeah, go. Just don’t run head-first off the edge.”
Mari squealed again, setting off towards the cliff. She managed not to sprint for it, at least. She had some dignity. She stopped by the edge, looking over the beach to the sea.
But it wasn’t a beach. Not a proper beach, anyways. Below were the remains of a neighborhood that had slid off the cliff years ago: the Sunken City. It was mostly concrete foundations jutting over the uneven ground, covered in graffiti. She could see what used to be a road running through the ruins. It wasn’t quite the ruins she was hoping for – she wanted some houses to explore – but these were better than nothing at all. People used to live here; they had to watch their homes slowly slide into the ocean. The waves were a constant ebb and flow on the shore below, washing the remnants of humanity away.
What would happen when everything was gone? Would people remember what happened here forever, or would history forget it until something dragged it back up, just like Pompeii? She could imagine archeologists digging through this place hundreds of years from now, trying to figure out what the square, concrete shapes with painted words were. That was, of course, assuming the ocean didn’t wash the paint away, which it was likely to do. She didn’t even wait for Mitch to catch up to her. She turned towards a path that lead down the cliff – not even a proper path; it was just a convenient way down – and started picking her way down to the ruins. She wouldn’t be able to explore an old home for anything she could find, but she could touch the foundations, walk the cracked roads, and pretend just for a moment that she was exploring a civilization that had been lost a thousand years ago.
She was standing under a slab of concrete hanging over an open space, examining a particularly-colorful bit of graffiti and wondering what could be said about it when the artist was long forgotten (“This is clearly a religious work; see the way they painted the moon? It’s with reverence!”) when Mitch found her. He tilted his head at the painting and grunted, crossing his arms. “So, was it worth the wait?”
Mari grinned. She hopped a bit forward to hug Mitch, then let go when he stiffened. “Totally worth it. Thank you!”
Mitch, though his arms were crossed, didn’t say anything, but he was smiling down at her when she turned back to look at the painting again.
So, you want to write a story involving something that you know literally nothing about. (Cool, same!) We’ve all been there before; if you’ve landed at this post, you’ve come to the right place. In this post, we’re going to cover the basics of research and using information, as well as verifying your sources, and other ways to reach out.
But first: why should I do research in the first place?
There’s a whole boatload of reasons you should conduct research in your writing. Here are some of the largest or most popular reasons:
You’re writing a story set in a different time period, and you want to be historically accurate.
One of your characters does or knows something you don’t know as much about.
You’re writing about a character who is a part of a community that you’re not in, and you want to be respectful.
You’re doing world-building and want to learn about different biomes and climates.
Bear in mind, these are just a few of the reasons that you might choose to do research - any reason to learn more about something is a valid one! Let’s break down how to do quality research for your writing.
This is mostly under a cut. It’s not because it’s inappropriate. It’s because it’s 3300 words long, and I don’t want to clog up your dashes!
Corey let several long minutes pass. Nothing but a ticking clock made a steady sound. He sat back in his chair, watching the women in front of him. Both had wrinkled clothes, like they had slept in a car last night. The younger one was a teenager in a solid blue shirt and jeans, her straight, shoulder-length hair framed her face, the brown shade matching her eyes. She was leaning heavily on one arm of the chair, glancing between him, the door, the desk, and the clock on the office wall. The second, a woman who he would place over 30 years, had a dark shirt under a leather jacket. She sat back in her own chair, crossing her legs with her arms on the rests. Her own brown hair had small curls in it, which was far more interesting to look at than the kid’s, in his opinion.
Speaking of the kid, she liked to fidget. She was bouncing her leg first. Then, she shifted her weight in her seat a few times. Fingers started to tap. She looked at the older woman, who hadn't moved much at all. Then, she shifted her weight some more and brushed the hair out of her face a few times.
She was impatient. She would get caught that way.
The older one showed more promise. She'd shifted once to get comfortable and watched him, waiting for him to make the first move here.
These two women had found him somehow. They wanted in on his real business, a crime ring, not the pawnshop they were sitting in now. That they made it this far meant that they - or one of them, at least - might actually know what they were doing, and he was willing to bet it wasn't the kid. She was ready to jump out of her own skin over there, her eyes darting around. He doubted she ever had a job like this before.
At length, Corey sat forward in his chair and nodded at the teen, ready to break the silence. He rested his forearms on the desk, leaning on them. "How old are you?"
She gripped the arms of her chair more tightly, her eyes wide. She glanced at her companion again, begging to be saved.
"It's not a hard question," Corey barked. "It doesn't need teamwork." He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know how old you are?"
The kid looked away with a wince. "I'm, uh, 19," she finally mumbled, wiping her hands on her jeans. She turned her focus on the desk.
That was a distinct accent. Corey crossed his legs. "Look at me. I'm not going to eat you." Not right then, anyways. It took a long second, but she looked up at him. He wanted to laugh. "Where are you from, again?"
"Texas." She sat forward and opened her mouth to give details he didn’t ask for.
Corey spoke up, stopping her. "Lose the accent. If you sound like a hick, people will remember you."
The girl closed her mouth with a scowl, but she nodded. "Yessir." Then, she corrected herself by slowing down so the words didn't blend together. "Yes, sir."
The result wasn't perfect, but it was an improvement. He reached towards the plastic cup on his desk, repurposed to be a pen holder. It was easier to find a pen here than to dig around his messy desk for it. Try finding a pen when there were stacks of paper everywhere. He grabbed a pen and pulled the lid off, sticking it on the back of the pen for safekeeping. He pulled a blank legal pad towards him now. "And your name?"
Her eyes darted to the pen in his hand for a split second before focusing back on his face. "Mari."
Corey raised an eyebrow. "Your full name. Last name and everything."
Mari continued to look between the paper and his face. She swallowed, but gave a full answer this time. "Marian Cochran. Mari with an 'i,'" she corrected, sitting forward herself as Corey wrote. "Like M-a-r-i."
Corey stopped writing to stare at her, his pen held down on the 'y' in 'Mary.' She was that kind of person, huh?
Mari sank back into her seat again. "Because…because I like the 'i' better…." The corners of her mouth twitched up for a second, but he could hardly call that a smile. It trailed away with her words. "It's more…unique, y’know?" If she had more to say about it at that point, she kept it to herself. Either she realized just how stupid she sounded, or she figured out that Corey didn't care. Her fingers started tapping again.
Corey turned his attention to the older woman. She uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter, her dark eyes following him. She was tense, ready to act if something went wrong. Here was the real brain behind these two. The younger woman was just along for the ride, it seemed. "And your name is?" He didn’t need her age. He was sure she was older than 18.
"Viper."
Or maybe they were both stupid. Corey ran his free hand down his face, sighing. "Fuck sake, your real name."
The woman raised her chin. "You'll get it when you hire me. Not before."
Mari sat up. "I could've said no? Why didn't-"
Viper raised a hand, palm towards Mari. Her words died on her lips. That was a nifty trick.
Corey's eyebrow lifted as the hand lowered. "Viper," he said, giving in. "Are you two a packaged deal?"
Viper and Mari both nodded, though Mari did it with all the enthusiasm of the kid she was.
"That sucks." Corey capped the pen and sat back in his chair. “I’m not interested.”
Mari shot up straight in her chair, sucking in a breath before she protested. "But what about us? We need a job!"
"I don't care about you." Corey crossed his arms, grinning. "Imagine that."
"You didn't even give us a chance!"
"I sure didn't."
Viper had covered her mouth with her hand. She watched Mari out of the corners of her eyes. She was wearing a scowl, as far as Corey could tell. He didn’t know if that was for him or for Mari, who didn’t seem to know when to quit.
Mari's cheeks started turning red. "You just asked our names. That's not how job interviews work." She started ticking things off on her fingers as she listed them. "You're supposed to ask questions, figure out our skills, learn about our work ethic, then decide." She raised her hands, almost reaching towards Corey and shaking her head. "You're not being fair!"
Corey, meanwhile, started laughing. "Do you want a handout or something?”
Mari stared at Corey for a long, long second, then slumped back in her chair. Her hands dropped into her lap loudly. “No.”
"This isn't a normal interview." Corey sat forward again, pressing a finger straight down into the desk in front of him. "This isn't a normal job. I'm not risking my livelihood on some kid who's gonna run home to Mommy and Daddy when life gets hard."
Mari sank further in her chair, focusing on the desk. Her eyes glistened, but she stayed quiet at last.
"Is she the only reason you're saying no?"
The snake found her voice. Corey shifted his attention to Viper as she lowered her hand from her face. "No. I don't know you, either."
"But you asked if we were a packaged deal," Viper said. She gestured towards Mari. "So you wanted one of us. I'm just guessing it's me." She lifted one shoulder, then let it drop again. She didn't have the same accent Mari did. He was willing to bet she travelled from place to place before. "What if I told you she can pick locks?"
"So can I. What about it?" He hadn't carried a key to his filing cabinets or desk for years. Lock picking wasn't impressive.
Mari looked up again. Her voice was thick, but she wasn’t crying, to her credit. "I can pick any lock," she said. The poor girl was trying to sell her case. "It's kind of a hobby." She swallowed, shifting to sit up in her chair again. "I can prove it."
Corey sighed. If it got her out of the conversation, he was willing to hold her to that. He turned around in his chair and stretched back, reaching for a combination-locked Vaultz box sitting on top of a low filing cabinet. He picked it up and turned back around, dropping the box on the desk. "There's a few locks in there for testing people. Knock yourself out."
Mari sat up and reached forward, her mouth opening slightly. She took hold of the box and fished out her phone, tapping on the screen to turn on the flashlight and shining it into the lock as she turned the numbers on the combination slowly.
"She's stolen before," Viper said. She smiled as she watched Mari work out the first number and move onto the second. "Broke into a house."
Corey waved at Mari as the box popped open. "Forget about her. Have you been to prison?"
"A few times.” Viper looked at Corey now, raising her chin for a second. “Assault charges. Nothing special."
"Anybody can get assault charges." Corey could just go outside and punch someone random. Assault charges could mean nothing at all. It didn’t make someone a criminal.
Viper didn’t miss a beat. "He was lucky it wasn't a murder charge."
Corey laughed. He'd heard that before. This woman was just talking tough. "Let me guess: you're a highly-trained hitman that used to work for the Russian government or something?"
She gripped the arms of her chair tightly. "I just have a working gun. That's all."
"But you only got an assault charge?"
Viper's jaw tightened this time. "Like I said, he was lucky. I was teaching him a lesson, not trying to kill him."
"Can I borrow a pen?"
Mari's question cut into the discussion. Corey spared her a glance, then had to look more closely for a second. She had already opened three locks. They weren't hard; just normal pin-and-tumbler key locks, but they laid on the desk, turned so that it was obvious they were unlocked. Beside them were two bobby pins Mari had pulled from her hair at some point, bent into a makeshift torsion wrench and a pick. The girl herself was holding a combination lock now, watching him.
"You're not going to pop it?" Corey eyed the lock. It was how most people tried that one.
Mari shook her head. "Don't have a shim." She passed it to her other hand, looking at it. "So I need a pen. I can guess the combination if I push up on the shaft and find where the dial catches.” She stuck a finger through the loop of the shaft and pushed up to demonstrate. “Then, I can just do math to narrow the combinations down after that. You take-"
"Your accent is back," Corey interrupted. He had a feeling that if he didn't, she'd go on for a while.
Mari winced, relieving the tension she had put on the lock shaft. "Sorry."
Corey grunted, but tore a piece of paper from his pad and slid it towards her. He set the pen down on it, then turned back to Viper, ignoring Mari's quiet 'thanks.'
"I told you she was good.” Viper raised her eyebrows, tilting her head towards Mari.
"Picking locks doesn't make a criminal." Corey laced his fingers together, resting them on the desk. If he hired everyone who could pick locks, he would have a bunch of officers and federal agents running around in his ranks.
Viper watched Mari, who turned the combination dial, wrote a number, than turned it again. The kid’s tongue was sticking out of the side of her mouth and everything. "She can learn. She already figured out how to survive in prison."
Corey looked at Mari again. She had the lock in one hand, the pen in the other, and her head cocked as she tried to discreetly listen to them. "Why did you go to prison?"
"Burglary," Mari answered. The pen went still. "I wanted a bracelet."
She paid more attention to her surroundings than he expected her to, at least. "Did your lawyer suck, or-?"
"Got caught in the yard." Mari's cheeks reddened and she ducked her head. "He had me plead guilty. Said it wasn't worth the money my parents would spend on him trying to exonerate me when I'd be charged, anyways."
"Your parents hired your lawyer? Seriously?" She came from a family more affluent than most people he hired, if that were true.
"I was 17." She tapped the tip of the pen on the paper repeatedly and tightened her fingers around the lock.
"Do they know you're here?" Corey raised an eyebrow.
Mari shook her head. She focused on the lock again, scribbling down calculations with far less enthusiasm than before.
"They're back in Texas,” Viper explained, sitting forward in her chair.
"I asked her." Corey didn't even look at Viper. "What happens when they find you? Are you going to go home?"
The pen stopped again. Almost, anyways. It shook as she pressed it into the paper. She shook her head, not looking up. "They cut contact in prison."
Corey started laughing. "So you ran away from home to start a life of crime." It sounded like the most cliché teenager story he had ever heard.
Mari rubbed her thumb in small circles on her fingers around the pen. She either found the paper fascinating, or she didn't want him to see her face right then. Good. He had found a button to push when he needed it.
"Her parents won't come looking." Viper was trying to save Mari from the conversation again. She glanced sideways at the teenager. "They don't care enough."
Mari winced, sinking in on herself.
"That still doesn't make her worth anything," Corey pointed out. He turned away from Mari. She seemed to relax at that, the pen starting to write slowly again.
"I'm going to teach her." Viper gestured towards Mari, smiling. "She's a fast learner."
“You’re going to teach her how to steal how?” Corey furrowed his brow. If all this Viper was good for was fighting and shooting, how could she teach someone to steal anything?
“I haven’t been caught stealing,” Viper said. Her mouth twitched. “Just fighting. It’s more obvious.”
Mari set the pen down to try a combination on the lock. After a good deal of spinning, she pulled on the shaft. Still locked. She picked up the pen and scratched through something.
"You want me to invest money in the hopes that she'll be good someday?" Corey watched as she tried another combination.
"No. I want you to invest in me. She's just a bonus you'll get from it someday."
Corey sat back, watching Mari try combination after combination as he thought. It looked like her math wasn't working as well as she said it would. He rested his hands on his stomach. He didn't know either of these women. Viper looked like she might be worth it, but he couldn't be sure. Mari was most likely useless. Even if she wasn't, coming from a life where she had a silver spoon up her ass for years would be a culture shock. She would probably run back, despite what she and Viper claimed.
Before she did, though, she might get his people into homes without breaking windows and drawing attention. A key lock wasn't much different from a door lock and a deadbolt.
The combination lock opened with a metallic pop. Mari shot Corey a grin, set the lock down, and reached back in the box. She had worked her way through five locks already, but she still wanted another. As she dug out a second combination lock, Corey watched her work this time. She flipped the paper over, scribbling out more math and turning the dial on the lock slowly to get her numbers. After a few minutes of this, Corey spoke up. "That math you're doing doesn't give you the exact combination?"
Mari looked up for a second, then held up the lock. "It does give the exact combination." She shook it a bit. "It just gives me 80 others I have to try, too." She lowered the lock, looking at it. "It's easier checking 80 combinations instead of thousands."
Corey nodded as she went back to her math. Wherever she learned lock picking, she was good at it. Maybe that translated to safes, too. It would be nice to have a safe cracker around. Lord knew he spent hours with a blow torch trying to get into one before. That was a waste of time.
Then there was her friend, this Viper woman. All she claimed was assault charges and owning a gun. He had plenty of people with those qualifications already. Delia, Serina, Mitch, Anthony, hell, even himself, if he had to. That didn’t even cover all of them. The stealing she said she was never caught at sounded like a brag and a half. He was willing to bet that she hadn’t stolen a day in her life. If she had, it was probably something pretty easy to get away with.
What a pity. He could always use more thieves.
Though there was an easy way to tell if Viper was lying. If he gave her a contract that was low-risk for him, but not necessarily easy for her, it should be obvious whether or not she could actually steal anything. Getting a new thief would be a huge boost.
He looked at Viper, then back to Mari, then back at Viper again. "Do you have a burner phone?"
Viper nodded. "Of course."
"Good." Corey sat forward, getting a second pen from the holder and pulling the cap off. "Let's hear it."
Viper's eyes narrowed on him. "Are we hired?"
Mari stopped messing with the lock, looking up to watch them.
"Not officially," Corey said. "But on a trial basis." He glanced at Mari for a second. "I'll have to see how good you two really are, first.” He focused back on Viper. “I need a way to contact you."
After a long moment, Viper let out a sigh and nodded. She listed off a phone number that Corey jotted down. Mari set the combination lock and pen down on the desk as Corey looked up again. "Don't go far. I'll find something for you pretty quickly."
Viper smiled at him for the first time. She stood up, ending the meeting before Corey could. "We'll be waiting."
Mari hopped out of her chair, grinning. “Thank you!” Her voice was a higher pitch now. She clapped her hands together once, then cleared her throat and stood up straighter. She held a hand out to Corey. “Thank you, sir.”
Corey glanced at her hand as he stood up. She dropped it after a long second, taking a step towards Viper and looking at the clock on the wall as she did.
“Don’t thank me,” Corey said. He stepped around his desk and past the women to open the door. She wouldn’t be thanking him if she actually got hired. Nobody ever did. He pulled the door open, then gestured out into the closed pawn shop. The sun had set a while ago. He could be at home right now, watching Wheel of Fortune with his kids. They loved guessing the puzzles before the contestants did. The sooner these women left, the better. He fixed them with a look even as they turned towards him. “Now get out of my shop.”
any other writers out there ever read a paragraph of your own work and just, in the least self centered way possible, think
fuck, i’m such a good writer.
if you haven’t, that day will come eventually, i promise. but until then, keep writing whatever your little working brain tells you, because one day you’ll consider it a masterpiece or absolute shit that’ll make you laugh and realize just how far you’ve come.
keep writing words so your future self has stuff to look back on and either compare to current wips, or to reminisce on. words are permanent as long as you let them be.
adenoidal (adj) : some of the sound seems to come through their nose.
appealing (adj): voice shows that you want help, approval, or agreement.
breathy (adj): with loud breathing noises.
booming (adj): very loud and attention-getting.
brittle (adj): if you speak in a brittle voice, you sound as if you are about to cry.
croaky (adj): they speak in a low, rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat.
grating (adj): a grating voice, laugh, or sound is unpleasant and annoying.
gravelly (adj): a gravelly voice sounds low and rough.
high-pitched (adj): true to its name, a high-pitched voice or sound is very high.
honeyed (adj): honeyed words or a honeyed voice sound very nice, but you cannot trust the person who is speaking.
matter-of-fact (adj): usually used if the person speaking knows what they are talking about (or absolutely think they know what they are talking about).
penetrating (adj): a penetrating voice is so high or loud that it makes you slightly uncomfortable.
raucous (adj): a raucous voice or noise is loud and sounds rough.
rough (adj): a rough voice is not soft and is unpleasant to listen to.
shrill (adj): a shrill voice is very loud, high, and unpleasant.
silvery (adj): this voice is clear, light, and pleasant.
stentorian (adj): a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe.
strangled (adj): a strangled sound is one that someone stops before they finish making it.
strident (adj): this voice is loud and unpleasant.
thick (adj): if your voice is thick with an emotion, it sounds less clear than usual because of the emotion.
tight (adj): shows that you are nervous or annoyed.
toneless (adj): does not express any emotion.
wheezy (adj): a wheezy noise sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing.
“A murdered gang member turns out to be an undercover cop.”
Mari’s mouth twisted up as she watched the news report, her legs tucked under her so her soft gray robe covered her bare feet. The chilly room bothered her more than the news today, and the story was as normal as any: someone died. Just because she knew the victim didn’t make it any more interesting. Sure, she liked Jester well enough. His sense of humor lined up very nicely with her own. She hadn’t known him for more than a few months, though. She hadn’t had time to get attached. It was easier that way, she learned. If she didn’t get close with the new members, she didn’t have to grieve much when some inevitably messed up.
She picked up her mug of coffee, finishing off the bitter drink in a few quick mouthfuls. It woke her up faster than anything else could. With a groan, she uncurled her legs, set her feet on the floor, and stood up. She had half a pot of coffee to work her way through, and it wasn’t going to drink itself. She shuffled her way to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with her free hand and glancing at the clock. Almost 7:00. The sun had already set, but she needed to wait a few hours for the night to really take hold. People would still be awake for a while. She couldn’t hardly break into a home with the owners walking around! She stopped at her kitchen counter, pulling the coffee pot off of the machine to pour herself another mug as the news anchors droned on in the background.
“…Suspected drug deal gone wrong….”
That didn’t surprise her. Drug deals were just about the only thing Jester volunteered for. He got excited about those, for some reason. If they needed him for anything else, Corey had to demand that Jester do it. Mari set the coffee pot back on the maker and picked up her mug, blowing at the steam that curled off of it. She sipped it as she started back for the living room, wincing as it burned her tongue. She let go of the mug with one hand to brush some brown hair out of her face, then set the mug down on the mass-produced coffee table, not even bothering with a coaster. She plopped down on her couch with a huff, tucking her feet up under her robe to warm them up again.
A police officer was on screen now, standing behind a podium while cameras flashed. He looked all official-like between his short hair and uniform. He was reading a speech, glancing between the paper on the podium and the crowd of reporters. She wanted to roll her eyes at the whole thing. Cops always had something to say. There was a spiel about catching the people responsible, and she stopped listening about halfway through. She doubted they cared enough to actually look into a situation like this. It would end with barely an investigation, nobody would be caught or charged, and life would go on.
She picked up the remote from the coffee table. She was about to change the channel when the officer on the television caught her attention again.
“It’s always tragic when an officer is killed in the line of duty-“
An officer died? She didn’t hear anything about that earlier. She furrowed her brow, still holding the remote up. If Jester got an officer killed somehow – or worse, killed one himself – that might cause trouble for the rest of them. The last thing anyone needed was a bunch of cops asking questions around the neighborhood.
“Officer Darryl Melson was a good man, and he will be missed.”
Mari’s eyes widened, her fingers tightening on the shaking remote as she stared at the screen. Ice spread from her stomach up to her chest, and there was no robe or coffee could chase that chill away. They trusted him. She trusted him. Jester never struck her as a cop. How much had he fed back to his friends? He’d seen so much! Were officers on their way here right now to drag them all in for questioning? She didn’t doubt the gang would catch the blame for this. It would make so much sense for them to have done this, if he’d somehow been caught. Who would believe a bunch of criminals if they said that they didn’t do it?
She flinched and released the remote at a loud buzz. The remote clattered onto the coffee table, the back popping off and the batteries bouncing out. Mari sucked in a breath, her eyes landing on the phone as it buzzed again on the coffee table. Letting the breath out, she picked the phone up. A text icon was flashing on the screen, the sender changing every ten seconds or so as each new message came in. Delia, Corey, Mitch, Delia, Delia again, Corey, Delia, Minor, Tom, on and on. She wasn’t the only one who watched the news tonight. That sped things up. The less explaining they had to do, the faster they could plan.
Mari blew a breath out between her teeth, finally opening the group message to read the barrage of capital letters and strings of profanity. A plan, they would need.
