- 22 Fall 508
“Why do you breathe so loudly?” Taalviel shoots over her shoulder in the dark.
Caspian glares back at her, but wraps the emerald paisley scarf they’d nicked off an old dame last week around his mouth all the same.
They’re pressed against a wrought iron fence that might have been lovely to look upon, if it weren’t for the oxidation snatching and crumbling against him – and if they were here during regular hours, like regular people, rather than skulking about under cover of night.
“How long did you say you’ve been watching this house?” Caspian whispers. They’re crouched down, and it’s petching a pain on his knees, holding this position while slinking forward. If anyone were to spot them, he’s not sure how swiftly he could pop to his feet and dash out.
“Long enough,” she replies.
“And you’re sure they’re not home?”
She doesn’t bother regaling him with a response.
There’s a dip in the earth beneath the iron fence. Something dug haphazardly, unhelpfully somewhat shallowly – as if a dog had lived here, and had finally broken free. Taalviel slinks beneath the fence like a spineless wraith. Stares back at him from behind the bars.
What would she do if he just took off?
Goodness knows she’s done it plenty.
More than goodness knows she deserves it –
“Don’t,” she says flatly.
“Don’t what?”
On the growing list of her many unnerving traits is her seeming to know precisely what he’s thinking, and curbing him halfway.
Running wouldn’t have done him much good, anyway – she’d just turn into a raven and dive-bomb him from above.
“Are you going to pick the lock?” he asks as they hurry-crouch across a weedy front yard.
“Don’t feel like it,” she replies.
Against the side of the house is a trellis. In the moonlight, the vines give off an opalescent shine, as if lighting their way.
She scurries up first, and since he’s already trespassing by having crawled beneath the fence, he supposes there’s no point in arguing anything further.
The trellis reaches as high as the roof slanting over the porch. She’s already up and crouched, fussing with a window. He steals another look behind him – nothing and no one, save for vermin. He tests his weight on one rung of the trellis, and when it doesn’t splinter nor sink too deeply into the earth in which it’s staked, he brings up his other foot, to thankfully no consequence. It’s meant to hold nothing much heavier than morning glories, though, and while he’s pitifully scrawny he doesn’t think it would be wise to idle. Heart pounding in his chest, he ascends the trellis like a ladder, almost makes the mistake of shifting too laterally, causing the whole of it to creak and lean. In his haste, a loose buckle on his boots catches, and in his jerking himself free, the trellis stutters frighteningly against the wall. This sets him off into a panic, his movements growing clumsier and more haphazard in turn. Desperately, he reaches the top of the trellis and finally the little roof – and in his dragging himself up to his sister’s side, his dislodges the trellis completely, and the two of them watch with horror as it slides off the wall and plummets to the ground with a resounding crack.
Hissing murderously, she shoves him headfirst into the window she’d managed to pry open with her knife.
He tumbles headfirst into a dusty settee, crumpling awkwardly to the floor.
WC: 579
Caspian glares back at her, but wraps the emerald paisley scarf they’d nicked off an old dame last week around his mouth all the same.
They’re pressed against a wrought iron fence that might have been lovely to look upon, if it weren’t for the oxidation snatching and crumbling against him – and if they were here during regular hours, like regular people, rather than skulking about under cover of night.
“How long did you say you’ve been watching this house?” Caspian whispers. They’re crouched down, and it’s petching a pain on his knees, holding this position while slinking forward. If anyone were to spot them, he’s not sure how swiftly he could pop to his feet and dash out.
“Long enough,” she replies.
“And you’re sure they’re not home?”
She doesn’t bother regaling him with a response.
There’s a dip in the earth beneath the iron fence. Something dug haphazardly, unhelpfully somewhat shallowly – as if a dog had lived here, and had finally broken free. Taalviel slinks beneath the fence like a spineless wraith. Stares back at him from behind the bars.
What would she do if he just took off?
Goodness knows she’s done it plenty.
More than goodness knows she deserves it –
“Don’t,” she says flatly.
“Don’t what?”
On the growing list of her many unnerving traits is her seeming to know precisely what he’s thinking, and curbing him halfway.
Running wouldn’t have done him much good, anyway – she’d just turn into a raven and dive-bomb him from above.
“Are you going to pick the lock?” he asks as they hurry-crouch across a weedy front yard.
“Don’t feel like it,” she replies.
Against the side of the house is a trellis. In the moonlight, the vines give off an opalescent shine, as if lighting their way.
She scurries up first, and since he’s already trespassing by having crawled beneath the fence, he supposes there’s no point in arguing anything further.
The trellis reaches as high as the roof slanting over the porch. She’s already up and crouched, fussing with a window. He steals another look behind him – nothing and no one, save for vermin. He tests his weight on one rung of the trellis, and when it doesn’t splinter nor sink too deeply into the earth in which it’s staked, he brings up his other foot, to thankfully no consequence. It’s meant to hold nothing much heavier than morning glories, though, and while he’s pitifully scrawny he doesn’t think it would be wise to idle. Heart pounding in his chest, he ascends the trellis like a ladder, almost makes the mistake of shifting too laterally, causing the whole of it to creak and lean. In his haste, a loose buckle on his boots catches, and in his jerking himself free, the trellis stutters frighteningly against the wall. This sets him off into a panic, his movements growing clumsier and more haphazard in turn. Desperately, he reaches the top of the trellis and finally the little roof – and in his dragging himself up to his sister’s side, his dislodges the trellis completely, and the two of them watch with horror as it slides off the wall and plummets to the ground with a resounding crack.
Hissing murderously, she shoves him headfirst into the window she’d managed to pry open with her knife.
He tumbles headfirst into a dusty settee, crumpling awkwardly to the floor.
WC: 579
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