Closed [Dagwood Metals] Buying the thief's way

[Eleazar Victor Syroin]

10th of Winter, 513AV Barely two dozen chimes after the third bell. Eleazar couldn't sleep. It wasn't the cold or the wind howling outside. It wasn't the lovemaking happening in the room next to his, nor the hunger in his belly. The thing that had kept the thief tossing and turning all night, wide eyed and feverishly active, was a woman. Barely a week ago he had broken into the Scarlet Sanctum, aiming to relieve it of the many jewels Ruby draped over her girls each night. He had expected the place to be empty but instead had scared, and been in turn been scared by, one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. The harlot had been young, a brunette with short hair clad in not a lot at the time. Her terrified face was the cause of his unease. Ever since that night, it had been keeping him up at night and invading his thoughts in the day. He just couldn't concentrate with this guilt like feeling weighing on him constantly. But he always stole, he had been doing it for years now ever since his mother died. Why did it suddenly matter? Why did she make it suddenly matter? Letting out a sigh, the teen turned over again, making his thin blanket wrap tighter around his legs like a snake. If only he could make it up to her, maybe then he would be at peace. If not with himself then at least with her. That frightened flawless gem. Since she worked for the Sanctum, she was on offer to any man with enough mizas in his pocket, at least for that night. He could pay her a visit but how to apologise to her. A gift would be easy to steal but if it's owner were to visit her then want it back. Guess he would have to buy her something out of his own money. But what? Many chimes dragged by before an idea occurred to the thief. Jumping up in bed, he was quick to pull on his boots from the floor and coat from where it had been being used as a pillow. Stuffing a few of his hard stolen mizas in his coat pockets, Eleazar was out on the street in barely a chime. Now where was it? Not this street. No, it was the next one over then straight then two lefts followed by a right. Okay, make that three lefts and a right his mistake. Striding recklessly about in the early Sunberthian morning, the teen finally found the place he was looking for. Dagwood Metal. Appearing as nothing more than a rectangular building located on the dirt track to the slag heap, the building wasn't hard to miss. It had opened at the start of the month and had become fairly popular over the few days it had been operational. The only obvious entrance to the place was a pair of tattered wooden white doors, which upon trying appeared to be locked from the inside. Well shyke. Of course it wasn't open, he was being an idiot, one which was half asleep at that. A half asleep idiot that had trekked more than a third of the way across town in the biting cold to try and buy something from a closed shop to comfort a woman who had witnessed him breaking into a whore house. The situation was laughable; pathetic and laughable. It would be at the very least four bells till anyone even thought of opening up for the day, so the teen was either going to have to loiter outside the building kicking his heels or turn tail and wonder back home. Favouring neither of those options, the thief instead squinted to examine the windows located roughly five feet off the group. Peering through the moon light showed a small dark room and, more importantly, the simple latch sealing the thing shut from the other side of the glass. Digging his finger nails into the bottom of the wood frame, the teen managed to raise the window barely half a finger width before the old latch caught it. Rats, there was no way he was getting in through that. Letting go, the window dropped back down with a not to subtle clunk.

[Eleazar Victor Syroin]

If only he could undo the latch, well he could …. if there wasn't a window there. Suddenly blessed with and idea, the thief dropped to the ground fumbling around for some sort of rock or something. Coming to grope what may have been a brick once, the teen wasted no time slamming it against the window pane. Stretching through the broken pane, being careful not to cut himself of the glass, bony fingers twisted the latch open. From there on in it was easy to slide the window up as far as it would go and with a bit of effort haul himself ungracefully into the room beyond. Now in the building, Eleazar quickly slid the window closed again, redoing the latch. It wouldn't help hide the fact that there as a ruddy great hole in it but it might put someone off the scent that someone had broken it. Taking a few steps away from the window the sudden sound of heavy foot steps sent his mind reeling into panic mode. Petch. Well he hadn't exactly been subtle and would no doubt have woken up anyone who had at the time been sleeping. Oh Shyke. Throwing himself behind what he hoped was a counter purely out of instinct, Eleazar covered his mouth as a figure groggily entered into the room through a door. It looked around wearily having just woken up probably. Sighing at the glass, the figure, now identified as a man wearily muttered something near inaudibly. Eleazar swore he heard something long the lines of 'petching vandals' and 'tomorrow's work'. The man then lumbered sleepily about to check the room, rubbing at his drooping eyelids. Trying to stay as quiet and as still as he could, Eleazar was thankfully unnoticed by the figure. Apparently done the man exited through the door, having decided the room was indeed empty. Waiting an extra chime just to be sure that the man was truly gone, Eleazar crawled carefully across the floor towards where Leth's light hit another door. There was no way he was following the stranger, not without getting caught at least. Sliding up the wall with as much elegance as a slug in salt, the thief stood as flat as he could to the door frame. He had no idea what or who might lay beyond this door. Keeping his ears strained for any sign that the man might not have truly gone, his hand fumbled around for the door handle. Having found it, the hand slowly turned the lump of metal as quietly as it could before a booted foot eased the door open gently. OOC: For the GraderThe man is Darik Dagwood, Daedalus's NPC. I received permission from Daedalus to write him investigating the noise of Elea's break in.

[Eleazar Victor Syroin]

The hard wood slowly creaked open under the thief’s foot, welcoming him into a pitch black room. Not exactly the best place to be but it was safer than back in the shop. Stepping through he gently allowed the door to close behind him with a muffled thud. The room smelt of dust and drying ink. An office maybe? Two steps forward had his knee collide with the solid leg of a table, yep definitely an office. Cursing under his breath as the newly bruised limb throbbed, Eleazar carefully let his hands search the table for anything useful. A candle or similar preferably, bumping about blind in the dark wasn't the best situation to be in. Callous finger tips brushed lightly of the pages of a book, trailing down off paper to the worn wood of the table. Further along his hand brushed in something wet before the vicious point of a quill jabbed at his nail. Ignoring this, the hand wandered onwards wrapping around a laden candle stand as the thief's face twisted into an ugly grin in the darkness. Now to find a way to light the blasted thing. With the table exhausted of possible resources, he slowly skirted the piece of furniture, flailing hands searching for a cabinet or maybe a drawer. Finding nothing he moved to turn back only to find a chair deviously positioned behind his knee. The joint failing him, sent the teen flailing backwards, chair crashing over onto the floor as his shoulder smashed off the table, shifting that by a couple of inches, allowing for something else to fall over on the other side of the room. Following the crescendo of noise, foot steps could be heard. Wait, there was another door into this room. Shyke! Why hadn't he realised that sooner!? Scampering under the table, the teen lay flat against the floor as a square of dim light appeared on the far corner of the room. From the way his stocky figure entered the room, Eleazar could tell it was the same man as before. Face still grim with dark heavy bags now visible under his eyes as he squinted in the darkness. Poor guy must be having a rough time sleeping, especially with all the racket he had been making. Holding down a cough tickling at the insides of his throat, Eleazar didn't move. Each muscle lay tensed, ready for the man to find his hiding spot. A filth-covered face and dark hair really helped him as the lumbering fellow stalked further into the room, glaring suspiciously at every dark corner. Stepping forward the man, presumably guard or owner, righted the fallen chair before opening his mouth. “Anyone in here ya better come out! I don't want any trouble.” The room answered with silence, only just held as the teen battled furiously with the itch raking up his windpipe. Face burning red as he tried to hold his breathing steady, the irritation only grew worse. Swallowing didn't aid in his struggle either, making the task more difficult as each tick floated by. Unhappy at his lack of answer, the man threw the chair carelessly across the room, letting it slide to a rest next to the table. Flinching with the sudden movement, the cough gained ground on the hiding teen, escaping his lips as a muffled squeak before two dirty hands covered them. Looking up from the darkness he lurked in under the table, Eleazar waited in horror for the man's next move. Luckily for him, the guard's drowsiness was playing to his advantage, as the only response to the noise was a hand rubbing at tired eyes followed by an exasperated groan. “Em shouting at rats. Shouting at petching rats. First the vandals, now the rats. Grrrrrr.” Grumbling onward, the man exited the room, leaving the door to rest ajar and Eleazar frazzled to his wits end. That had been far too close. Finally relenting to the coughing fit, the teen simple lay on the floor hacking muffled into his hands until he's throat was raw. Petching hai. Why was he even here again...? Oh right, a gift. A gift for that harlot. Shuffling out from the shadows, Eleazar took extra care not to knock into anything else, making use of the light now entering the room. Peering out into the room the man had disappeared into, the brightness momentarily blinded the thief before throwing a warm variation of golden yellows and burnt amber into his eyes.

[Eleazar Victor Syroin]

At in the centre of the room sat a huge oven, slouched over with tongues of fire rasping out of it in a lazy manner as the glowing embers within it settled. A large anvil sat next to it, a hammer still resting from yesterday's work against the cool surface. Further into the room was a chair and table, they were currently occupied by the guard. Resting with his feet propped up on next to a pair of tongs that had neglected to be put away, the man looked ready to fall back to sleep right then a there. Brow scrunching in thought, the teen's mind slowly hatched the beginnings of a plan. Traipsing back into the room, keeping his knees highs as he dramatically tipped toed across the room. Eleazar paid close attention to shift his weight as smoothly and slowly as he could from foot to foot. His hard work paid off as a satisfying lack of noise was produced on his odd venture over to the candlestick. Retrieving the thing and making his way back, Eleazar bit down on his lower lip to prevent any giggles from escaping. True, the walk had reduced the noise he made considerably but it was far too ridiculous for him to keep a straight face when using it. Feeling a little more confident but still terrified of being caught, Eleazar returned to his position by the crack in the door. Staying exactly where he was, a few dozen chimes passed by until the man's eye's drifted shut lulled in to sleep by the warmth of the fire. Only a few chimes after the snores began did he dare venture from the room. Body sore from holding the position of stillness for so long, his shoulders popped as he rolled them. Being extra careful not to disturb anything in the room as he reached the open maw of the oven. Rolling up his sleeve, his hand dipped down into heat jerking up sharply once the embers had lit the wick of the candle he had been holding. Now with a suitable light source at his disposal, the thief contemplated his original task. He needed to find a suitable gift for his miss-met nightly tormentor. The logical place to find one would be in the shop of the foundry where many pre-crafted items would already be on display; unless he decided to try his hand at crafting one himself in the early bells of the morning. A feat that would most likely not end well for either himself, the guard or the building.