Reyvan Everstride, Thief

[Reyvan]

A pair of large, bright blue eyes looked out across Andorhall's wide main street from the shade of a narrow alleyway. They belonged to a girl, small for her fifteen years, and very skinny, with a flat chest and narrow hips. Everything about this girl was thin, angular, and pale, from her thin, pale face to her thin lips, from her pointed chin to her high, jutting cheek-bones. Her thin, silky black hair was tied in a long, loose ponytail that drooped over her right shoulder. Her clothes were ragged, her faded blue shirt a bit too big, her patched black pants tucked into worn leather boots a size too large. She was bare of make-up and jewelry.

Her name was Reyvan Everstride, and she was hungry.

It had been over twenty four hours since she last ate, all the money she'd managed to scrounge up the day before having gone to pay the rent or to pay for her mother's alcohol addiction. Usually Rey was good at keeping most of the money away from her mother, only giving her enough to pay for a few bottles. But it seemed she'd slipped up. She must have forgotten the money at home when she went out to pick pockets after paying the landlord. Her mother had found it, spent it all on booze, and left the two of them with no money for food. So, Rey had given her mother the only bit of food in the house- a bit of stale bread- and gone out once again to see what she could steal.

So far, she'd had no luck. Maybe it was just her imagination, maybe the hunger was making her hallucinate, but it seemed like people were keeping their bags and purses unusually close today. Her frustration was steadily mounting, till it was verging on hopeless hysteria. Her vision was beginning to blur with tears. This is ridiculous, she told herself fiercely, swiping at them with the back of her hand, you're not going to starve to death- pull yourself together. But it wasn't fear of starvation that was moving her to tears. It was the knowledge that things weren't going to get any better. Not for the rest of her life.

Then she saw it. Was that...? She blinked away the tears that were blinding her. Yes! A bag. A black leather bag left unattended on the bench. She glanced around. A tall, burly man with short brown hair stood next to the bench, but his back was to it. He was distracted, haggling with a vendor. Now was her chance!

She started off, walking briskly toward the bag. As she neared it, she felt her heart speed up, and her hands start to sweat, as they always did before a steal, but she was careful to keep her face void of emotion. Her eyes flicked from the man to the bag, then back again. It was three steps away. Two steps. She was right next to it. Her thin, pale hand crept down to grip the smooth leather. She swung it up onto her back, as casually as she could, and kept walking. Four steps away. Now Five. Just keep moving and you can disappear into the crowd. Nine steps. But then...

"Hey! Hey you!"

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Just keep walking, she ordered herself, maybe he's talking to someone else.

"Hey! Hey, you with the bag!"

She could hear the pounding of heavy boots coming up behind her. Okay, he's talking to you. One more step, then she broke into a run, shoving her way through the crowd.

"Hey! Get back here, you little sh*t!"

((Just a little story about Reyvan a few years prior to her death. Hopefully it doesnt totally suck. Constructive criticism welcome!))

((It doesn't suck. lol Thanks for posting it!))

[Reyvan]

Reyvan dashed down the street, shoving her way through the crowds of people, bag swinging this way and that. She could still hear the bag's owner coming after her, cursing her loudly. Where to go, where to go...? She needed some place she could disappear. She was good at disappearing, but not so good that she could do it in the middle of a wide open street.

Then it hit her: the old warehouse near her apartment. It was big, dark, and full of crates and cobwebbed corners she could hide in. It was perfect. She turned left sharply, running in the direction of the building.

She nearly slammed into the wooden sliding door when she arrived, skidding to a halt just in time to avoid a collision. She glanced over her shoulder at her pursuer before shoving her full weight into the heavy door, trying to slide it open. After a few moments of agonizing slowness, she managed to open it enough for her to slip through. With a sigh of relief, she vanished into the dark.

She watched from a nook between a few crates as the bag's owner slid the door open effortlessly. He stood in the doorway for a moment, letting the sunlight shine through into the dusty building. He moved forward slowly, turning his head this way and that in search of her, eyes narrowed. Soon he was nearing her hiding place. Time to move. As quietly as she could, she slid the crate behind her aside, and crawled through the resulting opening. She padded away lightly, eyes peeled for a new spot.

Unfortunately for her, that was precisely the moment he chose to turn around. He caught sight of her as she was crossing to the other side of the warehouse, and started after her. Realizing she'd been spotted, Reyvan dashed into the shade between two rows of crates, and flipped behind one silently just before he entered the gap. She watched him through a crack between two crates. Oddly enough, she felt calmer now than she had out in the open. She was in her element, sneaking around in the shadows. All she had to do was wait him out; he'd give up eventually.

He was looking behind the crates now, walking down the row toward her hiding place. Time to move again. She glanced around for another suitable hiding place. Seeing nothing, she glanced back at her pursuer, a line of worry creasing her forehead. He had his back to her, but he could turn at any moment and come to check her hiding place. She turned back to the line of crates, searching for a large enough nook to hide in. Then she saw it: there was a crate suspended between two others, creating a gap between crate and floor. It looked just large enough to hold her. She dropped onto her stomach and crawled under.

Bad choice: the dust was thick there. She felt it tickling her nose, and she had to fight the urge to sneeze. As the bag's owner was passing her, she held her breath, trying to resist her coming coughing fit. Then he was standing next to her, brown leather boots just inches from her nose, kicking up the dust still further. She lost control, a tiny cough escaping her.

The next thing she new, rough, calloused hands were gripping her by the collar, lifting her out of her hiding place. She struggled to escape, but he was so much stronger than her. She lifted her arms in front of her face, to ward of the blows that were sure to come.

[Reyvan]

No blows came. Instead, Reyvan was shocked to hear a deep, musical laugh reverberating around the warehouse. She cracked open an eye to get a look at her pursuer. He was a young man, couldn't be more than twenty, and yes: he was laughing, green eyes sparkling with mirth. Oh great, Reyvan thought, heart pounding, I tried to steal from a nut-job.

"You're a talented little motherf*cker," he told her as his laughter died down, "I'll give ya that. Ya almost got away." He gave her a slight shake. "Almost."

"Now," he leaned toward her, giving her a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Give me back my bag."

Reyvan handed it over silently, eyes on the ground. He grabbed it, and for a split second, she was free. She tried to make a break for it, but his hand shot out and grabbed her by the collar once more.

"Oh no you don't," he told her, "You stay put or I'll give ya the beating you deserve." She stilled, and he began to rummage through the bag, checking that everything was there. Satisfied, he swung it onto his back, and grinned down at her. "Glad I caught ya. I'd feel like a damn fool if I let this loot get stolen. After all, I stole it fair and square."

Reyvan blinked at him, owlish. He laughed again, then leaned down to look her in the eyes. "I got a proposition for ya. You need money?"

Reyvan nodded.

"Then come here tonight, after sunset. I got a job for ya."

((Coments make me happy, even negative ones as long as they help me be a better writer ))

[Reyvan]

Reyvan swallowed, fear and anger battling in her mind. "I'm not a prostitute," she told her feet quietly.

The man snorted. "Yeah, like I'd f*ck a scrawny little freak like you," he said scornfully, turning toward the door. "Just be here. Can you really afford to be choosy when it comes to paying jobs?"

He walked out, leaving her standing in the dust and dark of the warehouse, thinking.

((And that's the end of part one of this random story.))

((I'm so glad I finally had time to read this! I love it! I'm particularly fond of thief stories too. They always draw a smile when they hint at motivations cause every thief's got a reason for being where they are. Suppose defining characteristics. I'll have to write one for Khaz about an early job at some point. Give a bit of contrast.

Thanks, for the lovely read and for a bit of inspiration. ;D))

[Reyvan]

((Yay! Thanks to both Khaz and Sumi for the lovely comments! And Khaz- you totally should write that!))