I had this great dream in the wee hours of the morning yesterday that made me aware of two things.
1. I have been spending way too much time watching my DVD's of Farscape. (I cannot help it, the stupid DRD's are still so very cute.)
2. I am completely, thoroughly and irrationally depressed that the Thief series is officially over. (At this point I would really like to blame Warren Spector, but I can't. I realize and understand this is not his fault. Nor was the crap quality of the final game… but that is a whole other rant for another day.)
It was a perfect night for a thief. Lady Luna had taken the night off ensuring no possibility of her silvery blue glow giving away the position of the figure that is intent on sneaking up the lawn of the rambling imposing estate, if there had been anyone looking. There are very few points of illumination along the walls which further confirm the thief's impression that either no one is home, or whomever is had already bid adieu to the day and was now soundly off chasing their own dreams.
Silently the thief sneaks up to the rough hewn stone that encases the grand Victorian style mansion and follows the wall until reaching a short heavy wood door. She muses to herself that the door must be used as a service entrance for the servants. Many live within walking distance to the manor and few lived in smallish homes on the property. The thief had already mapped out the comings and goings of the staff by spending a large quantity of time casing the joint.
She spends a few spare seconds dealing with the anxiety that always comes with the thrill of B & E, it's why she does it. It is a powerful, intoxicating feel to slink through someone's house uninvited and unseen. It's not like she needs the money anymore. She's gotten so adept that her even fence is tired of her appearances, regardless of the cut she gives him. With a nonchalant shrug, she aptly picks the simplistic lock, wondering why she hadn't ever heard of this place being robbed before. It's almost too easy is the thought that smugly travels through her mind as she carefully opens the archaic door before everything suddenly goes black.
(and he blathers at me, p12!!! p12!!! p12!!! I wish that man would learn to speak English a little more clearly.)
She wakes up from the dream, and finds herself in a foreign location. There are many men and women walking around strangely outfitted much like her. Typical thieving styles, dark colors, hoods, belts with pouches, cloaks the whole gamut of instruments of the trade. She tries to recall what happened. She had opened a door and … nothing. Although the pounding and the goose egg on the side of her head helps to job her memory and enlighten on her whereabouts. Obviously, she had been blackjacked. She touches the aching spot tentatively to gauge the damage done. No bleeding, good. Probably some sort of brain damage, but in her self-depreciating way, she figures it wouldn't be like she would notice. It serves her right for being so cocky. She should have backed off the minute she thought it was "too easy." Too easy is a bull's eye for karma's mocking arrow. She chides herself for the unnecessary self-pity and starts taking in more of her surroundings. Most people around her are standing, carrying on conversations as if this was some debutante's party and they were all invited guests. There are those sitting down on solid earth (which she just notices that she is still laying on) with their backs supported by the same rock that she had been sneaking along before being accosted. She couldn’t' shake the impression that everyone was quite comfortable with where they were. She seemed to be the only one that noticed something was amiss, so maybe it was just she.
(Did I mention that it is a freakin' sauna outside? I don't remember a June ever being this hot and muggy. It's like mid August out there. My lawn has already managed to dry up to something resembling hay. I refuse to spend money on something that bitch Mother Nature is supposed to take care of.)
To be con't
Posted by Ethne at June 11, 2005 12:31 PM