#❛ street rat ; scoundrel . ╱ arc i

[nothingseverlockcd]

TAG DROP

❛    the next great magician !    ╱    promo ❛    always considered myself a never-was .    ╱    self promo ❛    off stage .    ╱    ooc ❛    pay no attention to the curtain .    ╱    mun ❛    what game you playing ?    ╱    meme ❛    i don't wanna go to jail !    ╱    crack

❛    let the momentum do the work .    ╱    mind ❛    been backstage my whole life .    ╱    aesthetic ❛    after the show .    ╱    desire ❛    nothing's ever locked .    ╱    -isms ❛    jack of all trades .    ╱    skills ❛    nice to stay optimistic .    ╱    starter call ❛    i'm gonna need a volunteer .    ╱    open ❛    a strong solo act .    ╱    headcanon ❛    magic words .    ╱    soundtrack

❛    street rat ;  scoundrel .    ╱    arc i ❛    more than a thief .    ╱    arc ii ❛    i am become death .    ╱    arc iii ❛    damn it's good to be back !    ╱    arc iv

❛    a bunch of street magicicans .    ╱    id  ;  the four horsemen ❛    seen everything you've ever done .    ╱    id  ;  daniel atlas ❛    top bunk for a week .    ╱    id  ;  merritt mckinney ❛    not like the other girls .    ╱    id  ;  lula may ❛    the high priestess .    ╱    id  ;  henley reeves ❛    sorry for kicking your ass .    ╱    id  ;  dylan shrike

[siltfr]

Part 1

this is the start of a super messy lore arc because i’ll be switching between povs and situations like nobody’s business so consider this an apology for that. i will do my best to make it coherent and easy to follow!

@jollyroger-fr @fusefr @archaic-fr @hellkite-fr @majestyrising @shadowdrac-rising @jadedragons  @deadlanddisciple @clockworktophat-fr

Sparrow’s District must be the only place in the village with empty streets at night. The inns close well before midnight, no scruffy-looking children hide in the alleyways, no one has any business that can only be completed when the sun isn’t out to see. Ironically, it makes it the best place for that exact business.

“This is ridiculous,” hisses Varg. His legs are aching from his crouching behind the corner of some bakery and he’s tired and cold. Their... client is late, too.

“Shut up,” snaps Lyall. She is peeking around the corner, eyes trained on the empty street. Varg glares at her back, covered in a thick, but worn coat, and sticks his tongue out at her.

“Why are we doing this, again?”

Lyall’s shoulders raise, and then they fall back down, slowly. She turns around and sends him a fiery glare that used to scare him as a child. “Seriously, shut up. You’re gonna blow our cover.”

“And?”

“Do you want to eat tonight or not?” She turns around fully now. Just the mention of eating makes something in Varg’s stomach whimper. He’s so tired.

“I do. I want to eat every night.”

“Then why do you insist on ruining our chance?” No one is watching the street. If they fail, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Because this is barely gonna give us enough for one meal,” he says. “We should do work that lets us live better than this.” Better than worn coats found in rat-infested secondhand shops that won’t last to the end of the year but will still be used four years later, better than one tasteless dish shared by the both of them, better than a cold loft with cracks in the walls and a narrow, hard bed with a thin blanket.

Lyall rolls her eyes. “Now you’re the one being ridiculous,” she says, and turns back to watch the street. Her body stiffens.

“Well--”

“Shut up!” she hisses, rushed, almost panicked, “there he is! Go!”

Varg sighs and stands up, before disappearing behind the bakery and into the next street. Lyall shakes her head free of all thoughts of Varg and gets up, her joints cracking, complaining about the sudden movement after being still for so long. Then she steps into the street, right before the ridgeback with a package under his arm.

He stops and blinks, clearly taken aback. “Who’re you?” he says, too caught off guard to sound gruff. Lyall grins.

“A friend of Rafnar’s. You got something that’s his.”

This makes him laugh; and with that, his guard is down. “That scoundrel doesn’t own the clothes he’s wearing. Piss off, kiddo.”

“Sure thing! Just give me that package there.” She points, as if he wouldn’t understand which one she means. His grip around it tightens; his nails press at the wrapping.

“Or what?” he smirks, sharp teeth shining in the light from the streetlamp. They don’t have those where Lyall lives. “You’ll beat me up?”

“If I have to, yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “I ain’t gonna fight a kid.”

“Your loss,” Lyall says, and shrugs.

And that is Varg’s cue. The ridgeback is too busy feeling exasperated with Lyall to notice him before he slams into him from behind, effectively throwing him off balance and pinning him down on the ground where Lyall had stood just seconds before. She grabs the package from his loosened grip; Varg grabs his head and crashes it into the cobblestone to make him stop shouting.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Lyall says, and then Varg gets up from the ground and they bolt down the street, the package safely tucked under one arm, the ridgeback too busy trying to stop his head spinning to go after them.