#a kirkwall coterie OC tbh

[divinitatem]

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“I am in no mood --!” Sam snapped, staring down the bastard who’d decided a little woman in a Lowtown backalley made too tempting of a target to be resisted. He just grinned at her, showing one front tooth made of gold, and she shook her head almost regretfully as she shifted her weight.

“You know what your problem is?” she said after a very active few minutes. The man, entirely unconscious and bubbling blood frothing on his lips, didn’t answer. She toed him in the ribs with a booted foot, then shrugged. She could talk to herself as easily as to him; she probably made a better conversationalist, in any case. Though he probably made a better one unconscious than he would have conscious, too, so that was something.

The gold tooth, she wiped clean...ish...on the man’s own pants, tucking it away in a pouch inside her clothing which clinked quietly with other small treasures to be sold on.

“Your problem,” she said to him as she grabbed him by the boots and dragged him back into the deeper shadows, uncaring of the way his hard skull bounced over the rough cobbles. He was already going to have one Void of a headache, anyway. “Is a fundamental lack of ambition. Common thieves like you are what give the Coterie a bad name. We’re a guild. We’ve got rules, and history. We’re going somewhere, unlike you, just jumping every vaguely nice-dressed woman you see in an alley and hoping she’s got coin in her pockets.”

Sweet Sam Trouble -- not really her name, but when she was younger everyone had said she’d grow up to be trouble, so she’d decided to prove them right -- put her hands on her hips and looked down at the fellow. Maybe he was new in town. The gold tooth said pirate, and jumping the Coterie’s best forger said outsider. But he didn’t look like any sailor she’d ever seen. Maybe he was just down on his luck. Maybe he was just that desperate.

She stood looking at the man, wondering. Digging into his pockets, she found a cheap pot-metal locket of the sort sold by traveling tinkers and popped it open. The miniatures inside weren’t painted, they were just rough little charcoal sketches sprayed with cheap fixative, but the faces of the woman and the little boy were pretty clear. 

“Ah, fuck,” Sam muttered to herself. Wrestling with herself for a second, she finally tugged a coin out of her pocket and dropped it on his forehead, right between the eyes where there was already a bruise coming up from her cosh. “You made me late and you managed to get a coin out of me anyway,” she told him, exasperated.

Coterie or not, going somewhere or not, she’d never get herself anywhere if she didn’t toughen up a little. But still, there was a little bounce in her step when she left the alley behind, heading for the Hanged Man and her appointment. This job could be a big one, her favorite kind.