Different Lives

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Saren, Jun 5, 2014.

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  1. He loved picking off the small towns. He knew the rich went to those places specifically to get away and hide their wealth, but he knew he was smarter than them. It had always been that way, and it would be that way until the end of his days.

    He hoped that wouldn't be for a while.

    The day was dwindling to night, but he opted for the same clothes as usual. People thought it was suspicious for a man to walk around in dark jeans and a long black coat with an embroidered hood along with a cotton scarf around his neck, but it suited his needs. He held his ebony locks back with a second bandanna. Most people assumed he was a skater, which wasn't uncommon around the small areas no one knew about.

    Just the way he liked it.

    As stars flashed up on the dark sky, he kept along the sidewalk, eyes darting around the last remnants of cars and people. He waited until there was a lull in the traffic before he slipped in between the gaps of two small buildings, one a post office and the other some undetermined place of business. They weren't good targets unless he needed to ship packages or... do whatever the other building did.

    No, his eyes were set on other prizes. The real money was in the houses big enough to be considered castles. They were mansions of great beauty and they were a clear symbol of wealth and power. In his eyes, they had bullseyes painted all over them.

    But tonight was a little different. He had to first scope a place out. He needed the ins and the outs of the building, whether there were weaknesses in the infrastructure or walls, if the house had any. He sometimes had to vault over them. He hated bringing equipment, but it was necessary sometimes.

    Weapons held him down, so he avoided them. Besides, killing wasn't in his nature. If he had to harm, he did it silently and without death. Of course, casualties weren't always able to be bypassed.

    He tried not to think about that as he took a running leap, catching the lip of the building's gutter in his fingers. He hauled himself up onto the shingles, doing his best to move his boots as silently as possible on the slippery slope. And then, in view of most people, he sat, staring at the house on the hill. It was his next target, but he didn't worry about being seen.

    No one ever looked up. And even if they did, he was fast. He was known to the authorities as the Ace, and that was all.
     
  2. Dylan was out on, none other than, the balcony that stretched from her bedroom. Her room was placed on the top, the second, floor, and was particularly small; considering the size of the house. She didn't mind it though, and liked the middle class feel to it, as odd as it was. The room had clean dark oak wood flooring, with plum purple and black walls. A six by four foot walk in closet was on the far right wall, and there hung all of her shirts, shorts, pants and dresses. A one by two foot white dresser was on the right wall in the closet, and it stood at four feet, with her laundry purple laundry basket beside it. A small hope chest was on the far wall, and it held all of her old stuffed animals and toys that she didn't have the heart to give away. Beside that, was a guitar case hidden snug by the wall. The left wall held the main section of clothes, such as shirts, shorts and pants, while above the hope chest were her dresses. Just outside the closet was her nightstand, dresser (which held underclothes, PJ's, sweaters and socks), and her bed, which face the door. On the wall beside the door, was her vanity and a smaller, taller dresser which held CD's, old CD players, and in the bottom drawer, her swim suits. On the left wall from the door, were two tall doors that opened out to the balcony. The balcony was painted simply, white flooring and rails, with a lounge chair and a stereo radio in the right corner.

    Today was one of those days in which Dylan wasn't being called to talk business. She had taken advantage of that full-fledged, and had spent most of the day outside. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, her bangs freed from the strand they were simply tucked behind her ear. She was dressed in a tight grey tank top, with black sweats that hugged her legs comfortably. She had spent the day on her computer and reading, mainly, but she had pulled out her drawing pad at one point and sketched until she had gotten bored and moved on to the next thing. She had barely moved, save for getting up to use the restroom or get food. She definitely like the atmosphere of the house better when her parents were out for work. She was quite thankful that they wouldn't be home for the next three days.

    Anyway, it was far too dark to do anything besides sit on her laptop and listen to the radio, so that was exactly what she ended up doing. Except, she had thought she heard something above her. After scanning the darkened sky, she shrugged it off; pinning it as a bird of some sort and turned her attention back to her computer. Though, she couldn't help the paranoia that had set in. She had dealt with burglars before, and let me tell you, that experience was not fun for her or her parents.
     
  3. He had thoroughly scanned the house from a distance, judging the wall, the satellites, and everything else that could identify him as an unwanted being. Once he'd decided to just go, he did. Taking the sidewalk again, he simply waltzed up to the large wrought-iron gates, peering through the gaps in the bars. Luxurious cars were nowhere to be found, but he knew they existed. The parents must have been away on business. He knew there was a female child involved in the picture, but he didn't know where she was. If he was lucky, she was gone too and only the security system would be there to stop him.

    And everyone knew security systems didn't stop him.

    He bounced on the balls of his feet as he judged the height of the wall. It was high, but in the dark, he couldn't get an exact distance. Oh well. He ignored the small voice in his head begging him to forgo the plan and leave, running a gloved finger down the grout of the wall. It wasn't smooth as it should have been, and he found cracks along the lines of the bricks. There were always weaknesses and it was his job to find them.

    Digging his fingers into the cracks, he pulled out dried chunks of grout as he scaled the wall. It took some time, and the small hooks in his gloves helped keep a grip on the stones. Eventually, he was crouched on the top. He saw one light on in the many windows glinting in the moonlight. The doors were likely to be locked and there would be no security on the inside of the lit room. Taking a chance, he jumped down and ran across the freshly cut lawn. Leaping again, he climbed up onto the first balcony, running up the wall to the second one. The lit room was on the third floor, but he climbed past it to get on the roof. On his way up, his foot slid, scuffing the roof. He pulled away as he saw Dylan glance around. Once she went back to her computer, he peered down. She was there and now he was at a loss of what to do.

    With a sigh, he jumped down onto the railing of the balcony, balancing on the thin rail. At the very least he could subdue her and keep her in her room while he stole her valuables. As far as he saw, she had no weapon on her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes watching her under the shadow of his hood. His upper face was invisible in the light, but the lower part of his visage was curled into a light smirk. "Well, hey there." He put his hands up in a surrendering post. "I won't hurt ya, so take it easy."
     
  4. Dylan hadn't shaken the feeling of paranoia, but pinned it as something under the note that "Parents were gone, you're basically alone and its dark" fact. She once again paused her scrolling, glancing around to narrow her eyes into the darkness. It had taken her a moment to adjust to the dark, but she was sure she saw something move across the lawn. Her heart in her throat, she turned down the stereo. She had taken classes on self defense for moments like these. And no, I'm not saying cheesy classes that moms take their kids to, to get out of the house for a bit, I'm talking years of classes with a special trainer. Mind you, she wasn't some kind of ninja, but she was strong and did know her stuff. Even a pressure point in the back of the neck that could momentarily paralyze her attacker. She had only ever used it once, and it was during training; just to make sure she knew the trick. She still felt awful about doing it, despite watching him find his feet only after a few long minutes.

    On high alert, but not quite tempted to go inside, she turned her partial attention back to her computer screen. Every so often, she would glance around to note if she could see anything again. It wasn't until something dropped onto the rail that Dylan jumped, her laptop falling off her lap, and nearly to the floor. Following the motion of said object, she closed it, placing it on the ground, and was standing on the opposite side of her chair from the hooded figure in no time. Her teeth were gritted together, and her heart was nearly pounding from her chest all from pure fear. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She didn't take to watching her language, nor did she want to exchange casualties. She knew the security system would let her know if any doors were unlocked, or even windows opened, as that was how the system was set. But considering Dylan was outside on her balcony, her door was not locked. Nor even shut completely, only the screen door provided blockage but that wasn't set with the security system. If this guy got past her, there wasn't much she could do. It's not like her butler knew how to fight, so he wouldn't be much help, and Dylan was sure that he'd headed home by now. It would come in handy if I actually had a dog now, mother, there's only so much I can do fighting against some dude, she thought to herself. Her father was all for getting her a trained dog to help protect the house, but her mother was all against it. It's just extra chores! She would say, not that she actually did much chores in the first place. She was terrified in that moment, as she knew her main focus was to keep this guy out of her house, and incapable of hurting her. But she was not stronger than him, so she didn't know how long that would last.
     
  5. It was truly hurtful, really, that no one ever listened to him. He didn't like hurting people unless he had to, so unless the poor girl was going to chuck her laptop at him, she didn't seem prepared to fight him. As such, he had little reason to turn her attacks back on her and hurt her. He kept his hands up, stepping down from the balcony with nothing more than a soft thump. "Like I said, I'm not lookin' to hurt ya, so take it easy. As for what I'm here for, well...." He pretended to think on the question, tapping his gloved finger on his chin. "I think ya might know what I'm here for and what I'm lookin' to do."

    He'd never denied being a cocky bastard, but then again, no one had ever asked him what he was doing, and if they got a chance to, he was already gone. This girl, however, was very much in his way. He didn't like people who got in his way. He could tell from her stance that she wasn't going to give up her position. He could also see the lack of cameras in certain places, places that he might have thought key for protection. It only worked out in his favor. At least she wasn't ugly, but he disliked harming pretty girls.

    "We can make this easy on ourselves. I don't really wanna do it the hard way. You're a rich kid, so I'm gonna take a guess and say you've had some kinda training or knowledge of how to defend yourself. There's a time and place to put those to the test, and this ain't that time."
     
  6. Dylan was already sick of having this guy around. It's not as if they couldn't replace almost anything he took, but hell, that was not the kind of sharing Dylan was ready to participate in. Really. Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes at him slightly. "Smart one, aren't you?" Dylan mocked, sarcasm dripping from her tone. She had to give it to him to guess that she'd have training. Though, many people her age that were girls, that she knew, didn't have training. But her parents were overprotective, hence the top-standard security system and the training.

    Mind you, she was terrified that he'd pull a weapon out on her, but she wasn't going to cower in fear like a mouse. She wanted to stand close to her laptop and stereo, as she wasn't sure if he'd try and take those or not, but she also wanted to be ready to dart for the door. Dylan was ready to put up a fight, even if she knew she had an extremely high chance of losing. She could tell he was cocky, it was obvious by the way he showed himself and how he spoke to her. But she'd be damned if she gave up so easily. "Stick one up your ass," was her rebuttal to make this easy. Such a way with words she had.
     
  7. "Does no one want to do this the easy way?" he asked the sky, tipping his head up and throwing his hands into the air. He looked back down at her, but with so many shadows crossing over his face, it was impossible to tell if he was really looking at her. Only part of his nose and his mouth was visible. That mouth was curved up into a light smirk. He decided to toe the line and take a step forward, but he kept his hands in a place where she could see them. "Well, I'll give this to ya. Ya haven't screamed yet." He didn't emphasize the word 'yet,' but there seemed to be no inflection in his voice indicating that he was in fact impressed. "Still, you're in my way. Inside here," he motioned to her lit room, "is one of the few places without cameras, unless your rich parents think watching you sleep is a good idea."

    He paused to look around. He was completely aware of his surroundings, including Dylan. If she moved, he would know. He didn't think she was fast enough to catch him off guard, but she could certainly try. He would almost be amused to see her try and wrestle him to the ground and subdue him. "I could probably tell ya lots of things about the state of your house, particularly your wall. That is, of course, if I had time and daylight. I know more than ya might think about everything... Everything except your name." He silently admitted that he hadn't been expecting the present company to be, well, present, but then again, the child of the illustrious and immensely rich Skylar family wasn't mentioned in most of the reports.

    "Care to enlighten me?" he grinned at her. "If ya do, I might even be willin' to trade my name."
     
  8. Dylan raised an eyebrow at him as he spoke to the clouds, scrunching her nose ever so slightly. This guy was definitely a creep, and, as stated before, she was done with him being here. She rolled her eyes along to his note on her not yelling, snorting softly. "Well I'm going to continue to stay in your way," she grumbled, her gaze once again shifting to a wary glare. She was going to stay in his way until she got some kind of plan, because if she could buy some time, she could make up a worth-while plan.

    She just had to buy time. And conversation was better than him forcing his way into the house. So, she kept him busy. Dylan kept her arms crossed, keeping stance to appear ready to bolt. If she relaxed, or maybe even appeared like she did, he might think that he could get past her. Well, he would get past her, but hopefully not easily. There was only so much her ego could take.

    The girl scoffed softly at the mention of not knowing her name. No, she was not so conceited that she thought that everyone knew her. It was actually quite the opposite. Her parents hid her from reporters, even paid security to keep them away. Very few people, that didn't know the family on a somewhat personal level, knew that Dylan was the daughter of the Skylar's. Not that Dylan minded, she rather liked that she wasn't known as the top-notch daughter who was going to carry on the Wonderful Skylar Name in some fabulous manor. Dylan was just... normal. With extra money.

    Dylan once again raised an eyebrow at the stranger, hesitating briefly before speaking. "You know, that might might tip people off in trading. Is that why you're a thief?" she taunted, tilting her to the side slightly. She had to admit, it wasn't her brightest idea, but she couldn't help it. Being so called wise was in her nature, and even in a moment like this, she couldn't keep her tongue tied.

    Heaving an overly dramatic sigh, she uncrossed her arms to pinch the bridge of her nose briefly before dropping her hands to her sides. "I'm Dylan," she finally answered. "Now, since you o' so graciously asked for mine, you have to share yours." Dylan knew she wouldn't hear his real name. He might pull some random one out of his ass, but if he gave her some shit nickname, she was going to laugh in his face. "And please, don't tell me its 'The Hood,'" she teased, before gesturing to his outfit.
     
  9. "Oh, so our lovely rich kid has jokes, does she?" he taunted right back. True, the outfit wasn't perfect, but no one was ever really looking at him. The long trench coat never tangled with his boots and the upturned collar helped keep unwanted eyes away from the visible parts of his face. The hood was angled to hide his face the way he wanted, and he had perfected the art of moving with the shadows. It was why he'd never been caught and continued to stay that way. No one had seen his real face in years, unless you were the general public. He walked without a hood or the shadows every day, but no one thought to look for a perfectly ordinary man leading a normal everyday life.

    "And for your information, I do what I do because I'm not so fortunate. Unlike yourself." He wished he could have lied to her. It would have been easy to say he did this for the thrill. But things were never easy. He'd learned that the hard way.

    Giving his head a slight shake, the grin reappeared on his face and he bowed low at the waist in her direction. "Ya know as well as I do that it wouldn't be too smart of me to give ya my real name. But, perhaps ya know me by what everyone else calls me." His head popped back up and he straightened to widen his arms. It was quite the show, but he did have a flair for the dramatic. "The authorities call me the Ace, one of the best thieves in the business, if I do say so myself. And it's not because I sit around and chatter. Count yourself lucky that I've stopped to idle. If your security system wasn't so boring, I might have missed you entirely."
     
  10. "I'll have you know, I am not a kid," Dylan replied, though felt silly for saying that. Not only did she not look the part, but she lived in her parents house. She should definitely not be broadcasting that she was not a kid, because she could be the definition of freeloader. Hell, she hadn't been to school in three years and had only had one job that lasted maybe eight months. Let's just say it didn't work.

    "Oh please," Dylan replied, scoffing once. "This place is not all its cracked up to be." She didn't go further, because she realized that it made her look like some spoiled brat. It's boring, gets too much attention, you're expected too much off, and stuff like this situation happens far too often. But she wouldn't say that out loud. She only ever had once when she was talking to a middle school friend and she laughed in her face. We'll leave it at, Dylan and her aren't friends anymore. Obviously, Dylan was the only one around here that didn't like this kind of life.

    The girls arms crossed over her chest once again when he bowed. She definitely would agree that it was dramatic, but rather unneeded. Nonetheless, she let him display his show. "Well, aren't I the lucky one?" Dylan once again spilled the sarcasm. "Bravo, security system," she clapped her hands together slowly. Ace was not the only one to know how to give a show. "You've bored The Hood-" she was beyond amused with her own nickname for the stranger, "-so much that he had to come around and bore me." Bringing her claps to a stop, she shot him her own cocky smirk.
     
  11. This girl was interesting, he had to admit. It wasn't everyday that he came across a girl who didn't scream simply because he'd taken a different, possibly illegal, route into her house. Not only that, but she didn't care for her rich life. He was certain he would have cared if he'd had that kind of money all the time. So what made Dylan so different? His interest was piqued now. He did still have a job to do, but she was keeping him entertained. For a few moments at least. She had a smart mouth with a sharp tongue. He was grateful she hadn't used to to shout out and make his presence known to anyone else on the property.

    He leaned back against the door to her balcony, crossing his arms. It was a relaxed position, but he was anything but. In a heartbeat, he could be over the side of her balcony, sliding down the wall to run if he needed to. Dylan seemed more interested in speaking to him rather than see him walk out of her house in handcuffs (as if it were a thing that could happen). Two could play at the conversation game, and while he was at it, he could squeeze her for information. If he couldn't do that, where was the fun in talking?

    "So, Miss Skylar, your lavish life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. I should think with the copious amounts of money you have, finding things to entertain ya shouldn't be that hard. Ya can have anythin' ya want, unlike us peasants, as I've heard some say."
     
  12. Dylan hadn't tried to make a commotion, mainly because their were probably only three other people in the house currently, all being girls; the maid, the chef, and the house nanny. No offense meant, but none were physically equipped to help her out of the situation. Sure, they could call the authorities, but Dylan had a feeling that he'd probably, given the chance, take what he wants and get out before the cops even rounded the corner. So her next best plan was to distract him long enough until he got bored and left, or until she could get inside - with him still stalled - and call the police herself. After all, she wasn't even sure if any of the other three ladies were awake, so she didn't waste her time planning with him; she had to plan around them.

    Dylan raised her eyebrow at him once again. He was far more clueless about the life she lead than he knew. He thought it all revolved around money - and that part was right, but it was also the problem. You see, getting money takes work, and with how much her parents forked it, she didn't think it was worth all that effort. Hell, she thought the three story house was a bit much. She would've been happy with a freakin' one story, as long as it had a decent kitchen and working toilets. "I'm not saying being a peasant-" she once again mocked him, this time in term use. "- is all marshmallows and chocolate, but neither is living with reporters and publicity in general living in your back pocket. Don't even get me started as to whats expected as a lady," she groaned out. "'You have to wear a dress', 'You can't wear sneakers', 'Don't put your hair in a ponytail; what are you, a casual? There are only so many people that can pull off ponytails in a professional manor, and let me tell you, you are not one.' 'You have to get a job and work 300 hours a week,'" she complained. Yes, they were petty things, but you could say "#richpeopleproblems" as much as you wanted, and Dylan's opinion on things would not change. "I realize there are not three hundred hours a week, by the way," she felt the need to state. "Also, I don't need some fancy, special, hand-knitted-by-the-queen quilt to put on my bed, just give me a damn blanket and I'll sleep fine. I don't want a crystal statue of some naked goddess in the middle of my house, this is not Greece. I don't need all this money, just pay the damn bills and get me food and I will live happy." If she could hold a stable job of her own, where she didn't spend her whole life in, she wouldn't be here in this overly lavish house. She didn't need all this junk. Hell, if she couldn't get kicked out of the house, Dylan probably would've let Ace through the door. Chuckling to herself, she shook her head. "Here I am complaining to some dude I don't even know; who wants to steal from my parents, nonetheless. Way to let yourself go, Dylan," she added the last part to herself with a small, sarcastic chuckle.

    Despite her ranting, Dylan couldn't help but feel the need to get closer to the door, protectively. She may be running her mouth, but that was not the only thing running as she expected Mr. Hood to try and force himself in any moment.
     
  13. He was quite amused by her bubbling stream of a mouth. He lifted his hands in a surrender when she mocked his word choice, but he didn't interrupt her. She was on a roll. However, he had to be alert. While he was listening, he watched her feet and her movements. The advantage of shadow around his face was that she couldn't see his eyes, but he could see hers. As for what was going on in that head of hers, well that was another matter entirely.

    He couldn't help but smirk as she ended her tirade, and, simply out of nowhere, he chuckled. It was a deep but entertained sound. He thoroughly enjoyed her, which said something about the way she acted. He was never one to like the inhabitants of his targets, but Dylan seemed different than those he'd interacted with before. She was certainly one of the first people he'd ever met to oppose her immaculate home and large sums of money. He knew plenty of people who would kill to have that kind of life... and he knew those that already killed.

    He'd had a rough life was the least he could say about that.

    "It's unfortunate that I like ya, because I still have something I came here to do. But since ya seem to have some sorta dislike for all that stuff ya got, maybe ya can do me a favor and toss your least favorite piece of jewelry at me. It'll get me what I want and then I can get outta your hair." There was that cocky grin again, but he couldn't deny he had a solution. "Unless, of course, ya like to wear all that stuff ya got."
     
  14. Dylan rolled her eyes, despite actually considering it. She rather toss the dog a the bone, rather than him trying to force it. She remained silent as she debated it mentally. Would he actually leave?

    She rolled her eyes again, once again stepping towards the door. Though this time, in defeat. Murmuring a string of curse words, along with mutterings to keep herself from getting hurt, she made way to the door but didn't fully turn her back on the bandit. "Fine," she snapped. "But you stay out here, and do me a favor and don't touch anything."

    "I swear to god if he steals my laptop or stereo I'm going to hunt him down myself," she growled to herself, opening the door just wide enough for her to slip through before once again turning to the figure outside. "I will shove my foot in places it shouldn't be if you touch anything," she threatened, giving him a steely glare before finally stepping inside.

    Now to figure out what to grab... She thought, going over to the dresser that held her jewelry box. She knew she had to hand something over that wouldn't be missed by her parents, her else they would notice and throw a fit.

    Drafting through the box, she hurried her pace. If he did use this as an excuse to steal her electronics, she was going to rip out her hair. Mainly because she knew her parents wouldn't buy her another, and then she would have to explain the situation.

    Settling on a necklace that was towards the bottom of the box, because of its little wear, she held it up. Examining it briefly and thinking back if it was something more important than just a present, she huffed and headed back outside. It had a golden chain, with a cross that was gold and silver by itself. The solid backdrop held the gold, with a smaller cross across the front in silver. It was decent sized, about an inch long and roughly the size of the end of you thumb. She guessed it would at least go for 175, not including the chain, if not over 200. She wouldn't miss it, and she hoped her mother wouldn't notice either.

    Sliding the door open once again, she begrudgedly went to toss him the necklace; without getting too close. She wasn't hesitant because it was worth anything to her, but once again, only for the sake of having to explain herself to her parents.
     
  15. Well, that was easy. The trick was to find the catch in the situation. He'd learned long ago that these things were never easy. At her snapping words, he held up his hands again with a smirk. "On my honor." As if it truly meant anything as a master thief. He resisted the urge to chuckle as she threw another threat at him. This girl had some fire in her, but he wouldn't have to deal with her for very long. He leaned against the railing, tapping his fingers on the stone while he watched her inside. It was light enough to see inside of her room, but he wasn't interested in her decorations or her bed. He was carefully inspecting her motions and where she walked to. It paid to know where her other valuables were. He wasn't the type to hit a house twice unless he was sure he wasn't going to get caught.

    He was patient while he watched, but he knew what she was trying to do. Nosy parents would cause her to get into trouble if they knew one of her pricier pieces had gone poof. He didn't have to wait too long because she chucked the necklace at him as soon as she exited her room. He caught the piece of jewelry with one hand, the chain curling around his finger as he dangled its charm in front of his eyes. Looked like real enough gold and silver, but even if it wasn't, he'd pass it off as valuable. He knew some fences that would give him a fair price for the piece, and that was good enough for him. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes and the light bouncing off the tiny necklace was enough to illuminate one of his eyes. The part of his iris that was temporarily visible was a dark blue, almost black.

    He slid the necklace into his pocket before he got too distracted by its shininess. "Thank ya for your time, Miss Skylar. Sorry havin' money sucks so much. Maybe you'll come and visit us common scum one day and we'll tell ya what it's really like down there." He smirked again and bowed before he stepped up onto the railing. He stuck the hooked part of his gloves into the wall and slid down, and only the sound of a night breeze followed him. Getting to the bottom of the wall, it became too dark to see his already obscured form, and with the shadows cloaking his departure, the master thief known only as the Ace vanished into the night.
     
  16. Dylan felt like a rock was settled in her chest as she watched him inspect that jewelry. Still, she kept her confident facade and just mentally prayed that he would leave. Immediately, she felt the need to release a breath of relief when he gave her his thanks. "It's not havin' the money that sucks," she said, more to herself, as he was already departing. "It's whats expected of you when you have it." She waited a couple seconds before approaching the railings, for safety measures, and peering over it. Satisfied that he was out of sight, Dylan collected her things and went back inside. Making a point to lock her doors, she pulled the curtain over it, as she usually did before she went to bed. Discarding her radio on top of her dresser, and her laptop onto her bed, she went into the on-suite and brushed her teeth; getting ready for bed. She was more worried about the fact that she wasn't stirred up about the ordeal, than she was actually worried about "The Hoods" arrival. She grinned at herself in the mirror, nonetheless, thinking, "At least I didn't freeze up." That was enough to get her through her nightly routine without feeling shaky, but that doesn't mean she quit thinking about it.

    As she lay down in her bed, she settled in the mattress and another thought crossed her mind. Please do not have him come back. Hopefully her kindness wouldn't be used against her.

    The next morning, Dylan was up fairly late in the afternoon. She was rather surprised to go downstairs to see that her father was home. "Morning," he simply chirped before disappearing into another room. Dylan blinked, shell-shocked, as if she'd seen a ghost. Her parents were rarely ever home in the middle of the day, and it being nearly 1pm, Dylan expected only the house-help to be her company; until at least eight o' clock this evening. Shaking herself from her stunned-state, she continued on her journey to the fridge. After she had eaten, she peered into a couple rooms on the first floor, looking for her dad. When she saw no sign of him on the first floor, she merely gave up and went to go get showered. By the time she was dressed in black skinny jeans that she had hidden in the back of her closet, and a skin-tight white tank top that said #nofilter across the stomach, again, something she had in her "Hide From Mother" wardrobe, it was just about two-fifteen; and she had her hair dried and straightened. How's that for good timing. Simply putting on black flats that worked fairly well with the outfit, and also because they were a hell of a lot easier to wear that most of the stuff in her closet, she grabbed a small bag to put her phone and wallet in before heading out the door.

    She didn't particularly have any plans, but she figured it was a nice enough day to walk around the city. Wherever her feet brought her, she would go. And a coffee sounded good right about now...
     
  17. He sat in the back of the local coffee shop, face burrowed in a book with a black laptop balanced on his crossed leg. Every so often, he peeked up at the screen, typed something, then went back to reading. His dark eyes, always just barely lit with a cocky mischief, scanned the pages rapidly as if he was searching for something in particular. His shaggy, black hair swung in his face, but he'd become a master at swiping the strands away without losing his place in his book. In a loose-fitting t-shirt and faded jeans, he didn't appear the part of the menacing and arrogant thief from the previous night. Someone might have thought him stupid for taking from a house in the same town he lived in. Of course, there was no 'someone' to say that, for no one knew.

    The greatest thief in the world lived right under the noses of his victims.

    It was thrilling to know that he hadn't been caught, even though he had a job and small place in the area of rich entrepreneurs and their massive houses. No one thought to look for a young man who was perfectly normal and perfectly nice to everyone around him. No one suspected a young man who spent his time reading manuals about architecture and security. After all, he worked for a company based on security, or so many people believed.

    A jingling bell rang, signalling the arrival of another person on the hunt for coffee. His eyes glanced up at the newcomer and he could have grinned. His target from the night before, the lovely Dylan Skylar, had appeared right in front of him. She wouldn't recognize him, but he focused on his book about stone walls all the same. He had nothing to be worried about.

    "One mocha for... Tace," the barista said, stumbling over his name just as everyone always did. It was a strange name, to be sure. It wasn't the one he would have picked, but his parents had always been fascinated with foreign names.

    Tace stood up, setting his book on his laptop screen to hold his place. He glided to the counter with all the grace of a man who knew his strength and picked up the coffee. "Thank ya," he replied with a cocky smile that had the poor barista pink by the time he went back to his seat. He didn't give a second glance to Dylan, or to anyone. To remain the great and master thief Ace, he, the lowly citizen Tace, had to remain anonymous.
     
  18. Dylan went to the short line as soon as she crossed into the threshold, plucking her phone from her bag as she came to a stop. It wasn't anything spectacular, an old LG Cosmos. Her mother wasn't particularly fond of her "lame" phone choice, but she didn't want anything from her parents that she couldn't pay for. So, she simply had the Cosmos, and the latest version of the iPod touch that she had saved up for for nearly two years; between the two birthdays, holiday collections, and little jobs she had here and there. The laptop she had at home was a birthday present that she reluctantly agreed, for her eighteenth birthday.

    Sending a quick text to her "pen pal," to put in layman's terms, before putting it back in the bag it came from. Dylan briefly registered one of the barista's call a name, but didn't think much of it as the line quickly progressed forwards. It didn't take too long before she came to the front. Relaying her usual coffee order, a simple french vanilla, she went claimed a spot at a table by the wall; somewhere in the middle of the cafe. She was considerably quick to pull out her phone and respond to a message before discarding the device back in the bag. Cursing under her breath for forgetting her iPod, she slouched in the chair and pouted to herself for a moment before huffing softly. She didn't even process the fact that she might look exceptionally crazed with the whole reaction, but she didn't mind. Who would be watching her anyway?

    Shifting her gaze from her possessions, to the barista's behind the counter, she watched them as they prepared the costumers orders; whether it be collecting a snack or making some kind of coffee or tea.
     
  19. People tended to ignore what didn't concern them, but the thief hiding in the corner had to decide if Dylan's presence in the coffee shop was something that concerned him. On the one hand, he could talk to her. On the other hand, he could not talk to her and they could go about their lives. However, their conversation from the previous night seemed to be stuck in his brain. Going about their separate lives didn't seem to be something either of them wanted to do.

    So he took a chance.

    Packing up his laptop and his book, Tace swiped his drink from the table and took a long swig. Even his motions were overconfident, yet they were as fluid as flowing water. He finished off the drink before he even thought about approaching Dylan. He worked better when his hands were free. Sauntering to her table, he leaned against the wall with just the hint of that familiar, cocky smirk.

    "Hi there," he said in a simple greeting. No need to scare her off. He'd done plenty of that last night.

    Tace had half a mind to be sorry that he frightened her, even if she didn't show it too much. She had been strong even in the presence of danger. He could admire that. Now to see how she did without the comforts of home behind her.
     
  20. Dylan busied herself with drawing on napkins and her hands whilst she waited for her coffee to be finished. She had found a pen in her bag, and she put it to good use as she waited; her patience running thin. Stopping whatever she was drawing, it good be made out as some kind of scribble, but Dylan had intended on making some form of a dragon. She shrugged at her failure, not particular bothered considering her "paper" was a not so solid napkin that had ripped already in multiple places. The drawings that were placed on her right hand, considering her left-handed ability, were fairly artistic looking. Dylan did spend most of her time doing college work, and she found an interest in writing books and drawing sketches. She was brilliant at drawing on paper, not that she ever showed anyone anything other than what appeared on her skin. Despite her college major that he parents bribed her into taking, Dylan found no interest in any other business work than what was off selling books and her drawings. She actually really wanted to work in the tattoo parlor across town, but she told no one of her secret desire considering her parents would laugh in her find and find someway to keep her from getting that job. So it simply became a dream that she had no intention of making a goal.

    "Hi," she replied to the stranger that approached, her cocking her head slightly to the side in his greeting. Her curiosity was getting the best of her, making her wonder what he could possibly need to come speak with her. Tucking her pen and napkin back into her bag to keep it from some kind of topic, she looked back up to him. She didn't know how to say it without sounding rude, but she shrugged it off and simply just asked. "Is there something that you want?" She kind of felt bad for her lack of polite vocabulary, but she didn't know how to correct it other than to apologize. "Sorry," she tried, chuckling slightly as she ran her hand over her head to brush the strands of hair, that had fallen out of her pony tail, out of her face. "You can sit if you want," she suggested, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Don't take the question as a nip from me, I didn't mean anything by it other than my curiosity," she assured. She really didn't mind the company, and she didn't mean to sound as if she was shooing him away.
     
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