Different Lives

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Doesn't recognize me. Good.

Well, it would have been hard for her to do so when most of his face had been covered up. Still, it was nice to know that his voice or mannerisms didn't give him away. His eyes caught the scribbles on the napkins, though he refrained from asking, since she pointedly stuffed them in her bag. Everyone knew that asking an artist what they were trying to draw earned a glare or a punch in the face. He liked to think of himself as an artist anyway. He made an art out of stealing.

"Jus' wonderin' why everyone's havin' a nice chat with everyone else, 'kept you." As she gave him permission to sit in the chair, he had already hooked his foot around the leg of the chair. He tugged it out and sat in one smooth motion, arm swinging his bag from his back to the floor. "Are artists always antisocial and secretive?" he asked, flipping one hand toward her bag. "Don't hafta hide what ya like doin'."

Well, wasn't he just the world's largest hypocrite.
 
Dylan shrugged. "Because I have no friends," she replied with a laugh. As she looked at this stranger, she couldn't help but feel as if she had met him before. She couldn't place where she knew him from, so she simply pushed it to the back of her mind. It wasn't as if this town was particularly large, so unless he was a tourist, it was likely she had just seen him around.

Shrugging again, Dylan's hand once again went to fidget with her hair; this time tightening the ponytail. It was out of nervousness, really. She wasn't all that great talking with strangers, let alone about a topic she never talked to anyone about before. "I know," she replied, though partially lying. She did have to hide it, because even though she was an adult, her parents still liked to control her and Dylan didn't have enough stability without them yet to rebel. "I'm just shy about it," she added, and that was true. No one really saw her drawings.

"I don't know if I'm so antisocial as I am secretive though," Dylan added with a playful smirk. "I'll admit I'm quite a bit more than nervous because I don't know you, because I don't shut down when approached. Exhibit A," she said, gesturing between the two of them with her left hand as an example.
 
She had mentioned in passing being something of a shut in, but he decided to keep his comments to himself. A slip of the tongue would reveal himself to be the very same person Dylan despised. So, he inclined his head in a simple nod. He refrained his lips from spitting out a quick, witty jab, finding that she was just interesting enough to pique him. For now, at least. He had yet to decide if she was a treasure worth stealing.

The items in her house on the other hand...

He flipped his hand at her example. "I'm easy to warm up to," he jested, cracking another smirk. It wasn't entirely a lie. If he allowed people to get close to him, he might be a good friend. If he had friends, he might have asked them to vouch for him.

"The best way to get to know ya is knowin' your name. I'm Tace." Part of him wanted to step out of his chair and bow as he'd done last night, but the practice wasn't so common anymore. "What do I get the pleasure of callin' ya?"
 
Dylan rolled her eyes with a small smile as he smirked. "I guess we'll see about that," she retorted, giving him her own smirk. She wasn't entirely against making friends with this new, cocky stranger. He didn't seem all bad, despite his ego, that wasn't all too hard to spot. Bowing her head slightly in a response to his offer of his name, Dylan doubted her ease at comfort with this guy and considered lying about her name. "Dylan is perfectly fine," she replied before she continued to over think herself. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Tace," she added politely.

[icky short ;-; ]
 
((No worries! It's dialogue so I don't mind. lol))

If Tace had been wondering if Dylan had been the real thing or not, now he knew she was the same exact person he'd talked to the night before. He still had her lovely necklace in his bag, the one perched just underneath his chair. That bag had held many a valuable thing before, and it wouldn't stop now. "An' to ya as well," he answered. He offered no handshake. The master thief was always careful about where his fingerprints were.

"Well, I'd stay an' chat, but I gotta do work an' stuff." He stood easily, like his body knew how to act without even thinking. "I'm sure I'll see ya 'round again soon." And with that, he turned and walked out of the small coffee cafe. He was going to make sure he would see her again.

She had nice stuff.

~

Night fell upon their home a few days later, but Tace was nowhere to be seen. His work with the shadows was legendary, considering no one had caught him. Yet, he chastised himself, then immediately regretted the thought. He didn't want to think he'd eventually be thrown in jail, or worse, killed, for his crimes.

The master thief perched on Dylan's roof, well out of sight of any security system or homeowner. He wasn't here to steal, however. He was here to observe the twinkling town and think about his life. Dylan's family did have quite the lavish home, but the view was unbeatable. He could sit forever, but alas, he had a reputation to maintain.

Tonight was his rest night, but it was cut short as he heard scuffles on stone. It could have been bats trying to find a place to nest or some other nocturnal creature, but Tace had learned long ago never to assume it was something harmless. He stayed in his spot for the time being, listening to the soft noises bouncing off the wall. He didn't know if any of the Skylar family were home (which in hindsight was a bad choice), and the thought kept him where he was. His second thought was that the Skylar residence was his take and no one else's.
 
Dylan nodded shortly in response, not even remotely offended when no handshake was exchanged. She was actually quite glad, as it made it feel less formal to her; as all meetings she seemed to have felt formal. Her relief was cut short when he stood, thus replaced by confusion. Offering a silent wave, she watched him walk away for a moment before being disrupted by the barista who had called her name. Leaving her bag at the chair, considering she would be right back, she picked up her coffee only to return a moment later.

~

The later hours in the day, when the sun had almost set and all she had on her was her iPod and earbuds, aside from her runners' shorts and black t-shirt, Dylan was found out running. She had at first started her jog from the house with this new zombie apocalypse app she had found, but later got bored of the missions. She ended up just turning on her music full blast and continuing her jog. She had returned home around seven-thirty, and the sun was set. Despite the previous nights confrontation, she wasn't even as remotely skiddish as she should have been. Her first step was to shower, which didn't take long.

Dressing in her fuzzy pants that had little puppies on them, and an old band t-shirt, she grabbed food from downstairs before returning to her room and going out on to the balcony with her laptop, iPod, phone, and of course the food she just got. Plopping down on the chair and tucking her feet beneath her, she used the excess room on the lounge chair to put down her laptop and recently collected snack.
 
A light flickered on below Tace and he peered down, finding Dylan curled up on her lounge chair. Given the fact that he'd scared her not so long ago, it didn't seem like the smartest place to be. Shrugging to himself, the thief pulled back and crept along the roof with silent footsteps. His eyesight was sharp in the dark, but whatever was moving up, it was stealthy just like Tace was. He huffed, moving back to his previous position. He soon got to see what that thing was.

He might have thought that the Skylars would have gotten a break from break ins, but he was mistaken. Not that he would ever admit it. He didn't like being wrong. The thief watched a large, dark shape heave itself over the side of the balcony and somehow form into the image of a human. A man of that sort of bulk shouldn't have made it up, but he did. In that instant, Tace almost felt bad for Skylar. It would be the second time a dangerous entity faced her.

The thought dissipated as the robber produced a polished gun. Tace growled to himself. He hated guns with a burning passion. They didn't play fair. Neither do you, he chided himself.

"Hey there, pretty lady," the newcomer snarled with a malicious grin. Even the thief on the roof cringed at the expression. "Stand up." Least he cut to the chase. Tace always preferred a friendly conversation before he took what was rightfully theirs.
 
Dylan's position and occupation hadn't changed when she spotted something moving out of the corner of her eye. This is what you get for so easily handing stuff over last night, her subconscious scolded, and Dylan closed her laptop and slid it beneath the matching pillow that came with the chair; in a lame attempt to keep it hidden. It was more than she had done last night, but the second time around, Dylan felt like a professional. That is, until she watched him pull out a gun, and her eyes widened. Her heart in her throat, she silently obliged. Her smart mouth being speechless, she had a hard time even drawing a steady breath. Whereas Hoodie the previous night was intimidating, he didn't show proof of being armed, which is the only reason Dylan could think of at the moment; aside from the fact that this guy was at least four times bigger than she is.

Dylan put her hands up in a surrender, she forced herself to speak normally when she finally did open her mouth. "What do you want?" she said, her voice as monotone as she could make it at the moment. She really hoped someone was awake this time around, as it was nowhere near as late. She mentally cursed herself for using the time she had before he got up here to hide her laptop instead of calling someone. Moron, her subconscious sung, obviously in the mood to scorn her tonight. Her gaze shifted from his face, back to the gun and she swallowed thickly. "Why," she muttered to herself, cursing her parents for not having a tighter security even though their house was practically large enough for a small village.

Part of her wanted to step forward and at least try to pry the gun from him, or at least try to scream for help in hope that he wouldn't pull the trigger, and another part wanted to curl into a ball and simply let him take what he wanted.
 
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