Pick Pocket (Open)

[viktorthethief]

Viktor slowly walked down the abandoned, rain drenched street. Rain, rain, and more rain, was this the only thing England had? Viktor had stowed away in a small fishing boat to take a week long crime spree in England. He would stay longer, but he needed to get catch his ride back to France. Ugh. France.

Viktor's fur hat was drenched, and the cold bit through his soaked black shirt. He reached up and untied the flaps of his hat, and they dropped limply on his ears. A young soldier passed quickly by. "A target" Viktor whispered under his breath. He turned on his heals and started to follow him silently.

Viktor caught up with the soldier, and slowly reached for his target's back pocket. Yes, his hands curled around somthing. He swiftly pulled it out, eager to see what he had stolen. Ciggarettes. Damn. He pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth, and then threw the pack into the gutter in disgust.

Lighting the ciggarette, he walked down the streets. Pitted and scared by the Luftwaffe, he almost tripped several times. Damned Blitz. Krashnov turned onto one street and saw it bustiling with activity. People walked around, and the street was lined with shops and street vendors. Viktor smiled.

Lots of targets.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The warmth of the stable was a warmth well-loved. It had been raining non-stop for the past few days, and Niamh had been thoroughly soaked by the time she had reached the small English town. Thankfully, the owner of the stable was kind, and he let Niamh stay in the barn with her horse, on agreement that she would help with feeding the other beasts in the stable. The girl had agreed whole-heartedly.

As she finished refilling the last horse's feeding bin with hay, the young woman quickly turned away and sneezed, slightly spooking the animal. Although she had carefully hidden it from the stable owner, she was running a bit of a temperature; it was most likely from getting chilled. Her head was heavy and her face was warm, and her throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Niamh sighed tiredly, sniffling, and wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her jacket.

"Rightho, sorry 'bouth t'at," Niamh said to the horse, turning away and coughing dryly. She hated being sick; it always kept her from working efficiently. The Pavee couldn't focus very well when there was something wrong with her, and she was more likely to make a mistake. With her lifestyle, mistakes could be deadly. They could mean less money in the pocket, and without money, Niamh couldn't buy the supplies she needed.

And when one lived outside in the world the majority of the time, far from any hospital or restaurant, supplies were most definitely needed.

Once she had placed the feeding buckets back in their proper places in the feed storage, Niamh coughed again, then gently rubbed the bridge of her nose. It had been a tiring day, and all she wanted to do was go visit Drummer, then pull out her blanket and go into the hayloft. That is, if no one else came in - another part of the agreement with the owner had been for Niamh to show potential boarders in. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen.

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod-Post

CP:
Niamh: 1CP

Viktor: 1CP


~Dan