round robin – she found out.
He had no qualms about stealing. Diamonds, rubies, lives, futures—he stole them all. What he couldn’t figure out was how she found out. He’d been careful, he knew he had been careful because he was always careful.
It would be a simple matter to steal her memories, lift the knowledge out of her mind like plucking leaves from a still pond. But she’d know. It would be on the edge of her mind, on the tip of her tongue, on the tips of her fingertips and she’d know there was something about him that she was forgetting. And he couldn’t steal that without thoroughly breaking her brain.
Dilemma, dilemma. He rested on the outcropping that led to the sea, debating his options.
round robin | Jac the Tripper | 15 July 2009 |
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By sarah, July 18, 2009 @ 8:51 am
ooh, when did your writing become so eloquent? or maybe it’s ’cause the previous ones were more comedic. lol no diss here.
He had to decide soon, before she gained more knowledge of his clandestine activities and used it against him. But destroying her mind was wrong enough; taking her life is out of the question.
Is there anything he can do to save himself without hurting her?
By Jac the Idiot, July 18, 2009 @ 9:50 am
Hmm, I don’t know, I thought “I’m being followed :|” was pretty good. But maybe that was too wordy and convoluted lol. And yeah, I’ve been working on my metaphors lately, so maybe that’s why?
-
I am a thief! he’d foolishly proclaimed once, full of the pride of his last heist. She had simply smiled at him, and at the time he’d thought she had simply put on airs to infuriate him.
But if she’d known, even then, he had been less careful than he’d thought.
A crisp, cold wind blew by, and he shivered. He had been young then, and he could no more blame his own follies as a youth than he could stop the wind from being cold. Which didn’t stop him from wishing the wind wouldn’t be so cold, but no matter how good he was or strove to be, he could not steal time.
She was a master of time. Without looking at a watch, she could predict how long it would take to walk to a friend’s house, how long she would need to write up a report. At a glance, she could tell how long an interview would run, how long it would take for the subject to get comfortable enough to divulge the important information. He’d always been wary of that aspect of her, and it was for this reason he avoided her often.
Apparently not enough. He blew his breath out in an exasperated sigh, drumming his fingers on the rail. He had been afraid of this. He would have to talk to her.
By Jac the Idiot, August 19, 2009 @ 2:07 am
-
“Please, have a seat,” she smiled.
Wary, he did, gaze bouncing from her proud little cabinet of trophies to the arrangement of the couches and chairs to the door and back to her back, where she was making tea.
Her office was a little domain in and of itself, and he was nervous to be in it, nervous to be in another’s territory, in plain sight.
She turned and offered him a porcelain little cup, and he took it slowly, careful not to look jumpy but careful not to get too comfortable or feel too safe. People like her–they were always ready to strike.
He took a sip, and then cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you.”
“So you told me.” She sat behind her desk–a position of power, he noted, and smiled. “What about?”
He leaned against the arm of the couch, reclining his head, and watched her a moment. She looked back, and he had to briefly wonder why he was being so jumpy. There was little chance that she would be believed, if she told anyone.
No, what was bothering him was that she knew. It was always a bad thing for someone else to know. It was the classic “magic solves everything” mindset.
He sat up. “I’m going to need to ask you not to tell anyone.”
“About what?”
No hint of a smile, no knowing look in her eyes… “You know.” He shifted. “About the–about the stealing thing.”
“Oh, that,” she said in a dismissive voice he was suspicious of, “Of course.”
He waited. “Wait, that’s it? You’re just going to agree?”
By Jac the Idiot, August 21, 2009 @ 3:06 am
She looked up, and pinned him with her gaze. “Why shouldn’t I?” It was a serious look, and he shivered.
It was trust.
Trust had not been a luxury he’d believed in. He was careful, always waiting for the inevitable betrayal, for the bombs to drop, for the landmines laid by the best of men to explode. Trust was a double-sided blade.
He was by her side, leaning over her chair. She was turning, startled by the speed of his movement, but froze at the touch of his fingers on her forehead and the proximity of his face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He stole it. Her memories, every single instance she could recall of him and some she could not. He reached into the hidden recesses of her mind and tore it all out, uprooting the friendship, plucking the exasperation, sweeping away the fondness and anger, smiles, frowns, and laughter.
She slumped, unconscious, and he stumbled backward, staring. From henceforth, she would be forever plagued by mindlessness, spacing out at inconvenient moments, wondering always what she was trying to remember. She would almost definitely lose her job. The chances were low that she could get another high-paying one, and she would constantly endanger herself and her fellow apartment inmates because of her carelessness and memory loss.
He had ruined her.
As he stumbled toward the door, he felt them. Her memories and thoughts, glimmering like lost hopes. She had had no ill-will towards him. Her trust in him had been complete, untainted by sloth or greed.
But he had not been able to take the risk.