THE HOLLOW , ( grishaverse )

nine: THE HEIST PART II

THE HOLLOW
nine: THE HEIST PART II

LILIA BRUSHES OUT THE wrinkles of her new guard coat. It smells like tobacco, strong and insistent against the rough fabric. The pipe the guard had been smoking before Lilia caught him lays still smouldering on the ground by his outstretched hand.

The dim silver of her coat's buttons shine dully against the faded fabric. They flicker, almost gold, in the candlelight. It's ridiculous to say that this is the finest thing she's worn in a long time, since she left Kavatero; it's only a standard-issue guard's jacket, probably no different than the Staadwatch's in Ketterdam, or the Polizia back in Kavatero, but the dresses Lilia had brought from home are threadbare and ruined, now. A mere consequence of being all she had to wear. Anything she'd stolen, or even bought, in Ketterdam was no better, now. They were all cheap pieces from rickety old stalls on market day, the ones that line up along the thin streets of the Barrel on Sundays, balancing precariously on rotting wood stilts. The market in Kavatero was always much more lavish.

The Night Market appeared every night along the riviera, the gold of the early evening sun bleeding into steady moonlight. They sell finery of ruby and emerald and sapphire, spun through with gold and silver, opulent silk draped over sturdy carved wood. On the rare occasions she passed through — when her father let her from the palace, or even from her room — she'd sit with her legs dangling over the stone harbour and watch the merchants' carts pass in their rainbow glory. Back when she should have wanted for nothing, but still wanted more. Something intangible, invisible, the mere existence of which is merely a prophecy bestowed upon someone by others.

She wanted power, and all the fine garments in the world couldn't bring her that.

The guard's uniform fits snug against the curve of her hips. She has to wriggle to get them to fit comfortably, and even then the fabric clings to her like they're trying to bleed into her very skin.

Jesper pokes his head in through the door, surveying the surroundings. His eyes land on Lilia, then the guard slumped against the floor. He smirks as he pushes his way through the oak door — the wretched thing threatening to creak and groan beneath its movements — and finishes setting both his guns back into their rightful place.

"You look dashing," Lilia comments as she bends to gather the guard's hat, and then to smear the blood from the tip of her knife over his outstretched palms. She draws a small, slim knife from the top of her boot, a cheap one she picked up from the pocket of a traveller along the main street, and wraps his fingers around it.

Then, she plucks a small, empty glass vial from inside her shirt.

Jesper's puzzled expression is enough for Lilia to answer. "If the other guards see them passed out, they'll know we've been here. If they see them like this-" She places the small vial beside the guard's outstretched, blood-covered hand. "-it's a tragic accident; one guard takes too much bliss, attacks the other. Their fault, not ours."

Jesper watches her as she rises and brushes off the dirt from the knees of her pants. His expression is almost unreadable, some kind of mixture of confusion and concern and maybe... approval? Pride? Reverence? She's not sure. It's certainly never something she's seen before. At least, never something she'd seen directed at her before.

She chuckles - almost scoffs in pride - and sits the guard's hat upon her head. Her hair is tucked up inside the hat, several curling mahogany strands falling down around her face and her cheeks, onto her neck, nearly into her eyes. She grins at Jesper as she passes, taking up the guard's discarded lantern, striding off down the hallway. "Not just a pretty face," she calls over her shoulder.