The Demon Boy

Day Seven - Afternoon and Evening

     Casper has to stop moping at some point. The dirt on his clothes and skin give him incentives to act by making him itch. Serves him right for sleeping on the ground. He tuts, shakes a billowing dirt cloud out of his blanket, and adds laundry and a bath to his list of things to do. He'll pop inside the house to grab fresh set of whatever looks like it fits to change into after he's cleaned up. Walking around, sopping wet all day wasn't fun. The prospect of stumbling headlong into Myr isn't appealing either, but he should be fine so long as he's quiet. He can do quiet. It won't be any different than any other house job he's done. He'll get in, he'll grab stuff, he'll get out. Easy.

     He psyches himself up the whole way to the back door and still he hesitates on the threshold. Does he need that change of clothes that bad? What if Myr's stirring inside? He's up at this time of day, isn't he? Casper swallows around the tight lump in his throat. Deep breaths. He can do this.

     He drops the blanket. The door quietly eases open. He listens. There's a slow shuffle from somewhere above him. Good. Myr can stay up there and out of his hair while he looks around. Casper slips inside and slinks towards the bedroom he stayed in during his first night. The floor hums groggily underfoot, not loudly, thank goodness, but still unnerving. It's a constant reminder of the risk he's running.

     All the doors are swung out into the halls, into their rooms. They hint at Balor's thorough search late last night. Casper would've been found if he stayed. That's another thing he owes the big guy, he sighs.

     He creeps into his old room, desiccated and bare from yesterday's blanket raid. The window's untouched since he pried it open, which explains the draft he was feeling around his ears last night. Apparently, Balor didn't bother to close it. No matter. It gives him a handy emergency exit, should the need arise.

     He rummages around in each chest of drawers, tossing out whatever doesn't fit his needs, flinging the bloomers away with particular revulsion. You know, he'd be more likely to find not-ladies' clothes in places other than in with the former (deceased) maid's belongings. No sooner than the thought occurs to him, he moves on to the other chests. Sadly, their contents are similar as the first's, the only differences being size and cut. The stockings are nice, he admits that much, but it's not what he's looking.

     He has better luck in the next room. In the first chest alone, he finds a few different men's shirts in fair, if musty, condition. They're so big he'll be swimming in them if he puts them on, but that's nothing a belt and a little sleeve rolling can't fix. He digs some more. In the bottom drawer, there's trousers with a waist so large he can wrap double around himself and the accompanying belt doesn't have enough holes to cinch down to his size. Whoever owned these clothes must've been fat as a whale. He takes the shirt and searches the other chests. There has to be something that'll fit him somewhere in here. He finds a belt he can use and trousers that are far too long for him, but the waist has a manageable width. It'll do.

     He wraps the trousers in the shirt like a dumpling and ties it all together with the belt. The resulting product is a compact, easy to carry package that he can run with under one arm. He has what he came for. He's good to go. He shimmies backwards out the window (Ow! Goddamn splinters.) and books it to the back of the house.

     See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Myr was too busy doing whatever the hell it is he does upstairs to notice. Nobody will suspect a thing. There's no trace he was ever there to begin with... Except he left underwear laying about helter-skelter in that one room. Idiot.

     Casper distractedly runs a hand through his hair. Going back to clean up isn't worth the risk of discovery. Calm down and think about it logically. The mess only says someone was there at some point in time, not who was there or when. Myr doesn't know where he's been most the time and he's not a good tracker either. Balor's the one who's keeping tabs on him, but he's not too inclined to tattle unless he absolutely has to. If the big guy's willing to let a bit of stolen silverware slide, he probably wouldn't care about a bit of underwear in places they shouldn't be, right? And, if worst comes to worst and Myr catches him to asks him directly, he'll say Balor did it.