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((21 Drakonis, 9:30; Rialto, Antiva; Cam ))
Celeste was bored.
Normally, this was a circumstance that Daniel was at pains to avoid, because things tended to happen around a bored Celeste. But Daniel wasn’t around; he and Gideon had gone to negotiate a business deal with some Antivan merchant who held the traditional Antivan view that women should serve tea and warm beds, speaking - and thinking - as little as possible.
Shit all over that.
Rialto was a reasonably friendly port, so most of the rest of the crew had headed for the Raunchy Parrot to hear the tavern’s namesake mascot’s reputedly endless repertoire of ribald limericks. Celeste had hung behind, still feeling peevish at being left out. She knew the business - legal and illegal - as well as Daniel did by now, and even knowing that Daniel knew that, she was still out of sorts, and not in the mood to listen to a drunken macaw screeching out dirty rhymes.
She waited until they were well away, then loaded up the pockets of her vest with an assortment of aids to mischief and slipped down the gangplank. Maybe she’d make use of her stash, maybe she wouldn’t, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Rialto was not so large as Antiva City, but it had mostly escaped the ravages of the fourth Blight; much of the architecture was centuries old, and many of the merchant princes kept estates here. The hillsides around the city were home to some of the most renowned vineyards in Thedas, and Rialto itself was the center of the arts in Antiva, with theaters and concert halls, museums and galleries.
And lots and lots of rich people.
Pilferage had almost always come as easy to her as breathing, and as she sauntered among the milling crowds in the theater district, her eyes automatically selected marks and her hands dipped into unguarded purses here and there, liberating a sovereign or three each time, and even a loose sapphire from one clueless popinjay dressed in an eyepopping array of satins. As usual, the money was not the point: getting away with it was, and as she left the brightly lit boulevards for the shadowy streets that housed the workers upon whose backs the city rested, she deposited about half of her haul in the poorbox of a humble chantry that bore little resemblance to the massive marble cathedral across town and probably did more good than its wealthy counterpart ever thought about.
She kept the sapphire, though.
This many rich prigs meant plenty of work for the Friends of Red Jenny, but the first two message drops that she checked were empty. Either the local Jennies were on the ball or slacking off shamefully, but either way, it meant that if Celeste wanted to put the screws to some wealthy asshole, she was going to have to find one on her own.
Celeste was bored.
Normally, this was a circumstance that Daniel was at pains to avoid, because things tended to happen around a bored Celeste. But Daniel wasn’t around; he and Gideon had gone to negotiate a business deal with some Antivan merchant who held the traditional Antivan view that women should serve tea and warm beds, speaking - and thinking - as little as possible.
Shit all over that.
Rialto was a reasonably friendly port, so most of the rest of the crew had headed for the Raunchy Parrot to hear the tavern’s namesake mascot’s reputedly endless repertoire of ribald limericks. Celeste had hung behind, still feeling peevish at being left out. She knew the business - legal and illegal - as well as Daniel did by now, and even knowing that Daniel knew that, she was still out of sorts, and not in the mood to listen to a drunken macaw screeching out dirty rhymes.
She waited until they were well away, then loaded up the pockets of her vest with an assortment of aids to mischief and slipped down the gangplank. Maybe she’d make use of her stash, maybe she wouldn’t, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Rialto was not so large as Antiva City, but it had mostly escaped the ravages of the fourth Blight; much of the architecture was centuries old, and many of the merchant princes kept estates here. The hillsides around the city were home to some of the most renowned vineyards in Thedas, and Rialto itself was the center of the arts in Antiva, with theaters and concert halls, museums and galleries.
And lots and lots of rich people.
Pilferage had almost always come as easy to her as breathing, and as she sauntered among the milling crowds in the theater district, her eyes automatically selected marks and her hands dipped into unguarded purses here and there, liberating a sovereign or three each time, and even a loose sapphire from one clueless popinjay dressed in an eyepopping array of satins. As usual, the money was not the point: getting away with it was, and as she left the brightly lit boulevards for the shadowy streets that housed the workers upon whose backs the city rested, she deposited about half of her haul in the poorbox of a humble chantry that bore little resemblance to the massive marble cathedral across town and probably did more good than its wealthy counterpart ever thought about.
She kept the sapphire, though.
This many rich prigs meant plenty of work for the Friends of Red Jenny, but the first two message drops that she checked were empty. Either the local Jennies were on the ball or slacking off shamefully, but either way, it meant that if Celeste wanted to put the screws to some wealthy asshole, she was going to have to find one on her own.