Briar.
Briar didn't know how he thought he'd get away with it.
And that was his problem, wasn't it? Thinking? Not thinking had gotten him kicked around the foster system and onto the streets where he'd been sucked into the gang wars of LA. In his case, he'd joined the Thief Guild, known in particular for their double X tattoos Not thinking had prompted him to throw a cherry bomb at a cop car, to jack a jewelry store with a few of his buddies, to get thrown in a juvenile detention at the tender age of twelve.
Not thinking is what was forcing him to run down the street like a madman, a small tree tucked under his arm... with three clerks and an angry manager on his heels.
"Stop, thief!" one of the fatter clerks shouted, his voice wheezy and laboured. "Stop him!" the manager added, distinguished by the bright orange vest; his symbol of authority at the local Home Depot. Briar merely tugged his green hoodie higher to hide his face from the various passerby as he dashed down the sidewalk, shoving the people he couldn't move around out of his way.
Briar counted himself lucky that Summersea was such a small, rural, Massachusetts community that it could only support a few overweight mall cops and a single sherrif- nothing like the riot police or the dispatch cops that had wrestled him to the ground at his second arrest. He scoffed, flipping the bird at group that still dogged his heels, his Chucks pounding the ground as he dashed into the gated community of Winding Circle. He cringed slightly at he racket, the noise echoing off of the expansive gardens in front of the cottages, disturbing the idyllic peace that he found he enjoyed after all of his time in the city; usually the only noise that really penetrated the sleepy little suburb was the tall clock tower that rose out of the community center that had been nicknamed the Hub by the residents.
He chanced a look back, his eyes widening at the gap that had closed between them. They were only twenty feet behind now, and gaining. Gulping, Briar put on another burst of speed, turning off of Temple Road and onto Discipline Court, charging for the small cottage at the far end of the cul-de-sac.
"Briar?"
Briar's eyes widened; Sandry, one of the other fosters that lived in the house, stood by the gate, partially blocking his way in.
"Move!" He yelled, barely waiting for Sandry to yelp and jump out of the way before running through, into the relative safety of Discipline Cottage. He said relative, because he really wasn't sure if his foster parents would take up for him this time. Especially-
"Rosethorn!" the manager called, coming to a stop before the picketed fence. His face was bright red and his voice breathy. "Where is she? I know she put you up to stealing that shakken, boy, and when I get my hands on you-"
"You'll what?" Sandry demanded, her eyes hard as she stepped before the gate, shutting it firmly with a loud click. "This is private property- a private community, thank you-"
"Show some respect, girl!" the manager barked. "Children, these days, thinking they can talk back to their elders and stealing-"
"Oh shut up, Crane." Brair felt a shiver go down his spine as he felt the warm hand of Rosethorn come down hard on his shoulder. "You're barely forty- you can't be going around sniping at people for being younger than you."
"Hmph." The man named Crane sniffed, looking down his long nose at the group. "I don't snipe at young people, I abhor hooligans. Troublemakers. Thieves."
"Briar?" Briar heard the soft voice of his other foster parent, Lark.
He groaned, already feeling the tickling of guilt in his chest at her disappointed voice. "I just took a little tree." He muttered, carefully extracting the brittle branches from his sweatshirt where they had clung to the fabric. "It was in the Home Depot garden center. It was dying!" Briar exclaimed, looking up at Rosethorn for support.
"That doesn't give you the right to take it!" Crane frothed. "You're very lucky I didn't call the police young man-"
"Crane, what on earth was a shakkan doing in a Home Depot?" Rosethorn barked, snatching the tree away from Briar's slackened fingers, carefully inspecting the little plant. The small pine needles were turning brown, slowly degrading from a healthy green to a dull brown.
"Shakkan?" Sandry asked, curious.
"A rather finicky type of bonsai that's become quite popular. They're almost impossible to care for and are worth thousands to the right buyer." Crane answered curtly. "Now, if you'll just give me back my-"
"Hell no!" Briar cut in, ignoring Lark's soft reproof for his language. "They're killing it, Rosethorn!" he pleaded, ignoring the astonished looks of his housemates; Sandry by the gate and Daja and Tris in the doorway to the rest of the house. They were a little too used to his mean, foul-mouthed street talk. Not so much the impassioned, tree-hugger he was portraying.
Not that he hugged trees, he just had an appreciation for gardening.
Rosethorn sighed, sharing a long look with Lark before turning back to Crane. "I'll give you some of my tomato seeds."
Crane sniffed. "It's not he 16th century Rosethorn. I can grow tomatoes, buy them at the local market; greenhouses aren't exactly that special."
"You better appreciate this, boy." Rosethorn muttered to Briar under her breath. "I mean," she said, louder. "that you can have some of my unique tomato seeds. The ones I bred to be-"
"High-yielding and resistant to disease?" Crane's voice had a note of excitement in it, though he kept his face passive. "You're serious? You'll let me have a look at the project you nearly were awarded the Nobel prize for?"
Rosethorn snorted, waving her hand dismissively. "Whatever. Do we have a deal?"
Crane drew himself to his full height before nodding magnanimously. "We have an accord."
With that, he gathered the edges of his orange vest as if it was a voluminous robe and swept away, his cronies behind him.
"Drama Queen." Briar heard Rosethorn mutter beneath her breath, and he grinned.
Crane works at Home Depot! omgosh.