Of liars and thieves
Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters of Cornelia Funke's Herr der Diebe (Thief Lord). I don't make any profit out of this.
Summary: A slight AU of the book/movie and I don't know yet, if the merry-go-round will ever be used.
Pairings: PropxOC, ScipxOC, sorry, but this Hornet is just too bland for my taste to captivate the heart of any of the boys.
OH, almost forgotten: I'm no native speaker, so please go easy on me. I try to give my very best.
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It was quiet in their star lair but for the occasional groan of the old timbers and the soft sighs of the others in their sleep. If Prosper really strained his ears he thought he could even hear the water running below the old movie theatre. Sometimes he got the crazy vision of a great flood drowning the old city of Venice, the water level steadily rising until there was nothing left but an endless water plain from one horizon to the other. But in the four weeks he and Bo had stayed with the Thief Lord's little gang, he had learned to interpret his vision for what it really was.
His subconcious fear to be in over his head. Not for the first time he brooded over his decision to run away with Bo. Had it been right? Had it been best for Bo? And for himself? Their presence was bleak and their future didn't look much better, if he was honest with himself.
Turning on his mattress he looked over to his little brother who slept peacefully with Mr. Bear in his arms. The little kittens Lisa and Tygger groomed themselves almost noiselessly next to the stuffed animal. Bo was happy enough as it was. He was with this big brother, had enough to eat, clothes, a roof over his head and there was always someone to play with. He already begun to forget his native language German, to forget that there had been once a Boniface Carstens in Hamburg. And since they had been almost caught by her aunt one day, the blond haired German angel face had been transformed into a little black haired Italian devil.
But Prosper couldn't shake off his past as easily. He missed his home town, school, his friends, the carefree afternoons spent playing football or a computer game. And most of all he missed his chaotic but big-hearted mom. Her laugh, when he had come home from school and found her in her studio covered in marble dust, Verdi playing in the background, and shocked to find him already home, realising she had forgotten again about preparing lunch. Or her bent over some illustrations of a children's book with a critical eye, pulling him closer to have him look at the drawings and wanting to hear his opinion, if they were any good. He missed his old life period. Terribly so.
How was he supposed to provide for Bo without any proper education? How could he ever be a pilot like his father? And Bo – was his future already over before it had even begun? Heavy hearted he resolved to start homeschooling Bo first thing in the morning. He would do his damnest to give Bo every chance at a normal life like he hadn't any longer. He realised that to provide for a child was far more than feeding and clothing it. It was about setting a good example, giving a steady morale compass as guidance for life and the best possible education for a bright future.
But how was he supposed to do this? They were living with a bunch of little thieves led by a boy not much older than he who brought every so often a small bag of haul for him, Prosper, to sell. To buy the bare necessities. Bo adored the Thief Lord, expressing his wish to become one day a thief a great as he. Prosper felt he led a loosing battle against Scipio's pull on them. How could he make Bo understand that it was all wrong what Scipio, what he did? That you weren't allowed to take what wasn't yours. How dangerous it was to let themselves being chased in a racing boat by the police? For him it was all big fun, because he couldn't oversee the consequences. And for Scipio? Was it just a much sought adrenaline rush? The smell of danger, the blind adoration of the others? When they had first met, Scipio had been nothing but an arrogant and way too cocky show-off in his books. But now?
Kneading his small pillow into a new shape, Prosper settled down again, closing his eyes against the night lights of the Stella with a deep sigh.
Now he felt he couldn't be anything but grateful– despite the stealing and everything.
One time Mosca and he had been out at their favourite pier away from the tourists hords, fishing. Or least pretended to do so, when they had started to talk about Scipio and how everyone of them had been picked up by him and brought to the Stella. And it was then when Prop began to realise how fortunate they really had been that first night in Venice. How easily they could have crossed the path of Benito Scarface who held Burano and crept from time to time into old Venice trying to expand his territory. Mosca feared the Scarface. That teenage boy made his gang beg and steal. They were mostly purse-pickers and pocket-pickers. And there was hell to pay if they didn't bring enough day after day. Shuddering Mosca whispered about beatings and stuff. Compared to such a hell, Prosper and Bo had found Paradise with Scipio.
Scipio never asked for his share, he ate very rarely with them, but loved to celebrate. He never came in the afternoons, only deep in the night and vanished into thin air after every visit and every prey for a couple of days. And never, ever had he slept with them.
Prosper mulled over this.
Where did Scipio go when he left? Where was he when he wasn't with them? He didn't asked for his share, so how did he feed himself? Where did he sleep? His clothes were old and tattered, but always clean. Bo said Scipio smelled nice, when he was carried around by his next to his brother biggest hero. Was it the detergent of Scipio's clothes? His hair was always freshly washed, not like the neighbourhood children, who had parents but were too poor to be properly cared for in that aspect or their own hair for that matter. Who was Scipio the Thief Lord really?
Wide awake Prosper sat up. What had he just thought?
Who was Scipio the Thief Lord REALLY?
Was the Thief Lord not real? Prosper's heart started to hammer in his chest.
IF the persona of the Thief Lord wasn't real, the big questions were WHO was Scipio and WHY did he did what he did and for what purpose?
He let himself fall back onto his matress. He'd used the next opportunity to follow Scipio, whereever he might go. He needed to know, if there was any more danger lying ahead for Bo and himself.
To be continued
