Given New Light (part I)
The diluted moon grinned crookedly from the window, murky and fogged from the cheap, weathered glass panes. Garrett caught it peeking in from his mechanical eye's periphery. It was time for a night's work. The thought of 'nothing fancy' came out gruffly in a sigh, vocalizing softly with no specific word, but a 'sack full' none-the-less. It was sandy and cool.
Garrett was stripped to the waist. Dissipating sweat glistened on his chiseled, wiry frame, caught by candlelight strategically placed around his cramped apartment. No electricity lamps, too noisy he concluded, and a reminder of bad prospects. A source of light he couldn't control, a source of change he couldn't stop. By his taste, too much of The City was infected with them already: with their harsh, color-leeching glow, unmoving shadows, incessant buzz, swarming insects, and their mocking imperviousness to water arrows. A growing thorn for Garrett, whose talents reveled in the shadows, in invisibility. But his distaste wasn't allowed to run too deep, scoffing. If it wasn't for industrialized, electrical, and other technologies and science in The City, he'd be deprived of half his tools and devices, and some nice, advantageous perks; his mechanical eye for one, which would be apart of him till the grave, most likely some lofty rooftop. Unless it got snatched up, which he'd kill for swiftly.
He donned his clothing. Nothing short of a ritual: no wasted or clumsy steps, body movements true and sharp. Each custom article placed perfectly on his person from years of muscle memory. He could do it in the dark, and preferred it. Too much light brought trust, brought weakness. Too much reliance on sight dulled the other senses of equal importance, even with such a simple task. Something he'd done his share of, and had the marks to prove it.
His custom adornments for a usual excursion, included:
A thin, black, body-tight, breathing tunic.
A black, snug, sleeveless, jerkin-vest.
Black, pliable yet stiff, un-shined leather bracers; the left designed to take the bites of the arrow shafts.
Black, fingerless gloves; un-shined, steel studs at the knuckles.
Black, duel-lined linen, leg-tight pants; leather padded at the knees; un-shined, leather codpiece (already adorned).
Black, un-shined leather, light boots (already adorned).
His black cloak with special ties (always saved for last).
He silent stepped to his apartment's only table. An assortment of devices, tools, weapons, papers, maps, and other clever objects sprawled in cacophony upon the old wood. Yet, with closer observation, were quite organized. The table revealed many facets and slights into Garrett's ways.
He donned his gear with the same calm precision as his clothing.
His gear for a usual excursion, included:
Black, un-shined leather quiver; custom, protective, clamping, arrow shaft slots (outside ring fitted with broad-head arrows; next inside ring fitted with long bodkins and short bodkins for piercing mail and armor plate; inner most ring fitted with elemental arrows; predominantly water, with a few of the others: gas, moss, and fire, with two rope arrows).
Two flash-bombs
Two glow-sticks
Blackjack
Dagger
Custom short sword for parrying; not cumbersome for stealth; custom blade forged from mixed metal; darkened, un-shined, and non-reflective.
Tightly sealed container of coin. (pocket change).
He pulled his mechanical eye out carefully, placing it on a folded cloth upon a shoulder-high shelf. He faced the pupil towards himself and took a slight step backwards. Then pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head, sheathing his face in darkness. Before him was not a man, but the shadow of a man. Except to him, the shadow was the man, and the man underneath the shadow. He gave a crooked smile, unseen, and replaced the eye.
One by one, he snuffed the candles about the room. Amidst the swirling smoke in the moonbeam's light, Garrett, the shadow, the thief, exited by the window without a sound. Invisible; a trick of the eye.