This brat is hard to write, but I've got to get some practice in since he's one of my favorite characters and the fic from hell is finally getting published at the same time as this. So I figured I'd get some practice in with this as well and start working on my interpretations of his past and how it's helped shape the man he grew to be.
"It was only their word that the people they would arrest were troublemakers – but nobody seemed to want to question their word." Jame – 2099: Traitor
The Ylissean invaders weren't used to summer. Gangrel couldn't think of that as anything but a good thing for people like him, who had nothing to eat and sick mothers to take care of. Ylissean invaders who spent the whole time trying to hide under roofs and bickered over who had to take the sunhigh watch when any sensible Plegian was waiting out the desert heat meant that it was easier for him to sneak around into their barracks to find food.
It was what he was doing right then, lurking on the windowsill near one of the invader's kitchens, waiting for the regular fight over who had to go patrol the streets to start so the cook would leave. He hadn't been caught doing this yet, but it was a near thing both times he'd done it. And everyone knew what happened to thieves who got caught.
He shuddered at the thought of being the next one strung up on the walls for a day, not allowed water or food, tied too tightly to escape or even avoid losing limbs. A boy a year younger than him had lost both feet from being tied up there and died a week later from infection.
He meant to survive.
And right now, that meant being absolutely still and quite until he heard the door slam.
It was hard, though. The smell of soup that crept out under the cracks was mouthwatering, especially to a hungry boy who was just starting to grow into his adult height, and staying still on a windowsill that was barely wider than his feet took all his concentration. In addition, while usually the invaders didn't wander down the alleyway at this time of the day, there was always a risk and hiding on the roof could give him burns that would take weeks to heal. Thinking about staying on the windowsill and how to get away if someone spotted him and just what sunburns from the middle of summer felt like almost distracted him from the moment the door slammed shut. He closed his eyes and counted to ten twice before he started to ease the window open.
The shutters were kept well oiled by the occupants, probably so that if there was a fire, the cook could escape without being trapped by the window. It kept them from squeaking as he slowly opened it and looked around. No one was there. Good. That was the first part of successful burglary, don't go into a room with people in it.
The second part would be a little harder to execute. He had to find food that would last and that he could carry in his shirt. That made all of the things like meat much less likely. Though his mouth watered when he looked at the two sand does hanging from the ceiling, already skinned and just ready to be carved up into delicious food that stupid invaders couldn't ever appreciate because they already had everything they needed and just wanted more.
Creeping around the big table in the middle of the room, he looked for loaves of bread. Those would last for a while, even if after a couple weeks he would need to put water on them before he could eat them. Fruits would be nice too, but it was too early for the ones that wouldn't squish all over his only shirt before he could get them home. Mother wouldn't be mad at him if he got it dirty, but she would get up and try to clean it and that was worse.
At last he saw them, cooling on a high shelf behind panels of cloth to keep bugs out. He tiptoed around the kitchen till he could stand up on one of the cupboards to reach. He could hear the arguing in the other room reaching a crescendo, and he knew he didn't have much time left.
The first loaf almost burned his fingers, but he shoved it down his shirtfront anyway, biting his lip to keep from making any noise. The second and third loaves were cooler at least, and he jumped down from the counter to land barefoot on the floor, not making enough noise to be heard over the din.
Then it was back to the window, with only one hand free now as he had to use the other to keep the bread from falling out of his shirt. Bracing one foot on a stool that was really too far away to make springing up safe, but he didn't have much of a choice, he pushed hard off the ground and got his knee on the sill, shoving the shutters open again. Though he tried to lift his other foot up carefully, the stool still wobbled precariously before falling over with a loud clatter onto the stone floor.
Gangrel didn't waste time waiting to see if anyone had heard that, instead he was out the window and running as fast as he could, ignoring the fact that he'd left the shutters open. The noonday sun was bright overhead, and the streets were deserted of people except for those who had nowhere else to go to escape the heat. He panted as he turned corners and took all the shortcuts he knew to get home before the Ylisseans could catch him. The stones burned at the bottoms of his feet, but he didn't dare stop to try and find a cooler place to stand. For one thing, there wouldn't be. Two, the amount of time he would waste trying to find one would be far too long where he could be caught with the bread.
He was completely out of breath by the time he reached the slums of the city, and home. Slowing down to open the door, he glanced around to make sure that no one was watching before he shut it and barred it with the only chair they had left.
It was only a little cooler inside than it was out, but without the sun shining down directly on his head, it was more tolerable. Walking gingerly towards the few cupboards they had, he put his hard won goods on the dusty shelves before barring the cupboard door shut. Despite the fact that he was hungry now, he was going to wait till the sun had gone down to eat, so that his mother could eat with him. She was asleep right now, but he could wait.
Outside, he could hear the first signs of Ylissean invader patrols coming around, the way that every door was locked and furniture scraped across the floor to hold the doors shut in case they were breaking in again. Soon, the clanking and moaning of stupid guards would fill the otherwise silent air.
Gangrel sighed and sat down with his back against the wall, and waited.