As the hours waned on, Garrett chanced another peek at his new 'roommate'. Gwenevere had fallen asleep at the bend in the stairway, curled up on herself like a dazzling blue pill bug. Her breathing was shallow, long red hair falling down the sides of her smooth face like a waterfall of flocculent blood. Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, as she continued her personal sojourn through the land of dreams.
The thief's haggard face shifted with bizarre intrigue. He had never seen anyone sleep that way before. He wondered how she could possibly be comfortable. Reluctantly, and having little else to do that evening, Garrett walked over to better observe this most precarious sleeping method of hers. He was-for whatever reason-beginning to grow curious about her. Much like Basso had pointed out, she was a mage, and magic was now such a rarity outside of organized factions and cults. As much as the thief refused to admit it, Gwenevere herself, was a rare treasure indeed.
He crouched down beside her, the cold metal of his right eye taking in the lost princess before him. It mirrored her serene expression as she continued to dream, and an apathy colder than its glistening components began stirring within the vagabond's dismal heart. Garrett already knew, all too well; that treasures, could be very dangerous things.
"Why are you here? For all of your incessant yapping earlier, you didn't really give me anything to go on. But then again, I never openly asked you, now did I?" the criminal murmured.
The waning embers within the fire pit crepitated their last, before fizzling out into an insignificant puff of smoke. Garrett rubbed his hands together, as the air within that desolate tower began to grow frigid. Precious warmth left his mouth, as he continued to observe Gwenevere with a benumbed expression.
Before him lay a girl, who'd for whatever reason, thrown herself off the precipice of disaster.
That round, sweet little face of hers still retained its smile as she slept. Garrett wondered just how long it would take this city to thoroughly purge it from her face. This place was not for delicate, idealistic minds such as hers. It was not a place for enthusiastic nobles who dreamed of becoming thieves. If she indeed decided to stay, this brutal and disgusting world of his, would mold her accordingly. If it didn't outright kill her.
"Do you even know that, I wonder?" Garrett continued to murmur to himself. "Is it really worth that much to you, to do what I do? To live the way I live?"
It began to occur to him, that the reserved criminal still had no idea what 'it' actually was. Why Gwenevere wanted to become a thief so badly. It couldn't be for the money, as she'd willingly abandoned a fortune. Was this all a simple game to her? An act of paternal defiance? The thief ran his fingers around the base of the chipped railing. Any reason he could deduce, seemed farfetched at best.
Even if she was an outright taffing moron, the girl couldn't be THAT stupid.
"Then again..." Garrett mulled, running his eyes over her exposed outfit with a derisive smirk.
The clothing she wore was beyond ostentatious. Under the confines of her lengthy cape, he'd never even noticed. A navy blue corset with silver trim around the breasts, and a very short skirt which barely covered her thighs. The sight of her exposed legs and pale flesh almost caused him to laugh aloud. For a noble's brat, this girl clearly had no sense of public decency.
"You look more like a harlot than a thief. I bet that's the real reason Basso's taken such a shining to you..."
Gwenevere continued to hum and fidget within her dreams, completely unaware of Garrett's presence. The thief wondered why she wasn't cold; laying with her ass practically in the air like that.
"You have no idea how fortunate you are right now," he mumbled in a sinister tone, "that I despise you..."
A criminal of less dignity would have taken her just like that. Against her will, protests, and tears. But even if that pesky moppet had of been stark naked, Garrett couldn't have cared less. He took great pride in the fact that he wasn't anything like the others. He, was a master. And what value could a Master Thief possibly find in such spontaneous, and lewd acts?
Besides, girls like her, really weren't his type. The thief, had a fetish for danger. For women who could just as easily love him, as they could slit his throat. Wild eyes, piercing grins. Garrett relished the opportunity to court peril; to cheat with death. There simply was no challenge in a delicate and innocent girl like this. Beautiful, or not.
Shaking his head, Garrett stood from the stairway and headed back to his own bed. He blew out the single candle situated atop his crude dresser, silence permeating the nocturnal abyss. He withdrew his prosthetic eye, his remaining optic gleaming amidst the creeping shadows.
But for whatever inane reason, the thief was finding it difficult to rest.
As the hours waned on, Garrett remained wakeful. Thumbing through the pages of one of his favorite novels, his face firm amidst the restored candlelight. The night was his; to plunder his riches, and race along the rooftops. Or in this case, to catch up on the latest adventures of a certain fictitious thief. Garrett had re-read all of Robber Hood's grand adventures an uncounted number of times since his youth. Or rather, since Artemus had taught him to read.
Although he wasn't accustomed to sleeping in the evenings anymore, Garrett had hoped to catch a quick nap before dawn on that particular night. Something told him, that the bouncy little damsel wasn't going to be keeping quiet during the day, thus throwing a kink in his diurnal rest period.
As his thumb skimmed lazily over the second paragraph of chapter fifteen, the thief's eyes finally began to droop. A gust of chilly wind violated his sanctum, snuffing out the erratic little candle flame. A raven cackled overhead, and the book slipped from his hand.
***
THE CITY
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS AGO:
A young boy, more skeleton than child, sat amidst a sea of busy faces. With his frail and hurting body hunched over against the cold city wall, most probably presumed him long dead. Either that, or none could find enough compassion within their souls to care about his torment. But this lad was no stranger to suffering; to hunger, or fear. Discomfort was a persistent-albeit harsh reminder-that against impossible odds, he still yet lived.
His body shivered, as he felt the icy rain pelt against his ragged clothing. He clenched his shoulder in agony, grinding his teeth as the ruthless barrage ignited a fire within his fresh wounds. The sudden pressure caused the injury to pulsate and bleed, prompting the boy to moan as a fresh stream of dark crimson erupted from beneath his palm.
"Those damned Hammers..." he cursed.
Dreams. Plans for the future. A warm bed, and a loving family. Everything this bronze-eyed youth had once cherished, had been taken away by that steadfast and barbarous holy order. Men whose tongues were laced with ancient prayers. Men who wore deep scarlet vestments, to hide the blood on their hands. Though he did not understand the complexities of their religion, Garrett had to wonder what sort of god would encourage his apostles to strike down a helpless, hungry child. After all, it had only been a handful of gold.
The boy had taken the risk. Made the terrible mistake of pickpocketing a Hammerite. And for that, he'd paid a grueling price indeed. The exact set of reasons or circumstances leading up to his serendipitous escape, still eluded the boy as he continued to shudder and rock there in the musty dark. He'd reacted with a leap, once the first blow had landed. Partially out of pain, but more likely, out of recollection. Afterwards, Garrett had felt his body act alone. Nerves and fibers taking over, guiding his limbs and maneuvers as though the scrawny lad were but a simple marionette. It was perhaps the most freakish experience he'd had thus far, over the course of his young life. An involuntary response, to a lethal peril.
His dazed recollections were shattered, when his empty stomach began to protest once again. These were arduous throbs, and much worse than any Garrett had ever experienced before. The deep and cramping pains would have caused him to recoil into a ball of misery, were it not for that grueling slash to his shoulder and upper back. Through hazy, hungry eyes, the boy moaned, and went back to watching the bustling procession before him.
A woman wearing a large purple feather in her hat, her face prim and expressionless. A man on his way to the foundries, his face disheveled and his clothing worn. Two children, tugging at their mother's hem, beckoning her in the direction of the sweet shop. A dog, bounding and prancing before the local butcher, its tail wiggling madly. It seemed as though everyone had decided to go out for one reason or another on that otherwise mundane Wednesday afternoon. Everyone, had a place to be. A purpose. All except for Garrett.
As his detached, exhausted eyes began to close, something jolted them wide open. A tall, intimidating man was also making his way through the chaos. He passed between the dog and the butcher, the woman and her earnest children. None of them seemed to take notice of his presence. Garrett squinted his eyes, perplexed by the entire scenario. Were they purposefully granting this man his discretion? Was he someone of great significance? One of the baron's henchman, perhaps? Whatever the case, the starving boy's interest had been captured.
Scrambling to his feet, he fell in behind the robed individual, and tailed him into a dark alleyway. With as much guile and determination as he could muster in his weakened state, the young pickpocket prepared to make his move. His ravenous eyes sparkled, when Garrett noticed a bulging coin purse mere inches from his hand. After struggling for a few seconds to steady his quaking fingers, the boy reached out and made a grab.
Garrett's heart nearly stopped, when a rough hand clamped down onto his grimy little wrist with a ferocious vice grip. The stranger's gloved fingers tightened, as the terrified boy fought desperately to retract his extremity. But it was hopeless. With a mouthful of cold terror, Garrett forced himself to stare up into the pensive face of his captor.
Beneath the dreary confines of a tattered old cowl, were the most curious set of eyes the young boy had ever seen. They were a silvery grey, augmented by a glimmer of mystery. A stillness remained upon lips starved for speech. Questions, which this feisty young street urchin would never know. Artemus blinked, taking in the bedraggled and stringy boy, who now flailed and fought against his grip with the tenacity of a roped buck.
"Let go of me!" Garrett demanded, attempting to sound much older in the process.
But the hooded man, did not do as asked. Icy fear began to rattle the boy. His insides twitched from a mixture of fear and hunger, and his wound began to pulse again with a cruel and intense ache. But worst of all, was the adrenaline filling his system. It felt like a swarm of insects had just entered his gut, squirming and wriggling throughout every inch of his captured form. His vision tilted, growing hazier with each hyperventilated breath he took.
Desperation prevalent upon his gaunt face, the street urchin reached behind his back, and clasped the handle of his late father's dagger. The moment he did so, something shifted within the eerie stranger's disposition. Artemus's silver eyes flashed, and before Garrett could attempt his planned assault, a single sentence rendered him breathless:
"Drop your weapon, boy."
And Garrett, did just that.
Gasping for breath, he leered upward once more. Given the dominating power of his words, the boy expected to see a face boiling with outrage. But instead of furious or threatening, the hooded man's expression appeared rather inquisitive.
"Why won't you let me go?" Garrett tried, without thinking better of it, "you gonna drag me off to the watch then?"
"No," the man shook his head. Garrett felt the blood drain away from his filthy cheeks.
"Oh please sir...not the Hammers..." he begged.
The strong, dubious voice of a much older boy had given way to that of a very frightened ten-year-old waif.
"No. Not them either," Artemus confirmed gently, in a half-hearted attempt to ease the boy's turbulent thoughts.
He knew this child must have already been through much, if drawing a dagger had become such a cursory course of action. Garrett's body began to relax; at least, as much as it could, given the circumstances. A grown man still held him captive, and had made apparent-and presumably rather unorthodox-plans, regarding the young thief's fate.
"Then...what exactly...do you want from me?" Garrett heard himself gulp.
Artemus felt his fingers tremble, the insignia upon his ring shimmering beneath the waning torchlight. Without another word, he released his grip on the boy. Garrett stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own legs in the process. He gave the cryptic wanderer a look of astonishment, his brown eyes wide with intrigue.
He wanted to ask, why. Why, after all that trouble, had this strange man chosen to simply release his would-be cutpurse? But before the boy could mumble out a single word, the imposing figure spoke first.
"Pick up your blade," he ordered.
Listening to the orders of a complete stranger, was the last thing the petrified boy wanted to do. He was a thief caught in the act, staring upward at an imposing man who could now do unto him whatever he wished here in the darkness.
Perhaps more than ever before-save once-the lad wanted to run. But his legs refused to allow it. Every inch of him felt frozen, powerless.
Palms sweltering despite the frigidness of mid-October, Garrett did as he was bade. Cradling the deadly heirloom against his chest somehow granted the terrified young boy the ability to speak.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, in a quaking voice. "Are you simply letting me go?"
"If that is your desire..." Artemus decreed. Garrett, was dumbfounded.
"Wait, what?! Are you serious? You aren't even upset?"
"Why should I be?"
"I just tried to ROB you!" the boy hollered, before thinking better of it.
His face was one of disbelief, and an incredibly blatant disrespect. However, the hooded sentinel appeared far from offended.
"And yet, I harbor no malice over your previous attempt, lad," a thin crescent of a smile contorted within the gloom of the man's cowl.
"But why?" Garrett bawked. His previous urge to sprint was now overtaken by a bizarre curiosity.
"The short answer-you have managed to pique my interest. It takes great skill to sneak up on a Keeper; especially one who does not wish to be seen," the stranger explained, an impressed smile replacing his once strict expression.
"Keeper? What the taff's a Keeper?!" Garrett's eyebrow quirked.
"What is your name?" Artemus asked, ignoring the boy's inquiry.
The scrawny orphan gulped down his tension, and readied himself for whatever was about to transpire. He was on his own now; he had to be brave. With a final breath of forced courage, he stared the strange hooded man dead in the eyes.
"Garrett."
***
THE CITY
PRESENT DAY:
"Garrett! Garrett, wake up!"
The thief opened his eyes with a pestered groan, the harsh morning light serving as an obnoxious backdrop to Gwenevere's smiling little face.
But that smile, crumbled like an avalanche when the girl noticed the gaping, lifeless hollow staring back at her from where his right eye should have been. Garrett cringed when she gasped, and abruptly turned away from her staring eyes and gaping maw. He wasn't used to anyone seeing him without his prosthetic-not to mention the fact that he was practically nude underneath the thin bedsheet. Rolling over on his mattress, the agitated thief clutched the sheets tighter around his body and head.
"Go. Away," he muttered under his breath.
Empathy and anguish hastily replaced shock, as Gwenevere realized that she may have just offended her new friend. Cupping her hands up around her mouth, she began to shudder. She had no reason to fear him, and Gwenevere knew that. Aside from being a general grouch with a callous tongue, Garrett had done nothing to hurt her. Yet here she was-cowering away from a disfigurement that he could not help.
"Garrett, I...I brought you breakfast," Gwenevere offered, sounding especially kindhearted in lieu of what had just transpired.
The thief leered over his shoulder at her, his remaining brown eye darkening with a vehemence that served to highlight his obvious vexation.
"I sleep during the day, alright? Take your charity somewhere else," he grumbled. Gwenevere's posture wilted, and she sank to her knees beside his bed.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered in a voice so low, that Garrett had to strain to hear her.
"What?" he snapped, jerking upwards. The sheets covering his head remained, resembling a white and stained version of his usual hood.
"I-" she jolted upright, her green eyes glistening like glass amidst the neglected dreariness. "I just said I was sorry...for...for-"
"-waking me up?" Garrett snorted, concluding the apology for her.
Though he knew this wasn't the real reason she was expressing such grievous remorse. The agitated thief simply didn't want her mentioning his eye again. Or rather, lack thereof. Gwenevere recognized his evasive tactics almost immediately. With the defeated, sympathetic sigh, she gave Garrett a brilliant and honest smile.
"Sure," she beamed.
Reaching over to the lockbox he kept beside his mattress, Garrett opened the metal lid with a creak, and produced his mechanical eye. He polished the object between the folds of his sheets, before promptly popping it back into the barren socket. Rather warily, he glared back down at Gwenevere. The girl had made a very obvious point of averting her gaze from this particular part of his daily routine, and Garrett noticed that she was chewing on her hair again.
"I thought you said you brought breakfast," he prompted, after clearing his throat.
"Well, I did!" Gwenevere spoke, damp red hair still tucked between her teeth. The thief pressed his lips together, miffed that she had missed the obvious sarcasm in his words.
"Then why are you eating your hair?" he clarified. Gwenevere's pupils dilated, and embarrassed, she spat the strand away from her lips.
"I wasn't eating it!" she defended. "I just...chew it when I get nervous..."
Garrett pulled the bedsheets off of his head, and glared at her.
"If it makes you so uncomfortable being around a half-blind man, then you can just-"
"-that wasn't what makes me uncomfortable!" Gwenevere retorted. There was a short and rather awkward pause between her panting, and Garrett's bewildered reaction to her outburst. "I just don't understand why you're always so cross with me. You haven't even been awake for ten minutes, and you're already shouting at me!"
The dreary remains of slumber dissipated in response to the scrappy girl, and her bold words. Garrett shot her a positively ugly sneer.
"Well then, maybe you shouldn't have woken me up!" he snapped harshly.
But Gwenevere did not cower before him this time, as she had so many times before. This time, she stood her ground. She stood from the floorboards, and scowled down at the perplexed rogue. Puffing out her little chest and sucking back her top lip, she balled her fingers into two tight fists.
"I just wanted to eat with you!" she hollered, "I thought it would be nice to share our first meal together. I didn't know you slept during the day! You never told me that. You haven't told me ANYTHING about yourself, Garrett!"
Garrett sneered up at her, a scathing rebuttal hovering on the tip of his tongue. He started to stand up, prepared to once again corner and dwarf this tiresome little imp. To give her some well-deserved degradation. To remind her that her family name held no power within this place. But logical realization served to hush him, if only for the unfortunate reality that he wasn't even dressed yet.
So he just sat there, glaring at her from his bed. Mulling over the complex and torturous fate his greed had caused. He'd taken Basso's payment-he'd taken the job. A reluctant groan left Garrett's nostrils. He'd never turned down a difficult job before-especially such a well-paying one. Just what was it about this irksome little maiden that irritated him so?
Just think of how you're going to spend all that money. Forget the girl. She'll be out of the way before you know it, he grimaced, trying not to feel her invasive eyes upon him.
While Garrett had never been especially kind, he was exceedingly patient. This was, after all, Gwenevere's first full day in his presence. And while she'd been bubbly and forthcoming about her own personal lifestyle and quirks, the thief had remained as twisted and unfathomable as a wood nymph's heart. Gradually, his rigid posture grew slack.
"All right, fair enough" he groaned as he forced himself to a sit, sighing in tentative resignation. "So, what's for breakfast then?"
Gwenevere's anger diminished in response to his casual nature. Fighting back her budding excitement, a small trill escaped her pursed lips.
"Bread," the giddy damsel chirruped. "I also managed to swipe some Nethalzian grapes!"
Garrett's jaw flopped open like flimsy rubber.
"You're telling me, that you woke me up for bread and grapes?" Despite his obvious irritability, his tone was more contemptuous and mocking than upset.
"Is something wrong?" Gwenevere cocked her head.
"Tch, I just assumed you'd have brought more than that," the rogue muttered through a condescending grin.
"Listen, it was all I could find! Besides, grapes are really, really good!" Gwenevere snapped. "Now do you want some or not?!"
Garrett blinked. Who was this girl? She could go from meek and innocent, too brash and bold within moments. Simmons or not, there was definitely a story there.
"Next time, steal me some apples. I'll take a slice and a handful, but then I'm going right back to sleep," the thief yawned. "And I suggest you do the same. We've got a busy night of training ahead of us."
"Really?!" Gwenevere's entire body began to vibrate with excitement. Fingers trembling like little fish, as she reached into her bright blue knapsack and producing the stolen fare.
"Yeah. Really," Garrett repeated, starting up at the ceiling. He watched as a rat scurried across one of the long-dead gears, bathed in a resplendent spotlight of sunbeams, and swirling dust.
"Oh, goody!" the girl's smile grew wide.
After spreading a lacy handkerchief out over one of the numerous wooden crates which infested the angsty moonlighter's domain, she placed the grapes down and reached for the bread. Holding out her index finger, a beam of odd green energy sprung from her polished digit, slicing through the loaf with ease. Garrett peered down at this with mild interest, as his apprentice repeated the procedure a second time.
"Ever hear of using a knife?" he commented.
"I don't have one," the girl replied, her sweet voice distracted and laced with naivety. Garrett scoffed, shaking his head.
"Yeah. Of course you don't..." he muttered.
"Here ya go!" Gwenevere smiled, as she handed him the first slice.
It was heated, and crispy from her rather interesting carving method. The thief took the only warm meal he'd had in days within his calloused, haggard hands with ravenous haste. Though he did not thank her, his face conveyed just how appreciative he was. And Gwenevere smiled, feeling quite pleased with herself.
***
As they sat and ate in silence, Gwenevere once again surveyed her surroundings. The clock tower was even more dismal during the day. At least in the darkness of night, she hadn't been able to see the dead rats and ravens scattered amidst the corners. Clouds of dust motes danced in the sunbeams like a fine pollen, and the pillars of the vaulted ceiling were decorated in intricate cobwebs and fuzzy mold.
"I suppose you don't like to clean, huh?" she giggled. Garrett glowered at her from beneath his bedsheet. Gwenevere's face beamed a brilliant red, surprise registering within her features. "Oh, hey! I didn't mean to offend you or anything! I hate cleaning too! It's really just a huge waste of-"
"-are you gonna eat that?" the thief interrupted, pointing to the half-eaten bread in her hand. It was her second slice. The girl looked down at her food, then shook her head.
"Nah! You can have it if you want to," she offered. Garrett merely sneered at her kind offer.
"What makes you think I'd want that?"
"B-but you just asked-"
"-I was trying to shut you up. Apparently, it didn't work," Garrett snapped.
Gwenevere frowned, her face riddled with confusion and hurt. She stretched out her legs, arching her back in order to recline onto her palms. She looked down at her velvety blue pumps, opening and closing the gap between her feet. Garrett took one look at her shoes, and what he saw caused his brows to furrow in bewilderment.
"Are those...your bedroom slippers?" he pointed.
Gwenevere kicked one of her legs up in response, prompting the appalled moonlighter to turn away with an abhorred exclamation. Unlike Basso, Garrett had no desire to chance a peek at her undergarments. Assuming that she was even wearing any, dressed like that!
"Why yes! I had to run away in a hurry, so I just grabbed the first pair of shoes I could find. Turns out, they weren't really shoes at all!" she laughed, as if the entire exchange had been a humorous joke.
No wonder she thought they were comfy... the thief groaned, rubbing his temples. Gwenevere noticed this, and craned her head to the side in an inquisitive fashion.
"Is...is there something wrong with them?" she peeped.
"Yeah. You could say that," Garrett replied sardonically.
"Oh? What is it?"
"Really? You really don't see the problem with a thief wearing bedroom slippers?!"
"No, not really," the girl shrugged. "I mean, they're comfy, and since I'll be doing a lot of running and climbing isn't that a good thing?"
"Right, you'll be doing a lot of strenuous activity," Garrett nodded, "which means those measly things will be worn through in no time."
"Oh..." Gwenevere looked down at her 'shoes' again, and wiggled her toes. Garrett wiped the remaining crumbs from his bedsheets, and looked at her.
"You know what might help?"
"No, what?" Gwenevere grew jovial upon hearing what she perceived, as upcoming friendly advice.
"Dressing like an actual thief, instead of a taffing whore," he remarked with smug glee.
"Whore? What's a whore?" she asked, pulling at the silver rim of her corset.
Her answer, utterly floored him. Garrett already realized just how little his new charge understood about the world outside of her pristine castle. But this...
"As in a woman who pleases men sexually for money?" he raised an eyebrow as he spoke.
Gwenevere gasped, her emerald eyes flying open in abject horror. She had no idea what her showy outfit had been suggesting about her! It had at least begun to occur to her, that she was dressed nothing like the people she had met since coming to the slums. But the very idea of such beautiful clothing belonging to a sex worker, left her flustered and baffled.
"I...I thought this was how the beautiful women of your class dressed..." she whimpered. Garrett's mouth contorted into an elongated chasm at her latest asinine presumption.
"My...class?" he confirmed.
"Why yes!" Gwenevere giggled, starting to feel a little less foolish in lieu of her mentor's comical expression. "I mean, sure. I have seen women of your species dressed in other outfits as well. But when I ran away, I wanted to look my best!"
"Species...what?!" Garrett's eye twitched, his entire mind battling to wrap itself around such lunacy. But Gwenevere's frilly little brain was already a world away; nonsense incarnate as she continued to ramble on with utmost joviality.
"I remember seeing several of them walking around wearing stained brown dresses and such. Although some of them DID have on some pretty green and red gowns-oh!"
"Gwenevere..."
"I mean, I suppose dark colors can be most practical, but I just love colors! That's why I decided to go back to where Simmons used to take me. That's where I found this!" the clueless girl motioned to her pale blue costume.
"Gwenevere?"
"Can't for the life of me recall the name of the place though..." she shrugged.
"You about done?" the thief groused.
"Uh-huh!" Gwenevere beamed. Garrett had seldom felt so alleviated.
"So let me get this straight: You broke into the House of Blossoms, just so you could lift a pretty outfit?" Garrett confirmed.
"Yes! That was the place!" Gwenevere bounced up and down on her rump. "Ooh! I always thought the women there were so pretty!"
"Apparently, so did your old man," the sullen rogue scoffed dryly.
"But I had no idea they were sex workers!" Gwenevere shot him a nasty glare. "You could have told me sooner ya know...how I looked I mean..." she buried her face in her hands.
"I only mentioned it because I don't want you giving away your position out there," Garrett stretched. "Basso would kill me if the watch happened to spot you. After all, I'm apparently your keeper now..."
A sudden jolt gripped his chest as the snide quip left his lips. A strange, pensive expression darkened Garrett's features, as the dream he'd had just hours prior took a frontal position within his ravaged mind. It had been fifteen years now, and yet they haunted him still.
Her keeper? Keeper. And here I always thought that bad puns were Basso's thing...
"Are...are you alright?" Gwenevere asked, rousing the thief from his vacant stupor. Taking notice of the girl's troubled face, Garrett shook himself and stretched out atop his mattress.
"I'm fine," he grumbled. "I'm just a bit tired after being woken up."
"B-but I...I said I was sorry..." Gwenevere mewled.
"Hey, since you're so wakeful, make yourself useful and tidy the place up or something. You know, since it's bothering you and all..." the thief yawned, rolling over.
"B-but what about my training? Shouldn't I be getting ready for that?" Gwenevere complained, frantic to avoid having to clean. She hated the very idea of tidying up. The dust always got up her nose and caused her to sneeze.
"Do as you're told," Garrett groused. Gwenevere began to pout, turning away from him as she reached for a nearby broom and bucket.
"Fine," she stuck out her tongue. "I'll clean your stupid clock. But what about-"
"-after the sun goes down, I'll start your training. But we'll have to go and see about getting you a change of apparel beforehand, Gwenevere."
Due to his dreary state of half-cognizant muttering, she nearly missed it. The girl's eyes widened, and she reluctantly looked over her shoulder at the exhausted criminal.
"You...remembered my name..." she gaped, dropping her tools.
"Tch, you really think I'm stupid, don't you?" the thief grunted as he adjusted his position in the bed. "Truth is, Gwenevere; I've always known your name. I just didn't care-and I wanted to make that perfectly clear."
"Uh, so then why did you keep on calling me the wrong things?" she inquired, a partial trust reminiscent within her slight features at best. Noticing her skepticism, Garrett shot her a wry grin.
"Just tryin' to piss you off..."