She wiped at the drying blood, ignoring his growl. She couldn’t quite figure out why he was so insistent on convincing her that people could be good without strings attached, especially because that was an inconceivable thing to her. Only one person she’d ever met had been good and kind for no reason. And she was dead now. “We live to be remembered. To leave any legacy behind that we can. You’re knocking being a famous criminal to a semi-famous criminal.” She stretched her arms up over her head despite the searing pain in her side. “Though I can get the mischief bit.”
Poker, Gods, and A Little Bit Of Mischief (CLOSED)
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“I live to forget. To escape from someone who doesn’t understand me and yet tries to control me.” He grumbled, his mind flashing to his fatherly figure, a god of good fortune that did not take kindly to the idea that Marcus was a god of mischief. “But we all know how fate works. Anyways, I’d prefer that no one knows exactly where and who I am. Makes life easier for me.”
(Quick question, is the way the gods work like there are multiple gods of mischief or just like one known one?)
((There would be one god of each Thing, like mischief, but often times the god’s sort of areas of expertise overlap, leading either friendship or rivalries. Like our god of Thieves would know Marcus for sure, because their Things go hand in hand))
“An easy life sounds boring.” The way she talked, one might almost think she chose the life she did. That was only half true. She was fairly certain she’d been born on the streets, but couldn’t remember much before the age of nine, when her timeline seemed to start in the hold of a slave ship destined for a capital. She had, though, chosen to be what she was. Thievery was her solace, something she was good at and knew well. “Left up here, and then there’s an elevator or more stairs.”
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(Ah thought so, thank you!)
“Maybe for you.” He murmured, rubbing at his damaged arms. He had self harmed one too many times. “How far until we’re out?” He asked gently, eyeing her wound. “I want to make sure you’re alright.”
“Few more floors. Three to be exact. And then getting to one of the exits on the main floor.” Saros said, waving the arm she’d been inspecting. “Not far, though you really oughta not worry about me. I’m just a thief. Not anyone to really worry about. Here, elevator or stairs?”
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He nodded gently, yawning softly. "Good lord that's a way. Is there a faster way?" He asked her, narrowing his eyes. He gave her one look over, studying her side. Truth be told he was worried about what Thievery would say to him if they found out he had let one of their protected, precious humans walk away harmed. Marcus would never hear the end of it.
"Mhm. Just a thief…" He replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Elevator. That might end badly for us but stairs are a no go. takes too long."
“Sure there are faster ways. Ways swarming with men.” Saros said, closing her eyes briefly as a flash of pain flickered through her. “Can’t skip leg day. Elevator can be stopped. And you repeated my words with enough sarcasm to get you shot by a cop. You keep doing that.” She shot a look at him, looking half curious and half unamused, the pain visible in her eyes and nowhere else on her features.
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"Men… Men can be taken care of." He murmured, concern flashing across his face. He was definitely screwed after this. Thievery and Mischief worked in a pair at times. Except now Marcus was 'mortal' and had long forgotten his divine, true name. "You won't make it up those stairs." He stated blatantly, his eyes cold and calculating. "Sarcasm is my love language, honey. I use it like a French person would speak French." He crooned, a small amount of his confidence peeking through.
“One.” Saros held up a finger, her own eyes glinting like the metal their color matched. Cold and harsh, almost. “Don’t you ever underestimate me. I’ve made it up worse stairs on a shattered foot with a sword imbedded in my gut. This splinter is nothing if I say it’s nothing. And two.” She held up a second finger, that same weird flicker passing over her face. “Don’t call me honey. Now come on.” And with that, she stepped into the stairwell, starting up a few steps.
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Marcus remained cold and somewhat distant as she spoke to him. He was afraid. After all, she probably couldn't hold her ground against a god anyways, probably would take one hell of a fight, but he wouldn't mind that. The god's eyes glimmered unhappily as they always did as he took a step up the stairs after her, silent as always. "Mm, what about hun?" He asked out of spite, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and sighing deeply. He glanced down the stairs, his mind whirling. "Do you think if I hurled myself down these I'd die?" He asked out of reflex. Marcus always made suicide jokes when around the gang members. They usually brushed him off for them and so he continued to tell them, only about 87% serious.
"No." Saros said, her shoulders tense. "And no again. This flight of stairs is too short. And with the narrowness, you'd be doing more bumping around than tumbling that could lead to critical injuries." The way she answered carried a certain knowing, like maybe she hadn't thrown herself down but had fallen down stairs at some point. "Anyway, I'd catch you. This close to being out of here, and you think you get to die? That sounds pointless as all hell."
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He groaned loudly and let his shoulders slump. "Ugh. Buildings are too high." He joked, grinning slightly. "A knife is too iffy and a gunshot is too sudden." His head tilted to the side as he finally processed her words. "Wait. Pointless?" He seemed confused. "Pointless is a way I hadn't looked at. But have you ever thought that life might be pointless?" He asked carefully. "I mean I see some meaning in it, but most hu- people think its quite pointless at times."
"Of course life is pointless." She said, allowing the suicide jokes a pass just this time. Her usual slightly nihilistic apathy would return next time they showed though, for sure. "You do things and then you die. But if I wanted to have an existential crisis, I'd be elsewhere having one. It's all about….ignoring the pointlessness, and finding things that don't feel as pointless. Like living a life that would leave something of you behind, helping people, stealing from the goddamn rich, or even just being known as a really shitty person."
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Marcus shrugged and cursed lightly as his foot caught a step. He didn’t fall, nor did he trip quite all the way, but it was still a frustrating thing to go through. “Damn life. I’d rather be unknown. But I guess I see where you’re coming from. Which way did you chose?” He asked playfully. “Do you help others? Or are you a completely shitty person? You can’t be all bad seeing as how you rescued me.”
"Oh, no, I'm a shitty person. I don't feel regret, and I utilize that." I regret exactly one thing. One single thing, and it's the one thing that almost destroyed me. "I'm leaving something behind, and it won't be good, but I'll be remembered. Street rat or no, they're going to know my name."
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He groaned gently and maybe let his power slip just to make the stair way a little bit easier to walk up, more for his sake than hers. “Lucky you. You’ll get to be known as ‘Shitty Rip’.” He joked flatly, looking down at his feet and watched as they picked themselves up and then down onto the stairs. “Ah damn. I ruined these pants.” He lamented after noticing the holes in the knees of his jeans.
“You poor thing.” She said sarcastically, fiddling with her pendant for a brief second. “New pants are obtainable. Whether with money or other means.” They reached the top of the stairs a moment later, and it wasn’t super noticeable, but she released a breath, glad to have a quick reprieve.
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He shot her a warning look. He was rather excited to mess with her a little more. She was quite the snappy little thing. He didn’t respond, I stead pausing st the top of the stairs and glancing upwards to check for guards. “Why haven’t we seen any other people?”
"Why would you ever voice that. What a great way to jinx us." Saros said, rolling her eyes as she poked her head out into the hallway. They were one more floor below the first floor. And there was no sign of people. There is one explanation… "They're waiting. For us."
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He rolled his eyes. “Jinx's dont exist, Rip.” He mumbled. “Fate is cruel either way.” He fell silent as she glanced up, his own eyes scanning for beings. And yet there were none. He furrowed his brows. “Why… I’m confused… why would they wait?”
“And Fate loves waiting for you to get comfortable before fucking your over.” Her eyes turned up to the ceiling above them, head tilting as though considering something. “They know I’m here.” She said, with certainty and all the casualness of a person describing what they wanted for dinner. “Oh, Yœn, to think I thought you really wanted these people gone. That’s what I get for taking a job from a man wearing a fox fur coat.”
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Marcus frowned deeply, glancing around. “How open are you to a different route?” He asked, starting to sniff around for another way. “Are there vents? Ducts? Pipes?” He asked gently, looking to her. “They wouldn’t just make one way in and one way out.”
“Oh, of course there are other ways.” Saros said, still thinking as she stepped out, hands on her hips and turning to look around. “The problem is, finding one Yœn wouldn’t expect me to use. He was there when I memorized the map.” A minute of silent thought passed, before a light seemed to go off in her brain. “Wait here.” And then she was gone, back down the stairs without warning and quicker than expected.
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Marcus looked a little put off by being left alone, but he took the moment to clean himself up a little with a bit of his simple power. He felt much better when his pants and jacket were nearly clean and his hair was clean. Without her here, he could do what he wanted and not receive any questions.
Nearing ten minutes later, someone other than Saros appeared at the top of the stairs. A large man, dressed in the clothes of the man Saros had killed. Actually, the exact man she had killed. Then the features faded away and the man got smaller, tiny and female and grinning devilishly, a sword in hand. The illusion was gone, leaving little wavers of light behind. “On a scale from one to ten, how opposed would you be to wearing bindings?”
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Marcus looked her curiously, a grin upon his face. “Well, fuck. You’re exactly what I’ve been searching for this entire meaningless life: some adventure.” He scoffed at her next words, holding out his wrists for her. “Not at all. Gang does it to me all the time.”
“Good.” Saros pulled out a shirt coil of rope, tying his wrists so that it looked like they were tight and inescapable. They were actually decently loose and easy to remove. “Yœn knows all the routes in and out. He gave me the map. But there is one route he didn’t account for me taking.”
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Marcus stared st the ropes, slightly confused by the looseness of them. He shrugged it off however and looked up at her as she spoke. “Ah, and what route would that be?”
“Straight out the front door.” Saros’s accent thickened just a bit in her excitement, the blend of various street accents almost lilting off her tongue, despite their toughness. (Think a Brooklyn type accent blended with a street/Hispanic) Stepping back, she did a few maneuvers with the sword, testing out its weight and how well she could wield it in a pinch.
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Marcus shuddered lightly at the thought. He really didn't feel like letting this body die. Being discorporated was rather unnerving. "Be careful at least, I don't feel like dying today." he replied bitterly. "Lets get to it, then, lead the way, Rip." the gang member shuffled his feet as he waited for her, eyeing the sword.