Blunt

Had Never Been

She had never been as impatient as then, her fingers flexing every few seconds, the sound of her own knuckles cracking annoying her. She slid back into the shadows, blending in with darkness, until when she felt right, she appeared back. Encased in a chest binder and black and red uniform, she stood erect, a rifle hung low on her waist. Several others in the same shade of uniform as the one she wore scurried past her, not stopping for a salute; when you guard a post, you guard a post. When someone salutes you, you salute back. When nothing happens, you guard the post.

The black, british soldier like hat made from faux fur sent angry attacks to her head, past her cropped hair; the itch was getting stronger by seconds, and her patience tested. She could lash out at anyone who might suddenly give her a salute. She cracked her knuckles again; if standing still was what she needed to do, then standing still she would do. But her anger remained in the back of her head, a reminder that she could as well kill a rabies infected elephant rather than to stand still for over 3 hours.

She imagined what could she be doing right then, had she been allowed to carry on the mission. But no, she was a girl, and a girl she would always be. This heist, like none other before, required more than just a record time lock picking skill, or a black belt judo mastery, or the skill to recognize a fake painting just from the amount of brush strokes one could see from a mile away. This heist, especially, required men to do it.

So what if it required men to do it? I'm standing guard, and am disguising myself as a man.

Another dozen of soldier marched past her, dismissing her existence because she was just another guard. The thought that not only as a woman her rights had been neglected, now her false status as a guard also had been reduced to that of an invisible air made her rather upset. Yes, she was, to say the least, infuriated.

But deep down it was not the neglection towards her right, nor the dismissal of her existence as a guard that made her anxious. It was how it had been almost 3 hour and she hadn't seen her comrades out of the stone walled palace even once, or at least saw someone she could recognize. So far it had only been a few dozen of soldiers who dared to underestimate her. The pounding in her chest was getting faster and louder, small, annoying thoughts fleeting across her mind - what if they had been caught? What if they have simply forgotten that I'm still standing guard? What if, and for the Lord's sake, please don't let this be true, they are dead by now, and the only reason I am not informed is because no one alive knows about my disguise?

Oh, shush it, she growled mentally. I knew it should have been me who go inside. Men or no men, I know this job far better than anyone else.

She didn't realize that the soldiers were increasing in both speed and amount. By then, her ears picked up the unusual, rather loud and hasty footsteps, and she stared at the panicking soldiers. Hushed orders floated, an upset tone clear, "SHUT THE DOORS AND OTHER PASSAGES! NO ONE IS GETTING OUT! NO ONE! NO ONE UNTIL THE KING'S GOLDEN CRATE IS FOUND!"

She felt a tug on the corners of her lips, a victorious (and a bit disappointed, since she didn't get to take a part in the said thievery) dance played inside her head. And then a sinister voice came, reminding her: "great, the heist is done, but now there is no way out. No escape, no more."

Glancing around, she checked if anyone were to notice her disappearance from her guard post. None. Abruptly she wrapped her fingers around the rifle on her waist and blended into the panicking soldiers. Royal guards, or soldiers, had always been like this; unprepared when a surprise attack comes. In no time the rivalling kingdom will know about this, and there's no doubt they will take advantage of it. Though even if they know, it has got nothing to do with me. By the time they attack, I would be safe, back in our basecamp, enjoying a frothy cup of milk tea.