The Brewing Storm

The Anticipation

As soon as I begin the trip home my mind is filled with different ideas. What if I dress up like a worker? The idea was certainly logical, but no fun whatsoever. I could dress up as a mailman, or a mob boss! Picturing the fear in that thief's eyes as I threaten his entire family would've been fun. It only would've been fun because I can't picture those cold calculating eyes filled with any emotion other than contempt, and I can't picture a man like that loving anyone enough to start a family. 

So a regular, boring, and male worker seems to be the answer. Great. Well, it will be an adventure anyway. I involuntarily shiver at the thought of the man's eyes. Ambrose was his name. Rikkard Ambrose. A dignified name to be sure. And those eyes, those piercing eyes. Stop it, Lilly. He is your enemy, not some dream candy. You're a feminist, aren't you? 

My thoughts continue to war over which part of this Ambrose is more important, the hard interior or the admittedly hard exterior. Eventually my feminist tendencies win out, as they should. No good can come from a man who looks like that. 

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that when I walk into my home I don't even notice my aunt glaring at me. "And where have you been?" She asks incredulously. 

My aunt, Mrs. Hester Mahulda Brank, was born in the Victorian Era. Or at least she thinks she was. It is her deepest desire that all women go back to being the perfect housewife whose only purpose is to put food on the table and pop out heirs. Needless to say she doesn't know I have a job. In her opinion a female with a job would cause dishonor for the entire household. 

So despite the evil eye that would scare even the devil into telling the truth, I hold my own. "My dearest aunt," I say, sarcasm thick in my voice, "Whatever do you mean? I was simply running the errand you sent me out on."

She looks like she is about to scoff, but she would never dream of doing something so un-ladylike, so instead she settles for just putting her hands on her hips. "You have been gone for ten hours Missy. And you don't even have the eggs I sent you to fetch! Do you think I have cotton for brains? You're out there gallivanting with a boy, aren't you? You know that your aren't supposed to be hanging around people I haven't met, especially not boys!"

It isn't that my aunt doesn't want me to find a man to make my husband, it is quite the opposite really. She wants me to find a man that will keep me, and fund my uncle's retirement in the process. She doesn't want me picking up some "delinquent" that will knock me up and run away. Not because she cares for me, mind you, but because she doesn't want that dishonor, and she doesn't want another mouth to feed. 

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? I'm already seven months pregnant, so there's no reason to worry," I reply, making sure to emphasize every word so she hears exactly what I'm trying to tell her. 

She looks at me, flabbergasted. Her gaze moves to my stomach, which is admittedly not fat, but certainly not pregnant. Her face contorts into confusion and then into rage. I almost smile at how long it took her to figure out whether I was joking or not. "Room. Now," is all she says before sauntering out of the room, no doubt to go and complain about me to the pile of laundry she always seems to be doing. I'm sure she would love to complain about me to real people, but she doesn't want to chance letting people know her home life isn't completely perfect. 

I grin and walk up the stairs to my room. I pass by my uncle's office as I go and the door is closed as always. I think it is silly of my aunt saving money for his retirement, he never stops working enough to come out of that room. I almost never see him, and even when I do we often don't talk. 

I can't really blame him though, if I was married to someone like that, I wouldn't want to stop working either. It even works in my favor at the moment, as I can finally get what I need to put my plan into motion. 

On my way to my room, I pause by my uncle's bedroom door. As sneakily as I can manage, I slowly open the door. Acting with more sneak than needed for a heist of this measure, I tip-toe over to my uncle's wardrobe. Opening it with the upmost care, I look inside at all of his well pressed clothing. He doesn't go out for work, but still dresses up almost every day. The only item in his closet that I know he hasn't worn in a while is his Sunday best. He works through service most times, and I don't blame him. My aunt makes it such a spectacle that it becomes torture to sit through. 

Smiling to myself, I reach up and grab the hanger to the simple yet elegant coat. As quickly as I can I grab the rest of his clothing that I need and escape out the room, all while sneaking like the most skilled burglar ever known. 

As I fly back to my room, I can't help the evil cackle that leaves my lips. I don't even care if my aunt hears it, who cares if she thinks I'm up to something? She always thinks I'm going to get myself in trouble, it doesn't matter if this time it is actually true. 

I hang up the clothes in my closet and admire them. Oh yes, this will work just fine. Sure it will be a bit loose, and I might have to stuff socks in the shoes to make them fit, but this will work. It has to work. Otherwise, I can't get my vengeance and that Ambrose fellow won't learn his lesson.

I'm not called back down to dinner the rest of the night, and since I live in a house where food can only be eaten at meal times and when guests are over, I go to bed hungry. But even my rumbling stomach cannot lessen my smile. I'm so excited I can barely sleep. Scratch that, there is absolutely no way I'm sleeping tonight. 

It may seem like a silly thing to be that excited over, but I can't help myself. I love adventure, and if there is something I love more than adventure, it is proving someone wrong. Especially if that someone is a domineering man who thinks he is better than the average joe and just steals phones willy nilly. 

I glance over at the blackberry sitting on my bedside table. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I think before reaching over and grabbing it. Opening up the menu, I decide to do a bit of surveillance before executing the a-team worthy plan I have for tomorrow. 

But as soon as I try to open his messages, my smile fades. Other than the email he had open when he left his phone in my charge, I can't seem to access anything. For someone who doesn't know how airplane mode works, they sure can secure a phone. The email I can read doesn't give me much information either, it only has the opening and then his signature. 

Maybe this guy is a mob boss or an FBI agent or something, I think about the mini tantrum he threw after coming into my little place of work. No, that can't be it. But what could this man do for a living? It is a question that I don't have any clue how to answer. But instead of the idea filling me with dread or fear, it only excites me to no end. 

Whoever this madman is, he will know my fury. 

Knowing I will need energy for tomorrow, I try my best to go to bed. I really do. But I can't seem to help myself. I'm too excited. Nothing fun ever happens in my life. I finished high school much to my aunt's dismay, but college was out of the question. I have no hope of paying for it myself, and my aunt would never tolerate such a thing. My secret job is the majority of the "fun" I get. 

My one solace is my best friends, all freedom fighters like myself. We work tirelessly to create equality for everyone. But getting together with them is easier said than done, and I haven't seen them in a long-ish time. It feels like a long time at least. 

So this adventure tomorrow, it is enough to get me very excited. Rikkard Ambrose has no idea what is coming his way.

I'm finally lured to sleep by thoughts of Ambrose's face as he sees this hurricane blow in tomorrow morning.