Praeditus

Luitgard

Luitgard smiles slightly as she snatches another coin purse from another unsuspecting nobleman. She rolls her eyes. The minute they have something to protect, they broadcast it to everyone by constantly checking that it's still there. She turns, looking for another target. She can see a few noblewomen dotting the crowd of lowborns, but she doesn't steal from women. Ever since she saw a man backhand his wife so hard he broke her nose because Luitgard had stolen her coin purse, she stuck to stealing from men. They wouldn't hit themselves if their coin purse went missing. Men were hypocritical like that.

She focuses on a lordling huddled in the corner, glaring at everyone suspiciously and clutching his pocket. She resists the urge to scoff. Instead, she sashays across the market, making sure to catch his eye – along with the eyes of every male and some females – as she goes. Luitgard could get to the gold without even talking to him, but it would be a great deal harder. And it is more fun to do it this way. Avery, the girl selling trinkets at a stall by the fountain, smiles at her mischievously. Avery knows exactly what Luitgard is doing. "How much for this one?" Luitgard says, pointing to a delicately carved wolf. The wolf is poised as if she's hunting, with one paw up and a snarl on her snout. Luitgard genuinely likes it, and this way she does not have to buy it. The lordling will buy it for her.

"How much for this one?" She asks, louder than normal, to get the lordling's attention.
        "That'll be twenty crowns, milady."

Luitgard lip twitches. She ducks her head slightly as the lordling moves closer. Luitgard knows the moment he decides to talk to her. His gaze travels up and down her body, lingering on her chest, where the corseted blue-green dress is lower cut than what most other noblewomen wear. Luitgard smirks, then turns it into a small smile when his gaze falls upon her face. She pretends to be fussing with the coin purse until the lordling approaches her, a slimy smile upon his face.

"Excuse me, miss. Allow me."

Luitgard's nostrils flare. That is not the way noblemen address noblewomen. He must be the son of a rich lord to have gotten away with such disrespect over the years. She does not give any other visible reaction. She is better trained than that. Instead, she curtseys gratefully, extremely careful not to dip lower than the level of newly-met. He slides Avery the money, and snatches the wolf that she lays on the counter. Lowborns and highborns do not touch each other.

Luitgard reaches a gloved hand out to take the wolf from the lordling, but he closes his hand around it with what is clearly supposed to be a charming smile. "At least allow me to escort you to your carriage."

Luitgard's smile could cut diamonds. "Of course, my lord." She says, careful to enunciate clearly between the words. Only lowborns say milady or milord. He offers his arm, and carefully, Luitgard takes it, making sure not to cut his arm on one of the blade hidden in her sleeves. In the process, his fingers brush over the bare skin on her wrist, and Luitgard freezes. Her pupils dilate and her breath leaves her as she sees his intentions. He is planning on luring her to a secluded place, where he can prey on the fact that she is a defenseless noblewoman. He is counting on her not fighting back. Luitgard grins, a twisted, bitter thing. She always fights.

"Well, my lord? Lead the way."

He grins at her, then tucks her more securely to his side, as if that will prevent her from getting away. What an idiot. All that does is make it easier to reach him with her knives. Luitgard is very careful not to touch his bare skin again.

They walk until Luitgard can no longer hear the chatter of the market behind her. And that is when he turns on her. He shoves her into a small dead-end nook. She goes with it and pretends to stumble, catching herself against the bricks.

"Now, listen," the lordling says, reaching for the laces on his trousers. "If you be nice to me, I'll be nice to you."

Luitgard bares her teeth and draws a knife.
"Aw," he says, mockingly. "What's a little thing like you going to do with a knife like that?"

And she lunges. Shockingly, he manages to catch her wrist, but he's a lording, with soft hands and soft muscles. She's a street thief, hardened by life with whipcord muscles made steel by rage. She wins. He slumps over her slightly, desperately scrabbling at the knife like that will make the blood stop flowing. She heaves him upright, yanking the knife out and stepping to the side at the same time, so that he falls face forward. She takes his coin purse, but leaves everything else. Vain idiot had his crest on everything. It's traceable. She wipes her knife on the arm of his tunic, then slip it into the sheath at her wrist.

She'll have to get home unseen. She's covered in blood. She doesn't think anyone would betray her – commoners stick together – but she doesn't want to take any chances. There's always someone who wants a little extra gold. James, her crew leader, won't be happy with her, Luitgard knows. He'd ordered the Thieves' Guild to keep the eyes of the guard off the market. The murder of a noble would draw them in like the maggots they were.

She sets her jaw, carefully climbing up to the rooftops and edging her way north. She can take James' displeasure and the fists he will undoubtedly throw at her. She has before.