damia ravin speaks fluent sarcasm (contrabandist) wrote in emillion, |
That time, the blonde had rolled her eyes, but only after Altair had slipped past. Whatever he thought she was definitely not looking for? Wrong place and time. (A sewer romp, though-- that would be something for the books, especially if the fiends watched.)
Damia watched him feel his way around, moving to sheath her dagger while he did so. The sewers were full of secret entrances, exits, nooks and crannies-- places the Fighters' Guild weren't as knowledgeable of. Although a map might have been useful, there was no need-- they knew exactly where they were going, despite the turns and random dead ends.
At his offer, she wordlessly stepped forward, reaching behind to procure a set of lock picks from a hidden pouch tucked under her shirt. Adventures like these required special tools, and picks were easy enough to hide away. Not enjoying the prospect of giving Altair a show if she bent over, the corsair easily dropped into a squat, fingers and picks working at the padlock.
"Wait until one of them squeals at the sight of a rat that goes up to their shins," she offered distractedly, twisting her hand the other way. Poking fun at the other Guilds was always entertaining. Her boot scraped the grimy floor when she shifted. "I don't know which would be more embarrassing: the squeal or the echo through the tunnels."