Re: The Thief/The Flibbertigibbet
Ezra washed with cold water and a damp rag more often than not. It was a perfunctory thing, like a second thought on the way to bigger and better and far more exciting. He always got squeaky clean, and his curls were ever soft - that was a real pain, they took forever to dry and he often looked like he’d stuck his finger in a lightbulb’s socket. No pomade slicking his hair back into something more presentable, because he preferred to keep them free of product under the rainbow-varnished fingernails that loved to comb through them. He shaved with dirty windows for a mirror, or sometimes not at all. He could go a week or more before the dark curls of his beard started to get prickly and itch but even that wasn’t enough of a bother. It was usually just when he was stopping off at Ma’s house for dinner, and only because didn’t want to hear her endless kvetching about how he looked like a bum.
He watched in benign amusement as the woman shuffled in front of the trunk, then kicked it like the thing had insulted her. “So you just don’t think I have the legs for it, is what I’m hearing. That about right?” Click… scritch, click, CLICK. He huffed out a satisfied breath and straightened to yank the trunk’s lid upright, his smile hooked wider at the sides as he gazed down at the contents. More white, more lace, but most important: sentiment. “That, and you want me to tell you all my deepest secrets. Maybe you’re thinking we’ll be the love story to round out the mystery.”
A glance up again to toss her a wink, lashes thick and darker than a man’s had any right to be, according to his past girlfriends. But it was cursory, the flirting second nature by now. Just like the lock picking, he could practically do it in his sleep. Real quick and then he’d turned back to the trunk’s contents. He wasn’t interested in the wedding dress. Too bulky, not enough resale value. But laying on top was a slim box in the shade of blue that every girl he’d ever met had lusted after, would have clawed their best friend’s eyes out to get their paws on. And nestled inside on a bed of white cotton batting was a circle of silver links, delicate and adorned with a dozen tiny charms that tinkled like wind chimes as he lifted it free and held it up to the light for a moment’s admiration.
“Me? I don’t get my hopes up for any one thing, that way I’m never disappointed. A little money in my wallet is nice, don’t get me wrong. But I’m in it for the hunt.”