Briar was armed. A small knife hidden up her long sleeve on her right arm, a razor blade up her left sleeve, the same hidden in her boots and a handful of charmed buttons to serve as explosives in a pouch at her side. Because as she had gotten older, the fear of having everything taken away, of being at the mercy of people who had power over her yet were weaker, and of being so desperate that she would give up anything to be free, had not gone away. You would think it would. After all, she had money now. Had skills, from both magic and years of discipline and practice. A safe place to roost with more security than the Mayor's house, and a reliable network of allies.
And yet. It was still there. That fear, deep down.
But that is not to say she was tense, or anxious. Instead, she was at ease. Possibly now more than when she was Maeve. That wasn't always the case when she wore her original face. It was a reminder that she was a twice over mongrel, and what had been taken from her mother in order for her to come into existence. And why should she be uncomfortable when she could be anyone at all?
Quick, light hands traced boxes and shelves in the storage room before doing a cursory check along the walls for hidden caches. A few things were interesting, noted for later, but nothing she lingered on long enough to leave too big of an imprint of herself. There were traces here and there of some very...Lovely magic, it swirled here and there and almost seemed to beckon to her. The only thing she actually pocketed as she followed it into the living room was a sparkling glass marble from a vase, purely decorative and probably worth diddly, but it caught her eye and likely wouldn't be missed.
As soon as she entered the living room she was drawn to a sword on the wall like it was a beacon. It glowed beautifully to her eyes and she found it captivating. Briar had no way of knowing what other people saw when they looked at the ancient work of art, could they feel the layers of magical signatures in it? The blood that had been poured into it, voluntarily and not so much? Her dark fingers weaved together behind her even as she leaned forward towards the sword, completely entanced by it but careful not to touch. Instead her eyes were tracing along the inscription that had somehow not faded with time, finding her mind dredging up old lessons in reading Hanzi. There were paintings too, but the things she were mostly interested in were the swords, feet as silent as a cat, but the tiniest sound of excitement came from her as she peered at the second one. These sort of things weren't for casual touching, and her hands stayed behind her back, but damn was it tempting.
Not necessarily stealing them or anything, but just to feel it. Because these would definitely be missed. She wanted to know what he had, what he was capable of, how he would factor into her contigencies, but shitting where you sleep was a dangerous thing. Briar liked to know things about the town and it's residents but she only stole from them if she had a deep plan and the need for it.
If she was just after the painting...Maybe. Those are old hat. But these? No, there were protection spells weaved in here to ward off people like her, she was sure of it. Maybe not by he current owner, hell, maybe they had developed on their own. Old magic had a personality of it's own like that.