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Rows upon rows of flowers, a cacophony of contrasting yet complementary colors. Flanked on each side by the purest of water—pure enough to drink, and here it was, being used for decoration, encircling a flower garden in a fake moat, lined with golden fences and flattened silver, to give the water a nice reflective glow. It was the kind of opulence that made one want to weep, either out of sheer joy or bitter envy, although… in his case, it was very likely just the pollen making his eyes water.

A little gremlin hanging from the outermost wall, looking down at this tranquil scene with a joyful grin, despite the redness in his eyes. He was practically naked, with little more than a pair of shorts and a few scraps wrapped around his chest and shoulder to keep the bag hanging off his back in place. His skin was a tar black, the child of the darker continent, and the only thing darker on him was his hair, which was as dark as the night sky and flowed all the way down to the base of his exposed spine.

His teeth seemed especially bright when contrasted with his face.

Fearlessly, he hopped over the wall, landing in one of the many bushes that hugged the inside of the outer wall. Snaps broke and leaves fell, but he landed more-or-less unbruised. From the bush, his bright brown eyes zeroed in on his target: The flowers.

He darted forward, stopping at the false moat only long enough to bow and take a long drink, before hopping over it and grabbing the flowers at the stems, roughly yanking them from the ground only to gingerly place them in his bag, careful to preserve the petals as best he could. From within the manor, he could hear people—didn’t seem like they were coming up here yet, so he had plenty of time, right?

Once his bag was filled to the brim with robbed color and life, he started hopping back over to the moat, making extra effort to kick over every flower he couldn’t steal on his way. But, just as he reached the water, his feet skid to a stop into the grass as he stared into the waters, which were still and pristine… only a few of his overlong hairs and clumsily dropped water petals floating on the crystal-clear water.

He glanced back at the manor, furrowing his eyes as he reached into his shorts and withdrew his privates. Well… while he was here…

He closed his eyes and gasped gently as he let the urine flow, falling into the otherwise untainted water and causing a growing patch of golden yellow to expand through. Good thing he had been holding it in for so long, otherwise-

“H-hey! What on earth are you-!”

He nearly fell into the piss-filled water with how quickly he turned around, his urine still shooting out of his head as he spied an older man, likely a manservant, standing at the door into the manor. He was holding a water bucket. Well. Awkward.

Looks like you’re in trouble.

“Yeah, what’s new or different?” The boy yelped, hopping over the river, not bothering to hide his junk as he smashed into the bushes, trying to find a foothold to re-scale the wall. However, he was finding none, and behind him he heard a sharp whistle and a grunt of distraught as the poor manservant fully grasped the ruined state of the garden. Still, he was coming, and if he got caught, well… it’d be worse than a box to the ears, eh?

It’s not too late.

“A bit early, I’d say… gimmie a sec…” The boy bit his lower lip, before his eyes traveled the length of the wall to the corner… eyes brightening up, he darted through the bushes, breaking twigs and stepping on matted grass, until he reached the corner. With a little grin, he put one foot on one corner, and kicked himself upwards, catching his foot on the other wall, which he kicked himself against… hopping awkwardly but rapidly up the side of the wall, until he was all the way at the top.

The manservant jumped after him, but lacking the grace or agility of the boy, could merely hop up and down in an infuriated rage as the kid cackled, crawling up atop the wall and spinning on his heel, offering him a playful grin and the last few drops of urine still inside him, which caused the manservant to gasp in horror.

“Welcome to the real world!” The boy called, “Ugly n’ cold, right?!”

That’s when the guards showed up, brandishing crossbows—eyes growing wide again, the boy hopped off the side, cackling while the bolts flew over him. Likely to crash into someone’s windows or hit some poor fool in the back of the head.

Another successful heist, another dispelled lie.

He was the beauty thief. And it was his mission to rob the world of it all.

His kingdom was the rancid pits, the wretched underbelly of this presumably golden city. The sewers were his grand halls, the ghetto was his court, and his throne of choice was the gristle pit. The gristle pit was a deep hole near the docks on the south side of the city—in that hole, dead animals, uneatable fish, and the dead or dying poor were chucked, to decompose someplace far away from the eyes of the town. The smell was unbearable, and it was swarmed with carrion feeders, scavengers who were sometimes so overeager they would even tear into those helpless poor who clawed desperately at the side of the pit, begging to be returned to their homes or families. They were ignored… both by the scavenging animals gorging themselves on the rotten flesh, and by the bone-pickers, the hopeless souls who earned a living digging bones from the pit to sell to ivory traders.

But there was one, however, who listened. He sat upon the decomposing corpses, dressed in blood-stained garbs, with a crown of weeds resting upon his forehead. His face was half-melted from plague, his eyes gray and sore from a growing blindness, and his arms were about a foot longer than any normal humans. He appeared as a beast. He was a legend to the people of the city, a phantom occasionally glimpsed in darkened streets… but to the poor, to those who lived in his kingdom, he was more than a mere folk story… he was their king.

That evening, he was seated upon his throne of cadavers, the dead flesh cradling his body as he stared, dispassionately, at an army of rats swarming the meat-hill, scurrying about as if trying to communicate some message, or perhaps, perform some dance for his entertainment. He was never quite certain. But he knew them, and he loved them, and he had named them each, and recognized them by their squeaks and whines, and yet… today… his affection seemed… distant.

His mind was on other things.

A crow cawed. He glanced his eyes upwards, to see a circling group of black birds lowering themselves to him. A report on the girl. They relayed the conversation she had to him, word for word, line for line, and he listened with great intent… but when they were finished, he seemed no happier than before. If anything, his melancholy had grown ever deeper. His hazy eyes returned to his rats, which had stopped their dance and were standing on their little feet now, looking at him for some direction. Some order.

“…keep dancing.” He ordered, his voice rasping and deep, raising his unusually long arms to gesture to his rats. “We are not yet ready…”

It was called the Utopia of Light. The Golden City. The Kingdom of the Waves. The Halo of the Peninsula. The City of One-Thousand Singers. But on the map, it was only known as Eiino.

Eiino belonged to country of Charston, and despite being newer and smaller than the capital, but it was certainly more famous. It was built on a small island chain in the middle of a tropical sea, with nearly every island covered with buildings and connected by bridges of ferries. It was a place of opulence—its newness meant that wealthy patrons from around the world came to buy buildings, blocks, or even entire islands to develop. And while that discord meant that Eiino could feel like a completely different city depending on which island you were on, all the islands had one thing in common—they were affluent works of art, covered with amazing buildings, lavish public works, gardens that would have made a priest weep… and prohibitive price tags for anyone not in the upper lower class. Anyone too poor to live in one of the ‘named districts’ had to make a home in the ‘government quarters’—the few islands that were officially and properly run by the largely malnourished Eiino government. They were ghettos, with wooden homes, poor water, wrenched conditions, and prone to flooding.

The world at large had a million names for Eiino. But for the people who lived there, there was only one that seemed to fit: the City of Opposites. Nowhere else in the world, as far as they knew, was the class divide so punctuated. And yet, despite this stark contrast, Eiino was also a land of thusfar unrivaled possibility. Skilled artists oftentimes found themselves being invited to named districts, elevated to the heights of society, to add their own unique touch of beauty to the heart of the city. While it wasn’t uncommon for failed businessmen, disgraced nobles, or out-of-favor artists to fall right back into a government quarter, scraping by as cleaners, fishermen, bone-pickers, cooks, carpenters, or members of the Clan.

For two-hundred and twelve years, Eiino had found itself as the prize between warring countries, embroiled in political debate, suffered three different fires, seven disastrous summer storms, and countless attacks by sea-bound raiders. Yet, it was these years that have proved the most trying: for the past two months, the entire city had, despite its best efforts, found itself infected with Vintoa, the deadly plague sweeping across the mainland. Bridges were closed. Ferry’s shut down. Quarantines put in order, entire districts set to the flame, and yet, the disease spread, and now all but three districts were infected: the Bruno District, the Quate District, and Government Quarter 7, where the mayor and parliament met. Now, so much as coughing in one of those districts was enough to see you kicked to a neighboring island.

Not that the neighboring islands were havens of death and decay. They were just teetering on the edge of it.

“Were they herbs?” She asked, not turning around as the young, nearly-naked southern boy leaned against a half-rotten stool, gnawing on a piece of only slightly moldy bread.

“Didn’t look like it.” He answered.

“You still could have checked with me before you burnt them.” She snapped, her rather large body causing the entire medical raft to groan as she moved between patients. How she had managed to be so poor yet gain so much weight was beyond the Beauty Thief, but it didn’t slow her down, not in the slightest. She was kneeling and applying medicine faster than the floggers could sunder their flesh and bone from their own backs. An effective nurse, if horribly impersonal, not even slowing when the nearly dying clawed at her bustling dress and begged her to entertain a last wish.

“Scuse me.”

“I’m not just going to forgive you for that one. I expect three tup’s for the bread.”

“Three? For this rat bait?” He furrowed his eyebrows, tearing it out of his mouth to waggle it In her direction, despite the fact she wasn’t looking. “Two. I’ll give you tw-“

She snatched it out of his hand without even a backwards glance, stuffing it into the mouth of one of per patients, who gnawed on it gratefully the moment she realized what exactly she had given her. He huffed, eyes growing cross as he folded his arms over his chest.

“No deal.” She replied.

“Yeah. I got that.” He harrumphed. “Fine. Well, I’m kind of low on tup’s right now anyway. Anyone meet the waves as of late?”

“I’m not giving you anything for burnt flowers, kid, not if I didn’t get to watch them burn. You’re gonna have to do something else if you want a dead man’s change.”

“Aw, s**t.” He sighed, watching the sickly woman swallow another bite of his bread gratefully. “My dowerings didn’t give me much either. Guess you shits want a real show, huh?”

“Lots of bitterness since the Duncan Ejection. We want something comparable.” She finally turned to look at him, her eyes bandaged and her lower law just a little too large to fit onto her face comfortably. Her black hair ran down her face like spiraling roots, and a thick coat of sweat clung to her chubby face. They were both sweating, what with how humid and hot it was this time of years. Insects swarmed the medical rafts constantly, and dead mosquitoes she couldn’t be bothered to brush off remained pancaked to her face. “I’m the same. Now you’re either going to help fetch water or you’re going to get off this ship.”

“And away I go.” He snickered, sticking out his tongue and hopping off the stool. “Don’t meet death there, Lady MarMar~”

“It’s Maria!” She snapped, “Keep talking like that and I’ll have one of these fools spit in your face!”

~*~

Getting onto one of the islands was easy—stopping the Ferry’s and blockading the bridges wasn’t nearly enough to stop people from island-hopping, if you knew where to go. In his case, he knew of a nice brewery that pulled its water straight from the sea, and it was super easy to just climb up a pipe and sneak out from the basement—maybe even steal a swig while he was there. Never did anything more destructive, though—god forbid they actually start guarding their basement. He snuck out, and, then, there he was—a half-naked ghetto-boy standing in the golden streets and silver lights of the Quate district. His mere presence was enough to corrupt the beauty of the district, but, well… his patrons liked proof of his work, so he could never stop there.

He began his hunt. A slow, careful prowl through the city, wary of any unwanted eye that could rat him to the nobility’s secret police. He’d slunk, from shadow to shadow, taking every opportunity to gain some height and scan for some pretentious artwork or ghastly show of color that he could deface, but then… during his stalk… his eyes caught something even more beautiful than these streets or the artwork that decorates it. Something that could give his patrons the catharsis they really desired… if he pitched it right. He licked his lips, sauntering through the darkness until he closed in on his quarry…

“Course he’s going to run. When nobles help the stick these days, they tend to just help em’ to their graves.” He chuckled, swinging one leg carelessly over the side of the wall, leaning against the top as he stared down at the girl like an overconfident cat. “But you… you seem sincere. And a little desperate too. You that lonely for someone to talk too that you’d just talk to strangers on the street?”

He flashed her a big ol’ grin, the kind that she could see in even this dark night.

“So how about a plucky thief for company, eh?”

She didn’t’ look happy to see him. But then, it was rare that a noble were happy to see a thief—let alone the occasionally notorious Beauty Thief. His fame was… selective. A few noblemen knew him better than most, and while they made no secret of their repulsion they were very rarely outspoken about it. It was one thing to demand the capture of a criminal… it was another to admit you had been outwitted by the same teenager several times in a row. But then, their noble composure and pompous self-congratulations was just another thing to rob.

“Same way the vines did.” He snickered, running his hand up and down the green clinging to the side of the wall. “I climbed. And please, think a bit more optimistically—I ain’t half naked, I’m clearly half-dressed. Too hot for a full dress, I say. Muggy, that the word? Not that I know much about that.”

Despite his confidence and his clear swagger, he had to admit, this was going differently than he expected. He felt… drawn to this girl. A strange… like… itch in his chest, the kind he could only scratch if he spoke with her. He had thought he was luring her to a trap, but… was she the true siren here…?

“Still, if we’re gonna be friends, we’ve gotta introduce ourselves!” He beamed, sitting up straight and swinging his legs under him. “My friends call me BT. Strangers call me ‘that black kid’, so… I guess if we’re friends or strangers depends on how you address me.”

“If there’s one thing you nobles could stand to learn from peasants like me,” He chuckled, winking playfully as his tongue wagged out. “It’s that you can keep a grip on anything if you try hard enough.”

When she called him BT, He hopped down from the wall, landing gracefully onto the ground, brushing off his legs with some broad sweeps of his hands, then waving some vines and leafs off his butt soon afterwards. Offering his hand and a more friendly grin, he offered her a chance to shake, although… he very quickly withdrew it after he gave it some thought.

“Then again, shaking hands at a time like this is probably a bad idea.” He shrugged, “Anyway. I’m from around. Born out of town, as you could probably guess. My old man and his new wife have a fishery down at GD 10. Not that I visit much, I’ve been… well… that’s neither here nor there.”

He waved his hand dismissively, eyes closing as he rocked on his heels.

“So, this your garden?” He inhaled slowly, enjoying the freshness of the area. “Seems nice. But I get the impression you don’t come out here very often.”

“I see!” he glanced around… it was certainly a lovely garden. So lovely, in fact, it was exactly the kind of thing he would have vandalized, if he hadn’t just been painfully reminded by his patrons that burning flowers doesn’t offer the same… catharsis as his other work. So he’d live this along well enough, but… even then, the garden was never really his target.

He was still musing what to do with her. She was beautiful, too beautiful to leave alone, and hearing about a spoiled nobleman’s daughter being taught a lesson or three on the ugly nature of reality would certainly draw the eyes and the tups. Easiest thing to do would be a quick job on her face, claw that up a bit, maybe take an eye or her lips… leave her scarred beyond recognition, until she could do nothing but wander these gardens and sob, wailing into her pale hands like a ghost, haunting and mourning her lost beauty. But then… he couldn’t really take a trophy from that, now could he? No proof. And while he had certainly earned a lot of trust with his customers they still preferred something a bit more than words alone. So, he thought maybe he could kidnap her—draw her before the crowd like a caged beast, to mewl and cry helplessly as she was probed with curses, before quietly disposing of her to keep the law off their backs. A hideous curse.

Ah, but that wasn’t really his style. Besides, he was a lanky, stringy bloke—he couldn’t kidnap a wiry cat, let alone a full-grown woman. So, now, he was toying with something else… something he could still steal from her to display before enraptured crowds. What about… her heart?

If he could steal her heart, her love… why, that would be his greatest heist! What a tale to tell, a young woman, knowing only luxury and the toils of the court, falling for a young rapscallion that crawled through the gutter for most of his days… it would leave them in tears, and their lungs raw from laughter!

“I trust a young lady like yourself must be the star of the show!” He chuckled, “I trust you draw many eyes. And… correct me if I’m wrong, but… you must not like it very much, do you? You’re quite the contradiction, aren’t you… you look to be alone, but you still really want to chat? What could make a girl so strange?”

“Well, I’m a bit of a contradiction myself, as a matter of fact.” He proudly jabbed his chest with his thumb, grinning as he triumphantly spread his legs apart and looked up at the stars. “The best thief in town, but the poorest as well. You talk to the Manchette House, you say my name to Queensguard, you mention me to the Paurets… you tell me if they don’t know me, eh?”

This won’t work. You’ll never do it on your own. She’s perfect, and look at you.

“…but then, maybe don’t.” He shrugged, acting as if he hadn’t just heard such taunting whispers into his ear. “All you’ll get is angry looks and accusations. Or, I guess, you could always set up a trap for me. I’d like to come back tomorrow night, if you’ll let me.”

Well. That was confident, borderline cocky even. He wasn’t sure he had the skill to back that confidence up, honestly.

You could.

“To be honest, your father’s treasures don’t interest me, and there’s nothing in this garden worth stealing, so… I was just going to be on my way, but, when I saw you sitting here, asking talk to sick men, well… I couldn’t resist. But you’re fun. And different. And I have yet to find a noble willing to exchange words, so…”

You’re bad at this.

“I know…” He muttered under his breath, only to look up at her and confidently smile. “Besides, don’t say I haven’t stolen anything. Arguably I’ve stolen the most important thing you have—your time.”