Welcome to Gaia! ::

When I posted this elsewhere, I got this guild mentioned to me, so I figure.. :3
I know it's really cliche and the ending is laaaame.


The cobblestone road was slick brown in the late-night August storm, torchlamps casting an orange glow onto the wet path every so often. Even though it had been nice enough out the past few nights (although a little too hot and sticky, the gentlemen and ladies would think to themselves, with the masochistic sense of manners not to complain) the rain poured relentlessly down the near-deserted London street. Now and then a maid who had been on an errand or a boy who was earlier playing outside would run past, dashing carefully across the rain-soaked road. Neon blue lightning spiderwebbed across the underside of a cloud.

She walked out of the inn in a flattering beige floral dress, holding a large grey overcoat above herself to avoid the rain. Two or three buildings behind her, a head popped out of a window, shook in disbelief, and retreated back inside, shutting the window tight after it. A decorated black carriage clattered dangerously in the same direction she was headed, at least for the moment, but several blocks ahead of her so she could not bargain for a ride.

Increasing her pace, she pulled the overcoat tighter around herself, not only keeping her skin, hair, and clothes dry, but providing her with a sense of comfort against the night. She could be as much of a renegade as she liked, but the shadows of London alleyways inevitably held someone, something, far more diabolical and threatening. In the darkness of the city, the most unreasonable and evil types of man or beast lurked behind every corner. In her mind, anyway.

In reality, twenty-five feet behind her, in the middle of a darkened alleyway, lay a sleeping orphaned girl in dirty stolen coats. She was soaked through with rain and shivering, even in the slight humidity. A rat skittered past her, a precious shred of apple core in its stomach. The rats took everything that she could eat, and left her with diseases varying and formidable. Her stomach growled. Sixty feet behind the woman in the dress, the little girl dreamed about fields of lupin as she died of malnutrition.

Possibly it was because she was aware of herself that the woman in the dress was afraid of the night. She knew that she worked at night, and so did others allied with her, and so then must others who she did not know, and who did not know her, and who would not regret her death at their hands. Her pace quickened again as she crossed the wet square in the middle of the town. Rainfall worked its way through the cracks below her feet, slowly winding its way through the labyrinth. More philosophical minds than her own would have found similes and allusions, she found the slippery stones damned inconvenient.

Eventually, she turned left down an alleyway with an iron gate in front: rusted through. She shoved it out of her way as usual, practically running down the alley out of irritation and fear. Small or not, it was dark, but halfway through a staircase led down to a gaudy-looking door. It was assumed by the common people to be a highly expensive brothel catering to the rich and thus ignored; the rich never went down small alleyways and thus possessed no knowledge of its existence; the police were, as usual, paid off.

She knocked thrice, then waited and knocked once again, then twice rapidly. The door creaked open and she stamped inside, shoving the overcoat at a man sitting at a corner table, smoking an old pipe. The coat was absolutely drenched and put out the flame. The man stood up immediately and began to curse at her, but stopped when he remembered to check the pockets. Once he had, a devilish grin spread across his face, and he pocketed whatever it was she had been instructed to return. For a decent sum. A few coins to jangle in her pocket, and the satisfaction of slaughtering the owner of the overcoat, a man she'd never known.

She undid the bun in her hair and started walking further into the den, the gathering-place of thieves and murderers, a radical political group that she did not ally with so much as keep loyalty to out of necessity: they had the best jobs and the best pay. Her auburn hair fell an inch past her shoulderblades. She entered her sleeping quarters, tossed the hairtie on the communal endtable, and relaxed onto her bed.

She blew out the candle. In the darkness, she dreamt of fields of lupin.