Perspective of Blade
After so many years of experience, this mission would be a piece of cake. Stealing had become an art form, which was why the boss thought it would be good for the new girl to come along. Despite its easy nature, Scrap's face looked determined, even with her black and silver mask covering most of her face. She was always so intense; she had no idea how to relax. It was exhausting.
Our trio crept along the streets, hopping between shadows. Floating orbs of light lit up the streets, bobbing slightly in the dead of night. We made sure to walk only in the darkness cast from the towering houses. All of this secrecy was rather unnecessary, seeing as we failed to see a single person on our way to the mansion.
"You sure you can use that dagger?" I asked Scrap with a smirk, twirling my sword. "I could handle it for you."
"How about I stab you with it and we'll see? I've been training with this blade longer than you have been in the Magia. I know how to fight," she seethed. She was snarky and irritating, but it was fun to poke at her. She made it too easy. Good thing I did not work with her often. My Department was known for being more brash and strong, versus her department of stealth and grace. I was just the guy with the blades on this mission.
We got to our destination, and I could not help but stop for a second, in awe. Our country was small, but a large amount of people were packed into a small space. To fix problems of space, people began to build up. With the aid of gravity defying magic, architects layered room over room until most houses reached up to the sky. The taller your house was, the richer you were. Soon it became a competition: which noble's house was the tallest. The base was always only the size of a single room, but as I looked up at this house, I recognized it as one of the tallest in the city. It seemed to scraped the sky with its precarious top floor playing in the clouds. It would not fall, though. Magic made it so. Magic was one thing you could count on.
I personally lived in the fourth room up of a stacked house near the castle. I only had a studio, but it was enough for my sister and me. I was barely ever there anyway. The Magia combined with a full time job was enough to keep anyone busy, and I had adapted to the small amount of sleep I got. My father had been the same: The Magia, a job, pouring ourselves into our work. We had connected when I followed in his footsteps. I used to live in my cramped space with my father. Back then, I yearned for a room to myself. Sometimes it's funny, how life answers your prayers in a ironic, painful ways.
I whistled, my neck tilted back so I could see the house. "Wow. How we gonna do this, Scrappy?"
"Same as ever. Just don't get in the way." She also looked slightly intimidated before putting her hand up to its fence. She closed her eyes and worked with the magic she always had. I had stopped trying to figure out the mystery that is Scrap a long time ago. Sure enough, the gate popped open with a hiss and a few wafts of smoke. We walked up to the house in a line, Scrap in front and myself in the rear. "Enchantments are down," Scrap whispered. She tried the door handle. The big brass lock was obviously locked.
"Usually we use magic for this part, too. Or we break in the window, depends on our mood. But by all means, your way might be more...conservative," I said, gesturing for the new girl to step forwards.
"Stop being snarky," Scrap hissed at me, scanning the perimeter before turning her eyes towards the door.
The girl pulled out an thin metal tool, and within three seconds, there was a click and the door swung open. "Nice," Scrap muttered.
"I officially dub you 'Key' of the Magia. Welcome," I said.
"Hey! That was my job!" Scrap whispered angrily. She looked personally offended. I just shrugged. Scrap had probably wanted to nickname her new initiate, but stealing the thunder was unintentional here. If the shoe fit, the key fit.
We all walked in, careful to mask the sound of our steps. "Fine. So, Key. You need to know—People do put wards on their houses to keep people like us out," Scrap whispered quietly and hurriedly. "But what they don't understand is that counterspells will always work for whoever has more magic. I'm not a talented magician. I just have more magic," she explained.
I glanced around, holding my sword out in front of me. The place had signs of magic everywhere. The ceilings were painted landscapes of the sky, clouds bouncing around the walls. Stacks of papers laid scattered in piles that, by the normal laws of gravity, should be falling. Papers stacked up on chairs, sofas, and a desk filled a space much larger than the room looked from the outside. This seemed to be a terribly cluttered living room. I was a clean freak, and this room made me internally cringe. When you lived in a space as small as I did, you learned the art of minimalism.
I stuffed a few trinkets and expensive odds and ends inside my bag, along with some practical items. Anything embellished with gold was often worth something. Since magic could be stored in gold, the higher nobility always had lots of it. If you were lucky, there was often magic inside of it. Scrap was the lucky one here; she always found which items had magic in them, even if the items looked negligible to me. It was an enigma, how she did managed to find the best pieces. She was a gold magnet.
Key looked around and then started to climb the ladder to the next floor, motioning for us to follow. The next room was a kitchen that smelled like vanilla, even in the middle of the night. The extraneous use of magic was appalling in houses like this one. I grabbed some food from this room, looking around once again. One of the windows looked out at a forest of tall mangroves, even though we were on the second floor of a city house. People had to be given props for creativity.
In the next room, Key stopped. She gestured for us to stop. This room was mostly empty, with coats and blouses hanging against one wall, a wall of shoes on the other. She went to an empty wall and popped off a panel I never would have noticed. Behind it was a safe. "How the—?" I began before she punched in a code and it swung open.
The safe was filled with invaluable items. Chunks of pure gold probably filled to the brim with magic, stacks of plain paper, and lots of coins. "That's also part of my skill set: I see things like the panel that are supposed to escape notice. I could have found that in any house," Key said, twisting her hair around her finger. "But the code—well, I know that because this is my house."
Scrap and I were both silently baffled for a moment before filling our pockets and bags. We did not know what to say. She was clearly dedicated to the Magia if she was stealing from her own house, but why? I could not relate, as a member of the poorest peasants, but I did not know if I would have been able to steal from my parents when they were alive.
We returned the house to the way it was, sneaking out without a trace except for the missing items. No one would be able to do anything about our thievery. I doubted they would even report it. Staying on the King's good side meant keeping a facade of perfection around you. Getting robbed meant you had even less coin and gold than before, and that your enchantments had been broken. People who had been robbed were often shown as weak and deserving it. For once, the hierarchy worked in our favor.
We left Key there, considering it was her home. Scrap patted her shoulder. "I'm impressed with your dedication. Get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow, Key."
Scrap and I walked swiftly through the streets, not saying a word to each other as we returned to the base. We handed over our treasures to those in charge of distribution. The things we had stolen would be given to the poor in the streets and those in suffering. That was why I did this job. Along with the fact that I got to keep a good bit of coin for myself. Scrap kept nothing, which meant she must be well off in her normal life or extremely selfless. I would bet on the former, considering how extremely selfish she was.
Traditionally, the thief kept a small portion of the spoils. A reward for a job well done. Our job was not easy, and not one for the faint-hearted. That heist had gone smoothly, but it could have easily gone bad. And with a team made of Scrap and a newbie, I would have had only myself to rely on.
As we walked out of the distribution room, Scrap had people waiting for her. She had an entire team underneath her, and even though she was about the same age as me and approximately half the height, she had become a den mother of sorts. Even though she had screwed up her first Godmothering job terribly, she still had a bunch of people looking up to her. She was intelligent and brave and incredibly resourceful. Or so they thought.
I didn't have that. I had only been here two years, but even if I had been here for half my life like she had, I didn't think I would ever have people who cared if I made it back from a mission. The Weapons Department was made up of a cold group of people, and I never expected nor received any love from them. If I became their DH one day, I would receive chilled respect from those under me and fear from other Departments.
I came to the Magia when my father died. As a fifteen year old boy, I took his place here. He had been Head of the Department of Weapons. Having been taught how to fight long ago, I joined his previous Department under the leadership of a new, cold man. When I joined, I was looking for a purpose, and for something to fill the hole he left behind.
People did not take me seriously at first because I had gotten my place through my father's death. Though I may have gotten there because of his connections, I stayed because of my talent. I put my own blood and sweat into earning respect for my skills as one of the most talented at combat. I garnered a reputation as a ruthless soldier, unparalleled in his age group in battle. And on the way, I lost the sense of family. I had friends, but not like Scrap did.
If I had to wager, I would say Scrap was a rich girl in her normal life. She probably had whatever she wanted. She was probably pretty, or at least average looking. With all the extra magic she had, she probably could make her face look however she wanted. I could have been looking at a mirage for two years. But I didn't think so. She was too self assured. She was probably pretty, she probably could buy anything she wanted, and she probably had friends. She probably had friends in her real life and here. And I had none. That's what made me snap.
Comparison kills.
I glanced at Scrap and scowled when she saw I was looking at her. The words that came out of her mouth surprised me, but I felt like perhaps it had to be addressed. "Why do you hate me so much? You've always hated me. Even before you knew me."
My face stayed annoyed. "You really want to know? You walk around here like you own the place. You act like God—no, you act like whoever created God. And everyone seems to love that."
"I'm not—"
I cut off whatever flimsy excuse she had lined up. "You are. You are like that. From the moment I first heard the way words came out of your mouth, I knew you were a fake. This is all an act. Who are you really?"
"Everyone here is acting. It's part of the job." Her face was covered with a mask, but I could tell she was hurt. So why didn't I stop?
"They're not acting like you are. I think that in your real life, you must just be some rich girl who gets high on attention from all the rest of your vapid friends. Someone selfish. Girls like you come a dime and dozen, but here, you feel special because you can walk all over everyone else. Because we're poor."
When I saw tears on her face, I held my tongue. I went too far with this, but it was too late to take it back, so I kept my face straight.
"At least I'm not a nobody like you," she said quietly. This sentence struck a nerve, but I deserved it. She walked away from me, wiping at her eyes while trying to be subtle. What I said was mean, but there were threads of truth I could not deny.