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Thread: Thief - the Mental Age, chapter six

  1. #1
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama

    Thief - the Mental Age, chapter six

    Thief II: The Mental Age

    A Thief II parody by Lars Melander (odourpreventer)
    Based on the work made and copyrighted © 2001 by Seamus Sullivan (Muuurgh)
    Special thanks to Sarah Hard (Catkyn)



    No. It's simple,
    bumming money ain't cool,
    and I ain't lending money to no uncool dude.
    I have to see some benefit,
    and I don't. You dig?


    – heard at the Barnes and Noble corner café, Performing Arts Night, around ten in the evening

  2. #2
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Chapter 6 – You've got blackmail!


    It's time for a face-to-face chat with my old friend Sheriff Normand Trout. I don't think he will care much for his treatment of lowlife being made public—he is a government official after all. Scheming with religious nuts however, that should be a secret he wouldn't like parting with.

    It was "cocktail night" at Trout estate, which is a nice title for an excuse to get roaring drunk among other people. "Night of the living dead" might be a more appropriate name, considering the level of intoxication of the guests. Through the evening, I've heard the faint noises of carousing and breaking of glass – both those for drinking and those for separating outside from inside.

    Things are calming down. Guests are leaving, the ones who can walk helping those who can't. I watched the last guest meandering into the night an hour ago.

    Recording? Check. Map of Trout Manor? Check. Sinister plan? Check.

    It's time to let Trout say hello to my little friend.

  3. #3
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Well, he wasn't much for discretion, was he? Some people were content with a window or a small shutter to check who's knocking on the door. Trout, Gary noticed, used a fully adorned security camera.

    Who knows? Gary thought, It might have been the decorator's idea. The patrolling guards wore the faces common to people who had to spend time in the vicinity of a party but weren't invited.

    Gary unfolded a note he had received from an informant of his:

    Hi Gary,

    We're to do some repair work next week at the premises. The estate walls have more cracks in them than a pair of old leather boots. Should be no problem for a skinny boy like yourself to find a crack big enough to squeeze through.

    Rotundis

    Skinny boy, indeed. That's because fat, puffy thieves soon become caught, incarcerated, and hung thieves.
    Gary felt his ribs. OK, he hadn't put on much excess weight these last twenty years he'd been off the streets, but what the heck, that's how you stay when you exercise all night.

    Gary stood next to a neighbour's house. Or perhaps he should say shed, regarding its size compared to Trout's place. He opened a nearby window and entered the house. It was a typical bachelor's quarters, with a carpet of dust covering the floor. There were bottles everywhere, together with greasy cartons from Domingo's Pizza containing half petrified pieces of Spicy Burrick Special, evolving small biotopes of their own. The attic contained a severely unmade bed. The sheets, it seemed, had managed to crawl to the floor and were now making a valiant effort to reach the trap door. A locked chest contained a couple of drawings of naked women; that kind men buy because of their "artistic value." Downstairs, the sole occupant lay spread-eagled in a sofa, and had bad dreams.

    "Carla, make the bad man stop! Monkeys...monkeys...it's full of the monkeys!"

    "There, there. Don't you worry now," Gary said and brought forth his blackjack.

    Gary exited through another window, three houses down the road. There were four houses, probably inhabited by people working for Trout, and looting them had been like running an obstacle course. The boards nailed across the doors of the fourth house hadn't stopped a pagan from taking residence there.

    What is a pagan doing in a boarded-up house near Trout Estate in an area crawling with guards? Gary thought. Hold on. It's not like it's my problem, is it? And with that, he dropped the subject. (Pagans can't live in enclosed spaces. They go funny in the head after a while, and tend to start singing folk music and saying "dude" a lot. Those who do would have blended in perfectly at the Barnes and Noble corner café, but they can't stand crowded places.)

  4. #4
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    A shrubbery looked a little to inconspicuous not to conceal a secret entrance, and sure enough, Gary found a crack in the wall big enough for him to squeeze through. This path looked used, probably by his pagan friend. Having dived through a hole in a rock covering the path, it started looking a little more used, quite a bit more actually. Gary frowned. What was the use of a secret entrance if everyone used it? He looked up and saw a crest barely reachable from the ground, and mantled over it. Seeing the graves came as a mild surprise.

    "I have a peculiar feeling about this," Gary said to nobody in particular, and read the text on the first gravestone. "Ibis Trout Junior? What are you up to, Normand?" He read the names on the other stones. "We need to have a talk about this." He walked to an open grave and stepped over it. "Is this yours, Normand? Could you feel that, Sheriff? I just walked across your grave." Gary adjusted his collar and moved on.

    He had a quick dip in a canal, had some more blackjack practise on an unsuspecting guard, and was surprised to find a well being just a well and nothing more, not hiding a secret passage or forgotten swag or anything at all except drinking water. It was spoiled now, since he had to have a plunge to find these things out, but that wasn't his concern. Dripping water, he listened at one of the mansion back doors.

    "Can you believe this mess they expect us to clean up? We're going to need a septic tank and disinfectant if we're ever going to get the ballroom clean," the voice of an upset woman seeped through the door.

    The male servant nodded (but of course Gary couldn't see it). "I caught some woman in the kitchen earlier, with a guilty look on her face. She was probably stealing some bottles of brandy."

    "And will you believe those ridiculous games they were playing? I'm glad they at least kept their clothes on!"

    "Has the Sheriff retired to his quarters?" he asked.

    "Yes, with some tart, as usual!" she said disapprovingly.

    "I don't remember any cake being served."

    "A tart, as in a woman of questionable virtue," she lectured him with an indignant voice.

    "Ah." He smiled briefly, but quickly turned sombre when he saw the look on her face. "A disgusting display of low moral standards, I'm sure," he said as if he meant it. "Listen, I'd love to sit and chat, but I need to get going with the ballroom." There was a hint of resignation in his voice.

    Gary incapacitated the lock and nudged the door open. He saw a woman attending to a mountain range of dirty dishes. There were bottles everywhere, stacked on the tables and on the tile floor. The woman was busy enough not to notice Gary's leaning through the door and covering the floor with ballistic vegetation.

    He started to sneak across the kitchen, just as she turned around. He dived to the floor and skidded, belly down, on the moss to a dark corner in a doorway.

    "Huh, is someone there?" she asked, and immediately feared that someone would answer.

    A guard stepped through another doorway a moment later. "You looking for someone, Juveline?" he asked when seeing her puzzled face.

    "I thought I heard something," she said, looking around.

    "Might be one of the leftover guests. There're drunks lying all over the place. Hey, what's the meaning with all the moss on the floor?"

    "I don't know. Is it supposed to mean anything?"

    "Not anything. Something."

    "That's what I meant. Asked, I mean."

    "You've been here all the time, you should know."

    "Like I'm supposed to know everything. I didn't notice it until you started complaining about it."

    "So what do you want to do about it?"

    "Well, I'm not cleaning that up. Go ask someone who cares," she said with a hint of irritation.

    "I don't care. It's not like I don't have more pressing guard duties to attend to," he retorted.

    "Fine."

    "Fine."

    The manservant came back, carrying a mop and a bucket. "What's going on?" he asked innocently.

    I'll show you what's going on, Gary thought, timing his movement. By lucky chance all of them had their backs turned to Gary's hiding place. He stepped out and played Concerto For Blackjack And Three Victims.

    Gary fondled his precious tool, pretty much the way one would expect a compassionate yet ruthless crime lord stroke a white furry cat. He heard another guard approaching and melted into the shadows again.

    "Hey, what are you guys doing on..." Gary interrupted the sentence in a rather violent manner. Damn, he thought, if I'd waited a little longer, letting all four gather, I could have played a symphony.

    Gary didn't think of his fondness of his blackjack as a perversion – you needed to feel guilt for that – but rather as an eccentricity. And that was OK.

    So, our beloved Sheriff kept some company for the night. He would have to do something about that, and he knew exactly what. He fondled his blackjack some more.

    The last guard carried a gear attached to his belt. Gary untied it. Fancy that, a solid metal gear. This one looks like it fits in a sophisticated, lock picking proof security device, expertly crafted by the Mechalomaniacs. He thought some more. Or something like that. Good thing I found it.

    He made a quick inspection of the guards' mess hall. There was the standard canteen issue coffee machine, with the usual three settings: "regular", "strong", and "night shift". There was a bread roll so hard it could be the subject of all crude jokes about stale bread rolls. There were a few books about seeing Spot run and other challenges for a guard's intellect.

    Leaving through the other doorway and crossing a corridor, Gary entered what was not so much a greenhouse as a homeopathic pharmacy. He recognized several plants for which people paid dearly because of their various hilarious effects on the central nerve system. Gary quickly went through the place like a small kid at a plate of cookies. (Thieves don't do drugs, certainly not those who want to stay in business. But they don't mind other people doing drugs, especially if they're the ones selling it. Anything to make people easier to rob.)

  5. #5
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Continuing down the corridor, he stopped and looked through the glass doors to the ballroom. It was a complete and total mess, of a liking he had never observed before. He looked at the remaining bodies slumped around the room, amazed that people would do something like this to themselves voluntarily. Of course, it was nothing worse than your usual weekend student party, but Gary didn't know that. A man was standing next to the door with his back against the wall, his head drooping. A closer inspection revealed that he was held upright by a knife pinned through the neck of his jacket. Feeling an emotion very close to contempt, Gary entered the room and emptied the pockets not already emptied by servants seizing an opportunity. (Of course, Gary always felt an emotion close to contempt when robbing people he, um—felt contempt for, so it was business as usual.)

    Moving on down the same corridor, to his right he soon saw a doorway, and through it a guard standing before a fancier-than-average dining room. She was standing with her back to him. Careful not to make any sound on the hard floor, he snuck up behind her. This was a little strange though. She didn't move at all, or make the usual guard noises; she just stared intently at a chalice on the table.

    She had actually been staring like that for the last two hours. Nothing had happened as of yet, but she was convinced that the chalice would start levitating anytime now, by the sheer power of her mind. Unfortunately for her, Gary broke her concentration quite abruptly. With some help, the chalice levitated into Gary's loot sack.

    Seeing the kitchen past one doorway, he went through the other exit. He stopped by the guards' quarters to see whether there were any personal belongings he should make his personal belongings. On a table next to a snoozing guard, he saw an interesting-looking parchment:

    I don't care what Corndog says, keeping glowing mushrooms in the greenhouse is too risky. Trout's suspicious enough as it is. He's asked me about the stuff we're growing, and it was all I could do to keep a straight face. We're making enough money not see it go down the drain. And DON'T smoke anything inside the building, you retards!

    Jabber

    Not to worry lads,
    Gary thought with a smile, it's all been taken care of.

    He moved on down the corridor until he saw a doorway to his right. He unlocked the door to the guest room straight ahead of him and entered.

    A gas lamp and an unlit torch? That's making it a wee bit obvious, wasn't it? Or was it a cosy bedside light? Not likely. Gary strode across the room and turned the holder. Nothing happened. He turned it again, but the room stayed insolently unruffled.

    This isn't right, he thought. A trap door's supposed to spring open accompanied by the sound of badly oiled hinges. Gary walked around the bed trying to find something. A trap door sprung open accompanied by the sound of badly oiled hinges, catching Gary's foot in mid stride and felling him flat on his nose. Cursing, he regained his composure. He had a vague feeling of someone making a prank and the joke was on him. "Well, who's laughing now?" he said, turning around and grabbing the jewel hidden in the secret compartment. (Later, it turned out that the jewel was a fake. The joke was on him.)

    The other room was occupied, and very much so. A man dressed only in his socks lay on the bed. A woman who may have been properly dressed earlier – but now certainly wasn't, what with her skirt tangled around her waist – lay on the floor hugging a pillow. A man sat slumped in a chair, his snoring enhanced by a lampshade. They all slept the comatose sleep of the heavily inebriated. Gary quickly made it to the other end of the room, unlocking a metal door and closing it behind him, all the while holding his breath.

  6. #6
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    He hadn't noticed the crossed microphones on the banner – an insignia typical for the M. C. Hammerites – when he slashed it. But entering the chapel, he noticed the decoration, and of course the turntables on the altar.

    A broadhead arrow pointed upwards a hammer-shaped hole in the wall. Gary lit a flare and threw it through the hole, hoping to see something. To his delight, something went click and the altar moved aside, revealing a ladder descending into darkness. With other things occupying him, Gary didn't notice the flare bouncing back and landing on his head, annoying him slightly. Some faint but familiar rattling noises drifted out of the hole. He could hear someone humming rhythmically with a monotone not-quite-a-voice full of timbre, confidence, and violent death.

    Gary contemplated his options for a moment. Now, the wise thing to do is most certainly to forget about this route and choose another one onwards. With that, Gary started climbing down.

    He looked at the mouldy walls of the corridor. Is this a catacomb I see before me? The rattling came from his right, so he went the other way.

    He soon saw a boarded-up small passage in the wall where the corridor turned right. He bent down and peeked between the boards. Something twinkled in the torchlight. Gary quickly checked that he could no longer hear any unpleasant sounds, wielded his sword, and started hacking.

    Not for the first time, he wondered why he hadn't equipped himself with a crowbar instead of a sword. Because all fashionable thieves wear swords, was the obvious answer. And he was to much a sucker for style to reconsider. Soon enough, the plank vanished. But with that noise dying away, he noticed that the rattling had reappeared. Slowly, as if not to stir the air, Gary turned around. He was greeted with the sight of an M. C. Hammerite haunt.

    Oh, no. Gary's face twisted with dread. Please, not this. Not the singing. Although, with curiosity getting the better of him, he had to ask himself: How did the creature keep the sunglasses in place without having ears and a nose to rest them on?

    With a couple of dance moves which were both disconcerting and terribly out of style, the abomination raised its microphone/club:

    The body is weak but the spirit is willing
    The beat is funky, tha's why we're chilling
    My homies are old, but the groove is fresh
    the heat is on and it's burnin' yo' flesh

    It's all a show so don' be a stiff
    now strut your stuff or I will get miffed
    You should be grateful, take a bow
    when I say JOIN US, JOIN US NOOOW


    Strengthened by the terror, agony, and the horrible rap music, Gary swung his sword in a horizontal arc. The sword hit the monstrosity at waist height and cleft it, severing its right arm on the return. The body toppled and the bits landed on the floor like a cheap special effect.

    "Take that, you vile creature from the netherworlds!" Gary exclaimed. Calming down, he turned around and bent down to examine that twinkle a little closer.

    The scraping sounds wouldn't have sounded so terrible if they hadn't come from the haunt, raising itself on its torso. Gary, already having entered the narrow passage, started crawling ferociously onwards, with the one-armed torso in hot pursuit. Well, in pursuit anyway, dragging itself forward with one arm. Gary would have easily out-crawled the half-haunt hadn't he stopped on the way to examine a nugget and determinate its value. A cold hand on his leg reminded him of the current situation.

  7. #7
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Gary pushed a button on the wall, a grating slid aside, and he entered a windowless room which had torture chamber written all over it. He hoped it wasn't Trout's hobby room. He stepped out on a bench and slammed the grating in the face – the remains of it – of the haunt.

    I'm starting to feel like a cliché. He noticed it was a rack he was standing on, and that it was already occupied by an undead woman, having a serious stretch.

    "Mmmeeeeaaarrrllgh!" ("Please, dear Sir, would you be so kind as to unshackle me? These restraints are becoming quite a nuisance.")

    Gary yelped and jumped off the bench. "Aaaafffnnnntjtjgh!" ("I do apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.")

    Breathing hard, Gary noticed that she was shackled and unable to move. Well, being tied to a rack wasn't so bad if you were a zombie, was it? Then again, she had been alive once. Gary shuddered.

    Gary had a look at the rest of the surroundings, which didn't take long. A sign next to a button read: "Do not push this button. Seriously, you will regret it!"

    "Really?" Gary asked, and against all obvious reason pushed the button.

    Nothing much happened at first, but suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his leg. He looked down to see a Devouring Ankle-nibbler doing its chores. Two of the spiders had suddenly appeared in the room, plus something oozing a cloud of steam. With some swift moves with his sword, Gary turned the spiders into something out of a shellfish restaurant. Or perhaps not.

    Gary noticed that the sign had changed, and now read: "Told you so." He walked up to the steaming crystal in the middle of the room. It was a glass of hot tea.

    Well, I am kinda thirsty, he thought and consequently had a sip.

    It didn't taste like much at first, but suddenly his features started to twitch. He dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor. His eyes crossed, his cheeks started to blossom in a face riveted with nervous ticks. One leg made a drum solo. He coughed, clasping at his throat.

    "Could use some sugar," he concluded, after regaining his composure. He went to the ladder, noticed the obvious trap door above him, and turned the handle on the wall. It broke loose and ended up in his hand. He said a couple of words not suitable for printing.

    So what now? The haunt, having lost its prey and ability to stalk, looked rather pathetic, but it still blocked the way back.

    "Njjyyyyyaaaaarrfl!" ("If you like, Sir, I can help you out of your rather unfortunate predicament.")

    "Oh, shut up already!" Gary answered, without knowing what the biologically challenged woman had said. Somehow, she managed to look hurt. The haunt, having nothing better to do, leaning on its elbow and resting its head in its hand, hummed obnoxiously. The situation had its comical elements, at least to someone of a morbid persuasion.

    Gary went over to an alcove where he thought he heard some crackling noises. Sure enough, the stone ceiling was scalding hot to the touch. A fire was happily burning on the stone. He took a chance.

    He let go of the bowstring, and a water crystal shattered against the hot stone. There was a crackling sound, but this time of punished stone. He grabbed his sword and brought it up hard, and was rewarded by a shower of stone fragments and burning wood. Dust and soot blinded him, letting the burning logs set fire to his new cloak without his noticing at first. There were a lot of cursing and stamping on a new cloak a moment later.

    Furious, Gary entered the fancy dining room again through the hearth in the corner.

  8. #8
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Soon, he stood in front of the metal door locked with a sophisticated lock picking proof device expertly crafted by the Mechalomaniacs, just what the notice by the door read:

    MECHALOMANIAC INSTRUCTIONS

    If thou wouldst unlock this kind of door, thou wilt needst use the appropriate gear, not the inappropriate one (Bonny canst tell thee why). Insert thou the correct gear unto the locking mechanism. When the mechanism be complete with correct gear it shall play a merry tune, and marvel thou as the gears turn to unlock the door. For those with no eye to tell one gear from its cousin, please dost thee visit thy nearest Mechalomaniac Optometrist, lest the mechanism shall fail thee with a rude buzzing sound. If thou hast concerns please keep them for thou self, don't come bother me.

    – Friend Jacuzzi


    In the middle of the device was a metal plate with a slot, big enough to swallow the solid metal gear Gary liberated earlier. Underneath was an obscenely long button that looked pushable, and at the bottom was a wider slot circumvented by a U-bent bar. He dropped the gear through the slot. There was a clonk, a whirr, a click, and a merry tune as the door swung open. He pushed the button, and was rewarded by another clonk as the gear reappeared through the lower slot and came to rest against the bar.

    Gary felt like making a witty comment. "Um, how—neat," had to do. He picked up the gear and entered.

    Trailing an unlit corridor ending with some stairs, he noticed a dark alcove at each side and two guard voices from above.

    "I'm gonna go down to the kitchen and grab me some of that foodstuff."

    "You serious? Not even rats would touch that garbage. Trust me on it, I saw a big one grab some leftovers. I tell you, I didn't know rats could say 'yech'!"

    "Nah, it has to be good, what with those fancy names. Horse douvers, paytit dejernais, ekcetera."

    "Fancy names, my bollocks! It's just the usual rancid stuff cut up small and impaled on toothpicks."

    "Well, I liked it, and I'm gonna go down and grab a gutful."

    "OK, long as you don't miss your shift 'cause of sitting on the lavvy, I don't care. Bonn apee-tite."

    Gary heard the guard descending the stairs and snuck into one of the alcoves. Having reached the bottom, the guard flicked a switch and the corridor was flooded with light. He started walking down the corridor.

    He had only walked a couple of paces when the lights went off. Cursing and questioning the quality of said lights, he headed back to the light switch. He never reached it.

  9. #9
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    A guard sat relaxing at a recording device and listened intensely to some music.

    "Hey," he said to his comrade passing by, "this is some pretty good music, though it's got a weird title." He show her the envelope. "'Allergy and Demeanour'. What's with that?"

    She took it from him. "The written word still has its mysteries to you, doesn't it? The title is 'Elegy in D-minor'."



    At the bar, a guard and a barmaid had a discussion about the benefits of sobriety, or at least she had.

    "I can' believe some *hic* taffer went and spilled mead all over that rug!"

    "*sigh* Bonny, You spilled the mead on the rug. And the ale on the roulette table. And don't get me started with what you did on the balcony." The woman looked tired. Obviously, she had reason to be.

    "Tha' can't 'ave been me. I would've remembered it!"

    "No need, others did that for you."

    "Bah, those slanderer *hic* -ers. Anyways, I work better when I'm drunk!"

    "Bonny, I have never seen you work and not being drunk. I have never even seen you not being drunk, for that matter!"

    "It makes me fearless, you know."

    "Well, I guess you must be really fearless by now." The sarcasm was, however, wasted.

    "Yep, and know I'll find me a bad guy an' teach 'im not to mess wi' Bonny!"

    "Yes, why don't you do that. I'm sure he'll be scared."

  10. #10
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    Listening to the conversations, Gary had admired the luxury of the rooms he had passed through. Parts of them, he would admire more closely when he got home.

    If I knew being Sheriff paid that well, I would have robbed him a long time ago, Gary thought as he approached another door with an intricate locking device. One that didn't accept his solid metal gear, as it turned out. He noticed a small picture above the slot, of an arrow pointing downwards and of a gear looking slightly different than the one with which Gary had provided himself.

    Finding the appropriate gear turned out to be somewhat troublesome. He needed one which, according to a conversation between two guards, was carried by Bonny. But mugging Bonny had yielded nothing but halitosis. Then a note read that the gear would most probably be in the pool, which it had not. Gary had gone through the entire floor without finding anything gear-like, other than the maddening robot sentry patrol, and when he finally ended up at the locking device again, he had punched the long button out of exasperation. With a clonk, the gear had appeared out of the lower slot. Gary banged his head against the wall, repeatedly.

    Eventually, he collected his wits and gear, used it to open the door, and entered.

    Following another corridor, he came to yet another set of stairs, when hell broke loose.

    "Hurry, sound the alarms! Seal off the area!"

    "Why? What happened?"

    "Sheriff Trout's been killed!"

    "Already?—I mean, how?"

    "Like I'm some kind of forensics expert. Will you sound the alarm now?"

    The upset voices, Gary noticed, were heading towards the stairs. He looked around, but there weren't any alcoves in this corridor. "What an inconsiderate architect, no regards for a distressed thief," he said and unsheathed his sword.

  11. #11
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2001
    Location: yo mama
    The guards hurried down the empty corridor. "Did you see that?" one guard asked.

    "See what?" another guard asked back.

    "The wallpaper. It was bulging."

    "Probably mould. It can do that."

    "Mould? Are you sure?"

    "Seen it lots of times."

    "Don't you think we should check it? Only takes a second."

    "Don't be silly. You really think someone would be hiding there?"

    "I guess you're right."

    "Of course I am. Come on now, we have to seal off the area!"

    Gary snuck out from under the wallpaper when the noise had subsided. That was a close call. He sighed, produced his notepad, and crossed out the blackmail objective. Well, at least the Sheriff won't miss his valuables. Crossing the tile, and randomly littered, floor Gary listened to some agitated voices.

    "What's going on?" an almost sober male voice asked.

    "Someone's murdered the Sheriff!" an authoritarian woman said.

    "Are you sure?" someone else asked.

    "I'd say the knife in the chest was a dead giveaway, so to speak."

    "My goodness. Who was the perpetrator?"

    "That woman with whom he retired to his quarters. She's disappeared."

    "With whom?"

    "Sorry, that woman he retired with."

    There was a moment's silence. Then the first man spoke again. "Aren't you supposed to use an ice pick?"

    "Who, me?" she asked.

    "No, the murderer. I'm pretty sure that when you murder someone you're being intimate with, you're supposed to use an ice pick."

    "Really? Why is that?"

    "I'm not sure. That's just something I read. Like, you break my heart; I break yours but quite literally. It's supposed to make some kind of statement."

    "That's going a little far just to make a statement, I'd say."

    Cautiously, Gary entered what was obviously a bedroom. Trout was still occupying it, although not comfortably so.

    Wow, talk about being caught with your pants down, Gary thought. The mistress was nowhere to be seen, of course. To say that Gary spent a brief moment paying his respects to a fallen enemy would have been to greatly exaggerate matters. In fact, if he hadn't stopped to search the pockets, one wouldn't have thought he had noticed the corpse.

    Gary found something while searching the room. It was a bra. He checked the name tag sewn in the hem of the undergarment. It read "Lt. Mostly".

    "Well, well. Who could have thought that? Trout being a ladies' man." On the other hand, Trout did look like the kind of man who collects women's clothing. The corner of Gary's mouth twitched.

    Gary jumped down from the balcony outside the bedroom onto another one, where he stepped in something nasty. He wiped his shoe on a sleeping guest, and was just about to jump down to the ground when the thought struck him. What kind of person writes 'Lt.' on her name tag, anyway?

    end of chapter

  12. #12
    Member
    Registered: Mar 2003
    Location: Singapore
    The woman was busy enough not to notice Gary's leaning through the door and covering the floor with ballistic vegetation.
    Best line ever. Nice work on the fanfic O.P.

  13. #13
    Member
    Registered: Jul 2003
    Location: Australia
    has anyone collected all the chapters of the mental age together (like Kleptomaniac?) - i sure want to read this!

  14. #14

  15. #15
    Member
    Registered: Sep 2003
    Location: Devil's Living Place (= NY)
    No, no. I think DarkThiefsie really meant ALL chapters, including both 5 and 6.

    Anyway, thaaaank you, odourpreventer!!! I've been waiting this for a long time. Loved bits about the shed looting and the illegal 'herbage'.

    Again, thank you.

  16. #16
    Member
    Registered: Jul 2003
    Location: Australia
    yeah, cause I read the chapters (up to the bank) (I think is chapters 1 - 4) at Thief-the circle. Sorry - forgot to mention that before

  17. #17
    Member
    Registered: Jul 2001
    Location: Australia
    Originally posted by odourpreventer
    She had actually been staring like that for the last two hours. Nothing had happened as of yet, but she was convinced that the chalice would start levitating anytime now, by the sheer power of her mind. Unfortunately for her, Gary broke her concentration quite abruptly. With some help, the chalice levitated into Gary's loot sack.
    MY favourite!

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