5 Prayers

A shadow of a child slunk out of a old and almost dilapidated building, the large frame of the oversized coat almost swallowing him whole as he steadily steered away from the electrical plant and to the gates of the Inner City.

While he had been chased, he had managed to snatch enough things that could be exchanged for monetary value, and had just enough to bypass the gate and to have a few days of guaranteed food in the City.

He just had to survive until he got to Smugs'.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, keeping his head down low in the folds of the stolen coat, "Where are you old man?"

"....don't know where he is, Boss. But we'll find the slippery sh!t, I promise you that!"

Hyacinth quietly yet speedily walked away from the sounds of the approaching Turflings, ducking into an alley and using the large coat to hide him as they walked past; between the baggy structure and his smaller frame, in the low light of the darkening sky, he looked like just another trash bundle for the City to collect.

"Where do you suppose that kid is?"

"I dunno, he could be under our noses from what I figure."

They walked past him without a second thought, their eyes hardly noticing the common sight of trash as they pressed on to find the child.

Hyacinth let loose a hushed breath of relief before he carefully got up and, after checking whether or not the coast was clear, slinked away, the soles of his black, worn boots that he had stolen from some teenager a while back making hardly a whisper as he pressed onward towards his determined destination.

While Smug had been the one to teach him how to pick a pocket, Hyacinth wisely chose not to trust him farther than he could throw him. After all, why would the man who had taught him to steal not steal him away, whether in life or in item?

Hyacinth casually walked out of the alleyway, in the opposite direction of Smug's hut in direct opposition of the Turflings direction.

———

"That kid, I swear... he's so quick with his hands, that you can't even feel when he snatches sh!t—hey, watch it!"

A small kid had bumped into him, wrapped up in a large, ratty coat that smothered his presence and made him seem like he was at most six.

The Turfling grabbed the coats collar and began to shake the kid, the boy beginning to shake at the movement, his sticky black hair pressed against his forehead and his face showcasing anxiety towards the bigger man harming him.

"S-sorry sir..." he stuttered, and at the word 'sir', the Turfling smirked before shoving him away, making the kid stagger and barely keep his feet as he trembled.

"Yeah, you better scat! Hah! They're so pathetic..."

While the man jeered at him, the boy continued to walk shakily before he smoothly stood up, straightening his coat and then, with a glance behind him, smoothed back his black hair to reveal a more angular profile with sharper, kaleidoscopic eyes that glinted with contempt.

A smirk crossed his face, and he continued his walk, tossing and catching the items he had stolen in his bump in with the Turfling before tucking them away, detouring into an alleyway, and then clambering up the walls to the roofs.

It was only when he heard the shouts of the rather annoying Turflings that he sobered up, running across the rooftops with a sneaky and lowered posture, in the direction of Smugs' house—the very direction the Turflings were moving away from due to his little pickpocketing stunt.

Indeed, Smugs' had taught him well.

————

"So you're here, boy."

"I need an out old man—help me, and I'll give you something nice."

The interior of the hut, though small, was filled to the brim with hoarded treasure; if the Turfs ever had enough balls to steal from Smugs, they could end up richer than anyone—the problem was, no one was suicidal enough to do that.

"So the Turfs are scratching at your ankles, huh?"

"... Titheriom."

Smugs paused, his unnaturally blue eyes widening as he slowly turned to Hyacinth, his entire demeanor changed with just a word.

"You're saying you got it? Titheriom? The rarest mineral around, and you've got it? Hah! How badly do you want to go into that damned city to give up something that's made lesser men rich?!"

Hyacinth shrugged, his unusual eyes hidden as a force of habit; Smugs already knows what his eyes looked like—he would have sold him off for them if he had not managed to steal from right under the old player's nose.

"The Turfs had gotten a shipment and I got lucky that the guards didn't realize its value—I was able to snatch it easy, but now I'm here. I'll give you 30% of it, so help me out old man."

Smugs stroked his non-existent beard, a crooked smile sliding across his face, and Hyacinth knew that Smugs was going to try to get his way—it was the scamming smile he himself often copied.

'Maker, I'm begging you—get me out of this hellhole...'