(Ship)wreaked

[Nina Ashmore]

Nina Ashmore might have been born to nothing, but she would not die the same way.

Most of her targets were the richer merchants, bringing in their wares and taking advantage of the poor workers. While it was not illegal, it did lead to some of the children in the home she was raised in having to work in jobs that they should not have too. She herself had seen her friends turned into chimney sweeps, and fires lit under them. Wheel greasers for the wheels that crushed the wheat--and if they did not move quick enough the wheel did not stop for their safety. It was why she liked stealing from these merchants. They did not care about the cost, so she did not care either.

Her coin always went to the children--to keep them from having to work so much--and to herself. She was not completely selfless. She enjoyed the comforts of her life, what little ones were allowed to be afforded to single women. She gave most of it away. Most, but not all. A girl had to eat after all.

Walking down the merchant's row, she paused to smile at a middle aged man, and lean in a little too close without being too scandalous. While he was smiling into her face, her finder slipped a trinket from the table and into a hidden pocket in her skirt. It was a special skirt, made to let things disappear into the fullness of it. Moving to the next one, she pretended to think over two hair ribbons before putting them back. Only when her hand went away there was only one ribbon left here. As she made her way down the row she began collecting tins, costumed jewelry (as no one had the real things here, trinkets, and bobbles from the places the merchants had been and brought back to be sold to the average worker.

Before long she could begin to feel the weight of her skirt, and knew it was time to head back, count up the value, and begin to find ways to sell the goods to make coin. Turning down between a tavern and a bakery she used the short cut to turn back toward her rooms.

^{TAG: Matthias Voigt}

[Matthias Voigt]

Tag: Nina Ashmore

we are all

SOMEONE'S MONSTER

A job was a job. Whether it was a man, a woman, a noble or a commoner . . . either way, Matthias Max would do what he was hired to do. Morals, conscience . . . none of that came into play among a society where everyone was guilty of their misdeeds. And Matthias, was one to judge them harshly. Recently, he had been hired to find a woman who was known to be stealing from rich noblemen. Or well, one in particular had hired him and it had led to a stream of similar crimes. She was by no means, easy to track down either. But Matthias was not one to give up. Once hired, he would go to the ends of the earth to fulfil the job. It was a compulsion really. Unable to focus or move forward until he brought closure to his previous job. And fortunately, he was drawing close.

He had managed to track down the inn she was staying at. For some coin, anyone was willing to talk so he managed to find her room, obtain a key and just . . . wait. Patiently wait for her to return. It had been a couple of hours now until he heard footsteps approaching the door. They were light, but heard in the otherwise unnervingly quiet room. He moved to stand behind the door so when she opened it, he was concealed by it. But he would not waste anytime. As she began to close the door, he stepped from his position, cloth in hand doused with enough substance to render her unconscious. He swiftly moved a hand over her mouth, his other hand wrapping around her waist to keep her pressed against him and using the necessary strength to make sure she did not squirm free from his grasp before the 'medicine' kicked in.

[Nina Ashmore]

Nina's hips rocked as she walked down the hall with a proud smile on her face. She'd done well for herself today. She nodded to a few other girls who lived in the boarding house, and waved off an offer of tea. She wanted to inspect her goods, and spending time with other ladies right now would risk them hearing something in her skirts clink or clank around. It was safer if she just retired to her room for the night.

Opening her door, she paused for a moment, an ominous feeling touching her. Yet nothing looked out of place, or gave her cause not to go in. Shaking her head, Nina let the feeling go. Poppycock! She was just being paranoid. Stepping into the door, Nina was just pushing the door closed when she felt it . . .

Panic!

It happened so fast that later she still could not recall the details or the events with any clarity. What she did know was there was an arm made of steal, and it pinned her to a chest that seemed to be larger than her door. It too was made of steal--or at least it felt as strong as steal. There was a strong hand, large and unmoving that held a rag to her lips and nose. The smell burned, and she was not sure what it was. She fought. She knew she fought but it did little to move the mountain behind her. She kicked, and failed her arms. She tried to grab the door. She tried . . . she trried to grab . . . she tried . . .

^{TAG: Matthias Voigt}

[Matthias Voigt]

Tag: Nina Ashmore

we are all

SOMEONE'S MONSTER

I t did not take long for the substance to do it's job. He felt the woman's body have less fight in it, and grow limp . . . until it was still all together. Matthias casually threw her over his shoulder, and made his way out out the inn. He had obviously made proper arrangements for an escape plan, as he could not very well carry an unconscious body around town. And he had limited time before she woke up. Once outside, he stepped into the carriage that led him to the port, there the captain of the ship was already waiting. He gave a nod to him, tossing a handful of coin as he went aboard the ship. Carrying her below deck, he chained her wrists to shackles above her head. Yes. She deserved this for the crimes she committed.

Once he was certain it was secure, he returned above deck to speak to the Captain. Not a great deal needed to be said, and before long, they were off to sea, their destination closer with each passing minute. As the sun began to go down, Matthias decided to check on his prisoner, not wanting her dead before he turned her in. Holding a cup of water in his hand, he descended, moving towards her to see if she was awake. When he saw that she was, he knew what would follow. Questions. Pleas. Heaven forbid crying. He had practically grown numb to it all, immune to the pleas of a woman. For a prisoner was a prisoner after all. Instead, he silently approached her, moving the rim of the cup towards her lips to urge her to drink. And if she was smart, she would do so.