A Set of Skills

Océane deftly slipped free of the man’s spooning, and silently made her way over to the pack he’d left near the door. Quiet as a church mouse, he had enough bathtub booze to keep him out for quite a while but not worth the risk of waking him. Clicking the lamp on low she rummaged through his pack. Keeping track of where everything was placed, and how the map was folded she spread it out on her desk. Reaching to the underside to push a false bottom out of the way and taking out a map of her own. Trespassers who thought they were about to make it big were always easy marks, especially if they found some trinket they thought was worth something in The Zone. Océane took her time marking out spots on her map marked on the man’s map. Whether it was a new guard post, a strategic location or place that word travelled through the grapevine that might have treasurers, weather just of the world from before or something touched by The Visitation. It didn’t matter if people wanted it, she wanted it. Not for herself but for the price it would fetch.

Once she’d finished she tucked everything back in perfectly, and slipped back into character. Océane gave the man a light shake. “Your time is up dear.” she said. The man made some groggy response before rolling out of the bed. Océane stood by the wall watching as the man tried to half hop, half walk his way back into his pants nearly falling twice. He stood a moment seeming to stare at his pack, as if he noticed something amiss, Océane held her breath, but after a few heart beats the man belched and lifted his pack. Stepping out the door she heard him grumble something else and footsteps out the hall. Once she finally heard him on the stairs she let the breath out. “C'était fermé.” she whispered to herself. But shook off the fear and prepared for her performance

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