Young Writers Society

Jessa

I cleared my throat again. "Sir."

"Yes, Jessa?" I shuddered as he said my name. Why couldn't I have chosen a different name? An alias would've been fine.

"Are you truly operating from the Conan Theater?" I kept my voice sweet. I'd dealt with Bet before. Well, I lie; I'd nearly gotten killed by her before. People like her -quick tempered, harsh, violent, raging fire in their hearts- and people like me -smooth, cunning, backstabbing, conning, two-facers with an infallible ability to charm even the hardest of tastes- didn't mix. She hated liars, we couldn't resist opportunities like Bet. So we stayed on the opposite sides of the slums and kept out of the other's way.

"Yes, Jessa."

I nodded and turned my face to my barely covered feet. Others like me could provide for themselves. But they weren't me exactly, and I still owed dying families and threatened gangs. I couldn't afford to dress like... I dunno, Helen from Lucien's place, when there were touchy people out there with reasons to kill me. I pay them, they don't kill me. Beats sturdy boots any day.

So I make myself small and tie my hair loosely with another lock of the blonde. No ribbons, you have to resort to something else. I stay opposite Bet and keep my eyes sharp as we walk into the Conan Theater, which I know to be guarded by something. Only drunkards believe in hauntings, or those who've never attempted to recreate one.

I swallowed. I rubbed my wrists. I clenched my skirt and locked my feet to the ground. No running now.

Julian

I pulled the boy down from his hiding spot by the collar and dropped him onto the stage. He was quite a scrawny looking lad, probably no older than fifteen.

“He’s just a kid,” I mused.

“I’m eighteen, actually,” the boy answered matter-of-factly, though his voice seemed to quiver slightly as I looked back at him. It was clear he was scared of me.

"Yeah, sure you are..." I said sarcastically. There was no way this lad was eighteen.

"I am, I swear it!"

“Quiet!” scowled Mouse, glaring at the boy with pure venom. 'Sir' will find an appropriate way to deal with you when he returns.”

“Indeed he will,” I said, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl on Roland’s desk before slouching down on one of the auditorium seats. "In the mean time...I think you owe me an apology, Mouse..."

She scoffed. “I’d rather jump off a cliff.”

“That can be arranged if you like-”

Suddenly, the loud creaking of the auditorium door could be heard. Mouse’s eyes quickly darted to the boy and the corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk.

“Looks like Sir is back,” she said.

I heard the boy whimper slightly. Poor kid...

(Hullo! New here, so I'll just jump in. My Profile's in the DT. Sorry it's so long, I hate late intro scenes.)

Houston

Houston groaned and rolled over in the mud. The sticky brown gunk filled his mouth, covered his eyes, and stuck to his hair and clothes. Fuzzily, he tried to raise his head, his only reward being a sharp, aching pain in the crown of his skull. He let his head sink back into the gutter muck.

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed before he tried to move again. This time he managed to attain a somewhat erect position, slumping against the wall. His entire body hurt. The muggers had come prepared; they had known who they were dealing with. It hadn’t just been a few felons attacking a random by passer, no; He could have dealt with that. This attack had been organized in advance. His already closed eyes tightened. That gang under The Butcher… they were really out to get him, it seemed. First her, and now this… it seemed his life had just gotten more complicated.

Houston reached a careful up and wiped the muck from his face, wincing as his sore body rebelled at the movement. Eventually, he managed to get to his feet, and began to stagger down the street. He attracted several stares, being as muddy as he was, but he hoped the mud would cover the blood from the fight last night. A trickle of the disgusting fluids whose origin Houston really didn’t want to know about streamed into his eyes. In the process of clawing the smelly stuff from his eyes, he almost ran into a group of three, who were turning into the entrance of an old theater.

“Pardon me, sir,” he grumbled, wanting to continue on, but something about this group made him pause. The one man had a mischievous glint in his eyes, and the two women – hardly more than girls - seemed almost reluctant to accompany him. This, in Houston’s book, instantly ruled them out as prostitutes. That meant, as they were obviously unfamiliar with this man (one girl was staring firmly at her feet), that there was something wrong with the scene. He also felt that, if something was going on, he, as a member of one of the most prominent gangs in the city, should know about it. So he paused.

“Ah,” said the man, smiling in a most pleased way. “Shall I really be this lucky? So many recruits in one day!” Houston could only stare with suspicion at the strange, sharp-eyed man.

“What recruits?” he asked carefully, reaching for his knife, before remembering the muggers took it. He swore silently, but waited for the man to reply.

Mouse

Mouse heard the boy whimper, and she gave him a vicious smile before darting out of the room. Mouse scrambled through the auditorium. Mouse froze about ten feet from the door. It was ajar, but no one was coming in. Suddenly cautious, Mouse peered around the door.

Sir was standing with two girls, his arm tightly clamped around one. Mouse narrowed her eyes. She thought Sir was only going to get one new recruit?

But something was distracting all three of them. Mouse's eyes locked on Sir, looking for a sign that he was in trouble. But Sir seemed pleased. “Ah,” he said, smiling. “Shall I really be this lucky? So many recruits in one day!”

"What recruits?" replied a low, gravelly voice. Mouse heard danger in that voice. Mouse did a few things in rapid succession: She opened the door wide, looking toward the new voice wildly. Before anyone could register Mouse's appearance, Mouse saw the man reach for a weapon. Mouse snarled and jumped at him.

The man gave a yelp, of pain more than surprise. Mouse grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, furiously. The man was sputtering, but Mouse ignored him. "Don't you dare try to harm Sir!" she snarled, shaking the man.

"Mouse!" Sir's cry furious rang out. "Release him!" Startled, Mouse jumped away from the man as if he had stung her. Mouse saw the man slump against the theater's wall. He looked like he was about to pass out. Sir was glaring at Mouse.

"Bring these two inside," said Sir sharply, gesturing to the women. "And get Julian. I'm going to need his help cleaning this man up."

Mouse blanched, but nodded. Feeling shunned, Mouse rushed into the theater interior, trying to hide a furious blush. Sir pushed the girls inside after her. Mouse motioned for them to follow her, and marched into the room where Julian was waiting.

"Julian," said Mouse, refusing to meet his eyes. "Sir wants you. He is just outside the theater." Julian was looking at Mouse curiously, but nodded and swept out of the room.

"Ladies," Mouse heard him mutter courteously as he passed the new recruits. Mouse ushered the women inside the room and shut the door with a snap.

"No one leaves until Sir gets back," said Mouse harshly. She sat on the floor in the corner, staring more at her knees than anything. Dimly, Mouse realized the the young boy Julian had captured was wrinkling her nose at Mouse. She was covered in sewer muck, which had caked the man outside.

Gosh.... I've missed a lot. I feel so bad. It's been really hectic. I'll try to read up on everything I've missed and get in a bloody post.

I did bring you in, however, Dreamy. No need to worry about that.

Welcome, Kelcia!

Julian

There she was again I thought to myself as I headed out of the auditorium, that blond girl I first saw back in the alley with Roland...the familiar looking one. I still couldn't put my damn finger on it...where the hell had I seen her before?

“Ah, Julian, there you are!” Roland's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Meet the newest addition to my Troupe...”

He was signalling towards a tall and stocky looking man who seemed to be about the same age as Roland.

“Do you know who he is?” Roland asked me.

I looked closer at the man and suddenly noticed the scarf around his neck.

“Jed Houston,” I said instantly, “prominent member of a pack of mercenaries from the Lower Towns. Last I heard, he was on The Butcher's hit list.”

A mischievous smirk appeared across Roland’s face, signalling a plan falling into place. “The Butcher, eh? Interesting...”

It was only then that I realised the disgusting smell coming from the mercenary. I winced in disgust.

“I’m not being funny but he stinks! Where'd you find him?”

“Just outside the theatre.”

“You sure you don't mean the gutter?”

“Quiet!” said Roland sharply. “Help me clean him up.”

“With what exactly? I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Houston

"How about a hose and a bucket of turpentine?" Houston muttered in response, pushing himself off the wall. "Back to the Butcher, kid. Where'd you hear that useful tidbit about his hit list?" Julian shrugged.

"Around," he said. "You hear stuff, in my profession."

"And our Rats didn't figure that out," Houston grumbled, but a little voice in his head nagged They'd have heard it. And They'd have told me, unless they wanted me gone too. He shook his head. Best stick with this 'Sir' character, and his rabid Mouse, for the time being, at any rate.

"A bucket of water might not be a bad idea," said "Sir," casting a critical eye over Houston.

After Houston was doused with icy water and lent some clean clothes, he was ushered into a run-down theater.

"Welcome to the troupe, Mr. Houston," said the man, whose name turned out to be Roland, as the Mouse darted to his side. Houston cast the small boy - or was it a girl? - a shrewd glare. Still, he admired the little shrimp, against his better judgment. Who would have guessed that such a little person could have such a strong grip?

Jessa

I stayed firmly put, begging myself not to sprint back to Marty's and instead staring straight ahead. The Chameleon was way too close now.

Maybe I should explain. When I was sixteen, and Chameleon... eighteen, I believe, there was an absolute war. Me, the freelance conner with the burning-money nature, against Chameleon, the prime thief of the Guild Brothers and swooned over by the sisters of the gangs I worked with. He'd stolen the only thing I had to eat for a week, a tiny cake I'd managed to smuggle from the bakery, in an attempt to 'prove his skill,' as he tried to explain when I sent Miles and Darby after him.

I, being the smart little sixteen year old I was, had immediately taken action. My hair had been incredibly long, so I had had my ally Carissa braid, loop, and put a fancy net over it, wheedled a black taffeta dress out of the seamstress two streets over, and a pair of silken slippers from the innkeeper five buildings down whose feet were too wide for them. A black veil for good measure and lace gloves, added with some water from the pump on my face (I dipped a finger in and streaked my cheeks, to 'prove' I'd been crying).

Richie, always the sneaky one, was the one I sent after the Cham. I could never track him on my own, so I just followed Richie until the Cham managed to find himself alone. I coughed daintily, signaling ever-inconspicuous Richie to veer away. Picking up my step, I managed to catch up to Chameleon. I hemmed softly and touched his shoulder, staring through my veil at the taffeta skirt and lacey gloves. When he'd paused to listen, I spun a story, on the spot, of a lost love, and these clothes being the only I had left; a vicious fire, a madman, greedy servants.

And then I robbed him.

Well, not directly. I'd woven my tale so well, begged and pleaded so fiercely, that he handed almost all money he had on him to me almost immediately. It was then that I ripped off the hairnet, let the bun unweave, and pushed my veil back. Now he saw the tiny girl he'd taken cake from yesterday, the one he now knew could do anything, given a city full of people and her vocal cords.

I hadn't seen him since that day. As I grew out of my normal dress, I switched back to the black taffeta one, and as I grew more, I ripped the skirt off at the knee, the stifling sleeves following. The shoes fell apart after a week, and I was left back to the simple leather slippers that would outlast the world. What I wore now.

And now he was back.

Isaac

Isaac's feet were falling asleep. They felt like a million ants were crawling over them. He shook them slightly. No good. He jumped up to shake them and get the blood flowing. Mouse pinned an icy glare and shot forward. He plopped down right away. "Alright, alright I'll sit down," he grumbled.

He had a feeling Mouse radiate utter disgust and hatred towards him till her last breath. By the looks of it, she didn't treat anyone half decently except for Sir, whom she positively idolized. He wondered the reason for the fierce devotion.

"Looks like Sir is back," Mouse declared, her eyes looking at Isaac with triumph. He gulped and moved backward. Julian shot him a look of sympathy. This was not going to be good.

Why did he have to stay behind and gloat. His prank had been nothing but childishness. And now look where it had landed him. He could make a run for it when the door opened. But he doubted he'd make it very far. As much as he liked the Chameleon, he wasn't sure the man would let him get away. The other girl, Helen, was in a foul mood, and he didn't like the way she looked at him. Her fierceness intimidated her. She'd likely not think twice before wringing his neck.

Mouse disappeared from the room. Julian leaned back against a wall, and looked at him, thoughtfully.

"What's Sir going to do with me?" Isaac asked.

Julian shrugged, "You'll have to wait and see. And call him Roland."

Isaac gulped. "Is he going to kill me?" He felt the blood draining out of his face. He couldn't stand pain. He hoped he would be killed in a way as painless as possible. Maybe a quick poison would be good.

Julian snorted, amused. "Kill you? Why in the world would he do that?"

"Well, he seems like the sort doesn't he?"

Julian smirked, "And don't I look the sort?"

Isaac didn't like the way this was going. "Well, yes, but..." He paused. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I assure you kid, we wouldn't waste our time trying to kill street rats like you. And don't be such a coward, it disgusts me."

Isaac turned red, embarrassed. He didn't feel all to good knowing that they all thought him harmless and not even worth considering killing. "I was just checking." But it was still good to know he wasn't going to die. He let out a breath of relief.

"Sure kid."

"My name's Isaac," he said, his voice more cheerful.

Julian nodded, "Julian."

"I know."

Julian looked around towards the doorway, a look of impatience on his face.

"Are you people putting on a play? Because if you are, I could help. I'm a good actor. Well at least I think so. I mean I've got practice. And I know much Shakespeare by heart. Don't you think he was a brilliant man? I mean Macbeth, if you think about it--"

"Look, if you really want to hang around, you got to speak to Roland. He might let you stay."

"So you are putting on play."

"Well, I just thought Mouse might need a cleaning buddy. You know how to mop floors?"

"Yes." He mumbled, the smiled fading from his face.

"Julian!" Mouse's voice called out, "Sir wants to see the rat!"

Julian grinned, motioning towards the auditorium. "Looks like you're wanted."

Isaac turned a pasty white and followed Julian out towards the auditorium. He stared at the new arrivals. Roland, the man in charge had come back with two girls and a man, stench radiating from him. Isaac wrinkled his nose. Roland sure had a strange choice for recruits. Mouse too, had smelly muck over her front. Julian and Isaac exchanged a glance of disgust. There was a red head, and a blond, both looking around curiously/ There dis-ease on their features.

"What have we here?" Roland peered at Isaac.

"Hello. I'm Isaac. Nice to meet you, Mr. Roland. Marvellous theatre you have here." He extended his hand. It wouldn't hurt to please the man.

Roland looked amused, but did not shake his hand. "Mouse tells me, you've been spying on us."

"Well not exactly," He shot a glance at the smirking Mouse, then coughed. "I was actually already living here."

"So?"

"Well I guess, if you'd like, I'll leave now."

Julian stepped up, "Were you by yourself kid?"

"Yes."

"You can't trust him!" Mouse protested.

"Yes you can!" Isaac protested back. He didn't like Mouse.

"Have you got anywhere to go?" Julian asked, giving him a pathetic look. Isaac lifted his chin.

"Why yes, I do. My grandmother has a manor in the country, and I'm sure she's absolutely desperate to see me, and will any time soon start a search for me."

"Stop the yapping and tell the truth," Roland growled. Isaac squirmed.

"Well, she's not exactly my grandmother, and she doesn't exactly live in a manor in the country. And she may not be so desperate and--"

"Look kid, quit your stories. Do you want to stay here?" Roland asked.

"Depends what you're all up to." Now that he thought about it, he didn't want to leave. While the group looked like a bunch of ruthless criminals, he truly didn't have anywhere else to go. He'd be back on the streets. This, however, would be an adventure. They thought him harmless. That was an advantage in a way.

"I think we may actually find him handy. True he's got a yap that makes you want to kill yourself. But if we put him to work? He says he's handy with a mop," Julian spoke up. "And Mouse hasn't exactly done a fantastic job with this place." They looked around at the cobwebs and dust. Mouse was fuming.

"I didn't say that was all I was capable of, Julian. I'm quite a good actor, Mr. Roland."

Roland narrowed his eyes at Isaac. "For now, clean this place up. Mouse!"

"Sir?" She jumped up.

"Show him the broom. He's all yours."

Isaac grimaced.

I open my eyes; I'm not in the alleyway anymore.
Where am I? I try to sit up, which is extremely hard when you've just been beat up not long ago by the way.
By the looks of it I'm in a theater, a run-down one at that.
There are other people too, I think, either that or Tim really mashed up my brains.

I think they might be talking but it's hard to hear.

(It's hard to jump into a storybook when your character was just unconscious )

Julian

I smirked as I watched Mouse and the kid leave. Suddenly, I caught the glare of that familiar looking blonde girl. She was slowly approaching the front of the stage and under the theatre lights I could see her more clearly than before. I still couldn’t remember who she was though. Giving her a suspicious glance, I took a bite from my apple and turned to face Roland.

“So...who’s the blonde?” I asked him, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Another recruit I managed to discover,” replied Roland. He was fumbling through the papers on his desk, probably looking for copies of the introduction sheet to hand out to everyone.

“What’s her name?”

“Jessamine. Also known as Jessa-”

I nearly choked on my apple.

Roland threw me a look. “What’s the matter with you, Julian? Have you never seen a woman before?” he said irritably.

The problem was this was no ordinary woman. It was two years to this day that I was outwitted for the very first time by another thief...a bloody female one at that, one who didn’t just manage to rob me blind, but one that managed to beat me at my own damn game. I never forgot that day; it was the most embarrassing moment of my life. I wasn’t even able to get my revenge! Now, two years later, here she stood in front of me, rags and all. My jaw muscles tightened in anger.

“Do you know her?” Roland asked suddenly, noticing my strange behaviour.

“No,” I said, a little too quickly. Yeah, I lied, but what the heck was I supposed to do? Tell Roland that I, the famous Chameleon was once outwitted by a mere girl? The idea was almost laughable...besides I’d never hear the end of it from Mouse...

Roland looked up at me and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I thought you knew everyone?” he asked.

“Well...” I struggled, “uh...not everyone I guess...”

“Hmm,” said Roland, “well in that case, Julian, I’d like you to keep an eye on this Jessa girl,” his voice fell so that only I could hear him, “and not just her, but this Houston and Isaac also. Given the circumstances in which we discovered those three it will be foolish for us to not be suspicious of them. We need to know if they can be trusted.”

I immediately turned my attention back to the girl, to Jessa, a scoundrel’s grin appearing across my face. She suddenly looked up at me and returned my gaze with a look of nervousness. Visibly amused, I took a large bite from my apple before turning back to face Roland.

“Righto boss,” I smiled cheekily before taking a seat.

This was going to be fun. Perhaps I’d be able to get my revenge after all...

Jessa

I'm suddenly very scared for myself. Here I am, facing one of the first people I openly mocked, wearing -oh, god- the same dress I wore that very day. I pray he doesn't realize it is, and I doubt he will. It's so faded, torn, mud spattered, and -and I hate saying it- I don't fill it out half as well as I did two years ago.

Then, I was under care of the Ropes, who were well funded. However, their leader was stabbed to death a week after that day, and the gang fell apart. Entirely. Now I can't afford to even feed three young boys well, let alone myself. I feel a stab of shame- I make all this money, and what do I do? Give it away. Worn the same dress for two years, and the shoes I've had for five years are falling apart at the seams. I make myself sad.

So I decide to brighten the mood.

"Chameleon, right?" I make my voice completely different than two years ago. Strong, clear, innocent.

"Yeah; Jessamine?"

"Jessa, really."

I smile sweetly and toss my hair (which I'm on the verge of chopping off with an ax, I swear). We're both going along with this now. He doesn't appear to have changed much- same marble-pale skin, same haunting blue eyes, same dark hair- he's identical right down to the smirk that trademarked him.

I cough neatly to hide my brief study of him and pretend my dress is still in top shape, my shoes are silken slippers, my hair isn't dirty, and my ribcage isn't showing some.

Shame on me.

Isaac

Mouse threw a rather disgusting looking mop at me. I scrambled to catch it. Did she have to express her hatred towards me in her every movement? I huffed and started mopping. She had a rag which she was using to wipe away the cobwebs. She became unsuccessful with the ones that were too high for her.

"You know I've seen Shakespeare's plays. Even been in once." Okay, so I lied. I hadn't actually been in one. But I really needed to get them to know I could act. I was not going to be stuck cleaning the damned theatre while they stalked around on a stage. But trying to prove to Mouse that I could act was a new low. I felt pathetic.

"Is Mr. Roland related to you?" I asked. She paused her dusting and looked at me. I looked back calmly. She turned around and said, "No."

We continued cleaning in silence. The silence annoyed me.

"How'd you come to work for him?"

"Stop being so darned nosey and do your work, you little rat."

Sheesh. Try making polite talk, and she vicously bites.

"Look, I'm sorry and all about the paint. Can we put it behind us and be friends?"

She looked at me as if I'd suggested she marry a monkey. I looked back down toward the mop. Shut up, Isaac. You're just embarrassing yourself. We continued on in silence, and my thoughts ran a mile a minute as I wondered what living here with them would be like. I started to become restless, wanting to be downstairs, where all the action was. There were new people, and I hadn't caught their names. A few of them looked familiar. The one who was unconscious. I had definitely seen him. I tried to think where. Aha! Him and Jonathan had been in a fight once. Reuben, I think his name was.

There, I was done. I looked at the floor. It wasn't shining exactly, but you could see the wooden flooring now. Mouse was still struggling with the webs. I was taller than her, and thought of offering her help. But thought better against it. First of all, she'd refuse any sort of help. That ego of hers. Secondly, I wasn't feeling very friendly anymore either. Suits her right for being such a pain.

"Alright I'm going to mop somewhere else now," I said, walking out the room. She didn't reply.

I made my way downstairs with the mop. Julian and that blond were eyeing each other. There was a smirk on Julian's face. He caught sight of me and turned.

"All done?" He asked.

"Not even close." I rested the mop against the wall.

"Hi, I'm Isaac." I extended my hand towards the blond girl. She was really pretty, though her clothes were in shreds. Beside Helen, her clothes looked so sorry and pathetic.

"I'm Jessa." She shook my hand, giving me a half friendly, half curious look. Finally a person who didn't ignore my greetings. I beamed.

I turned toward the red head who looked unimpressed and bored. "And you?"

"Bet Miller."

Bells went out in my head. I knew that name and I knew that girl. I rushed towards her. It was her fault! She'd killed Jonathan.

I tackled her, and she jumped defensively, pinning my arms behind me. I squirmed and fought back with rage.

"You murder!. You dirty, foul murder!" I roared. She looked shocked, but held me steadily, pinned to the ground.

I turned my head and spat. How dare she. That foul murder. If it hadn't for her Jonathan wouldn't be death. The group would have been intact. We would have started on that business and grown rich. I wouldn't be here! I thought of the crudest, worst curse I knew and spat at her. Jonathan would have his revenge.

"Hey!" Julian shouted. All eyes were turned towards us. He forced us apart and held on to the back of my shirt. I squirmed and kicked, but his hold was firm. He moved his mouth close to my ear and whispered, "We'll deal with this later. Not now." He stressed on the not now.

I held still, still keeping a firm gaze on the red head. Ruthless scoundrel, that girl. I would get her.

Houston

Houston had watched the scenes since his arrival with a growing sense of, of all things, amusement. Every last man jack of them was a scoundrel, a thief. Even the women were famed in their chosen professions. So when Isaac had yelled "You murderer," and leaped at Bet, it hadn't surprised him much. However he still pushed himself off the wall and onto his feet, even as Julian wrenched the two apart.

Julian leaned over to the boy and murmured something Houston couldn't make out. Jessa was watching the confrontation with narrowed eyes, and Bet was glaring.

"Problems?" He asked, the corners of his mouth twitching in a sardonic smile. Julian shot him a look.

"Not at the moment," He said sharply, even though Isaac, who was still glaring at Bet, looked very much like he wanted to strangle someone.

"Seems to me that you gents need a private word." Houston said, eyes bright with suppressed amusement. "Ladies? Shall we go examine the stage?" He gallantly offered his arm to the women, but didn't seem disappointed as none took it. He ushered the women to the other side of the auditorium, and onto the stage.

"Sorry about that," he said easily, his hands in his pockets. "Isaac just needed to cool down, I think."