A whisper. Was he listening? Barest breath of a click. Yes he was, Locke promised his prize. Ears leaned forward, straining to catch the barest of noises of metal springs and gears. Almost. Feathers about his shoulders stood fluffed, but his lips held a smirk. Just one more-


“Are you done yet?” It roared into him as if yelled, sending the lock picks scattering in the tumbler, and icing the young thief in cold annoyance. Locke, with his still boyish short cropped mane raises his head from the small lockbox on the patio floor. His reply was more bitter than the wine she’d tried to seduce him with. “No.” Then he tries to remember his favorite sunny balcony was not his to make threats on. “Almost though.” The chestnut slip of a mare appeared through the sheer curtains from the cool shaded room. She was beautiful. Even though he’d yet to actually try them Locke never denied the madam of this house knew how to choose them.


Her (Who was she again? Some typical name- Mercedes maybe?) complaint kept the same whining tone. “But I’m lonely-” That’s when he also remembers that he was not a typical customer here, and perhaps he might put more effort into his attempt to seem such. So his reply loses the frozen barbs. “Alright darling,” (Maybe it was Macy?) “Go fetch some whiskey, and put another couple hours to the tab. I’ll be done when you get back.” Done with pretending he actually had any of the intentions to fix her loneliness issues. Still she (Mercury. Defint-....or maybe Merabelle) giggled and had the skill to fake a blush, before spinning on her hooves to go back in. Locke didn’t bother to watch her go before he turned back to his challenge, pick already clicking into the first slot.


The door closed behind the bought pretender, but Locke was already engrossed back into his task. It was a small box, but a complicated lock. Not that there was anything in it. The madam kept these in the rooms for customers, and she had a key. But that wasn’t the point. Picking locks, was ironically for the boy who had been named Locke, not an easily gained skill. Cutting purses and pulling coins he was a natural talent at. Charming his way through the barricades of a mark’s trust he could do in his sleep. Crafting lies so real he could wear them as a second skin, he had learned without much hassle. Yet when it came to speaking the language of pins, tumblers, and metal the poor youth had always found a lack of desire and natural gift.


It didn’t help that his tutor in that area was a world class bore of an ass: Elihacor. The young colt, just pulled from the streets, had never cared to listen to the old stallion’s lectures. It didn’t help that he took those lessons with….her. And while the old gruff talked theory and drew with the chalk upon the stone wall to show the mechanics of lock type number 9582, she would be there, looking so fucking damn perfect. Soft glowing skin, easy grace in her stance cast in a way a royal can wear regality with such disregard for its worth. She wasn’t a royal, he’d remind himself, but she had ruled over him all the same. The way her hair slipped out from the haphazard bun at the crown of her head to tumble down in a curl against her refined elegant neck. She’d notice him watching of course, turn with that small devilish smile. Picking locks was easy for her, always had been, she had only been pretending to listen. She knew. That mare knew she had him. Gods. She was a bitch….


It was the noise in the hall that brought him to this world again. Found him staring out over the city of burnished white buildings and humming noises, lockpicks sagging forgotten in the lock. Shit. She was still screwing him over. Another noise from the hall catches the chained ear back. Damn. The memories were like cobwebs, clinging now to everything. Through the sheer curtains wavering in the late afternoon spring breeze he could see the door resting against the latch. No need to let her in, and Locke still wasn’t of the mind to take anything she offered except maybe the whiskey, so the young thief turns back to his small lock box, picking past the first two clicks quicker than before. The anger of memories being burned away by the afternoon sun and challenge. 

"Speaking."
OOC:: @Reinhart  Sorry for the long starter, I've been wanting to dive more into his past, and couldn't resist the temptation. =D Excited for this!