In this scene, the Thieves' Guild is releasing an upgraded cloak to members. The item allows its wearer to be virtually invisible.
The previous day, all Arcane, Master, and Premium level members had picked up their cloaks.
Today, Advanced members have front-of-line privilege, and that's where our hero comes in.
Advanced Privilege
Senth pounded up the stairs, feeling the judgmental stares of hundreds of pairs of eyes on his back. He stepped up to the desk. "Morning. Here for my cloak."
The worker looked up, raked a glance down him. "Listen, kid, this is Advanced only. There's a line. Wait your turn."
"Yeah. I get it." Letting his fangs show, Senth gestured to himself. "I have a 'baby face.' I hear that every day, but I'm no kid. I'm old enough to join the Armada and vote."
A mocking smile painted itself across the worker's face. "If you were human."
Could he not get one day without being reminded he didn't belong?
"Plus," the worker continued, "in case you're new here, you should know you have to be a Level Fifteen or higher to get a cloak."
Oh, he was one of those? Judge the face and not the person. Time to pull out the big guns. Not his favorite way to deal, but if you had a tool that worked, you yanked it out of the bag and used it. Wasn't that the point of having a tool?
Senth leaned one hand on the desk and bent closer as if sharing a secret. "Speaking of being new here... When did you arrive?"
The guy drew back. "Transferred in from Tarth to help with the cloak distribution."
"Shh." Senth made a show of glancing around. "Quiet like, what level are you?"
The man gave him a smug smile. "My Guild ranking is Thirteen."
"Wow. Impressive. And how old are you?"
The worker frowned. "Not that it's your business, but I'm thirty."
"Yeah? You know when I hit Level Thirteen?" Senth picked lint off the man's jacket, dropped it onto the floor. "When I was nine."
The man scoffed. "Nobody's ever done that."
"Look it up. I hold the record for youngest ever reaching it." He stood straight, squaring his shoulders. "I'm a Level Nineteen now. You'll find me under Antonello, Senth, Advanced Interior Security. Or you can try Harbinger." He flashed his father's hand sign, showing the back of two fingers together straight across his waist. "Son of."
"The Harbin--" The man pushed back from the desk and tripped getting to his feet. "Oh, you're the-- You're the--" He muttered an oath. "I'll be right back with your cloak, sir. One moment." He hustled toward the storeroom.
Yep. Daddy had clout.
While Senth waited, a few other thieves in Advanced nodded to him. One of his professors, in full Guild robes and regalia, passed by. When Senth bowed, the man bowed in return. Respect. Mutual. What was so hard about showing it?
A couple females picking up their cloaks shot looks his way.
Had the women overheard his relationship to the Man?
Not that he could take up anyone's offer anyway. His father made sure of that.
Saint-Cyr didn't trust a male Kin, halfbreed or not, to wander around unShackled. Females could, sure. Females could control themselves. The drug his father injected him with kept Senth's feral side at bay, but that didn't mean he was kitten material.
He might not be able to--um--extend his claws, so to speak, but he had other...abilities. Too bad as a HalfKin he hadn't been blessed with his race's real claws. He had to make do with fingers. No advantage over humans.
Unless you knew how to use them. A thief had to be good with his hands.
He sent a slow smile back toward the women.
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