Author's note: this describes a short scene of Safy's past. Some of the content may be considered upsetting by some readers.
On the side of the road there stood a wooden barrel. Somewhat unassuming in appearance it looked like any other that lined the streets of Bree. However if one was to look inside they would see two figures tangled together to try and fit in the crampt space, both peering out through small eyeholes made in the barrel. One of them looks to be a man aged in his late teens, his hair dark and his build muscular; despite this somewhat brutal appearance he has nimble looking hands and a wedding ring adorns his finger. The other is a woman of a similar age with equally dark hair and a skinny build to match his broad figure, an identical ring graces her own ring finger.
Despite the oddness of having two fully grown adults cooped up in a barrel, it was a sight which was becoming more and more common in Bree. The notorious team of Safy Sickletongue and Syus Picklefingers or "Sickles and Pickles" as they called themselves; were an indomitable force when it came to conning and thievery and these days they were better than ever before. They had a simple but effective strategy which ran thus: Sickles would distract unsuspecting, lonesome residents with her quick tongue and witty acting; whilst Pickles would run forwards and pickpocket the resident. Simple, easy and effective at least seven times out of ten; Sickles and Pickles were certainly making a name for themselves. Unfortunately, talent never goes unrewarded...
Pickles wriggled around in the barrel, trying to make himself comfortable in the cooped up space whilst at the same time minimalising the movement of the barrel itself. A soft sigh ripped from his lips as he stared through the eyehole, watching the weary folk of Bree as they rounded up their chores for the day and wended their ways to houses with warm fires waiting. Never missing a trick, he kept his concentration despite the apparent boredom and the cramp he appeared to be acquiring. He had often admired the way how Sickles could sit for hours on end with barely the slightest of movements and now his wife was more patient than ever, indeed, he had even caught her practising being still and silent in odd corners and positions as she showered commitment to their livelihood.
Turning his gaze away from the emptying streets of Bree he cast his eyes over his wife as she watched the outside world. Leaning close to her he softly whispered into her ear, "See anythin’ interes’in’, me dear?" Sickles doesn't look around, her attention apparently caught by the lone man who wondered down the street; garbed in rich clothing he looked like the perfect target for the night's first job. A nod and a point in the right direction was all it took for her to communicate her thoughts to him. They say that when couples spend too much time together they learn to read each other's thoughts and these two were no exception. A few seconds later and both were out the barrel ready to begin their nights work.
The target himself gazed around, trying to make out the figures hidden in the encroaching gloom. “Watchers ‘ad be’er pay me well f’this…” he muttered, shivering slightly from more than the dusk cold. Continuing his walk, he slowly picked his way along the street, glancing from side to side uneasily and jumping a mile when a dark haired woman ran smack bang into him. Eyes wide with apparent fear, hair scruffy and clothing ragged she looked like one having just suffered trauma. The man held his hands out to steady the woman and eyed her up and down whilst muttering a few words of comfort, “Steady lassy, ain’ ough’ to ge’ you ‘roun’ ‘ere.” The woman stared up at him and then suddenly buried her face in his shoulder, apparently sobbing with tears despite the soothing pats and words of the man before her.
Thoroughly distracted, the man failed to notice another creeping up from behind, or the hand which slipped silently into his pocket, or the coin purse which was slowly removed with expert efficiency. The smooth operation, faultless in its practise would have gone off without so much as a glitch were the target as innocent as he appeared. Indeed, just as Pickles turned to try and leg it, several men in the watchers uniform stepped out from the shadows and chaos ensued.
Pickles saw the watchers first, letting out a low warning whistle he slowly backed away, his gaze of concern resting on Sickles who remained in the target’s arms, still trying to put on some sort of act, despite the rapid deterioration of the situations favour for the rogues. An uneasy silence fell over the group for a moment before it was shattered by the scuffling sound of Sickles being roughly grabbed by the scruff of the neck. The strong, hairy arm of a watcher – who, with silent footsteps, had crept up on the unwary woman - was unflinching despite her desperate struggles and the pleading cries of Pickles who was already running over to try and rescue his wife, ignoring the ominous sounds of the other watchers boots hitting the uneven cobbles as they closed in on him. Desperately, Pickles drew his trusty knife from its leather sheath on his belt, crossing the short space of pavement in no time at all.
Upon reaching Sickles he stretched his free hand out to grasp hers tightly despite another watcher now trying to tackle him to the ground and the first trying to pull her away. In that brief moment the two exchanged a knowing, loving glance with each other and then the bond was broken. Pickles was knocked to the floor by the burly watchman, his head rang as it struck the cold ground and a sickening feeling swelled in his stomach. Hurriedly, he rolled onto his back holding the knife aloft in his hand as the watcher pressed the point of his sword against Pickles’ chest - much to the horror of Sickles who was watching as she struggled wildly in the arms of her capturer. The guard scowled down to Pickles, “I’m arrestin’ you fo’ac’s agains’ the laws o’the lan’. Resis’ to your peril! You two lady, keep strugglin’ an’ your lad ‘ere will lose tha’ pre’y face of ‘is.”
The cold voice rang in the quiet, now deserted street. The people of Bree ever know when to make themselves scarce and this occasion was no exception, although the prior warning to the trap was a rumour that had been around Bree for a day or so now and the residents were ever wary of whispered words. Nobody was there to hear Pickles cry out and desperately grab hold of the sharp blade to wrench it away from himself, simultaneously sending a kick to the guards stomach. Both guard and blade were sent flying away as Pickles staggered to his feet, knife in hand and a scowl on his fearsome brow. He strode towards Sickles purposefully, both seemingly unaware of the third guard who up until now had remained hidden in the shadows, a bolt on his crossbow and an impassive finger on the trigger. All it took was second to aim and then the trigger was released…
Pickles felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. The knife dropped from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the ground with an unnaturally loud sound. His legs abruptly felt unable to support his body and he crashed to the floor beside the knife. Slowly, he moved his hand to the injury but all he felt was his warm life blood seeping away. It suddenly became an effort for him to keep his eyes open and slowly they began to shut as he breathed his last…Pickles was dead!
Time seemed to slow down as events overtook Sickles. She felt numb! Her mouth opened and shut as she tried to scream…no sound came out…silence…everything was silent! All she could see in her vision was Pickles lying on the cold ground. She wanted to look away but her gaze refused to move. Guards skittered around, shouting at each other but Sickles no longer resisted, she no longer noticed. Nothing mattered any more. Sickles was alone in the world and it hit her as hard as iron. Life would never be the same again…
