Harmless thunderbolt

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Irene, and I want you to answer them the best you can.” Rosé leans forward, smiling in an eerily deranged fashion. 

“Have you stolen before?” the girl asks. 

“Uh. No.”

“Do you have sticky fingers? Fast hands?” 

“I don’t think so, maybe?” Irene doesn’t see the reasoning behind Rosé’s questions, but Wendy seems to be taking her answers seriously. She sits behind Rosé, expression darkening every time she answers. Yeojin, on the other hand, is evidently enjoying the entire unfolding debacle, laying on her side. Undoubtedly entertained to no end. 

“Irene. Are you lying?” says Rosé. 

“No, why would I be?” Rosé cups her own face, mumbling, “I don’t want to die young. I want to become an old gummy grandma with no hair.”

“Isn’t it a bit too early to be talking about death?” asks Irene. A finger shoots out, pointing, a centimetre from her nose. 

“You. You’re not the Irene we know, you’re an impostor. Irene is the voice of reason,” says Rosé. 

“What are you saying, can you get to the point?” 

“I’m saying you don’t know how to steal and you’ll get caught by Uncle Kyran the second you enter his tent.” Fidgeting. Tapping. The far-too-wide of a smile still plastered on the girl’s face. Nervousness never looks good on anyone, but it is even more so for Rosé.  

“He knows us too well, Rosé and I can’t be the ones to enter his tent,” says Wendy. 

“They regularly stole from Uncle Kyran back then so he’s utterly fond of them in a knife-swinging sort of way,” Yeojin helpfully supplies. Wendy and Rosé glare at the younger girl who pays them no heed. 

“I’d say that he’d sacrifice them to the Earth Mother if they even enter!” Yeojin cackles, pounding her fist on the ground. Volume barely contained in the small cramped tent. Rosé pounces, hands grappling the younger girl’s neck in a flash. 

“You’ll give us the information, you tiny hellion, if you know what’s good for you and if you value your life!” Wendy immediately pulls Rosé away while Yeojin coughs on the ground. 

“Rosé, you can’t kill Yeojin. You can’t become a grandma in prison!” says Wendy.  

“That’s right, chipmunk, listen to your gal pal,” tuts Yeojin who has already recovered. Irene has heard enough. If she lets them keep going, Rosé will definitely murder Yeojin, although the younger girl probably deserves it.  

“We could lure him out of his tent and then one of you could go in to grab his pouch,” Irene proposes. “It’ll be quick. I’m not a stealthy thief, but I can run fast.”

“That’s actually not bad. It could work,” says Wendy. Rosé stops moving, stops her struggle in Wendy’s arms. 

“Uncle Kyran sells rice wine. His most prized and expensive strains are in the smallest gourds,” says Rosé. 

“It’s easy to spot, m’lady, if you steal his prized wine and run for it, he might just chase after you. Forgetting his pouch of coins behind.” Yeojin finishes the plan for her and it sounds too perfect, like they could actually pull it off. 

“Won’t there be guards or anything?” asks Irene. The other three look at her as if she had finally leapt off a cliff.  

“There are no guards in the Old Quarters, no one wants to patrol down here. There is no loyalty either when money drives the law,” says Wendy. Yeojin goes to lift the tent flap, her other arm outstretched, gesturing to Irene. 

“Then it’s all settled. M’lady, here you go. Time to put your plan into action.” Irene looks back at her friends. It feels so rushed, one minute they were planning and now she has to execute it.  

“You guys will be right behind me?” 

“Don’t worry. Wendy and I will swoop in when you come running out with him on your heels. This plan only has a 40 percent fail rate! It’ll be very easy,” says Rosé.  

“A 99.9 percent chance to succeed,” corrects Wendy. 

“That’s what I meant.” Irene inhales deeply. She can do this. Getting up on her feet, making her way past the moving throng and into the largest tent in the vicinity. 

“What can I get for you today?” bellows a hearty man. Uncle Kyran, in a natural off-white toga that is obviously several sizes too small, is sitting on a tiny wooden stool. Black curly hair, bearded. Massive muscular arms, bulky body, Irene has no doubt if the man lays a finger on her, she’ll probably fly a good five feet. 

“Your best wine?” Rows and rows of gourds lined perfectly on the floor. Behind the man, are medium-sized gourds, but there’s one that’s smaller than the rest. 

“Let’s see,” his arm sweeps over the gourds nearest to her, plucking one, “this one is good. A bit of a floral scent to it.”

“But I want something stronger.” She’s really pulling this out of her rear end, she has no idea what she’s doing. 

“Aye, a fine lady like you shouldn’t drink too much. How about this?” 

“What about that?” she says, pointing to the prized wine. He his head, rubbing his chin. He grabs another gourd. 

“This wine is just as good. I guarantee the taste is the exact same.”

“I’ll pay you extra.”

“Normally, I'd say yes, but I’m saving that one for my regular who’s coming later today. There will be more in stock tomorrow.” She has to get her hands on it. No matter what.

“Okay, I’ll come back later, but may I see it first? Just to check its quality,” she says. He grins, handing it over. 

“Sure!” She pretends to inspect it from all sides, aware that his eyes follow her every movement. He is about an arm’s length away from her so if she runs, she definitely has to activate her avatar. 

She scoots backwards a bit, stretching, waiting for the right timing. Her heart beats faster. “Hey, be careful—” No time to hesitate. She’s up on her feet, running out, into the crowd.  

“Thief! Thief!” he yells, footsteps thundering. Chasing after her. Irene shoves people out of her path, elbowing, trying to create as much distance.

Women and children are screaming, he’s close behind. 

A strong grip sends her tumbling into him, wrangling her to the ground. “You’ll pay for this!” Insurmountable weight, dropping onto her chest. Unable to move and her avatar vanishes.  

Loud shattering. She sees Wendy throwing gourds into the crowd, wine spilling on the ground. His attention shifts to the chaos, hold loosening.  

Irene knees him, straight to where it's sensitive, swiftly inducing a cry of pain. Letting her go. She scrambles backwards, taking in the situation. The crowd converges on Wendy, who runs into Uncle Kyran’s tent. Streaming inside, wreaking havoc. 

“No. No!” Eyes widening at the chaotic scene. He runs back, desperately trying to part the crowd. Only for a whizzing pot to strike him. A clean shot to the temple and he’s out cold. 

“And Wendy said my aim was horrible! You good, there?” says Rosé, rushing to her, picking up the fallen dented pot. Her arms and chest are throbbing, her knees scraped. Irene coughs. 

“Never been better.” 

“Great, that’s what I like to hear! I think Wendy and Yeojin will meet with us at the entrance in a few minutes. Can you walk?” 

“Yes,” mumbles Irene. She follows Rosé, listening to the ongoing chaos befalling Uncle Kyran. The people’s cries of joy, his low yells of misery. 

“Well, Irene, even if you kind of failed on your part, Wendy and I have salvaged the situation. So don’t worry too much,” says Rosé. Irene laughs a bit, reaching behind, fingers feeling her own back. She bites back a wince. She doesn’t need to see to