The Class Divide [Inactive]

grapedrank

grapedrank

Junior Member
grapedrank submitted a new role play:


The Class Divide - There's a huge divide between the rich and the poor in this kingdom, literally.

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The kingdom of Ottilia was once a beautiful and prosperous country. It was not perfect by far, but its people were content and happy for the most part. That is, until drought and famine and disease began striking the kingdom. Wells dried up and crops refused to grow and entire towns were wiped out from a plague. The kingdom was on the verge of collapse and in order to protect the few resources left and...
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grapedrank updated The Class Divide with a new update entry:


Princess role taken!

So I was notified by an interested player for the role of the princess. Since it is first-come, first-serve, the spot belongs to MissPenny. There are still a few spots that haven't been claimed such as the King, Queen, Prince, Thieves' Guild leader, etc.
I, myself, might be making a second male character soon in order to fill up these empty spaces. Tell your friends about the roleplay! We need a lot more people to sign up if we want this RP to be successful!
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grapedrank updated The Class Divide with a new update entry:


Small Update - More Leadership/Authority Positions have been taken!

Just wanted to notify everyone that the positions for the leader of the Thieves' Guild has been taken as well as the leader of the The Service (a group of men and women from both classes who take care of crimes under the notice of the citizens - Read Tesla's character biography for more information on it and if the Service is possibly something you'd be interested in being a part of).
Positions are filling up fast which is very encouraging! We'll likely be starting within the next week or so,...
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grapedrank updated The Class Divide with a new update entry:


We will be starting soon! Also, opinions would be welcome!

So glad to see so many people signing up!
Updates on positions still open:


- The female Rags positions have all been filled.


- There is one spot left for the male Rags.


- One spot left for the female Noble.


- And two spots left for the male Nobles.


I will consider adding more spots if people are showing more interest, but I'd like to keep the positions to four for each class and gender.


This roleplay will be starting within the next week, I'm looking forward to seeing you all...
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Hi, can i still join. Wanted to be a rag, but if i can only be a noble, I will do my best i swear. Female noble btw!
 
[QUOTE="Anno Bane]Hi, can i still join. Wanted to be a rag, but if i can only be a noble, I will do my best i swear. Female noble btw!

[/QUOTE]
No problem! There's still one noble female spot left :)
 
grapedrank updated The Class Divide with a new update entry:


Character Order and Posting Rules and Regulations! IMPORTANT RP IS STARTING

Okay so based on the feedback I received, those of you who contacted me were in favor of a posting order, but I do agree that a posting order is going to make the roleplay move slower. So here are the rules!
When it is your turn to post, you have ONE day to post before we skip to the next person. Now, I understand we all have real life stuff going on and won't always be able to get on the computer, so here's the deal, if we skip over you, that's fine, just post after those people when you can,...
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Emera was currently with a small group of her militia in her makeshift home after a hunting trip. The house itself wasn't much, four wall made of oak she gathered in the forests with a shanty roof over her head that mostly held up unless there was a particularly bad downpour. There was an area in the center that was a bit lower than the rest where she made a fire, and a makeshift window and door carved into the wall facing the street, both of which were covered by tattered cloth. A small cot was located in the far corner right next to extra It wasn't much, but it was more of a home to Emera than she's ever had in her life, and she knows this little shelter has been a place to stay for several of the folk in the area when they fell upon desperate times.


Currently, there was a gathering of a few men and women who had just finished a small hunt with her into the forests. Their catches were strung up and Emera was currently dividing up the rations to be handed out by the markets. They had quite the load this time, the young soldier was proud of what they had accomplished. They had been making hunts into the forests at least once a week now, typically at night when the larger animals moved about and they could be ready for the smaller rodents and birds to arise in the morning and catch them while they were just getting out of their shelters.


She knew that some didn't appreciate the fact that they just gave out food instead of selling in the black markets for a hefty price, but that wasn't what she formed the militia for. If they wanted t0 make a profit off of their catches, they could join the gangs for all she cared. But Emera gathered these men and women to be something the common folk could count on, and she refused to go back on that. That's not to say that she still didn't need her profits, however. The meat was the only part of the animal they gave out, the hides, furs and bones were sold in the blackmarket to make a profit (she had to make a living somehow).


Once the rations were divided and times were assigned to each of the men and women when and where they would be handing out rations, Emera dismissed them from her home, but noticed a few still lingering. The woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, the dirt on her fingertips smudging slightly on her face. "Okay, out with it," she said as she crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the front wall of the shelter. She had the cloth covering the window rolled up so she could see out into the market. Dawn was just approaching and the sky was currently tinged pink with its life. The villagers were just starting to wake up and get ready for the day, but things were still quiet. Emera herself felt quite exhausted after having spent the night hunting in the forests, but she tried not to let it show for she still had much to do today.


"Tis true, Emera?" one of the women, Joanna, spoke up. "What they say?"


"You'll haveta be more specific, Jo," Emera commented lightly. She knew exactly what they wanted to know, but felt like dragging it out nonetheless.


"Well - tha- that th' King had sent one o' his men to invite you to the Riches' towns?" she finally spilled. The others beside her shifted on their feet uncomfortably, but leaned in closer as they wanted to hear what she was going to say.


"Aye," Emera nodded. " 'appened not a few days ago. We'll see what 'appens." And the words were sent with a firm nod that spoke to the others that she was done speaking about the matter. Joanna looked as if she were about to ask something else but thought better of it before shaking herself, seemingly more confused than before and the others quickly shuffled after her.


Emera collapsed on her cot and stared at the shanty roof and the glimpses of sunlight peaking in through the holes in the ceiling. She had been patrolling in the evening near the walls for gangs that had reportedly been planning to scale the wall into the high town when she had been approached by one of the men. Even to this day, Emera was stunned by just how different the Riches were from them. The way they spoke and carried themselves was so incredibly structured as if they were still as dignified and orderly as the kingdom was when it was at its most prosperous before the plague struck. The man, Emera hadn't quite caught his name, had been told by others that she would be patrolling here, a fact that made the woman bristle, but she kept her face impassive as he went on. He had invited her and a few people whom she chose to attend the first of what would hopefully be many peace talks in the high town. As much as Emera wanted to spit at the invitation and claim that there were more important things to do than play dignitary to a bunch of nobles who would sneer down the bridge of their noses to her, she also knew that this was an opportunity very few would get to be a part of and knew very well to take advantage. She had agreed, and the assembly was scheduled to occur later in the day around dusk.


It had been strange, to say the least, the encounter. After all, once the wall was constructed years back, no one from the lower towns had heard of the nobles. They could have all died from the plague behind their little walls and none of them would have been the wiser. Over the years, there were a few announcements from the interior - updates on the king and announcements of traveling parties or negotiations with other kingdoms. All matters that had no effect on them, up until recently when it was announced that there were plans being made to tear down the wall. Emera wasn't the only one shocked by the news, but had chalked it up to a load of horse shit up until she was approached by the man from before himself. She had no idea what to expect from these talks, but Emera could feel the change weighing in the air like a heavy blanket.
 
He was dangling in front of him a emerald necklace. Stringed on numerous chains, the palish green sheen reflected the sunlight towards him, emitting a strange reflection. The jewel itself, as small of his pinky's fingernail, was encircled by a golden strand. This necklace was of a strange beauty....Taking the jewel between his fingers, he slightly angled it from the side, observing it with tranquillity. He closed one eye and concentrated to see the symbols etched upon the metal, little enough to be ignored by people, but so very beautiful. Those damn nobles and rats both didn't have the grace to see it. With a slight quiver of his lips, he detached the clasp of the necklace, and put the pendant around his neck, shifting on his chest. He rose slowly and turned around, the heels on his boots echoing in the large area.


The spot where he was located was high up in a tower. The place was illuminated by several lamps, laying a warm glow on the white polished stone. On the walls were various weapons, all placed on rows and rows of wooden shafts, determined by types of metal, timber and crafting, labels engraved on them to facilitate the job. He had been resting on the edge of the window, large enough to let an dragon pass through, if there were no glass between him and the muffled howling wind. The walls seemed to be fabricated in the same material as the floor was, and so the room was uniform, with only the weapons and the large banners on the wall that struck out of his environment.


As this was a spare equipment room, no one would be here to disturb him on his daily thoughts. No nobles, after all, wanted to venture somewhere that they could trip and fall on a pointy thing that could injure them. Hazor snorted, quietly chuckling about the nobles. They were a bunch of cowards to his eyes.


Walking out of the chamber with a swift movement, he pushed the heavy oak doors with ease and collided with one of his soldiers.


"Si-Sir Hazor!" The man said with respect, and slight fear. "I've been looking for you, sir!"


"Yes, Knight?" Hazor asked, shifting his footing from one foot to the other. On his short time as the Leader, he already commanded great respect among the knights he had commanded. "What is it?"


"Today, sir, we have to confirm that the Leader of the militia is going to the ball. Again, sir." The Knight, bowed in front of him, without a little discomfort. People of high standing were always a bit rude when mentioning the Rags. He had no comfort with them either, but it didn't hurt to try to sympathize. Some of them weren't even that bad, but it was better not to mention that in the presence of a purist.


With a irrited sigh, Hazor remembered that the King hard ordered him to go do that, a few days ago. It's not that he didn't want to go to that sector, it's because that sort of thing was a bit tedious. It was apparent that the woman wanted to spit in his face and the people wanted to stab him where he stood. He didn't even know that the situation was aggravated to that extent, which is mostly because he had only dealt with his rare patrols in that area and with the folks whom had come to steal valuables. The event coming soon, however, if she accepts, would be a good place to make some compromises and maybe, who knows? Lessen some of the tension?


"Yes, alright." The Knight Commander glided one hand in his dark hair, his dark green eyes hardening. Good thing he was already wearing his armour then, as a result of the practice early in the morning. He didn't want to waste any moments to go deal with them. He fixed his metal braces.


"Sir, carriage or horse?"


"Foot." He responded, his voice strict. Hazor need not of a horse if it was going to die, and a carriage was unlike what he was. He hated those anyways.


"By your command, sir."


With a bob of the head, the jittery Knight accompanied him through the long marbled corridors of the palace, adorned with beautiful decorations, vases with numerous exotic flowers in them, banners high up and proud... Sir Straub avoided any big hallways, by fear for some noble would suddenly strike up an conversation and impede in his mission. They went outside, greenery surrounding them like an open wreath flowers in full bloom. They headed for the Wall, ominous and rugged, the hard concrete 10 meters thick, 50 meters high- No wonder it took such a long time to build. Glancing behind him, the beauty of the capital was marvellous from his point of view, he wondered what it looked like from on top of the Wall.


That would be for another time.


"Would you want me to accompany you, sir?" The young man stopped at the larger than life gates, wrought with iron and steel and turned towards his commander.


"No, I can fare well by myself." He didn't want to alert more people to him, even if by himself he did the job single-handedly.


The Knight looked worried, and carefully muttered his thoughts. "They are savages, sir. Be careful."


No other apparent reaction coming from him, Hazor dragged his gaze from him to the gigantic gate, which left a small opening for him to go through. "You are dismissed, Knight, thank you for your time." The Knight, like a rabbit, made off in a gust of wind. Marching towards the massive structure, he went past the gates with ease, the ground still steady under his feet. He knew that once he would arrive in the sector, his boots would sink into the mud and that he had to avoid the unwanted gaze quickly, or else he would get attacked. With a groan, the only passage to the capital closed.


Soon enough, the stone turned into gravel, and gravel turned into mud, the houses in his way getting more and more worned out, fabricated with flimsy wood, straw or banded with cords. Along with the populace eyeing him with hate, he felt the massive pressure on him already. Avoiding their gaze and looking forward, he tried to block out the insults and profanity coming from their broken words and stand tall, wading through the shit, mud and piss to finish the bloody job. The smell stuck to him. Soot, fire, blood, defecation, mud, humidity all combined in one horrible smell that made him even more pissed. He was ready to bet one ear that most of them didn't take a bath in a week. Hell, he wondered how they survived in such a mess. Slowly piecing the details of the woman he had met, Hazor pondered, his frown etching deeper in his features. His helmet was attached to his belt, so people could see his full features, and so be afraid. To some, he looked incredibly scary when he was thinking, to others, he looked pissed off. It would be a mechanism to defence for him. No one dared to approach him when he looked enraged.


Looking around him once again, he realized that didn't really know about what happened in this place. The Knight had heard that a wave of ailments and diseases swept up this part of the kingdom, so the old King had completely blocked off the capital from them, with the big Wall, for all that, that was all. It was pretty selfish of the late King to do that.... Good thing that the Wall was being brought down then....nevertheless, he was concerned about what would happen next. Would the populace raid Soraya? Would the tension escalate if he reinforced the guard? Clicking back into the real world once again, his mind steeled itself as he redirected himself to where the people had said she lived. A small wooden shanty, near the headquarters of the militia. Though they had said it with a barbarian tongue.


Hazor wasn't the best when it came to socializing, ugh. The pression was already mounting on his back. Spotting the house from far, he quickly trudged towards the location, of which he had just zeroed in into. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door, his heart thumping in his chest. He knew the great importance of these conversations and was compelled to do what the Royal family wanted him to do, due to his rank and high expectations that came from him.
 
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A gentle gust of wind sweeps the grassland as the group of bison crosses a creek, their young chasing after each other or just tailing their mothers with full energy, but they seem to have overlooked the shrubs and bushes nearby.


Kirk draws his breath as deep as how long he stretched his bow string, with one eye squinted he searches for his target - finally there it is, a weak and slow one but packed, it seems to have aged a lot and its up for Kirk to aid him with the next phase of his life. An eagle flap its wings as it glides through the morning skies as though its aware of Kirk presence behind the bushes despite his camouflages and decides to observe him, both of them knows that if Kirk could just simply shoots his arrow at the bison and get it over with, but since its not in his best interest to put a moaning half-dead beast out of its misery, Kirk tries to aim for its head.


"Ooohreight, goodnight big fella'." he whispered with a grin and prepares to loose his arrow as a drop of sweat drips from his forehead to his left eye and finally his shaky fingers that holds the tail of the arrow against the bow string. Suddenly he pauses, with his eyes open wide - something else is stalking him from behind the bushes, could the hunter be hunted now? Without wasting another second, he spun around, ready to face whatever is about to storm out of the bushes to pounce him.


Yes, he is being stalked - by a monster of snow white fur, pink little snout and two long ears, a rabbit. "Ah, ya li'el fur ball!" he cussed loudly, causing the bison nearby to look at his direction and quickly storms off in a stampede, realising this, Kirk quickly raises his bow again and storms out of his place of hiding, knowing that it do him no good anymore, he chase after the beasts and quickly loosen some arrow whilst running after them, thanks to the trail of smoke and dust they left behind, Kirk fails to target any one of them properly.


After all the dusts and smokes clear up, Kirk can be seen panting heavily as he drops his bow and massages his knees. "I'll make shoore tae' hont rabbeet' nixt teim." he slowly regain his breath and returns back into the slums of Soraya empty handed.


He releases a sigh and blends into the crowd of rags casually and steals an apple from a stall nearby. As he wanders through the busy street, biting into the apple while thinking how to explain his failure to his client whom still waiting for the bison hooves and persuade them to not cut his pays, Kirk pauses and notice something...


In the evening, Kirk approaches a gang of hooded men in a back alleyway with a rugged sack. "Well Davidson? Ya got 'em?" one of them asks, his hood and beards can't hide those nasty rotting set of teeth. "Aye, right 'ere." Kirk snickers happily and unloads the content of the sack, the hooded men grinned and exchange a glance before tossing Kirk a pouch of coins, "There ya go, boy. Now off with ya.". Kirk just shrugs, nod and does as what he was told, he leaves the hooded men to celebrate over what they believed to be actual 'bison hooves', real enough that all Kirk has to do was to just steal some mere cow hooves being sold around Soraya, painted it black and self proclaim it as bison hooves.


As he enters into the Heisfer's Blacksmith, Miranda - his foster mother greeted him with a freshly made plate of fried eggs, the same dinner they have been enjoying for several months now ever since the nearby stall that sales chicken and beef was ransacked by some street thugs. "Kirk! How's ya dae? Dinnors' reade'~" she called out to Kirk, making him wonder how does she maintain such a cheerful tone despite her husband being ill and immobile on their bed for months now. "Aye...thank ye, Mira....how's Krüg?"


Mira's smile turns upside down, sadness is taking over her again. "He's...I don't know...if only there's a doctor here..." she sighs.
 
Jarin’s quill raced across a piece of parchment, his eyes glinting with excitement as he watched his invention take shape on the paper. Once the ink started to thin, he rose his writing utensil to the inkwell and prepared to dip it in.


He nearly toppled over the inkwell as someone knocked on his bedroom door, startling him out of his trance. His temporary happiness quickly gave way to panic, and he scrambled to stuff the paper behind his large wardrobe and out of sight.


“Yes…?” he answered nervously.


“It’s your mother, honey.”


Jarin let out a sigh of relief, his previous anxiety dissipating. “Come in.”


His mother opened the door and walked in, a gentle smile on her face. Her eyes glanced around the extravagant room that held an enormous bed with lush red blankets, a large mahogany wardrobe, and a solid wood desk and chair, before looking at Jarin. She walked over to where he sat by his desk, the hem of her magnificent dress brushing the floor.


Jarin pulled out his paper from behind the wardrobe and attempted to smooth it out. To his dismay, the ink was smudged in several places.


“Oh, that’s a shame.” His mother lamented. “But I’m sure you can make another one, one even better. You have such a great imagination.”


“Thanks.” Jarin smiled, reassured by his mother’s genuine compliment. “You scared me when you knocked. I thought it was Father.”


“I apologize. Your father told me to come get you. A friend of your father’s is here, and he insists that you be present as well.”


“…alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He responded reluctantly.


She nodded and left the room. With a huff of dread, he stood up and shrugged on his rich red cloak. He forced himself to the dining room, where his parents, his elder brother, and a strange man sat at the table. He hesitantly took the seat by his brother—who, as he expected, refused to even acknowledge that he had sat down beside him—and soon after the talk began.


It wasn’t long before Jarin found himself daydreaming, thinking of new ways to fuel another invention he had in mind. It was a favorite pastime of his, even though he knew nothing would ever come of it. He just found it so interesting to wonder about the infinite possibilities that could be created. After several minutes of ignoring the drone of chatter, he took a sip from his goblet.


“—your family has been selected to participate in the peace talks with those…Rags.”


Jarin choked on his drink when he caught the guest’s words, coughing for several moments before he could compose himself. When he looked up he saw everyone’s eyes trained on him, including his father’s and brother’s irritated glares. He shrank back in his seat, mumbling an embarrassed apology under his breath.


“Excuse my discourteous youngest son. We agree to be present during the meetings.” His father responded.


“I will inform the king of your decision. Thank you for your time.” With that, the stranger left, walked to the door by his kind mother. Jarin rushed back to his bedroom before his father had time to reprimand him and shut the door behind him, feeling more uneasy by the second.


Talk…with the Rags? Those uncouth, rough criminals that lived outside the wall? He had heard many stories told by other nobles, all of which were dark and gritty. Rags stole and murdered, fought and massacred.


And yet he was expected to be in the same room as them?


Fear raced up his spine at the thought. He was tempted to go beg his father not to make him go, but knew that it would be in vain. His fear of him was on par with that of the Rags, and he also didn't want to disappoint his mother.


He would just have to stay out of sight. Yeah, make sure that he stayed in the background and wasn't a noticeable target. Hopefully the Rags would either not see him or consider him to pitiful to jump or stab or kill or…


Jarin shook his head and sat back down at his desk. He picked up his quill and grabbed another sheet of parchment. Until the time came to leave, he would keep himself calm by drawing or reading.
 
Branwen sighed, shaking her head as she ducked underneath the young man's dagger, her own blade lashing out at the back of the male's knew, the force and the shock of feeling the dulled blade hit that tender spot quite hard enough to hurt sending him tumbling to the ground. From there she threw an actual dagger at him, the blade imbedding itself in the rough wooden floor an inch from his neck.


"You're no better than the children that play-fight in the streets. Get outta here." She spoke coldly, no sympathy in her tone as she reached out a hand, not to help the male up but to retrieve her dagger, take the male's borrowed blade back, and walk away, chuckling only at the laughs the rest of her thief's present shared at the boy's expense. That's all he was really. A foolish young kid with idiotic fantasies about life as a thief and an overestimation of his abilities. He'd only swung at her once and she'd dealt with him easily.


"Another one bite's the dust. Eh Branwen?" A gruff voice mused as she sat herself down at the stool, currently in a private tavern that also served as the location where most of the guild was based out of. It was her building essentially.


She glanced over at who spoke. Tèryn, the old codger who'd been here as long as she could remember. He was not of a high ranking within their guild, but was well respected, having been around for ages, and also happening to be incredibly wise, for a belligerent old guy like he.


"Ay, they don't make em like they used to. Everyone wants to be a recruit, no ones got what it takes. Too many have grown soft and lazy in their inactive anger and suffering." Branwen replied, motioning the barkeep over, getting, and sliding over a mug of ale to the old coot. It's all he ever drank after all.


The man nodded, taking a hearty swig from the mug before setting it back down. "Thieves? Oh they be all around girlie. Tis the ones that'll actually be loyal that are hard to find. If they are, they're either stupid or bad thieves." He noted.


"The dangerous be the best," Branwen began, saying part of the old saying that the guild had passed down for years.


"And the best get the riches." Tèryn finished with a chuckle. "Arrowen made up that saying when I was a wee boy. Gave me a piece o' gold when I finally had it memorized." The man mused, reminiscing about olden days in the guilds early history.


"Things be changing soon enough." She sighed, shaking her head. "The wall's coming down, and those damned riches want to have peace talks. Hah." She muttered, shaking her head. "When those arrogant fools are actually out here, helping the sick, the starving, the homeless, giving out that which the people actually need, then they can talk about peace." Branwen finished irritatedly. "Words aren't going ta fix a bloody thing."


"I take it you aren't planning on going then?" The old man replied with a raised eyebrow, wisely deciding not to comment on her mutterings.


"I might. If only to steal from the spoiled brats." Branwen shrugged, shaking her head upon Tèryn offering her some ale, not wanting the alcoholic drink. "What do you think?"


"I think that the guild comes first, and you should be doin' whatever benefits us the most."


"That's what I always do, isn't it?" Branwen questioned with a raised brow.


"Yessum, it always is." He nodded, glancing about.


"Well then, there ya go." Branwen finished, before getting up, moving at at a brisk pace, the sort distance to the stairs which she ambled up swiftly, ducking inside the door to her room. She then passed through another doorway within her room that led to a little office area with a view of the semi-busy street outside. It hadn't been a horrible day. Just a boring one, for her anyways.


Plopping down in a wooden chair, she rifled through the pages of her logbook which she pulled from a larger, normally locked drawer in the desk before her, one of the few nicer pieces of furniture in the building. Flipping through that, she went over what they'd made this week, who'd been most active, and figured out how to distribute some of the earnings. They were doing quite well. It seemed things were only getting easier and easier for the thieves, able to take and steal as they please, without getting caught, if not for herself directing them, telling them what they could and couldn't do under her watch. She had rules that she stuck to. If she let everyone just run around pick pocketing whoever, they'd have been caught ages ago.
 
grapedrank updated The Class Divide with a new update entry:


Back from Oblivion and other updates!

I'm back! Im sorry for disappearing, I had some major health problems and am still recovering from surgery but I'm doing a lot better now. I can't tell whether or not to be happy or disappointed that this RP is inactive- on the one hand I'm glad I didn't miss much and on the other hand I'm disappointed that so many people signed up and never posted. Although I also understand if some of you were simply waiting for your turn to play but those before you never posted.
So here's what I'm going...
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(Oh, sorry about my post in the OOC. I didn't know you were having surgery.)


What were those guys doing out there? Why were they on horses, and why were they circling his house? These were the thoughts pouring through the child's mind, as the bandits circled the old farmhouse. Who were they? Some of father's friends? Little Andrew's questions were soon answered when an arrow came sailing through one of the windows and hit his mother in the shoulder. His mother screamed and fell over, as Andrew's father rushed to her side. Andrew and his siblings watched, crying and screaming as the bandits pelted the house with arrows. The only sibling missing was the eldest brother, Nathaniel. Always content to do his own thing, the rebellious teenager.


He had run off earlier, he had taken his bow and run off outside to defend. The one "man" decided to fight at least 10 bandits all by himself. Andrew hadn't noticed however, mostly because they were under attack by bandits, and other more important problems had arisen. As his father attempted to remove the arrow from his mother's shoulder, a fiery Boyle flew through the broken window and hit the wall beside them.


***


Andrew Klern looked at the market below him, rain pouring from above. He currently sat on a rooftop, a gargoyle staring down at the ants of the city. He had always wondered how he made it up these rooftops. Luck, most of the time. Someone would jab a ladder that led up to a window, or a pipe would happen to be sturdy enough to climb. It didn't really matter, but all that did was that he really enjoyed this view. Like, a lot. He smiled, and began tossing the coin he had "found" and began tossing it up in the air. Caught it. Threw it. Caught it. Threw it. Caught it. Threw it. Missed it. Andrew frowned as the coin went sliding down the rooftop and flew down all the way to the dirt ground.


He began climbing down the building, first jumping through the window in which he had come in through. Andrew looked around the nice room, which was likely owned by a rich person. A large bed with velvety sheets, golden chairs and a large dresser. It was a nice apartment. The building was a hotel after all, and had not been easy to get into. Andrew had ended up scaling the building with a rope for several hours. Luckily it was surrounded by other buildings and the the side he had chosen to climb was particularly dark. Rain helped too. Andrew's thoughts had been interrupted by heavy footsteps, and the door suddenly shaking. Someone was coming in.


He turned back to the open window and pulled the curtains down. They would buy him previous seconds. Andrew climbed behind the curtains and entered into the rain. He stood on top of the windowsill, then began lowering himself down. He heard the door open and loud steps. Whistling. Andrew felt the windowsill slowly breaking. Crumbling. Crack. He gasped as he fell, when the windowsill crumbled away and forced him to grab onto a new ledge. The whistling stopped. Andrew grabbed onto an area where a brick had previously fallen away. A hole just for him to grip. And he gripped with all his might. His straw hat floated down the building, away with the coin.


Andrew heard some mutterings, and then listened to the sound of the curtains shuffling. "Why the hell is this window open?! Any my windowsill?!" Andrew hugged his face against the brick building, trying desperately not to get seen by this man, who likely had friends in high places. Very, high places. Andrew heard the shuffling of loud footsteps and then the door closing. He must have left to complain to the manager. Andrew began slowly climbing down. Ledge by ledge. Pipe by pipe. Clothes line by clothes line. He finally made it down to the concrete ground, and grabbed up his hat, and searched for the coin. There it was. Hiding away beneath a leaf. He grabbed it up, then put on his straw hat, walking out into the streets.
 
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