Leaving the Adamant was simple procedure for Soot. Today there were a few extra steps but she took them in stride. First, the Painter was ushered back to the quarters of Ruz’s servants where a few of the previous horde chided her on the state of her coal covered evening-wear. Soot apologised and headed to her own quarters. 

Soot refused to stay in the palace, she always said it was to help manage her work life-balance. But part of her patronage afforded her a small but private servants style dwelling within the Adamant. Furnished with a well made, dust covered bed, and the typical dressings of a boudoir. Her understanding was most ‘skilled professionals’ working in the place were awarded at least a private room. Every morning when she arrived at the palace she came here first, met with an attendant who prepared her hair and jewellery before heading off to her studio. Likewise every evening she returned, stored all the decorations of palace life, and let down her hair before heading home. Occasionally, when a project demanded a late night or some evening lightning, Soot would begrudgingly dust off the bed and stay the night. But this evening, like most, she was heading home.
 
Luckily most of the guards had learned to stop giving her too much trouble. Not that Soot raised any fuss, security was certainly important especially with times as they are, but everything eventually becomes routine. The guards usually let her through without issue. She knew most of the rotations and a polite nod and a remembered name goes far with military types. A standard pat down and exchanged pleasantries and Soot returned to the streets. Some guards took longer, making snide remarks about ‘needing to be sure there wasn’t anything hidden under those bulky clothes’ 
 
Soot was not a particularly capable fighter, but had taken to carrying a blade. A simple shortsword with a fine scabbard; the blade tapered into a needle point, not unlike a sized up stiletto. It was always worked into her palatial garb but it was rarely as at hand as when walking home. She found, at least as far as petty criminals, the threat it presented was enough to discourage. If the threat was more present, the fire wheels perhaps, usually enough swearing, shouting about her being a palace employee, and name-dropping the Vizier was enough to get them to leave her alone.

She strolled through the streets in the evening light. Stopping briefly to apologise to her usual street food vendors, claiming she had been lucky enough to eat at the palace. They lamented that her tastes were going to end up ruined by high class cooking and one of the old men made a mocking sob about losing her as a customer. Soot laughed, politely, as one does at old man's jokes and continued on home. It was a nice place, not so lavish as to be out of place for the neighbourhood, but a larger house than you’d expect for a single girl to live in. She was always thankful the palatial salary allowed her such comforts. The inside was cramped, a mess of canvas, shelves of paints, and dozens of in progress paintings. A simple kitchen with barely any dishes and a cookfire that looked like it hadn’t been lit in days. The ash pushed itself over the brick of the floor as the evening wind pushed in past Soot. It gave the house a sad air, as if it was abandoned. 

The feeling was suddenly countered, as the setting sun streamed through the windows and the walls ignited with colour. Every inch of the house was painted with finely planned murals, wildly vibrant, and decorated with complex mathematical patterns. Soot stopped to admire her work for a moment, before clapping her hands together excitedly and smiling. A small honest smile, rarely seen on the painter's face but free for her to enjoy behind closed doors. 

Moving to the bedroom she swiftly changed, Replacing her colourful linens with dark coloured cottons. She didn’t mean to dress so stereotypically roguish, but it worked. Soot grabbed a large leather satchel filled to the brim with large brushes, and jars of paint. Finally she strapped a small folding ladder to her back and ducked out the backdoor of her home into the alleys of Sjakal (one of her favourite features, of both her house and the city). As she slinked through the backstreets trying to find a perfect place for her latest masterpiece, her mind wandered…  Wondering if she might see Bowlyn.

[hr]

Soot had always preferred to use the traditional methods when inspiration wouldn't flow. If it was day, standing out in the desert for a while, or watching townsfolk. In the evening, drinks, smoking, and fine company usually encouraged artistic thought. It was during one such session of ‘divine inspiration’ that Soot met her. Bowlyn. Well, when Soot became aware of the Women who called herself Bowlyn. Who knows how long they had ‘known’ each other without the Painter being aware. 

Soot was at the long end of a pipe, exhaling lazily and scanning the dingy taverna when she had locked eyes with the Woman. At the time she had no idea that the ‘thief-queen of Sjakal’ was staring her down across the bar. The woman sauntered over: she was tall, with long fair hair styled similarly to Soot’s unkempt mess, but with more intention. She had a dangerous air that demanded attention and Soot encouraged the barmaids at her sides to leave as Bowlyn sat down, sliding into the Painter's booth. Stealing a long drag from Soot’s pipe she stared the Painter down. ‘I [i]love[/i] your work’ the woman had said, after exhaling smoke into Soot’s face. Her voice was low and she had a devious smile ‘Such delicate patterns.. And those [i]delightful purples[/i]…’ And with that, she left, trailing a hand on Soot’s shoulders as she walked away. Soot sat, staring at the woman as she left without so much as a glance. 

Soot had paid her tab, grabbed her leather bag, and bolted into the streets, shaking slightly. It was certain that the woman had been referring to an 'unlicensed mural' soot had painted the night before. But no one had seen her painting. In fact she was certain no one had even found the graffiti yet. The taverna wasn't even in her own neighbourhood! Even though she was a known painter, she doubted any random person on the far end of the city would just know her by sight. 

She shook her head, it was probably senseless paranoia and a few too many drinks. Deciding to hurry off into the alleys to start her work for the evening anyway.  It was a few hours later, Soot’s sleeves stained with paint, that she heard the voice again. ‘Didn’t think you’d still come out’ it had said, or something to that effect. Soot turned, wide eyed and terrified as she saw the Woman once again. Her clothing changed, similar to soot’s own roguish attire. ‘I’m serious’ she said, more casually this time ‘it’s beautiful’. Soot had remind wide eyed and frozen, Bowlyn taking notice chuckled softly getting closer to the painter. ‘I’m not a guard, just an admirer.’ She chuckled before leaning in close to Soot’s ear once more and whispering ‘But I figure there's some on the way, and I need a cup of tea. How's about we make it back to your place?’

The rest of the evening had been a blur, at some point they arrived at Soot’s house. At some point the guards chasing Bowlyn had found the strange geometric mural and a cold trail. At some point Soot managed to get to sleep. It had been... difficult in Bowlyn’s presence. She had such a delicate touch and such a soft voice. Her lithe body held such surprising strength. In the morning, Soot awoke alone, but with a soft fire in the kitchen and a fine shortsword resting on the mantle. It had a blade that tapered into a needle point, not unlike a sized up stiletto. A Note, in some of Soot's own paints read ‘Not everyone you’ll bump into is as nice~’


 [hr]


Lovers had never felt like the right word to Soot maybe… there was a kinship at very least. But Bowlyn swiftly became the Painter’s drug of choice. They had more evenings like that first. Bowlyn bumping into the painter with guards on her tail, leaving only a mural on the wall, and a flustered Soot back at home. It wasn’t every night, but it was enough that the paintings became associated with the thief. Who admitted so one night. Apologising to Soot and revealing her profession to Soot after the painter had nearly gotten hauled away by the Guard. Soot hadn’t cared; she always felt she should care more, but it just never seemed important. Besides, their relationship had been based in the illegal, and Bowlyns exploits never seemed [i]that[/i] bad.

She wondered, some days. If Bowlyn was just using her, or if Soot was still painting ‘for herself’ under the thief’s influence. She told herself it was just coincidence and Bowlyn’s visits were not frequent enough to change her behaviour…  And it wasn’t even every visit that Soot woke up to an empty bed, normally sure, but sometimes Bowlyn hung around. They would hit the streets together in the early morning before Soot ran off to work. 
 
The painter assumed Bowlyn understood she was a palace servant, but she felt like it was best to never say anything about it. Maybe the thief didn’t know, maybe she didn’t care. Maybe that was just more evidence for the fact Soot was being set up as some kind of patsy. 
 
All of her concerns aside, she couldn’t help thinking about whether she would be sharing a bed with the Thief Queen every time she grabbed her satchel and pushed out into the night.