What sort of foul trickery may the night play? A riddle to which many have thought. Or, perhaps, none have truly considered. It is the night which gives birth to the worst of fears, and yet the greatest of love. Where did this figurine fall? An option which was left to those whom judged him.
It was with swift movements, the fading image of black clothe that brought notice to his forth coming. Yet, what was it which moved with delicate movements? It was a figure which stood 5'4" proudly, and held the build of a gymnast. Knelt upon the roof of the tavern, a hood masked most of its features. A cloak which sprawled outward around him, and played against the snow. Was there a mark left within the perfection of ivory, strewn across the land? Nay. It left no imprint of his passage, as with gloved hands it gripped the roof's ledge, and its body slowly lowered. It held its weight now, balancing itself by only those hands. Its body folded then, curling into a ball. Booted feet shifted, a bit too eager to find a window ledge. They, however, found their placement, and soon the creature crouched within the window sill. The tavern was slow this night, however late it was. Hardly a patron was awake, or busy within. There was the mask of solemn relaxation, the air of calm within. That would shortly be taken from them. With movements that were as the feline variety, graceful, lithe, leapt from that window sill. Gloved hands gripped hold of the wooden support beam, as the tiniest hint of clawed nails gripped into the wood. Perhaps it was with some metaphysical ability that his body swing around that beam, his hands sliding across the wooden surface, yet made no sound. Perhaps it was sheer talent, that his body was soon invert with the beam, and no sooner resting within a crouch then crawling along its length as some beast stalking its prey.
What victim? A victim is detailed as a person who experiences a dreadful event, caused by another person. How well a description for such a term. The arm of the creature's ride side shifted, pushing back the cloak which hid the loose fitting, almost circus-like pants. A strange crafted weapon was withdrawn. It is placed upon the beam so careful, as it the wrong movement could wrought some tragedy upon him. Oh how sweet it would be. The right arm flexed as it moved up, and precise movements with the left brought the glove to be slowly removed. Purplish, perhaps almost black fur, light, and finely kept, was revealed from the elbow up. And then, soft padding-like flesh along the palm and fingertips. To top it off, there were small claws ending at each fingertip. The glove is placed within the belt loop, tucked within. The contraption is made to be brought upward, and then fitted over the hand. It comes to the forearm, and at the elbow, it ends in a vicious, three inch long spike. Flat, however. The contraption appeared to be a gauntlet of sorts, covering his fist-made hand with a shielding of sorts. Atop the wrist, there was a slit. It did not rise high, however, perhaps half an inch. What hid inside was his weapon of choice. Eyes that glowed like twin pearls inside his skull, peered and turned upward with the intent of nothing but mischief.
A man sat within a chair, leaning upon the chair with but two of its legs actually upon the ground. His feet were propped up upon a table, and the light sounds of his fatigue were evident. The creature upon the supportive rafter beam only shook his head.
"Only a human would fall asleep in the middle of a tavern." He spoke to himself, a voice which was low, yet deep. He positioned himself upon the beam, with that single, gauntlet-bearing arm raised. His left hand found the beam's wall-facing surface, and in no time at all, the being was crawling along the side of that beam. Like the spider across its web, he clung to the wooden surface. And soon, he was eyeing that man carefully. The cloak had been disregarded, and what he wore was the strange outfit. Boots, which were leather and bended quite well. Pants which are black, loose fitting as if he were some dancer. A vest to complete his attire. Yet, what was the darker portions of his body? His arms were covered in the same, dense fur as his hand. As was his chest, and the area of his neck. A tail, bushy and the sort, waited. It was ringed, black, against the purplish/black fur. A raccoon's tail, a vaguely raccoon facial profile. Eyes of deep, deep jade watch. There was a bag hanging at that man's belt loop, and indeed, it was full of coin. He could almost smell them.
What happened was a mere blur. The right arm was extended, with the slit of the gauntlet pointing upon that bag. And then, the slight rustling of chain. When the sound had ended, the bag of gold and silver was held with his left hand, while he transcended the width of the beam to retrieve his cloak, remove that gauntlet, replace it with the glove, and make his slow way towards the window sill he had entered minutes before.
As the raccoon-creature stood atop the roof, he could here the faint sounds of yelling.
"I've been robbed! Call the magistrate, I have been robbed!"
A low snicker as the creature left. No imprinted vision of his presence left behind, the simple parchment which fell down with the snow. It read so simply.
-Good evening. I thank you for the lending of your gold, and rest assure, it will be put to great use.-
And it was signed so delicately.
-Yours truly,
Midnyte-
