Legal Theft Project: Practiced Escapes

Sometimes the island felt like a prison. She could leave more easily than others, but she was also more recognizable, and in more danger than some of the others. If something happened to her, the others would lose one of the main advantages they had over their enemies. So she grabbed her harness and glider. Scaled the cliffs up the sides of the mountains. And leaped. Soaring under her own power over the glittering ocean, it was hard to feel trapped.

Sometimes the island felt like a prison. Kneeling among the earth of his garden, tending the miraculous curse that let them fight for so many years, he wondered if the roots and vines were strangling him. Even dusting off and wandering into his lab did not lessen the weight pressing down on his shoulders. He did have to remain rooted and still. It was lives and purpose and revenge all rolled into one. When his mind rolled too far in that direction, he left the current harvest in the kitchen for others, and retreated farther into his lab. Past the everyday titrations and herbal experiments into the warded room. And there he pushed the limits of power. He often made little progress, but he had time to crack the mysteries of the universe. Incremental progress would move mountains. After all, wasn’t that the whole point of resistance?

Sometimes the island felt like a prison. The holding point between battles and action. Sometimes it felt like a home. Sometimes if felt like both. He’d felt trapped by station, standing, and home before. He’d now lived on the island for as long as his entire family had lived in his old home. He could bleed off the feeling. Ride a storm, harass a trade caravan, sail, go to the theater. But it never addressed the root issue. Few things did. Sparring with his brother was one. And his short idiotic trips to visit someone he should not be, were another. He smiled to himself and planned his next risky trip. Maybe she would like a new jacket….

Sometimes the island felt like a prison. It was the most incredible place he had ever been. Even as he kept travelling, kept roaming, what the isle contained and how it grew and thrived, were miracles he could not compare to others. Even if the grandeur was wearing off, even if the stories were fanciful tales to be told around the campfire and the wonderful lords and ladies wandered around barefoot like regular people in their cottons, he still felt part of another world. So he wrote. To capture the island as it, and its inhabitants, captured the hearts and minds of so many others. To add in the loneliness, the sense of stasis, the longing that pervaded every corner of it. Maybe when their actions failed or succeeded, people would read the stories he wrote and never believe it true, but they would know … so much more. Maybe, win or lose, it would never be in vain.

Sometimes the island felt like a prison. When it did, she ran. When running didn’t work, she sailed. When sailing didn’t work, she worked. When work became meaningless, she sparred. When even that didn’t work, she read. She read everything. Somewhere there would be an answer, somewhere there would be a thought that could change her mind. And when she could not find one, she played. She took her violin to the practice room, and she played and played and played. In music she found peace and freedom. In music she let herself feel all the things she could not let affect her judgement. In music, the island no longer felt like a prison.


I am a thief! Myself and others have thieved the line “Sometimes the island felt like a prison.” from a machete wielding diplomat. Check them out here.

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Legal Theft Project: Setting up a Punchline

Almost everyone was actually in the gym today and Kimball was happy. The upbeat pop was generic enough that no one was fighting over the music and everyone had their practice. He bounced through the obstacle course and pulled himself up onto the highest rope. Rell was chasing many Aiden’s around the track. Rell would fire off little arcs of lightning and curse when they dissolved. One of them instead yelped and ran a little faster. Rell grinned, only to be confronted with multiple versions of Aiden giving him the finger. “That hurt!” Aiden said, but more to complain than for anything else.

Lara and Cole were sparring and Kimball shook his head at them. He was glad they’d gotten over their issues regarding training, but the force of their practice made him wince. Not his speed. He returned to practice, flipping between the cross beams, the lines, and platforms. He finished his paces and was stretching. Everyone else seemed to be drifting toward the center of the room to talk. He wasn’t entirely sure what started the debate and it was staying mostly friendly, but Aiden was starting to roll his eyes and Rell was digging in his heels.

Kimball considered interjecting, then had a better idea. He dashed off to get a few supplies and returned quietly, still at the elevated level of the gym and looked down at the progress of the debate. All four of his friends were invested now, Aiden playing devil’s advocate and Rell, Cole, and Lara all countering, arguing, and getting the beginnings of insults in the conversation.

“-that’s the reason it’s important,” Cole said.

“Well,” Kimball interjected, hiding something behind his back. “A few important things have no reason behind them, yet, somehow, that will never alter their gravity.” As he finished speaking he grinned brightly, and rained water balloons down on his friends. He’d given the water balloons a good dispersal pattern, and no one remained unsplashed. Rell couldn’t stop them all, and though Aiden dodged, he wasn’t quite quick enough. Cole blocked one with his arm which made the water wash all over him. Lara had rolled out of the way, but as the floor quickly became slick, she got hit by the second round.

“Was that a PUN?” Rell asked of the water bombarding friend.

“Couldn’t resist!” Kimball called. And then he ran, laughing, as his friends united in a plot for revenge. Totally worth it.


I am a thief who decided to display her stolen line, “A few important things have no reason behind them, yet, somehow, that will never alter their gravity.” in a less than serious setting. Keep an eye out for other potential thieves, and the original author…..

Legal Theft Project: Water Under the Bridge

The hard holder arrived first, long dark coat stark against the grey of the day. Calistoga nodded to him, and Allison nodded back. Utah, the news, arrived last, unhurried, her long dark hair bound back under a lavender scarf. Her eyes met Allison’s and one could hear the social blades unsheath and stand at the ready. But Calistoga had not called them here for a duel.

“You’re here to settle things, not start them again,” Calistoga said. He leaned back on his heels and eyed the two personalities in front of him. “You both know things cannot continue as they are,” he paused. Neither of them nodded. Utah lifted her chin, not in acknowledgement but in stubbornness, and Allison’s glance could cut stone. Calistoga let out a slow quiet breath and shook out his shaggy hair. “So what are you going to do about it.”

Allison spoke first, he’d barely moved at all since Utah arrived and he did not do so now. “Keel is dead and she’s harboring known enemies of my holding.” His voice flattened as he continued. “I’ll forget this happened once she cuts all ties with the man known as Rhyme.”

Utah’s eyes flashed. “You’ll forget this happened? You didn’t win this, Allison. You don’t get to dictate terms to me.”

“My holding, my terms,” Allison replied, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“I’m not in your holding-” Utah started.

“You certainly act like you are,” Allison interrupted. “And you’ve been undercutting me as long as-”

“You can’t stop people from coming to the market, Allison-”

Calistoga sighed. “This, this right here; this is why no one likes you.” The escalating accusations cut off and Calistoga continued. “Either of you.” Utah and Allison both looked at Calistoga. “You’re both powerful, you’re both important to Sure Wood, and you both spit like cats in mating season whenever you think your pride’s been dinged.” And like cats, Calistoga could almost feel the growls and the claws waiting to rend him. “And this whole fiasco never would have happened if someone hadn’t taken advantage of that.”

Finally, he had their attention, their stances had shifted, angled toward him, and their eyes weren’t constantly cutting to each other. “Utah, if you had actually been in town, you would have known there was some kind of con running, that’s what you do. And Allison, you would have seen her, known her people weren’t mobilizing, and maybe, just maybe gone to actually talk.” He held up his hands. “I know, fat chance anyone telling either of you what you would do. But can we at least agree that the two of you having constant fights is bad for Sure Wood? Each of you tell me one grievance, just one, that you have and want the other to address.”

Allison and Utah looked at each other.

“Options for fuck ups other than at the end of the gun. In Sure Wood, it’s Allison’s way or facing down the barrel.” Utah crossed her arms, daring him to contradict her.

“Stop tearing me down,” Allison said, half in reply and half as his request. “If I don’t have a hold on Sure Wood, it tears itself apart, and every time you speak you make people question me and test the limits. Of course I lead with a gun.”

The silence drew out for just a moment before Calistoga spoke up. “You both want what’s best for Sure Wood.”

The pair settled stubbornly in their stances. Damn straight they did.

“Then you’re both going to have to compromise.” He didn’t trust them to say anything without snapping, and he had an idea anyway so Calistoga continued. “Allison, you don’t trust Utah, so you don’t talk to her. But that means you aren’t getting heard on the air. Go on for a space of air. Talk.”

Utah had a sharp short victory smile. Allison’s face was still clouded.

“And Utah, you need to move into Sure Wood proper. You deliberately set yourself outside yet you want the protection and the access of being part of the holding. You want Allison to change, be in a position where it matters.”

Allison and Utah took each other’s measure and seemed reassured that neither of them liked this plan. But neither could they walk away from it. As for Calistoga, he was tired, and cold, and needed to put a damn shirt on.


I am a thief. I stole the line, “This, this right here; this is why no one likes you.” from a cute critter. Keep an eye out for the original and any other thief who made off with the loot….

Legal Theft Project: Hard

After Saint’s Hain, the market closed down. Brisk trade in essentials, offloading of extra stock, and the hoarding of food, warm clothes, and those luxuries that made the dark months more palatable were bartered for and bundled away. Allison checked on the factory, made sure there was enough stockpiled for the holding, and wandered between the shops being seen, and seeing what was settling in under the snow. He’d need to keep an eye on Tumbler and Jeeves, they’d been snappish and nothing brought out tempers better than long weeks with little to do. He shot them a look and they settled down for the moment. He passed a narrow alley and glanced down at the tray pushed at him. The hands holding the tray were rangy and thin. The teen pushed the tray at him while huddling in a coat that wasn’t going to do squat in the snows. Fabric scraps, metal bits and pieces, twine, and a number of other bits and bobs. Allison took a step back and pushed his coat back. At the glimpse of the gun he wore, the teen reeled back, eyes that hadn’t risen to his dropped and retreated. Allison managed not to swear as he pulled out his purse.

He took half the tray, scooped it into the extra bag he carried. “Doc’s stall is still open. Get a damn coat. And if you have trouble, go to Outlast. They’ll keep you a spell – it’s too cold for grave-digging.” Allison shouldered his bag, took a handful of jingle and tossed it on the tray. Then walked away. He paid more than he should have for that collection of scrap. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, maybe his wife would have an idea, make decorations for the great hall or something. But it had to be good for something, and damn what that harpy over at Outlast had to say. Allison walked home, purse lighter, heart…. something.


There is a thefted line in here… I know another thief or two that nicked it as well….

Legal Theft Project: Shapes Shift in Water

He tipped his hat to her, ignoring the way it allowed rain to sluice down his neck. The lady appreciated the gesture with a smile before they parted ways, her safe under her umbrella. It felt like rain was still pouring through him. The visions had been coming faster and his head was so full of the possibilities that it was a wonder he didn’t crack. He needed a break, he needed to deal with his thoughts.

So, despite the rain, he walked home. Across the shining wet cobbles, letting the raindrops pummel his hat, his coat, the rest of him. The hat brim could only do so much and drops caught on his lashes. His hair made a wet rat tail over the back of his coat. He looked more dishevelled than he’d ever been in public before, but who would be looking? Or recognize him if they did? So he walked on, sorting through his head and letting the frantic energy of the last few weeks sluice away with the rain. By the time he got to his front gate, his head was as clear. Like a deep pool of water, not empty, but still. Thoughts dropped onto the surface like rain, but most of them got no further or were dealt with easily. Go inside. Take off the coat. Remove the boots. Leave them in the mud room. Doff the hat, leave it on the bannister. Go to one’s room. Get your sketch book. Sit in front of the fire. Draw.

The images flowed like a river. A scene of fire. Smoke drifting over a field, a house in the background, burning. People in front of it, swords drawn, pistols discarded. Pain. He shaded the shadows long. Finished, he turned the page to another. A night scene, a balcony, the party inside, the two figures on the balcony enjoying the night together, rather than the glitter inside. Page after page he filled, listening to the drum of the rain on the roof. Finally, he turned the page, and nothing came. His curse satisfied, he settled in to draw his current project.

On the page, the face of a lady took shape under an umbrella. Dark curls, delicate face, stubborn tilt to her chin. It was not the lady he had accompanied earlier. He looked at the face on his page and realized he might not be treading water.


Picked the first line of this piece out of Kid‘s pocket. It isn’t just a first line, clever thieves have hidden it in various places. Take a look.

Legal Theft Project: Rest in the Rain

Rain drowned the world in white noise.

Shedding his black coat and hat in the entryway to his home, the hard holder shivers. He is not immune to the cold and the damp, he only pretends it away when his people can see him. He sits down on the bench and removes his boots, placing them carefully in the tray just for them. He can hear the radio from the living room and sees the warm glow of a fire. Before giving in to the warmth, he drifts into the bedroom. His wife’s clothes are jumbled on the end of the bed as if she could not decide what to wear and so tried everything before she settled on something. It makes him smile as he picks them up and puts them away before taking out a sweater and slipping it on. He pulls the curtains closed on the grey grey day and goes back to the beckoning warmth of the fire. His wife smiles when he comes in and he lets the iron in his spine relax. He pours them both a drink and sits down with her in front of the fire.

Rain drowned the world in white noise.

The soldier, still lost, lets it wash all other thoughts from her head. She has not had peace since she woke up from the ice and the rain makes it easier to pretend. She sits back and takes care of her guns, watching the mechanic tinker with things she used to know the names of, now made strange and ethereal by the light and the man who twists them to do impossible tasks. She misses sitting in the barracks, playing cards with her fellows, bickering about assignments on similar rainy days. Back when the world was ordered. Back before storms and white noise were similar. Back when wolves only had one name. Rain at least, rain is the same. So she protects the items from her past and meditates on her place in the future, now that there is no army, no city, no country, to claim her.

Rain drowned the world in white noise.

Under the miraculous clear roof, the dedicate watches the rain. He’s met the springs, the sea, the fog, and the rain. While the springs may have his heart, the rains are a flirt, at times dangerous, at others delightful, and only time will tell which is which. Dry under the greenhouse roof, he tends to the flowers and vegetables, singing. His voice accompanies the scattered rushes of raindrops and rises and falls in time. When his work is complete, he walks out into the rain, letting it wash over him in chill sheets. It blinds him, but he knows the ways of his domain well and he makes it to the springs. He wades into the steam and the warm water with a smile. Water takes and water gives. And he is content to follow where it flows.

Rain drowned the world in white noise.

For the first time in a long time, the driver is not waiting out the rain in her car. Her car is safe under her custom tarp, though it does not keep the driver from the occasional worry when she glances out the window at the sheets of rain. The room is smoky and close with people lounging and dicing, playing cards and chatting. The radio plays lowly in the background, something moody and slow. Her brother is on a stool at the bar, flirting with the bartender. For his part, the bartender smiles and puts the finishing touches on something warm and steaming that smells of apples and better days. She walks over and takes a seat next to her brother and earns her own flash of a smile. They talk and the driver forgets to worry about her car. They are not talking of much, but it has been too long since she spent a day out of the rain. A day safe with other people, and not worried about what would happen when the rain lifts. At least while it rains, tomorrow and its roads will wait. At least for now, she can pretend she has a home.

Rain drowned the world in white noise. And the world slowed. And the wolves went home. And all, for now, was quiet, was well. For now.


Thieves abound! and stole this rainy first line to write their own pieces. Take a look! Completely independently that machete happy diplomat and I ended up with eerily similar pieces.

Legal Theft Project: The Measure of Help

Kimball was dashing through the game room when he saw something odd. As he didn’t know what exactly what it was he saw, he doubled back to check and make sure he wasn’t hallucinating or something. Nope. His friend was still there, and still had… “You have something furry on your back.”

“Fuzzy. I have many fuzzy somethings on my back,” was the response from Rell. “Technically, in my hood, not on my back. Which is the reason I am not currently out patrolling.”

Kimball hooked his mask onto the loop on his belt and wandered over. He looked into the fabric nest and down at the four sleeping kittens nestled there in and let out the most sincere awwww. “They’re adorable. Are they okay? Are you taking them to a shelter? Are you adopting them? Were they the witnesses to a robbery?”

Rell was staying mostly still and looking through his phone. “Yes. No. No. And I have no idea. They were alone, cold, and I have no idea where to find the nearest no kill shelter, or animal rescue center.” He held up his hand as Kimball opened his mouth. “No we are not setting up a drive, we are not going as our masked personas to hand out kittens to random people. I will donate to the shelter, but I am …. I…” Rell trailed off and Kimball kicked back on his heels. Rell listened to the soft purr of contented kittens.

“I needed the reminder that I can save people without a mask, okay?” Rell said.

Kimball nodded slowly and perched on the arm of the couch. “I can get you a couple numbers. I’ve volunteered before.”

“You should still patrol.”

Kimball shrugged. “The others will cover it. You can’t fight the scale. Tonight, you need a friend, and kittens need a home. We can foil super villain plots another night.”

Rell handed his phone to Kimball. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t- and if they ask you…”

Kimball grinned. “What?”

Rell shoved at him, gently so as not to disturb the kittens.

“We were patrolling, found some little stuff, took care of it. The End.” Kimball said and smiled.


I am a thief! I stole the line “You have something furry on your back.” and wrote a bit of fluff around it. Click on the line to see who else stole it what what other furry things were identified or misidentified.

Legal Theft Project: Envy in Blue

Blue as skies in summer, pouring out exhaust, and attracting a small crowd, he’d never seen anything like it. He already wanted it gone. His garage didn’t have anything as would come close to those wheels and everyone knew it. The rest of the caravan wasn’t much to look at and the caravan master, Dixon, was the first to pop out of his battered van and head Allison’s way. For his part, Allison kept his arms folded and his face cold as Dixon tromped over.

“Allison.” Dixon bobbed his head respectfully to the man whose domain he’d entered. Allison didn’t acknowledge the greeting, keeping his eyes on the dapper wheels and the crowd swelling around it as the exhaust wisped away.

Dixon soldiered on. “Ah, Sammy’s girl. Elvira. Heck of a car. Heck of a lady.”

Allison turned his head slightly and raised his eyebrow a mere fraction. Dixon swallowed and nodded back toward the car. A mile of leg ending in denim cut offs and hello gorgeous, swung out of the driver side door like sugar in sweet. Her hip pushed the door closed and she leaned against it, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. He hadn’t figured trouble in a blue jumpsuit into his plans. Oh he wanted her and her car out of his holding and back on the road something fierce. “You brought me trouble, Dixon,” Allison finally said.

Dixon looped his thumbs in his belt. “Got here fastest and safest I’ve ever done. Girl knows her wheels and don’t hesitate on the road. Brought plenty through.”

Allison unfolded his arms. “Any trouble she causes, you cause.”

“No no no. She’s good, but she ain’t mine.” Dixon shook his head. They looked at the woman by the car, answering some of the crowd’s questions, cool as snow in shade. “Sammy handles herself.”

Allison brushed the comment aside, letting Dixon shed the blame and accepting the tacit promise to stay out of the way. “Let’s see what else you brought.”


I’m a thief! I stole this first line from M.D. – take a look at other unique blues at the Legal Theft Project site.

Legal Theft Project: Self Image and Ski Chalets

Somehow he managed not to throw his hands in the air. Admitting defeat was accomplished by a gritting of the teeth and the flutter of panic in his chest. “I’ll look at the brochures, okay?” Carefully, he collected the glossy destination brochures from the table. Snow covered mountains, impossibly green grounds, and weathered brick and wood buildings all glowed upon the expensive custom print paper.

“We truly think it would be best for you, Aaron. There have been enough disruptions this year, we want to ensure you have the best foundation possible.” His mother leaned back and sipped on her vodka stinger and attempted a sympathetic smile.

He nodded and returned the polite fiction of upturned corners of the mouth. “Of course mother.” It has nothing to do with a lingering sense of guilt and a terror of all things new and sharp. He made it to his door and a tiny bolt of lightning arced from his hand to the metal handle. His temper, visible, and lively. He wrenched the door open and sent the brochures flying onto his desk. Before they could skid off, he swept out his hand and commanded the air to keep them in place. The brochures fluttered, but remained on the desk. One of them fell open to a picture of a charming ski lodge that was actually a dormitory. He had a sudden image of himself in a suit, holding yet another mixed drink and slowly calcifying into his parents.

His keys leapt to his hand and he raced down the stairs, out the side door, and slid into his convertible. Revving the engine, he tore into town and skidded into a parking spot. Got out, closed the door, locked his car and began hunting down the streets for some kind of answer, some form of additional immunity to turning into some pickled alcoholic specimen of his parents. He stopped in front of a tattoo parlor. It would be perfect, but he doubted they’d overlook his age. But a piercing…. He grinned.

It took him two hours. He went to every piercing shop in town, laid down fifty dollars and said that he paid for however many people it covered. Two thirds of the way through, he sat down in a chair, told them his parents had approved it, tipped the person in question an extra hundred dollars, and got a ring wrapped around the very top of his right ear. A stainless steel band etched with a wave pattern, it hurt like hell, and he grinned right through it. They told him how to keep  the piercing clean, warned him it might be sore. He waved them off and sauntered out. Oh sure, he’d have problems with it, short as his hair was, but right now. Well. It just felt right.


I challenged some thieves to run away with a dormitory and an earring. They did. Clever thieves.

Legal Theft Project: Storm’s Heart

The city’s scintillating towers and reflective edifices became somber and dark in the downpour. Rell settled himself on the narrow ledge and let the rain soak down to his skin. The rain wavered and shifted, allowing glimpses of the world spread out below. He ignored it and turned his face up into the rain. He could see the city from the height any time he wanted, but it was rare he found his way into this pure a storm. Letting it wash over him … well, he wasn’t one for meditation or spirituality, but this was pretty close. Connected to the natural world. Simply. So he basked.

Then with a long sigh, he let go of the peace and the quiet and let the storm inside him run loose. He breathed in and felt the air, felt the clouds, the rain, and the electric hum in the air. It had been raining for days, ceaselessly, naturally. It wasn’t someone like him. But … it wasn’t the season either. He couldn’t get a good reading from this building. He grinned into the wind and vaulted off the ledge. He allowed himself the fun of freefall for a few exhilarating heartbeats, before calling himself a wind and riding it into the sky. He coasted, following the odd drift of air and cloud. There weren’t nearly enough, not for this drenching. There was a significant discrepancy in the air quality over by the pier. He wavered over calling back up when he saw a familiar figure down below. He set down on the room in a swirl of wind and rain. “Been awhile Iron Sword. Looking for something to do?”

“I’d appreciate a change in the weather. You able to do something about that.” Iron Sword grinned and added, “Stormlord.”

“I was considering it, care to lend a hand?” Stormlord, Rell, grinned back.

“Thought you’d never ask.”


I stole this first line from someone with a machete.… and may have grabbed one of her characters as well. Hope she doesn’t mind.