((Something a little light-hearted for you lot.  Enjoy!))

She didn’t insult him with a key.

The unfortunate part of it was, The Hero’s Welcome had recently changed its locks, taking the profits they were raking in from an influx of adventurers (and perhaps thanks in no small part to an increase in patronage by the Black and Red in the Beer Garden) and splurging on sleek, complicated mechanisms of goblin design.

Which meant that what should have been thirty seconds’ work instead had Tarquin swearing under his breath, switching from one pick to another, his blonde head bent close to the keyhole as he tinkered about with its innards. Where moments before his eyes had lit up with the feverish appreciation for a new adversary – Anna had been subjected to the illustrious history of the Krazzik Brothers’ locks – now he was muttering in frustration.

“Yeh see, it looks so fuckin’ simple, Annie, but that’s where they get yeh. Take pressure off ay this tumbler” – here he wiggled the pick – “an’ this yin behind it clicks in.” As far as she could tell, his hands hadn’t changed position, but she knew that to Tarquin’s practiced fingers, there might as well have been a mile between the tumblers in question.

She nodded and turned to lean against the wall. It was tempting to retrieve the key from the pocket of her dress and have done with it, but she didn’t need to throw the bones to know what the outcome of that would be: he’d follow her into the room, all right, and leave off the problem of the lock for a while. She was fairly certain she could drive thoughts of pins and tumblers out of his mind for an hour or two, or at least make him shove the puzzle to the back of his brain while he was otherwise occupied. But soon enough after, he’d be out of bed again, cigarette clenched between his teeth, looking like a pale, naked scarecrow trying to escape the bedchamber.

It still might not have been such a bad thing, letting a stubborn lock be foremost in his thoughts instead of the conversation they’d had outside.  It would let him put off thinking about the conversation that would follow it soon enough, one she wouldn’t be present for.

But mischief won out over practicality.

Anna leaned down. Tarq wasn’t just bent over to see the doorknob now; he’d plunked himself down on the floor, in for the long haul. Anna checked her angle and pulled her hair back over her shoulder. When he looked up, he’d get an eyeful.

Three, two, one… She cleared her throat and his eyes snapped up to hers, a sheepish grin forming on his lips.

“Just a wee tick, Annie, an’ I’ll ha’ –” Her smile stopped him. His gaze flicked down, widened. The grin went from sheepish to wolfish in the time it took for her to take a deep, bodice-filling breath – but for just a moment, he was actively taken aback. “So work faster, is wha’ yir sayin’.”

She straightened, enough to pluck the key from her pouch.  When she held it up, it caught the light. “Here’s the deal.” She dropped the key down the front of her dress and felt it settle just below her navel, where her belt cinched her waist.  “Ten buttons from top to bottom.  If I get to the last one before you get the best of that thing, we use the key and you live with the knowledge that I can unbutton my blouse faster than you can pick a lock.”

He frowned.  “An’ if I beat yir entirely arbitrary timer?”

Her voice was low and husky as she undid the first button.  “I think the reward speaks for itself.”

Tarquin pushed himself up onto his knees and drew her down into a kiss.  “Ta hell with speakin’.  I’ll make yeh sing.”

Anna laughed and pushed him gently away  “Get on it, then.”  She began humming a tavern song that sounded suspiciously like “The Queen’s Lockbox.”  At the end of every second measure, she undid a button.  By the time she got to the chorus, three buttons down, he’d picked up the pattern, cutting his eyes to the side when it was time for her to reveal more of her décolletage, then back to his work when her hands moved away.

“Incorrigible minx.”

“Seven to go.”  She dropped to her knees beside him, positioning herself right in his peripheral vision.

“Thit’s fuckin’ distractin’.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Yeh’ll notice I said distractin’, no’ displeasin’.”

Another button.  “Good.”

She made it to five, had her fingers hovering over the next button (“Oh try your key in my lock, said she–”) when Tarq crowed, “Ha!  Yeh beautiful bastard.”

Metal clicked deep within the keyhole.  He reached for the doorknob with a flourish and nodded as it turned easily in his hand.  “See, now?  Thit’s how yeh open a fuckin’ door.”  His tools were folded back in their oiled cloth in a few deft moves, but he didn’t tuck them away in the pocket of his cloak.  Instead, he slipped them into the still-buttoned bottom of her blouse as he pulled her to her feet.  “I’ll retrieve those in a tick.  But first, yeh mentioned somethin’ about a reward.”

“Mm-hm.”  She grinned up at him as his arms encircled her waist.  “Best get on inside and collect it.”

The door clicked shut behind them.  From deep within the Krazzik Brothers’ lock came the sound of the tumblers resetting themselves.

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