Title: Like Graphite Powder and a Skeleton Key
Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming
Rating: General
Length: 400 words
Content notes: none
Character: Sasha Racket
Summary: If you make a metal box, stick a fancy lock and some traps on it, and call it a safe, people think whatever you shut inside it will be untouchable. But there's no such thing as a lock that can't be picked or a trap that can't be disarmed.



See, the thing is, it's a stupid name, right? If you make a metal box, stick a fancy lock and some traps on it, and call it a safe, people think whatever you shut inside it will be untouchable. But there's no such thing as a lock that can't be picked or a trap that can't be disarmed, and even if you do make those nasty enough to be more trouble than the contents are worth, there's still acid and crowbars and magic to bash through the metal walls themselves. (Old thieves' trick: if the door's too strong, don't go through it; go around it. Or above it, or below it, or maybe ignore it altogether if you know a teleporter. Work smarter, not harder.)

Sasha doesn't believe in safes. She doesn't believe much in safety in general. Probably the safest she's ever been was when she lived with Barrett, or with Eldarion -- nobody was going to muck around with anyone under their wings -- but the thing is, that was just her body, right? And a person's more than a body. A person's a mind and a heart and a soul, and those weren't safe at all when she was trapped under anyone else's control.

Things locked up in a box want to get out.

Freedom isn't safe, but prison isn't safe either and at least outside the walls you can make your own choices, figure out what you can do, who you are, where you draw your lines. You can shine, and hide, and do the work you love on your own terms. You can find people who trust you without locking fetters around your fingers and your soul, and maybe trusting them back isn't safe either, but in the end it might be worth the pain to unlock your heart and let a few people in.

But anyway, the name's still well stupid, because nobody ever made a lock someone else couldn't crack with enough time and care, and sometimes it's safer for everyone if secrets don't stay hidden in the dark. Better to call it a lockbox and let people come to their own realization about copied keys, and lock picks, and the philosophical implications of walls. In the meantime, she'll be busy breaking in (so whatever's inside can come out to play).

Sasha clicks the last tumbler into place and grins as the door swings wide.