Finch nods very, very seriously as he's informed on their particular specifications of sewer monster protections. Maybe he'd commission them for a spell for him the next time he had to lurk down there to bust open another empty cache just to confirm to Jack they were, in fact, empty, and yes, he did have a miserable time down there (which he thinks might be the true intention for theses missions).
The two rain-slickered budding thieves exchange a glance of twin telepathy that sends a shocking jolt of pain-soaked memories through Finch's fingers, but it's quickly overcome with fondness as the two debate what thieves can, can't, or could do to a little boat hunting for treasure. He did kind of shoot himself in the foot here, opening up another mystery for them to discovery in his innocuous question, and if his intention was to drive them away from a horrifying trauma-filled life of crime, providing them with more thiefly information was certainly not the way to go.
But, if he didn't, perhaps two curious little plant-babies would follow the boat down to the Fingers to see what thieves can't/can/could/couldn't do to it, and that would be bad. Because if there's anything thieves can do, it's build an underground maze of sewers that turn children into skeletons.
He sighs, scrubbing rain off his face with one dirt-shmutzed hand, likely leaving behind a residue of grime (authentic from the Fingers!). Gods. He had the worst luck in the world.
"Not thieves can't," He explains, trying to give his best No Bullshit tone so the twins wouldn't call foul play. "Thieves' Cant. Proper noun. It's the way thieves navigate the Fingers without getting lost or dying." Well, that still happened. "It's not foolproof. And a lot of people leave bad signs to lead others in the wrong direction, so you've gotta be really good at reading it. And," He cuts off whatever the two could say, from questions to pleas to silly songs (it could happen), "You've gotta be born knowing how to read it. It's like getting your picks when you were born from the canal. Only born thieves can know it. Sorry." Finch shrugs a skinny shoulder.
The two rain-slickered budding thieves exchange a glance of twin telepathy that sends a shocking jolt of pain-soaked memories through Finch's fingers, but it's quickly overcome with fondness as the two debate what thieves can, can't, or could do to a little boat hunting for treasure. He did kind of shoot himself in the foot here, opening up another mystery for them to discovery in his innocuous question, and if his intention was to drive them away from a horrifying trauma-filled life of crime, providing them with more thiefly information was certainly not the way to go.
But, if he didn't, perhaps two curious little plant-babies would follow the boat down to the Fingers to see what thieves can't/can/could/couldn't do to it, and that would be bad. Because if there's anything thieves can do, it's build an underground maze of sewers that turn children into skeletons.
He sighs, scrubbing rain off his face with one dirt-shmutzed hand, likely leaving behind a residue of grime (authentic from the Fingers!). Gods. He had the worst luck in the world.
"Not thieves can't," He explains, trying to give his best No Bullshit tone so the twins wouldn't call foul play. "Thieves' Cant. Proper noun. It's the way thieves navigate the Fingers without getting lost or dying." Well, that still happened. "It's not foolproof. And a lot of people leave bad signs to lead others in the wrong direction, so you've gotta be really good at reading it. And," He cuts off whatever the two could say, from questions to pleas to silly songs (it could happen), "You've gotta be born knowing how to read it. It's like getting your picks when you were born from the canal. Only born thieves can know it. Sorry." Finch shrugs a skinny shoulder.
