:Fuck yes I can.:

Vir yawns, stretches, and ostentatiously pandiculates.

”Well, all those visions and head injuries really did a number on me! I’m gonna pass out hard, don’t wake me till dawn unless Mark is reaching for my lucky charms.”

"Right, right." Lissa chuckles, exchanging a look with the Herald. "Sleep well, then." She's in the process of laying out her own bedroll in front of the door. 

:I can warn you once she's asleep: Need offers, :but I bloody well won't help you stay awake until then: 

Vir lays down and closes his eyes. :Don’t worry, I’m a master of 37 separate mnemonic techniques for the modulation of states of consciousness. I got this.:

Then, produced so quietly that Vir himself cannot hear it: “She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes... she’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes...”

About half an hour later, Need prods him again. :Both asleep. You going?: 

:Game on:

(Finishes mumble-singing: “...one tin soldier rides away.”)

Silently and undercover, Vir strips off his clothes, until he’s naked as a Roman spy. He creeps out of bed and arranges the pillows, sheets, and clothing to have at least Ferris-Bueller levels of resemblance to his sleeping form.

Padding toe-heel, toe-heel across the room, he slips away with the dagger belonging to the woman in white. Inch by inch he levers open the window. He watches and waits to make sure the coast is clear.

Then, dagger held between his teeth, Vir climbs down the outside of the inn.

This goes without incident! Except for the fact that the ground immediately under their room's window proves to contain several (thorny) rosebushes. 

“Nngh nah gehhing hucked oher vhy a vhunch a hucking hlowers!” Vir blusters around the dagger. He lowers himself with excruciating slowness through and out of the rosebushes, sustaining only minor scrapes, gashes, and puncture wounds.

Once he’s on solid ground, he makes sure he’s not going to drip a trail of blood anywhere, grips the dagger low by his side, and creeps around to the inn’s back door, service entrance, or some unobtrusive window. 

There's a servants' back door that lets out into a narrow alley. It's unlocked. The alley also seems to be the official dumping-ground for chamber pots and various other refuse. 

Vir grimaces and silently pads through ammonia-reeking sludge and chicken bones. He crosses his fingers that whatever Healer magic they’ve got can cure the Fantasy Hepatitis he’s surely just contracted.

He wipes his feet. Listens at the door. Ducks inside. He makes his way through to the guest quarters where he can find tonight’s big winners — especially whoever ended up with his class ring.

Cautiously, on a level of high alert only available to the completely nude, he tries the handle of Door Number One.

Door Number One is not even locked!

Door Number Two, if and when he tries that, is locked, but it's not a very high-tech lock. 

It’s my lucky day. Well, I mean, not really, today’s been frigging terrible.

Vir rifles through the winning gambler’s personal effects and takes any cash. He also steals a knapsack/saddlebag (which he christens “Inventory”) and any small pieces of metal that he might be able to pressgang into an improvised lockpick.

For Door Number Two, however, he’ll use his trusty dagger to jimmy open the lock, happily leaving gouges in the door or doorframe as long as he can manage it quietly.

Fortunately the sleeping gamblers in question are tipsy enough that poking around in their rooms doesn't wake them. 

Vir hits 3-4 rooms total, enough to get a nice haul of loot without wasting too much time avoiding detection by holding his breath in a closet or something.

With the “theft” part of the plan accomplished, Vir sneaks to the Door of Mark. He wants to play this one clean as a clam, so if the door is locked, he checks Inventory to see what he can cobble together for lock picking.

His loot doesn't contain any dedicated lockpicking equipment, apparently the various gamblers aren't that ambitious or organized, but there's a pretty brooch attached to a cloak-pin which is decently long and pointed, and a copper twisted-wire bracelet that can be partially unraveled, and a few other odds and ends usable for the purpose. 

Vir gets his lockpick game on. He’s used to, ehhh, 1980s Chicago locks, which more often than not have been through some adversarial co-evolution against lock picks that make them a real pain.

If I can’t beat the tumblers on this medieval pub room knob, when I get home they’ll make me stand on the side of the road and wear that “Vir is a sissy” sandwich board.

He can absolutely beat the medieval pub lock! It takes some persistence and patience but it doesn’t set a high bar for required skill. 

He reravels the copper bracelet and drops everything into Inventory (other than the nice lady’s dagger). Then he creeps in, stows the sack o’ loot in and among Mark’s possessions, possibly under a filthy tunic, and creeps back out.

His creeping is successful. Mark is snoring loudly, diagonal across his inn bed. 

Vir silently shuts the door — and realizes he can’t lock it from the outside. He grimaces, racking his brain…

Whatever, like that lump will even notice.

He duckwalks back out of the inn and climbs back up the outside wall to his room’s window. All along the way, under his breath he’s chanting “perfect crime, perfect crime.”

Lissa grumbles something in her sleep and rolls over when he tries to slip back in. 

Gotta have faith in the freaky sword spirit.

He eases himself into the room, into his bed, stashes the dagger where he found it, shimmies his clothes back on, and — lord friggin’ willing — passes out.

He is woken at a somewhat ungodly hour by Lissa getting dressed and doing various stretches and exercises in preparation for heading out to spar. 

“Uggghhhu.” He buries his face in his pillow and pulls it up around his ears.

Oh no wait — it’s Christmas morning!

“Hey — Lissa — Modern Major General! I figured it out, what the visions were pointing at, it’s all clear now! There’s a dirty, thieving scoundrel right here in this inn — and I know what room he’s in.”

"You what?" Lissa looks dubious, but a little intrigued as well. Whatever, it's entertainment, she'll play along. "You sure? Where?"