Kleptomania (from Greek: κλέπτειν, kleptein, "to steal", and μανία, "mania"). The irresistible urge to steal items of trivial value.

Well...not always trivial. In fact Jinx preferred they not be that way. But ever since she was a child she found it difficult not to simply take things she had a fondness for. Sparkly things, shiny things, soft comfortable or brightly colored things. So being a thief came naturally to her.

But she wouldn't classify herself as a Kleptomanic. No no. She believed that she was more controlled then that. She had a stronger will.

She also was incredibly greedy.

So when she found a warehouse stocked to the gills with with a wide assortment of items it was impossible to ignore. So many useful things, or things that could potentially be useful. And food! So much food that she hadn't had to eat the slop that Stacy provided in a good long time.

But after awhile the owner of the warehouse became aware of her presence, and had begun systematically upgrading security around the warehouse. Booby traps, locks. Even trying to change locations. But that just enticed the pink haired thief more. How could she resist driving him nuts? And once she found out that it was Howard who owned the warehouse it became a game to her.

And so while Howard and Diana were both away on mission Jinx decided now was the perfect time to restock her supplies and thwart whatever new trick he had devised to keep her out. The last one had been his friend who appeared to be made out of stone, but when Jinx arrived he'd been passed out drunk.

A bit of hex magic popped the lock on the door and she slid in silently eager to see what treasure awaited her tonight.

The City looked like a cake that was starting to crumble around the edges; the dust of ruined buildings drifting in the streets like sand. Anwei coughed as she walked, and tried not to imagine what would happen if the City lost gravity. How many of these houses and temples and castles were being held together only by their own weight right now?

She'd been searching in a desultory fashion for a potential place to live, but so far every building that had looked promising either had no electricity or had been tagged by Maintenance for demolition. With no firm goal in mind, she let her feet steer her to Howard's warehouse. He might know what areas had electricity and which didn't, from his scavenging.

"Hello!" she called as she walked up. She didn't want to startle him. "Anyone home?"

Diana was no fool.

The moment that horrid voice had echoed through the ship she'd thrown herself into survival mode.

She'd scrambled about her make shift 'apartment', ignoring the small bags she'd hidden all over the place and packing whatever else was left into two large pillow cases, especially her food. Her food and water. The first things she'd grabbed. The first things after her stomach had clenched painfully as the threat of taking away their resources rang in her ears. Anything that wouldn't fit went into little extra bags, which this time, she did take with her.

There was no double checking. No handy little checklist. Diana knew what she needed. She grabbed it all and went out the door. Leaving it swinging on its hinges. Closing it was a waste of time.

She strode with purpose. The bags suppressing and difficult to carry, but she pushed on. Dragging the pillow cases, drawstrings and straps of bags wrapped around her like a pack mule.

With panicked breath she walked a long winding path towards Howards warehouse, careful to avoid alleys where she could be trapped in. Keeping behind cover. No running. She was an obvious target already with so much stuff, running would just draw extra attention.

Her load become lighter over time, as she shoved small supply bags into the nooks and corners along the path. No markers. Markers were too obvious. She just had to remember where she put them. And if she couldn't, well, that's what the one's back in the apartment were for.

Hugging the mounds of Howards discarded 'projects' she finally found her way to where the spare key was hidden and went inside.

Throwing the pillowcases down onto the floor she began digging through Howard's stash of supplies before pulling out two massive black bin bags. Shoving them down her blouse, she left the warehouse, locking and stuffing the key back into its hiding place.

She allowed herself one moment to take a deep breath, then she set off in a brisk jog towards the cafeteria, wrenching a lead pipe from one of the haphazard mounds, it was heavy and unwieldly, but it was something.

Time to see if she could avoid robots.

Howard pops into the Warehouse late. He's spent his day working in the Med Bay, and his afternoon exploring the far south - or whatever approximates south - side of the City and stripping a house of water-proofing. He still expects to be up and about for a few more hours, maybe until daylight; sleep is something that still doesn't come easily, even living at the Inn. But being surrounded by the soft sounds of other people tending to their own business helps.

He walks into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, massaging a sore shoulder and considering whether or not to use some of the hot cocoa packets he stole a few shore leaves ago. He bites his lip, sighs, and decides he can treat himself every once in a while, and hot cocoa isn't a great source of nutrition anyway. It's not very worthwhile to hoard it.

He walks over to the pantry and stops. There isn't dust on the pantry doorknob. Why isn't there dust on the pantry doorknob? Neither he nor Albert live here anymore. Howard just uses it to keep his stuff, and he hasn't put anything in the upstairs pantry for months now.

His hand slips into his pocket and wraps around his pocket knife. "Who's there?"

He swallows hard and wills up the courage to speak again when he hears no answer. He slips over to block the front door - it's incredibly hard to get out windows that he's sealed shut.

"This is my house. Show yourself. I have a weapon."

Howard has avoided The Warehouse entirely for the last few days. Something about wandering around in it alone seems like a profoundly unsettling prospect. Even when he returns to it, he decides it's a better idea to work out in the front yard than actually lounge around the living room.

Today's project is a roller fridge. Having found three sets of identical rollerblades (for someone with six legs? Or just three right feet?), Howard's set to dismantling them and fixing them to a mini-refrigerator he found in an unclaimed house down the tracks. He eventually plans on recalibrating the fridge into a freezer and attaching a handle to drag it to and from Hydroponics, but actually putting wheels on it seems to be the most difficult task so far.

After several failed attempts to use a candle-lighter to weld some sort of axle on, Howard gets a drill and an extension cord out. The sound of the drill upsets the cat, whom he's zipped into an old backpack, bar her head. He doesn't want her to run off onto the tracks, after all, or leave her alone in the house, and despite all the random junk he's accumulated, he hasn't yet found a small leash or collar.

She growls at him and struggles to free herself, but he routinely calms her down with cat treats and a sock full of catnip when the noise scares her too much. To keep her attention, he slips one of the cat treats up his sleeve and out of sight. That's just sleight of hand.

The fridge, on the other hand, may require more creativity. He sits with the backpack full of cat on his lap, chewing on a hangnail, trying to figure out how exactly he's going to give it wheels that can swivel.

Albert was taking a break in the warehouse. He leaned back on the makeshift chair, he really needed to invest in something more comfortable if he was going to be sitting around most of the time. There was a lot if inventory to account for and it was a big enough job that it never seemed to end. He needed to make more plans, there were a lot of opportunities on the ship, he knew it, he just had to find them.