Locks

Sweat dripped off of Nikita’s brow as she labored to spring the lock on a century old storage case. She battled both the clock and her ability to work in utter silence. Both of which were working against her.

A glass vase shattered on the floor as an obscenely fluffy brown cat perched on the mantle looking as innocent as a newborn. Nikita glared.

Suddenly her teacher appeared in the doorway, there was a smattering of heartbeats, then a heavy sigh. “I taught you to pick locks and this is how you are using that skill?! Her teacher intoned.

Nikita thought to hold her tongue but instead blurted out, “How many nights did I spend lucubrating to hone this skill? Hundreds! But all you ever taught me to work on were modern locks and yet I can’t even unlock a centuries old lock? Clearly I have found a hole in your teaching methodology.”

The glare NIkita received could have melted battle steal into slag.

Swiftly coming forward, her teacher took Nikita’s lock picking tools, gracefully sat in front of the case and had it unlocked in less time than it took a hummingbird to move from one flower to the next.

“You claim to have studied this art for hundreds of nights? If you expect to be good, you need to study for thousands. Even then it won't help you unless you master the most basic art.”

“Which is?”

“Patience.”