Finding a way into tricky situations has never been a problem for me— although I still hadn’t learned the art of getting out of them.

“The police will be coming soon,” the art museum security guard said to me, and I glowered from the chair I was shoved in after being tackled and handcuffed. Quite rudely, might I add.

I tried my restraints. They did not yield for me, which was really a shame.

Case in point, the situation I’m in now. Who knew famous art museums had such good security?

…me. I should’ve known, but like an idiot, I assumed I could take whatever they threw at me. Guess not.

“Is there any way I could convince you to free me?” I batted my eyelashes at him. The security guard— whose name tag read Dave in blocky letters— grimaced.

“Like hell, buddy.” The security guard snorted. “If you go free, I don’t get paid. Plus, I have more dignity than going out with a thief— and a failed one at that. You aimed high and fell low.”

“Aw,” I laughed, eye twitching. “Not even a little bit convinced?”

“Nada. Zilch.” He mimicked zipping the air as he sat down, straightening out his magazine and flipping to some dogeared page. Some cooking magazine, based on the divine-looking risotto on the front. I scowled.

I tried my restraints again— nothing, no give. Damn. The security guard glanced at me every now and then, eyebrows furrowed but mouth quirked up into an amused smile.

In some desperate attempt, I pulled my body backwards while I was sitting in the chair, and promptly landed on my back with a dignified “ough!” I kicked the desk in front of me, scooting myself away to the wall, and hopping up. Security guard Dave didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry as he sauntered over to me. He spoke into his radio. “She’s up again. Yeah, I got it handled.”

With no other options left, I rammed my head into his— though, honestly it was really more into his face.

I bolted in the other direction. If I were more of a lover than a fighter, I probably could’ve freed myself by stealing the keys through swaying the guard to my side. But if I were more of a fighter, I could’ve choked the guard unconscious with the handcuffs. Alas, seeing as I was thoroughly lacking in either skill, I simply ran away. More of a flighter than a fighter, more of a loser than a lover.

It didn’t matter, though. The guard had only seen this face of mine— not my real one. Only my mask. Nothing was lost besides than my dignity and pride as a thief.

Admittedly, I should’ve gone with a lot more smaller fish before going for a seal like this museum was. Easier to “catch” than the big whales, real popular museums with real popular masterpieces, but harder to actually get.