Lydia settles down cross-legged on the floor, after checking for stains, both fresh and old, the chest in her lap.  She removes her toolkit from a pouch on her belt, and inserts a slender pick with a zig-zag in the rod, and another without the zig-zag.  She glances around at the others once, muttering to Oy while concentrating on her task, carefully inserting the rods into the lock on the chest and moving them slowly to feel for that near-instinctual<em>click</em>.  "There's probably more robes that can be torn apart and shoved in their gullets.  Or you could tie them together backside to kisser, and that would likely muffle any screaming, assuming those fella's have some cushion in their back yard."<br/><br/>She smirks at herself, falling silent as her mind and nimble fingers slip into that place of absolute communication with the lock-picking tools.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Roll 1d20 = 19<br/>Not sure what would apply, disable device, sleight of hand, or escape artist.  Not that it matters, all of them add a +7.</div></div>