—it takes a thief; @conarting - Tumblr Blog

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LEGAL NAME: neal george bennett (later changed to caffrey).

NICKNAME[S]: james bonds + twenty-seven known aliases.

AGE: 36.

DATE OF BIRTH: march 21st, 1977.

GENDER | SPECIES: male | human.

PLACE OF BIRTH: redacted, united states.

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: sector five, arthur's house.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: english, conversational swahili, and up to seven others.

EDUCATION: never graduated high school.

OCCUPATION: criminal informant.

CRIMINAL RECORD: conspiracy to defraud the us, awol from probation under the fbi, convicted of bond forgery, suspected of art theft, art fraud, money laundering, jewel theft, jewel fraud, and tax evasion.

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: wine | sometimes cigars | nope.

LIKE[S]: fine art, fine wines, reading, high-stakes, challenges.

DISLIKE[S]: guns, killing.

FEAR[S]: never obtaining his freedom, losing the people he cares about.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: charming, sophisticated, romantic, confident, secretive, but can also be childish.

{ P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N }

HAIR COLOR: brown.

EYE COLOR: blue.

HEIGHT: 6'.

WEIGHT: 160lbs.

TATTOOS: none.

{ F A M I L Y I N F O R M A T I O N }

SIBLING[S]: none.

PARENT[S]: james bennett, unknown mother (surname caffrey).

CHILDREN: none.

PET[S]: none.

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: heterosexual.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single.

SINCE WHEN: arriving to citta.

#!info #!meme #i know it's like fifteen minutes after but i was working on this before the time is up so lakjgag

archivistsrock

#!conartist

TO: MIKE FROM: NEAL

(1/3): MIKE WARREN D(•́ω•̀ )ノ (2/3): MIKE WARDEN ヽ(•̀ω•́ )R (3/3): MIKE WARDEN ε=ε=ε=┏(; •̀ω•́)R --------------- THURS, 1/30 @ 10:41PM

#covertingly #!text #don't even look at me

conarting

!federal meetings: [closed]

covertingly

Mike turned around at the shout, confusion etched upon his features until unease set in at the other man’s light comment; to Mike’s defense, he hid it well. There wasn’t anything blatantly obvious that identified him as an FBI agent. At least, nothing clearly visible; the only thing that did was his ID and badge. His hand immediately went to his pants pocket, but he soon spotted his wallet in the hands of the man who called him. Supposedly, it reminded the man of his home, but since pick-pocketing wasn’t in the typical skill set of an FBI agent, the far more likely possibility was that the older man was a CI.

But despite his connection to the FBI, Mike was reluctant to be so candid. He didn’t exactly have a cover to blow, but it still seemed unwise to openly admit that he was an FBI agent to anyone, CI or not. It’d be an unnecessary risk. The Hive didn’t have it’s own FBI—or any form of justice system, really. As far as Mike could tell, there were no actual laws governing the city; crime wasn’t completely rampant because people were either continuing to work against their inhibitions or they expected there to be laws and therefore followed a system that didn’t really exist. His presence as a man of the law was a threat upon this lawless system; the people were already oppressed by the scientists, some could take it as further oppression. Mike didn’t want to raise alarms before his penitentiary came to fruition.

So, he decided to lie. It wasn’t something that the agent was very comfortable with—even after all the undercover work he had behind him—but it was, sadly, getting easier to do. Mike blinked back as he picked up a light smile on his lips.

"This is a little embarrassing, but I’m afraid that you’ve got it all wrong." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before pointing at the wallet that was still in the other’s possession. "That’s just a movie prop."

conarting

Lips ease from their initial smile at the agent's response, understandably so. To assume he felt the claws of disappointment sink into him would be a minuscule understatement, already fingers working to open the wallet again as if admiring the item. Rather, he utilizes this time to examine it more thoroughly, eyes skimming each line whilst analyzing each detail. Either this very ID was a splendid forgery on par to his own work, let alone carried around by an off the clock actor, or it was the genuine thing.

"You don't say," he comments, allowing vocables to carry a mild tone of disbelief to this revelation. Cerulean hues glance at the suggested prop once more before looking up, eyebrow twitching subtly into an ephemeral quirk. "Could've fooled me."

Lies spill from his mouth without a second notion, already the mischievous side of him bubbling to the surface. Expression shifts from his prior enthusiasm to one of intrigue. For now he would play along with the other, curious to see how long he would be able to maintain his cover if it truly was. Details were convincing enough, so long as they coincided... to squeeze too many answers from invasive queries on the topic was always a horrifying wall to collide into. And, with his intents, the renown forger planned to steer him head first into several until he was satisfied.

"You're an actor, then. What movie were you in? Maybe I've heard of it," he starts with a tilt of his head, closing the wallet and proffering it to the rightful owner. "By the way, you should avoid carrying this around off set. Impersonation of an FBI agent is illegal."

#covertingly #mike001 #please let me join your movie i'll behave i promise

° Turquoise, Rose

why did you choose the blog title you did?

basically it is a part of the term 'it takes a thief to catch a thief.' back home (and now here technically), neal is a criminal informant who works for the fbi to catch thieves and forgers like himself as an alternate form of his sentence rather than staying behind bars. this basically means he uses the process of 'that's how i would do it' to figure out what the criminal they're up against plans to do so they can catch him.

and, most of the time, he's right.

what's your autoplay and why did you choose it?

the song is called the plan by tony anderson! i chose it because i felt like the instrumental worked well with his theme, it kinda felt like a neal song to me in that respect when he's more earnest, kind of like when he's putting a plan into motion rather than his usual carefree self. i change autoplays so much though, i had two others before i put this one on here bye.

#!meme #modusponendo #!inquiries

bomergasm

#!conartist #relevant

TO: ARTHUR, MORIARTY FROM: NEAL

___HUR, MORI___Y ε=ε=ε=ε=┏(; •̀ω•́)ART --------------- FRI, 1/24 @ 2:40AM

#veritetum #acceptionemmortis #!text

induratizings-deactivated202103

➳ snow bird {closed

She wonders if bad luck placed her in the city while the temperatures were low. It’s useful to be accustomed to cold weather and somewhat pleasing to find that warm outerwear is provided. There is a bit of reluctance when it comes to using the offered clothes however, but she’d rather not freeze to death. Katniss has to remind herself to use as little of their things as possible until she could earn her own possessions.

Not putting gloves on due to pure stubbornness might have been a bit much though and she’s stuck spending time blowing air on her numbing fingers and trying not to fall off the branch she currently placed herself on. There was no purpose on sitting on a branch, no people to watch for and the leaves were gone so it made for a terrible cover. Staying on unfamiliar level ground is a terrible feeling though, and she’d much rather have the hills of District 12. The buildings are taller than most of the trees here, and she doesn’t trust them. Too much like the Capitol she thinks, unnatural.

When deciding that she’s done sitting, the brunette grips the bark and lets herself slip forward. Frost has covered this tree like all the others, and causes her fingers to slip off prematurely and her feet get caught due to the snow. It ends with the mockingjay face first on the cold ground, and she can feel the snow flinging to her already.There was another reason she didn’t climb during winter.

The teen stays there for a few seconds before lifting her head. Her eyes catching sight of a pair of feet in front of her.Of course those feet belong to someone. Further inspection leads her frown up at some strange male, annoyance prominent on her features.

“Don’t say anything.”

She says tersely, slowly lifting herself up off the ground. There is little care about the fact that the other is an adult and the fact that she might have come off as a bit rude. She didn’t want anyone commenting on her little mess up, let alone some stranger.

conarting

Gelid temperatures were had since declined from the relentless blizzard which wreaked havoc over prior weeks. To say the forger was not euphoric of such a drastic redirection would be false, something even he was unable to weave exaggerated tales of so eloquently as usual. It was this reason alone that he opts to take time in his schedule for a stroll throughout the thawed city, snow still blanketing the ground while frost clings so tenderly to each object which seizes his glance.

Hands shove themselves into his coat pockets as his leisurely pace continues... that is, of course, until a rather sturdy thud resonates only a few paces away. There is a pause before he pivots upon his heel to locate the source to discover a teenager collecting herself from what appears to be a fall.

"Don't say anything."

What she says causes him to withhold his witty remarks. Something along the lines of forewarning her about the frigid vicinity and all the dangers it might surface. Instead, he quirks a brow, lifting his shoulders in a subtle shrug.

"Didn't plan on it," he lies with ease. Snow crunches beneath his soles as he takes a few steps forward. "Though you should keep an eye out for the ice," he adds whilst his head tilts to the side in accompaniment. More an attempt as a jest than a jab, he offers her a smile to show for it. Hopefully the young archer felt no need to be offended or upset, his intentions meaning well despite lacing them within his statement.

Azure hues examine her more closely, noting the lack of cover upon her own hands despite other warmer apparel on her figure. "Wearing these might've helped," limbs lifting to show his mittens before sliding them off, proffering them for her to take as he looks to each side before motioning to a direction and beginning to walk. "You can borrow them until we get where we can order a hot drink. Taking a fall like that can't feel like a day in the Bahamas.

Besides, I'm getting thirsty myself after walking this long."

#induratizings #katniss001

"Neal. I just went over your application for Hive Penitentiary. Needless to say, you've been accepted. And I have to admit, I'm interested in seeing the infamous Neal Caffery at work. Let's see if we can keep your conviction rate the same here."

"I'm sure I'll exceed all your expectations, Mike. Can't wait."

#covertingly #!inquiries

modusponendo

The fact that Neal considered him “good company” was startling enough, really. Those Sherlock worked alongside seemed less than fond of his presence, and further still doubtful of his methods. To find that neither applied to Neal was…refreshing, at least in some small aspect. How alike his outlook seemed to tie into John’s. And yet, Sherlock could not even begin to list the many ways in which they were unalike.

A few moments passed further where Sherlock considered his reply, at last paying slight mind to the cup of tea before him. The form before him once more returned to its resting place, the porcelain mug traveled but halfway to his lips before hesitating and falling quite still. His mind turned over furiously, working through the precise reason such an establishment had first caught his eye. For…were they not in need of detectives?

“I’ll take the case.” He replied with a sudden certainty in his tone, mug none-the-less immobile in its previous fixed point. “However, I have little interest in wasting my time with the accompanying paperwork— do you have another form?” John would surely be in need of one after all.

conarting

To hearken this statement could only bring a pleased -- if not complacent -- expression to flicker across chiseled features. For it had hardly been any convincing necessary... or, if anything, less than what he might have expected. Taking another swig of his own beverage, he leans forward so he might take back the paper that needs filling once the detective finishes looking over all he needs. His words following soon after poses no bother to the listener, his wrists flicking the paper back and forth in an idle manner.

"I can handle that for you," he chimes in swiftly, sincere on his offer. "Paperwork like this hardly compares to the stuff I had to do back home. Besides, if it weren't for me bringing this up, you wouldn't have to worry about it in the first place."

Fingers already begin to tuck away the parchment to keep it from ruin. Azure hues settle once more upon the speaker as he inquires of another form. Curious as he was, he assumes the extra is meant for the assistant he spoke of earlier, thus he refrains from questioning. "I don't, but I can pick one up for you when I stop back there if you want. Should I drop it off at your place when I do?"

#modusponendo

modusponendo

Sherlock may as well have been blind to the cup placed before him, his attentions much more intent upon the sheet Neal had procured. Though his words struck a chord of disbelief to begin with, the detective could not help but find himself amused by Neal’s antics. It was a wonder indeed that the forger didn’t manage to underestimate his deductive skills (as so many others seemed prone to doing). That much considered, it was in a distinctly hopeful light that Sherlock perused the form, considering that the other would surely not bring it before him if this arrangement would not be worth his while.

“The residents of such establishments are always in need of the services of a man of my talents.” He agreed, hands linking before him as Sherlock made to once more lean back in his seat. “I don’t suppose this is you expressing interest in being my assistant, Neal. I already have one of those.”

conarting

Little concern is given to the cup he had purchased the other. Instead he finds himself gladdened at the interest that the other gives the form, recalling previous interactions with deducting... less exciting things quite boring. At the very least, there was a glimmering chance that he could agree to submitting something to be looked at. "Great minds think alike," the grin on his lips enough to display that his own application (and this possible one) had that sentiment underlying it just as well. "You'd be wrong on the assumption, though. I'm not looking to be anyone's assistant. Think of it more as co-workers in the same establishment. Our own cases, own methods... but having some good company alongside it is always a nice touch so it's not insufferable." Just as Sherlock, the informant leans back as his arms cross leisurely over his chest. A tilt of his head is given with his next inquiry.

"... what do you say? You in?"

#modusponendo

modusponendo

“Some idea, yes.” The retort came swiftly, the eyes of the renowned detective set beyond the pane of glass to one side in careful observation of the streets beyond. The storm having only shortly passed, it seemed as though the citizens of the city had grown hesitant to leave their homes for any extended period of time. Rather, the streets were bare, but not so for the establishment in which they had taken refuge, a low murmur of commotion the backdrop for their conversation yet to unfold.

“Twenty-seven.” Sherlock declared with that familiar confidence, blue eyes tracing their way from the empty streets to his companion as he offered his simple conclusion. “So far.”

conarting

"And I'm sure each one is fascinating," his tone is genuine to the number which the detective before him utters. Under usual circumstances, the forger might inquire that he list them off... more out of curiosity of the several possibilities that he could mold. It would be a lie to say his interest of his mind was not piqued, certainly. "Let's press the fast forward button this time. 'Clearly it's idea twenty-two.' 'How'd you know?' 'Obvious.' Now that that's figured out--" he starts, flipping the paper over to reveal the application and sliding it over to him so he could examine himself, he reaches for his cup. "Earlier I applied to be a criminal informant at this place. I figured, with your intellect, it'd be an ideal place for you to put it to good use." Coffee lifts to his lips as he takes a sip, setting it aside before continuing with a quirked brow.

"I think you should join. It'd be nice to have some company around to work with, plus it'd give you something to do if you got too bored, right?"

#modusponendo

Customers dwindle in the darkening hours of the city, the once bustling café now filled with quietude. An ideal hour to concentrate rather than a constant distraction of those around you chattering with the latest gossip. It was here the conman had decided for this particular meeting, promising the man who accompanied him free beverages if he were to come along. Resting beneath his hand is a white sheet of paper, flipped so that it comes off entirely blank to anyone who attempts to see what resides beneath. Lips proffer a smile to the detective across from him as their drinks are placed before them.

"Glad to see you made it," he comments briefly, fingers drumming gently upon the tabletop. "Any idea why I asked you to meet up?"

#modusponendo #i'm not titling this you can't make me

!federal meetings: [closed]

There is no concern for poverty when it came to the actions of the renown forger as he saunters about the bustling streets. Fingers are expeditious accompanied by a gentle bump -- a distraction -- as apologies are briefly exchanged. Unbeknownst was the mark who wanders off as digits thumb through the leather bound object, nosing through their current cash and plastic cards. Nothing of interest seizes his attention, pivoting swiftly upon his heel to return the item as if they had dropped it. For it was not theft he was after, merely something to stave off boredom for the time being.

Thus the cycle continues, this time with a brunette which azure hues rest on momentarily. One step shifts, their shoulders colliding briefly enough to relocate his attention from the swipe of his wallet. He waits patiently before once more opening to inspect the contents inside, sifting through pockets until a certain identification card freezes his very movements. Sliding it up, he reads through it... only to feel a twinge of homesickness permeate through his chest at the discovery.

It is within this moment he turns so he might trot in efforts to catch up to the other with bubbling anticipation to converse with him. His approach is not akin to how he might have done if heeding the exact method to garner this intelligence. Vocables call out with a quick 'Hey!' alongside the raise of his hand, halting his strides once he arrives to his destination.

"Colour me surprised," he instantly speaks whilst lips tug into a cordial smile. "Didn't think I'd run into an FBI agent here of all places. Kinda feels like a piece of home--"

#covertingly #mike001