adieu

[cvtiehoneys]

Selda & Javier | weapvnized

“You and me both.” It figured that the amateur team either didn’t take the time to thoroughly gather intel on what they’d be up against or they did and then failed to communicate it to the rest of the team, leaving everyone underprepared. Neither would surprise him — problems like that were expected with newer teams. It didn’t make it any less frustrating though. 

The newer recruit looked at Javier as if waiting for his permission to hand over the weapon. “Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s not like you’re going to use it anyway. And if you did, I think you’d somehow only manage to shoot one of us.” It was getting increasingly harder to keep his temper in check during this mess. 

For perhaps only the second time during the job, the rookie did as he was told, sparing him from more snarky comments from Javier — at least for the time being. “We’ll slip out the back and I’ll try to round up the rest of the crew, assuming they haven’t gotten themselves killed yet. Meet us there when you can and we’ll see how salvageable this job is and go from there.” He started to drag off their incompetent associate once more. “Fingers crossed we catch a lucky break and have a driver that will get us the hell out of here in one piece.”

Enhanced sight was her greatest asset; not only could she spot a needle in a haystack, but she could do so from a mile away. Selda yanked the gun from the rookie’s grasp, then fired two shots that incapacitated three men. One could always count on ricochet when ammo was tight. “Alright. I’ll cover for whoever is left standing,” she said. “Don’t count on there being too many.”

Vision had always been the enhanced sense with a straightforward use. It’s the one she’d been encouraged to develop. What good were boosted senses of taste and smell to a killer? In another, less villainous life she could’ve integrated with civilians, and taken up the culinary arts or become a luxury perfumer. New recruits were oblivious to the faint, whisper of grief whenever she told them that she was good for shooting guns and not much else. There were so many lives she could’ve lead, so many opportunities she could’ve seized.  

Selda could always tell right away which recruits, whether through talent or outlook, were born for The Continental. But, this amateur team was not one of them. They were the type that wanted to roleplay crime lords in shoes that didn’t fit, and had foolishly thrown away their chances at normalcy. Then there were recruits like Selda, whose very talent had become her prison. Villains never stopped, new jobs always came up, and there’d always be new members of their criminal flock seeking refuge under her wings.  

“I think his second command just shot himself in the foot,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I don’t even mean that metaphorically.” The warehouse’s dampness from blood, sweat, and the tears of some frightened recruits, tickled her nose. Until now, she’d mostly been on the defensive. But if the objective was to salvage recruits, it was time for her to go into the open and take some risks. “Get moving, Meat Shield! Don’t look so weepy about it. I’ll be right behind the two of you, once I clear a path for your fucking toeless friend.”

[cvtiehoneys]

Gilbert & Ophelia | partitivn

 — 𝒊𝒇  𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆  𝒘𝒂𝒔  𝒐𝒏𝒆  𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒂  𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅  𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆  than bad planning, it was uniforms. the tacky polyester blends irritated the femme beyond belief, and only fuelled the fire by how ugly they looked. like a spoiled child, ophelia grumbled, cherry lollipop sticking out of her lips, as she trailed behind the mastermind of the plan. gilbert was lucky ophelia specialised in thievery, and not in fashionable murder. 

the female gave an nonchalant shrug at his words, cautiously eyeing him from the side. “ haven’t you heard ? diamonds are a girl’s best friend, bertie. ” she cooed, flashing a childishly sardonic smile at the male. ophelia had heard equally damning rumours about her partner; he was the face behind the mysterious belgium diamond heist, meticulous planner and like most men ophelia had met, held an ego. yet she couldn’t resist a job, never one to say no to a leap of faith. call her opportunistic, she’s certainly heard worse. 

as the lights buzzed to a lazy life, ophelia’s eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the new environment. brown hues widen at the ghastly sight of teddy bears, surrounded them at every corner. this had to be a joke, right ? it felt like she should’ve seen weirder, but truthfully, this evening might have been the weirdest. “ qu'est-ce que c'est, bordel ? ” she stuttered, hand waving over the sea of crates and teddy bears. what a way to spend a sunday night. ophelia would’ve left if it wasn’t for the sound of one point five million ringing in her ears. sucking on her lollipop, ophelia huffed. “ sixty-forty; it’s not my fault you lost it, plus sunday rates. ”

finding a nearby crate, the femme slung parallel strings of web against the side panel. with one tight tug, she watched as more teddy bears spilled out. ophelia slipped out her own knife and mimicked gilbert’s moves; ripping out the fluff and flinging it to the side without any signs of remorse. “ at least it’s not dolls. how did you screw up the most important part of a plan ? ”

“Well, forgive me for being the world’s greatest thief instead of the world’s greatest psychic,” he said. “Who could’ve predicted that out of all the damn crates on that boat, it was the one hiding my diamond that would break?” Hoping to avoid a write-up, a panicked employee had stuffed the fallen bears into the remaining crates. They hadn’t even filed the necessary paperwork! Considering the inhumane time constraints some of those employees were under, however, Gilbert was surprised it didn’t happen more often.

He drove his knife down the belly of another stuffed bear. Cotton expelled from the wound as if the ruined thing bled clouds. A handful more bears met the same fate, and he settled into a steady rhythm of plunging steel and the flat, monotonous protest of ripped fabric. “Sunday rates?” he pressed. “Are you a criminal or an accountant?” 

Gilbert shot her a look of mock-disgust. “We’ll have to set aside money for my fencing fees,” he said. “Neither of us will make a dime if we can’t find a buyer.” Realizing they could be sifting through bears for awhile, he took a seat on the quality control table. He was quite tall, noticeably leggy even in the baggy pants of the security uniform.

“Did I really lose it if I know it’s somewhere in this warehouse?” he asked. “The diamond’s not lost...it’s misplaced. There’s a difference!” 

[cvtiehoneys]

Selda & Asphe | styx-asphe

Asphe couldn’t help but chuckle at the women’s words as she swung the sword gently allowing her heats to listen to the music the metal let out as it sliced through the air and a sheet of metal that hung lifeless by her sword station. It took her nearly four tries to get the strength she wanted from the medal- though they all would suit battle she felt like there was always room for improvement. A true perfectionist. With a timid hum of approval, Asphe placed the sword away in its sheath before placing it in the cabinet for pick up. Grabbing a rag, the petite women whipped her hands clean of any residue from the wielding. “A wins a win.” She said with a soft professional smile. “The means how doesn’t really bother me then the why.” Asphe said as she walked to stand in front of the women allowing her mix match eyes to observe the women body taking in body mass and muscle tones. She had a perfect body and it caused her to lick her lips gently before she glanced up at the women.

“All my weapon and gear are custom made but I do have some general weapons based on ever power group as a whole. The golden ticket just get you a freebie since the continental will be paying for it.” She said almost excitedly. It meant she can use any and everything and no matter how hefty the bill was they were paying for it. “I just need some basic information- as well as measurements so i’m gonna need you to strip and I can begin the design process then after that the wielding which would take me about a week to complete. Well if I don’t break all of them during the testing phase.”

Concealing an uneasy grimace with a cough, she tugged down the brim of her hat. The black wool engulfed the upper portion of her face. Equal parts fashion accessory and shield against the outside world, there were times where she wished that hat could swallow her up entirely. Underneath the safety of her hat, a coral flush quickly spread from ear to ear. The way the metalsmith licked her lips left Selda feeling like a piece of fruit, like a soggy square of cantaloupe forgotten on the edge of a breakfast tray. She turned to the left, pretending to inspect the metalsmith’s wares in order to avoid eye contact. “You want me to strip?” she stammered. “Right now? Is there a privacy screen or -- is this, is this really necessary?” 

If Selda could describe herself in one word, it would be: dependable. And in her opinion, that was a more marketable term for boring. She’d cultivated such an image over the years: the silent gunslinger, her shot so reliable that executives bet their lives on her bullets. There was safety in being the backup, in being background noise for a mission. To be sized up like this was to thrust her into the spotlight when she was much more comfortable hidden in the shadows, staring down the scope of a sniper’s rifle. 

Any confidence she’d had walking in vanished. She chewed on her bottom lip, one bite for each point in her mental peptalk. Ugh, why hadn’t she stuck to her usual routine? It’s too late to walk out now! And she won’t leave without cashing in her prize, no matter how awkward the circumstances! She was Herlock, damnit!  “What other information do you need?” she asked. “If The Continental is fronting the costs, there can’t be much paperwork to fill out.”

[cvtiehoneys]

Gilbert & Simon | fledglingthieves

“Then I’ll hire Dot. I’m sure it’s easier to steal jewels than it is to steal her,” Though, if Simon had to guess, her attention may be easily stolen by a few pretty jewels…but he knew ( er…hoped ) she still stayed professional on jobs. “I’ll just leave the attention seeking to other people, something I’m sure you’re also rather well versed in, Mr. Gladstone,”

After all, why else would he bring in so many jewels at once and perform a slight-of-hand trick if not to attract all the attention to him? That was how Simon saw it, at least. Which was a tad ironic seeing as despite the attention that Gilbert had gained, Simon had been too distracted with himself to notice a hand slip into his pocket and for his wallet to be stolen away.

Not until Simon turned to see Gil attempting to hand off his wallet to the Cartographer, which lead to Simon rolling his eyes. “Ha-ha, very funny,” But he didn’t dare to reach for it, under the assumption that Gil would only yank it back, and he didn’t have the patience to play that game with a forty-something year old man.

“Is that thrilling for you too? Taking people’s wallets?”

Rather than fire back with an immature retort, he earnestly thought about the clairvoyant’s question. It was -- in the thief’s strange, unspoken way -- a sign of respect. Given how often he swiped Simon’s wallet, it was otherwise difficult to deem if he respected his fellow associate at all. “It can be thrilling depending on the target,” he mused. “But now, it’s more a force of habit of these divinely nimble fingers than anything.”

Gilbert waggled his fingers, licked his index, and then combed through the wallet’s contents like an archivist sifted through a filing cabinet. “Why are you here, Simon? Why do you work at The Continental?” he asked. With a satisfied hum, he plucked out a gift card. “I’m sure it’s not for stable payment in Yogurtland gift cards.”

Folding the wallet back up, he held it out as a peace offering (sans one Yogurtland gift card, of course). “I’m a thief because it’s thrilling, and I’ve spent my whole life perfecting my craft,” he said. “In a way, thieves are kinda like fucked up musicians. But instead of obsessively playing the trombone for fourteen hours a day, we pick locks and use the Louvre like a Sears catalog.” 

He sighed.

“You’re good at what you do, but you could be great. So, the question is: why aren’t you? Why are you here if it’s not for thrill, since a man with your talents could be making boatloads of money without it being illegal.”

[cvtiehoneys]

Gilbert & Dmitri | partitivn

   —— dmitri had found himself lingering in the labyrinths of the cartographer’s study, pillaging through books and planning the day away. he’d been recently hired on a hit for a mafia leader lingering in the underground, one hell of a selfish man that forgot his anniversary with his wife and well - from the one meeting he had with her, she seemed more than pissed off with him. while dmitri tried to keep his focus on the newest set of papers in front of him, he couldn’t help but overhear the ongoing conversation nearby. 

❝ as if i’m an apprentice? ❞

the comment brought a ghost of a smile on his lips as he folded the paper underneath his arm and blipped through the empty space, static drifting through the air before he found his place next to the other male. arms crossed over as he shifted the newspaper into his hands. this was far more interesting than the hit, possibly because of the thief’s dramatics. seeing the jewels on the desk, then being referred to, dmitri rose a quiet eyebrow as he watched the magic trick unfold - as pitiful as it may have seen.  ❝ don’t quit your day job. ❞  he hummed back.  ❝ what’s with the jewels ? looks tiny enough to do arts and craft with. ❞

Was there still room in this world for him? For the romantic fantasy of a smartly dressed thief, delivering calling cards that promised to pull off his latest heist at the stroke of midnight? Advancing technologies threatened to stamp out the next generation of gentlemen thieves. They were the criminals of yesteryear, their old-fashioned tricks outdated in a world where anyone with a smartphone could expose you in a click. Gilbert, however, believed the art would stick around if enough thieves were willing to learn it.

“Everyone’s a critic!” he sulked. “It was popular with the Princess of Monaco, and I feel that’s a good enough metric to measure by.” The jewel rolled down the length of his finger, as a effortlessly raindrop slides down the curve of leaf. It landed in the pool of others with a sweet, glass-like chime. 

“Jewels might be the bread and butter of any thief worth their while, but the client wasn’t interested,” he said. “Can you believe it? They wanted me to deface an old throne to ‘make a statement’. Bet they feel like a real hero, doing something so pointless.” Gentlemen thieves upheld varying codes, but their one core tenant was to never steal from the unfortunate. Their targets were wealthy, dishonest, or both. “I’ve heard his home security is top notch,” he added, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I might have to see it for myself.” 

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Laszlo | immerites

treasure  did  not  oft  warrant  trekking  through  palm  fronds  and  the  restless  roots  of  trees,  this  laszlo  knew  intimately.  he  had  long  since  stopped  accepting  expeditions  whose  bounty  did  not  justify  the  trouble,  and  yet  employers  kept  pestering,  lying  even,  to  coax  him  from  the  comfort  of  the  continental.

that  was  how  he’d  ended  up  entangled  in  the  mission;  waiting  at  the  docks  as  receiver  and  handler,  kevlar  clinging  to  his  skin  beneath  a  loose  turtleneck,  rifle  slung  over  one  shoulder,  free  hand  manning  a  cigarette  from  a  soft  pack  tucked  within  the  upper  pocket  of  his  dark  tactical  pants.  he’d  spent  a  lion's  share  of  the  day  tying  up  or  otherwise  disposing  of  any  personnel  still  left  on  the  sound  by  the  time  the  cargo  was  set  to  arrive,  and  as  such  was  less  than  enthused  by  dottie’s  assessment.

“  they  need  to  add  fine  print  to  these  contracts,  ”  he  hummed,  blandly,  as  if  discussing  something  as  mundane  as  office  work,  and  offered  an  arm  to  assist  the  grifter,  who  he  saw  as  similarly  swindled,  off  the  boat.  her  haul  was  not  unimpressive,  given  the  circumstances;  a  variety  of  valuables,  some  more  worthwhile  than  others  but  all  equally  interesting  in  their  own  way,  and  the  sprawl  was  enough  to  ease  his  apprehensions  that  the  entire  endeavor  had  been  thoroughly  unproductive.  she  clearly  had  an  eye  for  value  that  laszlo  could  not  imagine.

his  approval  went  largely  unspoken,  though  his  posture  grew  less  taut,  less  authoritative,  “  is  this  the  only  vessel  for  the  assignment?  “  a  long  pause,  in  which  he  took  a  drag,  retrohaling  away  from  her  so  as  to  not  drape  the  conversation  in  smoke,  “  i  was  told  to  expect  two,  you  didn’t  leave  behind  your  friends  for  their  trouble,  did  you?  “  he  found  himself  amused  by  the  idea,  he  was  not  above  stranding  someone  for  causing  annoyance,  but  knew  that  if  she  had  he  would  likely  be  the  one  to  go  retrieve  the  castaways.

“  there’s  a  car  waiting,  “  he  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  vehicle,  neatly  parked  behind  a  rusted  storage  crate,  “  should  you  want  to  go  anywhere  instead  of  wait,  “  her  lot  would  be  neatly  sorted,  appraised  and  catalogued  before  it  made  it’s  rotation  through  the  various  fences,  and  though  he  had  little  input  to  add  during  that  process  he  was  still  bound  as  a  hired  gun  to  ensure  that  it  went  smoothly.    “  if  you  want  to  take  anything  for  yourself,  i’m  not  looking,  “

Elegantly, she took his arm as if preparing to be swept away by a dance. “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that!” she said. Boots clicking against the dock, she turned and surveyed the mismatched haul for a final time. To sift through the hidden alcove of a mobster, nearly five decades after the height of his notorious reign, had felt like an archaeological dig. Frozen in time, his belongings preserved a glimpse of what his personality had been like. Dottie felt that much could be learned -- or crafted -- about a person based off what they chose to surround themselves with.

“I picked out something for you. But I’ll only let you have it if you promise -- promise me! -- not to be too mad that I...” she said. Dottie looked up at him from underneath her lashes, the world’s biggest pout on her lips. “Threw him overboard?” she said. “He wanted to stage a coup over a mobster’s garage sale. If you ask me, that bozo’s lucky I had the grace to give him a lifejacket first.”

Dottie retrieved an unassuming, musty box from the boat. In addition to the vintage cars still grounded on the island, he’d stored plenty of boxed gifts for his revolving door of gun molls. She had her eye on a particularly rare, YSL chained belt with golden hearts for herself. And there was an untagged, feather bolero from Neiman Marcus no doubt ordered straight from catalog in the 70′s that she knew her sibling would adore. It was a welcome surprise after opening what felt like the sixteenth box of cigars and nude magazines. 

She plucked a silken tie from the box, holding it up to the hire’s neck. “It’s pocket change pricewise, but I think it suits you,” she said. Dottie rifled through the collection of ties, picking up one with a  Hermès label stitched underneath. “A touch of vintage screams old money,” she hummed. “Remember that next time you have to go undercover.” 

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Lottie | rottencoresx

“You know what. You’re right.”a very sour face to match the very near sour stomach gurgling in the lower abdomen of the ever famed Jellicle cat skewed in deliberation. “And if it means you keeping your ponytail, then I really gotta get my shit together.” a drunken giggle danced as twinkling eyes adored that younger sister of hers. “…though, I don’t know, I mean, imagining you with a bob cut isn’t so bad in my eyes. Maybe that’s because I think you could pull off anything.” constellations and milky ways danced in Dottie’s eyes, and floated above her head as the night drew nearer. Lottie pulled herself away, a couple of swaying steps backwards, nearly tripping over a couple of discarded golf clubs. she rose her index finger and thumb from each hand to frame her sister’s face in a makeshift picture frame. a squint in her eye managed the scope of distance.

“Nope, I can’t picture it just yet. Dottie. We’ve gotta plan a new disguise for you. Lady bob cut and her trusty bob cat on a new mission to clean out Chanel. IMMEDIATELY.” a tired squeal of excitement fluttered in the wind as she pressed her palms together. her words continued to slur in between tiny hiccups and burbling burps, “We could just ditch this stupid briefcase, and– OH MAN,” a yawn would emit, not at the notion, but because of  the heavy lids upon sparkled shadowed-eyes causing the older sibling to look a lot like THIS.  "A pink drink from starbucks would be the best pick me up in the morning. YUP. If you promise to stay here with me, I promise to help you find the best bob wig.”  

“Since your Royal Highness will be sitting on the porcelain throne, how about a pink drink and a tiara?” she asked. Like the elusive gleam of the glass antiques she coveted, her gaze drifted somewhere dreamlike and unattainable. Fine jewelry was among her greatest fantasies. Even as a little girl, she’d wistfully stare into shop windows and imagine herself in the place of its mannequins. Dottie would dream about the fairytale life where a girl like her finally wore dresses and diamonds like that. 

“Oh yes, a tiara!” she murmured. “Tiffany’s even, with yellow diamonds like a cat’s eye!” Her hands fluttered, as though she didn’t quite know what to do with them. Clothing had always been about power.  It was the tour de force that got Cinderella entry into the Prince’s ball in the first place, after all. “And for me, a dozen hair barrettes,” she said. “Chanel, of course, to ease the pain of having let you put scissors anywhere near my hair.”

Dottie reached for Lottie’s hands to help hoist her up, and wondered if they’d make it to the bathroom before her sibling knocked out. “Come on, melon seed! I have some makeup wipes in my purse,” she said. “They’re goat milk infused!” 

[cvtiehoneys]

Selda & Asphe | styx-asphe

Wrapped in the warm embrace of the darkness, the soft sounds of metal being melted away as she torched and morphed them into her image. The timid scent of wild berries seem to dance around the weapon factory as the silhouette of a women moved elegantly from station to station as if she was dancing to an unheard song and in some way she was. The women had a unspeakable bond with her creations-well anything non-human honestly. The soft chimes of bells mixed in with the sound of melted down metal being poured into an cast in front of her, the women began to cool down and morph her creation with her powers- her hands moved as if she was a conductor of a orchestra. Her freshly manicured fingers moved in a sultry way as her mix match eyes shined against the darkness and flames with a haunting beauty. As time went on, the women reached her hand into the smoking pot slowly pulling out a set pistols that bared her insignia of a spider lily. Gripping the two guns nicely in her small hands, her eyes lit up with approval before she placed them in a clear box along side matching armor. Stepping back the women eyed the dozen clear cases with different gear and weapons specifically for those the Continental deemed worthy of having personal gear all bought directly from her. They have to be worth it after all- Asphe was an expensive little monster.

Turning around on her bare feet, the women began to make her way towards the final project of the night. Gripping the base of the nearly finished sword that was cooling in the carbon dioxide pool, the small figure pulled it out the as swiftly as she could for such a huge sword. The owner of this sword was nearly 6 foot 5 and taken in his wingspan the sword itself added double hight and width. Placing it gently on a slap of metal, the women placed her finger on the blade where light slowly began to flow from it. Swiftly she began heat up the molecules between her fingers and sword creating a make shift electricity that slowed through the sword. Quickly pulling away she let out a hum of approval at the thought of the metal doing it job- creating and using electricity for it’s user with the same ability. Holding the sword against the light, she caught the reflection of another behind her causing her to gently look over her shoulder. “Pick up or do you have the golden ticket” Asphe spoke in a robotic tone. It seems like the hotel has been giving out her tickets like candy at this point.

Where: Sommelier

Open thread: @moments-momentos​

Selda had always sourced her own weaponry, and had believed up until that very afternoon that she’d continue to for the rest of her career. If it weren’t for a group of gambling executive associates, she wouldn’t be standing in the midst of Asphe’s workshop at all. “One golden ticket, but no idea how to use it,” she said. She halfheartedly waved her ticket, fanning away the golden tresses of hair curling upon her shoulders. To throw away her prize over tradition seemed like a waste. If she won it, she might as well use it.

“It’s still valid if you win it in a bet?” she asked. “Or does that make it void like a shitty coupon?”  A gourmet of firearms, she could be blindfolded and still guess a gun’s model based off of its recoil. And so, she did. Confident enough to bet a month of her sharpshooting services, she’d entertained a gamble. Hell, she’d even thrown in the hat off her head for good measure. Then, she was blindfolded and brought to the hotel’s gun range as the growing crowd laid out the rules. 

Only a single shot was allowed. ( And it was all it took for her to win the betting pool. )

Ever so slightly, her head shook at the sight of the sword. It wasn’t to her tastes, and her tastes were infamously picky. Selda was picky about stopping power, picky about dependability, and picky about if the barrel looked imposing when she used it to tip the brim of her hat. “It was a clean win,” she noted. “No cheating, no bribery, no bullshit. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you.”

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Javier | weapvnized

Okay, this looked bad. But he had a plan…well, sort of. With all the unexpected chaos the person who hired him failed to mention, his original plan was quickly get tossed out the window and he had to quickly adjust to making shit up as he went along. It wasn’t ideal, but he learned to work with what he had and at this moment what he had was some meathead dragging him along ‘in custody.’ The way he saw it, this was just a free escort inside that gave all parties the impression he was now out of the equation. Minus the few initial hiccups, things looked like they might run smoothly from here on out.

Or at least that’s what he thought before locking eyes on a familiar face. He didn’t even know why he was surprised — with all the cartoonish turns this evening was taking, this just made sense. “Right.” He peered around the guard that was busy putting the uncharacteristically cooperative specialist in the same position as Dottie. “Because telling you why I’m here, especially in front of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sounds like a great idea that definitely won’t somehow backfire on me.” 

Javier twisted his body, the best he could in his uncomfortably tight restraints, as if to childishly signify he was done humoring any kind of conversation with his fellow hostage. In reality, he was simply trying to get a better view of his surroundings and survey the room for anything that could be used to quietly deal with their glorified babysitters. While there were a few useful things laying around, the fact that both guards were armed well was going to be an issue. The chances that one wouldn’t starting firing while he was dealing with the other were low. This evening just kept getting better and better.

“So is MI6 kill on sight or do you plan on sticking them in here too? Because if that’s the case, I think you’re going to run out of pipe. I mean, you did see the group of them crawling out of that clown car while bringing me here, right? No?” He let out a low whistle, “I can’t picture your boss being thrilled about them pouring in here like rats.” While the two turned to talk amongst themselves about what to do, Javier glanced back at Dottie. As much as he’d rather not enlist her help, even temporarily, it might be the smarter choice given their predicament — the enemy of my enemy or whatever. He made a few subtle gestures as if to ask her if she had her restraint problem under control or if she was going to need a hand.

“Come on, won’t you give me a hint? All I’m saying is that if our interests align...” she said, trailing off with a sigh. Dottie gave a short, sullen nod that could’ve been missed in the blink of an eye. It would take time -- time, they might not have if their captors became too trigger happy -- for her spores to corrode the metal links. Once they were weakened enough to snap free, she only had a moment to take control of the room. Tension was a grifter’s best weapon, and she was happy to engineer it herself. When a guard ordered them to cease talking, she saw opportunity. 

“Gladly!” she huffed. “In all our history, he’s never been any fun and doesn’t got any taste either. He’s got no idea how to treat a lady!” Distance yourself from the one you want to protect. “Not like you gentlemen, especially you,” she said. Dottie looked vaguely in their general direction, careful in making sure it wasn’t obvious who she was looking at. “I can always tell in a glance what kind of men I’m dealing with.” Align yourself with the enemy and drive a wedge between them, even if the effects seem negligible. They’ll be more receptible to your requests if they feel the need to assert themselves over the other.

“Really guys, I don’t deserve to be mixed up in all this!” she demurred. “I’ll be honest: I was only after money. I’d never hurt your boss -- physically, at least. Emotionally speaking, that depends on if they give good enough gifts.” Paint the picture that’s most advantageous to your survival. She could practically see the gears whirring inside their heads; they were lowering their guard, feeling less on edge guarding a prisoner who was after something as simple as new Louboutin’s. What suckers.

“But if this is how it’s going to be...” she said, lip quivering. Her eyes were magnetic, glossing over with brimming tears. “You could give me a last request, couldn’t you?” she asked. “You have enough power to do that at least, right?” Throw the ball in their court; their pride and ego is at stake. “One last cigarette?”  she asked. “Can you light one for me?”

And lastly, set them up.

If she exhaled a cloud of spores, they’d no doubt execute her immediately. But if it blended with the vapors of a cigarette, she could stun them without getting caught. She turned her head, childishly sticking out her tongue at Javier. She hoped that he knew enough about her ability -- or her, at the very least -- to see what she was trying to do. A two on two fight, but with the odds tipped in their favor once the neurological effects of her poison slowed the guards’ reaction times. 

There would still be a gauntlet of adversaries waiting for them if the survived. She wasn’t completely confident that there wouldn’t be a solar-powered doomsday device waiting for them at the end, either. But hey, one oscar-worthy performance at a time, right?

[cvtiehoneys]

gilbert & mimi | lvdygrim

a pair of rolling eyes follows his mention of hallmark. “why even bother.”

“you only have yourself to blame there.” mimi offers as he remarks on her material, implying he was the one responsible for it slipping through at all. a consequence of spending, perhaps, a little too much time in his company. “you are the expert on awful material.” a flash of a smirk trails the words before focus turns to the work in his hands again, a sort of shrug in her shoulders in regards to what she’d actually managed to do for their like kind. for her part, mimi was nothing if not thorough, and had followed the instruction she’d been given flawlessly. it didn’t matter whether it seemed to be the stuff of fairytales to her too for more than a fair share of the research she’d done: it was what was asked of her. and it had a reward to its name. 

as gilbert seems to zero in on something a little more interesting, there’s a quick recall on his mention of storybooks and the like and an easy laugh that flutters passed her lips. “it seems you might.” a hand gestures for him to pass along the photo so that she might have a better idea of what he’s referencing, eyeing it carefully when it’s finally in her grasp. “this is a painting that has ties to an old tapestry, presumably detailing the iron crown that disappeared circa 14th century. it’s known to some as llywelyn’s coronet but to others, it’s gained notoriety as the very crown you mentioned.” by which mimi obviously meant arthur’s crown. “there’s some confusion as to which the painting actually details or if they’re really one and the same; there aren’t very many clues around these days. that box there,” she places a delicate finger against the box in the foreground. “is supposedly among the few leads remaining.”

a perfectly arched brow ticks upward curiously thereafter however, as she picks up the last of his words and gives him her full attention. “a problem such as?” 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he sighed. “You’re going to crap all over me when you hear the full story.” Gilbert’s skill in the art of thievery couldn’t be argued. There weren’t many who could rival him in a safecracking contest, nor anyone who’d designed a security system to outmatch him. However, he was notoriously careless about managing treasures once he got his hands on them. Once he’d succeeded in stealing the target, he didn’t particularly care what happened next. Why should he, since it meant he’d already won? But, perhaps this time he’d declared victory too soon.

His thoughts flitted to Arthur, of their solving of the golden puzzle box and abject disappointment when it appeared empty.  Gilbert pulled his current burner phone, complete with a voice modulation chip wired into it, from his pocket. He input a phone number, and shrugged while he heard the dial tone. “But, I guess there’s no point in being secretive if the cat’s out of the bag.”

It took a few tries, the thief looking more and more uncharacteristically worried when nobody picked up. And then, a familiar and high-pitched voice squeaked out of the speaker: “Whaddya want, buster? I’m in the middle of something here!”

“Don’t melt it down,” he said, quickly. “You know the box I perhaps implied -- depending on who you ask -- that you could use for scrap metal? That thing’s apparently big bucks, Dot!” Gilbert shot a glance at Mimi, as if he were debating on making a run for it. “Besides, Mimi will be emotionally distraught if you melt it into a pair of earrings. Do you know how many Halo Tops I’d have to buy her to make things right between us? We’re talking an obscene amount of ice cream.”

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Ophelia || partitivn

  — 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏  𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒘𝒂𝒔  𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍  𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒕𝒐  𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕. a low huff and a waterfall of smoke escaped from ophelia’s unpainted lips. loose strands of her hair still dripped from the cold bath she took moments ago, simplifying from grand extravagances for a set of raven cigarette pants and a equally dark bodysuit to match. like any youthful, damaged teenager, she fell in love with the romance of cigarettes, too emotionally attached to let go quite yet. slender fingers danced with a cheap set of stolen cars as she sat by the window, shoeless feet tapping along to her hum. 

“ non, je ne regrette rien; ni le bien qu'on m'a fait. ”

glancing up to the sound of echoing steps, ophelia plucked the cigarette from her lips with a coy smile. “ you look like you’ve been busy. ” her words cooed with a playful raise of her eyebrows. smoke followed her accent as she gently pushed the seat to an inviting stance with her foot. “ come, play a game ? ”

Dottie wagged a manicured nail, a blinding amount of glitter sealed in a layer of pink gel. Her high-pitched voice chirruped as though belonging to an excitable little bird. “You know what they say: idle hands are the devil’s workshop!” she said. “Or something like that!” 

A fist-sized diamond dangled above her plunging neckline. Surely, that was enough of a sign that she’d been keeping busy. Though unseemly sabotage attempts had put her score in jeopardy, it was thanks to Malaika that the Diamond of Cleopatra was in the jewelry box of someone who would wear it and wear it often. Dottie wouldn’t lie; she quite liked the attention the jewel garnered in The Continental’s lobby. “If this isn’t a statement, I don’t know what is! I’ll be an Associate in no time!” she thought.

Flashing the other woman a smile, she sashayed over. “Well, what kinda game are ya playing?” she asked. She was conscientious of her posture, wanting to give everyone in the vicinity a good look at her recent spoils. “Normally I play for keeps, but don’t even try to have me bet my new baby.” 

[saying]

[cvtiehoneys]

Gilbert & Ophelia | @partitivn

“𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥,” he said. The building’s lone security guard was upheld by a case of looping footage, an intense rugby game on his smartphone, and his accidental trust in a thief. Gilbert smoothed down the shirt of his disguise. He didn’t make such a bad night guard, now did he? 

“They say your tastes are expensive, after all. I wasn’t going to tell you the actual price tag,” he said. Flashlight held up to illuminate his way, her perused a set of switches and flicked the one he was looking for. A low drum of electricity buzzed, and overhead lights flooded the warehouse’s floor. “At least, not until you were already committed to the job.”

Everywhere one looked, there were teddy bears. Crates of them, most in the process of having their neck ribbons handtied and being stuffed into boxes. Gilbert set down his flashlight, then pulled a serrated knife out of the jacket of his uniform. He pulled out a bear, plunged the knife into its belly, and sighed when nothing came out but clouds of stuffing.

“Sorry, little buddy!” he said. Though, from the way he haphazardly discarded the deflated carcass over his shoulder, he wasn’t sorry at all. “If we find the diamond, we split the score fifty-fifty,” he said. “I think that’s fair, don’t you? Seeing how even though I misplaced it, I was still the one who went to Brazil to steal it. There’s a diamond in one of these bears and it’s not worth five hundred thousand dollars, but one-point-five mil.”  

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Javier | @weapvnized​​

The Zambia Emerald of Bastet was fabled to contain the soul of Bastet, the goddess’ essence distilled into the jewels blueish hue. It was a gorgeous relic, its beauty multiplied in Dottie’s eyes by having once belonged to Cleopatra. Selling relics that were associated with her -- let alone, belonged to her -- was like printing money.  If there were fortunes to be found, then Dottie was never far behind.

However, her ‘simple heist’ had snowballed out of control. Apparently, the emerald was the sacred object of a matriarchal death cult, who was at odds with an organized crime group. MI6 had gotten involved. Like usual, they made an embarrassment of themselves by fumbling their whole operation. Dottie hadn’t anticipated living through a b-list spoof of an Indiana Jones movie, but she wouldn’t be surprised if a solar powered doomsday weapon were unveiled next.

Metal handcuffs clipped her wrists to an overhead pipe. Her elegant bouffant updo, glossy as the mulberry silk of her red dress, helped to obscure her wrists. An acidic, metal-eating fungus was slowly weakening the chain of her restraints. Hopefully, it finished the job before she were either assassinated or ritually sacrificed. “Is this any way to treat a lady?” she huffed. The heavily armed guard assigned to her smirked. Dottie threw a feeble struggle, squirming and swearing to keep the attention of the guard from focusing on the cuffs.

The door opened with a clang. A second guard ushered in another hostage, and Dottie craned to get a good look at their face. Was that Javier? What was he doing mixed up in such a mess? Even in the worst of circumstances, she wasn’t going to reveal her hand and mention the emerald to her competition. “So, what were you after?” she asked, winking. “The death cult, the mobsters, or MI6?”

[cvtiehoneys]

Dottie & Laszlo | @immerites​​

Young and hungry, she’d climb to the top ranks even her red-soled heels had to step on the backs of others to get there. It was all in the name of business, wasn’t it? Surely, her associates would understand. “They dragged me to a deserted island for a dead mobster’s car collection,” she said. “Like, can you believe it? I was told there was going to be treasure.”

The motorboat cruised close to the dock. Sunset swathed the antiques she’d piled onto the boat -- vases, paintings, furniture, and three types of cuckoo clocks -- in a warm, peachy hue. “I wasn’t coming back empty handed,” she said. Though not her preferred form of spoils, she’d still made arrangements with The Continental for pickup. She’d pawn off as much as she could, then allow the hotel’s fencers to network with buyers in exchange for a fraction of the profits. “Might as well get some work done while those idiots race around in their rusty chariots!”

Dottie waved a flippant hand, her glitter polish only slightly chipped after the day’s adventures. Droplets of oceanwater clung to her sunburnt shoulders, and the scent of sea spray mingled with her hair. She'd taken to heart the explorer role, having mostly dressed for the occasion: a beige tank that’d started her expedition stark white, a camouflage jacket (missing one sleeve for tourniquet purposes on a teammate) tied around her waist, and khaki shorts where the sheath of a knife was clipped to. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t be Dottie without extra sparkle, and her knee-length boots were hot pink.

“I’m totally convinced they just wanted to play real life Hot Wheels, and only invited me along because they need someone to wave the checkered flag,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Once they arrange the transportation fees...well, their profit won’t even cover the amount I spent on sunscreen!” 

[cvtiehoneys]

​selda & sara ||  fledglingthieves

Sara smiled when the plan went wrong. Once that first shot fired, her hands leapt for her concealed handgun, which she aimed toward the building and blam, blam, blam, fired three clean shots towards the various men that spilled out. She ignored her other companions, and her smile widened as she anticipated a heavy fight ahead of them.

That is, until someone whistled. Her head whipped around and that excited grin fell to an annoyed frown when she realized that, no, she couldn’t spend the rest of the evening shooting and stabbing to her own pleasure. This was business. 

She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brows and hated knowing that people were looking to her for an answer ( she was a do your own thing, not a leader or a follower ). “Er…” She scowled. “Maybe if we rig part of the building to explode…we’ll get our actual target to come out?”

Lone wolves were a hassle. It was difficult enough babysitting new talent when they wanted to operate as a team. Fresh faces haven’t been in the game long enough to recalibrate their sense of danger to the unforgiving, merciless standards of The Continental. Selda silently aided them from afar, scouring for snipers on her smoke breaks and grumbling through offhanded advice. Winston had noticed -- he always noticed -- and she’d explained away her involuntary parental instinct under the guise of optics. Always optics, never emotions. She needed her heart to be steady as her hands.  

“They call you Iron Bills, no?” she asked. With the smoking barrel of her Smith & Wesson, she tipped the brim of her hat at the apprentice. “Herlock,” she said, “The oh-point-three quickdraw.” Selda fired three rounds over the shoulder of the young associate, and the targets behind them collapsed to their knees.  “How married are you to that plan?” she asked. “I’m only along for the ride. But don’t accidentally squash the head spider under all that rubble or a hit will be on us by breakfast.”    

[cvtiehoneys]

SELDA & JAVIER ||  weapvnized​​:

Javier loathed working with people who didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but it was unfortunately part of being a specialist. “Well that’s just great. Once again you’ve proven how useless you are.” He snapped at the lower-level crewmember before dragging him through a few walls to meet back up with the others only to be met with the appearance of multiple opponents. Of course things were going to shit out here too. Fantastic.

The crewmember Javier was still holding by the back of the shirt (simply to extend his intangibility to keep the fool from getting shot) opened his mouth to say something in response to Selda’s question. “We could-” The specialist was in no mood to hear whatever dumbass solution the other thought of and was quick to cut him off, “You’ve lost your right to have any input on this job. If I have to hear another word from you, I’m using you as a meat shield.” 

Javier turned his attention to the only other competent person on the job, “Captain Dipshit here let our mark escape so there’s no point in hanging around. It’d be smarter to fall back and attempt to catch up with the mark, if that’s even possible now.”

Selda had learned to keep levelheaded out of necessity. Her enhanced vision couldn’t spot snipers from six-hundred meters out if her focus was on staring daggers into the new talent’s skull.  She hoped the newbie realized how lucky he was -- that neither Herlock or Phantom had abandoned him to the wolves. “More of them than I’ve got bullets,” she noted. “The meat shield isn’t such a bad idea.”

She gauged her chances of survival if she risked running into the open, pilfering weaponry off fallen opponents. “Thought I was plenty prepared, but clearly not enough for this shit show.” The woman swiveled, steady arms shooting out like lightning as she shot a round through the barrel of a gunman’s weapon to jam it. Her precision was legendary, but her legacy could easily end with one lucky shot from the enemy’s end.    

“Captain Dipshit come armed? There is no real reason our future meat shield needs a gun,” she said. Selda fired a quick shot with one hand, then impatiently held out the other for weaponry. “Hand it over, small fry,” she said. “You take orders from Phantom now, while I keep the rest of you from looking like a fucking Connect Four.”