femme fatale @kaziaxnovak - Tumblr Blog

@marcussblackman

four days before the Golighty Gala.

Regaining consciousness was slow. Kazia was only vaguely aware of rough carpet beneath her body, and that she was somewhere dark. Small, and closed off to the outside world, save for the hum of what could only be an engine. Her body was twisted in an uncomfortable position, her arms wrenched behind her back and her ankles undoubtedly bound together. Something felt stiff over her mouth, and she she finally managed to pry her eyes open, she was met with nothing more than the previous darkness. Despite these simple knowings -- bound, gagged, and likely tossed in a drunk of some expensive sports car -- everything still felt like a dream.

She groaned as she tried to roll onto her side, flexing her fingers in an ill attempt ton free herself as she became painfully aware of a throb at her left temple. Thud, thud, thud -- it was starting to grow quicker with the beat of her heart as the reality of her situation hit her suddenly as she was thrown haphazardly against the side of the trunk as the car screeched around a turn. Her body hit heavily, and she could only let out a muffled string of curses as she struggled to stop her body from violently hitting the back of the trunk as the car finally came to a halt. She twisted once more, rearing her legs up, and slammed them against the side. Before she could get a second kick in, she was blinded -- bright light, the sun just creeping over the horizon in the early hours of the morning. And then she saw him. Mother fucker! She wanted to scream, and lashed out with her legs, but her words only came out as a rage filled “Mmpph!” at the sight of Marcus leering down at her.

She hadn’t signed up for this bullshit -- nor the twinge of fear that she hide with a venomous glare as she thrashed wildly in her bounds.

#i dont have any gifs for this situation HAAH #{marcussblackman: third}#{para}#i think #kidnapping tw #tw kidnapping #kidnap tw #tw kidnap

@emmalinefaun

“Hey -- can you watch where you’re going?” Kazia snapped, jostling ever so slightly as the body collided with her. Her drink wobbled in it’s glass, scarlet drops of wine dribbling onto the floor. God -- the people here didn’t understand a thing about personal space, did they? She looked sharply over her shoulder, turning her body to face her assailant. The girl probably hadn’t meant to, but the con artist was in a foul mood, amplified by the head pounding music that flooded through the hotel and her lack of being able to vacate the vicinity.

“Are you just going to stand there, or what?”

#SURPRISE #SORRY EMMA #BE FRIeNDS SOON #{emmlalinefaun: first}#{convo}#{event: a star is born}

@mvgpie

Kazia’s eyes set into an unmistakable glare as she caught site of the Magpie himself. Magpie -- where did someone even get a name like that, let alone run with it? The conartist knew it was a French, but there had to be something better than such a... out there bird. But, then again, Damian was for sure an out there sort of man.

“I heard a piece of yours was supposed to be displayed here. I’m so sorry it went missing -- you have some rotten luck.” But then again, so did she. Kazia took a drag of her cigarette, blowing it over her shoulder, which earned her a glare from the security guard who’d told her to put it away just moments ago. No smoking indoors. Lucky for her, he wouldn’t come near her when in the presence of the... gallery owner, as he liked to call himself. “I’m a little busy, if you don’t mind.”

Doing what? It wasn’t like she could fucking go anywhere.

#{mvgpie: second}#{convo}#{event: a star is born}

marcussblackman

@kaziaxnovak

There was a unique sort of justice, that came from dragging Kazia to the Golightly gala as one of his unwilling operatives. He could hardly imagine what it was like for the con artist to stand surrounded by millions in diamonds, unable to so much as sneeze without Marcus knowing about it. He allowed her to roam within the confines of the hotel, occasionally sending one of his men to block a door when it seemed as though she was looking to make a break for it. And so he watched as the small icon on his phone paced in agitation before attempting another plan, supposing that this time around, he would pay her a personal visit himself. Just to rub it in.

Marcus followed her signal to the gardens, away from the animals and instead heading towards what looked like a service hallway for staff. This far from the main room, the sound of the festivities was faint, broken only by the occasional bleating of a goat. He spotted her just up ahead, a cruel smile growing as he tucking his hands into his pockets and approached. “You finished with running yet, Kazia? I told you once and I’ll tell you again, you can’t outrun me, no matter how far you go.”

He took the time to look at her carefully, eyes flickering to the ankle bracelet that he had ordered especially for her, just for these sorts of occasions when he had to focus on other things and didn’t need the stress of a jailbreak at home. “Nice accessory you got there. Is it designer?”

kaziaxnovak

Anger wasn’t the word that described what Kazia was feeling. There didn’t seem to be one that properly accounted for the emotion churning through her body. It was white hot, yet chillingly cold at the same time. Like her blood was evaporating, only to turn sluggish as sleet in her veins. She didn’t like this -- this feeling of being trapped and watched like a mouse in a maze, a cat leering over her at every single turn. Kazia was supposed to be the cat. Not the mouse, sniffing out cheese in a futile search. That night, the cheese was diamonds -- and her leering, ugly, flea ridden cat was Marcus Blackman. The image of him over her was seared into her mind, when she’d woken up with her wrists tied and her mouth still firmly shut with a length of duct tape over her full lips. She’d screamed -- rabid with rage, not fear -- and desperately tried to free herself, all for nothing in the long run. She’d been caught. Caught, three years later.

But that had been nearly a week ago. Well, she thought. It could’ve been less, considering she couldn’t figure out where her phone was stashed in the massive Vicario estate. The Golighty Gala was her first taste of freedom since then, yet at every turn, the stupid tracker around her ankle was lighting up and a lumbering man in a black suit came to block her chance to slip into the night. Kaz didn’t think Marcus would pay any attention to her other than keeping her within the confines of the hotel. When she saw him, the icy hotness of her blood spiked sharply, and she turned fully to face him. A lit cigarette was poised between her red painted lips. She wished she still had the taser she kept in her shoe. Or a gun, maybe, so she could send a bullet between his eyes and be done with it. But they were gone. The butter knife she’d stolen before the last guy had shoved her away from the kitchen? Not so much.

“Practically Cartier.” She deadpanned, removing the cigarette from her lips and stamping it out. She tensed as he approached, eyes narrowing into slits. She found herself shifting back a step -- ready to spring, because she knew he’d show up eventually -- a signature scowl etching into her features. “Fuck you, Blackman. Not here with your French guy? You know, the one who actually managed to catch me?” She tsked her tongue. “Always second best.”

#kazia just always has something up her sleeve smh #its not gonna WORK BUT #{marcussblackman: second}#{convo}#{event: a star is born}

brittany

Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005), dir. Doug Liman

kaziaxnovak

@marcussblackman

#{games of cats and mice: kazia & marcus}#{muse}#{scrapbook}

Kazia Novak is attending the Golightly Gala under... unusual circumstances. Once upon a time -- back in her pick pocketing days -- the Golightly hoorah would be the perfect opportunity for a sneak like herself to do some good pick pocketing, or in more modern days, trick a few high flyers out of their credit cards while ordering her a drink. That had been the original plan, yet now, Kazia is an unexpected Italian houseguest. Different to her normal trinkets of silver jewelry, a new addition can be seen locked around her ankle. Thanks to Marcus Blackman ( @marcussblackman, ) the tracking device is firmly in place, and so she can’t even go to the bathroom without the asshole knowing. While she’d never be his date, Kazia has been brought to the gala so that she can be closely watched.

#yall know how hard it was for me not to do edits and psds and shit #lord #also yes its a fitbit but were gonna pretend its a house arrest thing ok #tdrevent01 #{closet}

kllerxqveen‌:

· · · feeling generous, vivienne decided to help the girl in picking up something. it was rare when her generosity got the better of her; but feeling like the good karma would fall in her favor today, she decided to nonetheless. turning her head at an angle, she could see what the girl meant. it was a good color but everyone held different tastes.

moving around, vivienne scrolled through the rack before pulling a black, off the shoulder blouse out of the mess. holding it out, vivienne looked her over before handing it to the brunette.

❝ blacks always in. ❞

Kazia rose an eyebrow at the woman, moving back slightly to allow her room ro shift through the jumbled variety of clothing. Stripes, polkadots -- all sorts of colors and shapes, and most of them the most unattractive articles the con artist had ever seen. But the blouse she held up wasn’t half bad. It had a lazy look to it -- one she could match with a pair of combat boots and a ripped pair of jeans, yet still look like she knew how to shop at the right spots littered around the city. Without looking like a snob.

“You’ve got that right,” Kazia said with a small shrug, taking it from her fingers and brushing over the fabric. “I’m surprised it doesn’t have ruffled or something.”

#omg babe im so sorry i didnt see this #i also love your icons??#{kllerxqveen: first}#{convo}

💃🏻

For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

“...I used to play the piano.”

#{secrets}#{answered}#{ask}#Anonymous

🏹

For a talent they wish they had

“I wish I was a better hacker. I’m not too bad, but being great at it would definitely make my life easier.”

#{secrets}#{answered}#{ask}#Anonymous

Will you steal me a car?

“Grand Theft Auto isn’t really in my line of work these days. I mean, I could do it -- I’ve done it plenty of times -- but you know nobody drives in New York, right?”

#{ask}#{answered}#{honesty hour}#//stop giving her ideas #Anonymous

marcussblackman

@mvgpie & @kaziaxnovak

“Are you sure this bitch is going to show up?”

Marcus didn’t think much of the Corsicans. While he was Dante’s underboss, his transactions with the French had always been shallow at best. But this operation, which had been months in the making on Marcus’ end, was far more personal that his usual gigs. To be forced to rely on a man he didn’t trust to execute it properly put him on edge, and the fact that it was Damien Oliver he was dealing with, he was even more uneasy. There wasn’t one parrain or pakhan or don that wasn’t fucked up in some kind of way, and Marcus was very, very fond of keeping his head.

He crossed his arms, looking above the art gallery down to their glittering piece of bait. “It’s too obvious. There’s no way she’d try something that ballsey.” But then again, this was a woman who had thought it a bright idea to con two of the most powerful men in New York City. The very thought of that night, and the dollar figure attached to her head, made him clench his jaw. How much was he shelling out just for tonight? It was a pittance compared to the financial hemmoraging she had caused. “I’m not paying without results. I want her tonight.”

mvgpie

Damien was, to put it simply, chuffed. In the best possible sense of the word. While his temporary ally was all anxious irritation, the Parrain was on top of the world, sipping delicately from a tumbler of gin on ice and watching his beloved gallery closely. “Patience, my dear Mr. Blackman. Believe it or not, I have done my research on our quarry. She’ll come.”

His good mood refused to be sullied by the Italian’s gruffness. After all, they were about to trap an elusive little mouse with a taste for finer things which didn’t belong to her. A mouse who had made one too many enemies, and was about to learn that she was not, in fact, immortal. That there were consequences for trying to outwit the criminal elite.

A final sip emptied the tumbler, and Damien handed the glass off to his bodyguard to dispose of. “If you do indeed know Miss Novak better than I, then I assume you know just how ballsy she is. She professed not to enjoy fine art, and yet had a keen eye for what would dent my wallet the most. This…” he gestured to the piece that served as their bait tonight, “this will be far too tempting for her to ignore. And I’ve laid it out in such a way that it will give her an inflated sense of confidence in her abilities. You’ll get your ‘bitch’ tonight, have no fear.”

And with that, Damien closed his mouth in a delighted smile and said no more, his eyes fixed on the sculpture through the skylights of the gallery.

kaziaxnovak

Kazia Novak was something of a ghost. Ethereal, wreathed in cigarette smoke, but most importantly -- hard to catch. So hard to catch, she’d been running through the streets of New York as a conartist for several years, terrorizing the rich and handing the money she made off to her own bank account. She’d become a fixture in the black market, her wares ranging from that cold hard cash, illegal arms deals, and art. Art, like she targeted tonight. Once, it had been just the Italian’s money, easily pilfered thanks to the information sealed away in a stolen briefcase. But when the French had left a shipment of priceless art left unguarded, her game had changed. Art was valuable -- and so was the elaborate... thing framed against the back wall of La Belle Epogue.

Why the hell was art considered a display of wealth? The thing was damn ugly.

But, worth half a million. She told herself, taking one last drag of her cigarette before stamping it underneath her shoe. Half a million would usually grow to more on a black market auction. That was what had tempted her out of hiding. Normally, she had informants and... partners who would get the art to her for a cut of the money. But with a sum like that? Kaz could sometimes be greedy, and she wanted the whole cake for herself. She yanked the hood of her black jacket down over her dark hair, jerking up the collar of it up over her mouth to conceal a good portion of her face. Pulling out her phone, it wasn’t more than a breath or two before she tapped a few numbers and she watched the camera’s glaring red lights blink out through the window. After, she made quick work of the lock, slowly sliding the tumblrs of the back door until the click was like music in her ears. God, between this and the guards stepping out for a coffee break? It was child’s play.

She was in the gallery in moments, sticking to the shadows and creeping along the walls almost cat like. When she reached the painting, she carefully lifted it off the wall, and flipped it over. Pulling a screw driver from her jacket pocket and setting the long, thin tube-like container strapped to her back down, she got to work carefully prying the frame apart, crouched low to the ground.

#{mvgpie: first}#{marcussblackman: first}#{para: mouse trap}#yall dont have to keep the name i just went oop

kiingofhearts-deactivated201504

#{scrapbook}#{she's a winner she's a sinner: kazia}#{muse}

schoolfriend

#{she's a winner she's a sinner: kazia}#{muse}#{scrapbook}

kllerxqveen

· · · vivienne had found herself dedicating her day to shopping.it gave her comfort in these stressful times. nothing like spending her husbands hard earned money. she always found herself wanting materialistic things. these things gave her comfort, security. or at least thats what she told herself.

she was naive. believing love was something she’d get. but she still couldn’t help but hope it was in her cards. now she gets by with short flings, one night stands and shopping. she was a celebrity. there was always a need to be the best dress. to be trendy and current.

vivienne liked watching others. seeing peoples taste. what they gravitated to. debating in her head if they looked good with their picks or not. it was a weird quirk but it made her feel more grounded. looking to her left, she spotted a woman holding a blouse.

❝ that looks good on you. you should buy it. ❞

@kaziaxnovak

kaziaxnovak

“It’s a little too... pink.” Kazia muttered, looking at the he blouse pressed against her chest. The occasions Kazia went shopping were fair and few. Even with the cash she made from her cons -- which, every now and then, was a lot -- it all went back to her younger brother and his treatments. When she did shop, the places tended to be more on the... thrifty side. Even the outfit she currently wore she was getting various looks from the snobs scattered around the boutique. Rounded sunglasses, ripped jeans that definitely weren’t designer, and so on.

With an irritated sigh, she hung it back up, flipping through the wrack. “But it seems like everything in this store is, huh? I don’t think it’s the color of the year anymore, or whatever...”

#{kllerxqveen: first}#{convo}#ITS WONDERFUL LOVELY

Have you stolen anything cool lately?

“I mean, I’m not the biggest fan of art, so I wouldn’t really consider it cool...”

@mvgpie

#YIKES #Anonymous #{ask}#{honesty hour}#{answered}

jacexh

[[open! pls read: Any location. IF your muse is from the Italian Mafia, This is how Maximilian ‘communicates’ with his Italian mafia buddies for security reasons. But! if your muse is not from the Italian Fam bam, we can treat it as a ‘wrong number’ situation!]]

Nibbling at the edge of his shrinking cigarette Maximilian types up a quick text and taps his foot at the ground, huddling into his long coat

[ sms -> ] I think I’m in love with you. I have to see you. I know you feel it too.

kaziaxnovak

Kazia felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, pine-needle thin eyebrow jutting upwards. Who the hell would be texting her at this hour? Holding her own cigarette between her teeth, she fished out the dinged up devise to discover a text from an unknown number

[ SMS: unknown --> ] wrong # -- u might wnt to try being less creepy

#kazia is the queen of text abbreivations #im so sorry #{milianxs: first}#{convo}#{text}

leethompkins-old-deactivated202

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be snippy.

#{she's a winner she's a sinner: kazia}#{scrapbook}

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