@bilgewater-queen
She wasn’t too pleased to have him mockingly laugh at the surprise she had displayed. But perhaps the fault was hers for expecting something from someone as unpredictable as Malcolm Graves. He probably only thought things as far to the point where he would had gotten inside then improvise the rest.. That short answer didn’t really satisfy the need of information Fortune had. She suppressed a frown from appearing on her face. It was to be expected that not everyone had the same working method as hers, which included well-thought additional ideas in case her first attempt failed.
The amount of unwanted attention they received just by simply having a conversation couldn’t go unnoticed by the redhead. Why of course, those vipers couldn’t mind their own business. All of a sudden being recognized as the leader of Bilgewater didn’t appeal to her anymore, knowing this won’t be the first nor last time she will have to oblige the invitation to a party where she’d be surrounded by vain and arrogant rich people. Oh would had she loved to pull out a gun and waste some bullets on them.
An eyebrow was raised as the details about his future victim reached his ears. She thought of pointing him in the direction of his target so that he could get things done in a quiet, allowing her to continue her night without having to worry of Malcolm popping out of nowhere with a shotgun, though everything she had heard until now was useless. The look in her eyes was displaying frustration ‘How could he come here with only knowing this much?” she thought to herself. Knowing the name of the target was the thing she considered by far of the highest importance when accepting a bounty.
Dance? Sarah was quick to catch the true intention behind his question. Being used as a decoy only to get through wasn’t something Fortune would had agreed to. Except given the situation, this would save her from having men approach her with an expression that could be described as rather filthy than charming and ask her for a dance. A smile tickled the corners of her lips as she took his hand. She had to look pleased with his offer knowing the eyes of everyone was still on them.
The falsities hidden behind a smile wasn’t a concept unbeknown to a swindler. In all honesty, it was rather impeccable that she would even agree to what couldn’t even be considered a plan at all. She was always a planner, and he was a doer. And there’s been consequences of both sides, which they surely remember all too well. But most of that was behind them. In earlier days, there wouldn’t be so much a polite conversation between the two of them let alone becoming collaborators in one of his short-sighted schemes. His hand took light hold as he led them further into the crowded area, among other aristocrats already in the midst of dancing.
It should be simple enough now. An outside power in the middle of a fancy party dancing with some ragged ruffian in a suit should get a lot of eyes and ears curious. The man aimed for in question was a short, twig-thin fellow, with bright lavender hair that might stand out in some places other than the town with the neon-dyed cops working. The most outlandish thing would be the object worth stealing - a small, leather-bound wrist-strap with a hextech box strapped on it. Whatever was inside was worth a sizeable bounty in silver serpents and the effort of forging an invitation. Or rather, whatever it opened. Not many from Piltover, especially the upper, would typically venture to Bilgewater let alone stash anything valuable there.
But still, it was what it was. Less knowledge meant less personal. Even strangers, knowing too much about the job could lead to repercussions. Hesitations or lusting too much for greed. It wasn’t the time for that, though. He had to focus on the other Fortune for now. To both help him get his prey closer... and to hopefully in the process also not also tick her off. He shifted his hand slightly to match hers, gripping it lightly and putting his other hand on her corset-tightened waist to lead her in a sway. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but it was serviceable, if one only ranked it among drunk dancers in any given tavern on Fleet Street.
“How’s the night treated ya so far, what with,” he gestured his head in any vague direction, “from my own experiences ya can only get chewed up about how much you just ‘hav’ta see the Sun Gates’ fer the hundredth time before the trigger finger gets an itchin’. And I’m guessin’ a higher rank gets ya more chat.”
