#chvmeleonisms

[queenxofxthieves-blog1]

jez >> bex

[ text >> bex ]: I woke up to a half empty bottle of cider on my dresser. I drank it and have no regrets.

[ text >> bex ]: Morning.

[chunjajaja-blog]

Rum Tug Burglar | Beckett + Chun-Ja |

@chvmeleonisms

Chun-Ja’s gangly phase had started with her legs. The 12 year old stork, flinging her body around the neighborhood like a pinball gone wild. Her arms came next, just when she thought she’d gotten the hang of the legs, and then that was another whole year or two of readjustment. At 27, she was still working on the ‘graceful womanhood’ thing. Maybe it was her eternally bent posture, from being just a bit too tall and guilty about it. Maybe it was her way of staying underestimated. Either way, when Chun-Ja had found out she was going to learn how to be an art thief, she actually laughed so hard she had choked on her own spit. 

“Me? Are you for real? How much money does Famine have for bail?!”

But no, they hadn’t laughed back. She was going to have to learn how to skip an entire step in normal girl evolution and go right to ‘lethal elegance’. Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck shit fuck.

She was supposed to meet her first partner, aka ‘babysitter’, at a smaller museum: Muzeul National de Arta Contemporana. The old apartments of the Ceausescus, turned into a contemporary art haven. An old building, not as well protected as the historical artifacts. But still, the risk was there.

Her blonde hair, just dancing on the edge of platinum, was up in her black beanie, more hipster than thief. She had dressed like Mission Impossible: yet still unable to match the blacks completely. It was cold on the roof, and blacks didn’t necessarily equate to ‘warms’. The park bench was hard, especially at 3 am. 

“Note to self: warmer black gloves. Maybe mittens.”

[thexmiscreant-blog]

enemy of my enemy | bex & theo

@chvmeleonisms​

He had this neat little place just outside of the city where he used to store his valuables, and sometimes take care of people crossing the wrong face. Most often than not, however, it was kept just for his own things, like a garage of sorts. But he hadn’t been in it long enough for it to be grown around with weeds and things alike making the building look abandoned. It always stood next to a warehouse which once belonged to hell knows who, but as he got to the place now it seemed to be empty—for better or for worse—for quite a while now. No matter, he didn’t care much for it and it wasn’t why he drove out here. One, he liked the fresh air, two, he had barrels of wine hidden deep inside of it, along with a few other things for homemade alcohol to make. 

He rolled them out and dropped into the trunk of his car and was about to say his goodbyes to this place for now when a motorcycle caught his eye. This was a little odd, but then again—in a city like Bucharest, anyone could do anything far away from the city, alone.. It had piqued his interest then and he decided to inspect. If anything, Theodor would just say his hellos, goodbyes and be on his way, or maybe would even leave unnoticed which was the best case scenario. As he went past the vehicle, however, he saw something that caught his attention and stopped him dead in his tracks. A blood path, legs, and then the whole body, slumped on the ground with the last of her strength trying to get outside. “Hey now,” he spoke gently, trying to be as non threatening as possible as he stepped closer to the wounded being, “I ain’t gonna hurt you honey, alright?” Teddy knelt down with brown eyes inspecting the poor girl, with strength beaten the fuck out of her, and yet—not enough for her to give up. “Imma help you, yeah? What’s your name?” A bullet wound, torn off fingernails, bruises and swellings. “I’ll get you back in the city.” He kept talking to her while carefully picking her up bride-style. He didn’t want a corpse on his hands, and the girl looked barely breathing, therefore he was determined to keep her awake. 

[queenxofxthieves-blog1]

jezebel>>beckett

[ text >> beckett ]: How do you preserve a human heart

[ text >> beckett ]: I don't want it to go bad or smell or rott

[ text >> beckett ]: You know how scientists and crazy people do? Keep them in jars? I mean it's not water in there, is it?

[queenxofxthieves-blog1]

mutant!au || jezebel & beckett

@chvmeleonisms

She had planned and found her way out — through the unguarded tunnels and vents, she’d reach the exit soon and would be free. At least in her head it was all that easy and simple, but in the real world there were also guards on every corner having those iron sticks that would buzz with electricity and they would not even hit you as hard as they fucking could, but also would taser you at the same time. Right now, however, it was a secondary problem. 

It took her a few days to both figure out and get what she needed to open up a vent, little by little, and sneak up unnoticed. Trained muscles, although weakened from their experiments, still brought her up easily. She was quiet and smooth, like a cat crawling millimeter by millimeter. When she reached the end of her path from then on she relied on her intuition and ears only. While she possibly could have boiled anyone’s insides by touch alone, she’d prefer not to risk getting seen, for if they caught her — oh boy what would have happened. Jezebel heard screams and begging nightly by those who dared to cross the line. And it was fun enough not to, so she had no intentions of trying the other ride anytime soon. 

Sneaking through corridors where cameras didn’t see, hiding in corners and behind boxes, laundry room and the kitchen she finally got in her next air vent; one, that should have led her if not straight outside, then at least near the back exit. It had to be all so simple. Freedom — within the reach of her hand. But then——

a dead end. 

Underneath another exit through to, what she only assumed, was a prison cell and, panic striking her heart she waited no longer. Knocked the thing out, it dropping down on the bed and then on floor with alarming sound, jumped through it down and kicked the tiny door underneath lest a guard would walk by because of the disturbance and——

A girl, more or less her age. Hopefully not a snitch. “Pretend I belong here. Please. You have to help me — they’ll beat me to death.”

[queenxofxthieves-blog1]

wilderness || jezebel & beckett

@chvmeleonisms​

Even in the midst of harsh Romania’s winter her favorite transportation was still her motorcycle. There was something about a car that she couldn’t quite feel out, and used it only when she needed to drive someone (like Frances, for example) and avoided it while alone. It was a fast and smooth method to get anywhere and would it be her running from someone or just want to get away, or just get wherever she needed, she found maneuvering it through whatever weather was an easier thing to do than driving a car, odd as it might have sounded. 

And she also knew that Beckett was expecting it rather than any other vehicle which would only arise the woman’s suspicion. Getting near the cabin she stopped and looked around before taking off her helmet. Eyes immediately were drawn to the fresh footprints leading towards the old house. ..So she was already here. 

Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t alerted or didn’t feel the need to check first to be sure that it was nobody else but her trusted girl. They had code upon a code upon a code to both communicate via text or paper, and visually—to tell the other they were there. It was the little things. The way the door knob was left, the way the path of footsteps was curled. To any other eye it would have been a nothing — a coincidence, no more. But with the way Beckett worked both women had to ensure their meetings were secure and not monitored, therefore needed a lot more preparations than anything else. Even other level twos weren’t aware; Jezebel’s mouth was shut even near those she trusted most. 

After making sure the motorcycle wasn’t in a completely obvious place, she took the helmet under her armpit and went through the squeaky path of snow and into the already warm cabin. “Did you change something?” She looked around hitting off any excessive snow or dirt off of her shoes at the doorstep. “Looks different. Hi.”

[chunjajaja-blog]

‘Slurred words’ from @chvmeleonisms

“Beckett? Isn’t that one of the high up Famine people? ...what am I, some kind of snitch? Nice fucking try jack-wipe, but the price is too looowww~. I don’t know anything anyway. Hey, buy me more vodka shots, and I’ll try to remember more shit I don’t know. How about that? ...think they’re listening? Ugh, watching what you say fucking sucks monkey nuts.”