LOCATION — Vixen. DATE — April 15th, 2024. STARTER — closed for @ceceliaahathaway
Well, no point in being a good thief if not to use the spoils. The redhead's words return to her, along with that high, disbelieving laugh. 'They wouldn't talk to you anyway, did you see the people in that club?? They're made of money!'
So Nicoleta has made herself up of money, too. Scrolled dozens of articles on Cecelia Hathaway, saved enough pictures on her latest phone to inform her shopping spree. And by the time she's done, she's bought half a wardrobe, some makeup, an expensive wig, and a book to brush up on her French. If Aviv returns before she can put it all to use, Nico figures she'll just bash his brains out with the book instead.
And then she waits.
It's the hardest part, because it involves staying still. She's got eyes on the Club before it opens, but Cecelia isn't among the first to come in, which might've been unexpected but vraiment chouette of her. The hours crawl by, and Nico begins to think she won't show at all, and that she'll have to do this all again tomorrow. The desire to bash Aviv's head in becomes all the more appealing a fantasy as she gives up and decides to enter the club for a drink. Maybe a chance to get information out of someone else. Another bartender, perhaps, or one of the patrons.
She orders a martini, which isn't her drink of choice but the only one on the menu she remembers how to order in French. It's been years since she's had any practice, and since then she's gotten rusty. But she's always had a knack for picking up languages, learning the essentials quicker than most. Unless it's English. Fuck English.
And it's right there, with her martini glass freshly in hand as she turns to survey the crowd — that she spots her. Cecelia Hathaway, sweeping through the Club with all the airs of an eagle in flight. Slipping off her stool, Nicoleta begins to move.
She catches up, navigating the crowd and cutting into the woman's path from a diagonal, twisting abruptly to stage an accidental run-in. The alcohol in her glass sloshes over the rim and she startles back, feigning surprise. "Excusez, madame."
Her native tongue bleeds heavily into her French, but all she needs is the woman's attention. "Cecelia! Quel belle surprise! And oh, look... We have same haircut now."