female robbery ( femme fatale crime spree )
what was your motivation, then? journalists asked, eagerly leaning over trembling notepads, in the rare event they graciously granted an interview, more out of pity for the fascination they generated than anything else.
the women would glance at each other, eyes flickering a language faster than even the eagle-eyed writers can decode; and a few of them shrug.
because we wanted to, one of them answers, simply.
in the media, iconic images of them frame them strikingly - heels edged sharply, guns slung over poised shoulders, lots of visual cues that build them as easy to fear, dripping danger even from the still of a photograph. but in action, they blend in whenever they so wish, melting into the background to dispatch security officers before they stride languidly to the counters of the biggest banks in each state and unfurl fingers expectantly - reminiscent not of the crudeness of robbery, but of royalty awaiting tribute.
they always get what they want.
(of course, what they donât tell the journalists, is that the robberies? theyâre just public relations - society did so love a god damned show, from its women, most of all. it was their bit of fun, because theyâd set the necessary wheels in motion a long time ago - rearranged the complex financial networks that once siphoned money from bottom up, now tangled to pour it all back to the society to whom they truly belonged to in the first place.)
they all smile simultaneously at that. one last thing - thereâs no need to thank us.
christmas gifts : darkbloomed, femme fatale extraordinaire for whom the world rests, awaiting, at her feet
gummygunk
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