Fantasy The Queensway Gang

[Hard Boiled]

kaito9049 Aeris Solar Daddy

The very second her sister let go of their ritual goodbye hug, Helena made her way inside the pub to prepare for the coming hours. The sooner she could shed this cotton prison, the better. She never was one for disguises, but this wasn't her score, it was Mary's - If Mary told her to jump, Helena would ask how high. Those were the rules.

Luckily for her, though, there would be no further trickery required on her part. No more trying to use Mary's fancy words, like auspicious. Besides, she generally found a brass knuckle far more persuasive than a silver tongue, a philosophy her sister evidently disagreed with from their past endeavors.

Helena's preparation, as the leader of the aptly named "Loud Team", was far easier than any of those in the "Quiet Team". She took a quiet moment to clean each chamber of her Colt, as well as the barrel of course. It was spotless before, but it couldn't hurt. Learning from an idiot she once saw shoot himself in the leg, she loaded five out of six rounds into the cylinder, holstering on an empty chamber. Since she'd be wearing a coat, she simply slung her belt and holster on top of the dress for easy access.

To top it off, Helena took her most prized article of clothing from its hiding place behind a nearby keg: A beautiful black hat, adorned with an emerald veil and a bunch of similarly colored flowers on the side. Besides her pristine revolver, this was the most expensive thing she owned. The veil did little to conceal her identity, even at a distance, but she cared little for such matters. The hat was memorable, just how she liked it.

Popping her mac coat over the whole shebang, she quickly tied her hair into its signature bun, carefully placing the hat atop it and continuing out of the storage room she and Mary recently called "home."

The Quiet Team had been gone about fifteen minutes by the time she was done, Bruce should be dropping them off right about now. To pass the time until he returned, Helena had herself a pint and a cigarette, on the house.

Another quarter hour later, Helena found herself strolling outside to the telltale rumble of carriage wheels. Nobody besides them would be dumb enough to bring a coach 'round these parts.
"Y'alright?" She greeted the brick wall of a man driving.

Bruce was humming along to some tune as he rode the carriage back to regroup with Helena. Once he stopped the carriage in the same spot he did earlier, Bruce stood up in the front seat and gave a deep bow. "Your Majesty, the carriage awaits at your earliest convenience." He said in his usual semi-sarcastic tone. "From what I could tell, things went off without a hitch. We should be all set for our more... extravagant entrance."

"Lovely." She nodded with a slight smile.
Satisfied with Bruce's performance as usual, Helena led him back inside to their briefing table, where Ella sat doing nothing in particular.
"Nice scarf."
Lazily searching across the pub for her final team member, she grew impatient after seven seconds.

"MURPHY!" She shouted at the top of her lungs through cupped hands, ceasing all noise in the building for a moment.

Conor coughed violently from his seat at the bar, forcing out the sip of whiskey he had taken when Helena’s shout shook the room. A thin layer of amber liquid remained at the bottom of the glass, which he downed quickly before his boss could yell again. He placed the cup down on the counter along with a tip before hopping off the barstool and jogging over, shoulders hunched as if trying to hide from the suddenly silent room.

"Good." Helena continued as conversation picked back up again.
"Right, here's the meat of it: three floors including a basement, four exits on the main level. That's one for each of us, Bruce." She teased. The twins had briefly passed by the target house on their way home with the dresses, stopping for a moment to speak with a security guard. The man was far less than hesitant to divulge information to these two young ladies who were oh-so obviously interested in him.
"There's the main entrance, a walled-off garden on the south side, and two backdoors." She retrieved her notebook from its pouch under her coat, flipping to the marker and showing them all a crude sketch. "Probably a fifth bug-out tunnel in the basement or something of the sort, but only the man himself and the bobbies would know anything about that, so," she waved her hand dismissively.

"This lot doesn't seem the athletic type, so unless they plan to climb, the garden looks like a good place to corral them into. Mary's gonna have it locked up until the end, that's gonna help our escape. Bruce, you're coming in the front door with me. You and Conor are on crowd control. You're taking the south backdoor, you're on the east." Helena looked to each of them respectively. "Probably one or two guards on each, you'll need to get past them one way or another."

She cleared her throat before getting to the plan proper.
"Simple stick-up, gang, no different than robbing your mum's corner store. Two in the front, two in the back, pinch 'em to where we want 'em. Any fuss, settle it quickly." They knew what she meant: make an example of any heroes. "We don't need any bodies today, cracked nose is enough." Once again, her eyes briefly lingered on their enforcer.

"You don't need to be asking for any valuables 'til the end, our lads will have already stashed them somewhere. Any looting on our part is for show, yeah? Once the party is under control, we kindly ask people to hand over their valuables. While they're too scared to realize they don't have any of their stuff, the Quiet Team gets out the back."

"Once it's all said and done, Mary's gonna open the gates." She pointed to the garden exit. "Coppers'll follow the crowd, we follow our mates. Questions?"

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce followed along with Helena, seemingly rather body-guard in nature due to his stature. There was no denying, anyone who spent more than a day in the company of the Nevitt sisters knew Bruce was like a shadow, always close by and just barely in anyone's peripherals when looking at the twins. He was damn near bear-like in his defense of the gang, always willing to throw himself in harm's way for the good of the group. When the team assembled, Bruce was already with Helena, so he required no roll call. Instead, he gave a bellowing laugh at Murphy's reaction to being called. The scramble of Conor's haste was an enjoyable sight, especially the way he dealt with Helena directly. Bruce gave one of his signature mumbles as they gathered around Helena for the briefing.

At Helena's comment on the doors, Bruce gave a cheeky grin and another famous mumble as she droned on. The details were always lost on Bruce; he much preferred deciding how things would go at the scene. Never knew what it would be like in there until it happened. However, he always tried his best to pay attention when the Twins gave their speeches. Tried was a very heavy word in that sentence, though, as Bruce oftentimes found his mind wandering like it was doing right now.

"We don't need any bodies today, cracked nose is enough."

Bruce twitched his nose as Helena gave him a look. He knew she was speaking of him, if not by the stare then by the tone. Bruce had a reputation for being... over the top with physical robbery. Unfortunately for the Twins, it was his specialty. No guards could arrest you if they weren't breathing. No one to resist stealing a purse if they're lying in a pool of their own blood, just trying to breathe. It was brutal, simple, and brusque, exactly how Bruce liked his robberies. In response, Bruce gave a dismissive grunt. He wouldn't kill anyone on purpose, he was sure of that. But Bruce intended on making an example of heroes, though. He intended on making sure no one would dare look at either of the Sisters without fear in their eyes. He prayed whoever he'd encounter was a heavy sinner, since Bruce intended on bringing God's wrath onto whoever ended up with his hands around their throats.

The pain Bruce intended on bringing was evident in his eyes. Hellfire itself seemed to be sparked in his iris, imagining all the ways he could ensure the gang got away with their ploy. Helena's finishing words snapped him out of his daydreaming, though. He stood straight and uncrossed his arms. At the mention of questions, Bruce only gave some kind of guttural noise and a shifting of his weight. "None, Your Grace."

 

[queendilettante]

Mere feet into the party, Mary stopped and stared at the extravagance of the scene she had inserted herself into. She knew the rich were filthy but this- this was foul. A dazzling chandelier the size of a horse hung from the dizzyingly high ceiling. It stopped at the level of the upper loft, which was reached through a centered grand staircase in the back of the hall. Decorating the staircase were dozens and dozens of wait staff. The help seemed to nearly meet the number of guests, which themselves were in the hundreds. Everywhere Mary looked, up or down, the aristocracy were gorging themselves and being served by the kinds of people she and Helena grew up with; none of the elite even felt the need to acknowledge their presence.

She was completely enthralled.

She swiped a white rose from a bouquet near the door and placed it in her hair as she skipped along into the party. Among the hundreds in the crowd, Mary saw just as many expensive decorations. Hopping up the grand stair case, Mary rounded to the right side of the loft balcony. As she did so, she spotted two of the cleaning staff pull the last of a collection of rags from the inside of a hall closet.

"It looks like that's the end of this one," mumbled the shorter of the two men. He was a stout and balding, but looked no older than 30.

"There's more on the other side," replied the older and taller of the two. He must have been the man's superior- at least as superior as another member of the staff could be. The men walked past Mary, who swiped and then pocketed the truthfully far too conspicuous ring of keys. Really, they were asking for them to be stolen.

As the two walked down the stairs to the landing at the top of the grand stair case, Mary smiled and leaned over the banister. She made eye contact with each in the quiet group and gestured very slightly behind her. Dramatically pushing herself up from the balcony, Mary spun back to the hall closet and carved a small mark in the wall next to it with the knife strapped to her thigh- a simple star. It wouldn't be enough to garner any serious attention and also wouldn't draw anyone's attention to the closet half a meter away. "That'll do, Mary," she said to herself, proud. When the others made their way up the stairs and checked for the mark, they'd know to store their findings inside.

Pleased with herself, Mary meandered back to the banister. Hands on her hips, she drunk in the smoke-filled air and grinned like a child on Christmas morning. Now, to make sure all of the presents stay at the estate long enough for the loud group to open them, Mary headed downstairs and off to the south-side garden.

Like the rest of the estate, the garden was an absolute masterclass in gaudy decadence. Three fountain statues - a naked man with large stone flowers to either side - stood tall in the center of the garden. The wide path down the stairs was quickly constricted and then split into two even smaller paths through the bushes around the fountain statues. While pushing past a couple that was a bit too drunk for the hour, Mary nicked her wrist on a thorny rose bush. "Fuck!" she shouted, clutching her hand and then sucking on the wound.

The panicked glances from the other party goers made her intimately aware of how out of place such an action was in this setting. "Heavens," she continued, anxiously assuming a character she was making up on the fly. "Dearest friends, please forgive me. A fever took my brother this morning." She grabbed a handkerchief from her coat and placed her bleeding hand up to her mouth as she started to silently weep. "I do believe I am at the end of my rope, is all. Forgive me." She continued to cry and shake her shoulders as she turned from the onlookers who, thanks to her lack of spectacles, she couldn't accurately read the reactions of.

After waiting another minute, Mary straightened out her dress and continued around to the clearing behind the fountains and bushes as if nothing had happened. She immediately spotted a rather narrow gate, which she strolled over to as inconspicuously as a woman of her nature could manage. Checking to make sure all eyes were off of her, she pulled the back gate shut, locked it with the butler's keys, and returned the keys to her coat pockets. The stage was set.

 

[spottednewt]

Taking a moment to get oriented and adjust her eyes to the new bright lights and churning colors, Astrid stood next to the bar, nursing a glass of the finest scotch she ever had the pleasure of meeting. Astrid had spent half of her life being drilled in the notion that women were meant to drink dainty glasses of champagne or the shallowest sips of fine wines in such refined company; those who chose hard liquor were promiscuous or unladylike. While she often wondered how her grandparents busied themselves in the late stages of their lives, she was thankful that they’d no longer attend such a soiree as this. Perhaps they’d found an heir in a second cousin she’d never met and never place as her kin - or perhaps they’d sold their properties in the city and moved out to the villa in the countryside like they’d always talked about. The next sip of brilliant golden liquid tasted sour.

What did Grammy Dearest know anyway, when she could sip double barrel aged with a light swirl and a gingerly curled pinkie like the finest damn dame you’d ever set your filthy eyes on?

Spotting Mary perched against the upstairs rail pulled Astrid from her self-indulgent musings; a renewed awareness of her coworkers' locations in the room. Careful not to change her expression, Astrid only took another sip of her drink as recognition when the two locked eyes. She was thankful to have an idea where to store her spoils. She’d already nicked two nice pocket watches from the drunken duo next to her raving about fox hunting; the cold metal tucked away against her thigh was a wholly unwelcome tactility.

No sooner than Astrid dropped her eyes from Mary’s, she spotted another woman across the room. The striking red of the lady’s dress complimented the darkness of her hair and eyes - features that O’Malley could only clock in flashes as the common room before them had been transitioned into an impromptu dance floor at the encouragement of a jaunty violin tune. With one quick twitch of her index finger, the stranger beckoned Astrid forward before disappearing into the crowd.

“Mother Mary and Joseph,” Astrid mumbled to herself as she tossed the final contents of her glass into her mouth and crossed her chest in the name of the father, son, and holy spirit. Eyes locked on the last last she’d seen the woman, it took three tries to find the counter with her glass to discard it. A devilish grin twisted onto her face as she moved forward through the crowd with newfound purpose. While her new objective was clear, it didn’t stop her from snatching a bejeweled necklace here and a golden cufflink there from those unfortunate enough to drunkenly stumble into her.

It wasn’t until she met her stranger in the doorway of an adjoining room, eyes alight like fire with a playful air of mystery that a bellowing from the adjoining alcove made the young smuggler freeze in her tracks.

“Ms. Whittock!” A flicker of horror sullied her delicate expression at the recognition of the voice. Astrid prayed that the festivities would keep a sense of anonymity about her, but the deep words felt as though they reverberated off of the walls. Abandoning her previous endeavors with nothing more than an apologetic smile, Astrid straightened and turned on her heel to face the man as he scrambled from the loveseat upon which he lounged with two very prim and proper lady callers.

“I presume it is still Ms. Whittock, correct?”

Astrid offered an exasperated sigh as he snatched up her hand to examine for a ring before kissing it, “Alas, it is. –Wonderful to see you, old friend. Please, tell me what you’ve been scheming as of late.” She allowed him to lead her by the same hand back to his posting on the couch, but not without snatching a bottle of wine off of a platter held by an employee of the estate. The sudden lightness of the tray earned a quick drop in the polite facade by way of a dirty look from the hired hand; to which Astrid only offered a quick, mournful nod as apology. She’d be needing it more than him.

Finding that her hiding place had shifted with her steps, the young woman settled into the couch sitting directly on the valuables she’d tucked away into her skirts. This was another unwelcome sensation, along with the old man’s vain attempt to set his hand upon her knee as she poured him a generous glass, and herself a scant one. Good luck finding anything other than layers of lace and rigid hoopskirt.

Awkwardly, his hand retreated as the other snatched up his glass before he settled into topical conversation about the weather and local flora; dancing around his words carefully in a way that made Astrid painfully impatient, but won her plenty of time to keep his glass filled near to the brim.

 

[kaito9049]

Conor squinted at the crudely drawn map Helena had sketched for the group. Personally, he would have preferred the chance to stake out the place, maybe commit some light trespassing before the stickup. But the sisters were the experts here; as bonkers as they often were, they had what his mom'd call four sheep and a cow when it came to crime.

It was a good plan. Conor could probably evade the guard, or guards. In his experience, those standing watch over a crowd of rich folk — or their belongings — were usually on the softer side, munching on biscuits and tarts while trying to look intimidating. It was the folks patrolling the dangerous areas that you'd need to watch out for. They tended to be more cautious, more vicious. Maybe Scotland Yard preferred to send the tougher talent to handle the more "troublesome" districts. But Conor had an inkling that it was more than that. The cops in the slums had the same hollow, eye-bagged look as the poor sods who lived there, one that exposed a desperate awareness of how soft the human body really was before the hungry steel of a sharpened knife. It was a look damn near everyone back home had, from Lily with the three kids and a fourth on the way to Tom who'd buried both his sons in the same year.

Conor used to think that only the rich — only those who could afford protection — weren't afraid, that fear was one of the few human experiences you had to pay not to have. But that wasn't quite right, was it? Whatever rich bastard was throwing this party had seen it fit to station guards around the place. The wealthy weren't desperate, but they were afraid — afraid of losing what others could never hope in a million years to gain.

They were right to be.

Cee turned his attention back to the map. Noting that Bruce had declined to ask a question — amazing how much the man could communicate with a grunt and a few words — he decided to pose one of his own. They still had some time until they needed to leave, so he didn't feel as awkward about potentially slowing down everyone's plans.

"Looks like a big buildin'," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "It's gotta be a lotta folks in there. I know Bruce counts fer ten men, but who's to say some idiot didn't sneak in a pistol to show off to his pals? Do we got a, uh—"

Conor felt his face flush as his mind raced to think of the right word. "Cuh, uh, k-kintin, cengency? You know, like a backup plan? It's easy enough to break a few bones if anyone gets too confident, but if shots start flyin', do we start shootin' back?"

It was an unlikely scenario, probably, but Conor wasn't exactly a socialite. The closest he'd come to glimpsing high society were the paintings that hung at the bank, and the strutting figures they depicted always seemed to be armed for some reason.

 

[Aeris]

Ella tilted her head to one side as she stared down at the map Helena had drawn. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had attended a party there once upon a time. Back then, she had always been allowing herself to be dragged wherever her parents thought potential suitors may be. Thinking back on it now, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been happy then, or if she was just simply following the path her parents wanted of her.

It was ironic in a way. After all, Eleanor used to be one of those people. Perhaps if she had actually been more open with her past, she would have been able to give the twins more insight. That was a bridge she could cross another time though.

She nodded her head along as Helena explained the plan. It seemed simple enough, and, if there was one thing Ella considered herself very good at, it was convincing people to do anything for her, she'd be able to accomplish the goal with few problems. If the security was anything like what her parents hired, they would all be able to manage perfectly fine, and anyway, they had Bruce, who she was fairly certain could take on an army and win. She gave the map another once over before Conor’s question caught her attention.

“They’re normally pretty good about making sure the guests don’t bring in anything they’re not supposed to. With guards around the area, the guests themselves have no reason to be armed.” She shrugged, “Of course, I suppose it depends on who's hosting the party and how concerned they are. Usually though, it’s never a problem- that’s what I’ve heard anyway.”

Ella redirected her attention back to Helena, “ It’d be good to have a backup plan though. Should something like that happen.” She was certain they’d be alright, in her years of attending parties they had never had an issue. Her parents and their friends had always made sure the guests attending were unarmed, of course, things could be different now- it'd been years after all. If bullets started flying however, Ella worried for her friends safety.

 

[Pipsqueak]

Benny had the pleasure of watching his crew’s faces light up in awe before he had even seen the inside of the large structure. He imagined his expression was quite similar to theirs once he stepped through the threshold, wide eyed with excitement and perhaps some nervousness. Unlike some of his mates, he didn’t know anyone of status. His family hadn’t been this rich by any means, nor had his father ever allowed him to meet people he knew. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had anyone in his past besides his parents. In that conclusion he also had never set foot in such an expensive atmosphere, and despite his daydreams from the beginning he was beginning to feel more out of place than he ever had in his life.

Still though, he went through with the quiet team, unwilling to leave their side for anything much less his own feelings. Putting on his signature smirk he slipped through the crowd easily, turning to take a drink from the platter some waiter was holding before making his way to the middle of the room. The expanse of the estate was dulled by the crowd, but that was just fine with him. More people to impress, more things to take.

Most were easy. Being in a room full of people who seemed to very much enjoy socializing, everyone was too busy in a conversation to notice their unattended pockets. He had gathered at least six small items before noticing Mary at the second floor balcony, beckoning each member with a simple knowing look. A few minutes later and two pockets full of jewelry filled he made his way to the second story, admiring each detail on the staircase as he went. It didn’t take long to find the spot their leader had acquired, the small, almost unnoticeable star carved just perfectly for her team to see.

After storing what he now considered his belongings, he made his way to the closest door to him. Just as his eyes began wandering over the garden, something hit him hard.

"Oof! Ow...Oh, Mary, wonderful seeing you here! Spot any easy money yet?"

Mary scoffed and instinctively pushed Benny back before considering how out of place it must seem for a woman to be shoving a man in this setting. She rolled her eyes, adjusted her now disheveled dress, and cleared her throat at her gang member. "Now, Benny love, I do believe that is primarily your job, no?" She smiled at the man and - this time - gently pushed past him back into the main hall.

He stumbled back a bit in surprise, righting himself just in time to argue before Mary broke it off.

"I- Hey, wait up!" The young thief ran after her, trailing behind like a puppy in need of attention. He shoved his hands in his pockets and pouted as if she would ever relent to anything as childish as that.

"I'll have you know I just got a load a good stuff! Didn't even hafta use my cards, and I even informed some old twat about the setbacks of usin' a pocket knife! Much quicker ta use a regular old kitchen knife since you don't have ta flick it." He demonstrated the motion, pretending to stab the air as if he had a knife of his own.

"Got some loose change and even gave a lesson! Pretty good, huh?"

"Pretty good?" Mary spun back to face Benny, making sure to show the annoyance on her face. "Darling, we've been here for nigh on an hour and you're spending the ever fleeting time we've been granted on teaching an heiress how to wield a knife?" Mary shook her head and rubbed her temples, maintaining a glare into the young thief’s eyes. She leaned into him, not breaking her eye contact. "Benny, love, do you remember why we are here?"

Mary's harsh tone brought him back into his more serious persona. He stopped quickly, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. Aware he had somehow messed up, Benny tried backtracking, trying not to flinch away from his boss’ piercing glare.

"Yes ma'am. I, uh, took the knife...as well. Not that that matters..." He whispered the last part, his face burning. Desperately wracking his brain for what possibly could have caused Mary to be in such a bad mood, Benny inched away from her slowly.

"Perhaps I should go back down and find a- uh- people to not talk about knives with."

Mary eased her glare a bit as she saw that the message was received loud and clear. She smiled, changing gears on a dime, and patted Benny on the shoulder. "Benny love, I do believe that would be a wonderful idea."She gave him a playful push into the room and made shoo-ing motions toward him with her hands.

He wasted no time in scampering off, quite thrown off of the game now. He wanted to roll his eyes, angry that he had to take orders from someone not that much older than himself, yet he had too much respect for the sisters. Or fear. Perhaps a healthy bit of both. He was more angry that he had let Mary's words affect him so bad, not at Mary herself. She was right, after all. This mission was quite serious.

Before Benny could make his way back into the crowd, he felt a dainty yet firm hand grab him again. Spinning back, startled, he found her once again with that mischievous glint in her eyes. Obviously she had just had an idea. He squinted at her, trying to read it on her face before she explained. He was still too nervous to say much, and he watched her carefully as she danced around him, her theatrics never failing to bring attention around her.

No sooner than he had started to turn away, though, Mary had changed her mind. She had an unfortunate (for the crew) habit of thinking of a game and deciding that they needed to be her participants. She reached back out to the thief that she just turned away and spun him back around to face her. "How about a game?"

Blithely blustering forward before a response could be given, she skipped around the boy just a year younger than her. "See love, I find myself to be,"she leaned into his ear, "Disappointed." Once again making unwavering eye contact, Mary pouted at him. "I had more faith in you, darling. I thought you would steal more! Truth be told, I would have staked my claim on the very notion that you'd have been the most successful thief at this party tonight."

"I know what you're tryin' ta do, Mary." He said flatly. He would never admit it, but her words hurt whether she had meant them to or not. He didn’t want to let her down, didn’t want to let the team down. He wasn’t just some annoying kid, was he? His father had seemed to think so, and only the devil had known what his mother had thought. He couldn’t let the sisters think so too.

Mary backed away and stole a drink from an old man’s hand. She smiled at him and winked. He didn’t protest.

"Love," she continued, gulping down the rest of the backwater laden champagne and dramatically spinning around to face Benny once again, "at this juncture, I consider the likelihood that I out steal you to be-" she paused to toss the glass at a waiter down the hall and smile. "Eh hem," she began again, clearing her throat. "Where was I? Oh- yes. Erm, likely."

Mustering up his last bit of excitement and playfulness, he forced a smile on his face, crossing his arms and giving her a knowing look.

"I respect you, but I can't say I agree with that mate. By the next hour I'll wager I get not only more loose items but some gaudy decoration in here as well!"

"Oh, dearest Benny, do take care not to shoot too high here." Mary smirked back at him, knowing that she accomplished exactly what she wanted to. "The last thing you need tonight is to wound your pride a second time, love."

She shot him a playful grin and spun around, skipping into the main hall. Almost immediately, she spotted a drunk older man engaged in a dramatic story. Inserting herself into the group mid sentence from the old man, Mary sat down directly next to him. She feigned an amorous laugh as he completed the story beat and put her hand on his thigh. Turning back and winking at Benny, she stole the watch from the drunk’s wrist, stood up, and curtseyed to excuse herself.

She strolled back over to her gang member and smiled. "I do believe it would greatly benefit you to get started now, darling."

Benny saluted her sarcastically, expertly diverting his nervousness to feigned bravery.

"Oh mate, ya can't wound somethin' ya can't even reach!" He called over his shoulder, already picking up his next target. A lovely young woman sat at a table near the entrance. By her expression he could tell she was quite lonely, although for what reason he wasn’t sure. Who could be lonely with this many people milling about?

He was sure to gain Mary's trust back by the hour, he was sure. Why not pick on some poor sod for his comeback? His luck would only turn up from there- the thief would make sure of that.

 

[Vudukudu]

Benjamin enters the party with the effortless air of someone who belongs there. He'd grown up in wealthy circles in New York City, and while it had been some time since his last soiree he knew how to play the part. Still, he'd rather have been with the gang actually robbing the place, on account of his skill set being tailored to such things, but having an American accent made him a lot more memorable than the rest of the group. No one would remember chatting to him the next day, but they might remember him coming in waving a gun and shouting. Despite not really knowing what to do with himself, it can't hurt to at least enjoy the time a little, even if he doesn't add much to the job.

Benjamin is quick to see himself to the nearest brandy bowl, an ornate glass vessel with an equally decorated ladle and crystal cups arrayed for the taking. Pouring himself a snifter, he begins the enjoyable venture of ambling from room to room, milling about conversationally and drinking far faster than he probably ought to given his light dinner. Fortunately, his tolerance is fitting for a man of his stature plus some and he runs little risk of imbibing too heartily. Wandering the halls, he finds a room full of people judging by the sound of their chattering, though there are no lights.

"Fancy a game of snap dragon, good sir?" A man nearby asks, having apparently already rallied quite a crowd to join in the game.

"Well I do love a bit of competition." Benjamin replies, whirling about to face the inquirer. Before he even gets to remember what precisely snap dragon is, a lady by the nearby brandy bowl scatters a handful of raisins into it. Most of her compatriots, men and women alike, seem quite a bit more deep in their cups than some of the other guests, and it doesn't take much to guess they started drinking well in advance of the evening's festivities.

Oh. Right. The raisins.

With a gaudy flourish, one of the other prospective players waves a candle over the bowl, igniting the surface of the brandy as the raisins disperse throughout the now flaming liquor and illuminating the room. "Go!" Someone shouts, and the game begins in earnest as Benjamin and the others plunge their hands into the burning pool of liquor, grasping at raisins as the relatively low temperature flames lick and scald their hands, singeing the hair off Benjamin's knuckles as the sounds of yelping and giggling fills the darkened room.

 

[Hard Boiled]

At the mention of questions, Bruce only gave some kind of guttural noise and a shifting of his weight. "None, Your Grace."

"Good." Helena bent her knees, about to get up. "And don't call me Grace."

Before she could scurry off for the next few hours, Conor actually did have a question.

"Looks like a big buildin'," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "It's gotta be a lotta folks in there. I know Bruce counts fer ten men, but who's to say some idiot didn't sneak in a pistol to show off to his pals? Do we got a, uh—"

“ It’d be good to have a backup plan though. Should something like that happen.”

Helena pressed her fingers together against the table as she sat back down.
"Someone pulls a gun on you, I want you to run right at them with your arms up, screaming bloody murder." She glared at Conor, clearly making fun of his genuine question.
"If anyone's got the bollocks to play hero after fifteen seconds, you two haven't done your jobs. Shoot back if you must, but by that point, it's already fucked." She answered seriously.

"Our contingency," she only knew the word because of Mary, "is the Quiet Team. They'll sniff anything out in the crowd, won't be gone until the end. We have double the manpower than these geezers think, all armed to the teeth, 'cept maybe Astrid. It's a soft crowd, mate, trust." She knocked on the table once, and with that, she was off.


Later that night, around eight o'clock, Helena gathered her portion of the crew at the coach.
"Thank you, love." She lightly curtsied with an extended hand before allowing Bruce to help her into the carriage - because she asked, of course, not out of the kindness of his heart.

Their ride to the ball was, ironically, much quieter than that of their stealthy counterparts. A few solemn glances were all that were shared until the last fifty meters.

"South door, east door, front door." She pointed to Conor, Ella, and herself, respectively. "You've got..." She peeked at a nearby clocktower. "...Seven minutes to get inside once we step off."

For a last minute refresher, she once again took her notebook and flashed them the sketch of the building, only visible when the gas streetlamps briefly shone through the glass.
"Towards the garden and hold 'em there." Helena made a pinching motion with all four fingers. "I'll get their attention at the start, just keep those doors secure and wait for the signal. If you see one of our guys in the crowd, don't be afraid to give 'em a smack, we want their money too, yeah?"

Helena put her notebook away while the horses came to a halt. "I'll handle getting the goods out of there, you just keep the people happy. We're in and out in ten or less. Questions?"
Before Conor could inevitably try to answer her rhetorical question again, she opened the door and stepped out with Bruce's assistance again, backing up while holding seven fingers up at the other two in the carriage before turning to face forward.


...That's not security. The very first thing Helena noticed was that the security guards at this party were, in fact, wearing badges. So long as things were contained inside, they'd only have to deal with the officers on the perimeter and interior, though. All that mattered right now was Ella and Conor doing their part by locking those back doors.

"Cheers." She thanked him for the third time that day, walking to a nearby sitting area outside the front door. She sat on a bench for three, leaving just enough room for Bruce if he chose to sit.
"Smoke?" Helena offered him a hand-rolled cigarette after sticking one between her lips.

Solar Daddy Aeris kaito9049

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce was mostly quiet after his comment before entering the carriage. He tried his best to get into a certain headspace before big missions like this, and speaking as little as possible seemed to help him enter that trance. He once again allowed the dissolute intentions to surround him like pitch black smoke, his stature and scowl noticeably different from his usual joyous appearance around his crew mates. It wasn't that he needed this headspace to be effective; he needed it so those around him knew he intended to bring everything he had to a situation. It helped ensure those he victimized would just let him get away with it, lest they absorb the full weight of his oppressiveness. Robbing was as much theater as it was real. People needed to believe you were larger than life to get anywhere. If they didn't, they might try their hand at fighting back or escaping. Bruce preferred making sure that was never an option to his victims.

When the carriage stopped, Bruce once again offered his hand to Helena as she stepped out. Bruce gave a light nod of his head and a mumble as they walked to a nearby seat. Helena sat down first, soon followed by Bruce, who made it a slow movement. He could feel his muscles still not quite understanding the full force of his fall earlier. He was sure it wouldn't jeopardize his performance in this mission, but he would probably be out of working order in the next few days.

" 'Ppreciate it," Bruce said with a curt nod as he accepted the cigarette from Helena. He placed it between his lips with a sigh, waiting for her to strike a match before leaning in and getting his lit. With another barely perceptible nod, Bruce leaned back and stared into the sky. "This'll be a good one. 'Can feel it in my knees."

 

[kaito9049]

Conor snapped his mouth shut and swallowed the two or three questions he'd had as Helena stepped out of the carriage. He was the last one to exit, stretching his legs after his boots hit the mud. He'd never liked carriage rides, the few times he'd taken them. They were always too bumpy, too uneven. Trains were a far preferable method of travel; they were mechanical and consistent. A train didn't stop because it got tired, or jump off the track because it saw a suspicious-looking hat on the ground. And while trains had to follow the rails they were on, one could always tell where a train was going, and there was comfort in that — and in the knowledge that if anyone tried to stop one, they'd get run over.

There was something oddly idyllic about that, Conor supposed.

But his confidence wilted as, after rounding the corner, he saw the guard posted at the south door. Or rather, the policeman standing watch. Great. Well, no use trying to peel the orange off a carrot, ma would say. The cops were likely to get involved sooner or later anyhow.

He just wished the guy wasn't the size of a bull. What, did Bruce and Bull Cop purchase giant's food from the same general supplies store? Conor walked a few meters parallel to his mark, giving a discreet glance toward the other man, who didn't even indicate that he was aware of Conor's presence. Perhaps he figured his imposing figure was enough to dissuade any would-be ruffians. On a normal day, he might have been right. But the tracks were set, and the conductor was out smoking cigarettes on a bench.

Despite the scowl etched into Bull Cop's face, he didn't look too shabby at all. His uniform, though a size too small, was completely without wrinkles. His buttons were shined and his hair was nicely combed, protected from the elements by the alcove he stood under. Clearly, this was a man who valued his appearance, or at least had been ordered to by his superiors.

As the plan stitched itself together in Conor's mind, he almost felt bad for what it required of him. Almost.

He bent down, gingerly scraping together enough mud from the ground to form a clump the size of an orange. Muddy water soaked through the soil and dripped down Conor's glove. It was perfect. He walked a few more meters to give himself a head start, adopting the sway of a man who'd had more than a little too much to drink. He was no performer, certainly not as skilled as many of the others in the gang, but he just needed an excuse to keep his head down and face out of sight — something the dim light would doubtless help with.

"Hey!" Conor shouted. Judging from Bull Cop's surprised expression, the policeman hadn't even noticed him until now. Figured. "You-you think you're better than me, don't ye? With you-your fancy clothes and shaved face and monthly showers!"

Bull Cop rolled his eyes and returned his gaze forward, seeming intent to ignore the obviously intoxicated man. That wouldn't do. So Conor threw the clump of mud at him.

His aim was better than he'd expected all things consider, the clump striking Bull Cop square in the chest, brown liquid staining the white shirt he wore under his blue uniform. The officer looked upward, his face scrunched up in a wonderful mixture of shock and anger. Fantastic.

Conor started running. He didn't need to turn around to know that Bull Cop was close behind, since he could hear the noise of rapid splashing behind interspersed with loud curses that would have made a sailor blush. Each step led them further away from the ball. And while Bull Cop may have had size and strength, Conor thought as he took a right turn into an alleyway, chancing a look over his shoulder, he had spee—cripes and berries how did he get so close??

Conor dove out of the way, jumping toward and then pushing off a wall as Bull Cop tried to tackle him. The officer landed in the wet dirt instead, ruining his uniform further and — if the string of shouts was any indication — infuriating him later. By the time he'd gotten back to his feet and started running again, Conor had already rounded another corner. He slipped into an uneven gap between two structures just in time to see Bull Cop rush past.

He grinned the whole sprint back to the door, chest pounding. That was the most alive he'd felt in quite some time, and if it wasn't for the fact that the whole ordeal had taken him three or four minutes, he might have half a mind to lob a couple more mud balls at Bull Cop. But no, he reminded himself — this was only the first part of the night's festivities.

When Conor reached the back door, Bull Cop was nowhere in sight. He figured the policeman had given up the chase by now and was running back to his post, so Conor had to move quickly. Fortunately, it was a simple task. He opened the door slowly, looking both ways to ensure he hadn't been noticed, then slipped in and closed the latch, trying to suppress a cheer as he felt for the mask in his vest pocket.

 

[Aeris]

Ella looked over the map one last time before the carriage came to a halt. She waited for Bruce and Helena to step out before hopping out herself. Her mental countdown began the second her feet hit the ground.

"Bye bye!" She bid her team a farewell before making her way towards the east door.

Ella peered around the corner, her heart sinking ever so slightly at the sight of not one, but two security guards. One, she was positive she could get away from the door. Two though. That was going to be a problem. But with her time dwindling, there was little she could do in terms of intricate. This was going to have to be done quickly and precisely, there was just no room for mistakes. Ella wagered she had about five minutes now to get past the guards. With little options in terms of fighting, she was going to have to rely on how gullible this lot was.

She couldn't believe what she was about to do...

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Ella reached into her skirts pocket, pulling out the decorative dagger. In one swift motion, she swiped the tip of the dagger lightly across her face. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as the warm trickle of blood ran down her cheek. Perfect.

She had about three minutes to get this right.

Ella straightened her outfit out, took several steps back, and said a quick prayer to whoever wanted to listen before running towards the two officers.

"Oh would you please help me!"

The two officers jumped in surprise upon seeing the obviously distressed young woman. The taller of the two was the first to speak, "Is something the matter miss?"

"Yes," Ella exhaled a shaky breath, "A group of men broke in and...my family...I was fortunate enough to escape." She lifted her face slightly, showing the officers the fresh wound. "Would one of you be able to help? Please?" There was urgency behind Ella's voice. Time was running out, she needed one of them to leave immediately.

There was a moment of hesitation between the pair. Rightfully so too, after all, their job was to keep the perimeter of the mansion safe. Not to help someone with a home invasion. They exchanged one last look before, once again the taller man spoke. "We're not really supposed to leave our posts ma'am. However, I'm sure the boss won't be too mad if one of us left. Give me the location an' I'll check it out."

Tears streamed down Ella's face as she thanked the man profusely. She jotted down her home address on his notepad and watched as he rounded the corner.

One down. One to go, and not much time remaining.

Ella attempted to wipe the blood away from her cut with little success. She turned to the remaining officer, "I know you're not supposed to leave your post. But there's an awful lot of blood-" She showed him her hand,"-could you possibly get me a bandage? It would only take a second." Ella gave him a doe-eyed look as she spoke.

If the officer wanted to argue with her he didn't show it. His face softened as he examined her injury.

"I don't think James took our buggy, didn't sound like ye lived far. I'll go see if we got a kit, stay right here miss." Ella counted the seconds as he too, rounded the corner. Only when she was positive the coast was clear did she enter the east door, making sure to lock it behind her. Ella hummed a tune as she retrieved the scarf and hat from her pockets. She tied her hair into a braid before stuffing it into the cap. The scarf not only covered the lower half of her face but also acted as a temporary bandage. With never else to do, the young woman simply waited for the next part of the plan.

 

[Hard Boiled]

Six minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Helena tossed her cigarette with a rather unladylike yawn, stretching all of her limbs in any direction. Whether the other two did their parts or not, rain or shine, the job was on. No turning back, she told herself.

She stood, looking across the bench at Bruce, who was still nearly the same height as her while sitting.
"Arm," she ordered, extending her hand. Bruce gave a hefty exhale as he put out his cigarette and tossed it to the side.

Bruce stood tall and stretched with a slight wince. Yeah, he was definitely starting to feel that fall earlier.
"Of course," Bruce offered his arm just as Helena requested it. He'd gotten used to some of the acts used by the Nevitts, and The Couple was not outside the realm of possibility. Bruce found it much easier to just go along with whatever the twins decided to do; not only was it smoother, but it made the crimes more fun.
"You look wonderful this evening," He said with a twitch of his nose. "I can't wait to see what kind of luxuries and indulgences they have waiting for us inside."

"You look rather charming yourself, dear." Helena snickered, taking his right forearm with one hand. With the other, she pulled her arm out of her sleeve and shielded it with her coat as if she were trying to keep warm. As they approached the main entrance, they found a civilian host greeting guests with an officer flanking him to his left.
"Do as I do. Keep it quiet, I've got the bobby."

"Ah, hello again!" The host welcomed. This man was quite good at his job, apparently, remembering one woman out of the hundreds inside. "Back with a date, I see?"

"Yes, he finally got the little ones to sleep. Though, I'm sure they'd love the party!" She and the host both did a short obnoxious rich-people courtesy laugh.

Bruce responded with a bellowing laugh that was just a bit too forced at Helena's joke; He loved theatrics, but when it came to anything other than intimidation, Bruce wasn't the best actor. However, it seemed to have been convincing enough for the host to wave them through. Bruce gave a respectful nod to the gentleman as he stepped forward.

"Okay, on your way."

"Thank you." Helena took a few steps forward with her "date", the officer directly to their two o'clock and the civilian to their seven. With the three fingers she had on his arm, she began counting backwards as they approached the door.

Feeling the light taps on his forearm from Helena, the countdown was evident; once her last finger was down, Bruce jolted towards the host with nearly instantaneous might. Bruce shoved his body into the gentleman, forcing the man back and colliding with the brick wall behind him. The impact was enough to wince at for anyone watching the poor sod smack the façade, his head ricocheting off the surface with a sickening crunch. Bruce knew it wasn't enough to kill the man, but absolutely enough to leave him with a headache for the rest of his life. Bruce then quickly turned to face Helena and the guard, ready to help if she encountered any resistance; his stance was pure might ready to be released should the guard mishandle the Nevitt sister.

"Uhp-uhp-uhp, shh, shh, shh." The officer hadn't cleared leather by the time Helena pressed her Colt's muzzle against his belly - she'd been prepared to draw since she got up. Seeing no way out, the officer slowly released his pistol's handle, glaring lasers into Helena's eyes. She relieved the officer of his service pistol, a British Army Mk II, taking a step back with an extra weapon.

Once satisfied the officer was tame, she quickly peeked back at the nightmarish sounds she'd just heard.
Eugh. Glad he's on our side.

"Watch him." She ordered Bruce, allowing him to take control of the officer so she could load a sixth round into her Colt. Five for the ride, six for the fight, she always said, despite having been in very few gunfights. She pulled her veil down and stepped through the open door, stopping for a moment to drink in the atmosphere.

"Jeeeesus..." The chandelier nearly blinded her, coming in from such a dark night. White walls and golden highlights, the only place she'd ever been that was so ornate was a church, it didn't seem real that they were actually robbing it. Everything she and her sister had worked for their whole lives would come down to this moment, right now. They'd either come home rich, or in a box.

The four seconds she spent standing with her weapons drawn in a trance felt like ages. She snapped out of it and looked straight ahead, coming eye-to-eye with a familiar face.

“I do believe I won, sir!” She heard Benny's signature victory chime, clearly having bested another partygoer.

“I’m not giving you my wedding ring, you rat!”

Benny clicked his tongue at the man’s gruff tone, hoping to speed up the process. He could feel another coughing fit coming on.
“Those were the terms. You said-“

“I didn’t think a kid would beat me! I’m not doing that!”

“You older folk are certainly a hassle hm? Alright mate, put ‘em up.” Benny had meant to fight, but it seemed the loud group had found better timing.

Glancing back to Bruce with a subdued smile, Helena slowly crept behind Benny, guns by her side.

“Hahaha you fool!” Benny cackled, nearly tumbling backwards in his chair. He quickly unsheathed the knife from his sock, finally happy to give up the polite façade.
“You really want to lose your life over that thing?”

The man sucked in a breath, looking around for help. Unbeknownst to him, the real show had already begun. Benny fit the ring around his thumb proudly before spotting Helena.
“Helena!” He wheezed, trying his best to keep the coughing to a minimum.

"Shut it!" She halfheartedly elbowed him across the face, spinning him around with a gun pointed just in front of his jaw, no finger on the trigger. With the officer's revolver, she aimed for the safest place she could find, the top corner of the nearest wall, and fired two rounds.

As usually happened whenever there was an abrupt loud noise, everyone shouted, and then silence settled. In theory, they had thirty seconds to ensure there were no troublemakers in the crowd.
"NOBODY! MOVE!" Helena ordered the crowd, making sure her hostage was in plain view. Hopefully Ella and Conor were moving in from their side.

"I apologize for halting the festivities!" She announced. "This won't take but a moment of your time! Note our friends in the back, there is no escape! If you can remain calm, we will remain calm! Do as we say, and everything will keep cool, yeah?!" She paused to allow them to process the instructions. "Oi, what gets us heated?!" She asked Bruce over her shoulder while the crowd mostly looked on dumbfounded.

"Heroes!"

"That's right! And what happens to heroes, mate?!"

Bruce felt the adrenaline in his veins nearly pop them from anticipation. If there was one thing that got Bruce going, it was making an example of some poor chap.

Bruce had no hesitation as he brought forth the officer from outside, stepping just a few feet in front of Helena to make sure everyone could see the beautiful play he was about to perform, live, in front of his audience. He stuffed the barrel of his six gun in his waistband before forcefully kicking in the back of the guard's knee, bringing the man down with a yelp of pain. Then, without stopping the fluidity, crashed his boot against the back of the peeler's head with his other foot, forcing him to give the floor a bloody kiss. Teeth scattered across the polished surface from the force of the impact, with Bruce standing over the guard with nearly a visible aura of heat emanating from him. Bruce left his foot over the wounded guard's crown for a few moments to let his triumph sink in, both for his audience and himself. He then removed his boot slowly, watching as the guard writhed in pain with a bloody pool surrounding him and a gaping cavity where his teeth should be.

"Heroes become victims." Bruce spoke to the silent room, punctuated by occasional shrieks or gasps.

Not even bothering to look at the poor chap during the beatdown, Helena stepped towards the crowd hostage-first.
"...If we have an understanding, I'd like all of the men to move into the garden please, followed by the women!" She pointed to the south. Nobody listened at first, utterly stunned, until she turned her second firearm on the nearest civilian.
"MOVE, GO, GO, GO!" She shouted at the crowd like a dog herding sheep, slowly but surely the horde began flooding into the already cramped garden. Once the ballroom was mostly empty, the rest of the Loud Team would begin the stickup portion of the robbery, mostly for scraps, while Helena scurried off for the real loot.

Pipsqueak Solar Daddy

 

[Pipsqueak]

Benny's shock came not from the dull ache of Helena's sudden hostility, but the realization that she had snuck up on him. Her grip was harsher than he would have preferred, not understanding what the sudden contact was for until her gun was pointed just inches from his face. She had turned him to face the crowd, his fear just as real as their own.

"What the hell? Helena it's me, Benny!" He whispered, his voice becoming hoarse as he choked back a coughing fit.

"Ya know, part of your merry band a pirates! Did ya talk to Mary, did she tell you to do this? I thought... ehem, I thought she woulda given me at least another week for the backtalk- oh!" His gaze fell on her lowered trigger finger.

"Oh!" The thief's eyes widened with realization, his heartbeat steadying again with the comforting knowledge that the sisters did not want to kill him just yet. This was simply improvisation. He stuck his hands up in surrender, flinching when the gun fired just above his head. He moved in step with Helena's guidance, fighting off the smile that threatened to creep over his face.

"Helena you're a mad... a mad genius." He managed to get out before a cough wracked his body. Tears stung at his eyes, but still he forced himself to watch the commotion unfolding. The minute their boss rushed upstairs to get the items, it would be his job to keep everyone in line and out of the loud group's way. Not a minute too soon he felt the slow release of pressure, the gun disappearing as the gusts filed into the garden.

"Swear this'll leave a mark you crazy woman!" Benny called after her between breaths. Fighting both his awe for her quick thinking and the dull pain shooting through his jaw and shoulder, he slipped into the garden with the others, hoping nobody noticed the victim suddenly turned bad guy. Thankfully most of the guests were too busy being held at gunpoint. Knife still unsheathed and hanging by his side, he made his way to the side of the huddled group. He simply had to hang back now, pretend to be one of them unless they tried something stupid. By the terrified look on everyone's face, it was safe to assume most of them wouldn't even think about it. Just a little longer and the crew would be rich after tonight!

 

[kaito9049]

Conor flinched as Helena fired the two shots — then cursed himself silently. This was no time to appear weak. Hell, hiding his fear was half the point of the mask. He was glad he had it; it kept his nervousness hidden as he stepped over a guard's tooth, Bruce still standing over the officer.

It was the guests' clothes, of all things, that steeled Conor's nerves. Something about seeing all those people dressed in some of the most ostentatious wear he'd ever seen gave him a grim satisfaction as he quietly but firmly corraled the group toward the garden, gesturing with his revolver. What did they have to fear? Sure, they were getting robbed, but it wasn't like they had to worry about food, or rent, or being shipped off to a place they'd never wanted to be. Many of them would probably even brag about the experience later, spinning tales about their heroic efforts to stop the masked robbers as they sipped tea from gold-leafed cups.

Conor's anger surprised even him. He'd never felt this way during his previous jobs. But then again, most of the time he was running away, like a rat who'd swiped a piece of bread from a kitchen counter. This time, his targets were running away from him.

Still, he stayed mostly on the outskirts of the group as it pushed toward the garden, keeping an eye out for any stragglers. Bruce and Helena seemed to lead the way. Honestly, Conor couldn't blame the poor fools for wanting to keep their distance from those two. Both of them had a certain intensity that made weaker folk wilt. Conor glanced toward Ella, making sure she had gotten past the guards and was keeping close. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that one, yet. She was a bubbly sort, but was clearly cleverer than most would assume at first glance. But he wasn't sure how much experience she had with more aggressive maneuvers such as this one.

Once most of the group had filed into the garden area, Conor got to work. He kept his firearm trained on each member of the crowd he approached as he hissed at them, ordering them to place their valuables in a brown burlap bag he'd brought with him. Unsurprisingly, he didn't get much. Several of his targets seemed shocked that their purses had already been emptied of their contents, or that their silver watches were missing from their pockets. Conor was a bit more demanding than he probably needed to be, pressing the muzzle of his revolver into one man's temple as he desperately dug through his pockets. Only when the fellow's begging for more time turned to unintelligible whimpering did Conor move down the line.

The next one was a younger man, maybe a few years older than Conor himself. He carried in his arms a long coat that he'd been wearing, and as Conor neared he noticed that the other man's eyes were darting from him to the doors behind him. Conor stopped, still about two meters away from his quarry.

"Don't—"

The man interrupted Conor's warning with a sudden burst of movement, throwing the coat at him as he charged toward the exit. But Conor had been expecting the move, and effortlessly flung the distraction away from him along with his meager bag of pilfered goods, turning and sprinting after the clothing's owner. He didn't get far; Conor barely took two steps before getting close enough to grab the socialite by the collar and throwing him to the ground. Conor was on him in an instant, drawing his knife from his vest pocket and pressing the blade against the other man's neck.

Conor could practically feel the gazes of the guests behind him. A few gasped, but all seemed to be too scared to intervene. None, though, were likely as scared as the gentleman on the ground. His eyes had gone wide as he stammered out a plea for mercy, sweat dripping down his brow.

Conor realized he wanted to taunt the other man, to make his blade taste blood, to impress terror so deeply into his psyche that he'd never get a full night's rest again. But he forced it down, like swallowing bad whiskey. What was he doing? He was here to make money, not traumatize some random idiot too skittish to even have the decency to stand still as he was being robbed.

He stood up and hauled the runner to his feet. "Pull something like that again, friend, and my knife'll likely slip into your jugulars. We clear?"

The socialite nodded, feeling at his neck as he stepped backward into the crowd, as if hoping the mass of bodies would hide him from Conor's gaze. He didn't stop to pick up his coat. The wastefulness of the act incensed Conor, but he tried to put it out of his mind.

Conor scooped up his bag. He was glad he was wearing a mask; it kept his glee hidden as he approached his next target. He just wished he knew why he felt a pinprick of shame, too.

 

[Aeris]

Ella simply watched as the party filed into the gardens, not even registering the gunshots from Helena. She almost swore she could see the people who used to be her parents' friends. How would they feel knowing the Bennett's beloved daughter was not only alive, but involved in this scheme? She pulled the scarf higher up on her face, wincing slightly as it brushed against her cut. In another timeline she would have probably been here anyway. In another timeline this group of criminals would be also robbing her. Funny how the universe worked.

More shouting broke the young woman from her trance. Ella glanced at Helena, who appeared to be holding Benny hostage, then at Conor, who was busy corralling part of the group. She briefly saw Bruce, though, refused to look at the guard currently laying on the ground next to him. Ella knew there wasn’t a whole lot she could do, she wasn’t exactly the scariest of the group. That didn’t matter of course, all she had to do was keep the people distracted long enough for Helena and Mary to do their thing. With that thought process in mind, Ella retrieved the dagger once again from her skirts.

While Conor was busy on the edge of the crowd, Ella stayed in the center. It surprised her how just a simple flash of a blade could get people moving. To her left she spotted an older man attempting to move against the crowd. She appeared next to him in an instant, pulling her blade to his chest.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you sir,” She glanced over at Helena, Bruce, and Conor as she spoke, “I may not be all that scary, but I doubt you’d want to upset my friends, hm?” The man paled slightly as he followed her gaze to the other three. When he didn’t move Ella applied a light pressure to his chest, “I really mean it sir, just do as we say and you’ll be a-okay.” Her usual cheeriness now had an unnerving tone to it.

Sweat beaded down the man's forehead as he looked from the knife to Ella, then to the trio. After several more tense seconds, the man finally made up his mind. He threw his hands up in defeat as he backed away from the knife and into the crowd once again.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Ella smiled at him before making her way back into the crowd herself.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce was happy to be wearing a mask, otherwise the entire party would know of the grin plastered on his face. When he controlled the room, he felt more alive than he ever could otherwise. in this kind of setting, filled to the brim with people who thought themselves better than him, Bruce could do nothing but ball his fists and smile. With the peeler at his feet subdued for the time being, Bruce was ready to get acquainted with some of the fancy lads and lasses in the crowd. As the room shifted towards the gardens he approached the masses, ready to terrorize some more rich snobs. Without a word, he picked out a person for each fist; unceremoniously grabbing one by the collar, a bald and stout old man, and his squeeze, an equally aged and almost ghostly hag with too much gold for a jewelry store. He solicited gasps from those around as Bruce, with little mercy in his movements, ripped off necklaces, pulled off rings, and even unclasped particularly shiny belts. He kept this up for just about anyone passing by; if he saw even the slightest glimmer, he'd rough the poor soul for every last scrap of metal. Some, he let go with only some intense pat-downs. Others, he'd give a good gut punch for even the slightest resistance. For one poor soul, Bruce decided to give her a black eye for trying to explain "the importance of her late mother's necklace" or something along those lines. Bruce tolerated nothing of the sort, and when a proud soul looked close to standing up for the lassie, Bruce acted quickly.

The gentleman was pulled from the crowd, thrown unto the polished marble floor, and subsequently kicked repeatedly in the side. "No heroes, don't you remember?" Bruce nearly yelled, using the tip of his boot to prod the ribs of the defenseless chap. When he'd broken enough bones, Bruce stood the man up, and threw him back into the crowd. He cared not if his fellow victims would carry him off; Bruce needed an outlet for some of his adrenaline. This also helped ensure the others know they weren't safe from his terror, either. Anyone could be next. Everyone could be next. He liked keeping that possibility alive. At this point, if someone planned to retaliate, Bruce would probably forgo Helena's suggestion not to cause death. He gave plenty of warning to would-be vigilantes. They needed nothing further to understand the consequences.

 

[queendilettante]

Mary had managed to skip her way back into the party moments before the loud team arrived with a ferocity she couldn't help but be giddy about. At that point in the night, the musicians had begun to get a bit sloppy; their ever increasingly frequent sips of the patrons' unfinished drinks had gotten to their head and then some. The party goers were drunk and so were the staff and so the time to start the show had arrived. But- not before Mary could fill her group in on the rest of the plan.

There was a brief moment of understanding. Mary had a tendency to cut the jobs incredibly close in the name of nothing more than theatrics. If Helena had been a minute earlier, no one would have been around to carry their collected goods back to the pub. Was it time for a change?

Who was she kidding, she adored the tension. Spotting Astrid and her fourth favorite American in the crowd, Mary begun her dance over to them. She gently tugged on Benjamin's sleeve as she passed him and gestured with her head over to Astrid. Without waiting for confirmation of his understanding, she let go and made her way over to the woman. "Hello loves," she began, making eye contact with each.

She cut it too close. With a bang, Bruce and Helena made their grand entrance and Mary had a cue on a different end of the stage. "Get the goods," she winked at the two before dashing out the door to the garden before anyone could notice her.

------

And in the garden she was as the terrified denizens of London's upper class filed out to the garden. Show time.

"We're locked in!" Mary shouted, desperately yanking on the gate. "Fuck! We're going to die in this ugly garden!" She continued her cries and shaking of the gate, getting all the more panicked as she did so. Truth be told, she had stolen the key hours ago and was going to let everyone out as soon as she saw Benjamin or Astrid, but Mary thrived on the feeling of an audience in her palm. "Sir, please!" she shouted at a man consoling his crying wife. "Please sir, help me pull on this gate!"

Mary couldn't help but laugh at the man's futile attempts at saving his own life.

The fool.

 

[Vudukudu]

“Do you know what makes for a good game of snap-dragon?” Benjamin asks, sneering theatrically in the harsh light of the flaming punch bowl.

One of the players arches a brow, drunk with brandy and soaked with it from the game. “Whats’at?”

“A bit of gusto.” Benjamin answers. His arms fling upwards before his hands curl into fists, then drop back down to the table with a crash. The bowl of flaming brandy does one flip, then two, flinging scorching liquor and burning raisins across the room. Two of the players are caught by the ignition, flames licking up their clothing as flashes of light illuminate the dark room. Shadows twist and turn, one bulky figure shadowed by candlelight as his fists fly and whirl in the dark. Screams are muffled by the shut doors and distance from the party, and the chaos ends in moments with a final thump as an open palm drives into a trachea.

———-
A few minutes later, Benjamin emerges from the room with heavy pockets laden with valuables and quietly shuts the doors behind him, hoping the chair he tilted behind him swings back in time to secure the knob. He turns and gives the handle a twist, and when it doesn’t open he lets out a satisfied murmur before wandering off to rejoin the festivities.

He finds Astrid in a room nearby and gives her a polite nod, a brief interaction, and a kiss of the back of the hand to play up the part before continuing on his way. When each of the twins make their entrance, he’s quick to mimic the crowd and follow after Mary, intent on making a quick escape, his pockets practically overflowing with pilfered accessories.

 

[spottednewt]

“--And I said, my Lady!” Astrid paused just a beat, feigning abject horror. In that moment, she sounded like a perfect mimicry of her grandmother when she lied to a crowd –but Astrid O’Malley would be unpacking that thought later.

“Quitclaim him? I hardly know ‘im!” While she didn’t have any idea what the fuck kind of punchline that was, Astrid knew that she’d ride the wave of the eruption of laughter that followed all the way back the Queensway. It seemed that they didn’t follow the fact that her story was about swindling a man out of his own carriage - and Astrid reckoned that it was all in the tone.

Faces red with joy and brandy, the company dabbed at the corners of their eyes as their humor died down; Benjamin having arrived just in time. She received the kiss on her hand with a cheeky smile and the faint glimmer of a swoon to catch the attention of her unfortunate new friends. The façade wasn’t that hard to execute - she had been stuck to that seat the entire night with a gaudy broach halfway up her rear no matter how she shifted. While her confinement was vexing, it was also lucrative. In the midst of watching the younger woman fawn all over the older–and much crustier Mr. Langley, while he only paid her mind, Astrid was able to close two very large deals for the importing of a few exotic or less-than-good-catholic wares. Both of which the buyer; Mr. Langley himself and a louder, shrill woman he referred to as Petunia, offered large deposits for. While she couldn’t help but be skeptical of such sums of money having been brought to an estate party in the first place, she’d never been one to ask too many questions.

“I do believe,” Astrid paused again, in part to garner attention from her little audience, and in part to let the wheels turn in her mind as she spotted Mary from across the way. “That I need to go investigate that fine man there.” Shooting the women a knowing smile and clasping Mr. Langley’s hand in the two of hers as a silent apology and farewell, Astrid took her leave, trailing behind Benjamin until the crowd enveloped them.

Both lumps of money tucked into either side of her brassiere, Astrid made her way back to the stash as instructed to carry what she could before filing out with the panicked crowd. She’d plastered on her best face of panic, very clearly having picked it up in bits and pieces from the dismayed crowd around her. One after another, she tried on their expressions until she found and mirrored them back at the poor sod until she found one she liked. By then, she’d been doing a right fine job of looking distressed. –That was, until she’d caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as she passed. Like a magnet, she gravitated back towards the looking glass to admire the fruits of the labor of Langley and Petunia’s money.

“Oh! Okay,” She chirped in approval, “Helloooo there!” Pausing another second to appreciate her reflection before remembering the task at hand. “Oh… Right… Oh, no!” The brandy haze that hung low on her mind certainly wasn’t doing her any good in the moment, but no one had seemed to notice her detour.

As she made it outside, towards the gate, she kept to the middle of the pack, but made just enough commotion in her faux-panic that Mary and Benjamin could identify her in the crowd.

 

[queendilettante]

Content Warning

The loud group's flames had brought the tepid crowd to a sweltering roar threatening to overboil and Mary was gladly drinking it up. The desperate man that was shaking the gate lost faith in the venture unfortunately quickly; he retired, dejected, to his older wife with a swiftness that only comes from years of practice. Mary, as such is her way, maintained her terrified and desperate façade long past the point of reason or safety.

Truthfully, Mary felt completely unconcerned with the knowledge that most of the rapidly growing crowd - dense as canned sardines - had about the party's loud assailants. Mary's dear identical twin sister remained inside with hardly a few threads covering her face. The woman at the center of all of the socialites' gazes had Mary's face, and she drew their attention in regardless. Perhaps she'd been lucky and the festivities of this evening were attended primarily by carousers with terribly severe prosopagnosia; a divine stroke of fate completely decoupling the woman with the gun and the woman at the gate. Mary much preferred that to the wretched alternative, that the wealthy party goers were just too distracted by the guns and the chaos to pay attention or care about small details like faces. What a miserable notion.

Mary turned from the gate and faced the open doors to the mansion, though she could hardly see them through the sea of bodies. She cursed her hapless genetic predisposition to shortness and groaned. This giant crowd was terrified and blocking her view but were mostly just waiting somewhat orderly like unknowing livestock. All of the effort in entertainment, and for what? This audience was one of the worst she'd ever tried to play for. "Fuck's the point," she mumbled.

Ah, and there's the Yank, she thought to herself, spotting the much-taller-than-her Benjamin at the stairs. He filtered into the crowd fairly seamlessly and it wasn't long before Astrid also joined the two of them in the yard. "Hope your pockets are full, loves," she mumbled to herself before taking a deep breath. It doesn't matter what they've been like so far, she thought, beginning her internal pep talk. All of the eyes will be on you once you reveal the key. Focus, love, focus. Mary lightly slapped both of her cheeks with her gloved hands and shook out her arms. Show time.

"Everyone! Friends!" she shouted, channeling the voice of every savior knight in shining armor from the storybooks of her childhood. "Loves, look! We're saved!" Everyone's eyes darted to her, previously known as nothing more than the wailing woman at the gate; Mary smiled at her literally captive audience. Before she realized it, they moved in on her physically as well, blithely violating the sanctity of the imagined stage. Truth be told, they were pressing in on her a bit too much; her back began to ache against the pressure of the metal gate. "Please, friends, some space! No need to push!" She continued, unsuccessfully trying to shove the spineless husband from before away from her.

"Out with it!" came a shrill voice from the back.

"Speak up, woman!" answered a deep raspy voice from elsewhere in the garden.

"I- I do believe," Mary began again, feeling a bit too flustered to maintain her flamboyant theatrics. "I- I," she stammered, struggling to speak up with multiple elbows pressed into her abdomen. "Please!" she shouted, briefly breaking character. She smiled, trying to bring it back, "Some space, loves!"

A young woman much too close to her shoved Mary as she spoke and shouted in her face. "Get! On! With! It! Bitch!"

"Please!" Mary shouted back, abandoning her character entirely and livid. "And who on this fucking planet gave you the right to speak at me?" Mary struggled to raise her arm, but threw as strong of a punch as she could at the woman less than half a meter from her. A balding man with a splotchy red face, presumably her date, responded with a much harder punch into Mary's jaw. Her head slammed back into the metal gates and her knees buckled. The key that was in a hidden pocket fell out and clinked on a stone.

Everyone froze. Mary was able to get out a single gasped, "fuck," before the angry red-in-the-face man shouted, "Bitch had the key!"

A brawl immediately erupted. Before she had even recovered from the first punch, the elbows against her abdomen were now swinging at her with the rage of a stampeding hoard; livestock that took offense at that truth. "Ple-" she tried to call out before a different man's fist grazed her cheek and then loitered over her neck. Mary's bruised and bloody face turned a boiling crimson as she made eye contact with the scum. She grabbed his hand and clamped down hard with her nails. He hit her again. She screamed and plunged the knife that was previously strapped to her thigh into his stomach, smiling as she twisted, but it was too late.

The gate was open.

It swung out behind her and Mary stumbled back. If it weren't for the knife she had nestled inside the predator in the crowd, she'd have immediately fallen directly into the center of the path. Instead, she managed to throw herself off to the side, knife tearing out of the swine's stomach as she fell. She landed hard onto the cobblestone, the air from her lungs rushing out her like a popped balloon. She couldn't scramble away in time. She looked up to briefly see the murderous crowd's panicked rush away from their robbery as a heavy boot found her leg.

CRACK

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce, at this point, was nearly yawning at the lack of excitement going on. Mostly everyone had been ushered outside, and Bruce stood at the entrance, brandishing his revolver in hopes of dissuading anyone who though they might try and leave back the way they came. Bruce checked around every now and then, but was mostly concerned keeping his attention on the large, hopeless crowd. He imagined himself firing shots off to dislodge a few hats off the heads of frightened men, just to get a quick laugh. But he needed those bullets in the event Peelers showed up. Bruce wouldn't stand for some cops trying to stop the Nevitt Sister's plans, and would bring hellfire down upon anyone who tried to stop it. For now, though, Bruce was little more than a watchman, making sure no one got any ideas. He would shoot on sight; a vagrant climbing the walls or sneaking back inside would receive the same treatment as a rodent in a pantry.

That's when he heard Mary's calls to the crowd. There she went again, looking for theatrics. Bruce had that in common with the Twin, but their plays were much different. His usually ended in the actor's dedication to the role for all eternity. Not many got to play other parts. Bruce preferred different methods, but he admitted Mary's style suited her well. He almost decided to listen in, if he wasn't afraid of getting caught up in the rouse himself. He needed his eyes sharp, and he couldn't trust himself to pay attention to Mary and the crowd at the same time.

Of course, when the movement began to fasten, and the chatter in the crowd heightened, and the disparity of the situation rose, Bruce found his hand gripping the handle of his revolver tighter. Something was happening, and he didn't like it. For but a moment Bruce turned around to monitor the situation inside, and make sure no one had breached the interior. By the time he turned around, the crowd was in an uproar, circling Mary. Bruce took a step forward into the outdoors. "Piss off, snobs! Give the lady some room!" Bruce said, physically grabbing the closest man and tossing him aside as if that'd do something to dissipate them all. In a matter of moments, there was a surge of violence up ahead, and Bruce started pushing his way forward. "I'll kill every last one of you, back off, now!" His voice was drowned out in the sea of murmur and sudden hate.

Then the group surged forward, like a dam cracking open to let in a horrendous flood. Bruce himself nearly toppled over, if he hadn't felt the anger boil inside him and push back against the few people behind him. They moved around Bruce like a sharp stone in a rapid, daring not to get too close to the insidious man. By the time he heard Mary's cries, Bruce gave up on Helena's "no kill" order. In fact, he was just about done with mercy. As the group nearly passed him by entirely, Bruce raised his revolver, and began abruptly firing into the crowd, hoping to hit anyone, hoping to hit everyone. Shrieks rang out, bodies fumbled. When Bruce ran out, he emptied the cylinder, filled it back up as fast he could, and fired another volley into the almost entirely escaped mass fleeing the scene. Bruce cared not for any fellow Gang members in the crowd; Mary was one of the leads, and her survival meant more than their lives. More than his. He'd expect anyone else to fire in his direction if Mary or Helena's well being was threatened and he stood in the way. By the time most had gotten out of view, nine bodies lay on the ground. Some wailed, writhing in pain clutching their guts in their arms. Others had pure shock on their faces, seemingly unable to comprehend the idea they'd been a victim. And among them was Mary, who he knew not the state of. "Mary's down!" Bruce called back into the building as he ran for the Nevitt sister. "I've got you!"

 

[Pipsqueak]

Benny's first mistake was relaxing. He had been tense all night despite his outer appearance of a carefree nature. The night air was cool, and as he kneeled with the herded crowd it brushed against his flushed cheeks, making him feel at ease. Everything was going without a hitch, and although his lungs burned with infection it did nothing to damper his mood. Resisting the urge to pick his nails with his knife, he decided to simply listen as the main group configured the crowd. He knew when to be silent and wait for instruction. The memory of his first interaction with the twins suddenly came to mind then, and it made him smile. He had been scared back then, lonely even. Without his parents he had nothing. Nobody. Despite their destructive nature, he had loved them- or at least what he interpreted as love. Nothing came close to what he felt towards the gang, he knew that now. When Mary and Helena had found him they had been hesitant, and for good reason. He had been a bit too comedic for this line of work at some points. Everyone in the gang knew it, yet they took a chance with him.

It was a fond memory nonetheless. His first real opening for a better life. Sure, it was miserable at some points, but that was to be expected with his problems. This was the best he would ever get, and he was okay with that. This was Benny's second mistake. Reliving a simple memory while something was stirring. The young thief heard Mary's call and glanced back at her in automatic reaction. He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on her as well as she explained her "solution" to their problem. That's when things turned south, and it took him a moment to get back into the swing. As the crowd began to rile up at the gate, he looked back at the rest of the crew. Bruce's tightening on his gun was enough to put him into motion. He swiftly branded his knife and stood just as Bruce began firing. In the confusion he made out Mary's cry. He wasn't an angry person by any means. He hadn't burned when others insulted the twins, or when someone became aggressive towards them. He had always looked at the crew as an untouchable force. Nothing exceptionally bad could ever happen to them in any situation, yet anger and doubt began to grow now.

Running blindly at the turned backs of the party goers, he slashed and cut at whoever was in front of him. Some fell quickly while others yelled and turned to attack him. Being smaller, it was a hassle to get them off. A smartly landed blow to his cheek sent him reeling, but he quickly got to his feet and jabbed the man in the neck.

"That's your own fault! Too bad I took the chance for you to get some boxin' lessons, coulda done you well." Huffing, he turned and watched helplessly as the rest of the group took off out of the gate. At Bruce's distressed call, Benny ran quickly to their side, putting everything else out of mind.

"What happened?" An ignorant question on his part. It was clear her leg had been badly injured, but the right words escaped him at the moment.

"Looks like it'll hafta be bandaged... Always wanted to meet a mummy. It'll suit ya Mary." His voice was still shaky with adrenaline, but he managed a small smile as Bruce took the heavy work. Sighing, he ran a hand through his tangled hair and stood to take tabs on everyone else. It seemed their plan would have to take a turn. He just hoped everyone, including himself, would know what to do.

 

[kaito9049]

The gunfire was less than ideal.

Conor dropped to the ground as bullets whizzed over his head and into the soft flesh of the partygoers around him. His ears rung with the sound of gunshots and a chorus of screams — some of which suddenly stopped or were replaced with sickening gurgles. Several of the fleeing guests nearly trampled him as they ran toward the open door. Cee had been around enough farms to know that once a herd started charging, there was no stopping them. The idea was to avoid starting a charge at all, but things had gone from hen to horse real quickly.

Cursing Bruce's temper under his breath, Conor rolled sideways — making sure to keep his head protected with his arms — and shot to his feet just in time to see the other man rushing through the crowd, shoving people aside like a scythe cutting through grass, Benny close behind. It was good to see that the lad was uninjured; hopefully he'd be able to get Mary to safety. He should have noticed when things were turning south — when the crowd started pressing in or Bruce began approaching with death in his stride — rather than screwing with some random rich idiot.

The bothersome thought disintegrated as Conor followed the stampede toward the exit, crossing himself as he did and trying his trying his best not to look at the bodies on the floor. It was hard to move quickly, despite the frantic pace of the crowd. He wasn't as strong a man as Bruce or Benjamin, and throwing his weight around wasn't very easy considering he didn't have much weight to throw. A bubble of panic began to well inside of him as he struggled to move, to run. For every two steps he took, he was jostled one back. If it wasn't for the mask he still wore, he'd probably look just as scared as the rest of them.

Focus, Conor told himself. He'd dealt with crowds before, even used them to escape police. The trick was to move with them, not through them. Try to outrun the guests and he'd be thrown aside. Move too slowly and he'd get trampled. He needed to keep pace — no more, no less.

It worked. Moments later, Conor was through the door, a stream of people spilling through with him. He felt a surge of relief as he broke through the open air, but it was replaced with a sense of worry — with a twinge of guilt — as he saw two other gang members surrounding Mary, who was still laying on the ground. He took a few quick steps back to survey the scene, looking around for the rest of the crew, and for any police that were on their way. He wasn't about to abandon any of the others, but they needed to leave — now. Where the hell was Helena?

"Oi!" he yelled at the three he had in sight, his Irish accent deepening slightly. "Can she move? Or be moved? I don't where the others are, but we can't be here!"

 

[spottednewt]

CW: Blood

“You mad bastard,” The words dropped from her mouth slowly; quietly. It was as though she spoke only to herself, or perhaps, whispered to an invisible person next to her. Astrid’s words had a soft kind of wonder to them - a hushed flair of awe. There, in the courtyard, she stood frozen as the people around her scattered like ants. An uncharacteristic calmness about her as she glanced between a writhing Mary - a destination she had fallen just short of reaching, and Bruce - her surprise not-so-mystery assailant. Her next words would rip through the air and bounce off of the mansion behind them with such ferocity that they’d distort the sound of her voice to an unrecognizable degree and earn their own, forced spurt of blood from the fresh wound in her left shoulder.

“You MAD fucking BASTARD.” Astrid chimed in just at the tail-end of Conor’s level-headed and logical question.

With another moments’ pause for a few more angry, determined steps towards Mary, Astrid’s eyes alight with an icy kind of fire that bore into Bruce. Adrenaline created a ringing in her ears that paired terribly with a pounding in the pit of her stomach; her body’s natural alarm bells wailing for reprieve and heightened by the sensation of warm liquid soaking through her dress and following the curve of her corset down into her skirts. Opening her mouth to draw in breath, Astrid pushed forward a few more steps on now-wobbly legs. The torrent of obscenities that left her mouth bordered biblical as she laid curses to Bruce’s gun, grandmother, and every meal he’d eat for the rest of his sorry life. There may have been a few tangents entwined in which she called a fellow victim in her path a fuckwit and swung a wild fist at the gate as it creaked back in her direction in pure and unadulterated vitriol. In her mania - even as she fell to her knees on the cobblestone path, her eyes never left the man who shot her. It wasn’t apparent what she thought she might do for crumbled Mary, but she’d made it just barely out of reach by the time she’d collapsed as well, with a chorus of clangs and clatters that came from the inner workings of her dress.

“I’m going to tie you into the tiniest knot and launch you into the Thames, because that’s where you belong, you soggy-brained bastard,” her legs may have buckled and relented, but her mouth had not. “I’m going to ship ye back to yer Scotland in a crate of daffodils and fish eyes when I get my hands on ya, ye fooking stale-bread-looking beasty.”

Wait, what? Was that a Scottish accent? Was she mocking him, or threatening him?

“When I’m done with you, you musty crumb pirate,” Words now leaving her mouth in a loud rasp, blue in the face with effort, she continued without pause. “You’re going to wish you were still locked up, sniffin’ the arse of your cellmate, you daft-curdled-milk-face-sod!”


From the moment that the bullet whizzed through the air and landed in the soft and delicate skin beneath her collar bone, to the time she knelt on the ground, grasping at her dress the fish out the notes in her undergarments before they were ruined with blood; they had barely made it into the next minute. Just as those buzzing around her, Astrid’s perception of time moved both at rapid speed and barely a crawl.

“I always knew…” Beginning to slow, she blinked for the first time, dazed and lazy. “Your parents must’ve been… some of those shaggy red cows…” Had she not screamed herself silly, she may have curbed some of the bleeding, or kept her consciousness about her. Instead, with one hand full of red-finger-printed banknotes, she clutched the ground to keep upright; mouth still moving; but words inaudible.