Love Among Thieves

[Malkavia]

Gold, huh? Gold like the Sun, the center of all those knotted constellations Shimmerlace had so meticulously photographed just hours earlier?

By now the wet morning had waned into a bright afternoon, and the sleepy traffic of the wee hours had swelled to the bustle and fuss of business hours. Soon the two of them would be off to the castle and its buried treasure, in deep dark crypts where you could forget the sun and its bullshit, skin-cracking warmth.

"You made me so...fuckin happy last week, you know," said Shimmerlace suddenly. Her back straightened. She licked her thumb and went back to counting her — now suddenly much more necessary — loot. One hundred yen, two hundred yen, three...

"I mean. Your all-time greatest moment was that finish with Yuki, noooo question. No fuckin' doubt. But. God damn, girl. Making Madeleine bark for you while you fuckin'...burst her like a frozen pipe. Aroooo! Roof roof rooooo~"

Actually it had been more of a byark. Having reviewed the moment a dozen or three times, Shimmerlace would know. But roof roof would've been even better, and when should facts bar a good story? Shimmerlace laughed ruefully and shook her head. "Fuuuuck but that was so fuckin' good. I've never seen the bitch squirt like that. You fuckin' melted her. You, Angelina, have the touch with her...Or, well. Had the touch."

And one thousand yen makes a pile. Onto the next one. Tokyo must have been hog heaven for someone like Angelina. People still carried cash. This kind of job would have been way harder, Shimmerlace thought, somewhere like New York or Paris.

"Sorta lost it there at the end, didn't ya? Tripping over your own feet while she split you in twain with your own silicone micro-cock."

She smiled at the memory. Not that it was such a pleasant image. Actually, when she pictured Angelina's half-naked body all twisted around those golden boots, she kinda wanted to puke. But that would ruin the cash.

"Can't wait to see how you clap her back for that one. When you think that's gonna be, huh? Angelina's famous second swing at the beloved cuntess?"

[Monsy]

Well, praise wasn’t the first thing she expected. But it now made sense. A second liberation threw the suzerain’s portrait into a pile and now set alight.

She listened, giving light answers between Shimmer’s speaking moments.

"You made me so...fuckin happy last week, you know,"

“I don’t see how.” Angelina replied plainly, then just listened. She was nudged into remembering that match with Madeleine marking her third apex affair. And until now, she forgot it entirely was an apex ordeal, that there was a lingering question of whom she’ll find for an apex match itself. Madeleine occupied her entire headspace recollecting. Not so much crowds or its perception. But the sweat in Madeleine’s hair, the firmness of her sweltering skin. The serenade of her voice, animalistic and pure. "Fuuuuck but that was so fuckin' good. I've never seen the bitch squirt like that. You fuckin' melted her. You, Angelina, have the touch with her...Or, well. Had the touch."

"Had?" her brow raised.

Of course she had the touch. Fuck was this otherwise? It was the bare minimum to entertain the jewel she caught.

Then that stupid fucking word: Micro-cock. She cringed.

Keep your fetishes out of my ear-space, Angelina wanted to say. Buuuuut that wasn’t worth anything to ruin this treacherous little trend. Her head shook to return back to her happiness before that term, looking down towards the concrete with a thumb to her bottom lip, pondering.

“Ah-ah.” Angelina smirked, then lifted a finger. “Not famous. I’m just a footnote for real career wrestlahs. A shot at Madeleine? Her team is unbelievably picky. I’m on the outs with them.”

She packed up her clothing items in her arms and squeezed them against her chest. “So, when ya ask? Prooobably in a million-billion years. No one wants to see fuckin’ micro-cocks.”

Then she got up and looked to Shimmer expectantly. “Now lets gooooo already. We can talk about what-ifs on the road.”

[Malkavia]

"So fuck her team, then! Or get 'em fuckin' fired."

Got me kicked out, didn't you? The thought should have made her angrier than it did, but it was hard to be made with over eighty thousand yen spread out in front of her. And anywho, Madeleine was the one who did the kicking, wasn't she?

Shimmerlace swept up the money and feigned stashing it in her purse. Actually, most of it got palmed, then stashed into this and that pocket installed in the unlikely seams of her outfit. Then she picked up their new wardrobe and slung it over her shoulder.

"Look, I know Madeleine, right? She had fun kicking your ass around the ring, and it's built WAY more buzz for her than any of the other boring shit she's done. She wants to do it again. Guaran-fuckin'-tee it. Just...you know, jill her off a touch when you ask. Appeal to the ol' ego."

As they walked down the sun-bleached sidewalk, past the packed traffic towards their car-lot, it occurred to Shimmerlace how stupid she was for carrying the wardrobe. If Angelina made a move now, it'd be a trick to get to the taser in time. Even throwing a punch would be tough. Funny that she hadn't thought about it until they were halfway down the street. Well, she hadn't taken advantage yet...

"Ooooooh Maaaaaaadeleine, sharing the spotlight with YOOOU just taught me soooo much. I learned more from licking your your boot than twenty matches with anyone else. Won't you pleeeeeease teach me again, senpai? She'll give you the match. There's no question whatsoever in my mind. And THEN we can get fuckin' even with her."

As Shimmerlace talked and walked, she revisited an old, guilty thought: Japan was kind of an ugly place. Oh, not all of it. There were pockets of beauty, no doubt. More than pockets. But the general, surface-level view in urban spaces—the endless identical concrete blocks stained in gray streak by humidity? Ugly. Much like the big concrete block of a car-lot Angelina and Shimmerlace stepped into.

"So!" Shimmerlace said through half a sigh, as they sidled up to their SUV. "Who's driving?"

[Monsy]

“What makes you think I’m capable of that? Like, at all?” Says Angelina.

Angelina shrugged, her lips pulled in a straight line and her eyes showed an attitude in what believed was obvious. Get someone fired. She was more swiping and biting, but any of that on some random occasion was bound to be a whisper in Madeleine’s ear at some point. It only worked with Shimmer because she was a total nutball. A spontaneous clerk of violence, scheme and savagery in vibrant pinks. Angelina just showed Madeleine the obvious.

Now just hit a quad-feed, was how it sounded.

Then as they walked, Angelina filled her time looking out at medium-dense urban scenery. The sloped levels of roofs showed themselves in rusted greens, browns and shiny blacks. Her stare geared towards a set of bicycles on a rack, a telephone pole, then a ledge and window that led right inside. OR, the scenic route. The buildings varied in level, some too absurd to gap without climbing another story. But for stretches of twos, three’s, fours and fives, the buildings lined up like a running half-pipe. And over these grey hedges, her day might expand seeing the tops, making routes, then another hour or two spent on one.

Just where would be the best view?

Maybe she’ll find out later.

“I bet.” It seemed obvious. Begging, turning Madeleine's foot into her seat, then a cheek as a warm grateful pillow that dispelled worry. A hand on-top of her head, sheepish eyes peering up, asking please. The snag that she didn’t dare mention was that she’d rather a routine like that come filled with warmth than knuckles across her face. She did, however, consider the idea of how she’ll get Madeleine over. Then she’d be hooked on her finger.

“So just dip the biscuit in honey and pass it to her. Seems simple enough. Though I don’t get the part where I agreed to do any of that, so—” She threw her hip against the side of Shimmer’s upper thigh. “Who knows! Maybe I’d rathah you get the gig so I can ruin the day. You do want to put her into a dirt nap, don’t you? Way more than I, that’s obvious.”

Inside the carpark, Angelina sifted through her pocket full of randomly collected hair pins, keychains, a crushed cigarette, someone’s lotto ticket and coinage of random values. It spilled to the ground alongside a myriad of more pilfered junk before she could find the key fob, using it to automatically open the hatch.

“You.” Said Angelina, “Just one more detour for me, but you’ll be going ahead.” She tossed Shimmer the keys then threw her wardrobe over the bumper and to the back, laying it down then padding it straight and flat. When she rose and Shimmer presumably was going to stow her stash, she passed behind her and gave that pink mane a quick ruffle. "Good work so far, yo."

[Malkavia]

The fuck?!

If Shimmerlace had been a cat, she would have treated Angelina's hand like a live wire—haunches up, fur spiked, teeth out. Hiss!

In the world where the Feychild was but flesh and polished nails, she just turned pale and felt her heart pound in her ears. Despite the load of clothes, her hand fumbled straight to the middle-right pocket—one of several custom trick pieces she commissioned for most of her outfits. Angelina almost got her gut tased for the second time that day.

Then Shimmerlace's brain caught up, albeit in its own wobbling and fuzzy way.

"Er...Thanks, Ange...elina."

OK, well. So Angelina was just handing out literal head-pats now, was she? Perhaps next Shimmerlace could earn a scratch on the chin?

Fuck, her scalp itched now, like she could just feel the sudden lice infestation. Ninja lice, probably, distributing anesthetic. She would have liked to raked her nails through the wig, or, better take it off and toss it, but she had booty in the arms. She wrenched the backseat open.

"Fuuuuck sake!"

The right-side back seat had...well, Christ only knows what smeared across the fabric. It was a long, brown splotch, an ass-crack Picasso stained so deep she doubted there was a detailer in five hundred square miles that could banish it. Worse, it was composite, a dark splatter under a brown smear, speckled with white and—

"Fuckin'—You'd think these prissy rich cunts..." She didn't finish the sentence, slamming the door with her foot. She opened the passenger seat. She had a few thousand dollars of prime costume salvage in her arms, and Angelina would just have to take one for the team and take the shit-seat.

It was only after she'd huffed and settled into the driver's seat that she realized her mistake: This put Angelina behind her.

Well, behind and to the right. Diagonal. She might imagine the Marauder's fingers closing around her neck, and it might make every hair on her body stand on end—but, actually...Well, she'd be able see the Marauder fine in the rearview mirror. And it would have required long arms indeed to get all the way over to her throat.

Shimmerlace swallowed, took off her wig and hair net, and started the car.

"So. What's this about me taking your somewhere?"

[Monsy]

Ange-lina.
ALMOST FULL MARKS.
B.


After getting her stuff stowed in the hatch and shutting it, now came around to the opposite side of the SUV where Shim opened. She opened the door soon after Shimmer shouted, smirked, then crossed her arms. “Got somethin’ to confess?” Her eyes rolled, then she climbed in on the left bucket seat. It was opposite to the one she wanted truthfully, but was she really expected to sit on what looked like used toilet paper?

Fuck that.

The boon of today was in the side windows. Tinted, as per the values of manufacturing the side panes for UV protection annnnnd beloved privacy! Something she was going to take advantage of by leaving herself unbuckled and placing herself on the corner so she can lean over to the middle lane where the two front seats were separated by a shiny leather console. For now, she folded her arms and leaned to the passenger seat, an elbow on the shoulder, then she leaned into it.

“Yeeep. Hanakomichi.”

She said, then waited for the vehicle to start moving. Once it did, she started lifting and checking out Shimmerlace’s outfits one by one through glancing and lifting them up vaguely for partial views.

“Which one of these are ya kickin’ Madsy’s face to the curb? Surely you’ve got one of these cooked up as the one. Thought of a strat, yet? Gonna mess up her day-to-day? Someone like her—” She released a contained ‘HmHm~’ of thought, but didn’t speak it. “Got to have several pressure points.”

[Malkavia]

At first, Shimmerlace wondered whether Angelina and Madeleine had ever entertained similar conversation. What can ya tell me 'bout that pink puke's weak points, ey Madsy?

Yeah, I'm sure our Marauder was just desperate for intelligence on you, miss five-oh.

Fuck 'em.

"You know she's fucked in the head, right? I mean, literally sick."

While she chatted, Shimmerlace punched in their destination. Hanakomichi, eh? The Google Maps page sported a white chick in a kimono. A closer look confirmed that their destination was a kimono rental agency, and one that leaned on the kitschier side of tourist trap.

Her brow furrowed. Odd destination. After a pause, she pressed her foot into the accelerator. The SUV reversed smoothly from their spot, and they began to drive.

"Huh...Well anywho. Madeleine—yeah, she's got herself a head-doctor, whose only purpose in life is to coach dear Madsy into pretending like she's a human being. Doctor Batson. Yes, Madeleine's always has got to see herr Doktor Batson. Every week, no exceptions. Ooooh, and Angelina..." Shimmerlace grinned as they turned out of the parking lot into the sunlit streets. "you should see the things ol' Batsy tells her in their little session reports."
At the light, turn left. Half Shimmerlace's brain scanned the road, while the other half glanced up at Ange in the mirror, once, then twice, as often as she could manage without (she hoped) looking overtly suspicious. Fortunately, Matsumoto traffic was light, so driving demanded little.

"Soooo I suppose, if I was really set on humiliating Madeleine, I'd probably slip into her home and track down her files. Give 'em a skim. Get into her head so I can fuck with the all the messed up shit I find in there."

She would do such, she said. As if she hadn't already scoured those reports and all their surreal contents. But then again, truth be told, Shimmerlace had little interest in fighting Madeleine. At least, in the ring. The ring deserved better opponents than Madeleine's brand of soulless narcissism.

"That, and I'd punt her in the cunt. She's a real sensitive kitten, if you catch my drift."

[Monsy]

A doctor. A head-doctor. HEAD doctor? Or--.
Ew. EW, ew, ew, ew, eugh. UGH.
COCKROACHES. This was COCKROACHES.

Angelina didn’t bother buckling while being spared by the tinted glass. Just who the fuck went out of their way to bust a suspected seatbelt violation? NO ONE!

As for where they are heading, Angelina trusted both Shimmer to drive and to not be a klutz behind the wheel… Like Rachel was, the fucker. SHE herself found to be engrossed in this new flood of information. Her Madsy was in THERAPY? For what? With how Shimmerlace made it sound, it was though Madeleine was some alien creature underneath. A surprise waiting to be unravelled. One beautiful gift wrapped in plague-stricken cloth till the smells rotted her mind slowly.

But week by week… “Subject fails to fully comply.” She said in response to Shimmer’s session report, raising a finger.
“That’s my guess. No little demon can corrupt such a stubborn woman. I think she’d rather kiss my boot before that.”

After getting her word in, she continued to listen to Shimmerlace. Was she lying? Walking her into a landmine of sorts. Obviously, there was a suggestion somewhere. But with Shimmer handing over this information, it made any idea about this mythical Batson a pipe dream for the week, month, perhaps year or beyond. When the annals of memory get eaten by moths, she knew passively that was the time to act… Whatever that meant to herself. Just ‘act’ and do what? Act. The standard figuring it out wouldn't do for this righteous slaying. There was an entire webbing of strings and pulleys on Madeleine’s brain that the demon must’ve plotted through time and maleficence.

For now she thought of it from a separate angle.

One that followed the rope Shimmerlace was laying down. See where it went.

Go skim her file. That made sense. Get in her head? That was never rocket science, but when she imagined it, she saw tears and eyeliner melting down a tomato complexion and scowling lips, pulled up cheek lines, contorted forehead creases and eyes that looked mechanically wound up to the point of snapping, the boilers in her lungs overloaded and fought by the gradual release in guttural noise, whine or perhaps a loosened stipend of vilely spoken runes.

She blushed. Kick her in the cunt? “You saw the match. Of course I do.” Then down on one knee in the middle lane of the SUV, she leaned towards Shimmerlace’s ear and went, “Byark-byark~” In a tone that tried to emulate Madeleine’s, but clearly no one was surpassing the master anytime soon. She lowered herself to the floor by sitting on her calves, then leaned towards the console and set up with her hand.

“One of these days, you should pay back her slap with one of your own. Forget the kick. You ask me, it’ll be the love tap under London Bridge that’ll get the most attention.” She reached over, then gave Shimmer’s shoulder a shake while staring into the rear-view mirror. “You’ll be made! New contract, new money, new cunts and cuntesses to watch ya. Way more than her teeny-weeny subsidies.” And as she spoke, her second hand from the console reached calmly to manipulate that little middle-right pocket that was no different than the surrounding garments.

Discreet. Now that was cool.

But that taser was still hers once she can touch the fuckin’ thing.