Love Among Thieves

[Malkavia]

Madeleine experienced a hot flash of irritation. "Creatively speaking? You, obviously." She drummed her fingers on the table, aware that she'd answered just a bit too quickly. She brushed her hair over her shoulders, then adjusted her tiara.

So Serona had pitched this game to "the boss man" had she? Madeleine could picture it—the nervous stammer, as she brushes past some small talk about the office coffee machine, laptop pressed closed against her chest, eyes to the floor. Oh, I know this is a little niche, of course, but if you wouldn't mind, do you think maybe if it wouldn't be too much trouble, you might be able to look at this?

"Sweet..." Madeleine sighed, smiling despite herself. She held the wine glass — now only a quarter full — and rotated it slowly, thoughtfully between her thumb and forefinger. "I'm really sorry. I don't want to say anything unkind. But may I be honest?"

She waited for Serona to give assent, then sipped and finished her glass. She set it down on the table — Tink — then looked Serona in her eye, steely, her hands folded one over the other, but still with a compassionate smile. "I think you don't care for finance. But even more than that? You don't like dealing with people. You should have seen your face when you said my boss. Kitten, I felt my tummy clench from anxiety-by-proxy."

"Maybe that's another reason you want to stay solo, hm? Why waste all this time, all this stress, all this work trying to cajole some creatively bankrupt suits with half-believed promises for their bank accounts...when you could just be developing your gosh darn project? Solo work is simpler. Am I...correct at all there, Or. Am I embarrassing myself by assuming too much?"

[Monsy]

Serona felt somewhat chased to a corner, which felt both good, bad, grey, confusing, invigorating and pressurizing. What was said about her nerves turned her face tight. Her face flushed, then her knees came into one, an ankle hid behind the other and bounced. She tried to rehearse the presenting part, make it sweet--not too uptight, cute, genuine, but confident and professional. The last two aspects might’ve failed. Gh-.Though it landed just the same, right? Maybe this was Madeleine’s way of nudging her in the right direction while still being impressed. She could smile thinking that; it helped her thoughts clear, then become a steady stream she was rowing. Madeleine’s pitch? “No.. No.” Her lifted, palm pointed, trying to dismiss and downplay such a notion.

“Never, you’re great. What creative lead wouldn’t want to write away their meetings with suits to someone else. It’s just--”

Her hand extended across the table, feeling unwavering pressure from Madeleine’s good posture, straightening up her own. She put her hands on the table, then grabbed a napkin and began to fold it like origami. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Each number was a tempo to slow her thoughts, focus on the folds, and on the conversation. “--I don’t want you to think I need shelter or I am only partially ready. Sure, finance isn’t my dream. You said I have anxiety, and while that’s true… I didn’t quite expect you or anyone to see the game like that. That’s all.”

The crane was finished, leaning on its side in her hand which she covered. She extended it across the table, then opened her hand as an offering. “What do you think?”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine clicked her tongue three times, quietly, against the roof of her mouth.

"Tsk tsk tsk. We're always so unkind to the suits." Carefully, she slid one index finger under each wing of the crane and lowered it, flat, onto a napkin in front of her. She considered it, like a jeweler skimming the surface of a beautiful if common gem. "Deservedly so, of course. The world is full of cold, incompetent managers."

The crane's folds were precise—its wings, head, and tail conforming to the perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical folds that indicate practiced competence. Madeleine dug into her purse, a small black leather satchel with a golden clasp, and pulled out a fountain pen in whose black sheen she could see the shape of the lightbulb overhead, warped in its side.

Allowing the quiet to hang over the table another moment, she pressed the pen into the crane's wing-tip, rolling the paper so that when she pulled the pen away, the straight lines had become a gentle curve. "What I think, though..." She repeated the motion with the other wing, then curved the crane's tail so that it appeared to be in the midst of a turn along whatever invisible pond it was swimming upon. "I think we often forget what good management feels like."

Madeleine nudged the crane back towards Serona. Where before it had been the kind of perfectly folded orgami that might grace the cover of a book, now it looked alive—as if in the middle of taking off, its wings cupped around the wind. Madeleine looked up from he work and perked her smile at her partner.
"I also happen to think that your game has potential and that it deserves a good producer. Someone who can provide resources. A timeline flexible to your needs, but structured enough to focus your effort. And of course, someone willing to pitch your vision to the world so that all you need to do is make the art."

[Monsy]

The crane's material didn't make for the best sturdiness or hardness to hold its shape.

She stared at it slightly worriedly, watched the pen, shifting between Madeleine's gaze and the strokes she laid upon her creation. Her artistic instinct, given she had no time at all to ponder, was lovely. The roll of pens on its wings, the alteration on the tail--a trick she hadn't quite explored yet, so she was locked on that with her eyes, then Madeleine's words with her ears.

Her hands cupped it when done. She pursued thoughts on how to shelter this throughout the date till it got home safely. The only course, in her mind, was to hold it inside her palm for the duration. So for the rest of Madeleine's answer, that's where it stayed. Perched, catching the wind on her palm, with thumb and pinky lightly grazing its rolling wings. "You make it sound so smooth." She thought about it. Her worries conflicted with the tangible knowledge that Madeleine *believed* in this game. "'Course I'd do my best in return. Far as I'm concerned, you're my main audience." She rested her elbow on the table, then let her chin sit at the top.

"You should give me suggestions. I really wanted the protagonist to emulate you, if you hadn't noticed already." Her smile beamed. The two ordered not long after for a type of sushi. Meanwhile Madeleine told her minor things about the game to a jank mechanic to inventory and collectables being too clutted, that the starting lore was shallow, and levels didn't provide complex challenge.

On the side also, she heard about Madeleine's childhood and the rivalry with the sister for a story. Madeleine would emulate a protagonist, then her villain was a sister traitorous to the dynasty's progress by being lusty, abrasive and mildly incompetent in small ways above the commoners, but below the protagonist.

She wrote it down in jot-beat notes, then admitted that she plotted the same Madeleine expy to go on a date with a scribe--said scribe being an emulation of herself. Nervous, but brave and useful to the Madeleine expy. Side by side against enemy hordes in Madeleine expy's ascendance towards greatness.

[Malkavia]

As Serona folded the conversation politely into Madeleine's family history, she glanced from the screen to Serona, something bitter and poisonous curling through her stomach. Madeleine had only briefly described her sister, yet Serona perceived depths from her clipped words and tightly polite tone.

"Yes, I suppose it would be appropriate for her to be villain—to inspire a villain, that is." She laughed. "Of course we wouldn't want a resemblance too recognizable. The family must present a whole front, even with...her."

Even if Serona's responses were always measured and never dug too deeply, Madeleine could see the curiosity curled up like a kitten behind her eyes. As Madeleine scooped another block of sushi, she chewed and thought, the silence extending as she dug absent-mindedly around in her character's inventory.

"Though I doubt she would extend me the same courtesy. Dearrrrrr young Evangeline..." Madeleine clicked her tongue off her teeth. "She'd anything for half a minute of spotlight—nevermind who's cheering or who's booing. Or who else is swept into the consequences of her...escapades." Serona penned her notes in efficient handwriting. Neat paragraph blocks, even proportions for the letters. Not a movement wasted. Madeleine lowered her voice as her head tilted back and her eyes took on a conspiratorial gleam. "This stays strictly between us, dear — but would you believe me if I told you she spent two years living in a sex cult?"

It wasn't long before Madeleine and Serona were talking through the details of an antagonistic faction of secretive demoniacs infiltrating the "expy's" kingdom.

At first, Madeleine's appearance on the screen had sent an electric shock through the Countess, but the longer she played the game...exploring the intricacies of a remarkably mature prototype...the more the whole imagined space began to feel like a mirror. Here was not merely her golden hair, but her ambition. Her drive. There were her parents, ancient caretakers of the realm who had invested her with responsibility. Even the layout of the city's neat radially indexed streets resembled the ornate order Madeleine preferred in those moments where she could design her own living and work spaces.

It should have disturbed her, this intimate knowledge from someone she'd just met. Either that, or perhaps inspired her with a heart-fluttering need to get Serona's lips between her legs for more intimate worship. And yet...

Madeleine's phone vibrated in her purse. As she glanced at the screen, she frowned. She pulled back from the laptop on the table and placed the phone in her lap. But don't let your attention drift, Madeleine. Her eyes rested on Serona's, and although her right hand was typing, she lifted her left and leaned forward, resting her chin on top of her wrist.

"...I'm going to start to sound like a parrot, the way I repeat myself, but despite the rough edges and the difficulties with the engine, I do love it. I...llllllove it. Or anyway, I love what it could be." What it could be. On those words, Madeleine tilted her head to one side, her expression hardening just a fraction. "But what about your vision, sweet pea? You want to emulate me, explore a kingdom like Jouets. That's very sweet of you and fine seeds for a larger idea. But what are you going to make with that inspiration, hm? When—if this goes out to the world's shelves, what will you be hoping for really? Huge sales? Adoration from critics? To influence the next generation of artists?"

And—send. Madeleine pressed a key on her phone and flipped it on her lap.

"What motivates my eh...little viceroy in this world, hm?"

[Monsy]

“No way.” Went Serona on the topic of a sex cult. Her eyes went bigger and curious, taken back as if wondering how such was even possible—surely scandalous for someone like royalty, but in the context of a toy empire… Wow. She was stumped! She tried to imagine it. Red lights, booths, a convocation hall and alters blessed with marble statues with exaggerated sex organs and appendages for creativity… explorative worship. A den, perhaps compound, underground club or even a fronted chess society, would be smothered in aromatic candles and soundproof walls. The Chasms of Coitus, it shall be named.

She listened the best she could, talking through old notes, some patches and added mini-stories to give backdrop to the lore. Lots of them tied to people she seen or met, some imagined, some scorned, some based on the personification of different animals or her takes on mythos. The heart of the game, of course, was around the Citronelles and she delicately laid that out with a badgering lower lip telling her to shut-up. ( We don’t want to look wrong or off-putting here, so lay it on light. )

Almost instinctively mid-conversation, she had halfway completed the task of getting out her pen and notepad. Just the pen was out, but that was placed over her ear. The object placed there, with its tinge of uncomfortability and warmth, kept her zoned in on what was important, reminding herself to take notes as one leg crossed over the other, bouncing her heel slightly with hands weaved together on her lap. When asked, she didn’t respond right away, but took her time.

At first it was a game. ( Sales would be amazing, of course. Inspiration. Adulation. All those things. Why wouldn’t I want that? I won’t say otherwise. )
Then she looked at Madeleine. ( And saying it for her would be truthful, in a sense. This game is meant for her, in all cases, my love letter. Of course, I loved games before this. I just never expected my time to come here, but that’s on me for not working with an objective.. )

Serona sighed, later going for a sip of that wine that was still occupying her glass. Just a bit for the nerves, then…
“What if I gave it some extra thought? Promise to tell you later? I’ll even put my pinkie on it.”
She extended her hand, elbow hovering over the table with an extended pinkie.
“Yubikiri.”

------------------------

“DID SHE JUST DRY TEXT ME?!?!”

Angelina’s fist BANGED on the dressing room mirror, enough to rattle and make the door components smack, bonk and whiiiine against the hinges and locks. “Grraaaaghhhh…” Then she whispered, “Fuck..” She squeezed her phone like she wanted to break it, then held it against her chest. The buzz of the notification, the lovely sweet hymn of phone vibration, the ringtone of the Jouets jingle you saw on commercials, thrumming quietly against her chest. She sat down, let herself cool, then got dosed with a second buzz.

( Another text?!?!?!?! )
She checked…
( …still the same one )

Which meant she didn’t want to open it. THIS could be her last Madeleine notification, she thought. The one before the cut-off. The one before Serona stole EVERYTHING, then hypnotized Madeleine with that set of mind-altering specks playing feeble to Mama so she’d get taken in, then BOOM—COMMITMENT! On that note, Angelina opened her phone again and started to play with the functions. BURST MODE: Which would allow her to take several, then send all at once! Angelina set up the frame over her head, pointing it down to herself, then beginning to make a collage of herself.

She was a cat-maid. The main pieces were primarily white, from the apron, skirt, stockings, the ruffle collar and beyond. Then there was pink as a secondary, highlighting fixtures and complimenting. The ears were tall and big to hide the horns behind them. A small piece of tape tied the tips of the horn and ears together to keep them perking up. Then, in her photoshoot, she struck a wild variety of poses over bursts, set-up shots and clumsy ones. Cat-pose, Jack-o pose, a bit of Mizuki Kaminade, flipping birds, short videos where she did a backflip, a handstand, a bit of cleaning and dusting. Then some more while she sat on the floor, waving, poking at her dimples, letting one ear fall to unveil a horn, then a final one where she sat down, stretched her leg and used her toe to take the final one.

( Send… Send… Send… Send… )

One by one! By one by one! One by one! Dozens upon dozens. Some in groups, some just individually. She didn’t think deeply about it, just that this could be life or death between another date with Madsy and her being swept away by this bespeckled lunatic.

After she was done, she peeked out the dressing room door and there was SHIMMER. ON HER PHONE. UNFOCUSED! The tip-tapping patterns told her she was texting. Just who?? A Huan?? Some BITCH? Angelina felt an unrelenting urge to pry—if she was expected to trust this fairy after all this hellabaloo, then she demanded to know everything! So she sneaked over, hand on her neck to silence the bell of her collar, tip-toeing with a still face. Once she got close enough to arm’s reach, she reached over and snatched Shim’s device.

“No texting on the job!”

[Malkavia]

"God damn," had said Shimmerlace, as soon as they'd set foot in the store. She whistled and took in the sheer scope of the cosplay outlet—if that was even what you'd call it. She could tell at a glance the thread-count on these shrine maiden outfits belonged on a professional stage.

It was a two-story outlet with a huge stairway down its middle, flanked on either side with Victorian statues so lifelike, she wouldn't have blinked if one of them started pulling a living statue routine.

And yet, despite all that, she managed at first to stay focused. Laser-focused. What'd they need, huh?

A convincing security uniform? Some starched, professional office clothes? Practical duds fit for a couple of restorationists coming in to get filthy keeping history clean?

The list sounded long, but in fact Shimmerlace had her cart full in minutes—it weren't for nothing she'd spent those years collecting her own private costume department. She knew her efficient path through ye olde specialty costume store. And all the while, she kept Angelina in sight, out of the corner of her eye.

Disciplined and focused.

Except, then Angelina had wanted to go get some things of her own, and when Shimmerlace had stalked thirty paces behind and peeked around the shelf, those "things" had just been...a catmaid outfit?

Well. Whatever. Unless Angelina was plotting to claw Shimmerlace to death, it didn't seem dangerous. She nosed around the costumes herself. Pretty soon something blue and metallic caught her eye — the scaled of an elaborate dragon-maiden suit. With articulated joints, she realized as she pulled it off the rack. It rattled, no low-grade plastic but real bits of chainmail. And the wings...she could refit the wings, maybe craft herself a nice set of fey-touched batwings for her next entrance...

So, ten minutes later, there she was in the dressing room, with a cart parked out front that was overstuffed with clothes. And a few wigs. Really, it looked as much as anything like a viking's booty barrel after the sacking of a particularly wealthy English monastery.

Heeeeeeeeeeey Brucie ;3
I got something for ya. A surprise.
But have you earned it tho? Hm hm hmmm...

She was seated with her back to the wall, dressed up in the best god damn fairy getup she'd ever laid eyes on. And she'd seen a few. There was glitter to make the face shimmer like quarts, vines that curled up her thigh and just along the edge of her groin, and fabric as delicate and soft as actual flower pedals.

Not that she was giving Bruce the full picture. Not just yet. They still had Saturday's movie selection to decide, and like FUCK if she was gonna give him a coin flip's chance of picking yet another goddam 80s-ass romcom. Tasteless fucker. Nah, she sent him just enough to get him wanting more — a teasing little picture of her bare feet and vine-wrapped legs.

Though, she reflected once she'd sent the image and had stood and stretched and waited for his reply — maybe that had been too much. Bruce was a god damn freak about feet.

And — fwick and split, and the phone was gone.

"The FUCK?!" Shimmerlace wheeled around at Angelina. Her thoughts raced — Bruce. Angelina. Angelina seeing Bruce.

(Did she have pictures on her phone?)

Her face flushed the color of barbecue. Her jaw worked, and she hissed. Angelina was already poring over the screen, her violet marauder eyes flitting over the screen like a cat scanning a quick-flitting bird.

(Oh fuck had she got pictures. Pictures of Bruce she wasn't even certain were legal. What exactly were Japan's decency laws? It was such a fuckin' weird little country for that kind of shit. Tentacle Porn at the local bookshop, but God forbid you smoke any hash—)

"I-I was waiting on you, fuck-face! Now mitts off my damn phone!" She made a grab for the device, but Angelina kept it out of reach.

She realized her heart was pounding a mile a minute, speeding along quick enough to make her light-headed. Which Angelina would notice, of course, and thereby infer just how much Shim did NOT want her digging through that phone.

She breathed and tried to force calm into her voice. Every particle of her itched to make another swipe at the phone. Instead, she rolled her eyes, then sneered.

"I got all the shit you said we needed, so. Yeah." So just give me the phone back and let's move on with the mission, yeah? Sweat beaded on Shimmerlace's forehead. And of course, Angelina did not return the device. The Feychild huffed. "The fuck are you doing in that catsuit anywho? Gonna sneak into the museum admin so you can enjoy the kibble?"

[Monsy]

"I-I was waiting on you, fuck-face! Now mitts off my damn phone!"

The phone was tucked behind the pirate's back, then she pivoted with the shoulder falling back.

"Too late for that, toots. You're so fuckin' busted." She said, with a stressing on the sssoooo, drawing it out while her features became cheshire. Yes indeed she saw the minor changes in Shimmer's face. She noticed tension. Deciding something. Reigning herself in. Soooomething was on this phone that was important. Someone perhaps too. Judging by what she already peeked, there was a decent guess it must be the receiver of what she grokked to be some nudes. Some fuck named Bruce. Just what the fuck was a Bruce? There was a sight of toes with pink nail polish with a vine twirled around the ankle, then sectioned off by the top of the screen. She hadn't the time to scroll farther to confirm or deny this was a person of issue.

Then again, their plans only just started today.
But.
Then again, again -- the first time Angelina left eyes off Shimmer was for her to start texting strangers on the job.

If that's all this was, then she might've been relieved. But if she knew this girl enough already, then there was typically always something hiding on the back of her hand while she's waving it, whether in distress or kindness. But, she'd allow herself to stay stationary and merely watched Shim go over the next thing. Her shoulders leaned to take a gander at the shopping cart, raising a brow, then twirling on the spot and stepping under Shim's outstretched arm to take position at her flank, phone still far from her keeper's mitts.

"The fuck are you doing in that catsuit anywho? Gonna sneak into the museum admin so you can enjoy the kibble?"

"My huh?" She looked down at herself, then adjusting the hair clip making her fluffy ears.
...
I forgot to take it off...

Now Angelina would chew on her bottom gum, her lower lip working and adjusting on the spot while her face warmed into heat she didn't think was unpleasant at all, so much as ill-timed to start feeling fuzzy for being noticed in this outfit. Of course she'd recover, but it took a few long moments. "Kibble is too dry. It tastes like sand clumps, has too much fatty stuff, not enough vitamin C, fiber, carbohydrates AND I don't even know the brand, which can have tummy-aching preservatives, so no thank you." She brushed off her apron, made some adjustments to her sleeves and fixed the ears again. "It's just a play I'm bein' roped into, k? As one of my conditions in bein' released early from that prison called Jouets, I have to volunteer myself to be Senorita Feline Waffle-whiskers in her new upcoming scheme. Something about... competin' with its natural enemy in media production, I think." She put the phone between her tits on the cat-shaped window over her bust, then clapped her silk-sleeved hands together, interlocking fingers and putting the pair up against her cheek.

"Woowwwww! Is that all for me?" She started to walk over, then went to the other side of the cart for safety reasons, reaching in and starting to grab at the outfits they compiled. "Look at all that..." Her thumb brushed over the shoulder fabric of the suit, then peeked at Shimmer. "Yanno, ya wouldn't need to steal if you had suits like this. Suit. Tie. Dye your hair black. Evah thought of gettin' honest work?"

[Malkavia]

"Yeah — I got quite the nifty, entirely honest career, actually. It's in this quaint yet utterly fantastical field called professional wrestling." On the word fantastical, Shimmerlace tossed her hands in the air, shimmering the fingers as she spun on her toes and then posed for the word wrestling. Fists up! Chest out! Ready to dive into another round of fisticuffs.

But beneath her sarcastic grin, she kept mentally sweeping back to that device nestled in the pale curves of Angelina's tits. There was a bigger bomb than Bruce resting in that device. If Ange dug much deeper at all, she'd find pictures of her own apartment, and the shrine-like web of yellow string and red ribbon and black charcoal that had been the Marauder's plans for Madeleine.

"'Course, I don't exactly slip on monkey suits for that. Naaaah, Ange, only reason you'd catch me dead in a uniform that tedious and mundane is if it were cover. Bit of smokescreen so the comet that pierces through comes as a surprise, yeah?"

Shimmerlace leaned against the cart, lazily lifting one of the more formal outfits to rest on her finger. "I think the skin ya wear counts for a lot, yeah? The way you look has a habit of sinking into the blood and screwing with the DNA. Dress like a bitch, paint yourself up like a bitch..." Shimmerlace's eyes drifted from the suit, over to Angelina's "sassy" thigh-length hemline, up the extent of her costume. "...might well find you need to start prepping for life in a kennel."

They Feychild found herself smiling as she handed one of the suits towards Angelina, for her to try on for size. "...I guesstimated your size, by the by. Exxxxxtra teeny weeny. If it hangs off you like a poncho, we'll like as not need to check the children's section."

[Monsy]

Angelina’s brow raised at first, silently judging the statement as ‘fantastical field called professional wrestling’ rolled off the tongue. And yet, here is her stalker, the psycho-freak, rabbit-obsessed pet-stealing, wheeling-dealing, daughter of a fairy and a bubble-gum vat talking like her run wasn’t polluted in insanity. Nevertheless, while being bombarded with quip after quip, she idly rested against the cart with the centre of her palm nestled over the thin metal, digging in, her fingers hooking a square.

"'Course, I don't exactly slip on monkey suits for that. Naaaah, Ange, only reason you'd catch me dead in a uniform that tedious and mundane is if it were cover. Bit of smokescreen so the comet that pierces through comes as a surprise, yeah?"

Angelina had a question about Shimmer’s experience. Her normal look was fairly intricate, so she could fathom Shimmer being a bit of an expert… Given all that was in the cart too. But here she was cooking up her own ideas from what was spiritually cartoony. She specifically recalled an episode from a retro cartoon in the late 60s, where a man and a dog become clowns to infiltrate the circus. It wouldn’t be unbelievable to think she dressed her part for whatever the situation could call for… Or maybe she really did just look like a peak beacon everywhere.

"I think the skin ya wear counts for a lot, yeah? The way you look has a habit of sinking into the blood and screwing with the DNA. Dress like a bitch, paint yourself up like a bitch..."
"...might well find you need to start prepping for life in a kennel."

“Pssh.”

And… right, Shimmer probably had a good view of that. A lot of that night was cobwebbed by fractured memory. Like a glass pane dropped to the floor, slow and headachey to reassemble, and the cuts they can open might as well be left alone—even if it did make her warm, what happened later wasn’t a memory she desired. Shimmer on the other hand, just really-really wanted to go back there. The thought of a Kennel did indeed feel… Strangely plausible. Was Madeleine into that? Shimmer should, would know, and she figured there wouldn’t be any restraint in talking shit about Madeleine, especially after…

what?

"...I guesstimated your size, by the by. Exxxxxtra teeny weeny. If it hangs off you like a poncho, we'll like as not need to check the children's section."

“Haah-hah.” Angelina took the suit by the collar, held it up with two hands, putting her puckered lips to one side, evaluating. Grey coat, white vest, dress pants, easy. She flipped it over her shoulder to drape it down her back, letting a hooked finger pinch the collar and suspend it. “You really need to get ovah the fact I just do it bettah than you.”

She grabbed the cart ledge, then vaulted into the cart with a two-foot hop, using all the costumes in there as cushion for her trampling feet. This let her look at Shimmer at eye level. An index finger pulled down on her eyelid, her smile went smug and her tone became mocking. She’d march and move around the cart, rock it back and forth, gesturing conversationally with her hands from crossed arms, then stop right in front of her, leaning forward towards her. “What gives, Char-char-binks? You used a tasah on this teeny-weeny and still name ME the bitch? Come ONNN. Even when I’m sloshed out my mind, you couldn’t even beat me with a knife, you sick-crazy-pink-puke-fuck. So what’s up, huh? Why all this heel-nippin’? Wanna makeout or some-shit, Chaaaaarlotte?”