Smash and Grab

[Malkavia]

”Mhm, mhm…” Shimmerlace nodded. Of course, she knew all about signal jammers—or would, later, after she’d given wikipedia a skim. And anyway, the name seemed pretty self-explanatory. Any misgiving she had about already pretending, already nodding where she should have squinted—she folded that darkling colour up with magician’s fingers, like an origami stork, and stuffed it into one of her many corked, glass bottles.

”You’re askin’ if I can lay hands on costumes?” Another flick of chopsticks delivered another morsel to Shimmer’s mouth. She chewed, savoured, and gesticulated with the eating implements. ”The fuck you think you’re talkin’ to, hm? Our Court’s the very progenitor of shift-shapin’ an’ skin-meltin’…” She glanced at Angelina, huffed, scarfed her last dumpling. ”Look cunt, I’ll have a disguise, aight?”

A sudden thought occurred: Would Googling “signal jammer” produce some kind of digital trail the authorities could follow to her? The outlines of “the authorities” had grown steadily more solid as the details of this operation cemented in the van’s shared atmosphere, and by now the image of Japanese police officers formed a solid walnut-sized worry in Shimmer’s gut. Mayhaps asking Madeleine about signal jammers would be safer. Though, that expanded the number of potential snitches in the conspiracy…

Shimmerlace placed her chopsticks delicately on her plate, parallel with her belly, and then set the plate on the handrest between herself and the Marauder. Breathe in, breathe out. If the stage had taught her anything, it was that anxiety and preparedness were not partners but rivals. She scanned the now-crowded streets outside, filled by the thousands with anonymous faces. Something she had discovered this week, as she searched for Angelina, was that once a crowd reaches a certain mass, it becomes almost as private as rain, tree branches, or nighttime darkness.

”Say Angie,” she cut in, drumming her fingers on the door panel. ”About my visit. With you know who. I imagine you’ll wanna supervise, yeah?” Shimmerlace became suddenly conscious of a wad of pork from the dumpling, which had lodged itself between two front molars. She used her pinkie to pick at it. ”Maybe we could make a trip of it, ey? You could eh. Show me and the rabbit what urban explorin’s all about.”

[Monsy]

“Beautiful.”

Said Angelina, quick as you like after Shimmer assured her. One glance over and she should’ve realised that already. Trusting was a difficult issue, though. This is the same chick that left a fat one across your gut. She gouged your eyes, cracked you on the skull. The trust predicated on the fact about handling whatever the fairy tossed, the noose of the rabbit being pulled taut. Yet any trouble that might arise was in different leagues than in the ring. New dimensions of shit with way harder consequences. She would’ve liked to vet her more. But. It was too far along for that now. The scent of gold kept her tied over the risks.

“Yeah?” She played with the stick now it’s free, letting the points sit between her index fingertips. “Tell ya what, yo. You hold that thought. Come up with an idea, two or three on where ya might wanna check out. Then when this is done, clean, we’ll make it happen. Cool?”

[Malkavia]

Easy as that, ey? Aye, super cool. The Tokyo horizon reflected liquid and platinum in Shimmer’s eyes. If this cunt actually came through, then escapades through the city’s towers would expose many opportunities; the labyrinth of people and steel and glass offered rabbit-nabbing possibilities in endless, gleaming arrays…Though. Maybe that could come on the second or even third trip. First time out, they’d go somewhere fun. She wasn’t sure where—only it’d have to be tall. That was important. Not just tall, but taller. Taller than any previous conquest of the Scarlet Terror.

Shimmerlace drifted through the rest of their meeting, her mind far off on clouds shaped like rabbits and horns and temple roofs. When she dropped Angelina off on a sidewalk, she barely registered the address.



A week passed. Costumes were assembled, modeled, updated. Wikipedia was skimmed, floorplans etched into her mind. Time slithered by. Slingshot drills with Eleanor. A leak in her apartment's toilet and 2am maintenance. On and on.

And then, suddenly, here they were, getting out of the van in the nook of a public parking deck beside a library closed for construction. A long, black wig, a pair of false rimless glasses, a grey baseball cap, khaki pants, a lanyard and a name she realized too late sounded strange—Tanya Citronelle—all wrapped her up in the skin of an installation technician for VectorNet.

People contract for private internet connections all the time. That was the argument. No one would bat an eye at a pair of technicians pushing a cart full of electrical equipment. They'd be invisible.

That was the fact, but the fey gut said Tanya's skin felt thin. Less skin, more paper, like the shed detritus of a molting lizard still clinging to its host. As Shimmerlace lifted the cart out of the van’s trunk, her hands were shaking. Huan’s apartment building loomed only a block away; she could see it in her peripheral vision, with its yawning rows of glass cubicles, staring down at her.

Big breath. Angelina was right there. Right there. No doubt watching her. No doubt ready to cut and run if she judged her Seelie companion was on the brink of bitching out. Shimmerlace stared at her hands, willing them to go still. Big fucking breath. She took it through her nose and let it out slowly, and just as slowly, her hands went still.

[Monsy]

One week was perfect. Well, almost not. Having to DIY up a jammer was crap, then having to test it out and fix so nothin fumbled come today. It needed to be optimal, enough to get them through that door but not cause much disturbance around anywhere but that. When fully rigged and fitted, it looked like a 90s cell phone that left a great bulge on her side pocket with an antenna peeking out, but, who would guess that to be anything but a radio? The rest of her time was spent studying, then getting back into more rigorous climbing as her side cleared up. Day in and day out. Study, rehearse, then train.

On the day, she was fluent and focused from the moment she got in the van and then out. Her hair was brown, tied up into a bun, as well as ditching the horns. Her wear was mostly identical except for the glasses and baseball cap, and her name tag was coined Lindsey Baker.

Standing on the opposite side of the cart, Angelina looked onto her prize with a hand shading her eyes. This building was a total sun mirror. Thank god it was already past midday to have the sun face the far side. Still no lower balconies, though. That was one emergency escape scraped. “Unda’ thirty minutes would be optimal. I know ya said two to six, but -- we’re professionals. We can do bettah. Aye.” She smiled, tapping the cart handle twice for Shim’s attention. “You’re a thief now. Try to smile like one.”

Onward they went. The opening minutes are easy, where the gas starts to pump, pushing you forward with a deep breath and thrill. Her ears are filled with chatter that carries far and beyond past the glass doors. The foyer is an L-shaped castle of marble, grey carpet and glass. The red leather seats are nicely tucked around a wooden circular table with a vase and pink flowers, positioned right near a brown electric fireplace that had a painting of crashing waves. The receptionist’s desk was just beyond that, and they granted a courteous nod before asking if they needed help with the elevator and their equipment. “Ya gotta do what ya gotta do, ya?” Angelina gives a courteous answer to her accomplice and a nod, then, with a slight mutter to start, she said, “No, thank you. We got it.” To the receptionist.

Not that they’d stay for them to insist, having already entered the elevator. Angelina sighed, took a breath and tilted her head up, smiling whilst rubbing her nose bridge. “Courtesy, huh?” Her head tilted and turned to Shimmer, casual and calm like a pair of friends, thick as thieves. “Maybe ya should pick ya moments to spill those deets… eh, a little bettah? Tanya.” She cracked a small laugh, “Cloggin’ toilets? Really? You’re unbelievable.”

Now comes the marathon. Inside this little metal cocoon, with that oily plastic laminate and stainless steel staring back at you. She leans back the commercial guardrail, then chews up the time by closing her eyes, imagining it all going well and how that might feel. The metal ding came sooner than expected and they’d be out the other side, staring down two modernistic hallways, one shorter and one longer. The shorter way had noise coming not too far out. Feet shuffling and some faint sounds she assumed to be some snobbish kid. It had a way of carrying through the hall. Not there. Turn left and it was another straight shot, leading on to a single door. She stayed behind the cart, if not to catch a quick glance at the camera that looked to have a straight shot where they were heading. But. The door was on the side, a little ways in beyond the wall’s lip. It didn’t provide enough cover to stand behind on its own, but, with Angelina wedging herself between the cam and Shimmer by leaning on the wall, it should be just enough.

“You’re up.” Angelina said, then knocking on the door and mimicking a buzz on the home security system. With her other hand, she reached into her pocket and turned the jammer on. “Miss Brightspring? It’s Vector Net here for home installation.”

[Malkavia]

You’re a thief now, smile like one. Angelina caught her eye, and it took a heartbeat or three, but smile she did, sly and bright.

Thief then. A thrust of the wrist drew the maître-bolt multi-pick from her sleeve and into her fingers. She thumbed the tool for the job, a metal strip five inches long with jagged teeth. A rake. Lockpicking had gotten into the fairy’s blood years ago when she made escape artistry part of the repertoire; since her time in the gibbet, the Seelie Scion had taken to practically sleeping with this tool, and it felt right at home between thumb and index finger.

Thief, thief. What did it feel like being a thief? The rake slid smoothly into the keyway until she felt the pins bump against the teeth, one by one. Lovely. This business with locks was like sex—get inside, find the loose levers, apply the right technique. Squeeze. Push. Suggest. Whisper. A shiver, and the whole device opens up.

If lockpicking was sex, though, then a rake was a rough fuck. You just shoved in an out, quick and random, and the pins hit their shearline by the Glinting Glamour’s own random chance, and—

Nothing. The pins hopped and shook, the rake rutted in and out. But the lock held. Cold. Unimpressed. After several seconds, Shimmerlace froze. If raking had been going to work… With a heartbeat’s hesitation, she withdrew the lockpick from the keyway.

”Um…”

She stared at the shining, round, brass face of the lock. It gleamed at her, taunting, while Angelina loomed over her shoulder, and beyond her—the Authorities. Shimmer's tongue felt like sand in her mouth.

[Monsy]

It looked fine from then on. No hitch from staff nor a prying eye of any privileged sap. They were clear. And with Angelina standing to shroud what Shimmer’s hands were doing, well, it just seemed like they could make this team work. Though, time went on. As it always does. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. She watched Shimmer wiggle it around, trying but ultimately coming up short. The sigh couldn’t leave her quicker. A pinch developed in her throat. She bit her tongue, not too hard, but hurting enough to relieve stress. Sucking wasn’t part of their deal.

“Time doesn't flow backwards, dorkstick. If ya can’t do it, then hand it ovah.”

Her hand gave Shimmer's shoulder a swat, then held out with her palm up. A small lifeline to call it quits. No hard feelings about it. She just had one brow raised and a plain look. One not so amused.

[Malkavia]

The rake hovered inches from the keyhole. The fairy’s back hunched, her eyes and the rest of her frozen. She’d tested this. She’d tested it with this exact model. But then, a penthouse would have something custom—

Angelina’s swat made her flinch. She didn’t trust her mouth, so she let her shoulder do the talking, half shrugged, half shoved Angelina off, and swapped a rake for a hook. Stiff, she held a finger to her lips. She’d need to hear for this.

First, she reinserted one prong of Z-shaped tension wrench and applied a constant low push to nudge the deadbolt around. Then—the hook. One little silver finger slipped inside, prying gently. Very gently. Get rough and the pin binds, the works gum up like glue. But if you’re sensitive and listen—

Tick tock tick tock, clickety-clackety-tick-a-dick my dear. How long could they stand here before someone took notice? Or had they already caught some fat security guard’s attention?

Liiiiisten. Shimmerlace squeezed her toes while sweat soaked her back, but one by one, the pins…clicked. Tiny little bell-strikes of satisfaction. This kind of slow seduction took much longer than either thief could stand, but in the end the lock gave up, the bolt turned, the door opened, and Shimmerlace kept her cool just long enough to slip inside out of camera’s sight before melting to a shivering seat with her back to a wall.

[Monsy]

Defiance was better than excuses. Anything was better than a fucking excuse at that moment. Come all this way, do all that talk, get her faith and only to bust when you underestimated the job and yourself. She’s stuck between biting her tongue and just shoving her aside. Working with someone always had this sort of nagging frustration. Say it led to many solo ‘group’ projects in school. That bit never left. But she stomached it, wanting to see this Scion pull some magic. She pretended to buzz again, if only to appease the camera to their backs. “Miss Brightspring? It’s VectorNet.”

Angelina waited on Lindsay’s dime. Security shouldn’t be a problem YET. What Tanya was up to could be ignored too. For a time, if they masked it just a little. How long that was debatable. They might have an emergency out if a security guard really came, using their alias and quick wit. Would that work, though? Ngh. It had her rubbing her eyes, dragging a thumb and middle finger down around her cheek bones before…

Click. Hoo-

Angelina’s hand snapped onto the cart and she pushed it in, then shut the door behind her, slowly. “Alright, fuck. Control panel.” She reached into the stuff they had, a neat little black knapsack tucked between a bunch of ethernet cables, opening up the frontmost pouch and taking two sets of black latex gloves, tossing Shimmer a pair before donning her own. “Control panel, control panel, control panel.”

"If I was a little bitch that went wee woo, where would I hide?" She marched around, opening little doors, climbing counters and going beyond corners. The place was unbelievably open. You had a small hall, then you looked right for a big open kitchen with a crystal island. There’s roof-high windows on two sides, taking a step down to have this massive set of furniture. A giant flatscreen was hung on a jagged stone wall, over a fireplace with a black mantel. One way you had another hall, some paintings, a loft with glass railings then another hall the opposite way. Both the living room and that latter hall opened up to a deck with lawn chairs, tables -- this open view of whatever-the-fuck, she was busy. She eventually found the laundry room where that stupid little box was sitting on a shelf near a small circuit breaker box. She ripped off its front face, disconnected its back-up battery and then the outlet. Only then did she relax, coming back to Shim, using the rectangular box as some old fashion camera. “Say Cheese. Fffttt.” She pinched the air and wagged the imaginary photo, looking at it with pursed lips, “Yep. That’s a keepah.” Then, having chucked the box onto one of the sofas, she went over to the island’s fruit bowl, picked up a macintosh apple then underhand tossed it at Shimmer. “How does it feel? Ya are now officially a bonafide burglah.”

[Malkavia]

Click.

The door slid shut. Shimmerlace pushed her back, hard, against the wall. Breathed. Let her skin run cold, felt the rough heat from her core leak out of her pores. A moment later, the alarm went quiet, which finally saw the kinks in her back unspool. One last long breath out settled her nerves—just as a Macintosh apple bounced off her forehead.

”Fuckin—Ow!" She flinched, knees curling up and in as she rubbed the site of impact. ”Swill a dick Angie…” The apple bounced off the hardwood floor and rolled. The Feychild leaned forward to catch it. Her hand still shook as she picked it up, but she steadied as she brushed off the dust, paused, then...

Crunch. Shimmerlace smacked her lips, narrowed her eyes, let the tart wash of pulp and juice roll over her tongue. Delicious.

After a pause, the Scion spoke without looking at her partner. ”Hooooow's it feel, how's it feel...Mmm, Well! I’d say. The chief feeling your Maîtresse here’s experiencing…” The transition into pink came with the kip to her feet. Her back went arch, her free hand settled on her hip. She marched in an arc through the wide-open luxury glinting in natural light. She became an admiral inspecting her ship. Crunch. And chew. ”...Is that of a pleasantly whetted appetite.”

The fairy sidled to the island and found a glass bird filled with a blue fluid. She turned the stormglass barometer over in her quick magician’s fingers. She frowned with faux-serious concentration, brow knitted as she studied the trinket. ”I propose a game, captain! Keep. Or Trash. This…” The bird came to a sudden stop, held taut between index finger and thumb. Then—a flick. Crack. Glass tinkled and blue liquid spilled on the wood. ”...Mmm. Decidedly rubbish.”

[Monsy]

Now everything seemed alright and perfect. Alarm was done and gone, and now they’ve gone pleasantly into the best part. Shopping at the owner’s full expense. She too enjoyed an apple, leaning against the island as Shim played around with an innocent glass bird. It had a face that peered in her soul, a little too hard perhaps, and she watched it fall over another bite of her apple. Then, with a full mouth, she pointed at Shimmer. “Ya break it, ya take it.”

The scent of gold guided her away, off towards the living area which was open and laid the scenes bare like a book’s table of contents. “I don’t know what’s up with this place. It’s so clean!” Angelina skipped off, running up the steps into the loft, glancing at paintings far too big to stow, then off again into a bedroom.

“I was expecting something like an after party mess or some smelly shorts laying around. She’s a gym rat, ain’t she? -- Ah, here’s somethin. No way!--SHIT!” The sound of something metal hit the ground, then a crackle of glass. “Aight, I got it.” Angelina came back around, carrying a shattered picture frame in one hand that turned into a jigsaw puzzle. But in her other hand -- a beat-up, shabby board, held by its tail. The art was almost unrecognisable, just a hodgepodge of black smudges, exposed wood and a streak-addled white tail, worn down to a razor. The trucks looked like chipped teeth, rusted and didn’t have much wiggle left, and the wheels resembled chewed up softballs after Harlow the pitbull had ten minutes of play time. Still. “It might look like shit. But, allow me to introduce exhibit A.” Placing the frame down on the island, which housed a picture of our Huan skating what loosely resembled this deck, but less worn. Then she tapped the board’s tail. “And exhibit B. Signed by the grandpappy of street skating himself, Rodney Mullen. What say my first mate?”