Love Among Thieves

[Malkavia]

Their section of the store was rich in apparel but poor in customers—to be expected for this time of day, perhaps. The endless rows of costume and sartorial artistry hung on all sides of them like the long lines of colorful trees in a lonely forest.

"Do it better than me, huh?" Shimmerlace muttered, grinning. Do what better, pray-tell? A dozen retorts occurred to her, fine ripostes that bubbled through her gray-matter like carbon sparkling through brandy. Ya mean like playing the bitch for ol' Madsy? was the line hanging off the tip of her tongue.

Then Char-char-binks pushed her off-balance. Backhand to her jaw—and before she could catch her breath, the full name slammed into her. Knee to the gut. The rest of the shit dribbling out of Angelina was a lot of white noise as the Feychild choked on her own tongue and a blush erupted across her face, prickly as a rosebush, hot like dry ice.

CRACK!

She heard the sound before she felt the hard warmth of Angelina's snout against her forehead. She was—or had been standing with Angelina's shoulders in her clutched talons. Now Angelina was tumbling backwards over the clothes cart's side, and here was Shimmerlace, lock-jawed and glaring and heaving breaths through her nose while her mind raced to keep up. Her voice was a snarl, thicker with the seelie accent than it had ever been upon the conjurer's stage.

"Keep that fuckin' filth outta your mouth!"

[Monsy]

A bowling ball slammed against plywood. The material meant, cracked, and gave a wet squish as the moisture squeezed from the cracks. Angelina's head whipped straight back and rebounded, then hung and bobbed as involuntary struggle gave her momentary pulls to straighten herself out, then vanished. She heard incessant ringing from a timekeeper boxing ring, echoing and growing. Her nose burned like every pore was filled with a thumbtack, then she didn't smell at all nor felt it.

Groaning signalled her shaking knees, pushing forward against one side of the cart while her shoulders veered back; hips plunging with gravity before the cart tipped. Then snatched. "wHA-." The whiplash jerked her neck as her momentum stopped. Her stomach flipped inside out. Thoughts and coherence shook out her crown like a fishing line and was only slowly winding in as her shoulder-straps against her with Shimmer’s grip. A metallic taste was hitting the back of her throat as it did her upper lip. A stream of red was exiting her nostrils. She blinked quite rapidly, looking up to three pink angry fiends that were shifting in and out of focus and multiples.

“I…didn’t deserve that. What the fuck.” She said, half exhausted and half lamenting the damage to her appearance. When she reached up to plug her flow, she smacked her eye and smothered her nose tip with a palm, then dragged it into place. Two small adjustments in the cart let her knees finally sink to a less wedged position. Even so, she merely doubled up with covering her nose. “You... out of everyone I know, have some of the WORST issues. God… My fuckin' nose, yo.”

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace bent her knees. Her fists shot up. She was ready to pounce and bit and tear skin from bone the moment Angelina made the move. But she didn't, of course. She barely complained—the fuckin' cunt.

"Deserve!" Shimmerlace scoffed, lowering her fists. Her face — the one still done up with the brown wig and the makeup a shade darker than her true pallor, wore a grin. But she felt hollow while it hung on her face, practically painted on. She bent down to pick up a blouse that their tomfoolery had knocked onto the floor. "Cunt, you and I are so fuckin' far from even. You don't get to say shit about what you deserve."

Hollow, weak words. God, but she wanted to pop her again. Three, maybe four dozen times—while straddling her.

Fuck it. Fuck it. She'd already lost this skirmish—so. Fuckin' whatever. Wind under the Seelie King's wings. She huffed a breath, tossed the garment into the cart, and said in a low voice "Y'know, if we pay for this shit, like as not they'll trace it back to us. Costumes purchased near the scene of the glorious heist, mere hours before the operation, matching the description of unregistered infiltrators to you know where. Tsk." She clicked her tongue, then raised her eyes to meet Angelina's. She smiled. "But you already knew that, I reckon. A bit of shoplifting was always a part of this plan of yours, huh?"

[Monsy]

Alllllright—from violence to new topic within two seconds. Sure, she thought. Now that she’s a little uglier, Shimmerlace then backs down. Quite the fucking cunt to her measures for that aye, talking abject silliness to her ear about scales and ‘evenness’ that almost made her roll eyes. She chucked the concept of a scale straight into junk mail, but now a headache was starting to grip just picturing Shimmerlace slowly become a third wheel to her perfect dinner round 2 with the stuffy sun queen. She’d probably spike the wine with glitter and torture them with tongue twisters and Celtic lore. The evil schemes of the fae are endless.

At least it wasn’t two headbutts. Time tables needed to roll, not her brain. She sat in the cart now, nose pinched and head tipped back, taking a good moment to think it over. “Temptin', but nah—.” She said to the idea of shoplifting, then looked at Shimmer. “See these guys and gals?” Her head swivelled to the lanes back and forth, attempting to ascertain targets, giving a thumb back to one at the other end of the aisle. Regular guy, but looking into expensive items. “All of them are solo merchants on ships with no cannons or crew. What say ya take their cash crops and trade it for the lot of this—aye? Ya did learn to swipe before invitin’ yourself here, right?”

[Malkavia]

"Hah! You—" Shimmerlace thrust her best finger-gun at Angelina's blood-smeared snout. Then—Snap! went her fingers, and a white cloth appeared between thumb and forefinger. A part of her wanted to reach that one bit further and wipe Angie's poor snout herself—but some things went too far. Instead, she simply held out the cloth for the Marauder to take. "—continue to underestimate Seelie wiles, my dear duckie doo. Of course I can lift gold from ambulatory coffers little detected and less scathed."

There's that stage smile. She'd worn this kind of grin many a night, when the seats were half-filled and even the popcorn spilled in the aisle had trouble being present. The strain on the mask felt heavy, despite the familiarity.

Shimmerlace picked through clothes in their shared cart. She slipped on a pair of shoulder-length ballroom gloves and inspected their fit, flexing her fingers. "Buuuuut..."

As Shimmerlace let her sentence hang in the air like a cliffhanger, a gentleman milling by — young fellow with a tie and slightly under-tucked white Oxford — stared at Angelina's bloodied face with lurid interest. When he turned down the aisle thirty paces away, Shimmerlace pulled his wallet from her pocket and thumbed through the insides...after she had sidled up beside Angelina and turned her back to a camera high in the shop's center. Her heart pounded, standing this close to...her. Especially when our Marauder seemed so so gray. So depressed. Not in the smacking you mood.

All it meant was the inevitable backstreet cardiectomy would be a god damned jump-scare.

"...Doing such anything like fast without leaving a record on cameras for when these cunts come back whining about their missing eggs and baubles—that will take some fuckin' doing. Unless you got something for them, ey?"

[Monsy]

Seeing Shimmerlace break the ice for today felt sacrilegious after she saw the skill. One part felt tense. Her back for one. Another was just a wave of warmth from head to toe, feeling it the most in her face. She looked at her feline maid outfit and decided it her own now. A side voyage! She deserved it.

However, on the matter of this cloth... She really just expected another donation from Shimmer's infinite insanity index to LEAP annnny moment. POISON IVY TISSUE IS IT? SomeONE is GONNA like TO hear THISsssss~, thought Angelina. On the front end, a small frown developed and a scowl. If this was a peace treaty, then double ew. Though she compromised for her known truth that germy-snotty blood getting to her fingernails would give some form of disease.

On the count of three checks with her eyes, she sniped it in a twitch of her hand with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it speed that stuffed it away hidden in her fist to her lap. A second later she packed her nostrils, using the excess to wipe away what she could, then taking her finger to lick and rub her philtrum. She looked and moved like a grooming feline frustrated her fur was ruined.

"Hmph." She said when done. Using the edges of the cart, she pushed up, stood, then vaulted out to the floor. One thumb on her nose still to keep the cloth from falling out. "I do." She said, then showed her hands and squeezed them in-and-out like claws. "Hand-creamed pinchahs, twice a day, sleek and light to lift anything from a pocket." Sounding nasal, she took out the cloth packed into her nose to let herself breathe. "We're gonna raid all of these ships and use our wardrobe as the treas-ah chest." The raised brow of the pirate said it clear: trust me! It'll be fun, added from her forming smirk. "When we got enough, a nice stack, we'll move onto the second act. How about that, first mate pixie? Have thee some faith?"

[Malkavia]

Aaah, yes. She could see it now. The Kitten Madeleine imagined around the Marauder.

My kitten, my sweet golden kitten and other such piddly winks and stuffing. Did you laugh or vomit? Leave it to Madeleine to fish out the perfect word, then poison it with fuzzified bullshit.

Not that Shimmerlace betrayed her bemusement. She was careful. She kept her look still as a mountain pond as she watched Angelina stuff her nostrils with her paper capsules. Faith, huh? Angelina loved her that religious language — from her Pirate Jesus to the Captain's Creed.

She raised a two-fingered salute, then pushed off the cart and started walking backwards, away from Angelina. "Like a pilgrim." A flitting, flapping something started to rise in her chest besides the pre-show jitters and the rabbit-napping flashbacks.

Shimmerlace fell into the currents around the store, browsing the aisles, hand to her chin, humming and muttering audibly to herself. This one's too pink, that one's got an ugly silhouette — but some lovely lace. Clothes came on, then went back on the rack. She got clumsy, dropped one, swore, then bent and brushed it off. She became five times the "shopper" she'd ever been when assembling her cart of goodies...and in the process acquired three wallets from that aisle's customers.

Camouflage was half the game. Once a target's mind finds a label for a would-be thief, it starts to half-simulate the world, seeing only what it expects to see — and who in this day and age expects a pickpocket? Get them there, and then the only challenge is mere physicality. Independent fingers that can slip in and grab what needs grabbing, all while looking loose, relaxed, and without entering too directly anyone's focused line of sight. In short — just lovely, familiar street magic. Magic and—

Well. Magic and faith, right? Loath though she was to admit Angelina's point. As she filled her disguise's various pockets with ill-gotten cash, Shimmerlace found herself remembering Huan.

The fiasco. Not a fiasco, not one in a long strong of failures — no. The crowning pinnacle of shit. And why, dear self, did we slip so disastrously? she mused to herself as she asked a mark where she might find the formalwear section.

Because, my dear foolish wain, you lacked faith.

This target was a fun one: When our sleeping toddler's mother turned to point towards the suits and pencil-line skirts on aisle 7, she gave the Pixie Pirate a wide window to slip in and feel around inside her purse, her finger tips a pair of eyes that found wallet and jewelry alike. Bet she felt safe with it strapped around her shoulder, huh?

Yes, Shimmerlace had been doomed at the Huan job — not because Huan cancelled her time with the lionesses, and no, not on account of the unorthodox lock either. It was the guilt that did her in. All that buzzing should I be here? Am I doing this? Fruit flies that gave her a fever and made her slow, distractible, and half prone to self-sabotage.

As she'd trained for this encounter with Angelina, killing that part of herself had been the earliest, the principal, and the final goal. A pilgrim of the Pirate Jesus indeed.

But as Shimmerlace lifted wallet number 5 from its velvet prison, her body froze for a tenth of a second. Her blood turned icy as her eyes locked with another set below — wide, almost black eyes belonging not to a sleeping toddler at all, but to an actually rather alert child. One might even say an alarmed child. A child getting ready to shout.

Shimmerlace grinned her very widest and popped a squat in front of the kiddo. Adrenaline made her head expand with every heart-hammer, but her voice came out sweet as ever. "Aren't you just a cutie though?"

Mom craned back around, looking puzzled, then — thank God — pleased, but kiddo. He'd gone from alarmed to scowling. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

If this turned into another god forsaken Huan—

"IFFFF you don't mind, ma'am—Do ya...think our young man here might like to see a magic trick?"

[Monsy]

Above all things scurvy, this little time to herself was vitally needed. She first took the cloth to the changerooms then kept grooming her appearance. A swelling bridge filled the absence of any remaining colour. It wasn’t the worst yet. But — noticeable, stretching under the eye. Shimmah, you fuckin’ landlubber. If two black eyes manifested before Madeleine could see her preparation, then by Thatch himself was she going to hoist the red flag. Of course that didn’t happen yet. It wasn’t going to. Everything was going to be A-OK. Her gold was still sitting pretty in the bottom of that castle. The Serona date? It was going awful. Homegirl probably got a slap by this point. A rude intrusion thought harmless—punished! She was the secret tag partner. Unspoken, cue-less, predator against the clueless. The faux-brain midget, pudgy-stomached, foul-breathed, ugly-brained, insipid, decrepit, slime-clad, overweight, underskilled, four-eyed demonic wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch was STILL TOAST.

BY ORDER OF THE JOLLY PUNK ROGER.

Nevertheless, twas’ her happy hour!

It’s been soooooooooooooooo long. About six hours since her last swipe! Now being swallowed in the presence of cute dresses, fine costumes and cosplay galore? GUH. Way to put a seadog in the brig with treasure coins all around her ankles. Fortunately she owned the keys to this one, so let herself free upon the patrons. She came up with a friendly face leaning towards the side trying to grasp their attention, then gave a little spin going: “Konnichi-Nya~! Need help findin’ anythin'?” Went Angelina to just about everyone she met. She led anyone around who took her white-clothed hand hand—to their righteous coordinate where X marks the spot of course. A gentle tug of insistence against minor resistance got her a second do over, where she lauded them in something sweet about their hair, their face, their eyes or figure. She threw whatever first popped in her head, then tied it to fitting into a clothing article she saw. The back and forth continued, capping off in this merriment—a little twirl going “Woo—!” to show off the company clothes, “I think this will reaaaaally bring out ur legs. Look, it's got frills at the waist!” Then another she’d come springing in with an anime reference, drawing a little prop sword on them for a classic, “You!— Show me your devil fruit or prepare for the shadow realm.”

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.
Swipe. DOUBLE-SWIPE. Swipe. Swipe.

Just how many did Shimmer get by this point? She needed to double it. Her ship; Queen Tarrant’s Revenge, kept sailing with the flag of friendly nations to more ships and harbours. After talking to the merchants—her bust was filled with wallets and the cash in the back of her white thigh-high. Angelina grinned almost constantly feeling her headache whisk away to the sound of leather flicking open to drop another clip for the hoard. Her mouth salivated to the tune of acquiring another with a profound love of sport warming her chest throughout the whole experience. Her finger-tips tapped against her wrist, palm and pinched to hand-sign negotiations with a purse she was about to besiege. When she finished, the glow carried her mood towards the next, finding herself one in this cat maid scheme.

Now I have to buy this, Angelina thought. She could count the stack of ones, five and ten thousand yen bills down her leg and mentally guestimate the budget. It quickly departed from suits and more into fantasy creatures, anime cosplays and a couple caped crusader outfits she’ll want to show off later and get a second opinion on. When coming around the corner to another aisle, she found Shimmer, a woman and her kid stuck in a predicament. Shim—! She wanted to say and yank her from the distraction. Damn Adelaide Ditch Doofus, ah—wait. An open zipper on a purse. Live one on the hook. Now things started to make sense. If she could just check around that corner—clear. Alright. It had been long enough. Her answer to get away was behind the door the Shopkeeper left unmanned to aid a customer in the mask section. After sauntering to the door knob, it didn’t give. Locked. She could reason it would be on a shelf under the register… Or on that keychain stuck to the shopkeeper’s hip. Taking all of them would give a very short window. If she could steal one, then she can lock the door behind her. Less chance they notice it missing. But that was a coil, a latch and a lottery between them.

Passing by Shimmer, she flickered one of those ears before continuing her way to the target at hand, a Royal Navy Seamaster! Back turned, eyes averted and unprepared for what’s coming up next. Magic trick versus magic trick.

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace was three tricks in, and she didn't know whether to feel pleased or pissed. She'd collected a little ring of onlookers, all well-dressed Japanese looking types, except for one white chick with a white felt beret and indoor sunglasses. She was one of a handful who was recording the magician's performance on her phone.

"Aaaaaaight, Yojimbo. You've got a hot streak with these guesses of yours—let's hear the next one!"

Shimmerlace kneeled in front of the toddler, cards of a red-backed bicycle deck splayed out for the tyke to pick and choose from.

"Three!!"　shouted the kid in the stroller.

"Tisk tisk kiddo—a three o'what??"

"Yojimbo" squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his tiny palms to his eyes while he no doubt honed the psychic power Shimmerlace had lately awakened in his mind. Mom — thanks be to all gods of thunder and light — was the encouraging type. "It's clubs, diamonds, spades, or hearts, sweetie!" she said in Japanese.

"HEARTS! It's GOTTA be hearts!!" And he pointed at a random card, which Shimmerlace yanked from the floor. She paced around her bouquet of onlookers, the card held high. Internally, she was boiling.

This shit was a lot simpler before we were on three different cameras.

Who the fuck you suppose people will remember once they got home and notice their crap's missing?

Indeed, indeed sweet wain, but the show proceeds apace. Faith! "A TTTTTTHRRRRREEEE. OF hearts. Madam!" She stopped in front of the beret'ed woman and extended the card to her. "Would you confirm the identity of our card?"

The crowd leaned in. The woman furrowed her brow. Shimmerlace calculated the field of view of the surrounding recording types, then invisibly fished Miss Beret's wallet from her skirt—without ever taking her eyes off the card.

"Uh...it's a...Ace of clubs?"

Shimmerlace snatched the card out of her hand, then scowled at the number. Indeed! It was an ace of clubs. She glanced once, twice in quick succession to Yojimbo junior the III, lord of all cards and their predicted suits. He showed his displeasure in a deep fround that made his face trend...a touch demonic. Shimmerlace sighed

"Eeeeech...Sorry kiddo. Sooooometimes the magic needs a wee—kick to get goin' proper. A kick and some magic words. Magic words are required, you know. Magicians' union rules."

Shimmerlace made a show of rolling up her sleeves before "blowing" magic off her fingertips. Then she flicked the troublesome ace of clubs with her index and middle fingers, blew on the card, and uttered "TRIPADEE—LOO!" And before the young gentleman's eyes, the card seemed to transform midair. Blink and you miss it—from black to red in a hare's breath.

"Whoa!!" Jimbo-lee here was close to falling out of his stroller as he leaned out from his belt. "Lemme see, lemme see!" He reached out and grabbed for the card, which Shimmerlace, stepping forward and squatting, happily let him hold. It was, after all, only an ordinary three of hearts. Applause spattered from the crowd. As Shimmerlace stood up, she realized the crowd had thickened yet further. There were three new onlookers—three people whose wallets were yet unsnatched.

Pacing away from Yo-small-fry-bimjo, Shimmerlace shuffled the deck-minus-three-of-hearts once, then twice, as she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Tsk tsk. Suuuuure, of course ye can see, your royal majesty. Though! I do have one serious complaint mister!" She sighed, shaking her head as she placed the deck face down on the floor. With one quick movement, she fanned the cards across the tile, then flipped the whole deck in a wave with a tilt of her palm.

...And it was nothing but three's of hearts all the way across. Someone behind Shimmerlace gasped, then laughed. Something something sugoi. As for the wee boy in the stroller, he'd completely forgotten about any wallets he may or may not have seen nicked—what was a wallet to a five year old anyhow, and he was focused on the magic of playing cards. "Look what you and your powers did to my deck! How rude can ya get, huh?!" In her final bit of fun, Shimmerlace sighed and picked up the whole deck of cards. Then she shuffled, rolled the deck over her knuckles, then arm, then shoulder to the other waiting hand, and finally slammed the deck into Jimbotronica's lap.

"Well. A deck of nothing but hearts o' three isn't much good to me. TELL YA WHAT, my wee young master. Why don't you use your magic words to put that deck back in order, and I'll let ya keep it?"

Jimbo's jaw dropped. "KEEP IT??" Kiddo wasn't used to getting gifts it seemed.

"Indeed, but you gotta fix the deck your broke first, doofus!"

"HMMM. OK..." The child screwed up his eyes and scowled at the deck. Then—wapow! His little palm slammed the top card. "Bazam! I...order you to be fixed!"

"AWESOME awesome. Alright, let's—"

"SSSH." Yojimbo met Shimmer's eyes and put a finger to his lips. "It's not...fixed yet. BAZZZZAM. Bazzam! Bam!" He slammed his hands onto the deck three more times. Slap, slap, slap! Then he held up one finger in the universal gesture of WAIT JUST A SECOND before throwing his hands into the air and making noises Shimmerlace associated with T-Rexes but might in fact have been anything from space ship to lightning noises. "PPPPPPPPT...NEEEOOWWWWWW....KAPOW! POW POW POW!"

On the last pow, mercifully, the deck toppled over, revealing the black and red shapes of a fully ordered deck. The kid pointed, his eyes bulging with excitement. "THERE! I fixed it! See?! Mommy look—"

And as our Jyobimo dug through the deck, sure enough. Every card was back in place, from the dour black king of spades to the lowly and unassuming two of clubs. Indeed, though Yojimbo lacked the wherewithal to notice, an older audience member might have noticed the deck was put in ascending order, with the jokers on the bottom.

An appreciative hum made the rounds in the small circle of thieving victims. Shimmerlace gave a light bow to signal the end of her performance. The applause intensified. It was a funny thing, Shimmerlace reflected as she looked up and met each onlooker's eyes. She'd pulled a wallet or bit of jewelry off almost each one of these fuckers—and yet! Their applause still filled her chest with a special kind of warmth. This was what she missed. Why couldn't wrestling fans be like this?

As the congratulations simmered down, Shimmerlace stowed her cards and other magical effects, just about to slip away with her ill-gotten wealth hidden across her outfit. Unfortunately for her, however, that was when Joybimbo's Mommy Dearest over here decided the magician deserved a tip.

"We have to give you something, Miss. What kind of parent would I be for my boy here if I didn't? See, Kenji, it's important to support artists who bring you joy."

No no no, insisted Shimmerlace, she would accept no such thing, not for an audience as wonderful as Jimbolo The Enlightened over here, but Mom insisted and went clawing into her purse.

Which of course wasn't there.

Confusing at first. Then frustrating, then frightening. And then she was angry. And as she began to show her consternation, other members of the ring started checking for their valuables.

Shimmerlace, lined ankle to neck in hidden valuables, felt her skin turn numb and cold as marble. No one had accused her just yet, but how long would that last? And after, if they searched her—

Huan again. With Angelina just a few aisles down, like as not. And this time you're on goddam film.

Shimmerlace, in her brunette wig and business casual suit, thought fast.

Shimmerlace dug into her own beige purse.

"Shit..." she breathed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Mine's gone too!"

[Monsy]

Angelina first checked her corners when approaching through quick glances. Diagonally from her shoulder on the left, a camera pointed at them from over the clothing racks. Just judging by the height of these racks, the thick articles to obstruct the view. There could be, for a few moments, a window if she tucked herself behind the shopkeeper, faced the items, then shuffled through. "Oohh." She went to a long set of artsy robes, then a long gothic dress before a sailor moon cosplay.

In her other hand going back, she fished for a keychain clip. Through second long glances, she got her finger behind the chain then put her finger into the clip latch, pushing it open, then nearly getting it free till--

The shopkeeper turned. Angelina's hand same off easy enough, but her progress was reset.

Angelina didn't move, but refused and doubled her efforts to sift through clothing, feigning deep interest into the linens and 'craftsmanship' of some cheap pirate outfit. The Shopkeeper exchanged some last words with a customer, then turned around. Angelina kneeled on the spot, extended her leg back across the floor with a low angle. The shopkeeper fell, thank goodness, so Angelina dived back to slide underneath them, absorbing the weight with a contained "Gck-." Closed-mouth breath puff. It made her feel a little off, somewhat nauseated, but that passed quickly.

"Oh my-. Are you alright?" Goes the shop-keeper, rising up on hands and knees. The weight off was nice, but more importantly was locking eyes with them, then keeping their attention.

"Don't worry about me. Are YOU ok?" Angelina rolls to her side, bringing her hand down, then pushing up.
"Yes-yes. I should be more aware. Here, let me." The next thing Angelina felt was a tug under her pits to upright.

"You pick up women often?" Said Angelina with a head dabbing the back of her head, forcing a wince and complimentary chuckle from the keeper. "No, no not usually haha." She said, then Angelina replied, "Well you're a total natural. Just a bit dizzy here." Angelina pushed up with the Shopkeeper who placed hands on her outer-shoulders to stabilize. So, Angelina put a wiggle in her knee and grabbed right back. Her eyes shifted to not give clear sight into them. The Shopkeeper instead took upon themself to comb the back of Angelina's head checking for any red that was a little too runny.

"I'm good, I'm good. Really. Just a tiny bump." Said Angelina, who noticeably leaned towards one side to extract more stability from the lovely keeper of keys. Throughout this wellness check, Angelina already unfastened the coil from the clip, facing a sea of labelled keys in her hand. Using the gaps of her fingers, she sifted through them taking only momentary glances while both arms wrapped around them. She continued to lean one way, prompting her to be pulled in and held up.

"You sure you don't need to sit?"

Angelina didn't respond fully, just stalled her sentence, "Mmmaayy..." Using a nail, she parted the key bearing the same logo of the lock on the door. She fed it through one end, then turned and turned the coil till free. The only thing left? Return the keys to their clip by a simple push on the latch. "--Be not!" Finished Angelina, who re-balanced herself and showed her paws, gave them a spin then bared claws at them, key slipping down her wrist. "Whaddaya think?"

"I think..." A pause, probably to keep up the series of events together. "It's beautiful." She nodded.

Angelina smiled wide and true, "Ya really think so?" with formed prayer hands. The Shopkeeper nodded. Angelina straightened her posture, then bowed slightly, "Mushiwake Arimasen! For my negligence." Was that right? Probably. Her little Japanese handbook wasn't quite here for quick reference. The Shopkeeper lifted her hands and looked gracious yet seemingly small anxiety. "You're more than fine. It's just a little accident--."

"Shit..."
"Mine's gone too!"

Angelina’s head turned, idly thinking. “Then was it gomen nasai?” The pair of them moved on without another word, looking in the general noise direction. Angelina pointed to it with a silent nuanced question: gotta go, right? The Shopkeeper put hands near Angelina to check her again, but retracted, gave her head two pats, then suggested a sale before striding towards the commotion.

Angelina merely stood where she left, then went the opposite direction towards the cart. The Shopkeeper instead moved into the main aisle to witness the net of patrons gathering. “What is going on??” Said the Shopkeeper coming into the crowd, weaving past them with spread arms to keep their disgruntled faces at bay. Her eyes met Shimmer’s with concern, the mother, Kenji, then the rest of them who were checking their pockets. Meanwhile Angelina filled up her gut and bust with all the wallets accrued to then casually approach the back room door, spot in the key, then hide away out of sight.