Tiffany's & Co.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

So maybe there were other things to do at work besides goof off with Bill. Like work, for instance. But Madeleine was the last person you could accuse of being a workaholic. She loved her job for its flexibility and creative freedom, not for the hell weeks and bratty dancers. And maybe working wasn’t totally boring. After all, they were putting up the Nutcracker next week. But messing with Ortiz wasn’t the same as messing with Bill. Bill messed back without docking her pay. He understood the meaning of “fun”. And lately, that’s all the Opera House was missing. Fun.

“I could say the same about my life without the opera house in it… But I had to take a break.”

Madeleine nodded. She’d done her fair share of break-taking. She’d handed in her resignation notice about a zillion times, but always found her way back before someone could replace her permanently. The Palais Garnier wasn’t exactly a stress-free zone.

“So what brings you to Tiffany’s today? Last minute Christmas shopping? Because, I’m there, too. Join the club, love. You’re in good company.”

“I wish!” Madeleine laughed dryly. Then, realizing she was about to go on a bitter rant about her failed engagement, she bit her lip. “I mean… Hanukkah. I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas. But… yeah. I guess you could say I’m giving somebody a present from here.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“I wish! I mean… Hanukkah. I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas. But… yeah. I guess you could say I’m giving somebody a present from here.”

Bill felt like a bloody moron. He just assumed she celebrated Christmas. Why? Because he celebrated Christmas. “I’m sorry for the mistake, Mad.” He said sincerely. “Hanukkah’s eight days, correct? Because I want to get you a gift for every day of Hanukkah.” One, because he missed this woman beyond believe or healthy measures, but two, because she deserved one gift for every day of Hanukkah. And every day, really, but Bill wasn’t that rich. Hell, he wasn’t rich at all, really. But seven extra gifts was definitely a do-able amount. Damien would get jealous, of course, but he could deal. Bill was being sensitive to another religion. Damien would understand, certainly.

Bill leaned into the glass display case once more. A woman screamed form behind the counter. “Monsieur! What are you doing? Don’t touch the display.”

The woman was blonde and yelling and French. And all Bill saw was that same beautiful face on her that kept creeping into his dreams.

“Ah, f*ck off, Victorine.” He said and quickly put a hand to his mouth, realising his mistake. “I mean… sh*t. I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll just… I’ll just get off your display thing now…” He bit his lip and offered a sideways glance to Madeleine. “I’m… Sorry.”

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Okay, so this was her first Hanukkah ever. It felt good to detach from Christmas traditions she associated with the old her life: the one where she was Catholic and engaged and working two jobs. Plus, it gave her a way to cover up her slip. She was not going to tell Bill she was returning an engagement ring.

“I’m sorry for the mistake, Mad.” He said sincerely. “Hanukkah’s eight days, correct? Because I want to get you a gift for every day of Hanukkah.”

“You really don’t have to do that—“

Bill leaned against a display case, only to bring over Blondie McHarpie from the other side of the register. The blonde salesclerk looked like she was about to sprout talons and feathers and start foaming at the mouth.

“Monsieur! What are you doing? Don’t touch the display.”

“Ah, f*ck off, Victorine.” He said and quickly put a hand to his mouth, realising his mistake. “I mean… sh*t. I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll just… I’ll just get off your display thing now…” He bit his lip and offered a sideways glance to Madeleine. “I’m… Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not me you’re telling to f*ck off,” she said, folding her arms. “But I am curious… Why do you hate my prima so much? I mean, yeah, she’s a standoffish ice queen and all, but… Now you’ve got me curious.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

“Hey, it’s not me you’re telling to f*ck off,” she said, folding her arms. “But I am curious… Why do you hate my prima so much? I mean, yeah, she’s a standoffish ice queen and all, but… Now you’ve got me curious.”

“I don’t hate your prima.” Bill corrected her, running a hand through his curly chestnut hair. “The exact opposite actually.” Bill didn’t want to do this. Not today. All he wanted was to get his watch fixed and go home. He didn’t need this. Not now. “We dated, actually, for…” Bill let out a stream of hot air. “Collectively, four years. At first things were great, you know? And I mean really, really great.” Bill got images, snapshot memories in a black and white and sepia of Victorine in his T-shirt after an all-night rendezvous, Victorine against the wash of the morning light creeping into Bill’s window, of Victorine beaming up at him from the leather seat of his car, Victorine playing with his hair and telling him how much she loved him. But, like all good things, it came to an end, and those pictures burned and were ripped apart.

“I asked her to marry me. She said no. Until I asked her a second time. She said yes, then. I was convinced we were going to be together forever, you know? I thought we were going to raise a family in Paris and vacation in Wiltshire. And then she came up to me and said ‘William, I don’t want to marry you. It was great when we were dating, but I really just kept you around for the sex and not much else.’ And gave me back the ring. Okay, well, I paraphrased. But anyways, I moved on, or tried. But I really loved her. So much. To the point where I was offered better jobs in other countries, but I took the one here because she was here and I just… I just didn’t feel whole without her. We got back together, broke up, got back together and I woke up to an empty house, we got back together, and we’re not together anymore… She just… drives me batty now. I’ve wasted my best years on her. I could be in a good, stable relationship with someone now. Hell, I could be a parent or something. But I’ll never know because she f*cked me up too much.”

Bill could have continued. Bill could have told her about the Valium and the ring he still kept. “And that’s to make a long story short. Just… please… don’t fire her or anything. She may be a lot of bad things, but a bad dancer is not one of them.”

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine was a gossip hound. She often turned a blind eye to her dancers as they whispered about who was sleeping with who; she seldom turned a deaf ear. People were fascinating. Stories got blown out of proportion. It was the adult version of a slumber party game where you whispered one thing to someone and by the time your measly sentence returned to you, it was so garbled and bastardized everyone had a good laugh. The fact that Bill was cursing the Garnier’s prima ballerina to the high heavens was just the sort of fodder one poured into the rumor mill.

“I don’t hate your prima.” Madeleine was unconvinced. Bill ran his hand through his hair. “The exact opposite actually. We dated, actually, for…” Bill let out a stream of hot air. “Collectively, four years. At first things were great, you know? And I mean really, really great. I asked her to marry me. She said no. Until I asked her a second time. She said yes, then. I was convinced we were going to be together forever, you know? I thought we were going to raise a family in Paris and vacation in Wiltshire. And then she came up to me and said ‘William, I don’t want to marry you. It was great when we were dating, but I really just kept you around for the sex and not much else.’ And gave me back the ring. Okay, well, I paraphrased. But anyways, I moved on, or tried. But I really loved her. So much. To the point where I was offered better jobs in other countries, but I took the one here because she was here and I just… I just didn’t feel whole without her. We got back together, broke up, got back together and I woke up to an empty house, we got back together, and we’re not together anymore… She just… drives me batty now. I’ve wasted my best years on her. I could be in a good, stable relationship with someone now. Hell, I could be a parent or something. But I’ll never know because she f*cked me up too much.”

Part way through, Victorine became Myron. Part way through, Bill became Madeleine. Sure, the break up situations were different, but Christ, did she understand. Trying to move on after wasting the best years of your life on someone. Realizing that if things had been a teensy bit different, you could be a mother, like, four times over driving a mini-van and spearheading the PTA’s campaign for new playground equipment. Yikes. Scary bit aside, it hurt. It was like being hit by someone else’s mini-van, not dying, and then having that mini-van thrown into reverse to hit you again and you still didn’t die. Yikes. So it was all scary. The first half was just easier to be amusing about. The second involved becoming living road kill, scraping up your guts off the pavement while you watched what you considered to be the love of your life driving off in a minivan without you. Madeleine felt sick. No matter how many minivans she distracted herself with, the fact remained: Bill hit too close to home on this one. She still had an engagement ring to return today.

At least no one ever told me they were just in it for the sex, Madeleine comforted herself. Although, that wasn’t even true. Myron just hadn’t said that. Plenty of other men had. She wondered if Bill was any good in bed, if he, too, was being whored out for free. She wasn’t about to find out. He was as screwed up in the head as she was. Maybe more. He was a guy, standing here and lamenting lost love. It was the equivalent of neutering in Madeleine’s mind , for a guy to put too much emotional significance to sex. Guys weren’t wired like that. Women were the ones who came up with terms like “making love”. Guys called a spade a spade, y’know? Real guys. Real men. She wasn’t—of course she wasn’t—going to tell Bill he’d just entrenched himself in her friend zone. Since, well, what guy wanted to hear that? Especially after pouring his heart out? That’d be like asking, “You want some salt on that wound, Billy-boy?” in some cutesy voice.

“And that’s to make a long story short. Just… please… don’t fire her or anything. She may be a lot of bad things, but a bad dancer is not one of them.”

“Yeah,” Madeleine said quietly. “Trust me, I’d be the last one to fire a b*tch for leaving her fiancé, even if the fiancé is one hell of a guy.”

Maybe she was the Victorine and Myron was the Bill in all this. Maybe Madeleine was the adulteress.

You didn’t cheat on him, Madeleine thought. You hooked up with Valter when you thought Myron was dead. And then when he pulled a Lazarus, you just didn’t stick around. Can’t blame you for that. It’s not like Bill abandoned Victorine. Not like you abandoned Myron. You two were the abandoned.

All this rationalizing hurt her head. She was going to down a bottle of wine the second she got home.

Which reminded her that she still had to return the engagement ring before she could get ridiculously drunk.

“Seriously, though,” she said, clearing her throat. “I couldn’t fire her if I wanted to. You know Ortiz. Iron fist and all that.”

She half smiled, but it was weak. God, what would Bill think if he knew she was returning an engagement ring? It didn’t matter that they were a pair of abandoned, lovesick fools. He’d just see a woman fleeing a seemingly ideal lovematch. And he’d hate her. Now would be a good time to point out the window and say, “Jesus, what IS that thing?!??!” and rush up to the counter while Bill was distracted.

“I’m… Sorry I asked,” she said.

This time, she meant exactly that. She was really, really sorry she ever asked. She might as well have lashed herself to a display case and begged for Bill to pour salt into both their open wounds.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

There was a moment in which Bill regretted spilling that much in this public a place. The bottom of his stomach fell out and hit the pristine floor beneath them. Talking out what happened with Victorine made it more real, a nearly tangible thought that tumbled around his brain and heart.
He sucked his teeth as if it would help to slow his heartbeat. If only he could smoke indoors. He pulled at a spot on his ear, the repetitive motion massaging some sort of calm into his worried, knotted up thoughts.

“Yeah,” Madeleine said quietly. “Trust me, I’d be the last one to fire a b*tch for leaving her fiancé, even if the fiancé is one hell of a guy.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes with a dismissing, modest scoff. She was sweet, but he didn’t need an ego stroke right now. What he needed was to get his watch fixed.

There was another silence before Madeleine spoke again, which was spent with Bill looking at his shoes and around the opulent store as if his eyes and Madeleine’s were two like pole repelling each other.

“Seriously, though,” she said, clearing her throat. “I couldn’t fire her if I wanted to. You know Ortiz. Iron fist and all that.”

Bill gave a half-hearted laugh, looking at her for a moment before looking again at the chandelier hanging above them. Was that glass or crystal? The question was one he pondered to distract himself from the awkwardness. He wondered what the expense was to have one of those chandeliers in your apartment and did a math equation figuring the difference in price between glass and crystal. Anything to keep his mind and mouth shut about Victorine.

“I’m… Sorry I asked,” Madeleine said at long last and Bill held up a hand to stop her.

“Don’t even apologize. Really. It’s fine.”

“Monsieur MaCarthy, your watch is ready,” said a man from behind the transparent glass display case, handing him the newly repaired time-keeper. Bill thanked the man and filled out a check. “Well, I must be off,” Bill said, glancing at the fixed watch. “Have a very happy Hanukkah, and I’ll see you later. Maybe we can do lunch or something sometime. Just call.”

And with that, he was out the door and walked hurriedly down the street, shaking off that hot, sticky feeling of awkwardness that was secreted and covered his palms in sweat, feeling the cold winter air whisk it away almost immediately, like shedding a second skin.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Jack and Chloe! BIC:


Chloe Laurent

Anna Orlov walked into Tiffany’s in a large group of drunken partygoers. It was amazingly easy to slip in and out of VIP-only events. Dye your hair, adopt a Russian accent, find a group drunk enough to not notice one more person in their midst and—voila! She was in, sipping from a champagne flute and rubbing elbows with some of Paris’ wealthiest and most fashionable. Security wasn’t exactly lax in these sort of parties, but if there was one loophole it was that confidence could fool anyone.

And if there was anything Chloe had an overabundance of, it was confidence.

For the last three days, she’d been posing as Anna Orlov while she tried to figure out what to do with herself. Anna Orlov, as understood by the staff at Le Meurice, was a Russian travel agent. To tonight’s partygoers, however Anna—that was to say, Chloe—was a Russian heiress who spoke very little French, but whose pocketbook was thick enough to gain her entry.

Whatever she was, though, Chloe was no ordinary gate-crasher. In fact, her pocketbook was thinning these days and she needed tonight’s heist to go off without hitch. Chloe wasn’t looking to trade her Le Meurice suite for some hovel in La Peripherie any time soon. If anything, she wanted to trade to a no-questions-asked apartment for short term rent. Maybe even a penthouse. That would be nice. But to do that, she needed money.

She needed the Blue Diamond Collection.

Tonight, Tiffany’s was unveiling its newest jewelry line, which was made up of some of the highest quality blue diamonds, white diamonds, and sapphires. For the last two days, Chloe had been studying the store’s security system. It wouldn’t be the easiest of jobs, but for the fourteen million offered by nabbing the lot, it was worth a challenge. Right now, though, Chloe was leaning against the bar, languidly talking to a drunk security guard. The man was supposed to be on duty, but apparently, he had a fondness for French ale and redheads and he wouldn’t stop talking. Chloe kept hoping he’d say something about how to disable the motion-sensor system surrounding the display cases. Instead, he was doing little more than babbling. But the longer he talked, the more focused Chloe was on the rest of her surroundings. She watched the other partiers drink, dance, and schmooze. They were all very predictable. The models—waifish-thin with dark, raccoon eyes—were coming back from the bathrooms and Chloe was sure they’d either been throwing up hors d’oeuvres or doing lines. Something to stay that skinny. And the investors were puffing up their chests and talking about their polo horses more tenderly than they did about their wives, who were bragging to each other about their children’s prep schools. Chloe had seen all of this a hundred thousand times. But tonight, Nikolas wasn’t with her. He wouldn’t ever be again. Now was the wrong time to get sentimental about it, but she just wished he would hurry up, pop out of the grave, and cause a diversion so she could get the goods and get home. It was all about opportunity and without someone there to create one for her, all Chloe could do was hope Fortune was on her side.

[Deleted]

Jack Evans


This was lamentably unfair. These people were so unsuspecting of his presence that this entire evening would be an absolute game. Jack Evans thought that perhaps he should tie his hands behind his back to make it more challenging and gratifying. It was a drink to him, a drink to her with a once over for his own viewing pleasures, a drink for himself in the corner, and a good glimpse at those glittering jewels. Going hush-hush as a server wasn’t all ritzy as Jack would have liked. He rather be mingling with the beauties and making up high class stories to the pompous men who seemed to chuckle from their bellies of lard. He liked to pretend and have people wrapped, ridiculously fooled. This was the best plan though. Not only did no one know that Jack Evans belonged nowhere near Tiffany’s, but he was getting them plastered at the same time and having complete access to behind the scenes. That was what someone needed to put on a show, and that was what Jack Evans would do tonight.

The Blue Diamond Collection was all that Jack had come to Paris for. If he had gotten ahold of it, it would be all that he needed. The worth of the collection was enough to make dollar signs go off in his eyes for years to come, and to keep him in business. That was what Jack Evans needed. He had returned to Paris this afternoon, and tonight he would set out for his next endeavor, whatever that may be. Lately, though, Jack had been feeling rather melancholy. There was something missing in his life, something that he knew he needed but could not really place a finger on. As much as he hesitated to admit, he was feeling depressed and almost lonesome. Jack Evans would never work for anyone or need anyone, but running around the world, making acquaintances that he would meet, steal from, and never see again was just beginning to grow tiring. Jack Evans was thirsty for the next big thing whatever that may be. Right now, it was the Blue Diamond Collection that would give him at least some amounts of pleasure for now. Jack had no idea where he would be off to tomorrow, but he knew damn well what he would be getting tonight.

Per usual, the plan was that there was no plan. He had seen the catering vehicles out around the back street. Jack had apologized, rushing in like some blubbering idiot to security, exclaiming how he was ‘late’, sporting a handsome tuxedo to play up the importance. No one questioned him at all as he made his way into the back, plucking up a tray and taking orders from some chef. Instead of taking that fluffy white cotton ball of a hat on his smug red face and shoving it up his *ss like Jack Evans had wished to do, he set out; catching a glimpse of the backroom with all the sources and toys he needed on the way.

Once the speech had begun from the creator of the collection, Jack Evans knew it was show time.

Setting the tray down on a nearby glass case, Jack was already undoing his bow tie and throwing it on the kitchen ground when he entered, unbuttoning the first three buttons. He felt his heart pumping and could almost hear the blood course throughout his body. Jack Evans could feel his fingers begin to shake as he fidgeted with a nearby champagne tray when someone strode by. When the person was gone, Jack plucked up a drink and slammed it down- one for the road. Clapping his hands together, grinning manically, he approached the metal box. Opening it up, he met all the switches that were all turned to the left. It was time to take a little adventure to the right and everyone in the building would go along for it too.

Jack Evans lived for these moments. The gasping, the screaming, the crying out, the cursing- watching the richest and classiest, fall apart and shrivel into the pathetic and helpless. He could feel the tingles roll down his spine and his head arch upward toward the ceiling, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. He would collect his nerves and excitement- he must always remain professional and composed. Things would screw up if they weren’t. As much as Jack did not mind a little entertaining rendezvous, the people here were ones that Jack would sorely regret meeting eye to eye with. Jack Evans was always unseen but always there.

He opened his eyes and took a breath.

What is to fear when you are the one they fear?

With that, Jack slammed his palms against the switches, bringing them over to the right. The building went pitch back, and you could hear the power source give out in a loud ‘voom’- the noise rumbling in his ears. Just like it was rehearsed in his mind, there were gasps, screams, and a roar to the sudden change in events. Were people predictable or what?

Jack had run this course through his mind strategically all tonight. He had memorized the blue prints in his hotel room, done a practice run while serving the drinks tonight- staring at the tray as he made himself blindly walk out of the kitchen and near the collection. He was ready for this and the adrenaline pumping in him now was what kept him going and gave him all the extra power that he needed. In a rushed but paced waltz, Jack was blindly out of the door, holding out his hands. He figured that the crowd would be running themselves over trying to figure out what to do, and he would remain away from that corner. The collection, however, was off to the side room on the right. Jack brought himself back to when the lights were on and he was just serving drinks in his head. He steered upward, rounding a glass case of six carrot pear shaped diamonds, which meant he was halfway there. He tuned out the noise and he was alone with his breath and steady mind. With a careful hand, he steadied himself against the wall, holding his back against it as he heard a group of people nearby. Keeping himself to the wall, Jack found his way to where the drop off was to the next room. With a gentle roll onto the ground, he landed into the next room. Jack Evans could almost taste those diamonds. He was seconds away and probably only had minutes until they figured out the power.

Jack made a straight line in the dark and stood up, hitting his thighs against the table where they were being displayed. All he had to do was break the case and get the hell out of there.

But when Jack Evans lifted his hand up, it landed on something… well, human-like most certainly. His body seemed to slam up against a person, the hair getting in his face and against his lips. He instantly smelled the perfume, and knew that it could only be the scent and feel of a woman that he was accompanied by in the dark.

He kept his calm though, as his brain tried to take in what was happening and the fact that he was not alone. He swallowed, sweating profusely, as his fingers tightened its grip on whatever he was touching- or who he was touching. Jack tried not to panic, but the fright that it could be some sort of security guard made his plan hold out for just a moment.

Then he realized, as he moved his fingers slightly upward that he was grazing upon a small of someone’s back. His thumb, still on the more- well, dare he say, voluptuous bit of what he had first managed to get ahold of. It was a lady, and what Jack Evans had a handful of was her rump. Whether she was a guard or a simple guest- Jack had no intention of flat out giving up his plans just for this. She was here too, so she was either guarding it, or something else that seemed ill-fitting with tonight’s crowd, who seemed all about watching the speech. No one had been by the case when he had gone into the kitchen, and there was no way someone had made that big a move with how fast Jack had cut the power. Jack Evans was suspicious, but he needed to move fast.

He blew air through his mouth, trying to get the hairs out of his lips. Jack kept his body still slightly up against the woman's, not wanting her to scream out or make a rash movement. If she were to lift an arm to strike he could instantly feel it against him. It would be a shame if she decided to get too much into the way. Jack would have to take drastic measures that he hadn't taken in quite sometime.

It would also be a shame because, well, she smelled rather lovely.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” He murmured in a hushed tone, breathing down the woman's neck.

Jack Evans wouldn't imagine what she would looked like though- from the looks of tonight she was either dangerously seconds away from needed to be fed from a tube, or had eight wrinkly chins and wore gaudy furs that made her look like a pelican.

Whatever the case, Jack Evans would have to deal with the detour. Why not get a little enjoyment too?

He couldn't help but grin to himself.

“But it will do.”

[The Exodus]

Chloe Laurent

The worst part about pretending not to speak French was that you couldn’t interrupt when you found something someone said objectionable. The best part was that you couldn’t interrupt, period, so your conversation partner thought you were a good listener and told you any and everything he or she could think of to say.

“And the worst part is that there’s nothing for me to do,” the man said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but mark my words. Computers are going to replace good old fashioned man power in the security world. Why, even the collection tonight is mostly safe-guarded by—“

The lights flicked and suddenly, the whole venue was dark. Chloe didn’t question her luck, but instead used this opportunity to slip away from the security guard. After all, if most of the jewels were safeguarded by electric systems, then a power-outage was exactly the sort of distraction she needed. Maybe Zabat’s ghost was looking out for her after all, some perverse guardian angel. She wasn’t questioning it, though. Instead, she slipped past darkness-blinded party-goers to the back room where the jewels were being held. When she arrived, she was alone. As far as she could tell, anyways. Instead, in the dim lighting from the Exit sign, she could see the Blue Diamond Collection glittering up at her. For a moment, Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. She’d seen some gorgeous jewels in her time. She’d worn them, stolen them, sold them, but a beautiful set of diamonds never failed to excite her. Now, to figure out just how to make off with them… Chloe slid on a pair of black satin gloves from her hand bag so she would not leave finger prints and prepared to set to work.

But something warm and solid came up behind her. Chloe reminded herself not to tense up, although the instinct almost had her stiff as a board. She was caught. She had to get away. She—

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” a man said. His breath was hot on Chloe’s neck and she felt a small shiver run through her insides. The man was practically a mind-reader. This certainly wasn’t what she had in mind, either. “But it will do.”

“Oh?” Chloe murmured. Her native French accent was still well under-wraps and the Russian purr she’d been using issued forth. Chloe held still, but did not tense up. She was suddenly thinking of the pearl handled pistol strapped to her innermost thigh and how inconvenient it would be to dig through her dress for it; and how much more inconvenient killing this stranger would be. Blood was evidence. Gun residue was evidence. She just wanted a clean getaway now. But if this man was security—or competition—he would quickly become just another obstacle to get rid of. “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

[Deleted]

Jack Evans

Detours were usually enjoyable for Jack, making his non-planning ways make him believe that it was the correct way of going about his occupation. Something about it being pitch black, his equipment dug deep into the back of his trousers, and not a moment to spare, made this detour a little less entertaining and more of toward the frustrating. The people of Paris were sharper than Americans, which made Jack’s internal clock tick-tock on a more upbeat tempo. Whoever was standing in his way, quite literally in this situation, Jack Evans would make it known that he was not about to let this screw up his plans.

“Oh?” The voice in the darkness purred, feeling her body against his and instantly taking note on how calm it remained. Jack blinked to himself. In most cases people would tense, scream, and even guards would go right into their training or lack-of training to try and take him down. Not this woman, though. No, even her voice was unruffled when she spoke again, “And what exactly did you have in mind?” The thick Russian accent made Jack’s suspicions grow. It was a gut feeling and all the red flags were there staring him down in the dark.

“Not to fall into the category of cliché,” He murmured, layering on thickly his British accent, “I’d tell you but,” Jack inched his lips closer into the locks of hair in front of him, only the sound of her breath and the smell of her scent all that he could make of. “I’d have to do awful things to you.” He whispered in a threatening promise.

If she were after what he was, they would have problems. Until that point, Jack Evans would do as he planned. After all, there wasn’t much competition out there for Jack to feel threatened by.

With both of his hands he reach out in front of him at stomach level, gripping her at the sides (which he must say felt quite remarkable in curve), and began to move her over to the side.

“Now step aside, love.”

[The Exodus]

Chloe Laurent

Chloe was not thrilled about this sudden change in plans, but it would have to do. Beggars—or thieves—couldn’t really be choosers. It wasn’t as though she was exactly Fortune’s favorite; the universe owed her a little bit of adversary. Besides, it kept her on her toes and in top form.

“Not to fall into the category of cliché,” the British man said. “I’d tell you but…”

The brush of his lips against her caused tiny pinpricks to crawl up Chloe’s skin. The gooseflesh sprouting on her arms and neck was completely involuntary and unwanted. It didn’t help that his threat sounded more like a promise than anything:

“I’d have to do awful things to you.”


Chloe chuckled a little, deep and velvety. She almost wanted to see him try. She didn’t think anything this stranger could design would be worse than the prospect of a Russian prison. Chloe, vain and life-loving though she was, didn’t fear death anymore now that Zabat was gone. It wasn’t like she had a family or friends. It would just be a shame to go out in a little blip, in a dark room, instead of a fiery bang.

“Now step aside, love.”

“Of course, dorogoi,” Chloe purred back sweetly before doing exactly as he said—stepping to the side. She put her foot down hard on his instep and elbowed him in the stomach, breaking free. “Whatever you say.”

[Deleted]

Jack Evans

“Of course, dorogoi.”

The woman said in a lovely reply, almost too lovely. If she was as collected as she seemed in the dark with him and was so willing to oblige, Jack had a feeling there was going to be some issues. But the feeling hadn’t come soon enough as he let out a throaty growl when he felt her stomp onto his foot, her elbow stabbing into his stomach. Jack made sure that his pain was muffled by his tight lips that squeezed together the sound so no one would hear them. He was a fighter at heart, and really, a good ol’ foot stomp and elbow pop just brought him back. Also, it invited Jack to join in the fun as well.

“Whatever you say.”

Barely reacting, only doing the one thing that you did when you fought- not think just do- Jack twisted his pelvis, shooting off from his left foot into a low roundhouse kick. He had hoped the best in the dark that it land somewhere where he could benefit, and luckily what he felt was the place right behind her knee- an incredibly sensitive spot where the balance was kept. At the same time, he had done a sideways jab outward, his forearm hitting against the back of her neck. There was not even a second within his combination, and what combination it was.

"I'm about done fussing with you."

Not having time to fool around anymore, Jack turned to where the diamond collection was, gripping his stomach as he had not allowed himself to regain from getting the wind knocked out of him. Quickly, he began going into his pockets for his gloves.

Jack wasn't looking to kill tonight, and as enjoyable as it would have been to fight around with her some more, he really needed to get out of there. At any moment, he knew, the power would come back on and he would be the spotlight of a thousand eyes.

[The Exodus]

Chloe Laurent

Instantly, Chloe knew she’d made a bad move. It was like chess, when you moved your knight to take a pawn, only so a bishop could snatch up your horse-shaped piece and put your king in check. It seemed so smart, so good when you moved, but the second you were cornered, you realized that luck and foresight had run out.

So, really, when the British stranger knocked her to the ground, Chloe was prepared for the impact. It hurt, but it could have hurt much, much worse. She hit the ground with a soft thud that smarted her palms and would leave bruises where the man had delivered his blows.

"I'm about done fussing with you," said the man.

Chloe scrambled to her knees and pulled her pistol off her thigh as she stood on not-quite steady high heels. She was lucky they hadn’t snapped in the fall. The man was pulling on his gloves, his back to Chloe. She placed the barrel of her gun at the nape of his neck.

“You could say that,” she told him. “Or you could make a deal. Either we split the goods and run or I shoot you and you start praying the bullet kills you instead of paralyzing you for life. So, what do you say, dorogoi? Do we have an accord?”