"Baby girl," her words are knives against violin strings, they're harsh, and ugly, and gross. Your almost astonishingly vast vocabulary fails you, yet again, in describing the way she mangles the term of endearment. Her teeth are bared, dozens upon dozens of razor sharp triangles protrude from her mouth. Her lips are twisted into a haughty grin. She's decked out in all black, layers range from off-gray to ebony, her fuchsia glasses keep the outfit from looking like funeral garb. “Don’t tell me you’re already flaking out on me, jailbait.”
You glare behind white rimmed, cat-eye glasses, and cross your arms over your chest. You’re also wearing all black, save for the glasses, and silver chain around your neck. That necklace has been with you ever since you were born, and you treat it with highest regard, and respect. It’s become a safety blanket, a sentimental trinket.
Especially tonight, you’re praying for its protective powers to shine through. Meenah Peixes is a shitty partner in crime, but she’s your closest (and only) friend. A petty cat burglar turned stealthy thief, she’s known for being reckless and for raining misery and despair upon her targets.
She’s also known for her wicked kisses, but that’s confidential information.
You grimace, and she quirks a pierced brow, her gold earrings glint in the otherwise darkened corridor. Her sharp teeth are tucked behind her lips, and for that, you’re grateful.
“I am not ‘flaking’, Meenah. I just find this all to be so tediously silly. Do we have to?” You try not to giveaway how scared you are with that sentence. It’s too late, though, because Meenah does a three sixty in character, and simply grins. She takes your hand, and leads you down the hallway, ignoring all caution, she practically catapults that into the wind.
“Where are we going? We have a mission, fish bitch!” You hiss, as she laughs, and laughs, elegantly sidestepping any and all hidden obstacles and traps set by the curators of the museum you were pilfering from. You don’t fare too well, sloppily jumping over barely red lines, and rigged wires. You squeeze her hand tighter, and she laughs in response.
You hated your job, but Meenah made it so much better. Maybe one day, you think, as you arrive to the main hall, decked to the nines with security devices, you might become a talented thief.
FILL: TEAM DAVE <3 JADE
"Baby girl," her words are knives against violin strings, they're harsh, and ugly, and gross. Your almost astonishingly vast vocabulary fails you, yet again, in describing the way she mangles the term of endearment. Her teeth are bared, dozens upon dozens of razor sharp triangles protrude from her mouth. Her lips are twisted into a haughty grin. She's decked out in all black, layers range from off-gray to ebony, her fuchsia glasses keep the outfit from looking like funeral garb. “Don’t tell me you’re already flaking out on me, jailbait.”
You glare behind white rimmed, cat-eye glasses, and cross your arms over your chest. You’re also wearing all black, save for the glasses, and silver chain around your neck. That necklace has been with you ever since you were born, and you treat it with highest regard, and respect. It’s become a safety blanket, a sentimental trinket.
Especially tonight, you’re praying for its protective powers to shine through. Meenah Peixes is a shitty partner in crime, but she’s your closest (and only) friend. A petty cat burglar turned stealthy thief, she’s known for being reckless and for raining misery and despair upon her targets.
She’s also known for her wicked kisses, but that’s confidential information.
You grimace, and she quirks a pierced brow, her gold earrings glint in the otherwise darkened corridor. Her sharp teeth are tucked behind her lips, and for that, you’re grateful.
“I am not ‘flaking’, Meenah. I just find this all to be so tediously silly. Do we have to?” You try not to giveaway how scared you are with that sentence. It’s too late, though, because Meenah does a three sixty in character, and simply grins. She takes your hand, and leads you down the hallway, ignoring all caution, she practically catapults that into the wind.
“Where are we going? We have a mission, fish bitch!” You hiss, as she laughs, and laughs, elegantly sidestepping any and all hidden obstacles and traps set by the curators of the museum you were pilfering from. You don’t fare too well, sloppily jumping over barely red lines, and rigged wires. You squeeze her hand tighter, and she laughs in response.
You hated your job, but Meenah made it so much better. Maybe one day, you think, as you arrive to the main hall, decked to the nines with security devices, you might become a talented thief.
For now, you’ll be her sylph.