Realistic or Modern ❝𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮❞ - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯

[thirteen]

[class=container] width: 500px; height: 400px; margin: auto; display: flex; [/class] [class=img] background-image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ba/d8/67/bad8679d563f98bff75965e2ff8fc085.jpg'); background-size: cover; height: 400px; width: 200px; padding-top: 40px; box-sizing: border-box; [/class] [class name=img maxWidth=450px] width: 150px; [/class] [class=title] color: white; border-bottom: 2px solid white; border-top: 2px solid white; font-size: 16px; width: 70%; margin: auto; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 900; [/class] [class=content] width: 300px; height: 400px; padding-left: 10px; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=content maxWidth=450px] width: 200px; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; padding-right: 17px; width: 100%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=linkContainer] width: 100%; display: flex; flex-direction: column; [/class] [class=link] width: 100%; border-bottom: 1px solid #232323; [/class] [class name=link state=hover] cursor: pointer; [/class] [div class=container] [div class=img] [div class=title]chapter one[/div] [/div] [div class=content] [div class=scroll] LOCATION: here
DATE: Nov. 7th.

One week.

Six pieces.

Eight conners.

Guy Savoy, located in the middle of upper Paris, is the best place to have a meeting. With its ebon walls, Swarovski crystal-rimmed plates, and luxurious decor, the restaurant screams high class, but the elite of the city are far too immersed in their own conversations to pay attention to what anyone else is talking about.

Look your best and bring your best.

And when you're ready, tell the maî·tre d' that you're here for 'Taccone'.

[/div] [/div] [/div]

coded by shady.

 

[thirteen]

[div class=container] [div class=hold][div class=img][/div] [div class=name]@renataclark [div class=smaller][div class=overflow style="padding-right: 20px"]mood: tired, but you wouldn't know | mentions: none | outfit: here | tags: sox logastellus madame moiselle sheeplesnight myst.erion vesper. erised [/div][/div][/div] [div class=follow]follow[/div][/div] [div class=center][div class=moodboard] [div class=aesthe style="background-size: 200%"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/236x/60/96/38/609638f9a31d3f4f4e9342882e91a918.jpg)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/07/00/85/0700858a53679f11506ca623c5c27831.jpg)"][/div]
[div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://tr.rbxcdn.com/3fa35af3ac8283830fd4fc9c8a01512e/420/420/Decal/Png)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://66.media.tumblr.com/f475e38e132ece7e9e0385c4db19e31e/tumblr_p9p809ezhM1wdokfco1_400.jpg)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://ih0.redbubble.net/image.297230253.2699/clk3q,black,black,1000x-c,115,0,675,900.u1.jpg)"][/div] [/div] [div class=text][div class=overflow] Renata nodded at the doorman, a quick sign of thanks. The man handling the door was quite surprised at the tip left in the recesses of his palm--he hadn't even felt her tipping him. The matî·tre d' gulped slightly when a serious looking woman stepped into the restaurant, dark eyes promising a lawsuit if she was mishandled. Knowing the crowd that walked into Guy Savoy, he knew damn well that the thin golden circlet cinched around the woman's dark suit was probably gold. A quick glance at her earrings and handbag rendered the same conclusion: despite being dressed down, this woman was living fully in the lap of luxury.
"For Taccone." Renata said, her voice smooth and low. She didn't smile at the man opposing her, but there was nothing on the planes of her face that indicated any expression anyways. The matî·tre d' gulped, tapping his fingers on the tablet that rested permanently on his arm. "Right this way, ma'am." He said, escorting her down the ebon hallway with a gold accent that bore a striking resemblance to the clothing style the woman had selected. "And how do you know Mr.Taccone?" He asked as he led her past a ring of Italian-leather booths, just to make conversation. He gestured to a long table where he had already seated someone with a flourish of his hand. Just as she sank down into the seat by the head of the table, she answered his question. "Executioner." She answered in a grave tone. As the flustered matî·tre d' rushed to return to his post, he could have sworn those plum-lined lips were quirked up in a small smirk.
Renata's back was pin-straight, far away from the back of the chair. Despite such a rigid pose, her shoulders managed to be quite relaxed, and the elegant manner in which she crossed her legs was evidence enough that the woman was quite comfortable in her surroundings. There was nothing present in her expression as she turned over her right wrist and checked her watch, the glossy face of the Cartier glinting in the light. She was five minutes early--as usual. Enough time for her to assess the place, see the exit points, familiar faces, and drop a tail if she had to. When the waiter came to take her drink order, she didn't even have to look at the menu. "2009's Lafite. The Rohschild Bordeaux blend." She murmured, fully aware that she would not be paying for the 10,000 dollar drink that she had just ordered. [/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=c]code by: @undine[/div] [class=container]height: 400px; max-width: 350px; padding: 15px; background: #e1e1e1; margin: auto; --button: #ff7676; --active: #303030 [/class] [class=hold]height: 23%; width: 91%; padding: 5%; top: 0%; position: relative; background: white; border-radius: 7px; margin: auto; filter: grayscale(20%); [/class] [class=name]display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; position: relative; top: -4vw; left: 5%; transition: 0.8s [/class] [class=smaller]font-size: 8px; color: #909090; font-weight: 600; font-smoothing: antialiased; height: 27px; width: 120px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=img]height: 99%; width: 28%; display: inline-block; background-image: url(https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/powerrangersfanon/images/1/1b/Ju_Liu.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20170408024532); background-size: 140%; background-position: 10% 25%; filter: grayscale(5%) saturate(90%); border-radius: 50%; border: 2px solid var(--button); cursor: pointer [/class] [class=follow]height: 2; width: 50px; padding: 2px; font-size: 10px; background: var(--button); border-radius: 3px; color: white; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; position: relative; top: 40%; float: right; transition: 0.5s [/class] [class name=follow state=hover]background: var(--active); cursor: pointer [/class] [class name=black]background: var(--active) [/class] [class name=blackt]color: var(--active) [/class] [class name=pink]color: var(--button) [/class] [class=center]height: 57%; width: 89%; padding: 3%; top: 5%; position: relative; background: white; border-radius: 7px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; text-align: center [/class] [class=moodboard]height: 100%; width: 100%; color: transparent; font-size: 19px; z-index: 5; overflow: hidden; line-height: 85px; position: relative; top: 4%; transition: 0.5s [/class] [class=high]top: -7% [/class] [class=low]top: 4% [/class] [class=overflow]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow: auto; padding-left: 2px; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=aesthe]display: inline-block; border-radius: 4px; height: 36%; width: 25%; background-image: url(https://data.whicdn.com/images/249398200/original.jpg); background-size: cover; [/class] [class=text]height: 65%; width: 100%; font-size: 0.7em; text-align: justify; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; transition: 0.4s [/class] [class=vis]opacity: 1 [/class] [class=c]width: 100%; font-size: 10px; opacity: 0; text-align: center [/class] [script class=follow on=click] addClass black follow addClass up moodboard removeClass down moodboard addClass high moodboard removeClass low moodboard addClass pink name removeClass blackt name addClass vis text [/script] [script class=img on=click] removeClass black follow removeClass up moodboard addClass down moodboard removeClass high moodboard addClass low moodboard addClass blackt name removeClass pink name removeClass vis text [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 1.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]height: 100%[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]height: 30%;[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 1.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]height: 30%[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]height: 100%[/keyframe] [/animation]

 

[sheeplesnight]

x

..............................................................................dangerous men in the shadows were like an audience, and even the meanest among them had a special little shine in their eyes

x

x

.

l o c a t i o n _ around the corner from guy savoy
m o o d _ anxious
w i t h _ n/a

Don sucked on a cigarette as he anxiously paced the sidewalk around the corner from Guy Savoy's entrance. A man with a white smock peeking out from under his jacket, sat smoking on the sidewalk as well. Don’s ability to speak French was naught and he, despite making eye contact, ignored the off-duty cook in his vicinity. He hated small talk and had more important matters to worry about.

He took a moment to dwell on feeling like a pariah, surprisingly, often. He wanted a fresh start with the new heist crew, but Don could smell the bad blood between the group of criminals and Taccone. That worried him. Don't think about it, he thought as he examined the end of his cigarette. He took a long, final drag of the cancerstick and started around the corner towards the entrance of Guy Savoy. He was early. He could afford a drink at the bar before joining the table. That would ease his mind.

He entered the upscale restaurant and approached the maitre d’. “I have a reservation,” Don informed the host, “But I wanted to sit at the bar and have a drink before everyone arrives.” Very kindly he was directed to the bar.

The thief caught himself in a mirror as he took a seat on the bar stool. He thought with amusement on how his black turtleneck and leather jacket made him look like the burglar he truly was--yet in the sleek, monochromatic restaurant he looked as rich and.classy as his surroundings.

Once settled in, he ordered a rum old fashioned and watched the door.

......

ll

coded by: _nechesyn

x

 

[vesper.]

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outfit: xxx

mood: calm, curious

interactions: renata thirteen

mentions: don sheeplesnight [/div] [/div] [div class=name]zulema lombardi[/div] [div class=textcontainer][div class=text]Light eyes grazed upon the messy words that were scribbled onto a worn notebook page, refreshing her mind on the defining features of her new colleagues. Her lips moving silently as she ran her finger over the picture of a beautiful brunette woman, Renata Clark. Her name was lined in neon green highlighter, the words that were scribbled under it signified her grand importance to the heist they had been summoned for. Sure, there was a strong male that was to be the picturesque boss but like every man she'd met in this business, there was always a cunning woman to keep him on track. As her driver neared the curb Zulema slipped the leather book into her Fendi cross body, stepping out slowly to avoid tripping herself on her own two feet.

The blonde woman walked past the doorman with little acknowledgement, shades covering her green orbs. Her face presented a cold look, one that many high class members that dined at Guy Savoy seemed to have. As she'd observed over countless years, manners was comically lacking in those with money. I guess life didn't require you to be polite when throwing hundred dollar bills could solve a dispute easier than an apology. Her sleek black boots made a gentle clicking sound as she neared the maî·tre d', her hands lifted the sunglasses off her face as she spoke. "I'm here for Taccone." The heavy Spanish accent dripped like velvet off her delicate voice, she noticed that the male before her was staring quite heavily at her face. Zule stared back with an intense boredom in her eyes, burning holes through his soul. A small frown wrinkled at the end of her lips, raising her wrist up to look at the gleaming yet simple watch on her person. "I am sorry but I cannot stand here all day while you decide what to say. Can we go now? Please."

The maî·tre d' could only stutter when he spoke, "Oh, yes. Come this way, ma'am. Your party is already waiting." His face was flushed with what she could imagine was a mix of embarrassment and the feeling of being caught. She scanned the room around them as he lead her towards the table, taking note of some of the names being thrown in mixed conversations around them. Her light green eyes swept over a familiar face, Donahue McGuire, a formidable man. Continuing forward, she caught some important tidbits from ladies laughing hysterically behind them. People never seemed to think that others would be listening in a place so crowded, well at least regular people might not have listened. Zulema Lombardi was no where near being normal though, with a photogenic mind and the ability to make a believable story out of anything hard evidence, the female was quite a lethal weapon. She only returned to her own conversation when she noticed the man leading her had asked a question, "You must all be very important, I do hope you enjoy your stay with us. I am at your service."

People had a tendency of stating what they assumed at the beginning of a question in that fashion to draw information out of someone while keeping light conversation, however Zule had no interest in making small talk and liked it when people minded their own business even if it was against human nature. "Merci." She took a seat a few spaces away from the woman she identified as Renata, if she hadn't been focused then her expression would have wavered. The woman was so effortlessly elegant, beautiful, and radiated power. Her presentation was more than anything she'd imagined in her mind. Thankfully, she was able to udder a drink name when she was asked. "Tieguanyin tea please, no honey or sugar." The combination of black and green tea had been named in honor of the Goddess of Mercy and earned one of the most expensive rankings in imported tea. It was also quite delicious and as she'd come under the name a very important influencer, it was the most logical choice.

When their server retreated Zulema gave an awkward cough to clear the air, although it turned into more of a real cough then she'd expected. Her cheeks burned as she took a quick gulp of the refreshing water glasses before them. "Permiso.. I must say it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you Miss Clark. The invitation is greatly appreciated." This was like a moment from her criminal diary, to meet such a famous infamous person was extremely pleasing.


[/div][/div] [div class=credit]code by sox [/div][/div]

 

[sox]

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[div class=bkgdborder][div class=bkgd]
[div class=pic][div class="pichover hidden"][div class=circlepic][/div]outfit: xxx

mood: confident, wary

tags:
thirteen
sheeplesnight
vesper.

mentions:
renata, zule, don
[/div][/div]
[div class=name]nishika rani[/div]
[div class=role]the lancer[/div]
[div class=textcontainer][div class=textbox]The oranges and reds of the evening sun settling on the horizon washed over the Parisian streets leading up to Guy Savoy, the grandiose restaurant packed full of chihuahua-owning housewives who spent their days cheating on their husbands with pool boys and forgettable casino owners with more chins hanging off their average-looking faces than bills in their wallets. Parked outside the rear of such an abysmal cesspool of pompous moneybags was where Nishika Rani found herself waiting patiently for her accomplice, a secretive man named Victor And Only Victor who would be aiding her in making sure her future company would be well worth her time as a skilled sleuth and hitman.

Dressed in all black from head to toe with shades to block his face, a burly man opened the side door of the limousine and slipped inside, shutting it behind him as he stared straight ahead. Nisha didn’t flinch at the intrusion, instead reaching into the lapels of her coat and retrieving a tiny vial of GHB, a colorless and odorless drug which, in large enough doses, was powerful enough to wipe one’s memory of having even ingested it. Careful not to touch the vial with any part of her skin outside the leather glove on her fingers, she handed it off to the man and immediately turned to look out her window, the shades darkening the already dimming sky.

“Nowhere but the rims, Victor, and make sure the salt sticks to it. If it gets in their drinks, it defeats the purpose of the experiment,” Nisha warned under her breath, her sweet voice carrying a deadly serious tone at the implications of his hypothetical failure. “You’ll get paid once Mosi confirms that you’ve done your part.” At the mention of his name, the driver gave a sharp nod, making only a split second’s worth of eye contact in the rearview mirror before returning his attention to the pavement ahead.

Victor hummed in approval, thumbing the vial between his fingers before pocketing it. “Consider it done.” And with that, the hired help shed his outer garments to reveal the same uniform as the kitchen staff, perfectly imitated right up to the pin on his vest. Acquiring the unique accessory had been no walk in the park for the sleuth, but she’d managed to pull some tricks and sneak it off a bloke she’d met a few weeks prior at the same establishment.

Fifteen minutes after Victor disappeared through the rear entrance of Guy Savoy, Mosi pulled the limousine up to the flashy walkway of the restaurant’s entrance and opened the door for his prestigious entourage. Nisha accepted the hand offered to her and stepped onto the intricate cobblestone pavement, stiletto heels clicking delicately as she handed her coat off to one of the doormen. She had frequented the establishment plenty of times prior to this arrangement, taking note of every detail she found important for the fateful meeting awaiting her. The woman had an unfounded reputation for acting quite reckless and impulsive, when in actuality she had every minute planned weeks beforehand, right down to how far up her leg the slit in her dress extended. This little roofie stunt was nothing more than a harmless prank in the young con artist’s books.

Upon entering the restaurant, Nisha scanned the room and took in every face she could. Immediately, she noticed Don’s familiar figure sitting at the bar, but she made no move to approach him. Instead, she strode up to the maî·tre d' and put on a dazzling smile. “Taccone,” she told him, eyes hardening when he gave her a doubtful once-over. It was obvious the fool didn’t think she could be associated the power of the man that was Taccone, and she didn’t take too kindly to that. “Unless you’d rather sit me somewhere that you deem fit,” she continued, narrowed gaze boring into him unflinchingly, “but trust me, love. You’re not pretty enough to be that stupid.”

The maî·tre d' gulped and straightened his posture, nodding once before jotting something down and gesturing for her to follow him. Nisha shot him another dazzling smile and trailed him leisurely, decidedly in no rush to commence the dinner date in store for this evening. Taccone was nothing more than a repulsive basket-weave of STD’s to the young woman, but she understood the consequences of standing up their meeting with no notice and was not willing to run the risk of getting shanked by some greaser in a musty basement in El Salvador.

Once she was left to take a seat at the long table where three others were already seated, Nisha smiled at the waiter who came rushing to her side. “Angostura Legacy,” she ordered, “neat, with a lime.” While the rum was nothing but a dream to most of the population, such an expensive drink was mere pocket change to her. Her various affairs around the globe stripping old men of their estates and playing the descendants of monarchs like the fiddle meant she had more than enough to live in comfort for the rest of her life, but wealth had never been her goal when she entered the criminal world.

Finally situated and able to take a good look around, Nisha smirked at the others seated at the table and leaned back in her chair. “What a crowd! So many familiar faces,” she remarked with no bite to her tone. In her opinion, this was the most tedious part of beginning any mission--the formalities, the introductions, the wariness, all part of a rinse-and-repeat routine of recycled pleasantries and faux interest in small talk. Nisha glanced at the bar again, sending Don a nearly imperceptible smile and nod before returning her attention to Renata and Zulema. “It’s been a while.”

[/div][/div]
[div class=credit]code by sox [/div][/div][/div]

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

The oranges and reds of the evening sun settling on the horizon washed over the Parisian streets leading up to Guy Savoy, the grandiose restaurant packed full of chihuahua-owning housewives who spent their days cheating on their husbands with pool boys and forgettable casino owners with more chins hanging off their average-looking faces than bills in their wallets. Parked outside the rear of such an abysmal cesspool of pompous moneybags was where Nishika Rani found herself waiting patiently for her accomplice, a secretive man named Victor And Only Victor who would be aiding her in making sure her future company would be well worth her time as a skilled sleuth and hitman.

Dressed in all black from head to toe with shades to block his face, a burly man opened the side door of the limousine and slipped inside, shutting it behind him as he stared straight ahead. Nisha didn’t flinch at the intrusion, instead reaching into the lapels of her coat and retrieving a tiny vial of GHB, a colorless and odorless drug which, in large enough doses, was powerful enough to wipe one’s memory of having even ingested it. Careful not to touch the vial with any part of her skin outside the leather glove on her fingers, she handed it off to the man and immediately turned to look out her window, the shades darkening the already dimming sky.

“Nowhere but the rims, Victor, and make sure the salt sticks to it. If it gets in their drinks, it defeats the purpose of the experiment,” Nisha warned under her breath, her sweet voice carrying a deadly serious tone at the implications of his hypothetical failure. “You’ll get paid once Mosi confirms that you’ve done your part.” At the mention of his name, the driver gave a sharp nod, making only a split second’s worth of eye contact in the rearview mirror before returning his attention to the pavement ahead.

Victor hummed in approval, thumbing the vial between his fingers before pocketing it. “Consider it done.” And with that, the hired help shed his outer garments to reveal the same uniform as the kitchen staff, perfectly imitated right up to the pin on his vest. Acquiring the unique accessory had been no walk in the park for the sleuth, but she’d managed to pull some tricks and sneak it off a bloke she’d met a few weeks prior at the same establishment.

Fifteen minutes after Victor disappeared through the rear entrance of Guy Savoy, Mosi pulled the limousine up to the flashy walkway of the restaurant’s entrance and opened the door for his prestigious entourage. Nisha accepted the hand offered to her and stepped onto the intricate cobblestone pavement, stiletto heels clicking delicately as she handed her coat off to one of the doormen. She had frequented the establishment plenty of times prior to this arrangement, taking note of every detail she found important for the fateful meeting awaiting her. The woman had an unfounded reputation for acting quite reckless and impulsive, when in actuality she had every minute planned weeks beforehand, right down to how far up her leg the slit in her dress extended. This little roofie stunt was nothing more than a harmless prank in the young con artist’s books.

Upon entering the restaurant, Nisha scanned the room and took in every face she could. Immediately, she noticed Don’s familiar figure sitting at the bar, but she made no move to approach him. Instead, she strode up to the maî·tre d' and put on a dazzling smile. “Taccone,” she told him, eyes hardening when he gave her a doubtful once-over. It was obvious the fool didn’t think she could be associated the power of the man that was Taccone, and she didn’t take too kindly to that. “Unless you’d rather sit me somewhere that you deem fit,” she continued, narrowed gaze boring into him unflinchingly, “but trust me, love. You’re not pretty enough to be that stupid.”

The maî·tre d' gulped and straightened his posture, nodding once before jotting something down and gesturing for her to follow him. Nisha shot him another dazzling smile and trailed him leisurely, decidedly in no rush to commence the dinner date in store for this evening. Taccone was nothing more than a repulsive basket-weave of STD’s to the young woman, but she understood the consequences of standing up their meeting with no notice and was not willing to run the risk of getting shanked by some greaser in a musty basement in El Salvador.

Once she was left to take a seat at the long table where three others were already seated, Nisha smiled at the waiter who came rushing to her side. “Angostura Legacy,” she ordered, “neat, with a lime.” While the rum was nothing but a dream to most of the population, such an expensive drink was mere pocket change to her. Her various affairs around the globe stripping old men of their estates and playing the descendants of monarchs like the fiddle meant she had more than enough to live in comfort for the rest of her life, but wealth had never been her goal when she entered the criminal world.

Finally situated and able to take a good look around, Nisha smirked at the others seated at the table and leaned back in her chair. “What a crowd! So many familiar faces,” she remarked with no bite to her tone. In her opinion, this was the most tedious part of beginning any mission--the formalities, the introductions, the wariness, all part of a rinse-and-repeat routine of recycled pleasantries and faux interest in small talk. Nisha glanced at the bar again, sending Don a nearly imperceptible smile and nod before returning her attention to Renata and Zulema. “It’s been a while.”

 

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Guy Savoy,Paris[/div][/div]
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X------X[/div][/div]
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lit[/div][/div]
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tags::
Renata| Nishika| Zulema
thirteen sox vesper. [/div][/div]
[div class=textcontainer][div class=text]

Eyes were blurry and heads were pounding with pain when montgomery opened her eyes to the sunlight shining through the sheer curtains in her air bnb. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she proceeded to sit up when she realized the multiple arms thrown across her topless body. Looking to her left was a young woman with soft brunette hair and to her right was a slightly muscular male with unkempt dirty blonde hair. Letting her head fall back onto the soft warm pillows she tried to remember what happened the night before that led her to the position she is in now. Let's see she went to a club...was drinking and dancing before a woman walked up to her chatting her up. Hmmm, what else? Their conversation was interrupted by the man with dirty blonde hair. One thing led to another and here she is now mingled up in two other bodies. "Fuck..." monty moved once more causing the female to groan waking up from her slumber. Their eyes connected as the brunette gave monty a small sleepy smile to which monty returned. "Bonjour, ma chère~" (1) the brunette replied carding one her free hands through her long silky hair. "Bonjour à vous..." (2) montgomery responded a small chuckle was released from her lips when the girl placed a quick kiss on her lips. Both females slid quietly off the king-sized bed so they do not disturb the still sleeping male. They walked to the small yet quaint sized bathroom and decided to take a shower together. After montgomery finished changing into some casual clothing and the female putting her clothes from last night on they both walked to a nearby cafe' to grab some drinks and pastries. Coming back to the loft chuckles and giggles being shared between the two they stopped when the dirty blonde male was in the kitchen indie music playing from his speaker the smell of bacon and eggs being cooked on the vintage stove. The brunette spoke up first a pout spread across her face, "Awwww pourquoi avez-vous cuisiner? On a acheté des pâtisseries ! " (3) Monty only chuckled at the man response before speaking herself "C'est bien que nous puissions avoir nos pâtisseries avec son délicieux bacon et œufs " (4) She placed the multiple cup holder filled with hot drinks on the counter along with the bag of pastries before walking over to the cabinets opening and grabbing some small plates for the three of them. Placing them on the island she removed the baked good from their bags throwing the paper in the trash bin next to the sink before placing the goods on the plates. "Hopefully you like blueberries cause we didn't know what to get you and blueberry muffin was all I could think of " monty spoke taking each drink out of the holder. "Lucky for you blueberry muffins are my favorite" The strong accent from the male could make any woman swoon. Watching him turn the stove off and placed the cooked bacon and eggs on the small plate all three sat down on the bar stools in front of the kitchen island. Simultaneously, they both began eating their food the chit chat amongst them in high friendly volume. The sound of Paris out the window with the cool breeze flowing in swaying around in the curtains. monty was in peace with the two strangers she met last night, that was before she took out her cellphone and her eyes widened. "Shit shit shit! I gotta go" She quickly jumped from in between the two causing them to be startled by her actions. "Go where?" the light french accent of the brunette asked in curiosity. "Somewhere that I know and you two to not worry your pretty little heads about..." monty ran to the closet quickly taking out a suit checking to make sure it didn't have a smell to it. "Will we see you later on today?" the male asked. monty turned around looking at both beings while buttoning up her formal shirt quickly slipping her slacks on and sitting on the bed struggling to put her shoes on. "I'll let you both know...you have my number and I have both of yours but right now I need to hurry up and get to this meeting before I get in trouble both of you can stay but please do not touch my stuff or take anything when you leave..." Quickly looking at herself in the full-length mirror she slipped on her blazer and made sure there were no wrinkles in her clothes along with checking to make sure her hair was not messy then quickly grabbed her satchel bag stuffing her important things inside of it. She jogged over to the two bummed out french people placing chaste yet quick kisses on both of their lips. "Lock the door when you two leave!" She yelled running out of the loft down the stairs to the outside world. Looking around and making sure not to bump into pedestrians she hailed a taxi quickly getting inside the back buckling up. "Bonjour, où sera-t-il? " (5) the burly man with a defined mustache looked up through the rearview mirror at montgomery. "Pour le gars savoy s'il vous plaît et le faire rapidement im à la hâte "(6) the man nodded before merging into the Paris traffic. Taking her phone out she looked up the location of the restaurant and saw the estimated time it would take them to reach it, letting out a relieved sigh she was glad to see that she would arrive ten minutes early. Slouching in the back seat she opened her black satchel bag to make sure she had everything she needed. Her charger. Check. Her laptop. Check. A Military-grade knife. Check. A Glock 19. Check. Her lip balm and lotion. Check. Hearing the magnetic snap close her bag she looked out the window admiring the amazing scenery that is Paris, France. Watching the amazingly structured building go by she started remembering her mother and the promise she made to her before her passing. Softly touching the sleeve of her jacket it's like she can feel then heat and pain radiating off her wrists, closing her eyes she took deep breaths counting back from ten. She took out a small token from her back pocket flipping it over and over between her fingers. finally reaching one she felt relaxed and has a clear mind, she resumed looking out the window until the cab driver stopped right in front of her location. "Nous sommes ici qui sera de quatorze dollars manquer " (7) The burly mad looked at her in the rearview mirror once more. Opening her satchel she took out what would be the equivalent of twenty dollars in the United States. Handing it to the man she quickly hopped out of the car "Gardez la monnaie et merci! " (8) She yelled while running up the stairs of the elegant restaurant. Standing outside she brushed out the wrinkles on her suit before taking a deep breath walking inside the building. Completely ignoring the architecture and interior design of the building she walked up the host counter to two employees chatting away. She waited for about a minute before clearing her throat starting to become impatient and upset with their behavior towards her. One of the employees scoffed before mumbling to the other in french, "Ugh je ne veux pas lui servir se demander si nous pouvons trouver quelqu'un d'autre pour le faire... "(9) the woman turned to montgomery and with a fake smile on her face began speaking to her in english. "Hello ma'am, will this be a table for one?" Looking down at the counter before looking up at the woman monty plastered and fake smile on her face as well. "Je suis ici pour Taccone et je vous ferai part de vous et de votre petit collègue à votre maître pour discrimination. Vous devriez commencer à vous tourner dans votre badge et à emballer votre merde maintenant que je suis toujours en train de suivre mes actions. En tant que dernière demande" (10) A serious look replaced the smile on her face as she look at the woman look bewildered and frozen in place. "Hey lady! I said show me to my table cause you've pissed me off enough already and I'm not afraid to get violent..." The woman jumped in fear before nodding quickly showing monty to the table. Upon arriving she softly took the hostess' hand into her own and whispered in her ear. "Thank you my dear~" She smirked turning around to the three women at the table. Her eyes scanned over the first two women at the table, renata clark and nishika rani eyeing their physique and posture at the table nothing new about the two of them. Her eyes widened at the next female at the table. Her soft smooth skin and petite figure took montgomerys' breathe away. Quickly looking away from zulema lombardi, she cleared her throat before speaking "uhh hi...i'm montgomery brooks..." she was gripping the strap on her satchel bag to the point she could rip it apart. "i see some familiar faces here and some that aren’t...please refer to me as monty from now on..." She licked her lips before walking over to an empty chair sitting down staring straight at table. This heist better be fucking worth it.

1) Good Morning, my dear~
2) Good Morning to you too
3) Awww why did you cook? We bought pastries!
4) It's fine we can have our pastries with his delicious bacon and eggs
5) Hello, where will it be?
6) To the guy savoy please and make it fast im in a hurry
7) We're here that will be fourteen dollars miss
8) Keep the change and thank you!
9) Ugh I don't want to serve her wonder if we can find someone else to do it ...
10) I'm here for Taccone and also I will be reporting you and your little colleague to your maître d for discrimination. You should start turning in your badge and packing your shit up now cause I always follow through with my actions. Now as a last request...show me to my table...​

[/div][/div]
[div class=titlebox][/div]
[div class=title]Montgomery Brooks[/div]
[div class=side][/div]
[div class=bottom][/div]
[div class=credit]code::yousmelldead[/div]
[/div]

 

[erised]

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[/class] [class=third] height:20px; width:140px; background:#404040; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:left; margin:10px 10px; [/class] [class=fourth] height:20px; width:140px; background:#9e9e9e; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:right; margin:-70px 10px; display:none;[/class] [class=sendbox] height:30px; width:100%; background:#404040; float:left; margin-top:60px; [/class] [div class=first] where are you?[/div] [div class=second]about to punch someone[/div] [div class=third]are you ever not punching things?[/div] [script class=send on=click] fadeIn 800 fourth fadeOut 800 sendtext [/script] [script class=lineup on=click] fadeIn 800 post slideUp 600 puck3 [/script] [div class=sendbox][class=bordertextmsg] height:20px; width:140px; background:#fff; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:10px; line-height:20px; color:#000; text-align:center; float:left; margin:5px 5px; [/class] [div class=bordertextmsg][class=sendtext] font-size:11px; line-height:20px; color:#000; text-align:center;[/class] [div class=sendtext]nope.[/div][/div][class=lineup] height:20px; float:left; margin:5px 5px; color:#a3a3a3; font-size:15px; line-height:20px; letter-spacing:2px; cursor:pointer; [/class] [class name=lineup state=hover] color:#262626; [/class] [div class=lineup] [/div] [class=send] height:20px; width:45px; float:left; margin-top:5px; cursor:pointer; background:#a3a3a3; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; line-height:20px; font-size:10px; color:#fff; text-align:center; [/class] [class name=send state=hover] background:#a3a3a3; color:#fff; [/class] [div class=send]SEND[/div][/div] [div class=fourth]nope.[/div][/div] [class=post] display:none; background:#fff; height:250px; width:245px; float:left; margin-top:25px; [/class] [div class=post][class=howto] height:30px; width:100%; border-bottom:5px solid #262626; 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[/class][div class=container1][div class=scrollbar1][div class=textbox1] This heist group was lucky. Lucky that Emory was already in France visiting his maternal grandparents, or else he would not be attending this little get together. If he wasn't already in Paris, he wouldn't even think about it. And, to be honest, he still had to think about it a lot. If it were up to him, he wouldn't even bother with attending this thing. He'd just show up at whatever museum they were robbing that night and, when given the signal, would go ahead and beat the shit out of people.

He was currently walking up the street to Guy Savoy clad in black skinny jeans, white shirt and a black leather jacket. It was very safe to say that Emory didn't give a shit about fashion and could not care less that this was a 5-star Michelin rated restaurant, or whatever the hell it was. To carry on with the 'I don't give a shit about my appearance' attitude, his unruly, nearly shoulder-length hair was tied back in a bun. Oh, and there was a switch blade in one jacket pocket and throwing stars in the other. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Em let out a large sigh when he unfortunately eventually reached the building the restaurant was in. It would be so easy to just turn around and head home, but then again, he'd already come all this way. Whatever. It better be worth it, or else he was going to be pissed. And a pissed Emory was not a fun Emory to be around.

As soon as he walked in, he noticed the matî·tre d' stand, positioned oh so conveniently in front of the alcove entrance to the restaurant. Fantastic. Emory walked up and out of the corner of his eye, noticed the matî·tre d' had just opened his mouth to speak. However, before the man could get a word out, Em muttered a quick "Foutre le camp," which loosely translates to "fuck off" in French, and continued on to the main dining room. There were three reasons why he did that. One, he hated people in general. Two, he forgot the word they were supposed to say to the matî·tre d' upon entry.

And three, he figured he certainly would not need the help of a matî·tre d' to find the table everyone was sitting at. They'd all be dressed nicely, sitting and speaking way to formally. Spotting them should be a piece of cake. And sure enough, after a few seconds of scanning the room, he spotted them. Emory walked over to the table and sat at the very first empty chair he saw. "Ik heb een drankje nodig," he mumbled in Dutch, now using his father's language.

However, he had no plans of actually drinking anything. After years of dealing with the revenge seekers (aka, those pissed he beat the shit out of them), Emory learned to never accept so much as a handshake from anyone. And he certainly was not going to take a drink from anything he didn't pour himself.

"Er," Emory began, deciding that speaking English was the best option for now, "I don't mean to be rude, well, actually, I do, but why the fuck are we here?"

_________________________________________

mood: bored and annoyed
location: restaurant
mentions: everyone
tags: everyone (i'm too lazy to tag everyone)

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code by pasta​

 

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[div class=title]penelope[/div]
[div class=_]/ pen•ee / [/div]
[div class=noun]noun[/div]
[div class=definition]a lovable cynic;
1.refer to family matters[/div]
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The Guy Savoy was only a short walks distance from Valerie Levesque; an antique gallery specialising in some of the oldest asian arts. Penelope's mother had taken a liking to China's many dynasty's within the last year. In particular, the Qianlong Dynasty. Having set foot in Valerie's many times before, she was quick to make it a stop before today's meeting, and pick a piece worthy of her doting mother. She couldn't allow her to be upset. So, after an hour consideration and a further easy few minutes of bargaining, Penelope shook her dealer's hand with a satisfied purse of her lips. There was nothing made her happier, than a successful deal. Especially when she got her way.
Penelope's accented voice came out smooth as caramel. 'It was a pleasure doing business with you [redacted], I wonder if we'll see each other again~.'
'You always manage to leave me with the same parting words, Ms. Steele.'
Penelope laughed slightly, still aweing at the jade pendant in her hands, resting in a classic red velvet case. 'And as always, It's the perfect kind of cheesy for higher-ups like us~.' She winks at the woman before her, earning her a friendly wave away for the door.
Penny turns to her bodyguard when the pendant is safely stored again and he takes it, to place in a small metal attache. She turns back to her dealer with a kind smile as she gathers her things and makes for the front of the store once again, escorted by the older woman. Through the large windows, outside she spies her driver exiting the vehicle, ready to take her away from Valerie's. Antonio, her bodyguard, likely told him of her departure. She was too enthralled by the shop to even hear him speak. Unfortunately, she would have to let both of them down.
As the dealer holds the door for Penelope, who utters a quick thankyou, followed by a polite kiss by the cheek, she speaks after Penelope, same as she always does. 'I hope your mother appreciates her gift. Give my well wishes to your father.'
It makes Penelope stop just over the threshold, with a slight grimace on her face. She doesn't turn back when she speaks, instead choosing to continue forward. 'Oh, I will.'


'Angus.' The bearded man in a black suit quite similar to Antonio's stands to attention when Penelope moves up to him. 'You're gonna take the car back to the hotel and get this to my mother. You make sure the boy's use the same method we did last month. She loved the haste.' She motions with her head only for Antonio to hand over the attache. He does so without any hesitation.
'You won't be joining us?,' he asks smoothly, already moving around the car for his door.
Penelope gives a shake of her head as he bends to place the attache on his seat and his head pops back up over the car a second later. 'No. We won't be.' She turns for a moment to Antonio. 'We're taking the scenic route. It's a nice day for a walk.'
She receives a "Roger Roger" from each of them that makes her shake her head. She is clearly trying not to laugh. 'It was one time!'
Angus hums as he moves into his seat. 'Take care of her Tony!'
The car is gone before Antonio answers. 'What does he take me for?'
Rolling her eyes, Penelope takes his hand gently and they begin their walk towards the Guy Savoy. 'Come on~ husband.'


The couple walk hand in hand, completely at ease with one another's company. Every time a cold wind blows, Antonio makes a point to wrap his arm tighter around Penelope, hopeful her red fur-collared coat will serve its purpose, and every time Antonio does so, Penelope makes a point to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. They present a lover's facade as they have many times before. It's their "thing". It only extends past this though, when Penelope is feeling moody.


'Penelope?'
'Hm?'
'Llevamos caminando sinco minutos, y todavía no has dicho nada. Nada. Estás bien?'
Penelope offers Antonio a tight-lipped smile. It doesn't reach her eyes from behind her classic cat-eye sunglasses. He can't see it behind his own sunglasses.
'Solo distraído.'
Her eyes glance over the water of the Seine as they continue in silence, to the Musee de Louvre. It was grand. Tall. Had so many windows and bits she was sure it could take hours to count them all from her spot. Not to mention how long it would take to see every piece, which, she knew for a fact could take over 70 days, and that was an 8 hour day with 30-second stares at beautiful works of art. It was overwhelming just thinking about it. All those hours spent gazing.
And Taccone wanted them to do that and more, within in a week.
She tsked, turning away from the Louvre and earning a humored smirk from Antonio.
'You'll get it done.'
'Conozco. '
'Qué sabes de estas personas?....Ademas del par.'
They are passed by another couple, who offer a polite 'bonne après-midi' in unison.
Antonio and Penelope halt their conversation to do the same, smiles on both their faces as the couple passes completely.
'No suficiente.....estoy familiarizado con Ren. Nadie más........me gusta de esa forma. Es mejor reunirse en persona, y no a través de la página.'
Antonio hummed low in agreement, satisfied with her answer. She was always that way. Penny knew damn well she was a cynic. Trying to dig before first impressions was going to throw off the kind of connection that was imperative for this kind of mission. Besides, Renata had already thrown off both Andreas and Nishika. He can't recall what hot late-night she had told him. It's no use in remembering though, he is too busy surveying their surroundings, as he had been for the prior 7 or so minutes.

He feels Penelope's grip on his hand tighten and his attention is drawn back to her with a raise of his eyebrows. She is quick to turn her gaze towards the Guy Savoy. The building containing the Savoy is looming next to them and Antonio squeezes her hand back with a smirk to match Penelope's.
'Looks clear. Come on wifey.'
Penelope guffaws at his term, rolling her eyes as they make for the entrance. The doorman is exceptionally reactive. Penelope knows he doesn't recognise her. She doesn't recognise him. Nevertheless, he recognises money. The couple are practically oozing it.
Antonio offers him a curt nod and a good evening as they enter.
While they climb the many steps to the restaurant, Penelope speaks quickly to Antonio. 'I want you to follow me to the table and take your leave after I'm seated. Go to the bar, order a drink. Keep those pretty eyes on our table, best you can. If you can't, you move. You are my doting husband. Don't forget it.'
Antonio nods, his playful attitude dropped. 'Perfecto.'
It's back up when they are in sight of the maître d', who immediately smiles at his returning customers.
Penelope leaves her husband's side to greet her "friend" with a kiss on each cheek and greetings in french.
'Ms. Steele, Mr Steele~ How wonderful it is to see you once again. Tell me, should I place you at your usual table? It is occupied right now but for you-'
Penelope cuts him off with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. It's the first time in a long time for the maître d'.
'No. That won't be necessary Hubert. I'm afraid I am here for Taccone.'
Schwermer is immediately stunned by the news. Yes. It had been a long time since she was here on business. The interactions with her fellow guests spring to mind and he smiles nervously, only wanting the best for his returning customer.
'Nothing more,' Antonio adds. His expression is serious too.
'Of-of course- yes. I- well I would be honored to escort you both to your table.'
Penelope smiles. 'Merveilleuse.'
And so as quickly as he can, without stepping over his feet again for the 7th time that evening, Hubert escorts Penelope and Antonio towards their table.
As they approach, Penelope catches sight of Renata first. Of course, she is at the head of the table. Where she belongs.
She is filled with a relief she doesn't show, as they round a booth into full view of the table, with just a small ways to walk.
'Your table'. Herbert stops and gestures towards the others, all waiting expectantly. Penelope is glad to see Andreas is not present yet.
'Thankyou Hubert. We appreciate it dear.'
Antonio releases her arm for Penelope to remove her coat with his help, before throwing it over his arm and following behind her for the table. He thinks she looks exceptionally attractive in that dress.
Herbert stays in his spot, still with a duty.

With a kind smile on her face, Penelope makes right for the seat beside's Renata, extensions bouncing over her shoulders and jewellery glinting slightly under the lights. She walks behind Renata, followed by Antonio, who pulls out the chair beside the woman, places her coat over the back and is met in the middle by Penelope for a chaste kiss on the lips. She holds his face for a moment, seemingly in love.
'I'll just be at the bar.' Antonio gives a simple nod towards the others at the table, before departing and making for the bar. He sits one away from the questionable fellow he spied on his way in, and calls for a simple glass of single malt whiskey on the rocks. His eyes are on Penelope within seconds.

Nodding at his words, Penelope let's him go, before turning to Renata again. Her hands come up over the table and over Renata's gently, to squeeze them affectionately. 'Long time no see, linda.' She keeps her eyes for a moment longer, before pulling her hands away gently and looking amongst the others. She recognized Nishika instantly, but her face remains content. Every other face was new to her. As of yet, no-one seemed too much a threat. Of course, she could instantly tell who lived in environments like this one all the time, and those who didn't. That shouldn't have meant anything to her though. She told herself there was more beyond that. She couldn't wait to see what they were going to bring to the operation. It would have been ideal to have worked with more than one of them before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. Even when the op was as large as the Louvre.
'Penelope Steele. Lovely to finally meet you all.' Her voice is sincere. For the most part.

'Apologies Ms. Steele- Can I get you something to drink?'
Huberts voice snaps Penelope's attention to him. 'Of course. I'd like a bottle for the table, if I might~ My usual.'
With a nod at her choice, he shakes his head with well-meaning and begins to turn for her request. 'Ever simple Ms. Steele.' Then he leaves to retrieve a bottle of Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame. Penelope resisted the urge to sigh. He always said the same. They had very different definitions of simple.






really basic translation - in order:
- we have been walking for three minutes and you still have not said anything. nothing. are you okay?
- i am just distracted.
- you're damn right we will
- what do you know about these people? besides the pair
- not enough
- i know renata. no more. i like it that way. it is better to meet in person. not via the page
-


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Guy Savoy[/div][/div]
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everyone[/div][/div]
[div class=credit]code::yousmelldead[/div]
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[madame moiselle]

andreas brankovich.
"the distance between dreams and reality is called action."
♛

location | the Louvre, the Guy Savoy Restaurant
tags | myst.erion erised logastellus sox vesper. thirteen sheeplesnight

⤞⤝

The glass pane was as smooth as silk, as clear as the surface of an undisturbed lake. It felt the warmth of all the light it had been reflecting from the midday sun, high up in the sky, bearing down prettily over the courtyard.

The glass pane was one of many; a beautiful pattern, simple yet complex, a triangular paradox sitting in the middle of the square, getting ogled and awed by tourists hailing from all walks of life. There were lengthy lines, spiraling across the courtyard; the atmosphere was thick with childlike touristic excitement. Lights flashed, people posing and walking in an endless stream, eager to sight see what was stored inside.

However, not all were there to ogle and aw and sight see.
Some were there specifically to observe, to speculate, to drink in the sight of what the Louvre was like on an entirely ordinary day like today in the bustling city of love, language, and fashion. Some were there to imprint that image in their minds, so that they could know the Louvre in all it's glory before it's violation, before it suffers the loss of it's precious contents, and the Louvre several stolen art pieces later, it's reputation stained, with it's only consolation being that it had made a select few very, very rich.

One of these select few was standing in one of the many galleries of the Louvre, doing what many would assume to be enjoying the many scenic paintings. A tall, rather handsome foreigner some would say, dressed sharply in a stylish dark grey trenchcoat with tattoos as numerous as the pieces in the Louvre itself. When he walked, it was with a sort of smooth grace, every step deliberate but not forced, confident but not arrogant. Pale blue-gray eyes roamed over a multitude of paintings, but unlike most, it wasn't for the primal pleasure of sight-seeing. If it hadn't been for the dark shades, people would've been able to deduce that this was no ordinary visit just by a glance at his expression; gleaming with greed, a predator on the prowl, instinct and nose sharp for the smell of riches...

A thief's eyes.


As he strolled, the gleam of a russian ruble coin passed between his fingers casually, and soon, a soft old Russian tune whistled itself out of Andreas Brankovich's lips as he stopped to analyze a particular piece that struck his fancy. It was a pretty, Elizabethan-era type of piece; an oil painting of a sweet-looking maid clutching a white cloth, draped across a red divan, sleeping soundly. It was a peaceful piece, but for a moment, something suddenly changed.

In an instant, the girl was no longer trapped in a constant state of sleep. Eyes still sweetly closed, the girl faced Andreas with her head up instead of draped across the divan, her face no longer her own.
Instead in her place, for one horrible moment, Andreas was faced with a horrific image of his sister, her face bloody and bruised, her life dancing on the porch of death's door. At the same time, the painting become suddenly animated, and Katya opened her eyes and her mouth.

"This is your fault," the girl in the painting said.


"Monsieur? Excusez-moi, monsieur?"



A blink and it was gone.

Startled out of his skin, it took a few moments for Andreas to compose before turning to the source of the interruption. A slim, beautiful petite Frenchwoman with lustful hazel eyes gazed pleasantly back at him, or more accurately, up at him, a warm smile on her face.
Andreas gazed back at her for a moment before switching his gaze to what she was offering him in her hand. The familiar gleam of the rusted old Russian ruble that had previously fallen from his grip caught his attention immediately, and he took it gratefully.

"Merci beaucoup," he answered just as warmly, pocketing it. Though his French accent was not impeccable, it was nevertheless impressive, and the petite Frenchwoman gazed at him with approval as she answered back. "Bravo," she answered with a smile. She took a moment to assess him, taking note of his stylish though stand-out appearance. "Not American," she concluded with a hint of humour in English, her accent thick. She glanced at the pocket where the coin was now sitting comfortably. "Unusual coin you have there. Russian, I'm assuming?" Andreas nodded, rather impressed at her sharpness. She smiled. "Ah very interesting - we don't get very many Russians at all here in Paris." She glanced back at the painting and then back at Andreas, her eyes narrowed in playful curiosity. "You have taste," she started. They began to walk, getting a little closer to him, heading down the gallery like a pair of lovers. "Are you an art enthusiast? Or here on business? Or to see a special someone? Where are you staying here in Paris?"

Andreas's eyes narrowed as he took a moment to get a good look at this woman with all her sudden questions and her sudden curiousity in him. She had a tight-fitting little black dress on that managed to balance the perfect amount of professionalism and sexual allure; the latter being accentuated more with the way she moved as she walked alongside him.

Of course, to the casual observer, this seemed to be nothing more than a polite conversation between two beautiful strangers getting to know one another. But having an instinct sharpened by years of being surrounded by thieves and liars and murderers and backstabbers, Andreas knew something was up. This woman was not here to exchange polite words, or to get acquainted. She did not pick up his coin by chance. This was no coincidence.

"You could call it business," he answered vaguely enough, his Russian accent thick as caramel, careful to keep the warmth in his tone so that the woman would not think he had caught on.
They stopped near the escalator that led up to the exit of the Louvre through the famous Louvre glass pyramid. "Thank you again," he continued, implying his leave and a quick end to this conversation before it would inevitably escalate. He held out his hand in a friendly gesture. The woman was more foolish than she looked unfortunately - without suspecting a thing, she extended her hand as well, and that was all Andreas needed to confirm his suspicions.

They shook, and just before they split ways, Andreas leaned closer to her ear, his voice going from absolute casualty to a soft growl. "Tell Vasily Petrovich that next time, he should send more experienced agents."

He leaned back, a charming smile occupying his face once more as he turned to take his leave, getting on the escalator. "Very convincing act though---" he continued, pausing as he revealed a stylish red wallet from behind his back. "---Natalia Ivanova."

With that, he left, swiftly and deliberately. He exited the Louvre courtyard and returned to the bustling streets of Paris, the afternoon sun bathing the city in light and warmth. As he walked along the sidewalk, he took the liberty to examine the wallet he had procured, his expression creased in concern. He picked out her driver's license, which was over two years late for renewal. Unfortunately, there was not much that really stood out for Andreas, nothing that could add to what he had already deduced, thanks to the open opportunity Natalia had given him to steal her wallet and confirm that Andreas Brankovich was on the brink of trouble.

This had been yet another attempt out of already a few attempts done by Vasily Petrovich, his old Russian mafia mob boss back home, to intentionally seek Andreas out after all this time. Andreas had long left Russia and it's respective criminal underworld behind more than two years ago. Now, of course there is more to that story, more that is much crueler and much more dark, and as for Andreas, his reasons are known to him and him alone.

But more to the point, this was troublesome. Vasily Petrovich was a man who, once his sights had been set, would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. "The distance between dreams and reality is called action," he used to say, and that had been true for a time. But as the years went by and bridges began to break, the only dreams that were being bred into reality were nightmares, and reality like that was no longer reality but hell. Andreas had been lucky to escape that hell with his life attached, but some were not lucky - some like his sister. This only proved that Vasily was up to something, and Andreas was going to be sucked in again, like he had been the first time he had met Vasily, at the front of the gambling house a lifetime ago.
Granted, these occurrences were few and far in between, but Andreas knew better than to believe that this would be the end and not the beginning of something vastly more ugly than anything he had ever experienced.

More ugly than what happened to Katya? To your father? whispered the cruel little voice in his head.

Andreas couldn't help but have his breath hitch at the cursed thought, the flashbacks of what had happened back in the Louvre with the painting passing before his mind's eye for a moment. He sighed and put the driver's license back in the wallet and checked other compartments for money, managing to fish out a couple hundred euros before expertly leaving the wallet itself on a bench.


The walk to the Guy Savoy from the Louvre was a short, sweet one, including a scenic shortcut through the Pont des Arts over la Seine. During that 6-minute walk, Andreas managed to bump into eight people consecutively, nearly all rich business and art connoisseurs, either going or coming back from the Louvre. However, this was no ordinary case of clumsiness; by the end, and Andreas was facing the elegant entrance of the high-end, reputable establishment of the Guy Savoy, he had enough to pay for rent for the apartment he was staying in for the better part of a few months, just until he put his affairs into order.

And yes, contrary to many of the patrons in this high-end restaurant, including many of the very same group Andreas had spent months procuring and collecting and grouping, Andreas was not very abundant in terms of money currently, despite his efforts to make it seem so. To be plain and frank, Andreas was not a very well-off man at the moment. However, it would be a mistake to assume that he was poor either. Growing up on the streets taught Andreas how to survive in the most brutal of conditions, and ever since he had cut the bridge between him and the Russian mafia, money hardly ever came in droves, unless of course, Andreas instigated it.
and so, as a result, it taught him to be able to survive on few means. He did not need much, but that did not stop his ambition, and a thief was only ever as good as his ambition. A heist is not a heist without greed being one of it's main motivators.


Andreas entered the restaurant with easy grace, acting as if he belonged there, right there alongside the rich, as if his dirt-poor past and current present was nothing but some myth. He met with the maitre d', who, at the mention of 'Taccone', seemed to freeze and eye him with a certain caution, Andreas's intimidating height not helping in the matter at all. Though the young man was most likely ignorant of the real meaning behind 'Taccone', Andreas didn't find it surprising at all; Taccone was a hard man, cruel and a cutthroat. At the thought of the mob boss, Andreas's jaw clenched in quiet resentment. Taccone was the man from above, the main puppeteer who was pulling all the strings, omnipresent and all-powerful. Andreas had known him ever since he was a child; Vasily and him would often meet and discuss crime-world matters, and though the two major mob bosses had no love for each other in any sense of the word, they were both men who understood respect. At least, that is what Andreas had assumed until now...

Andreas shook himself out of it. There was no point in worrying about that now. He composed himself and his mind, trying to banish all thoughts about this, at least for the night. This team of his making needed him at the top of his game, and they needed to see that they could trust him to lead them, despite their differences. He let out a small sigh at the thought of the people he had chosen, a good number whom had once been a close part of his past. There was so much riding on this meeting; the stakes were relatively high, and between such different personalities and intertwining pasts, Andreas knew he had to act as the perfect buffer. Absolutely no pressure.

Even if it meant confronting with things, or more accurately, people, from the past that he wished he didn't have to deal with.

He followed the maitre d' to the table. Just as they arrived, it struck him that he was the last to arrive. He was late, almost by ten minutes; a lesser man would have apologized and rushed to the last empty seat. But Andreas did no such thing. Immediately, he knew that he couldn't let this slip by and let them know that this was exactly what it was.

And so, with that signature easy grace and confident gait, Andreas walked over to the last seat and the head of the table and sat down, as if this was all but natural, planned by the gods themselves. The maitre d' eyed Andreas and then to the rest nervously and then took a quick general bow before leaving, mumbling a quick, bumbling apology.

[insert paragraph of analyzing of other characters - will edit it in tomorrow since it's real late]

Andreas glanced at the retreating maitre d' before gazing back at the rest of the table, leaning in, elbows on the table and hands knitted together. There was a good moment, a meaningful pause before he spoke.

"You're all here for one reason and one reason only," he started, cutting straight to the point, his Russian accent rich and rolling as smoothly as chocolate. "But, first things first..." He leaned back, and crossed his muscled arms across his chest, a stern expression on his face, though a roguish twinkle betrayed his true sentiments as he continued.

"Which one of you managed to scare the maitre d' shitless?"

vesuvius.

 

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[div class=bumblebee]
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Anxious>Relaxed[/div][/div]
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Guy Savoy,Paris[/div][/div]
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X------X[/div][/div]
[div class=top][/div]
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lit[/div][/div]
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tags::
Andreas| Zulema
madame moiselle vesper. [/div][/div]
[div class=textcontainer][div class=text]
The atmosphere was tense as each member of the heist began arriving one by one sitting at the table. Each statement went through one of Monty's ears and out of the other, instead of paying attention monty was more focused on the beautiful petite blonde-haired woman sitting next to her. Monty would send quick glances at the woman before suddenly shifting her sight back to the empty ceramic plate in front of her, gripping the strap of her satchel leather bag tight she felt her heart skip a beat every single second. Montgomery is attracted to both the male and female body and is not ashamed to show how interested she is in a person but something about the woman next to her gave monty a different feeling. Her bold charming demeanor suddenly turned timid and reserved. Her palms were becoming sweaty and her stomach began to churn, she really had no idea what was wrong with her, she didn't feel like this since she was in middle school. Her eyes began to close as her mind automatically started counting from ten. Her count was interrupted when she heard a sharp Russian accent begin to speak, her eyes slowly opened and focused on the man sitting at the head of the table. She slowly removed her hands from her satchel strap and her body began to relax and unwind. The man sitting at the front was someone special to her. He was the man who spared her life in the past after all. "Which one of you managed to scare the maitre d' shitless?" Oh, how she wanted to roll her eyes at him but instead she crossed her arms over her chest she let a small shrug take over her lanky suited body before speaking. "Gotta be more specific Andreas....seeing the people at this table I'm pretty sure all of us have scared him one way or another...but it can't be me since I threatened to kill two of his employees...or maybe it could have been you with all those damn tattoos on your body looking like the devil himself from hell..." Her personality was finally in bloom, all nerves disappeared a smirk on her lips slowly forming.
[/div][/div]
[div class=titlebox][/div]
[div class=title]Montgomery Brooks[/div]
[div class=side][/div]
[div class=bottom][/div]
[div class=credit]code::yousmelldead[/div]
[/div]

 

[thirteen]

[div class=container] [div class=hold][div class=img][/div] [div class=name]@renataclark [div class=smaller][div class=overflow style="padding-right: 20px"]renata's my name, BASING FUCKING PUNCTUALITY IS MY GAME. | interactions: Zulema, Emory, Penny | interactions: everyone. |outfit: here | tags: sox logastellus madame moiselle sheeplesnight myst.erion vesper. erised [/div][/div][/div] [div class=follow]follow[/div][/div] [div class=center][div class=moodboard] [div class=aesthe style="background-size: 200%"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/236x/60/96/38/609638f9a31d3f4f4e9342882e91a918.jpg)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/07/00/85/0700858a53679f11506ca623c5c27831.jpg)"][/div]
[div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://tr.rbxcdn.com/3fa35af3ac8283830fd4fc9c8a01512e/420/420/Decal/Png)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://66.media.tumblr.com/f475e38e132ece7e9e0385c4db19e31e/tumblr_p9p809ezhM1wdokfco1_400.jpg)"][/div] / / [div class=aesthe style="background-image: url(https://ih0.redbubble.net/image.297230253.2699/clk3q,black,black,1000x-c,115,0,675,900.u1.jpg)"][/div] [/div] [div class=text][div class=overflow] Within a few minutes of her arrival, Renata caught sight of McGuire sitting at the bar--a move she somewhat appreciated and found unnecessary at the same time. Sure, he could watch the door, but her eyes were on all vantage points from where she was sitting as well. She decided to leave him be, not wanting to startle the young man and cajole him into coming and sitting over at the table. The next arrival, Lombardi, sank down only a few spaces away from where she was sitting. At the small compliment, Renata dipped her head in acknowledgement and thanks. "The pleasure is all mine, Zulema." She murmured quietly, the hint of a smile flickering on her features. Before Renata had to make more small talk, she was neatly saved by the dramatic entry of their lancer. Nishika was right--it had been a long time. Renata nodded again, this time in greeting, but her eyes were trained to the door. Four more people. All late. If this was the way things were going to go, she was going to have a hard time. Punctuality was a must--in instances like this, it was a basic courtesy to the people you were working for, but during a heist? It was the thin line between a safe con and a failed con.

Monty arrived. Renata's sharp eyes found hers for a moment before flickering away, back to the door once more. She recognized her, Montgomery Brooks. Three more people. They were too exposed here, too out in the open. It was better for them to act as a pretense of meeting, and rendezvous and talk about more heavier topics once they were secure. Two, now. Greaves was here. "You'll be briefed shortly." She said simply to the young man, her face betraying nothing about the risky heist they were undertaking--not even about the way that everyone's acceptance of this heist would mean an eternal blacklist. No, none of that. One person left. When Penelope Steele walked in, Renata's lips curled upwards, a real smile from the stone-faced woman. She caught Antonio's eyes, giving him a reassuring look. The bodyguard could rest easy--Renata would make sure that Penny was alright. Her hands daintily taken by her friend's, Renata gave her a gentle squeeze. She's sure her friend can feel the feathery white addition of a scar across her palm, but that's a question to answer later. "Been a while, hasn't it, querida? We'll catch up soon." Renata promised. She saw the searching look, and blinked once. All in good time, she'd explain soon enough.

Well, she most definitely could understand why she had been told that "it's been a long time" twice in a span of five minutes--because it truly had. It had been a while since Renata worked with a team. After all, Renata's "retirement" had consisted of going dark, an obsession with a particular emerald, and the burning of bridges that she had deemed unnecessary. It was safe to say that checking up on her friends and their Facebook statuses hadn't been at the top of her mind. Of course, there had been the solid year where she hadn't even wanted to touch her burner phone, too consumed with the prospect of hunting down the auburn boots that plagued her life. That was a story for another time.

Her musings were interrupted with Andreas' arrival. About damn time. His tardiness, in Renata's opinion, made him seem unprofessional, and burdened with a large ego. What, did he not have enough respect for his teammates to show up on time? With the head of the operation seated at his position, Renata relaxed in her studious observation of the door. Everyone was here. Well, almost everyone. Renata allowed her gaze to swivel to the bar, catching the eyes of the man who sat separate from the group, at the bar. She crooked two fingers, beckoning McGuire to join the group. With a flat, extended hand, she gestured to the seat open and ready for him. Her hand motions were open, it was clearly an invitation, but the glint in her eyes said different: it was an order. With that taken care of, Renata turned to the boss, her eyes fixated on a small point near the corner of the room, so that she appeared to be looking at him and paying attention, and so that no one could see the irritation and anger in her dark orbs. At that moment, Renata wanted to do nothing more than smack him across the face. Maybe that would inject some sense into the fool. Other than her hand twitching slightly in her lap, there was no indication of her particularly violent thought.

A small buzz distracted her once more. A discreet tap of her phone screen under the table revealed a text...from an unknown number. Who would be texting her--? Only a select few had her number. Curiosity piqued, the petite woman tapped in her passcode, tapping the message.

[ UNKNOWN - DO NOT REPLY] [Renata, Renata, Renata. What happened to being retired? It's in your best interest for you to comply, my dear, we wouldn't want another Zara situation, would we?]

Whore. There was no reason for him to bring her late sister into this, no reason at all. Anger surged in her, but she managed to keep a hand on her temper, reigning it in. There was no reason for her to get upset now. There were far more practical and useful manners to channel her intrinsic desire to murder Taccone towards. And she would--that was a promise. When this was all well and done, she'd make sure the last thing Arturo saw was her. She had to, of course, for everyone's safety, and also because a large part of her craved the selfish thirst for vengeance. At the thought of the others, Renata paused--if she got a message, she was quite sure that the others got one as well. Individual targets weren't Taccone's style of threat. He much preferred a mass effect and reaction to his presence. Vaguely, she realized that Andreas had asked a question and that Monty had answered, but Renata elected to ignore both, opening her mouth to subvert the topic of discussion. "I highly suggest you don't respond to the message that was sent to your phone." She warned. Now was not the time to directly antagonize the man. She placed her phone on the table, face down. If she took the incentive to show that she wasn't about to make any hasty decisions, then maybe the rational ones in the group would follow her example. [/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=c]code by: @undine[/div] [class=container]height: 400px; max-width: 350px; padding: 15px; background: #e1e1e1; margin: auto; --button: #ff7676; --active: #303030 [/class] [class=hold]height: 23%; width: 91%; padding: 5%; top: 0%; position: relative; background: white; border-radius: 7px; margin: auto; filter: grayscale(20%); [/class] [class=name]display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; position: relative; top: -4vw; left: 5%; transition: 0.8s [/class] [class=smaller]font-size: 8px; color: #909090; font-weight: 600; font-smoothing: antialiased; height: 27px; width: 120px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=img]height: 99%; width: 28%; display: inline-block; background-image: url(https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/powerrangersfanon/images/1/1b/Ju_Liu.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20170408024532); background-size: 140%; background-position: 10% 25%; filter: grayscale(5%) saturate(90%); border-radius: 50%; border: 2px solid var(--button); cursor: pointer [/class] [class=follow]height: 2; width: 50px; padding: 2px; font-size: 10px; background: var(--button); border-radius: 3px; color: white; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; position: relative; top: 40%; float: right; transition: 0.5s [/class] [class name=follow state=hover]background: var(--active); cursor: pointer [/class] [class name=black]background: var(--active) [/class] [class name=blackt]color: var(--active) [/class] [class name=pink]color: var(--button) [/class] [class=center]height: 57%; width: 89%; padding: 3%; top: 5%; position: relative; background: white; border-radius: 7px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; text-align: center [/class] [class=moodboard]height: 100%; width: 100%; color: transparent; font-size: 19px; z-index: 5; overflow: hidden; line-height: 85px; position: relative; top: 4%; transition: 0.5s [/class] [class=high]top: -7% [/class] [class=low]top: 4% [/class] [class=overflow]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow: auto; padding-left: 2px; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=aesthe]display: inline-block; border-radius: 4px; height: 36%; width: 25%; background-image: url(https://data.whicdn.com/images/249398200/original.jpg); background-size: cover; [/class] [class=text]height: 65%; width: 100%; font-size: 0.7em; text-align: justify; opacity: 0; overflow: hidden; transition: 0.4s [/class] [class=vis]opacity: 1 [/class] [class=c]width: 100%; font-size: 10px; opacity: 0; text-align: center [/class] [script class=follow on=click] addClass black follow addClass up moodboard removeClass down moodboard addClass high moodboard removeClass low moodboard addClass pink name removeClass blackt name addClass vis text [/script] [script class=img on=click] removeClass black follow removeClass up moodboard addClass down moodboard removeClass high moodboard addClass low moodboard addClass blackt name removeClass pink name removeClass vis text [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 1.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]height: 100%[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]height: 30%;[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 1.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]height: 30%[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]height: 100%[/keyframe] [/animation]

 

[sox]

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[div class=bkgdborder][div class=bkgd]
[div class=pic][div class="pichover hidden"][div class=circlepic][/div]outfit: xxx

mood: amused, cautious

tags:
madame moiselle thirteen

mentions:
renata, andreas
[/div][/div]
[div class=name]nishika rani[/div]
[div class=role]the lancer[/div]
[div class=textcontainer][div class=textbox]As the rest of their mismatched posse of miscreants arrived at Guy Savoy, Nishika couldn't hold back the amused smirk dancing on her lips. 'Boy, oh, boy, do we have a lot of strong characters here,' she remarked to herself, not at all looking forward to the gargantuan task of getting along with everyone at the table despite her playful outlook. While she had history with most of these faces, some of them were far more trustworthy than others, and she preferred to know going in that they'd have her back in a sticky situation rather than on the field.

As Andreas spoke, Nisha's attention drifted off to one of the nearby tables, a group of stout, grimy men who seemed as they got off on their own stacks. Their chortles of laughter grated on her ears as she picked up on bits and pieces of their conversation, mentions of gentrifying the poor areas of the city and objectifying the women in their lives causing her eyes to narrow imperceptibly. When Andreas posed his ridiculous little icebreaker question to the group, however, Nisha refocused on the people before her and pouted slightly, swirling the rum in her glass. "We can't help it if the bloke's got a bit of a leaky bladder, can we?" she posed, making eye contact with the poor maî·tre d' and shooting him a predatory wink. He luckily had enough of his panties unsoiled to retreat back to his stand, breaking his gaze and avoiding the woman's scrutiny any further. "It's not like we're scary or anything. That definitely can't be it."

Before she could banter any further, Nisha's smart watch lit up through her dress sleeve, alerting her to a notification out of the usual if it was appearing on her personal device. A subtle shift of her wrist revealed a message from the big, bad wolf himself, reading:

— '[UNKNOWN - DO NOT REPLY] Interesting. You do realize that you are working with your own team, correct? I'm not quite sure why you sent a muscle man into the kitchen, but I do hope you'll straighten up soon. Your childish pranks never brought and never will bring anyone joy. Don't fail me.'

It took nearly all of Nisha's willpower to not chuckle out loud at the message—Taccone had always been far too perceptive, an irritating flex that the seductress never failed to challenge every chance she got. While she objectively knew that the man wasn't a force to be reckoned with on a good day, swallowing on her knees and saying 'thank you, sir' had never exactly been her style. Despite Renata's tense advice, a couple of quick taps later had her responding to the condescending message with a simple:

— 'What a shame it is, then, that you still enjoy the show. Watch carefully.'

As if on cue, a familiar tray of Midori Margaritas arrived on the scene, the waiter smiling at each of them individually before clearing his throat and announcing, "Good evening, Mesdames et Messieurs, to Guy Savoy. May we offer you a treat on the house: the classic Midori melon margarita, served on the rocks with Tequila Ocho Plata imported directly from-"

Before he could speak any further, Nisha cleared her throat and held her drink out in front of her, switching to French so the waiter got her message loud and clear. "Nous déjà avons nos boissons, merci," she dismissed with an authoritative glint in her eyes. "Pourquoi ne leur sers-tu pas a les messieurs là-bas?" Nisha jerked her chin in the direction of the table she had been eaves-dropping on earlier, waving the drinks away to the beer-bellied men still pounding shots and showcasing their designer watches as aggressively as ever.

The waiter looked at her quizzically for a moment until the threat in her gaze finally struck a chord in his clueless brain. "Ah, mais bien sûr," he conceded before switching back to English. "Do let us know if there are any questions about the menu. We are more than happy to answer them for you." Nisha merely shot him her classic, hollow smile before redirecting her attention to her colleagues, not bothering to translate since it was doubtful they were lost on the meaning of her words. The "prank" as Taccone had called it turned out to not be as necessary as she had originally prepared for, considering she recognized every face at the table. Going through with it would only serve to sow more seeds of distrust within the group, not to mention the annoying iciness of Renata's wrath she'd be facing had anyone actually fallen for it.

[/div][/div]
[div class=credit]code by sox [/div][/div][/div]

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

As the rest of their mismatched posse of miscreants arrived at Guy Savoy, Nishika couldn't hold back the amused smirk dancing on her lips. 'Boy, oh, boy, do we have a lot of strong characters here,' she remarked to herself, not at all looking forward to the gargantuan task of getting along with everyone at the table despite her playful outlook. While she had history with most of these faces, some of them were far more trustworthy than others, and she preferred to know going in that they'd have her back in a sticky situation rather than on the field.

As Andreas spoke, Nisha's attention drifted off to one of the nearby tables, a group of stout, grimy men who seemed as they got off on their own stacks. Their chortles of laughter grated on her ears as she picked up on bits and pieces of their conversation, mentions of gentrifying the poor areas of the city and objectifying the women in their lives causing her eyes to narrow imperceptibly. When Andreas posed his ridiculous little icebreaker question to the group, however, Nisha refocused on the people before her and pouted slightly, swirling the rum in her glass. "We can't help it if the bloke's got a bit of a leaky bladder, can we?" she posed, making eye contact with the poor maî·tre d' and shooting him a predatory wink. He luckily had enough of his panties unsoiled to retreat back to his stand, breaking his gaze and avoiding the woman's scrutiny any further. "It's not like we're scary or anything. That definitely can't be it."

Before she could banter any further, Nisha's smart watch lit up through her dress sleeve, alerting her to a notification out of the usual if it was appearing on her personal device. A subtle shift of her wrist revealed a message from the big, bad wolf himself, reading:

— '[UNKNOWN - DO NOT REPLY] Interesting. You do realize that you are working with your own team, correct? I'm not quite sure why you sent a muscle man into the kitchen, but I do hope you'll straighten up soon. Your childish pranks never brought and never will bring anyone joy. Don't fail me.'

It took nearly all of Nisha's willpower to not chuckle out loud at the message—Taccone had always been far too perceptive, an irritating flex that the seductress never failed to challenge every chance she got. While she objectively knew that the man wasn't a force to be reckoned with on a good day, swallowing on her knees and saying 'thank you, sir' had never exactly been her style. Despite Renata's tense advice, a couple of quick taps later had her responding to the condescending message with a simple:

— 'What a shame it is, then, that you still enjoy the show. Watch carefully.'

As if on cue, a familiar tray of Midori Margaritas arrived on the scene, the waiter smiling at each of them individually before clearing his throat and announcing, "Good evening, Mesdames et Messieurs, to Guy Savoy. May we offer you a treat on the house: the classic Midori melon margarita, served on the rocks with Tequila Ocho Plata imported directly from-"

Before he could speak any further, Nisha cleared her throat and held her drink out in front of her, switching to French so the waiter got her message loud and clear. "Nous déjà avons nos boissons, merci," she dismissed with an authoritative glint in her eyes. "Pourquoi ne leur sers-tu pas a les messieurs là-bas?" Nisha jerked her chin in the direction of the table she had been eaves-dropping on earlier, waving the drinks away to the beer-bellied men still pounding shots and showcasing their designer watches as aggressively as ever.

The waiter looked at her quizzically for a moment until the threat in her gaze finally struck a chord in his clueless brain. "Ah, mais bien sûr," he conceded before switching back to English. "Do let us know if there are any questions about the menu. We are more than happy to answer them for you." Nisha merely shot him her classic, hollow smile before redirecting her attention to her colleagues, not bothering to translate since it was doubtful they were lost on the meaning of her words. The "prank" as Taccone had called it turned out to not be as necessary as she had originally prepared for, considering she recognized every face at the table. Going through with it would only serve to sow more seeds of distrust within the group, not to mention the annoying iciness of Renata's wrath she'd be facing had anyone actually fallen for it.

 

[vesper.]

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outfit: xxx

mood: cautious, observant

mentions: nishika, monty, renata [/div] [/div] [div class=name]zulema lombardi[/div] [div class=textcontainer][div class=text]Zulema watched more and more people arrive, keeping her hands crossed over her lap as she observed every one of them. Some entrances were more dramatic than others, to each their own style, the young brain had never been one to make a show out of things. Her eyes drifted to that of a honey toned woman who identified herself as Nishika. Of course, this woman was one of grand elegance and charm and she had expected nothing less of the way she'd dressed and arrived. In her notes Zule had only written, 'beauty is as deadly as a gun', which in all honesty was a quite fair observation. Ms. Rani had made a name for herself that the blonde could only define as legendary and it would be an honor to work with such a recognized woman.

The next woman that arrived was someone that she had already done significant research on, for well research purposes. Montgomery Brooks, the only other big brain with a very impressive hacking reputation. The situation made her feel at a higher success projection, although the constant stares that Monty was giving her were kind of making her uncomfortable. A small sound was heard coming from her throat as she gave an awkward cough, shifting slightly in her chair. Anyone who knew the spanish blonde knew that this type of social setting was not her forte.

Soon Andreas had arrived, the head of this criminal food chain, with a witty remark about how scared the waiter had been. In her defense she had not been threatening, just logical and pushy. Surely it had been the strong aura that the rest of her new associates radiated, I mean how could you not fear Nikisha's illogical beauty? She remained quiet, listening intently to the woman sitting next to her. A small grin tugged at the ends of her lips, giving them the faint appearance of amusement. Zulema began to drift into her own thoughts and calculations, being snapped back by the well timed chiming of literally all the phones around her including her own.

[incoming message \ unknown - do not reply: it's amusing how awestruck you are of all the others sitting around you. rest assured, if you fail in your attempts, i will ensure that everyone at the table holds you with a certain spite that you will never recover from. do not fail me.]

The brain's light green eyes changed almost instantly, her eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance as her lips mouthed the words in the text message silently. This threat was not intimidating to Zule, the fact that he had so openly reached out to her with the intention of thinking he could spook her was. As an intellectual she recognized the mastermind that Taccone was but she had not expected such a low level intimidation tactic from him. From the look on the faces of those at the table she could deduct that they had each gotten something tempting them to answer. Of course, she would do no such thing mostly because she took this as a sign that their meeting was actually making the big man feel at least a wee bit threatened.

Her eyes shifted back up to see the waiter coming and going with drinks, narrowing her eyes before letting out a loud and annoyed sigh. "Well, despite the reputation of this restaurant I am afraid I'll have to leave bad reviews. It seems they can't even handle bringing drinks promptly.. Thank you for the invitation by the way. My name is Zulema and I look forward to working with you all."


[/div][/div] [div class=credit]code by sox [/div][/div]

 

[erised]

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background-size:130%; float:left; background-position:-20px 0px; margin:25px 25px; [/class] [class=puck3] height:250px; width:245px; float:left; margin-left:0px; margin-top:25px; background:#fff [/class] [div class=puck2][class=puckop] height:250px; width:120px; background:#928085; float:left; opacity:0.2; [/class] [div class=puckop][/div][/div][div class=puck3][class=nametitle] height:40px; width:100%; background: #a3a3a3; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; line-height:40px; font-weight:800; [/class] [div class=nametitle]+46 382-596-7753[/div] [class=first] height:20px; width:110px; background:#404040; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:left; margin:10px 10px; [/class] [class=second] height:20px; width:110px; background:#9e9e9e; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:right; margin:10px 10px; [/class] [class=third] height:20px; width:140px; background:#404040; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:left; margin:10px 10px; [/class] [class=fourth] height:20px; width:140px; background:#9e9e9e; line-height:20px; text-align:center; color:#fff; font-family:Arial; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:9px; float:right; margin:-70px 10px; display:none;[/class] [class=sendbox] height:30px; width:100%; background:#404040; float:left; margin-top:60px; [/class] [div class=first] where are you?[/div] [div class=second]about to punch someone[/div] [div class=third]are you ever not punching things?[/div] [script class=send on=click] fadeIn 800 fourth fadeOut 800 sendtext [/script] [script class=lineup on=click] fadeIn 800 post slideUp 600 puck3 [/script] [div class=sendbox][class=bordertextmsg] height:20px; width:140px; background:#fff; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; font-size:10px; line-height:20px; color:#000; text-align:center; float:left; margin:5px 5px; [/class] [div class=bordertextmsg][class=sendtext] font-size:11px; line-height:20px; color:#000; text-align:center;[/class] [div class=sendtext]nope.[/div][/div][class=lineup] height:20px; float:left; margin:5px 5px; color:#a3a3a3; font-size:15px; line-height:20px; letter-spacing:2px; cursor:pointer; [/class] [class name=lineup state=hover] color:#262626; [/class] [div class=lineup] [/div] [class=send] height:20px; width:45px; float:left; margin-top:5px; cursor:pointer; background:#a3a3a3; border:0px solid #fff; border-radius:20px; line-height:20px; font-size:10px; color:#fff; text-align:center; [/class] [class name=send state=hover] background:#a3a3a3; color:#fff; [/class] [div class=send]SEND[/div][/div] [div class=fourth]nope.[/div][/div] [class=post] display:none; background:#fff; height:250px; width:245px; float:left; margin-top:25px; [/class] [div class=post][class=howto] height:30px; width:100%; border-bottom:5px solid #262626; color:#262626; line-height:30px; font-family:Lato; font-size:15px; font-weight:800; [/class] [div class=howto][class=homereturn] width:30px; height:30px; border-right:5px solid #262626; color:#262626; line-height:30px; font-family:Lato; font-size:15px; font-weight:800; float:left; cursor:pointer; text-align:center; [/class] [script class=homereturn on=click] fadeOut 1000 post slideDown 1000 puck3 fadeIn 1000 sendtext fadeOut 1000 fourth [/script] [div class=homereturn][/div] [class=heylookie] color:#262626; line-height:30px; font-family:Lato; font-size: 20px; font-weight:800; float:left; text-align:center; margin-left:5px; [/class] [div class=heylookie]emory[/div] [/div] [class=container1] width:250px; height:205px; float:left; margin:0px -17px; overflow:hidden; color:#262626; font-size:11px; font-family:'Lato'; text-align:justify; line-height:12px; margin:auto; [/class] [class=scrollbar1] width:105%; height:195px; float:left; margin:10px 10px; overflow-y:scroll; [/class] [class=textbox1] width:92%; [/class][div class=container1][div class=scrollbar1][div class=textbox1] Emory wasn't paying attention to the rest of their little group's arrival, instead focusing on a piece of thread that had come loose on the tablecloth. He rolled his eyes when he heard Renata's reply of 'you'll be briefed shortly' and managed to bite back his retort. He hoped "shortly" would be soon or else he'd be leaving here.

His eyes darted up momentarily when the last of them arrived, a man who gave off the aura of the leader, but then they went back to focusing on his tablecloth. No one was saying anything important, so he felt no need to pay attention to the conversation. Tuning them out was not hard at all apparently.

Then he heard the 'which one of you managed to scare the maitre'd shitless?' question and snorted. "Me, obviously," he began. "All I had to do was tell him to fuck off in French and he was shitting his pants." Though he knew they probably all did a great job of scaring the man. He seemed pretty weak... all Emory would have to do was punch him and he'd be out like a light. Not that he'd ever get that opportunity.

When he felt his phone buzz in his lap, he was sorely tempted to ignore it, but when everyone else's buzzed at the same time, his curiosity got the best of him. The blond slid the phone out of his pocket, unlocked the screen and opened the message:

from: unknown [ do not reply ]

> An addition I don't particularly care about, but an interesting choice. Do try not to break anything, Mr. Greaves. After all, you don't belong. Don't fail me, I'll be keeping tabs on your progress.

Well, that was lovely. He snorted as he re-read the message. "Maar dingen kapot te maken is mijn specialiteit." he muttered in a condescending tone. He was planning on ignoring the 'do not reply' directions and actually replying, but then he heard Renata and her warning. "Fijn." Emory grumbled, dragging out the word. He wanted everyone to know how displeased he was.

Before anyone could go on, drinks arrived at the table. He never ordered one, again not trusting anyone to pour but himself, but then he heard that they were on the house. Then, before anyone could take one, he heard Nisha instruct the waiter to take the tray of drinks to a table of seedy looking old men. Nice. They were in for a treat.

_________________________________________

mood: still bored but amused
location: restaurant
mentions: renata, andreas & nisha
tags: thirteen madame moiselle sox
translations: "maar dingen kapot te maken is mijn specialiteit" (dutch) = "but breaking things is my specialty"
"fijn" (dutch) = "fine"
[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div]

code by pasta​