Fantasy The Queensway Gang

[Hard Boiled]

 

[queendilettante]

Pink - Mary (myself)
Green - Helena ( Hard Boiled )

Helena stuck her journal and her lucky green pen back in their home, a small satchel hanging from the side of her belt. She'd just returned to base from a resounding failure of a day, bringing home a grand total of zero shillings. What the rest of the crew had done with their Tuesday, she had no clue, though she wasn't optimistic in terms of money or food. She'd been in more fights and chases than she'd had hot meals in the past ten years, she didn't see that changing overnight. Small fish in the world's biggest pond, she liked to joke.

Pessimism, however, only fueled her to bring the gang closer, to survive as one during even the coldest of nights. Rain poured down as always in the British spring, soaking those unfortunate enough to be outside during the moment the storm abruptly began. She heard the front door of the gang's shelter, an old reliable tavern, open and slam shut. The next member had returned from their adventures.

With nothing to do, she spun herself off of her straw bed tucked away in the cellar to greet the rest of the team.

"Oi!" She greeted her sister over the low hum of conversation across the pub. The patronage had grown accustomed to the gang's constant presence, they were just another part of the atmosphere now.

Mary pensively scanned the pub before waving back to her sister. She was usually comfortable with the regulars at the bar, but was hoping to avoid stray ears for the news she had on the off chance that her paranoia was warranted.

Helena gave her a quick one-armed hug. "How'd we do?"

Mary returned the hug, glancing around the pub again. “I think I might have something,” she started, quietly. “A banker’s buying that old estate on Gerard and-” Mary lowered her voice to a bare whisper and leaned into her sister’s ear, “-it looks like there’s going to be a party.”

"The yank? Thought he turned tail." Helena would correct her journal later. They had no fine clothing to attend a party, though surely they could find their way to some. "Social or business?"

“Both, if I’ve heard correctly.” Mary pulled her head away and smiled, lightly biting her lower lip in excitement. “The American wants to flex his muscles a little bit. I hear this is going to be… quite the show.” She couldn’t help the grin plastered over her face. “And really, dear sister, what’s theater - a live show - without some unexpected characters.”

Helena rolled her eyes at her sister's theatrics. "I'll muster the muscle."

“Please do. I’m sure many of our acquaintances would love to attend an extravagant feast with High Society.” Mary waved to her sister and turned to the front door of the pub. Nearly skipping out of the door with childlike giddiness, she drank in the smoggy air of the London slum; the toxic air tasted almost sweet. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but she couldn't help but feel light in the face of such a ripe opportunity. A party? At a banker's estate? The lights, the music, and the hot food- it was as if Mary was already swimming in it. All she needed to do in preparation was find appropriate attire, and how hard could that be?

As if on cue, Mary saw a visibly confused and wealthy looking older woman walking across the street with a parasol. Mary took that as a sign and jogged over to the other side of the street, twirling and spinning her cane on the way. "Ma'am, ma'am!" Mary called out with as friendly a beaming smile as she could manage. She subtly reached into her pocket and retrieved a small wooden box as she gestured behind her to the pub she left from. "Would you like to play cards?"

 

[Hard Boiled]

With her sister back out the door as soon as she was in, Helena found her way to the rest of the gang holed up in a corner. Some sat in a booth, one or two on the floor, a few against the wall.

"Gather 'round." She looked at everyone in one swift movement of the head, scooting around the first person sat in the booth to be in the middle.

While the group brought themselves into the huddle, she rested her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers.

"We've got it this time. Mary's sniffed out some bloke throwing a party on Gerard street, it just so happens we're all invited." Once again, she looked to each member, this time locking eyes with them for a moment.
"I don't know when it is, or how many people are going to be attending, but I hear there's enough war gold inside to buy a night with the queen, eh?" She flashed a smile to keep things light, though this was a serious matter. This could be their first real step towards making a name for themselves, she didn't need to express it.

"This is a formal event, yeah? That means you, Bruce. We need to look sharp, suits and dresses. Don't care how you get 'em, long as they're clean and fit. That's the job for today, sound?" She waited for any questions.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce McIntosh leaned against the wood pillar just next to the booth his fellow gang members resided in. It was his normal spot; just off to the side, still clearly with them all but just out of reach. He'd been rummaging through the contents of his pockets idly for the past quarter hour, just waiting for the slightest hint of something interesting to happen. Nearby on the table rested his half full mug, probably his third or tenth drink of the day. He'd lick at the froth residing in his beard from time to time as an added tick of his. Bruce hadn't managed to get much done for the day outside of standing around and looking pretty. Despite that being a skill of his, Bruce was feeling particularly energetic and almost felt the need to throw his mug at the nearest patron, just to get some punches thrown his way. Anything to get some excitement in his life.

In fact, if it wasn't for Helena stopping by, he was bound to get a riot going eventually. When the Nevittess ushered the group to gather around, Bruce barely moved. From where he was, he was plenty present. "What's on the menu for today, lass?" He asked before she spoke, though it was barely audible in the wave of noise made from unruly patrons a few tables away. With a twitch of his beard Bruce listened in on the latest scheme to cross the Nevitts. Once he heard the mention of Gerard Street, he nearly scoffed. He knew it meant outfits, Bruce's least favorite aspect of a heist. He always preferred wearing a kilt for fights he was anticipating. Pants were just too constrictive when the time came to knee, kick and jab at anyone or anything in range. Kilts had the added benefit of being extremely stylish as well.

At the mention of his name, Bruce gave a mix of a grunt, some muttering, and an "Aye!" It wasn't much of a response, more of a roll call to ensure Helena knew he was paying attention. Helena soon finished her speech, to which Bruce grabbed his mug and finished off whatever was left of his drink. Bruce didn't bother setting the cup down, preferring instead to just toss it over his shoulder with a cumbersome shrug. He was expecting the confused grunt that came from whoever he hit with it. "Aye, let's get something good going for this gathering. Murphy!" Bruce called out as if he was across the tavern to the lad just a few meters away. "Let's see if we can't find some suits to match our complexion, eh?"

 

[kaito9049]

Conor shook the raindrops off his coat, wringing it a bit to get the water out before placing it on the back of a chair near the hearth. Made of black and cotton and stitched to hell and back, it'd been his father's, a gift the old man had given him for his new life in England.

Scratching at his beard, Conor glanced at the mishmash of thieves, cons and devil-knows-what that had gathered in the tavern corner. He was sure Da wouldn't approve of the company his "new life" had brought him. The thought dug at the back of Cee's mind, but he pushed it down. If he was looking for approval, that ship had sailed. It'd probably sunk, too.

Seeing Helena's approach, the man crouched against the wall. He listened attentively as she laid out their plan. It was a bold one, but then again the Sisters weren't the type to be timid. And truth be told, Conor was itching for a big-time score. The past few days had netted him a handful of pence and a loose loaf he'd managed to swipe from a careless patron leaving a bakery. It was disappointing — frustrating.

So, sure. A party full of gold sounded just rosy.

Conor suppressed a groan as Helena mentioned attire. He'd hated formal clothes ever since he'd been forced into a fancy suit for First Communion. They restricted movement, and they were almost itchy. Maybe he could convince the Sisters to let him pose as a servant. On the other hand, the thought of bowing to a bunch of ladies and gents for a whole evening, apologizing constantly for even existing, made his stomach turn. And he'd probably still have to wear some sort of waistcoat (that was what rich-folk servants wore, right?).

He discarded the idea — at least for now — as Helena finished speaking. Where on earth was he supposed to get a suit? Maybe he could pay a visit to the local tailor's, but could he get in and out before anyone got suspicious? Conor glanced around to the others, only to snap to attention as Bruce, the Scot with a booming voice and frighteningly impressive physique, shouted his name.

"All right," he agreed with a slight nod. "Sounds grand to me. Will you be gracin' us with a kilt this time, McIntosh? Can't get much sharper than that, no?"

Conor hadn't known any of the other members for long, but he liked Bruce enough. It was hard not to, what with his self-assured nature and generally friendly demeanor. Besides, Cee felt a sort of kinship with those who had been born outside of England.

 

[Pipsqueak]

"And that is how ya beat anyone at rock, paper, scissors!"

Benny finished the ten minute long story with a definitive smirk, unaware he had lost most of the crew somewhere in the middle of it. He had stationed himself on the wooden floor of the tavern so everyone could see his wandering demonstration, yet it had proved quite the troublesome spot when random patrons kept asking him to move out of the way. The dreary weather outside had made the job difficult today, not so much as a bread crumb in the pockets of his threaded vest. Discouraged and desperate to contain the itch of boredom, the redhead had spent the rest of the afternoon inside figuring out the best solution to winning the game.

Now it seemed such a waste as his explanation to the others drew to a close, knowing the last of his existence today would be spent in similar fashion. Finally turning to face the others, he noticed their attention had been drawn away. Frowning, he glanced back to find Helena walking toward them now, a mischievous glimmer in her eye not so uncommon. Feeling excitement rush through him, Benny quickly stood to let their fearless leader in, knowing whatever she had would be better than, well... anything.

He watched with rapt interest as she explained what her sister had been up to, the energy between the group shifting. Things were looking up it seemed! Thoughts racing with ideas on how to get his hands on such unobtainable clothing, he could already picture himself at the extravagant gathering, dancing with pretty women and drinking as much bubbly as his stomach would allow.

"Grand indeed! Whoever's hostin'll be long forgotten when we show up!" He agreed with Conor, who had arrived with perfect timing. Benny had momentarily forgotten why the offer had even been placed in the beginning, already swept away by his fantasies until he remembered the lack of information.

"Aw, Helena! You don't expect us lot ta wait out in the rain until the party starts, do ya?" He grumbled, already picturing himself drenched by the time they arrived. He liked the rain well enough, as long as it stayed outside and he anywhere else. Without knowing the starting time, it seemed difficult to show up at the precise hour. Not that he had ever been a stickler for being punctual, but this was one of the best plans he had heard in a while, and he refused to miss out on it any more than necessary.

 

[spottednewt]

Tucked away in the far corner booth that the gang called their second, third, or fourth home, sat an uninspired Astrid. The steady scraping of a small knife over the top of the weathered wooden table bounced off of the wall next to her and mingled in the air with the chatter of other patrons and Benny’s incessant droning about she-didn’t-know-what. For a moment - just one fleeting moment - Astrid looked up from her carving and studied the young man sitting on the floor; preaching to the muddy boot choir. The woman shot him a nod in agreement, although she had already tuned back out again.

Focused eyes zeroed back in on the small divots of an ‘x’ in front of her as she casually reached over the back of the booth and strained to snatch a mug of brew off of the neighboring table. The owner may have noticed, they may not have. There was some shuffling and ruckus behind them, but O’Malley didn’t turn to investigate. Instead, she simply took an absentminded sip from the cup before shooting the contents a wholly sour look of confusion and disgust. The introduction of Helena into their dull sea of twiddled thumbs and idle conversation was welcome in more ways than one. Astrid loved the way she commanded an audience and played her words like a rigged set of cards; but she loved even moreso how the woman kept that attention - enough for Astrid to switch her mug out for another on on the table. The movement was done in a casual, fluid motion as though she were stretching or itching her nose; eyes never leaving Helena’s.

“Are we going’t need a carriage?” Offering this question carefully, it wasn’t until that moment that Astrid realized that she had hardly used her voice that day and that the rust was apparent. Taking a quick sip from the mug, she leaned back in her seat to comb over the others as they prepared to be off.

 

[PinkChiffon]

As the rain poured down around her, the sight of the tavern was a welcomed one. She never thought she'd feel that way, but well, things happen. It was a fair bit nicer than where she was hanging around prior to linking up with the twins and the rest of the gang, but not nearly as nice as she'd prefer.

Despite the fact the day was young, it had already been a long and difficult one. Evangeline had gotten an early start to go down to Southwark, to pay a visit to the Dulwich Picture Gallery. She heard that a new collection was being displayed, allegedly containing a few previously undisplayed works of some Italian masters. Previously undisplayed works always spiked Eva's adrenaline a little bit. For someone in her line of work, it's critical to keep track of what's being displayed at all times. It's incredibly difficult to sell forgery if it's known that the real one is already on display in the same city, and Eva isn't foolish enough to try. To keep track, Eva keeps a ledger. She tracks what's on display, where they are, what she knows for fact is in some private collections, and what fakes she has out in the world. Art changes hands all the time, it can be difficult to keep track of, but that's what connections are for. Eva hadn't been paying much mind when she left for her little day trip. Dressed in her finest daywear, which wasn't a stiff competition as she only owned two day dresses, she set for Dulwich.

It's easy for time to get away from you sometimes. Today was one of those times. When Evangeline bust through the doors of the tavern she was ice-cold, soaked to the bone, and downright miserable. It was the sort of misery that could be felt just by standing near someone. It was poor planning on her part, she thought she'd be back long before the rain started but time just got away from her. Eva pushed her way through the patrons, nestling herself as close to the warmth of the fire as she could. She ran her fingers through her wet hair, wrung out some of the water, and groaned in disgust. "You lot would not believe the awful day I've hard. Truly, absolutely dreadful from the start," she complained. Just as she was about to launch into the tirade of her terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day to the present members of their little gang, her thought was cut short Helana's call for attention.

Eva listened intently to the plan. She absolutely lit up at the thought of a party on Gerard street. That street was lined with some beautiful homes, full of influential people. Of course, this was for work and not pleasure, but she was delighted anyway. The money would be nice, she really needed some new inks, and they're getting hard and harder to steal. She would, of course, need a new dress as Helana suggested. Eva didn't exactly see Bruce as the pinnacle of style, but she wasn't about to say anything contrary to Helana's orders. Besides, Eva was firm in her belief to make anything look chic. "Who's the host?"

 

[Aeris]

The smoke was so so heavy. How on Earth had no one woken up?
Tears ran down Eleanor's eyes as she raced down the eloquent halls of her home, "Mum? Papa? Elliot?" Her voice was hoarse from the smoke. Finally, she burst through her parents room where they were still sleeping peacefully. "Please wake up!" She shook them with as much force as she could, but they remained still. Eleanor tried again only to be met with the same results. With little options, she leaned down, giving each of her parents a kiss on the forehead. "I love you..." Before she could make a decision she'd regret, Eleanor left the room, taking a left turn to Elliot's room. He had to be awake, he was a light sleeper- a pin dropping could wake her little brother up.

She had already knew what to expect the second she entered Elliot's room. Her little brother was curled in his blue blankets, a small teddy bear tucked under one arm. The smoke had grown heavier now, the fire would engulf her home and family any time now. She knew she had to leave, someone had to survive this mess. Eleanor turned to leave her brothers room but she was too late, the fire had made it's way upstairs. She could feel the flames making their way up her body, the searing hot pain had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

~*~

Eleanor shot up from the tavern table. It was just a nightmare, it was always just a nightmare. She twirled a strand of hair absentmindedly as she stared out into the rainy streets before sweeping her gaze around the tavern, at the group of criminals she now viewed as friends. What would people say if they knew a Bennett had survived that dreadful night and had turned to a life of crime? Sometimes she liked to entertain the thoughts, surely no one would actually believe it. What if someone had recognized her? She'd dropped her family name entirely after that night, occasionally, she still went by Eleanor, but for the most part she was now Ella.

Ella turned her attention to Helena, who she hadn't even noticed enter the tavern until just now. She listened intently as the twin explained the news her sister had found out. A party? On Gerard Street at that? Ella couldn't help but smile at the plan. It'd been a long time since she had attended a party, let alone worn a gown. And, the money would be nice. These last few days had been hard on all of them, not that their life as a whole wasn't already difficult.

Ella's mind raced with the possibilities. If she remembered correctly, she knew of a dress shop somewhere close by. And she was fairly certain she could slip in and out undetected, dress and all.

Eleanor spoke up the moment she was able, "Yes, what time do you reckon we all need to be ready?" Her voice was soft, the perks of being raised the way she had been, she supposed. Even if Helena didn't know when the party was, Ella liked to be prepared.

 

[Vudukudu]

Benjamin has always prided himself on having a certain adaptability. Etiquette lessons in his youth never stopped him from being able to appreciate a good stomp in the mud. Military discipline never stopped him from a good glorious charge. Fervent disgust with his peer group in the South didn’t stop him from hosting them for tea, though usually that was just a way to discover which nearby address needed to be visited in the wee hours of the morning.

That adaptability has made his life in England a bit easier, if not still wholly unpleasant. He’d discovered early on that his technically aristocratic lineage was worth next to nothing, but that certain ordinary folk did find his service to the Union admirable enough to get him an ale or a room for the night. Begging for alms was beneath him, and when he met the Sisters he sensed an air of opportunity. Their approach was bold, and he’d agreed to join their little gang after some thinking.

It had hardly turned out to be the romantic adventure he’d dreamed of as a child. No masked men on horseback robbing carriages for their jewels, no strolling into town and dueling the corrupt sheriff in the streets. Mostly, he sat around the same tavern, keeping an eye out for trouble and suggesting the local constabulary get their lunch elsewhere.

Word of a heist piqued his interest, though he wasn’t sure of his part to play yet. Frankly, given those assembled, he supposed he’d have to just mill about socializing and deflecting attention, because even without proper English manners he’d have no trouble playing the part of some exiled Confederate gentleman admiring the virtue of the great British Empire.

“Aye, what Eleanor said. Dressing up and sitting on our asses on the side of the street is the last way I’d choose to spend my evenings. Hardly a job without a when, miss.” Benjamin chimes in. He liked details. Details were how things got done. “That, and what’re we actually to do? Find where this gold is and come back another night? Or are we going for a bit grander of an entrance?”

 

[Hard Boiled]

Helena leaned back against the booth and threw her arm up against the top, crossing her legs with a subdued smile as the gang formed. Her favorite part of her job was arguably just listening to the constant banter between the crew.

She decided against answering Benny. Rain or shine, they were getting this bread, literally. She was, however, more than happy to see Bruce and Conor scheming before she'd even finished speaking.

Spoiler: Questions being answered

“Are we going’t need a carriage?”

"Who's the host?"

"Yes, what time do you reckon we all need to be ready?"

“That, and what’re we actually to do? Find where this gold is and come back another night? Or are we going for a bit grander of an entrance?”

"Don't worry 'bout carriages, worry 'bout what I told you." She dismissed with a wave of the hand. "Mary and some of you lot will be heading down a few hours early to do some recce, maybe six. I dunno the finer details, all I know's he's a banker from over the pond. Maybe you'll be mates, yeah?" She shot an eyebrow bounce to Benjamin.
"Ah, speakin' of the devil..."

 

[queendilettante]

"Tsk, Blackjack again? Now, what are the odds of that?" Mary smiled patronizingly at the well dressed woman sitting across from her at the pub her crew liked to loiter in as the woman reluctantly forfeited the final piece of jewelry on her person. "Might I say, you've had a run of bloody terrible luck, Madame!" Mary swiped the amethyst encrusted wedding ring from the older woman's hands and stuffed it into the pouch within her soon-to-be-overflowing pockets. "Better luck next time, I suppose! Cheers!" With that, Mary got up and sat a few tables over, reminiscing on the incredible luck shone upon her over the course of their dozen or so games.

She was cheating, of course. If the woman wasn't so foolish as to give up her spectacles after the first loss, she'd have seen that Mary was palming and then reusing the same king of hearts and ace of clubs for every hand that was dealt. Honestly, at that point, Mary was doing the poor sod a favor; a random ne'er-do-well would have violently stolen everything that poor woman had on her down to her undergarments. At least Mary preserved that old bat's dignity.

With her newly acquired and freshly counted jewelry in hand, Mary proudly strutted across the pub to join her sister in addressing the gang.

"Ah, speakin' of the devil..."

"Ah, loves, if I'm the devil, what does that make all of you?" Mary smiled at her sister and then the rest of the group. Without warning, she tossed the pouch full of the older woman's former belongings to Eva and winked. "Mind fencin' this for me, darling?"

Mary twirled her cane once again and hit the floor somewhat dramatically. "It appears my dear sister has already started informing you all of our recent invitation to the American banker's party on Gerard!" She pulled a small list from her inner vest pocket, shifted her spectacles (for near sightedness) unnecessarily down her nose, and cleared her throat. "Now if I may have your attention." Without waiting for any verbal confirmation of said attention, Mary ran through her plans for the heist.

"We're going to be splitting ourselves up into two groups. I know, I know, 'but Mary, how could I ever possibly not be near you?'" She mimed deep sadness by clutching her chest and wiping a nonexistent tear from her eye. "I understand your reliance upon me Bruce, but please, it's only for a few hours." She laughed at her own joke before continuing. "Benjamin, Benny, Eva, and Astrid," Mary made eye contact with each of the members she called by name, "Congratulations, you've all been invited to a ball!" Mary put her list under her armpit and began a weak round of applause for the four gang members she named. "It appears you need to go find something to wear! Chop chop! I expect to see you here in someone's Sunday Best by 6 o clock tonight, understood?"

With an over the top smile, Mary turned her attention to the others. "The rest of you will be will be attending in a somewhat, uhm, louder fashion." She grinned. "Lena'll fill you in with all the details, but before the ball," she pointed to Bruce, "Brucey darling, we need a carriage. I'm sure you'll figure out how to get one within the hour."

Mary returned the list of paper to the inside of her vest and swung her can over her shoulder. "Quiet group, our job is to find ourselves in possession of as many of these rich fools' valuables as we can before the loud group comes in to ruthlessly take them from us!" She frowned when she got to the loud group's job as if telling a story to children from a picture book. With a skip, she departed from the group and turned once again to face them from the front door to the pub.

"See you all tonight!"

Solar Daddy Aeris Pipsqueak kaito9049 PinkChiffon spottednewt Vudukudu

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce gave a wide, toothy grin with each mention of his name. The twins were a charismatic bunch, and had won his support over ten-fold over the past few years. Their never ending optimism and sky-high dreams made them great leaders in his eyes. Despite being little more than a thug for the two, Bruce considered himself a rather integral part to operations for his reliability in his role. If someone needed to be bruised up, Bruce would commit the act free of charge. If the twins needed a fall guy for an operation, Bruce was more than willing to get himself caught (and throw some jabs at the officers while he was at it). Considering how they met, Bruce had full faith in their ability to bust him out from even the most secure prison in this God forsaken country.

At the mention of the Loud Team, Bruce knew right away he'd be put in it. It was, after all, one of the only skills he could perform flawlessly. If you needed noise made, Bruce was exceptional at the cause. "We'll try our best not to rob you Quiet folk," Bruce chimed in with a playful sneer. "Anything you lot are too timid to steal will be ours for the grabbin'." Truth be told, above all else, Bruce was just glad he wouldn't be expected to grab himself a suit. If he was on the Loud Team, he'd hardly need some other lad's ill-dimensioned three piece. Seemed he may be able to keep his kilt on for this one after all.

Then came the mention of the carriage from Mary. Bruce once again gave his signature big, almost mockingly joyful grin. "Aye, I'm sure one's waitin' just outside for me. I'll try and make sure its got nice cushions for you, too." Bruce turned to Conor and stood up from his propped position against the pillar. "Sorry friend, looks like we'll be suit shopping some other time. I'll see you lot in the latter hours!" He gave some strange mix of a wave and a salute before giving Mary a pat on the shoulder - nearly knocking her down in the process - and heading straight for the front of the tavern. In one motion he opened the doors and stepped out onto the streets of London. The rain poured down onto him and the other passersby on the street, though Bruce was alone in the fact he sported no umbrella or even a coat. The rain was a bit annoying to Bruce, but not much else. With a quick look down both directions of the road, Bruce set off south, knowing exactly where he could "borrow" a carriage.

First, though, Bruce made a stop at the alley a few blocks down from the tavern. In the courtyard it led to, a small uncared for bit of land that was seldom visited, Bruce entered the storage shed, tucked away in one of the dark corners of the open space. Inside were a few tucked away trinkets of his; He'd found this place completely untouched for some time, and after ensuring no one would stumble across his new hiding spot, tucked away some of the more valuable items he held. It was close by to the tavern and discrete. It was his hope that its owner wouldn't stop by in the future, lest he lose the important things he stored there. Until he got a place of his own, though, Bruce would have to deal with the forgotten shed as storage. Beneath the floorboard, under a creaky plank, Bruce withdrew his 1875 Uberti; the closest thing Bruce had to a lucky weapon. It had served him well over the past years. Bruce gave a quick glance to the gleam coming off the long blade also tucked away inside the hiding spot; his ancestral claymore, buried away unceremoniously. He cringed at the thought of it collecting dust in the way it was, but Bruce had nowhere else to keep it. Once he had a home, Bruce would display it proudly, as it should be. For now, though, his ancestors would have to understand the reason for its dishonorable storage.

Next on Bruce's to-do list; hanging off a crude metal hook on the side of the shed, a burlap sack swayed in the light breeze coming in from the open entrance. Bruce unhooked the bag, checking it over for any rips or tears. It seemed to be in rather good condition; He'd have to thank the previous owner of the place for the free items he got from it. Withdrawing the knife from his pocket, Bruce knelt down and began cutting slits into the bag, then ripping them further to create eye holes. Bruce tried on the makeshift mask with a quick motion. The vision wasn't great, but it would do until he could find something more permanent.

Bruce's next find would be a bag of some kind. He stepped out onto the street once more, checking left, then right. Luck seemed to favor him and his needs today; a lonesome lassie, with an umbrella in one hand and a spacious purse in the other. Bruce wasted no time closing the distance with the young lady, standing directly in her way. She was a tiny thing, and Bruce was able to play up his "big scary monster" act because of it. The lady, who recoiled a few steps back when she noticed him, gave an audible gasp. "Don't worry ma'am," He spoke while deepening his voice. "I'll be taking that from you now. Don't make this a fight. Don't worry; you can keep the umbrella."

In response, the little mouse gave a shriek and continued stepping back. Bruce only kept pace with her, walking forward with a scowl as he closed the distance. That's when, surprisingly to Bruce, a gentleman stepped up in between Bruce and his target. A handsome young lad with a few hairs on his face and determination in his eyes. Bruce didn't pay attention to a single word he said. He grabbed the man by the collar, forced him back, and grabbed hold of the purse before the lady could escape. Now screaming bloody murder, the lady gave resistance to Bruce's attempt at stealing it. Unfortunately for her, Bruce didn't play nice. While avoiding the meager slaps from the gentleman, Bruce pulled the purse with all his might, bringing the lady to the ground and forcing her to unhand the bag. Now with the item secured, Bruce could focus on the man in his hands. Sure, he could just flee, he had what he wanted. But Bruce needed to feel the swelling of his knuckles and fresh blood on his skin.

The beating was little more than a tragedy for the hero-to-be. His suit was scuffed and torn, the umbrella he possessed was little more than metal mesh now, and his face was two steps away from being completely caved in. Bruce only dropped the man to the soaked street once his own fist hurt badly from the assault. The poor damsel he tried helping was long gone. Bruce still held the purse in his offhand, smiling curtly at the easy victory. The poor gentleman was given little help in his blabbering, nearly delirious state; no passersby dared get close while Bruce was still there. Only once he was satisfied with his work did Bruce give a curt nod to a fellow citizen and disappearing into the nearest alley. Taking a few sharp turns, Bruce ensured he couldn't be tracked by peelers. He examined the contents of the purse, happy with his steal for the day. A few dollar notes, a couple coppers, and some smokes. He discarded the rest, things Bruce either didn't know or didn't care for. With a bag secured, Bruce made his way for his ultimate goal; the carriage.

 

[Pipsqueak]

Benny huffed, not unaware that she had deliberately skipped over his complaint. Helena wasn't one to get stuck on trivial matters, and he knew that of course. Still, the lack of information provided a difficult time in scheming. He would have to make something up along the way and hope for the best. That was his strong suit though, was it not? Just as he was about to walk out, excited to find his very own expensive clothing, Mary waltzed over to the group. Her light footing and devilish grin revealed she had just made out like the bandit she was. Eyes lighting up with curiosity, Benny snatched the bag from the table to peak inside.

"Ohoho, the devil's done it again!" He exclaimed, spilling some of the smaller contents into his hand for better inspection. As he nosied through Mary's winnings, he listened intently to the more in depth plan. Hearing his name called, Benny's signature smirk drew over his features. That should be no problem at all! Being in the quiet group allowed some leisure time at the party. He could see it now- the lights, the champagne, the magnificent outfits and of course, the money. Eva would have to teach him how to dance!

"I'll see you three at six this evening then!"

Of course he had taken Bruce's parting comment as a challenge, his words ringing in the boy's ear as he gave a theatrical bow to the crew before placing the pouch back onto the table and taking his leave as well. That was, before he remembered the rain...

Turning to a nearby table, the redhead leaned over an older gentleman sitting alone.

"What a lovely vest, sir! Where'd you get that?" Grumbling a thank you, the man began some spiel about buying it from the tailor company down the road. Benny nodded in faux interest, delicately touching the dark fabric as he reached to grab the water glass with his other hand.

"Wonderful! Perhaps I should walk down and get myself one!" And with that he left, but not before tripping and spilling the contents of the glass over some poor bartender who was dutifully watching patrons walk in and out of the tavern.

"I'm terribly sorry sir! Quite clumsy today..." As Benny called the other workers for a napkin, he reached for the unattended umbrella leaning on the wall and walked out, popping it open to save himself from getting drenched. Oh how he despised wet clothing!

The rain had washed away the typical thick smell of smog that covered the streets, but that didn't stop his cough from acting up. Wheezing painfully, black mucus covered his hand as his lungs tried desperately to dispel everything inside. The cough was a nuisance, and he briefly wondered how he would play out his plan of thievery successfully before deciding it was a risk he was willing to take. Everything was risk nowadays, wasn't it? Turning in the opposite direction of the large Scotsman, Benny stumbled slowly, block after block, as he waited for his fit to be over. He managed to keep a watchful eye out for any open windows through blurred vision as tears welled in his eyes. After about ten minutes, his chest eased to a dull ache. His white shirt was now splattered in black, but that wouldn't matter soon.

Taking a sharp turn down an alleyway, about five more minutes passed before his blue gaze locked onto his potential target. A small window sat cracked open on the side of a brick building. The scent of freshly baked pie wafted from it, and as Benny drew closer he could hear someone humming inside. Peaking over the window sill, an older woman pranced easily around her kitchen, none the wiser of the wily kid peaking in. He reached for the pie carefully, sliding it ever so slightly so he could squeeze himself inside. He watched the lady mill about, grabbing different glasses full of red liquid before making her way into the other room. Taking the chance to hop inside, Benny set the umbrella down carefully, sure to check there were no passerby, and opened the window to hop inside. He made no sound as his feet hit the floor.

Chatter rose from the room the woman had gone to, but Benny easily ignored it as he searched for the bedroom. There were two entryways from the kitchen, so naturally he took the opposite route from whatever gathering was taking place. Stairs led up to another level in the next room. He tiptoed up them until he reached the landing, only to be met with a closed wooden door. Pursing his lips he quickly tried the knob, and it opened quite easily. Wasting no time in digging through the huge closet that was spilling with clothes, Benny sifted through the hangers until a wonderful three piece suit caught his eye. Any self respecting gentleman had one, and it was pure luck this woman was married to one. It would take a bit of hemming, but if he scrounged up money he could find someone to fix it up for him. Nabbing the clothes he wadded them up, stuffed them under his arm and took off back down the stairs.

Before he could make his way back to the window, he turned the corned and bumped quite unceremoniously into the woman from before. She let out a shriek, causing him to take a few hurried steps back.

"What are you doing?" Her voice rang above the now quiet house.

"Umm... Shopping?" Before she could lunge at him, he sidestepped her and darted for the window. The other women who had been in the room were huddled nervously at the other end of the kitchen, and he quickly made his leave before any of them could do much about it. On his way out, he grabbed the pie as well and ran back down the alleyway, forgetting the umbrella. Turning the corner he slowed his pace to a walk, feeling another coughing fit about to take over. He'd let it take its course before bringing his cards out to play, letting pride swell inside him for a job well done.

 

[kaito9049]

Conor let out a sigh of relief as Mary gave the group their marching orders. A stick-up style robbery. A bit more brazen than he was accustomed to, but it was far preferable to wearing a frilly suit and pretending to care about the weather or whatever rich people did at parties (what was there to even talk about? the weather was always awful).

Still, Conor wasn't thrilled about being kept in the dark about what exactly his team's role was. Mary seemed to relish being vague at times, a trait that was occasionally amusing but most of the time unnerved the bejeezus out of him. But as the other members of the gang got up from their seats, the wooden chairs screeching against the stone floor, the thought of interrupting with another question seemed distasteful — embarassing, even. It reminded him of the weekly meetings at the trail yard. You got one chance to ask questions; as soon as folks started leaving, it was too late. Either you asked a good question and you earned glares from all the other workers who were forced to stay to hear the manager's answer, or you asked a dumb one and everyone laughed at you. Conor may not have cared about getting the gang's approval, but he had no interest in attracting their ire, either.

With a fluid motion, Conor rose from his chair and pulled his mostly-dry coat off the back before wrapping it around his shoulders. Waving a quick goodbye to Bruce as the other man left to perform his own tasks, he pushed way out the door, raising the collar on his coat to protect himself from the rain.

The first step was to find a mask. Conor had always hesitated to wear one, preferring instead to use a simple bandana to obscure the lower half of his face. That was fine for a purse-snatching, but for something like a heist — where the targets would have more time to memorize his features — he needed something better.

That ended up being the easy part. Some poor fool had decided that the rain was a good enough substitute for a laundry, and left their clothes strung up adjacent to a flat that looked like it was on the verge of collapsing in on itself. One of the pieces was a balaclava, which Conor was able to grab with ease as he passed by. Usually clotheslines were watched by their owners, but then again, usually the clothes weren't out during a bloody rainstorm. It was shame, too, because the Bally looked to be of good quality. It was made of wool, which wouldn't earn Conor many points in the intimidation department, but at least this one was grey and not brightly colored after the modern fashion. Most importantly, it would cover most of his head while leaving his eyes unincumbered.

He still needed to find another variation to his outfit. The clothes he was wearing didn't stand out, but it somehow felt...wrong to be wearing Da's coat while robbing a bunch of rich folk. Besides, he intended to wear it later on and he didn't want to risk being hunted as the guy who wore a coat that looked like it'd been nibbled on by rats.

Fortunately, Conor had just the place in mind. During his regular early-morning runs over the past few weeks, he'd been casing a small tailor's shop that was relatively out of the way of most foot traffic. It was run by an middle-aged man with wiry spectacles and a clean-shaven head. The man, whom Cee had taken to calling "Glasses" in his musings, opened his shop at exactly 7:45 a.m. and closed it at 6 p.m. And since Conor had a deadline to keep, breaking in after closing time was out of the question.

It was a brief walk to the tailor's place. Before he crossed the street to enter, Conor patted the left side of his coat, feeling the small, solid shape of his folding knife and revolver in the twin pockets there. He generally found violence messy, and unnecessary in most cases, but he wanted to be prepared in case things got ugly. Then he walked across and stepped inside.

"Customer!" Glasses shouted, emerging from a back room that just visible through a swinging door on the other side of the shop. It seemed less of a greeting and more of a statement; the tailor appeared to be in the middle of helping another customer, a woman that looked to be in her early 20s, pick out a dress. From what he Conor picked up from their conversation as he browsed the window displays, the lady had recently been invited to tea with a simply charming young man who was quite well-off. The woman had never met him in person, she explained to Glasses, but the pictures and sketches he had sent in his correspondences indicated he was very charming.

Conor winced. Poor lady. She was falling victim to a mighty well-played con.

He looked around the shop. Though he'd run laps around the area, he'd never actually gone inside, lest the tailor remember his face when he eventually returned. It was a small place, with a thin layer of dust covering most surfaces. Maybe its out-of-the-way location didn't attract much clientele. The prices were doubtless still above anything Conor could hope to legitimiately pay, though he looked away from the counter when he saw there a small framed photograph of Glasses and a stone-faced woman, on whose lap sat two blurry forms Conor assumed were toddlers.

After a few minutes, Conor settled on his target: a dark brown vest that was intended to be worn unbuttoned — an American style, perhaps? Sitting on a half-mannequin, it was a bit large for his size, though not so much that it'd impede his movement. But the chest pockets were what sealed the deal. Conor loved pockets.

He waited until the woman and Glasses seemed to strike an agreement. The latter retrieved a roll of tape from atop the counter, just a few feet from the door, and began taking the lass' measurements. Anyway, it was good of a chance as anyway. Conor slipped the vest off the display and pressed it as neatly as he could against his chest, hiding it under his coat.

As Conor made a beeline to the exit, he heard someone call out and froze. A younger man, looking unnaturally similar to the tailor — down to the glasses — walked in from the door to the back room, holding a roll of measuring tape. "I can help you, sir, if you're ready," the man said.

There was a moment of silence as the man's gaze shot over to where a now-naked mannequin was displayed near the window. Then it turned to Conor, who was very conspicuously holding his coat against his body.

"I'd like this one, please," Conor said, pulling out the vest and holding it in front of the other man, whom he assumed to be a relative of the tailor. The worker visibly relaxed, walking to the other end of the counter to begin writing out an invoice.

And then Conor ran. He heard shouts of shock behind him as he burst through the door, remembering to stuff the vest back under his coat to keep it safe from the rain. He spared a look behind him to see Glasses Jr. — apparently a blurry toddler no more — giving chase, his clothes getting soaked in the relentless downpour. A thrill surged through the young thief, which surprised him. He pushed it back down. Now was no time for games!

Conor took a sharp right, darting down an alley between two homes. He thought he heard the sound of Glasses Jr.'s shoes splashing in the water several meters behind him, but he couldn't be sure. Cee had been down this way before — it shouldn't be hard to lose his tail. He ducked under a low-hanging pipe, barely slowing as he did, then vaulted a low cobblestone wall that led to a small, private garden, swiping a tomato off the vine while he sprinted across it.

It wasn't until Conor had made another four turns that he looked over his shoulder again. Nothing. No tailor chasing him, not even the sound of officers running through the wet. It was...disappointing, Conor realized with a chill. He shook his head. It was a successful shoplifting job, nothing special. The police probably wouldn't even investigate the report, all things considered.

He took a look at the vest under his coat. It had stayed mostly dry, though one side of it had gotten splashed with rainwater during the mad dash. It should be dry by the time of the heist.

Despite himself, Conor smiled, the sense of thrill returning as he imagined the upcoming robbery. It would be something different, something bigger than he'd ever tried before. And he was gonna be rich by the end of it.

Conor ran all the back to the pub.

 

[PinkChiffon]

She waiting for Benny to excitedly examine to goods before she took a look herself. “Wow, she had great taste," Eva slid one of the rings on her own finger, admiring the sparkle in the fireplace. "I'll put the word out to a few buyers." Eva hesitated for a moment as she slid the ring off her finger, it really was beautiful. It's a shame to be selling it, but she knew better to pocket a piece from one of her, even something so nice. With reluctance, Eva placed the ring back into the bag and placed it securely into her small steamer trunk, locking it shut. They would be safe there until Eva had time to line up some serious buyers and show the pieces.

Eva diverted her attention from the jewels back to Mary as she disclosed tonight's plans. Eva was delighted and relieved to hear her role in this evening's operation. She presumed the guests of tonight's party will be among the same social standing as the people she know growing up. Eva was born into their world and even after all that has happened, she was sure of her ability to slide back in with them. Evangeline was a little, curious as to what the other group of them would be doing tonight, but she supposed that time would tell. If the twins wanted everyone to know, they would have said so.

As everyone else got up to put their own plans into action, Eva hung back at their make-shift headquarters for a moment longer, grappling with how she was going to obtain a suitable dress. Despite the company she keeps, petty thievery was not a skill Eva had acquired. She was too chatty, she lingered too long, she made it far too easy for her to get caught. Eva draped her once pristine, now well-worn jacket over her shoulders and headed out into the rain. She looked both ways, still not quite sure of her plan, and headed in the opposite direction of Gerard street.

Eva had only been walking for a few minutes when the church bells tolled, providing her with some much-needed inspiration. When Eva first arrived in London some time ago, she spend several of her early nights sleeping in churches. There was one not too far from where she was that if memory served, the average tithe was more money than she had seen in a long time. With a plan brewing, Eva picked up the pace. Given the time of day, she would need to get there quick if this was going to work.

She arrived with only minutes to spare. As she creaked open the doors of the grand cathedral and looked around, she saw just the sight she was hoping for. There was only one other parishioner seated in quiet contemplation, or perhaps even asleep, she couldn't quite tell, but she could hear the far-off voices of others in the distance. Eva removed her jacket, took a seat near the back, bowed her head, and focused. It didn't take long at all for tears to flow, and Eva began to quietly weep. She remained in that position, crying and occasionally sniffling for what felt like an eternity, but was realistically only a few minutes, until she heard what she was looking for. The sound of the distant voices grew louder and she could hear some footsteps. Eva dialed up the act just a little bit, keeping her head bowed in prayer until she felt a hand lightly graze her shoulder, "Miss, are you alright?"

Eva looked up into the concerned faces of the women's afternoon bible study. She wiped her wet, puffy eyes and gave them a sad, pathetic smile. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." Her voice wobbled, catching on her tears. "I'm just having a very difficult day." She let a few more tears fall and looked back up at them, practically daring for them to ask her what happened, and as predicted, they sat beside her and did just that. Eva regaled them with a tragic tale. Her sweetheart is in the royal navy, you see, and he is coming into port in a few days and they are going to get married and start their new lives together. He had been sending her money so she could move from her family's home in Lyon, to meet him here once he arrive. So she took all of the money he gave her and traveled all by herself. When she got to town she met a gentleman who said he'd help her with her bags and get checked into an inn until her darling arrive. "Well, he was no gentleman at all!" Eva began to cry a little harder, as she reached the peak of her story. That man took all of her money and all of her bags, and he just ran off with them. She had nothing left, she has no idea what she's going to tell her fiance. She has no money, no clothes. The kind sisters at the order of Saint Catherine offered her a place to rest her head until her fiance arrived, but they advised that she go to church and pray that God put it in the wicked man's heart to return her items.

Eva had a captive audience and she knew it. She swore she even saw one of them shed a tear. The woman who had tapped her should be the first to insist that they help. Eva played it coy, insisting that she did not want them to feel obligated to give her charity. Once the group insisted a second time Eva agreed to take their help. She accompanied the group back to the home of an older woman who claimed to have daughters not much older than Eva, she was welcome to some of their old things. Eva looked through the dresses presented by the women. They were fine, albeit a little dated, but literal beggars can't be choosers. She noted there was no eveningwear among the options presented to her. Eva picked up a tea dress, pretending to admire it. "They're all so beautiful... but," her voice trailed away as she hesitated, "and I hate to even ask anything more because you've all been so generous already, but do you perhaps have just one evening dress? I want to look my very best when my fiance finally comes home." She smiled sheepishly, staring at her feet. The group of women seemed to eat that up as her host went and fetched another dress. She only returned with one option, so she would just have to make it work. Eva took the evening dress, the tea dress she had been holding, as well as a small bit of cash they had given her to get something to eat with and she bid them farewell. Eva saw the whole ordeal as a win-win for both her and the group of women. Eva got what she needed, and those women get to brag to their church friends about how charitable they were for helping out a poor, naive girl who was robbed. The whole ordeal took longer than she would have liked, but she got what she went out for. She returned back to the bar and began to ready herself for the party.

 

[Hard Boiled]

queendilettante

"I did it last time!" Helena reminded Mary with a hand on her hip, standing under a short canopy outside the pub. "This is just some dirt, you can't compare that to coal dust, either..."
The rain had washed the mud from the alleys into the street, leaving a thick ankle-deep sludge in the gutters.
"Go on, then!"

"Yes, yes, you've made your point," Mary scoffed at her sister. Truth be told, Mary found the mud so often covering London's slums like frosting on a rotten cake significantly more objectionable than coal dust, but she had lost the coin flip; some rules just couldn't be broken. Still, she absolutely detested the filth. "Oh, but do I have to?" she whined, seemingly forgetting her determination from a mere few seconds prior. "This mud is repulsive."

"I'm about to bloody repulse you if you don't get in there," Helena held up a fist, half-joking.

Mary clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. Without another word to her sister, she jumped into the mud and kicked it around to cover her relatively clean trousers and shoes. "I assume you're cleaning these, of course?" She said, eyeing her sister in annoyance.

"We'll flip for it!" Helena assured her, a stupid grin across her face. "Chin up, mate."

"I don't trust your coins," Mary quipped back. Making a mental note of grabbing her own weighted coin for the toss after the heist, Mary set off from the puddle she and her sister found for themselves. Turning the corner out of the alley, she stumbled past the window of a local tailor's shop, hands dirtying up the windows as she passed. She quivered her lip to get into character before starting to weep on command as she burst through the tailor's door. Helena simply leaned next to a window outside, having herself a cigarette while her sister worked her magic.

"Sir, sir!" Mary cried out, tears streaming down her face. "Please, ple-" she hiccoughed, interrupting herself. "You- you've got to help me sir, please!"

The older man was understandably startled to see a filthy 20 year old woman stumble through his door in tears. Mary's sudden arrival caused him to shoot from his chair so fast that it fell clean backwards in the process. He hobbled as quickly as an old man could from behind the counter he was dozing off at to try and comfort the wailing woman that appeared in front of him. "What's wrong, dearie?"

"My- my," Mary continued, really hamming up the emotion, "my clothes are ruined sir! I'm ruined, I can't possibly attend like, like th-..." she trailed off, fighting back fake tears before bursting once again into sobs.

"Attend what, lass?" The old man asked, clearly concerned and also somewhat uncertain of where to place his hands. As it stood, they hovered above Mary's dirty shoulder; there appeared to be a debate in the man's head over whether or not to dirty himself by comforting her.

"My father's to be remarried this evening, sir," Mary began, all of a sudden perfectly capable of completing her sentences. "My mum died when I was a girl, but da wouldn't remarry until I found a husband of my own, sir. He's a good, pious man, you see." After losing the almost definitely rigged coin toss, Mary argued with her sister over her insistence that this character have a husband. She fully abhorred the idea of pretending to love a man, but her sister with the culturally accepted sexuality insisted.

"Ah, well we have plenty of dresses to choose from, dear!" the old man replied, seemingly excited at the apparent business prospect. Mary deeply understood the twinkle of greed in the old man's eyes as he offered to show her the dresses in his shop. If she wasn't about to rob the man, she would remember this store as one to partner with in the future. Truthfully, she still may.

"Yes, but I've been..." Mary forced her lips to quiver once again as she remembered she hadn't cried in almost a minute. "I've been- been robbed!" She blurted out the last words with enough force to spit on the man, but she pretended not to notice as her head fell into her hands. "Oh, sir, it was horrifying. A large Scottish man in a kilt pushed me over and stole the dress from my arms!"
Helena couldn't help but chuckle outside, nearly blowing their cover.

Desperate to speed things along, Mary threw herself into the arms of the older man, fighting off a gag as she did so. She looked up at him from his chest with tears in her eyes. "Please sir, I don't have much, but if I could borrow just one dress, I could leave you with my wedding ring so you know I'll be back for it!"

For the first time, the man's gaze fell upon the amethyst-encrusted gold band around Mary's left ring finger. Seeing the old man nearly drool as soon as he saw it, Mary realized that scamming the old bat from earlier was the right call.

"Mm... Well, I could lend a dress out for the night... Give it here." The tailor extended his abruptly covetous hand.

Bingo.

Before she knew it, she was being escorted into the back of the shop to look at dresses, the ring left in a drawer behind the front counter.

Just as soon as the backroom door clicked shut, Helena tossed her cigarette and splashed a few specks of mud on her face, just in case. Casually as a customer, she vaulted into the open window of the shop as to not trigger the bell attached to the door, strolling behind the counter and silently retrieving the poorly hidden ring from its third owner that day.

Quiet as a burglar in the night, Helena followed the two into the rear of the shop, making note of a back door as she slipped into a curtained dressing room.

Mary watched from the corner of her eye to see her sister enter the changing room nearest the back exit, as planned. She carefully maneuvered herself so as to block the old man's periphery. After she received three separate - and rather unattractive, truthfully - dresses to try on, she thanked the man again, tears welling up in her eyes as she did so. She slipped herself into the same dressing room as her sister and smiled, the tailor waiting outside.

"It seems we have three options, but I find myself viewing all of them as somewhat reprehensible. Do you have a favorite?" Mary whispered under the shuffling of clothing.

Of course, Helena's favorite color was grass green, but the only available options were red, a disgusting shade of beige, or a different shade of red.
"This one, I suppose..." She begrudgingly pointed to the lighter red dress, slipping the ring off of her finger and flipping it to her sister like a coin.

"Don't forget the tears, love," Mary reminded Helena as she changed into the filthy dress Mary had been wearing. "I've been really giving it to him, he must have thought I was going to succumb to the consumption the way I cried." Mary smiled at her sister as she got into the lighter red dress that the old man had picked out. "And don't forget the quivering lip!" Mary grabbed her sister's lip and pinched, grinning.

"Yeah, right..." She playfully smacked Mary's hand away. She couldn't cry on command like Mary, so instead she exhaled all of the air in her lungs and waited as long as she could before inhaling again to make herself tear up and redden in the face before proceeding.
"Gosh, I don't mean to be ungrateful..." Helena exited the dressing room wearing Mary's soiled clothing. "But the dresses simply don't fit... Do you think you have one a hair larger?" She sniffled.

"Certainly, lass, right this way." The tailor led the poor woman to the back for what he believed to be the second time. He didn't mind putting in a few extra minutes of work at all, he believed he'd be getting a bejeweled ring out of it.

Mary peeked her head out from the dressing room to see the two scouring the back of the store for a second dress. She smiled and darted quietly across the store to the back exit, which she slipped through unseen and unheard in her fancy new red dress.

Several minutes later, Helena changed into a dress identical to Mary's, only one waist size larger.
"I couldn't thank you enough in a million years..." She tried her best to imitate her sister's theatric vocabulary, bowing deeply to the tailor at the front door.

"Ah, I couldn't just let such a misfortune ruin your night." The tailor smiled heroically. "Enjoy the wedding, Miss...?"

Helena grinned.
"Nevitt. The rest of the dresses are in the back, good day." She quickly took her leave, speed walking off around the corner.

Shortly, the tailor would discover the ring missing, his cash register empty, and only two of the three other dresses in the dressing room.

"Why, dear sister, you look absolutely radiant," Mary said, grinning at her sister who had just caught up to her. "I assume you had no trouble?"

"None at all." She wiped the last of the dirt off of her cheek with her thumb. "Might I say, you look dashing yourself."

 

[spottednewt]

"Congratulations, you've all been invited to a ball!"

A brisk grin breached Astrid’s face as Mary’s eyes met her own, but faded just as quickly. Immediately, Astrid O'Malley knew what she was to do, but didn’t know whether or not she had the gall for it. With each passing moment, the nature of the assignment as a whole felt more and more troublesome to the young woman. Even after the battle of acquiring her fancy dress, she’d be attending an event that would no doubt draw the attentions of the entire region. Without doubt, she’d be rubbing elbows with some of her own patrons. They might keep her anonymity safe by fear of association, but it was always hard to steal from those who knew you were a criminal - and even harder when they might keep a careful watch over you for fear that you may expose them. She had been to parties similar to these - but only with the intention of gathering information and securing future contacts, never to steal from the guests outright. In a way, though, this felt more honest. Nevertheless, the looming difficulties of relieving party-goers of their silvers paled in comparison to what should have been the most simple task: dressing in her Sunday best.

For one, singular and fleeting moment, the word no played on her lips. She could feel the shape of the syllable on her tongue; but instead of freedom, it tasted like bile. Astrid was full of hard lines and boundaries in the name of self-preservation at any capacity - even for that most minor - but not for the Nevitt sisters, and hardly ever for their merry band of miscreants. The Nevitts had earned an eternal place at Astrid’s table for sparing her a one-way ticket to Australia and the loss of a hefty sale. For, O’Malley saw herself as a champion for Saint Thomas Aquinas - the patron saint of knowledge, even as she found herself struggling to circumnavigate an adolescent moose - fresh from the Americas - back into the hollowed-out merchant cart she was to smuggle him in. For three trying hours in the dead of night, she and her seller threw ropes and coaxed the frightened beat with biscuits as the Nevitts - nothing more than strangers - led the authorities on a futile game of cat and mouse. By the time the sun had risen, her wagon was lighter and her pockets heavier, the sisters asked for little more than a future favor of the young smuggler. The request in itself was a pointless act, as she couldn’t decipher whether or not they found her business distasteful, but she’d be at their beck and call for countless years to come. This work was feast or famine, but the feasts were extravagant, and she’d pay penance to Saint Francis of Assisi by way of ten holy shots of brandy when the lavish payout had run its course.

In that passing moment of deliberation, the contents of her mug had become endlessly intriguing - an interest that would only last a moment longer before she knocked the rest of the liquid back, down her throat. With a quick, clumsy whip of the back of her hand at her mouth to rid herself of the foam, Astrid merely slid from her chair and filed out the door with the rest of her band. It was important that she fall in the middle of the pack, as not to gather any special interest. Eager to fade into the excitement, Astrid made a few deceitful turns down this alley and that before correcting her path towards the wealthy suburbs of ton. Conspiring in such dangerous work required a certain level of trust - but everyone had their own secrets - and Astrid’s was a modest home nestled between white-picket villas.

Ignorant to the rain and with downcast eyes, O’Malley hardly noticed when the dull greys of the industrialized city that mingled with the chorus of shouting voices and hooves through mud gave way to a slower scene. Buildings stretched out away from each other, leaving space for green from gardens dappled with the flowers of the season - all still made dreary by the inclement weather.

~

As she neared her destination, Astrid could feel a knot building in her throat, along with the childlike urge to flee. The young woman stood quietly at the front door. In past seasons, the door had been so much larger, but even now - it felt as though it loomed over her. Making quick work of feeling for a concealed knife and emptying the contents of a flask down the back of her throat - Astrid took pause to prepare as though she was readying for a fight. The act of running her fingers over split knuckles from a drinking game gone wrong had a reassuring quality to it. The woman eyed the gaps between the door and frame, mapping out the optimal points in which she’d land her blows. Between the state of the weathered wood and the antisocial nature in which the neighborhood had been spaced out, Astrid reckoned that she could have the door kicked down on the third try, and that without friendly bystanders that might fancy themselves heroes, she’d be long gone by the time anyone had notified the authorities.

Instead, she merely reached into her inside pocket for a key and let herself in. The hinges creaked slightly, with a sound that made her shake her head. They’d give way far too easily for comfort.

“Hello?~~” A voice smooth like honey and aged like fine wine piped up from within the depths of the home, a chipper greeting for Astrid, who could have been anyone.

“Ma-..? –Mother.” O’Malley corrected herself quickly, earning a warm smile from the woman as she rounded the corner into the sitting room. The woman looked much like Astrid by way of dark hair and high cheekbones, even as she craned at an awkward angle from her seat to turn towards the sound of her daughter’s footsteps. Busied by her knitting, the once-noble-lady had been facing the corner of the room, busying herself with her knitting.

“The birds are out with fervor today,” The woman boasted, empty eyes staring past Astrid’s head, hand gesturing to bare wall. “Tell me that they’re beautiful.” The wistfulness in the words made the young smuggler’s eyes sting.

“Aye. –I’ve come for some clothes. I'm sorry I’ve been away so long.” There was something about stepping through that door that made it hard for her to recognize her own voice. Here, she was infuriatingly smaller, frustratingly younger, and with a little more of her father’s Irish intonation than she sported elsewhere. As though simply falling in line, Astrid found herself a seat on the floor next to her mother’s feet, head against the side of the woman’s knee as she stared at the elaborate wall paper before them. Cara hadn’t lied when she spoke of the birds - they seemed especially loud today, and yet, not quite loud enough to drown out the ringing in her ears. “I’ll hear nothing of it - you’re here with me now. –Has he written us,” She asked her question in a smaller voice, absently petting Astrid’s tangled mess of hair.

“He has,” Astrid had to force the words from her mouth, digging into her pocket to find a crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it out on her leg with a little extra care as to give her a few more moments to steady her voice. “But this one is mostly for you, I was nearly too abashed to read it,” The words left her mouth carefully, but in an effortless fashion as she fiddled with the corner of the sheet, busying her eyes with the header of the flyer for “London’s House of Scientific Oddities;” some of her best customers. The print was loud for the times, but made it easier to keep her attention, lest she had to see the way her mother’s face most definitely lit up.

“He says he’s still working in the south of France - that the bricklayers there have many tricks, and that he’s learning much.” she let the words hang in the air for a moment, feeling as her mother leaned back in her seat to daydream, and letting herself slip into something more out-of-body, lest she lose her resolve by picturing the dilapidated opium den that Cillian O’Malley did battle with his demons in as of late. It was just east of their family home. Nothing more than an afternoon stroll away. “He says that he thinks of you much in the rainy season, but only in the greenness of the grass and blueness of the sky when the storms let up."

This was a bitter game that she and her father played, as not the break the heart of a newly blind woman who only ever saw good in him. In another few weeks, she’d pull him out of his wreckage and drag him home by the scruff of his neck to own up to the lies that she told Cara. She’d get him dried out and cleaned up; with a sum of money and a fresh set of clothes to tell her mother dreamy tales of a country he hasn’t been to in Astrid’s lifetime. –For a short time afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley would be happy. They’d be enamored with each other all over again, and he’d preach of change and self-betterment all the way back to the gutter.

Soon, Astrid be scowling disdainfully at the finery of her youth - forsaking her tweed vest for a corset, and the largest skirts she could gather to harbor her findings - maybe she’d adorn the outer windowsills of her mother’s sitting room with seed or crumbs on her way back to the pub; but for now, she remained seated. For just a little longer, Astrid would murmur fantastical stories of Cillian O’Malley and his great French adventure.

 

[Aeris]

“The loud team!” Ella’s eyes widened with feigned shock, “You don’t really believe I’m loud, do you?” Not waiting for an answer, she rose from the booth before turning to the twins. She hadn’t known the pair terribly long-maybe a year if she had to guess. Despite meeting on not so great terms, she was happy they took a chance in inviting her into their group. While these people would never be able to replace her family, they did a fine job in patching up the hole in her heart. And Ella planned on sticking with them for as long as they would allow it.

“A bientôt!” She pulled the hood of her coat up before stepping out into the rainy evening. Ella thought over the mission as she walked down the cobblestone paths. She usually preferred subtle thievery over being over the top, but there was a first for everything, or so her mother would have said. She sighed, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had appeared, instead, focusing her attention on the current task at hand. Finding a disguise. She would need something to cover her hair and face for sure, anything else she stumbled upon would be added for fun. Ella peered out from her hood, eyeing the people and shops around her with interest until finally resting on a newsboy's cap hanging on the back of a chair in a café. She glanced at the caps owner, an older man, who appeared to be in the middle of a lively conversation with a couple opposite to him.

Upon entering the café, Ella lowered her hood, giving her head a small shake. All she had to do was walk by and take the cap. It was so easy she was almost suspicious. The suspicion didn’t stop Ella though. She stood up straighter, raising her chin up ever so slightly, the way she had been taught as a kid. Rule number one, always act like you belong, no matter what. People would be less likely to question someone who seemed radiated confidence. Ella weaved her way through the crowd until she was walking past the man's chair. Carefully she reached out to grab the cap. Her fingers had just brushed against the fabric-

“Oh, pardon me miss,” Ella’s hand quickly dropped to her side as the woman at the table spoke, “...do I know you from somewhere?” With little choice, Ella turned to face the table. She smiled, tilting her head to the side as she examined the woman's face. She was a tall slender woman, her dark brown hair was pulled up in an intricate bun.

“No ma’am, I’m afraid not.” Still smiling, Ella inched her hand towards the hat. “Where might I have known you from?” She already knew the answer, but this was the distraction she needed. The other two men were staring at her face intently as they too tried to place who she could be.

“Oh!” The man whose cap she was currently trying to take clapped his hands, “You could pass for a Bennett! The similarities are striking!” The other two nodded in agreement.

“A shame what happened to them,” The woman shook her head solemnly, “We all used to attend the parties. Their daughter would have been your age.” Ella nodded along, keeping her expression sincere. It was always the same conversation when someone looked at her a moment too long.

“They sound lovely, I’m sorry for your loss.” Ella pulled the cap into the pocket of her coat the moment she felt the material. “I'm afraid I must be off, but thank you!” The sooner she got out the better, the last thing she needed was for someone to actually put two and two together. Bidding the group goodbye with a small courtesy, Ella beelined for the door. She raised her head up towards the sky, letting the cold raindrops hit her face. The comparisons to her own family never got easier, nor would they ever. Just once though, Eleanor wished someone would give their condolences to her, even if they didn't know. She had never gotten the chance to properly mourn her loved ones.

"Miss!"

Ella turned to find the woman from the café running towards her. Almost instantly her features morphed into a sweet smile, any trace of sadness washed away with the rain. "Is everything alright?" Had they seen her take the cap after all? She had been so sure no one had been paying attention to her hands. Ella shoved her hands into the coat pockets, making sure the cap had no way of being seen.

"My dear you're going to catch a cold dressed like that!" Ella looked down at her outfit quizzically. Sure it wasn't the nicest of clothing, a little dirty maybe. They did their job though, and that's all Ella could ask for at the end of the day. She looked back at the woman innocently, "It's all I have I'm afraid, it's alright though, my coat keeps me warm enough, see-" She pulled the hood up over her head, "-keeps the rain off me and everything!"

When the women didn't say anything, Ella continued. "I'm afraid my family can't afford better clothes. I've lost count of how many holes I've sewn up on this jacket." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "I'm not a very good seamstress, you can't say anything though." It was a lie of course, Ella considered herself talented in sewing. She could recall the dresses she use to make for her dolls back when she was a kid. But no one needed to know that.

The woman frowned as she reached into a purse she had been carrying. Ella watched with wide eyes as she pulled out a grey scarf. "Here," she offered Ella a pity smile as she placed the scarf around her neck, "...keep it love, it'll keep you warm at the very least."

"Really?! Oh thank you! I'll cherish it forever!" The woman, now satisfied with her good deed, bid Ella a farewell. Ella waited until she had disappeared among the crowd before taking her leave. She stared down at the scarf triumphantly. The things people will do when they think they are helping the helpless. If only the woman knew what she planned on using this scarf for. With her two treasures now in hand, Ella made her way back to the tavern.

 

[Vudukudu]

Benjamin has a certain respect for the Nevitts, but its hard to feel like you're being used to your full potential when you get asked to prepare someone else's Sunday Best. No, Benjamin is a proud American, and he'll do just fine in his own Sunday Best. Time spent fighting as a guerrilla behind enemy lines had taught him the value of self-sufficiency. Where one lacked funds, there were always favors to be offered, and he had ideas for one to ask for close to home. As a matter of fact, in the very same building.

"Now, sir, its right terrible that that happened to you. I can hardly imagine the pain that would have caused, knowing my own brother would betray my trust like that." Benjamin says sympathetically. Since arriving in England, he'd made a modest living alongside his criminal work putting his muscles to use at the harbor. He was popular among the local longshoremen for not complaining and working hard, and it was enough to pay the boarding costs to live with an older gentleman, a relatively small-time merchant and financier. Henry Tudge was an older man of middling birth, a merchant's son, and he'd done rather well for himself within the family enterprise until his elder brother took issue with Henry's sympathies for the Union. Tacit support for the Confederacy was common among those who did business in cotton as well as much of Britain's upper crust, and the Tudges were rather deeply invested in cotton. Henry had been taken to court by his own family for attempting to divest from Southern interests during the war, and ever since had lived a far less prestigious life providing small loans to local businesses and managing warehouses.

"Benjamin, my boy, you don't have to indulge me. I've come to accept my lot." Henry replies. "I've long since come to terms, and I walk in the path of the lord. And its not as if I suffer, not as others do."

"That still doesn't make it right. And besides, I'd scarcely say I'm the one indulging when we're drinking your whiskey. Only good thing to come out of Tennessee, truly." Benjamin insists, giving the glass a lazy swirl. "Say, Henry. I don't mean to be a burden anymore'n I already have, what with living under your roof and all such, but I'd really, truly appreciate it if you could make me a small loan. I've been invited to an occasion, and it'd be improper of me to show up looking like this. If it all pans out I ought to be able to pay you back by the end of the week, and if I can't you can have my Volcanic as collateral until I repay you. Just need to find myself a decently fitted suit before this evening."

Henry's eyes narrow briefly, but after making a few quick calculations in his head he nods. "Anything for a friend, Benjamin. Anything for a friend."

 

[Solar Daddy]

Bruce walked down the old, worn streets of London, with the bank of the river Thames to his left. He enjoyed the serene views of ships passing by, much more fluid and entertaining than a busy street. He often came to the Thames when he needed time to think, or wanted to be alone; this trip, however, was for an entirely different reason. During one of his many outings, he spotted a well-to-do business man taking his time berating his help for a shitty job in maintaining the carriage he possessed; he'd heard the conversation a week ago, and intended on robbing the place that instant had he not encountered another, more lucrative venture. Now, of course, it worked out in his favor; he knew a well-off carriage would - at least - be around the manor at some point. He didn't have forever to wait in case it wasn't there, but he'd prefer to steal something so large in the cover of anonymity, rather than directly off the street. It's one thing to beat a man in the low end district of Whitechapel, but it was an entirely other thing to try and rob a carriage belonging to an individual with money, power, or both. No one cared for the man he nearly killed earlier today; he was a nobody. Not even the damsel he tried to be brave for bothered to stick around for him. It was a shit world they all lived in, and Bruce above anyone else knew that. He didn't waste his time treating strangers with kindness or mercy. His happiness was more important than their well being.

Bruce finally came upon the manor, a well decorated structure nestled on a laughably small plot of land. Whoever owned the place was wealthy, to be sure, though even someone as well-off as this couldn't afford something with any more space. In London, no one had room to breathe, and Bruce hated it. He missed the Highlands, where entire mountainsides could be completely barren of everything but an occasional goat. Regardless, the place had a high, defensive fence with visceral spikes at the tips of the posts. He wouldn't be able to climb it, and he risked getting himself stuck inside if he tried hopping in from the neighbor's home. However, he wasn't going to be able to get the carriage out at all if he couldn't find the key to open the gate, so that didn't matter. Either Bruce was already caught red handed, or he was a free man. It was all up to luck, and Bruce was willing to take the risk.

He found himself standing by the fence, peeking in for any chance at spotting the carriage. Hidden in the dim lighting of the yard, he just barely caught the gleam coming from one of its metal parts through the downpour. Bruce gave some kind of gruff grunt or sound. He was clearly dissatisfied with his lack of an entry point; then, opportunity struck. Just off to his left, the next house down had its owner step through the front door triumphantly, like a man who just married a queen. He was short, plump, and balding just enough to notice. Bruce gave a grin wider than the Thames as he took no pause in approaching the poor bastard. Unfortunately for him, he was unlike his neighbor and had no such fence to keep out vagrants such as Bruce.

"Excuse me," Bruce spoke in a tone that indicated his sincerity. "Would you happen to have the time?"

The man, far too excitable, gave a lion's pride in his smile while producing a pocket watch. However, before he even had the ability to read it aloud, Bruce took the opportunity to surge at the gentleman. He couldn't even let out a shriek as Bruce covered his mouth with one hand and put the other on his chest. The older chap stood no chance against Bruce's might, helplessly being pushed into the front door where he had just exited. Once inside, Bruce turned around and shoved the gentleman into the door, simultaneously closing it and pinning him to the surface.

"What is the meaning of this?!" He spoke, outraged at the intrusion. Bruce didn't pay attention to the rest of the lecture he gave; he wasn't interested in holding a conversation anyway. He looked around for something to grab onto, anything hard and heavy. His eyes landed on a golden candlestick on a table just by the front door. Bruce grinned just a bit, moreso out of convenience than anything else. He grabbed the candle stick with his free hand, and in one fluid motion, brought it down upon the gentleman's crown. A sickening crunch rang out from the collision of metal on bone. The poor sir probably wouldn't survive the night; but Bruce got the intended effect, with the man collapsing onto the ground without another word. Bruce wasn't trying to kill him, but he wasn't too caring if the side effect occurred. He needed entry into the house with no one able to rat on him anytime soon. Now that he was inside the new money's home, he took another look around. The staircase, easily visible, was his goal. He ascended the steps with heavy footfalls, slow and foreboding like a bear's approach. Insidiousness enveloped Bruce as he rose to the top of the stairs. There, he encountered a maid; painfully young, nearly adolescent. She looked up at the now towering Bruce, standing tall and wide in the narrow space like a ship in drydock. Bruce, even being as ruthless as he was, couldn't bring himself to idly put someone so obviously new to the world in peril. The fear in her eyes and the frozen stature of her frame made it clear she was paralyzed with fear.

"Fret not," Bruce said with a sigh, much like a tired father talking to a rebellious child. He grabbed the back of her collar, soliciting a yelp from the poor maid. It wasn't rough like he had been with the owner, though. He merely guided the lassie down the hall, opened the nearest room's door, and guided the maid inside. Without so much as giving her another glance, he produced the bench waiting in the hallway and barricaded the door, preventing it from opening more than a few centimeters. Bruce gave himself a pat on the back; situation resolved without another bloody scene. Maybe he should try his hand at being a peeler? He seemed to be a pretty good problem solver, if Bruce said so himself.

Entering the next room over, Bruce peered out the window. As he suspected, the second floor was just barely taller than the fence, ending just a few centimeters from the building he currently occupied. Bruce wasted no time opening the window and peeking out. Assuring himself he could easily make the jump, He pulled in just the right way to bend the window open as wide as possible without shattering the thing. With one foot on the ledge, Bruce muttered something about "a flying Scot" before flinging himself into the air.

Had Bruce not been paralyzed by fear, not dissimilar to the maid, he'd probably scream like a banshee as he sailed into the next yard over. Bruce only realized once he was airborne that he never once thought about what he'd land on; the cold, wet dirt was unflinching to his body as it smacked the ground unceremoniously. He tumbled across the yard for a meter before coming to a stop; the world seemed silent for a moment until a pained groan left Bruce's lips. "Fuck..." He said in simplicity. "Just... Fuck..."

Bruce gave himself a minute to get the air back into his lungs before getting up to his knees, then to his feet a few moments later. The stiffness in his back confirmed that he would, in fact, be feeling that in the morning. For now though, he had enough adrenaline in his body to keep him moving relatively unhindered. He walked across the yard, checking the gate; it was locked tight, with Bruce having no inclination of where the key could be. "Shit." Bruce gave a sigh before turning around.

"Who the hell are you?" Asked a voice that took Bruce way too long to acquisition. The darkness of the yard made the stout man a few meters away nearly invisible. Bruce himself was barely perceptible, but the noise of his landing must've alerted this person. After Bruce didn't answer for a moment, the voice asked again. "Who are you?!" Bruce gave a hefty sigh, realizing he was about to get into another brawl so soon after his hard landing. McIntosh hyped himself up for a few seconds before charging at the man; his opponent responded by lowering his center of gravity, so even with Bruce's might crashing into him, he still wasn't uprooted. Even still, Bruce pushed the man back a good couple meters, both men grunting as the process happened. Eventually, they both came to a hard stop as they crashed into something. Only when Bruce raised his head did he realize it was the carriage, the neighing of horses confirming it was a decent blow to the vehicle. Shit, he couldn't afford to bang it up at all, so he'd need to be careful.

His opponent, now clearly visible in the light emanating from the house, was stocky and unflinching. The glare Bruce received even made him of all people get nearly frightened. Nearly. Unfortunately for the man who clearly was interested in protecting the assets of this manor, Bruce was not averted to playing dirty. He produced the revolver stored in his waistband and aimed it squarely at the gentleman, who immediately understood what the object was. "Sorry friend," Bruce said, clearly out of breath. "I'm in a rush. No time to drag this out, I'm afraid. I've got an inkling of an idea you've got the whereabouts to the key to the gate." He motioned towards it with the pistol. "Open it. Now."

The man didn't speak as he begrudgingly stepped towards the gate, unable to do anything but comply lest he get a hole in his chest. The gate was swiftly unlatched and swung open wide as Bruce simultaneously stepped up into the driver's position. With one hand on the reins and the other holding the pistol, Bruce gave a nod to the man. "Sorry about this, friend. You look a decent man. Hope you find your carriage when I'm done with it."

Bruce returned the revolver to its spot on his person as he rode out of the estate. He travelled through the winding backstreets until coming to one of the main roads. He continued down the familiar street until coming to a sharp turn, then another in the opposite direction; he had successfully brought the carriage behind the tavern without a single soul noticing him, or where he brought it. "Mary! Helena!" Bruce called like a husband returning from war. "I've got a surprise for my two favorite twins this side of Hadrian's Wall!"

 

[queendilettante]

Mary grinned like a devil at the four other gang members from the driver's side of the carriage seats. With five of them headed to the ball in expensive (and ill-begotten) clothing, it would have made more sense to have two sitting on one bench and three on the other, but Mary deemed a pre-ball speech with the full attention of her crew to be significantly more important than their temporary comfort. Scanning the too tightly-packed group in front of her, Mary cleared her throat and placed her hand dramatically on her chest.

"I do suppose it is finally time for me to tell you all what we are to be doing at this ball," Mary began, totally oblivious to the group's frustration that she had still yet to inform them of their jobs. Though, truth be told, even if she had been aware, it wouldn't have changed her actions in even the slightest way. Mary's life was theater- an improv show with who-knows how many acts; it was completely unbecoming of a performer, nay, an artist such as herself to give away the next scene. Besides, most of the time, she hadn't even planned that far in advance.

"As you may have guessed," she continued, "we are not ordinary socialites at this extravagant party. At this time, that would still be too," Mary bit her tongue, annoyed, and rolled her eyes, "unrealistic." She seemed to gag on the word as it left her throat, as if operating on the misplaced assumption that her social standing was higher than it was. "Yet even so, none of the genuine pillars of our egalitarian English meritocracy - the dishonest, high society criminals that were actually invited - may come to even the slightest suspicion of that fact." She kept eye contact with each of the other members for a few seconds but not for long enough to give any of them the impression that she expected them to interrupt her soliloquy.

"I know you may find this hard to believe, but butlers from the estate did not hand deliver invitations to all five of us." Though she was now attempting light-hearted self-aware humor, the aura that Mary radiated at all times, one of utter devotion to her consistently overdramatic theatrics, may have obscured that. "For this slight upon all of our characters - after all, which ruffians are more deserved of this honor than us - we must take it upon ourselves to," she paused, soaking in the tension that she expertly created, "reimburse Queensway for this transgression." She smiled at the group.

"If any of you happen to find yourselves in the possession of others' valuables, be it from their pockets or any of the bejeweled furnishings of the host's fine home, I would urge you all to find a secure and discreet location to store them inside the ballroom." She glanced over the group again before sighing and briefly breaking character. "Everything will be taken care of."

"First, dear Benjamin," she turned and made unflinching eye contact with the southern American. "Our benefactor this evening is one of yours. Do take care to keep your union obsession under wraps on the off chance that he fought to keep slaves." She was going to move on but felt unsatisfied with leaving it there. She glanced back at the man before hastily adding: "Naturally, if he did fight for slavery, the lot of us will need to return to," she paused, grinning, "correct him at another time."

Mary turned to Benny. "Love, please make sure your nimble fingers stay nimble this evening, would you?" She smiled with some concern; the boy was good when he wanted to be, Mary just wanted to make sure that tonight of all nights, he wanted to be.

Before she could address the final pair, the carriage ran into a rather large hole in the road. Mary bumped her head on the ceiling and almost landed dangerously wrong on the knife strapped to her inner thigh. "Bruce!" she shouted, banging on the wall behind her, "Bruce if you're trying to kill us, do know that I don't plan to let you live any longer than I do." She shifted her weight off the hilt of her knife and and adjusted the now partially disheveled dress.

"Now, ladies," Mary continued, doing her best not to look annoyed with Bruce's poor driving, "we are in the prime of our youth and there will be plenty of intoxicated older gentleman at this soirée." Mary unclipped her hair and shook it out, deciding in the chaos to forgo the hairdo previously agreed upon by her and Helena; Mary figured Helena would figure it out rather quickly anyway. "I trust you know how to take advantage of this dynamic." Truthfully, Mary was repulsed by the idea of men of any age lusting over her, but the ease with which she could take advantage of their simplicity made the prospect too fruitful for her pride to stand in the way.

"Oh, and darlings," she began again, "prepare to be relieved of the possessions you collect. I hear no-good robbers have targeted the ball this evening!" She winked at them before swinging herself around and exiting the back of the carriage in a single, fluid motion. As soon as she stepped down, she noticed numerous police officers on the road and standing guard at the front entrance of the property. She feigned as if she had left something in the carriage and spun back to her group that had still yet to exit.

"Loves, it appears as if this will a slightly more difficult venture than we planned for!" She smiled, clearly not as concerned as she should have been with the heavy police presence. "Do enjoy yourselves!"

Vudukudu Pipsqueak PinkChiffon spottednewt

 

[Pipsqueak]

Benny had taken to eating the pie before he got back to the tavern about an hour after his thieving. The rain had threatened to make it soggy, and without the protection of the umbrella it was quite hard to simultaneously keep it and the clothes dry under his vest. He hadn't planned to return so early, but no way in hell was he going to stand out there in performance while getting soaked. His mouth was smeared with purple by the time he arrived, but he cleaned up quickly before taking refuge in the back of the building, card deck in hand and invitations on the tip of his tongue. At first, only a couple patrons at a time came up to partake in his scheme, but once his flare had really taken hold there began a pile-up. The redhead had slipped between the group easily, no one the wiser as their precious belongings were stolen with greedy fingers.

It was tempting to keep his skills focused on the coins, but every so often a glimmer of jewelry would catch his eye, on display as if begging to be taken.

"Was this your card, my dear?"

"Oh it is, how delightful!"

"Delightful indeed!" Benny agreed joyfully, the woman's necklace tucked neatly away in his vest pocket. It resided as well with loose change, a pocket watch, and a ring that he suspected came from a newly engaged couple. By the time the crowd had dispersed, the young thief made his way quickly out of the tavern once again to head to a tailor. It would have been much easier to force the job upon the man, however, he simply did not want to stick around until it was finished. He had no clue how long the process would take, and he didn't wish to keep the blade unsheathed when he had better things to do with his time. Urgency was of upmost importance of course, and he was sure to make that clear once inside.

"Sir, you must understand I have somewhere real important to be at six this evening, and although I do appreciate the time spent here," he did not, "you have ta work quickly."

After some haggling it was agreed that the suit would be finished before then, all other appointments be damned. Benny had to let go of the necklace and the little ring to make it happen, but kept secure the silver pocket watch. That would be his for the taking.

After being fitted, he spent the rest of his time back at the tavern, enjoying the calm before the storm and the occasional peeved glances he received from the bartender he had spilled water on. Just an hour before the group was supposed to meet, Benny was dressed in his best wear, bathed from the typical grime that covered his pale face and his hair at least somewhat tended to. He had his knife secure just beneath his socks and his playing cards in the trouser pocket.

"I've never had trouser pockets before, look!" He exclaimed to his group excitedly once they were shoved unceremoniously into the carriage. He stuck his hands in them and wiggled them around, feeling quite proud of his findings. After some idle chit chat, Mary began relaying more information about their work tonight. Her sly remark towards him was met with an appalled gasp before he wriggled his fingers at her and smirked. Although he jested, he would indeed be serious about it tonight. Not that he wasn't ever, but this was a very important mission, and the thought of losing something between then and when it was all over made him feel nauseous. He never would admit it, but he loved the crew and the twins with his whole heart, and letting them down was simply out of the question.

They arrived in a timely manner, not before actually getting nauseous with Bruce's coachman skills. Benny hopped out after the rest of them, rubbing his pounding head as he scanned the area and the police in it.

"You'd think the place had been robbed." He grumbled to no one in particular. Deciding he was satisfied on what to do and where he was going, he turned to give Bruce a bow.

"My liege. Do be careful on the way back, oftentimes there are others on the street and I don't think they'd be particularly inclined to be run over." He winked at the Scotsman before going to trail behind his group, the excitement he had felt before only growing. This would be a piece of cake!

 

[spottednewt]

The hours that followed Astrid O’Malley’s visit with her mother flowed like concrete. The same old work boots she’d been stomping around in for years felt ten pounds heavier as she ascended the stairs into her childhood room. The effort felt - for some reason - strenuous as she went to work digging out the relics of her past. The movements felt all the same as she watched from somewhere outside of her body. Even as she decided blue over red, even as she hunted down the least detestable pair of shoes, and even as she sought out her widest crinoline for the most stowing capacity; Astrid was not present. The excursion into her mother’s wardrobe to procure the ribbons she’d secure her hair with served to be the most fruitful.

The box of adornments laid at the highest shelf of the cabinet, right next to a flask that could damn well hold half the barrel of whiskey. Bitterly, the young woman’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile as she reached for both box and bottle. It seemed that in order to hide his habits, Cillian had resorted to taking advantage of either her mother’s lack of sight, lack of social calendar, or both. It didn’t matter why he thought that someone may mistake this article for Cara’s - all Astrid knew is that he’d be disappointed by his next visit as she made painstaking work of emptying it down the back of her gullet. Cillian had a fondness for all things gruesomely sour, but Astrid was happy to pay the price out of mere spite. Neatly, she fished out the hairpins she desired and replaced both objects back on the shelf.

It wasn’t until she went to work pinning the bottom hem of her chemise to an upper ring of the hoop skirt that she began to feel herself again; even if she was preparing to be anything but herself. The idea was simple, but the repetitive tactile work was a blessing in disguise. It wasn’t long before heat flooded her face and she regained her resolve.

More than anything, Astrid hated the notion that wearing a cage around her rear end would make her more fashionable. What, pray tell, was enticing about wearing garb that gave one the appearance that they were shaped like a bottle of rum? Regardless of her distaste, If she secured the bottom of her under-dress to one of the rings that kept her buttocks tamed, she’d create a natural hammock on all sides when she slipped into the garment and secured the crinoline. There were few things more practical than an obscured pouch of such a size, even if she’d have to reach into her skirts to access it. As long as she didn’t have to run - for fear of sounding like a metal street cat trapped in a pot - she’d be well off.

~

After fussing with her hair proved to be a skill that came back to her with ease –and she felt just ridiculous enough in her dressing- Astrid gave her corset one last look of utter contempt before going on her way.

The struggle through the bushes to reach her mother’s window with handfuls of bread crumbs was an agreeable struggle, but the change in tone of her walk back to the pub was not. Astrid had all but forgotten what it was like to walk the streets of the city looking like she was somebody. The scourges of London’s underbelly were joined by common menfolk in reckoning her being as for their consumption. It was a different experience from gracing the same route in trousers a few hours prior. It made her angry; with an inarticulate animosity that she didn’t have time to confront with every passerby who dared to crane their necks after her. In one sense, she saw it a testament to the way the beautiful, lace jail around her ribcage had hit its’ mark exactly, but in another, she wondered how loudly these onlookers must live, with their eager willingness to execute such a social faux pas - such obvious casing. Even considering her own brushings with the wrong crowd - surely, they must live in a different world than she. At the very least, some who may wish to mug her might recognize her and think better of the venture.

Overall, she crossed through those dirty streets unscathed; in her expensive garb and with the same red-hot spite she drained her father’s stash with - she fed it, even, by digging into her skirts unceremoniously to nurse her own flask along the way. By the time she reached what would be her luxury-studded chariot for the night, O’Malley willed herself a clear head. It was as though a veil had dropped over her as they loaded into the fruits of Bruce’s labor. By the contempt of god himself, she had landed herself a middle seat. The closeness of quarters, expression of stern determination on her face, and slight clinging of her sleeves around the muscles in her upper arms betrayed the soft femininity of the light blue dress she donned. The soft blue did well to bring out the striking cobalt of her eyes - but the clashing of the scene as a whole did well to bring out the hazy fire in them.

~

When the carriage came to a stop, Astrid was slower to exit in heed of Mary’s warning.

The game was on.

So, with all the air of her maternal grandmother, O’Malley made it to her feet at a leisurely pace and strolled past the local law enforcement. At this point, there were a small handful that may have noticed her if they looked hard enough. Having a healthy respect for their danger was wise, but it was hard to harbor any fear farther than that with the loose fog over her brain. That was, of course, in conjunction with recognition of one constable as a collector of mouse taxidermy in which he requested they be dressed as tiny sailors, and another as waiting on her next shipment of exotic kittens to dote on.

O’Malley pushed on and into the grand entrance of their venue, one hand tucked gingerly into the other across the top of her skirts. There was an easiness in this character she had dropped into like putting on an old glove. Bright eyes portrayed an air of teasing and complemented a knowing smirk nicely. Regardless of the dirt she had on the city’s aristocracy - and even the likelihood that she’d grown up with a few other guests - her ‘knowing smirk’ denoted little. It wasn’t until she was ushered inside that she was struck with the glamor and animation of the event, as well as the thought that her vices might be smelled on her. With some newfound haste, she’d be visiting the refreshment table to smell like top-shelf vices shortly; and hoping that they add to an accent of reckless mystery about her that she knew some bored nobles to fancy.

Mary’s words about “taking advantage” of the party dynamic echoed in her mind with an inner groan.

 

[Vudukudu]

"Now, Mr. Levin, I really can't recommend the white tie ensemble. There's no telling if it will gain any traction or if its merely an experiment, a fluke in design. Not to speak ill of the Prince, but ---"

"I've got nothing but respect for your professional opinion, Mr. Hill, but I quite like the style. Never personally been enthused about coat-tails, and this shorter jacket gives me the feel o' a uniform." Benjamin replies, looking himself over in a tall mirror leaned up against the wall. "Now, you look at me and tell me I'm not a deee-lightful specimen." He adds, giving a slow twirl and posturing. It had been awhile since he'd worn anything nice, and this felt good. A man of his birth was used to waistcoats and champagne, and his time in Britain had been frightfully lacking on both counts. Tonight, even if it was for the purpose of nefariousness, would be refreshing. Nostalgic. Dare he think it, pleasant.

Stopping to look at himself in the mirror, he straightens out the white bowtie and smooths down a wrinkle in the bright white shirt before checking the sleeves of his midnight blue jacket to insure they were the appropriate length. They come up a tad short, but given the circumstances, he can't really complain - after all, it is rather short notice and its something of a miracle he was able to find any of this at all. He hadn't seen anything quite like this back in the States, but he saw the appeal. It certainly felt better than the more traditional coats he'd worn throughout his life, and, while not quite one for vanity, part of him does regret that tonight is meant for business, not pleasure.

"Now, Mr. Levin, if that will be all..?"

"Not quite. Where might a man get a good shave around here?"

------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride in the carriage is, frankly, exhausting. Benjamin's always considered himself a patron of the theatrical arts, but the Twins' knack for pageantry and round-abouted-ness could be frustrating for someone who subscribed wholeheartedly to simple plans with clear expectations. Were it not for their promising leadership, he'd roll his eyes fast enough to rattle them to the rhythm of Mary's monologue. Still, he maintains an air of polite composure, nestled uncomfortably tightly beside Astrid. Out of a strict sense of decorum and the lingering dread of his mother's disciplinary hand, he'd made a point of complimenting each of the womenfolk's wardrobe, with the explicit exception of his seat-neighbor. Given her.. ornery tendencies, it seemed safer to not say anything that might provoke a response. Oh, that necklace is a lovely complement to your eyes. Aye, and you look like a pompous pigeon-livered flapdoodle.

Once he's endured Mary's briefing and Ben the Younger's childlike enthusiasm, he cracks each one of his knuckles individually, then picks at his fingernails to pass the time during the ride. "I take offense at the notion, Ms. Nevitt. My days of putting the hurt on Johnny Reb in front of his wife and children are long behind me, and even if he is traitor scum I am a guest in his home and I will conduct myself with upright composure. I do kindly request you direct your advice on etiquette to those who need it most."

When the time comes to proceed, Benjamin is the first to exit on the opposite side from Mary and opens the door for the others, offering each of the women a hand to help them down from the step to the ground. "Keep your wits about you. Awful lot of mutton-shunters about and I seem to have forgotten my toothpick."