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    1. Crooked Knight 6 yrs ago

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Just letting it be known that I'm working on a CS, as well as some pretty heavy worldbuilding for the Misty Cliffs (my character would have domain over them, being a vassal to House Engelhardt).

@Clocktowerechos, would you want me to shoot the CS with all the worldbuilding stuff your way for approval/discussion before I post it here? I'm still working on it, but I want to be sure it does not collide with your vision.

@ShadowSunRisen my DMs are open if you wanna discuss our characters and whatnot, assuming I'm approved down the line. ^^




Time: The Next Morning
Location: Shangri-La, Paris


The suite David had largely to himself was the picture of privacy, luxury and definition of sparing no expense. Two floors, soft cream and gold colours - beautifully symmetrical Parisian interior design, marble bathroom amenities of a deep soaking bathtub and walk-in shower. Private terrace with a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower - darkening with the rising of the morning sun. The winding staircase went down to the bedroom from the main entrance.

Evidence of the night before was spread from the front door to the bedroom, the room was dark as the curtains had been pulled closed - strangely, cracks of light were absent, the darkness was total. Shoes neatly tucked into the closet, neither of the occupants wanting to scuff them. Alongside the black Prada purse was David’s wallet inches from a pair of wine glasses half full. The bottle not far from reach on the glass coffee table. Her dress a pool of fabric over the stairs down, his belt not far from the dress. The rest of their clothes scattered around the bed, where both Odette and David slept under crumpled sheets, messily thrown duvet, a few pillows stripped of their covers, the knotted covers around the bedposts. The bedside tables held vases of fresh flowers, a crystal glass ashtray, and their respective cell phones.

Naturally, slowly stirring from sleep Odette’s mess of blue hair across the pillow, she began shifting. She rolled to her side stretching out fully, shoulders popping satisfyingly. Small red marks across her collarbone, other telltale signs of her night spent with David were all over her body. Shuffling out beneath the covers she felt across the floor for something to put on, finding his light blue dress shirt not bothering to button anything up, to make her way to the bathroom. Her makeup was a complete mess, faded and smudged. Running some warm water she found the makeup wipes to clean up her face before using the toilet. Feeling the slight throb of a wine hangover at the forefront of her head. With the water running she whispered a spell to relieve it. Poking her head back out of the bathroom she checked on David, he was still fast asleep - as far as she could tell. Softly drumming her fingers across the door frame she looked to the stairs back up to the main floor, this would be the perfect opportunity to dig for some more information on her date. Hardly knowing the time she stepped quietly back to her nightstand scooping up her phone.

Messages, notifications, a couple missed calls from friends. She checked the time, it was 5 am.

Considering him, she smiled admirably - fondly running a hand over her clavicle where his hand had found a perfect fit the night before. Sneaking past him, up the stairs she stepped slowly - lightly. Setting her sights on his wallet. They had spent more time perched on the couch talking as they did over their last glasses of wine before stumbling their way over into bed, talking of what they wanted, setting basic boundaries. She remembered clutching at the hem of her dress, anticipation sharpening her focus. Odette couldn’t with a straight face say the date was anything like she had experienced before.

Others had tried to romance her in the past, wine and dine her as it were - often mistaking that they were not apart of her web of social intrigue. While there had been similar endings, it was hardly comparable. Something about David Blackwood pulled her in, his showmanship was impressive but it was not the source of her piqued interest. Odette attempted to understand why she found herself wanting what he maintained, the various aspects of what he exuded and she knew she had a similar effect on him as well. The exact reason as to why was just out of her reach, none of it was new or unexplored. She knew something wasn’t quite all it seemed with David, the only evidence she had thus far was his reaction to the banshee. Plucking his wallet up, she listened to hear if David had stirred before perusing through it.

David remained positively still, except for the slight heaving of his chest.

The wallet, on the other hand, did not have much to go upon. No credit cards, no business cards, no valid I.D. of any kind… the thin wallet only carried several hundred euros, in cash. Odette frowned looking for more pockets - anything and it turned up squat. Putting the wallet down, she tracked over to the closet next looking through the various pairs of designer shoes. He had good taste, that much she already knew.

Suits hung in protective clothing bags, some casual shirts, jackets - differing colours largely on the cooler shades - finally switching on her phone’s flashlight she began rifling through the pockets. If this business savvy man didn’t carry a business card in his wallet then maybe he had some stored away in his pockets. Recognizing the jacket he wore the other night, she tugged the jacket off the hanger - stopping the clang of the hanger before it could bounce about. Making a face, pausing to strain her ears for movement again, she slid a hand inside the pockets, clean and empty once again like the wallet. Putting the jacket back onto the hanger, doing cursory sweeps through his other pockets - they were all empty. No picture ID, she wondered where his passport was but that could have been kept somewhere more secure than leaving an empty wallet with some handful of cash. Turning off the light, she tapped her phone against her lip in thought.

Clearly the next logical step in invading his privacy was to check the safe. Padding over to the room safe, it was behind a utility closet door bolted to the ground. Crouching down to examine it, not touching a button knowing the sounds it would make. It was a small silver safe, with a digital keypad. Instead, she opened her phone library of notes, scrolling through the various spells and incantations she had recorded - ones that never warranted the need to be memorized.

Pressing two fingers against the safe, the tips of her digits lit with pale blue light as she began her incantation, willing the safe to fail, “Votre temps est écoulé, alors que tombent les grains de sable du sablier - vous aussi. Commencez votre utilisation, commencez votre fonction.

Repeating the incantation three times, she heard springs come loose, hinges creak as if their weight was too much to bear any more. Numbers flashed across the tiny little screen before static crinkled across it, the plastic warping slightly. The door no longer sat straight, tugging lightly on it she was able to jiggle it open. Smiling she shone her phone’s light into the safe only to find more cash, a jewellery box with his cufflinks, some watches and nothing of actual import. Her smile fell.

Sitting back on her hunches she crossed her arms for a few moments. Trying again, she tapped her hand around inside of it see if there was anything else in the corners, but the sound rang hollow. . . Stopping she lightly tapped the bottom of the safe. The bottom looked to be the same colour as the rest of the safe but it wasn’t metal. Removing the jewellery and cash, setting it aside she pushed down on one of the corners lifting the bottom up. Quickly removing it she looked further - finally finding what she knew was some answers. Small bundle passports, she flipped through them finding a variety of names but the same face - they were incredibly well forged. America, Russia, Germany. In a slick black case, she eased open the lid to find a contact lens case and a small nearly translucent earpiece. Feeling validated, more than shocked. Her instincts not leading her astray.

Plucking it - holding it up. Putting the lens case aside, using both hands to rub the earpiece down with his shirt not wanting to share earwax with him.

Tucking the earpiece into her ear, without any expectation to get a response she quietly said, “’Allo?


David moved across the ceiling, not a trace of a sound that could be registered by the human ear. In the near-perfect darkness, he was virtually invisible to the naked eye, allowing him to more or less comfortably witness the scene. A part of him was slightly shocked by the very gall that was on display, but when it came to building any actual indignation he soon found he couldn’t manage to work up any. He was a thief, not a hypocrite.

In actuality, he found watching her work kind of fascinating. His heart briefly skipped a beat when she brought out a notebook. Was she some kind of mind reader?

No! She was a bleeding magician, apparently! What kind of power set did this woman have?! She had barely touched the safe and already his record was shattered!

The thought of intervening struck him. It was the smart thing to do. The only thing to do. And still, he remained a passive observer.

‘Maybe I’m just sabotaging myself,’ he thought as he watched her rifle through the superfluous items, I died and came back with these awesome powers, and I’m dealing with it by making things unnecessarily hard aaaaand fuck my life, she found the fake bottom.

The evidence was enough to perhaps confront him, but still, he felt like he could handle that kind of heat. What he did not expect, however, was her total lack of respect for boundaries to match his own, as she spoke into the microphone.


There was a pregnant silence, momentaneously disturbed by the broken intake and exhale of breath before being quickly muted, erasing all trace of its presence.

Her brow furrowed, a quick lick of her lips, “It is okay.” She said, quietly - eyes narrowing.

He is asleep, I just-” Feigning a sound of mild frustration, rolling from her knees to lean up against the wall, noting sadly, “I just want to know who he is. Please, whoever you are - you are someone he trusts, non?

I want to know if this wasn’t a huge mistake.

The silence went on for a little while longer. Then in came the deep, distorted voice.

“Okay…the fact that you’re on this very line, asking these questions, does very little in terms of convincing me of your trustworthiness. Quite the opposite, really.”

You can trust this stays between you and me.” She replied, sweetly. “You must be the voice of reason, the tech-savvy man to the charming front. I have a few ideas of what this is about.

The only reason I found this little earpiece, I’ll admit it... I am paranoid.” She began, sighing - continuing the lie, “I have, I have been hurt in the past. He was the perfect date, too perfect do you know what I mean?” Sucking in a quick breath, chuckling nervously.

I don’t know what I thought I’d accomplish with this insanity, I am sorry - please… forget I said anything? I won’t say a thing if you do not either.” She whispered, sounding small - defeated. Wiggling the earpiece out of her ear, slowly - clumsily with a sigh.

For a moment, Deep could almost relate. He understood the uncertainty, the constant worry, and he knew how disarming the thief could be, with his empty smiles and flawless timing, always seeming to know the right thing to say.

Then, he realized he had seen David do the same kind of thing she was doing to him right now a million times and, frankly, felt rather insulted. It was also a stark reminder that she belonged to a vicious, superpowered criminal syndicate. He took a deep breath, his partner’s words echoing in his head. Just like a prank call. Just like a prank call...

“This conversation was over the moment you decided to use that earpiece,” the distorted voice came through, and despite its alien and almost calm tone, there was clearly underlying anger to his words, “You want to avoid getting hurt? Stop digging into matters that are far beyond you, stay as far away as you can from him... and never contact me again.”

Another moment of deafening silence.

Found what you were looking for?” David’s voice came out of nowhere.

He was almost hard to see at first, the thick darkness giving him cover as he stood close behind her, seeming to tower over her petite frame.

Odette winced, thinking of a dozen ways to wiggle out of this. Failing to appeal to the man over the communication link - she had a chance with David to somehow salvage this morning. Hopefully without explaining how the safe had managed to break. Gently placing the earpiece to the side, “I knew you were hiding something,” She began, “I am relieved, actually. Found some IDs, a mysterious voice, and a false bottomed safe.

Pushing herself to stand up, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear, “I was expecting a gun.

Taking a shot in the dark, she adjusted her tone not to sound accusatory, “You’re a spy,” She turned to face him, “It would explain a few things, like the strange men and women staring us down. The purposefully vague nonsense, no paper trails, no credit cards. More than enough money to throw around, not a very good spy...but a spy nonetheless.

Saying it out loud is about as ridiculous as it sounds, please shed some light here.

He raised a brow at this. It was perfect, and she was prepared to believe it. All he had to do now was sell it. He smiled, the act barely visible in the darkroom.

For the sake of argument, let’s pretend for a moment that I am a spy,” he noted, slowly inching closer, “You just busted my safe and went through my belongings. What do you reckon my first instinct should be after being compromised in such a candid fashion? Perhaps you missed the gun,” He caught a strand of blue hair with a finger, setting it aside. His fingertips ran down her neck, his thumb and index gently pushing her jaw up to level her gaze with his own,, “Or perhaps I just like to get close and personal.

She hadn’t flinched, knowing a bluff when she heard it, her own hand pressed against his - increasing pressure, “I ‘reckoned’ that you liked me enough to talk first before acting, I was right.” She said staring him down. “Your man on the other line warned me to stay away, you are giving me a generous warning right this very moment.

I was relieved that my instincts did not lead me on a goose chase, now they’re telling me,” She gambled again, “Some part of you is impressed that I have proven to be more than just a pair of soft pointe shoes.

Pressing up against him, her hand resting against his chest, “Your secrets are safe with me, remember?

His heart practically screamed with glee: this was far better than anything he could’ve orchestrated on his own. Still, he stayed in character, stoic features regarding her menacingly as his grip tightened, his body mass forcing her to step backwards as he moved forward. “I do not believe you grasp the gravity of your situation, Mademoiselle Favre. Even if you had not just utterly betrayed my trust, there are protocols one must follow in these types of situations.

Involuntarily holding her breath, waiting for his decision and readying a spell to stop him in his tracks.

He held her there for a moment as if considering, then let go. “You stole my secrets,” he emphasized, a very faint touch of indignation to his otherwise cool act, his tone becoming almost dismissive, “Fortunately for you, I’m more interested in learning yours than in killing you. You want to know who I am? That is a two-way street. You can start by telling me how you practically disarmed the room’s safe without barely touching it,” his tone grew almost condescending, “As a sign of good faith, mostly, I’m going to find out one way or another.

If only you knew how close you had come to death, Monsieur Blackwood. She thought idly, her eyes narrowed at his tone. Taking a few moments to breathe, seemingly playing the part of calming her nerves. A civilian was only as bold when their lives weren’t in danger, anyone else would have probably been terrified.

Adding a small quiver in her voice she responded, “M-my secrets?” She cleared her throat, “May I provide some context, as I am sure you overhead me speaking to the man over the earpiece. I was not lying when I said I have reason to be paranoid, not as many as you do - clearly.

She touched her neck, not quite feeling bold enough to touch him again, not yet. “Had you spent more time researching me you would have no doubt dug up certain details of my reputation.” She had no real intent opening that particular vein of conversation, but she needed something he could verify for himself and here the truth would work in her favour. “The dance community around the Opera House is quite close-knit, we all attended the same university, see each other more than our own families.

Casting her eyes down, somewhat in shame, “I have a string of exes, I had a terrible habit of playing games with their hearts. Using jealousy, lies - rumours, affection, tears, all to my advantage. It was fun, but my own games double-backed on me and caused a bloom of paranoia. I-” She flicked her gaze back up to him, then gestured to the safe, “These hotel safes are standard and it is not the first time I have broken into one. Naturally, it all blew up in my face. I sabotaged the one relationship where I actually cared for them and after…” She shrugged a shoulder, frowning, “I gave up. I focused on my dancing and everyone in the company warned whoever even so much showed the slightest bit of interest. It has been years since I gave up on dating.

Her cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, she chewed at the inside of her cheek. It painted a different picture from the well-liked, accomplished dancer to the social pariah among her peers. None of which she regretted but took issue with sharing it. Being forced to share it to hide her magical safe breaking. A one night stand with secrets of his own, it could be worse.

Old habits have a strange way of bubbling back up.

David could not have been more delighted as he listened to her, juggling half-truths with outright lies. Had they met by chance, her words might’ve given him some reason to pause, but the fact he knew who she really was made them almost moot. Of course, he maintained a serious face throughout the whole thing. When she was done, he deliberately rolled his eyes.

Well, boo-fucking-hoo. So you’re what your people call a ‘femme fatale,’” he shrugged, the last word leaving a bad taste in his mouth, “I could’ve told you as much. And please, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending that what your nosy ‘friends’ at the ballet think about you is any kind of impediment to doing what you actually want to. I thought we’d already established that.

He sighed, regarding the ruined safe. “Even if I wasn’t trained to smell your bullshit from miles away, which I am, I know for a fact that you’re lying. You want to know how? Because I can’t figure out how you’ve opened this safe, and I know every way to open it. In fact, I took very specific precautions to prevent anyone but the most skilled of master thieves from being able to do so.

Technically speaking, nothing he had said was a lie. His skills did heavily overlap with what one might expect of a spy, after all, which is what made it such a brilliant, if somewhat dangerous, cover... and he genuinely hadn’t the foggiest idea how she’d done it, which irked him to no conceivable end.

In fact,” he continued, beginning to walk up to her, “This strikes me as rather bold behaviour for a paranoid, wouldn’t you agree? I’m not saying you don’t have trust issues, mind,” he clarified, now standing close to her, a string of fingers running down her figure as he regarded her, close enough to almost feel them but never really making contact, “But this… this is the work of someone who thinks she’s untouchable.

She scoffed, he rolled his eyes at her bait, continued to call her out and stubbornly kept to the subject at hand.

Her meek and humble facade was gone in a blink, she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Fine. You want the truth?” The truth was always relative, there was a way forward - he could get a glimpse and believe whatever she wanted him to believe, “Watch closely.” Pushing his hand away. She crouched in front of the safe again, removing her phone to read the next incantation to fix the safe. A spell she often used to cover her tracks, when she wasn’t caught.

Placing both hands on the safe she began her incantation, “Réorganiser le temps, retour au début par ma volonté et parole. Réparez, connectez, coulez.” Speaking softly, her hands glowed light blue casting cold light over her features, the clang of metal, springs, and other bits audible as magic willed the device back to its original state. Repeating the incantation once more, three times in total the safe was back in one piece once more. Sighing the light faded, idly she placed the items back inside, slotting the false bottom back in place. She closed the door and with a beep, it was locked up once more.

I was trying to keep it a secret, metahumans were on the block by terrorists. I can break and repair things, I use words to help focus my powers,” Folding her arms, with a pout, “Quid pro quo, a secret for secret.

David frowned. She had admitted to being a meta-human, but it didn’t add up with what he’d seen her do. Perhaps she was more powerful than she wanted to let on, and had some kind of mayor physics bending powers?

He filed that in the ‘scary thoughts’ archive and, after a moment’s consideration, straightened out his hand. “Hand back the earpiece.

Dangling the earpiece between them she gently placed it in the palm of his hand, holding her breath once more - waiting, “It didn’t do me any good, your man in the chair did not reveal anything.” She commented, “So, what now?

David put on the earpiece.

It’s me.

“Have you lost your mind?” Came Deep’s voice.

I am sorry for what happened. The situation has been handled.

“What do you mean the situation… Ugh! She’s there with you, isn’t she?”

Affirmative.

“This is the last time I help you with any of your stupid antics, you hear me?”

...No, you don’t have to worry about her anymore.

“No, you’re not listening to me! I know you’re putting on your little play for her but this… this behaviour has to stop! Ever since what… whatever it is that happened to you, you’ve not been the same! I know it’s a lot to deal with. But you’re impulsive and reckless and... and... and I was just on the phone with a psychopathic killer, for all I know!” the man stopped to catch some air, or perhaps to sigh, “I don’t know if we can keep working together if you don’t respect the rules. We made them for a reason. Get your shit together, or we’re done professionally.”

Understood. It won’t happen again. Business as usual then?

Deep cut the line.

Very well.

He turned to regard her, a sly smile on his face.

Well, now that that’s taken care of, I believe there was some mention of returning to bed. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a million questions, but they can wait,” he took off the earpiece, tossing it aside as he approached her, “After all, I intend to keep a close eye on you, Mademoiselle Favre.







Time: Three days later, opening night of A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Location: Paris Opera House, Paris


Hundreds of patrons made their way into the Opera House that night for an evening of classical Parisian culture, a night to experience the ballet. Luckily for those attending would be treated to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Everyone streaming in had their tickets torn or scanned, they were handed pamphlets listing the dancers performing that night, their names, black and white portraits with their roles in the ballet and position at the company. Principal Dancers had a small description of their career prior to the current performance.

Sadly, very sadly for poor Manon the demi-soloist, her opening night and first time performing Helena live was shunted by a terrible flu - leaving her bed ridden. For her caretakers they could not tell if the tears on her cheeks were from the fever or her apparent disappointment. Regardless, the show goes on. Especially for her senior dancer and understudy for the role, Odette Favre the blue haired review-darling. Rumours were spreading like wildfire of her health in and out of the company. Tonight’s performance would act to squash those concerns.

Backstage - runningcrew raced around, clutching tablets, headsets around their necks, radios on their hips, dodging through performers - sliding past costume racks that were dreadfully late delivering alterations.

The Stage Manager shouted in French overheads, “Curtain in less than fifteen minutes people! Hustle!” Their assistant managers echoing that sentiment up and down the lines of people. It was a well oiled machine the seemingly chaotic movement of people.

Odette sat at her vanity, gently patting her cheeks with loose finishing powder setting her makeup where even sweat couldn’t ruin it. Chaos carried on around her as the other soloists to her left and right were desperately patting away their makeup. Somehow their costumes were late but Odette’s arrived without any need of last minute alterations. Lifting her brow with a pinky, the tiny brush straightening the hair. Helena’s light red dress complimented Odette well, the hand sewn layers of fabric neatly falling below her waist, free flowing in their abundant layers. Her hair tucked in a tight bun pinned securely with plenty of bobby pins, her hair band decorated with white flowers and green vines. The bodice fit snuggly at her torso, the dress itself was long, embroidery telling a story of its own only highlighted the craftsmanship found within the company. At the beginning of the ballet each dancer started at their heaviest costumes, as the story progressed, they would all slowly shed the layers. It was narratively important, equally important weight the dancers were relieved of as the ballet neared its end.

Odette heard the call for curtain, she saw Victor, the Principal Dancer playing Puck that night. Focused, ready, and she caught his eye before he was escorted by the stage manager. Watching his back she returned to her vanity smiling at her reflection, personally knowing and meeting the mythological creatures that populated A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a secret she would always relish in having. Bach was nowhere to be seen, he rarely came to watch her performances (having seen them plenty of times before). Happily keeping the Opera House free of faerie influences, try as she did to draw boundaries - create her own sanctuary, she knew they couldn’t resist being in and around such a lively, old building.

They did well to hide from her eyesight some even took great joy when they found The Ambassador on their tails to chase them away.

Curtain in five! Another call came and many of the dancers, the Corps de Ballet streaming toward the left and right wings of the stage. One final check and the assistant stage manager guided Odette and the other soloist playing opposite her as Hermia to their marks. Waiting in the wings, they could hear the orchestra begin.




Elsewhere…

“DEATH TO THE USURPER!”

Noir frowned, his punch hauling the fanatic into another with a little more strength than was warranted. “You guys are going to make me late! And I abhor being late!

He had no idea how the Obscurati* had tracked him all the way down to France, and frankly, he did not much care. Ever since he had acquired his powers they had become obsessed with taking him down, and they were very much starting to become a bit of a thorn in his buttocks.

Still, the black-robed loonies were barely a threat to his shadow-plated might: the Brit dashed back and forth at incredible speeds, so much so that he had to pull every single one of his punches to ensure he didn’t kill any of the gullible suckers. A broken bone or two, however… now those were warranted. Luckily for him, they preferred to attack him in secluded spaces with little to no human traffic, and this alleyway was no different.

He grabbed one of the hooded figures by his lapel, proceeding to weaponize him as he swung him against his deluded companions. “I’m wearing a very expensive suit underneath this thing, and I SWEAR if there’s a SINGLE wrinkle on it when I’m done with you schmucks, there’s going to be HELL to pay!” he threatened as the man’s legs clobbered another fellow in the head, knocking the living lights out of him, “I mean, even more so than now!

Soon enough, the quasi-invisible figure was done with the small army of assailants, a gaggle of black-robed figures barely breathing at his feet. Noir, on the other hand, felt like he could’ve kept going for a while: it was an empowering sensation, he had to admit, and felt little to no shame at the extra tightness he felt in his nether regions.

The euphoric moment lasted little, however, as his shadow retreated to its god-given place to reveal a slickly dressed man, looking down at a silver-plated hand watch.

Shit!

A few minutes later...

David readjusted his tie as he entered the Opera House’s reception area. As feared, the doors were just being closed, and he was all alone except for an usher wearing a red velvet vest, along with a bow-tie. He turned around and looked him up and down with a small smile that David found none too pleasant, recognizing the look of a man searching for a flaw.

Alas, the thief would not allow himself any, even after a spirited fight. His dark blue suit barely had a wrinkle in it, nicely paired with an immaculate white shirt and a matching tie and handkerchief in a lighter blue that pulled the whole ensemble together, his black oxfords so well polished that he could swear he could catch glimpses of his own smug smile in them… at least when the lights did not flicker: a side-effect of his powers to which he was still getting used to.

The man raised a hand as David approached, speaking in french.

Excuse me, may I help you?” he inquired.

David smiled knowingly at him as he produced a ticket, reproducing the language perfectly. “Evidently. I’m here to see the show. I know I’m just in the nick of time, but if you would be so kind as to...

The man passed his hand beneath a small poster hanging on the door, written in his mother tongue. “My apologies, Monsieur, but ‘no-one shall be seated after the doors are closed,`” he read out loud, before kneeling over slightly with a rather condescending look, hands upon his knees, “It helps maintain the illusion.

David frowned at this. “You do not understand. I’ve come all the way from America explicitly to watch this performance.”

Then perhaps next time you shall be on time, oui?

David’s eyes widened at the gall, before he gave the man a deadpan glare, producing his wallet. “Fine! I’m sure we can reach an agree…

“Shhhh,” the man interrupted him as he began countings euro bills, a finger raised to his mouth, before making the same hand motion under a second poster, which read in French: `Quiet please while show is in progress.` The usher then gave him a look that said ‘no luck,’ shrugging as he gave him a little hum.

David’s jaw could’ve just about hit the ground, weren’t it firmly affixed to his face. “Listen here…

The man hummed again as he ran his index and thumb along his lips, then a third time as he shooed him away with both hands.

David could feel the vein in his forehead pulsating. The lights in the reception began to flicker with more intensity, one of them actually dying out entirely. This caught the usher’s attention briefly, a brow raised in confusion as he regarded the dimming lights and their extinguished brother. And just like that, the flickering stopped, the man turning to find himself completely alone.

Yet another few moments later

David fumed as he sneaked through the vent, muttering things that were most unbecoming to a gentleman of his station. Something about opening doors with frog heads.

It was fortunate that all bright lights were focused on the stage, as no one saw the dark figure sneak out of the ventilation system, and indeed, few except for a couple of inside ushers registered the young man entering a private balcony close to the stage: one of the best seats in the house, to be sure. The man graciously accepted the pair of vintage-looking opera binoculars, and sighed with relief: the show had only just begun, and his ‘heroine’ had yet to make her entrance...

To David’s eyes, the sequence introducing King Oberon and Queen Titania drew to a close the dancers exiting stage left and King Theseus’ and his court entered along with the blue clad pair of Hermia and Lysander, lovingly tucked into each other’s arms heads tilted toward the other. Demetrius burst from stage right, in red he kneeled at Hermia’s feet taking her hand in front of King Theseus. The three dancers pulling back and forth, clearly fighting.

From the back of the stage, came Helena following her true love, Demetrius. Dressed in the similar reds to Demetrius Odette stepped in a similar fashion quick one-two steps before leaping into the air landing just shy of Demetrius to tug on his arm - distracting him from Hermia. Distraught, he pulled his arm free of Helena. King Theseus sharply threw his hands out to his sides, silencing them on cue as the four of them dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Levelling a sharp gaze he shook his head, spinning away en pointe, his councillors did the same spinning and following him as he exited the stage. The fairies flitted on in the background, watching the scene as they did while the Athenians were unaware.

Helena shared a look with Hermia as Lysander was the first to stand holding Hermia’s hand, they danced together a pas de deux, where Hermia and Lysander happily shared in each other’s embrace, lovingly Hermia drew the back of her hand against his cheek gently caressing him before exiting the stage, arm in arm.

Demetrius set to follow the pair to win Hermia and was dogged by Helena, with one final throw of his arm to shake her off him Helena stood center stage burying her face in her hands standing en pointe, stepping on the spot - anxiously. Fairies gathered around her in concern dancing left and right trying to comfort her in her apparent pain. The music sadly lifted as Odette’s solo began. Crossing her arms over her face, she stepped in a circle while the fairies watched her move. Throwing her arms open she looked to the audience, before spinning away allowing the pain of the man she loved being in love with her dear friend show as she gritted her teeth. Odette could feel herself as Helena, tall, unwanted and desperate for only requinted love. Dropping to her knees she spun back up to en pointe quickly entering one of the more difficult parts of choreography she’d be doing on her own for the performance. It took endurance and strength, a movement that would stomp on all rumours of her health.

Widely taking the stage, spinning once before moving to her next foot - one after another spinning her way around the stage not losing a single bit of momentum. Crimson material flowing around her as she spun, the fabric unable to keep up. Once she arrived back where she started, ending with a jump, landing she fluttered her hands down over her body, taking deep breaths - she looked sharply to her left fuelled with determination to follow Demetrius she padded away after him. The fairies behind her watched on, joined by elves and eventually Oberon. The audience clapped their approval.

As she exited the stage, her fellow dancers patted her on the shoulder as she fanned her face.

David smiled slyly as he saw ‘Helena’ dancing her way into the stage. The smug satisfaction he felt as he saw the Ambassador in her civilian identity, none the wiser to his presence, was second to none… or so he thought.

Her movements soon pushed all self-congratulatory thoughts away as he became enthralled by the performance, finding himself on the edge of his seat as the solo arrived. It wasn’t just the finesse, the dedication, the strength needed.... It was the emotion he felt, the empathy with her plight, the sense of...solitude. By the time she had finished, he found himself genuinely surprised, clapping as fiercely as anyone in the room.

Mildly embarrassed with himself, he returned to enjoying the spectacle. As a well learned Englishman, there were few works of ‘the bard’ that he did not enjoy, and this entirely physical representation of one of his most magical plays, particularly as performed by such a talented cast, was a true treat to the senses. However, the thief couldn’t help but deny the slightest hint of anxiousness he felt as he waited… waited, for her to return to the spotlight.

The ballet carried on, Oberon called tricky Robin Goodfellow, The Puck to his side - handing the green garbed Imp a large pink flower pointing and dancing. Puck nodded dancing away to the far end of the stage while a sleeping Queen Titania was rolled in on a soft pink bed of a clam, Puck danced around gently waving the flower over her eyes. The sequence with Titania and Bottom began, Odette had quickly stripped the top most layer of her dress removing some padding. It wasn’t long before the next scene commenced, Hermia and Lysander danced in the glade eloping as they did unknowingly with Demetrius on their tail and Helena shortly in tow.

They found a place to sleep with Puck carefully watching on in the background. Demetrius and Helena entered next, dancing a sad pas de deux - Demetrius pushed her away, rejecting her confessions. Try as she did to win his love. He crossed his arms as Helena danced around him. The parallel of the affectionate dance of Hermia and Lysander juxtaposed to Helena and Demetrius.

The ballet was true to the story as the play, eventually the four Athenians fell asleep in the forest to have Puck visit Lysander first mistaking him for Demetrius. When Lysander woke up his eyes fell upon not Hermia but Helena - the magic of the flower compelling him to fall in love with her. Much like Hermia rejecting Demetrius, Helena rejected Lysander’s advances. The confusion, drama and magical shenanigans charmed the audience. Puck, seeing his mistakes tried again with Demetrius to Helena’s apparent distraught having the pair of men fight over her - believing it all to be a mean spirited jest. Not missing a step, the on stage chemistry between the four was clear - each of them having performed the roles before. Odette fed off the energy of her fellow dancers, always exhilarated by performance especially when it all went so well.

The characters fought, the magic flower employed once more - the energy of the cast held as the ballet reached its climax of comedic chaos. All the moving parts coming together. Set pieces changed, costumes transformed as the characters did, huge numbers of ballet dancers joined the Soloists and Principal Dancers - the orchestra swelling with classical sound. Act 1 ending and Act 2 arriving with the wedding sequence. When the ballet drew to a close, curtain fell - all the dancers stood hand in hand bowing. Beaming, sweat sheens across their brows, opening night a clear success. Odette among them grinning happily, the final curtain falling slowly.

Even after it did, David stood, clapping furiously. He was amongst the last to stop, and even once he did, he remained in his seat a good long while, reflecting on what he’d just seen. It took an usher clearing the space to remind him there was a cocktail party to attend. David gave him a generous tip, and made his way.

The party itself was… what one might expect. Most of the audience members who’d made their way there drank the free booze, snacked on the extremely fancy and, in David’s opinion, diminutive catering items and exchanged opinions regarding the performance.

David himself nursed a glass of whiskey on ice, and whilst he, for once, did not particularly feel like mingling with the upper crust of France’s society, the men and women there had ideas of their own, many of them naturally drawn to the solitary figure. There was not-so-subtle flirtation and, of course, a healthy amount of cultural dick-measuring. David remained charming as ever, but was sure to shut all attempts to steal his attention swiftly, sometimes with polite excuses, yet often by subtly suggesting their company bored him.

This went on for about an hour until the cast finally appeared, and time froze for a moment as the room’s attention shifted to them. They were almost instantly accosted by reporters, but David did not much mind. Patience was a virtue for a man in his line of work, and he revelled in observing his blue-haired prize from afar, studying her. She was an entirely different woman from the one he’d met but three days earlier, exquisitely polite, exuding joy and charming naïvette, only the occasional twinkle in her eyes giving away the sinister intelligence behind them: David’s heart soared, for it was only for him to know.

Once the reporters had dispersed, he gave her some time to mingle with her fellow cast members, although she often seemed to prefer her own company. He even stood aside as two different fellows approached her, no doubt with romantic intentions. Both were perfectly fine looking and respectable men, but he was not entirely surprised when she politely, almost subtly shot them down. No doubt, this was a common occurrence for her, and all the better for him: it was best to allow mediocrity to give way to excellence.

Finally, she moved away from the crowd of her own will, staring out of a large window that gave a magnificent view of the city, a perfect spot of isolation in an otherwise populous space. He approached her slowly, measuring his anticipation, admiring her.

She wore a pale pink tulle dress with interwoven white flowers, bluebirds down the length of the gown as well as cursive, black writing in places, spelling out short yet evocative phrases. The flowers tapered into the partially transparent top, seemingly having no beginning nor end as they gathered at her shoulders and down her waist, wide, see-through sleeves stretching down her arms with soft, small buttons at her wrists. She accesorized the outfit with diamonds, wearing light handed make-up and having styled her hair classically, with easy waves topping it off.

She was breathtaking, like something out of a fairy tale.

He, on the other hand, donned his best smile as he walked up behind her, one hand in his pocket as the other swayed a second, fresh glass of top-shelf whiskey. Stopping at her side, he looked out the window, taking the shortest of sips from his drink of choice.

“Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me love, it was the nightingale,” he cited casually.

Poetry, a line from Romeo & Juliet - tonight was a night for Shakespeare. As she had hoped to get a break, one more in the sea of faces decided to insert themselves by her side. The reflection in the glass of the window showed her a handsome face, blue - true blue eyes, a well fitted suit, a formal cut with the navy blue of his pants and coat, a much lighter sky blue tie. It was a unique greeting, among the more notable ways anyone had approached her.

Turning her head, she acknowledged him with a bow of her head, responding in English, “Good evening to you as well, Monsieur.” Making eye contact momentarily holding his gaze, before drifting back to the view of the city.

She continued, keeping him in her periphery of the reflection, “Well read with Shakespeare I see, I truly hope you enjoyed tonight’s performance of the classic. The choreography changes subtly depending on who directs, fresh take that audiences both new and old can appreciate.” She gestured behind herself, “I believe the director is free to speak to, I would not pass up the opportunity to pick through their mind.

A small part of her wanted the stranger to move on to leave her to her own thoughts but did not want him to be so easily deterred as the other two were.

He held her gaze as she turned to look at him, his smile soft yet confident, that of a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, at peace with his place in the world.

Whyever would I want to do that? So that you may steal this view for yourself?” he asked, taking another short sip, before ‘explaining’ himself, “I came here tonight to feel, not to listen to others wade in self-gratification, and as I’m sure you already know, there’s no shortage of people here willing to engage in a rousing round of circle-jerking,” the man noted, smiling at his own reflection, “Besides, I don’t think anyone here can really compare to what you have to offer.

If she had a reply in mind, it would’ve been abruptly cut off by David’s attention shifting elsewhere, his hand rising to snap a finger at someone, “Garçon!

The waiter raised a brow as the man beckoned him: the snap might’ve well been a thunder strike, the way it had gotten his attention, “Oui, Monsieur?”

David returned to his perfect French: The Mademoiselle here would like a… he turned to regard her for a moment, feigning thought as he seemed to size her up, Cosmopolitan. Grey Goose. Make it snappy, he added, giving him a friendly, yet knowing look.

The young gent nodded, “Right away Monsieur.

Satisfied, he returned to his view, seemingly disinterested in reigniting the conversation.

Odette blinked, slightly, the tiniest bit impressed by how he guessed the drink. Wondering briefly if she was easy to read…? No, there was no way. Pure dumb luck.

Flattery was certainly lovely to hear, genuine or not. It warranted a response, “That is… wonderful to hear,” Fluidly switching to French, hearing his apparent fluency - comfortable enough to converse, “What did you feel during the performance? Whisked away to the glade itself? Evoked by the pure fantasy?

Watching his expression, settling on his hand wrapped around his drink. Smiling easily, well-practiced and pleasant.

David gave her a sidelong glance, ample lips thinning as his smile stretched. “Oh, it was a wonderful performance, but I don’t know that I would call any of the Bard’s works ‘pure fantasy.’ More like… shadow-truths, he concluded after a second’s thought, unsure of whether he’d heard that somewhere before, You have a very talented troupe for companions, but if I’m being perfectly honest, none of their performances were terribly surprising. I enjoyed the highs and the lows, moving through the motions just like I would with any other performance of this caliber.

He looked down to his drink, allowing it to swirl around the melting block of ice. For a moment, it seemed like he had nothing else to say, but then his expression grew serious, eyes still set on the amber whirlwind, “You, however… you made me feel alone. Desperately so. And when it was all coming to an end… no, even as we speak I feel… cheated,” he confessed, finally allowing the liquid to settle for him to take an earnest sip, before smiling softly at her, “Frankly, it’s quite refreshing.

Furrowing her brow, curiosity pulling her in she turned fully to him, his words tumbled over in her mind. “Cheated? You’ll have to elaborate, Monsieur…? You haven’t introduced yourself, whereas my name is printed in the program brochure.

The waitstaff returned promptly with his tray, balancing the freshly made cocktail. Gingerly lifting it, cradling it in the palm of her hand not taking a sip. She thanked the server, raising the glass up, the server smiled at David then bowed his head to Odette before skittering off.

Blackwood,” he offered after palming a bill in the waiter’s vest in return for his service: not as much a concealed act of kindness as a way to show off to himself. His attention returned to Odette, the man drinking her in with his eyes, “David Blackwood. A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Favre.

The man then decided to switch back to English, as if to better express himself. “As for feeling cheated… well, I’m afraid that has to do with my conditioning as a spectator. On one hand, you made me feel happy. No, not just happy…” he pondered, choosing his words carefully, “In bliss. Almost as if I were truly in love myself, and that love were returned in kind. And still, I know that it is only due to Oberon’s concoction that Demetrius fell back for her. She will never have the chance to realize he’s a fuckwit who does not deserve her, nor will I ever be rid of this bittersweet feeling. It is as perplexing as it is vexing, really,” he mused.

Pursing her lips with thought, who exactly did he think he was? Momentarily squinting at his cursing, she brought up the rim of the glass giggling at him, “Poetic aren’t we? Helena determined as she is in her love, was as blind if not the most among the four. A mess of a person, entirely flawed.

As far as I am concerned they deserved each other, bewitched by a flower or not. I would suppose that is why Helena is compelling, her plight as the story’s heroine.

Finally taking a sip of her drink, it was good, tasting a double shot of vodka in it - she tapped the pad of her thumb against the glass, “Monsieur Blackwood . . . David,” She began, “Thank you for the drink, I am -” She searched for the correct word, pushing back on his charms and magnetism, “Flattered you enjoyed my performance as you have, appreciate the nuances in what I conveyed,” Fluttering her hand at the party, “I… I often hear that it is too much. It is refreshing that it is just enough, even for one member of the audience.

Glancing away, smiling as she sipped again. He seemed willing to play. Something changed in her body language, full attention on David an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye.

David had a rebuttal fully loaded for their little theatrical discussion, but she then changed the subject, and he raised a brow slightly as he noticed the shift in her demeanour, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Well, contrary to popular belief, I don’t think you can get too much of a good thing,” he remarked, eyeing the collective, “And if they can’t appreciate you, well, that suits me just fine,” he noted, his piercing blue eyes settling on her, “More for me.

He offered a cheeky smile to go with his equally cheeky addendum, taking a sip of his drink.

Purposefully glancing away as he flirted, seemingly flustered by his comments, “Sharing is caring, so I’m told.” She said, “You clearly enjoy a night of ballet, but there must be other things you enjoy?

Taking a small step toward him, closing the space, “You are a man who knows what he wants, smarter than the next handsome face to waltz into my company, and charming enough to hold a conversation that wasn’t ripped directly from the wikipedia page.

She shrugged casually with one shoulder, “I would go so far as to say that is all impressive.

There was certainty in telling a charming man he was charming and smart, it was just reiterating what he already knew but validating it was as technically sound as telling a pretty woman she was pretty. Both parties were well aware of what they were.

Why, Mademoiselle Favre, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re trying to make me blush,” he smirked as he turned to face her fully, their proximity dangerous, “And there is a great many things I enjoy in life. Good whiskey. Nice views. Pleasurable company… and so much more. Alas, it would be a shame to spoil it all straight away, wouldn’t you agree? One does not start reading a book by its last chapter, after all,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, smiling only out of the right corner of his mouth, “I assume you’re familiar with ‘le Bateau le Calife’? Silly question, of course you are,” he dismissed his own advance.

He did not ask for permission as he took her free hand in his own, nor did he bow or kneel as he brought it up to his lips, his gaze never leaving her own, “If you truly wish to learn more of me, the boat will be undocking at 8:15 sharp tomorrow evening. I would recommend not being tardy,” he noted, giving her hand the softest of kisses, holding on to it for just a moment longer, “Enjoy the rest of your drink, Mademoiselle. I would wish the same for your evening, but I doubt you’ll be able to.

With that, he released her and began walking off, free hand returning to his pocket as he downed the rest of his glass in one fell swoop, casually placing it on a waiter’s tray as he passed him by.

He was good, had done his research. The sorceress considered their conversation and his offer as she watched his back disappear into the crowd, sipping more from her cosmo as she did. Unaware of how strangely the shadows moved around him. Where was the harm in having a mild distraction in the form of a ‘mysterious’ gentleman? It was easy to justify the time she’d be spending on neither faerie, witches or ballet. She felt a distinct feathery tingle against her hand where he had kissed it. She smirked in spite of herself, turning back to the window.

Having a final amusing thought, I wonder how quickly he’ll come to regret tonight?



* Confused? Read Noir’s origin arc! Coming soon(ish)!
I should probably point out I'm very much still about, despite being mostly quiet.

I have decided to get on with RP, starting with my arc with DearTrickster, since I've written and rewritten Noir's origin arc like 3 times in the past year. Maybe I'm too much of a perfectionist when it comes to it, I don't know.

Regardless, I'll post it eventually and set up a proper chronological order in my bio when it's done, since it is very important to his story and sets up many of the arcs I've been working on (I probably have 2-3 years of writing waiting to get done, and that's just on Noir-focused stories alone XD), but for now I just want to jump in the game and start enjoying my damn RP.
Player Name: Crooked Knight

Character Name: Gondryck of Edgehall. Has a surname, but prefers not to share it.

Race: Ferelden human

Role/Class/Occupation: All rounder, proficient at both close and ranged combat. He is also an excellent huntsman and a skilled survivalist.

Description: Gondryck has a lean, athletic build, with a height that would be considered average, if not mediocre, by human standards. He has sharp features which may have once been considered handsome, but are now marred by a veritable tapestry of scars, as is the rest of his body. He keeps his brown, curly hair short, often in a scruffy fashion. Most striking of all, however, are his unusually pale blue eyes, which speak of harsh past experiences where the man will not.

He prefers wearing lighter armour, opting for a combination of chainmail and rough leathers, sacrificing a measure of defence to keep himself quick and agile during combat. He will adorn his attire with furs in true Ferelden fashion in colder environments, and almost always sports hooded shirts beneath his mail for situations that require a lower profile. Additionally, his leather gloves have been reinforced to withstand the sharp talons of his owl companion.

As for weaponry, he carries a sword, a longbow and several other smaller blades on his person at almost all times, often concealed.

Note: Backstory, personality and pictures of Gondryck to be added as we progress/I find the time.
I love the idea for this RP and would definitely be interested in joining something like this. In fact, I'll be drumming up a character sheet ASAP (I'm currently on a trip, so my ability to write stuff will be somewhat limited for a couple of days). I've played all three DA games and am fairly well acquainted with the lore and whatnot, so hopefully it won't take me too long to get it done.
Thanks to @nitemare shape for the collab! Bryan Loomis is already in my top 5 list of irritating NPCs (which is, of course, a good thing in my book).

and

Bryan Loomis





Late Summer

Central Park, NY



The North Woods of Central Park were a particularly quiet spot in New York, especially with midnight around the corner.

David relaxed as the water soothingly made its way beneath the wooden bridge he stood upon, leaning against the rail languidly.

He did not much look like himself, dressed in an uncharacteristically casual manner: slim jeans over a pair of ankle boots, coupled with a hoodie and an obscure meme t-shirt to tie the whole ensemble together. He also sported a large, if well kept, fake beard which obscured the lower half of his face, whilst a generic black cap crowned his head, hood on top. These threw some shade over a pair of glasses, which further concealed a pair of dark, brown lenses.

The glasses were purely for show, of course, but they helped tie the illusion of being someone else together. What were truly interesting, however, were his contact lenses: top of the line, cutting edge technology, they provided the wearer with an intuitive form of augmented reality, feeding him information on his environment. They had cost him a small fortune in the black market, but it was not a purchase he regretted: not by any stretch of the imagination.
The lenses had several functionalities, such as modulating the eye color, recording or taking pictures at any given moment, connecting to the internet and of course, feeding a live stream directly to Deep.

They could also run different programs to focus on analyzing different aspects of the environment, but with the tech being so new and experimental, there was not a lot to choose from. Fortunately, with all great technological advancements comes great military interest, and the defaults carried advanced reconnaissance and combat interfaces, and Deep was almost out of Alpha for a proprietary code, focused on assisting Dave in his more nefarious ventures.

The man suddenly perched up. The lenses were picking up movement, but they did not seem to be able to pinpoint any shape or form.

“...Are you seeing this?” the man whispered.

“I am,” the telltale ‘deepthroat’ reply came through, “It’s probably just a glitch. Or a pigeon. Perhaps I ought to refine…”

“Shush,” David urged him, “Someone -is- coming.”

I hate this city. Bryan Loomis thought to himself as he traversed through Central Park toward his destination. Though his occupation had brought him to New York numerous times, no trip to the “Rotten Apple” as he liked to call it, was ever short enough. Fortunately, this assignment was relatively straightforward. All he had to do was make contact with a world renowned thief and give him a dossier with a business proposal from his employer, and then he could be on his way.

However, this assignment had proven to be easier said than done. The thief in question was just as elusive as his reputation had indicated. In truth, there was very little information about the man out there, and much of it had proven to be more fiction than fact. However, through his vast resources, Loomis’ employer had been able to dig up a sizeable amount of information on the master thief, a man that for all intents and purposes, to the rest of the world, simply didn’t exist. Since arriving in New York the previous day, Loomis had been on the thief’s trail, tracking him from Times Square to Staten Island and everywhere in between. He nearly made contact with him at a small tavern on the Upper East Side after one of his leads had proven to be promising, however, the master thief had proven elusive as ever.

Another of his leads, which came from one of Midas’ top informants had lead him here. Central Park was a massive area within New York City, which made finding a specific individual, especially someone who does not want to be found, much like finding the proverbial “needle in a haystack.” Fortunately, Loomis’ informant was more specific in regards to a location for the elusive thief. As Loomis made his way through the North Woods of the park, he thought that he heard someone talking.

Loomis adjusted his glasses as he looked around the area, and much to his surprise, he saw a man standing on a wooden bridge not too far from his current location. He took a moment to study the man, and when he recalled the admittedly fuzzy images that he had seen of the thief, he was sure that this man may very possibly be the master thief himself. So Loomis straightened his wiry frame and walked purposefully toward the man on the bridge.

“James Cavindish, you are a hard man to get a hold of.” He said as he approached the man on the bridge.

David’s heart jumped in his chest, followed by a guttural feeling of sickness. He’d been ready for anything, even the flash of a gun’s metal, or perhaps even a badge’s… but hearing that name was the last thing he expected.

Ever since the ‘loss’ of his real identity, James Cavindish had become, for all intents and purposes, his ‘main’ alter ego, his civil identity, so to speak. It was a persona which he and Deep had meticulously crafted over the years, an up and coming magnate of the toilet roll industry, owning 49% of the rapidly growing “Cheeky Monkey” brand. It was a legitimate business, and one of the many ways in which he and Deep laundered their money. When the hacker asked him about the idea, David shrugged.

“It was something my grandfather used to say when he wanted to illustrate the difference between something you want, and something you -need.- ‘Fads come and go, but a hundred years from now people will still need to go for a shit.’”

All in all, it was the name that paid the bills and the signature that justified the expenses, and a matter he had taken a great deal of care in keeping completely separate from his criminal endeavours. They had been so clever… so careful!

He took a deep breath, inhaling quietly through his nose whilst he mentally ran through half a dozen techniques and tricks to keep himself cool and coherent, detached from his suddenly mixed and bubbling emotions. He could almost hear Deep’s stunned silence through his earpiece, -surely, screaming internally as he tried his best to remain professional.

His instincts, on the other hand, told him to run, to talk his way through a swift exit and find some hole to hide in… but he had already taken the bait, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to squeeze the moment for all it was worth.

He stood up from the railing, as if to better regard the man. The lenses were as good as useless in this regard, more an annoyance than an aid as they continued to malfunction in the scarce lighting. Still, he read no ill intent in the man’s tone or body language.

“Not hard enough, it would seem,” he replied in his non-descript accent, his warm voice calm and collected, almost playful in its tone, “Honestly, I’m a little disappointed in myself. I always thought I’d be retired before people even began to suspect of my real identity.”

“Yes well, when your pockets are as deep as my employers, you’ll find that very little is out of your reach.” Loomis quipped as he stepped towards the master thief.

Loomis could tell that Cavindish, despite his cool demeanor was slightly spooked by his sudden appearance and the fact that he knew the man’s name. There were certain tells that everyone, no matter how well they hide their emotions, have that give away their true emotions, and Loomis was an expert in identifying these tells. Sometimes it was a twitch, or a sudden shifting of weight, sometimes it was even the way someone blinks an eye. Sometimes it was a combination of things, and sometimes it was something different altogether. Loomis had an odd knack for identifying these traits and using them to his benefit.

“The thing is, Mr. Cavindish, my employer has a need for someone with your...particular skill set.” Loomis said pointedly before adding, “And he is willing to compensate you generously for your work.”

“I told you this was a bad idea...” Deep’s voice came through David’s earpiece, unable to contain himself any longer, “You have to get out of there. I have already uploaded the quickest escape route to your lenses and I can have the dro…”

David never heard the end of his sentence, a quick click on the earpiece muting his partner, “Yes, well,” he echoed his interlocutor, “Flattered as I am that your ‘employer’ went through all that trouble to figure me out -and believe me, I ensured there was plenty- I honestly find this invasion of my privacy to be rather unprofessional, if not a little rude,” he scolded the man, his eyes hardening, “I do not appreciate being strong-armed.”

“Strong-armed?” Loomis asked as a smile stretched over his face. “Believe me, if my employer were strong-arming you, you’d certainly know it.” Loomis assured the thief.

It was the truth.

Richard Midas was known for many things, however, showing restraint in attaining a goal was not one of them. This tenacity has seen him do any number of reprehensible things over the years. When he felt that someone could help him achieve a goal, he spared no expense and there was no depth to which he would not sink in order to get what he wanted.

“Be that as it may, this is one job that I don’t think you’ll be able to turn down.” Loomis said with a jovial tone of voice, trying to get this interaction back on track.

David produced a cigarette, taking a deep drag to ignite it as the corporate henchman went through the motions.

There was little point in further rallying for honour amongst thieves or making hypocritical demands for trust. As much as it pained him to admit it, the condescending little wanker was right: the thief had no doubt in his mind that these people meant business (possibly in more ways than one), and if they’d wanted to hurt him, be it with this information or otherwise, they could’ve done it by now in far less of an elaborate manner.

“Pffft,” Dave blew out the smoke in what seemed to be an effort to contain a laugh, giving the man a cheeky smirk, “Alright then, Jimmy Helms. Let’s hear your pitch.”

Loomis smiled, more to himself than anything else. It had been awhile since he had been tested by someone, and this man had not only had him running all over the city to track him down, but he had proven highly entertaining when he finally did catch up with Cavindish.

“I’m impressed. I’m actually a fan of Londonbeat. I thought I was the only one.” Loomis quipped as he reached into his pocket and produced a thumb drive. “All the information about the job, as well as how to contact me is on this drive.” Loomis said as he approached the man.

“Now, I know that compensation is important to a man like you, and I think you’ll be pleased with the offer my employer has authorized me to make to you. Twenty-five million up front. With another twenty-five million upon completion of the job.” Loomis said as he stood just feet from the thief with his hand outstretched, offering him the thumb drive.

The thief couldn’t help but raise a brow. That was a hell of a lot more generous than what had been originally placed upon the table. Five times more generous, to be precise. He took the thumb drive, eyeing it with a small smile.

“You know, I fully intended to haggle a bit with you, but you’ve proven mighty good at taking the fun out of all of this. Even so, you can tell your employer that if his word is as good as his money, I’ll steal the moon if he bloody well pleases,” he tipped the thumb drive against his forehead, as if bidding the man farewell, “I shall contact you once the job is done. Oh, and next time, stick to the codenames, asshole.”

David did not wait for a reply before taking off, and if one was ever spouted, he did not bother to listen to it. He could hardly wait to get home and see what was on the drive… yet funnily enough, he was in no hurry to hear his partner’s litany of complaints. Deep would just have to simmer until he was back to the apartment.
Finally managed to get my head out from my bum in order to write an actual, proper post, and I have to say, I'm all kinds of grateful that I've been able to move into this at my own pace.

Speaking of being grateful, a massive thanks to @nitemare shapefor making me an awesome banner for Noir, as well as for being so laid back and supportive whilst I got my %$@! together, to @Dedonus for having the patience to withstand all my lore questions (and those yet to come =P) and to @DearTricksterfor helping me get over my writer's block and turn David into so much more than he initially was, as well as being a bloody good editor and just an all around rockstar.

Now... let's do this.




Location: David's primary apartment. New York.
Time: Late Summer. Wee hours of the morning.


For hours now, lightning had been flashing and crackling intermittently across the night's sky, thunder crashing and roaring indiscriminately across the streets of New York.

With every bolt, David's eerily pale blues lit up like a cold flame, only to leave him back in almost utter darkness, the burning tip of his cigarette fighting an unfair battle against the shadows, fated to eventually die from consumption.

Despite being alone in his apartment, the thief still dressed somewhat smartly, an impeccable white shirt tucked into black suit pants, along with a trusty pair of oxfords. As he leant against the massive glass walls that looked out to his terrace, he could not quite remember the last time he'd seen a lightning storm of such magnitude, and even left a nearby window cracked open along its vertical axis to listen to it without having his apartment flooded.

There was a massive ripple in the sky, the young man hearing, feeling every stroke of light as it zapped and cracked, almost blinding him before crashing down on the building opposite with an almost immediate, deafening boom. Dozens of buildings and streets lost their light simultaneously as the very floor seemed to quake.

For a moment, it was like when he was a young boy, sneaking away in the night to his secret tree house at his grandfather's estate. He could barely see in front of him, but that made him that much more aware of his surroundings, as if life briefly became louder... before being rendered mute again by the storm.

He lost track of time as the storm raged on for what seemed like hours before its eventual departure, washing the streets of New York with a sense of relief. He barely even realized the lights had returned to the block before his phone rang, the man taking his time before activating the speaker.

“Mr. Raffles?” came a distorted voice, in classic deepthroat style.

Hello, Mr. Manders.” David replied with a half-amused smile. His voice had returned to his original British accent, a smooth and proper, almost posh manner of speaking, to which he affectionately,- or rather, narcissistically,- referred to as 'the Queen's English.'

“I know it's late, and that there was a massive storm falling down on your head, but the protocols state. . .”

It's fine, Mr. Manders. And I appreciate your concern. You're a good friend,” David told the man on the other side, a rare, genuine statement, “Is the line secure?

“. . . Please.” Mr. Manders replied, as if offended by the question.

This earned another half-smile from the thief, who lit another cigarette in the process, “Don't get defensive, mate, it's only wise to double-check. Anyway, how are things?

“. . .They're okay.” Mr. Manders replied concisely.

Have you been getting out of the house at all?” David pushed.

“. . .I haven't missed a therapist's appointment in two months.” Mr. Manders replied, almost hopefully.

David pinched the bridge of his nose, “And I suppose she's thrilled that she is the only human contact you've had all this time. Physically speaking.” He pointed out, before Mr. Manders could protest.

“I'm not agoraphobic by choice, D... Mr. Raffles,” the man on the other side protested, regardless, “Maybe if I told her about my real life we could make more progress. . .”

That is not a choice, Mr. Manders. You know it as well as I do.” David cut him off, making an effort to control his tone.

“I don't know, Mr. Raffles. She has assured me that doctor-patient confidentiality would protect me from-”

Don't give me that,” David insisted, “Confidentiality is an ethics principle: it's not the same as privilege. And even if it were, there are always exceptions to the rule. What are you going to tell her, anyway? That you can plug your brain to the internet? Even if you weren't behind some of the biggest thefts in the last century, your abilities alone make you an international menace,” he lectured him, “Only God knows what the government, -nay, the governments - of the world might do if they found out someone like you exists.

“I-I understand.” Mr. Manders replied. Even through the voice modifier, David could hear a hint of disappointment.

I'm sorry, mate. I know it's a piss-poor situation to be in, but I'd rather give you the hard facts than lie to you. . .I'll always have your back, you know this, right?” he added in a reassuring, almost paternal tone.

“I do.” Mr. Manders replied simply, but it was about as confident a reply as anything he'd said all month.

Good. Good,” David replied with a small sense of relief, “Remember, if she gets too pesky with her questions, or you think she's starting to suspect. . .

“I will find a new therapist. Yes. I know,” the man replied, muffling a sigh, “How do you do it?”

Do what, mate?” David asked in turn, flicking the cigarette against an ashtray.

“How do you keep up with all the lies?”

Hah!” David couldn't help himself, “That's like asking how do I keep myself alive. Although I do suppose that technically, I'm a dead man. A ghost, if you will,” he mused, “You should know: you're the man who killed me, after all.

“That isn't funny.” The modified voice reproached him.

Oh, lighten up a little,” David smirked, “How long have we been working together, Mr. Manders?

“. . .It's been one thousand, nine hundred and ninety three days since our first job.”

And how many times have we discussed your retirement?” he pushed, seemingly unsurprised with the precise count Mr. Manders seemed to keep.

“. . . A few.” The man conceded, albeit less precisely.

Have I ever discouraged you, or attempted to stop you from doing so?” David took a long drag from his cigarette, before putting it out on the ashtray.

“. . . No. You haven't.” He replied.

There's your answer, then,” David replied, his smile practically triumphant, “Let's be honest: you love what we do as much as I do. This whole honesty poppycock is just bothering you because of what you've seen others do, not what you've done. There's a whole lot of bad people out there, but trust me when I say this: you're a decent man.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Raffles. That does make me feel a little better.” Mr. Manders replied.

Excellent! I am beyond glad to hear that, mate. In fact, I think what we both need right now is a rousing new challenge!” he noted, clasping his hands together

“Now? But that would be in violation of protocol. We're still thirty-five days away from our next scheduled-”

I was there when we wrote the rules, Mr. Manders. And they're there for a reason.” David conceded after a rather abrupt interruption, “But what makes us really good at our jobs is that we can tell what rules we can break apart from those which are sacred: even those we made up ourselves,” he continued to explain, confident in his tone, “It's been long enough, trust me. Plus, this gives us an excuse to be in touch more often.” He added.

“. . .You're the boss.” The modified voice came through after an uncomfortable silence.

David kept his agreement to himself.

A segment of the penthouse's roof dislodged itself from the structure, revealing a projector, that focused a beam of light on the wall, whilst blinds automatically lowered themselves, filling the apartment with shadows once more. Images and data for a dozen jobs showed up on display, the hidden offers that Mr. Manders had handpicked out of the internet's murky bowels.

With a knuckle pressing against his lips, David read the information on display whilst Mr. Manders provided some commentary, the thief listening to it half-heartedly as he drew his own conclusions.

What about number twelve?” he asked, ignoring the rest of Deep's speech.

“Um, number twelve, yeah... I don't know about that one,” Deep replied, clearly uncomfortable with David's interest, “I didn't find this offer, it was mailed to our, uh, 'business mail'. But I can't seem to track whoever posted it back to their source, and it doesn't even specify what they...-”

They're offering ten million dollars,” David interrupted him, “The rest of these jobs are small-time by comparison. Set up a meeting: under our terms. Use location Eye as a meeting point. Dress code must be casual. I'll be wearing. . .

“Listen to me,” the deepthroat voice modifier made Mr. Manders sound suddenly imposing, “I just told you I can't track whoever this is. Whoever they are, these people are most certainly dangerous.”

Do you think they can find you?” David asked, succinctly.

“. . .No. That should not be possible.” His associate replied after a moment's hesitation.

Good. Then do not concern yourself with me. Like I was saying, I'll be wearing. . .
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