Everybody always painted themselves into a classic getaway scene after getting caught in the middle of a heist. Here they are, some half-deranged lunatic grabbing a lady's purse and darting down a busy street full of vendors selling their wares.
She has codes to some off-shore banking ruse.. Or maybe she has diamonds -- blood diamonds?
Maybe it's just money. Either way,
-he needs it (because he
wants it), he takes it, and he is off!
Somewhere there is always a chicken defying physics as it flies well out of the way. Flocks of finches and pigeonfolk spray upwards into building awnings like gray spray paint. Fruit stands (why is it always a fruit stand?) get parkored or pushed over - it's always the slippery fruits or the hard round root veggies -and of course a case of sun-ripened watermelons that are practically splitting in their display case.
Hell,
-the guy with the purse clears the hood of an old buick like a spry young thoroughbred jacked on amphetamines and lands on his feet before darting into the large park all springbok style.
He disappears, never to be heard of again.
They always imagine just narrowly escaping death. Somewhere over the overpass, with infinite magazine clips there is a bullet war happening in his wake turning '
just-stuff' into swiss cheese. No one in the way gets hurt, somehow
just-stuff explodes. It is always the messy kind of
just-stuff too. Really colorful stuff.
Glass shatters - no one gets cut.
Cars crash and spout flames and gasoline but people are crawling out to go discuss collateral repairs over tea - no one ever catches fire here.
Mass hysteria as the bridge is crumbling apart - everyone is still smiling as they laughing run for their lives.
Perfection.
I'm getting too carried away with this.
The thought ends abruptly. Only wishes it was that easy - it is not. He wishes that was his story - it is not. Stephan wishes that Only would stop wishing for things - but he doesn't. Fear leads to worry leads to paranoia leads to, well, fear.
After waiting and waiting and
waiting for the sentinels to leave the area where they lost him to heavy brush and thick woods he is finally free to move forward with his unseelie plans. Dawn won't give an inch of their time to a lousy thief like him - especially if he practices his money-grabbing skills on unsuspecting Deluminians (Delumnins? Delimnins?
Oh, whatever) - they'd be so offended, he thinks. To have a criminal on their clean streets - a flaw in their otherwise perfect system. Out of respect he abandons Delumine for several days to make his journey down,
down-down, down.
Into the madness,
Into the fray - Las Vegas.
It nearly kills him one quarter of the way into the pass yet - like his ancestors - he'll survive.
He sneaks into Night Court as quiet as any of his cockroach ancestors might - silent and black and slick as he travels up-wind of a private gathering. Through slippery rocks he weaves. Through bushes and between trees he goes. The gathering almost looks ceremonial but he cannot be too sure. He contemplates just taking a rock and bashing their heads in but then he remembers (two cuts on the face by the same man is
enough, yes)- how bad he was at controlling things in the first place. He was practically beneath Anonymous before he got the daggar to wiggle from his sheath in the first place. The plan is out before he even begins -- self-preservation is key this time.
Keeping that in mind he moves under the shapes and shadows of the night - like a fish through water - if he were not so
rotten then perhaps he would get spiritual and ask God if this is where he is meant to be all along - but he is hopeless. He is truly hopeless.
Only is as low as a cockroach, a dirty crumb-rolling cockroach, he hangs his head and focuses his yellow-green eyes on the legs and rumps of the girls - inspects them - only one is carrying something with her - a satchel. He gets so close he'll lose his hiding spot in an instant if the flowers he ate off of Flora this afternoon make him fart. He tries to concentrate as hard as he can on the object hanging off Lavinia's neck. He has been working so hard on sicks and stones - nearly dropping them all - and giving himself broken bones. But today was different - he managed to eek-by just long enough to buy some time between then and now (now meaning, when they eventually find him) so now - now he must be lucky.
And when Only feels Lucky, he tests it - the bag lifts, it lifts and Only is like a wolf sneaking up on Lavinia.
No teeth bared - just a hideous yellow glow of eyes staring up at her from the brush, a scrape of white grinning teeth.
One by one, the stones go. He's taken the fronds off of date trees and woven them together to practice his small gift.
One by one they drop into his pouch.
Lost. Stolen. Someone is shouting. Some one is
warning her!
Go.
Go!
Only bolts right out from underneath her nose, the smell of thieves oil thick in the air (he always smells of it, odd) and a flash of gold hooves which disappear into the night. The terrain is difficult, he slips and he slides unsteadily on ground he is unfamiliar with. No stars tonight - no moon. But he is not alone - the sound of hooves pound like thunder building in the distance. A storm? Perhaps.
ooc: Feel free to stop him up with any dead ends, traps, or by knocking him off his feet if you need to. You have permission. Sorry this was so long. D:
@
Aislinn
@Lavinia
.only
There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
For many are called but few are chosen.
