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Thread: (M) Bay Water Bandits IC (Lea and Siks)

  1. #11
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    Whistle responded with a sarcastic chuckle pulling his roommate level with him so they could walk side-by-side. "You know I'm not that kind of mage smartass, and we need to head for the Disguise Department. We can't go into the middle class looking like thieves or even lower class citizens. I don't know how many dresses you own, but I don't own a single button down shirt or really anything with sleeves." He chuckled looking sideways at her. "Plus it'll give us time to get to know each other, we need to be a convincing married couple in deep love after all." He joked and kissed her cheek softly.

    The Disguise Department was on the opposite side of the base. Being a good thief means you need to be able to hide. Either by finding a nice little hole to bury yourself in until the heat dies down or become another person for a bit. And the Bandits had a department that could rival some high end theater companies. Lots of costumes, make-up, props, and actual coaches to help you be as convincing as possible. They were walking through the supply section of the Warehouse, stolen good wee being cataloged and fences were moving through the stacks appraising the value of the products. Big bay rooms with stuff stacked high, but the teams were headed for the small barn like structure pressed against the last Eastern wall. People were moving through the doors carrying stuff or practicing their new walks and identities. Whistler and Libby weren't the only ones going undercover, but they looked to be the only ones going undercover as normal citizens. Everyone looked like a thug, whore, or cripple. The bottomfeeders who can build up info on their targets without anyone caring if they heard or not.

    The young Wizard led his new wife through the door and turned right into one of the staging rooms. Inside were three women, a Human a Snow Elf, and a Tiefling. The Human looked up chuckling. "Well, well, welcome back Whistler this your new girl?" She looked a little bit older than the Wizard, but there was something between them. Giving a convincing smile the boy shook his head. "Not this time Esmeralda this is my new wife, Rike has us going to the middle class to spy. We need to look the part."

    The three women looked at each other the nodded and got to work. Esmeralda would work on Whistler and the Snow Elf, a quiet woman named Friea would work on Libby. The Tiefling's name was Azziex and she would be working on their clothing.


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  2. #12
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    "Hm. Well, I'd rather be a smart ass than a dumb ass," Libby countered in a tone of amusement, as Whistler momentarily glanced her way. Her eyes locked onto his for those few seconds, and honestly, that was all the girl needed to spot that cheeky look of his. It was a facial expression that betrayed when he was considering doing something brazen.

    Which he did, of course, in true Whistler fashion.

    "I said quit it," was all the young lady responded to the peck, swatting at her friend once more, this time hitting him upside the head. He really does think he can do whatever he wants, she mused, slowing down until she lingered in place for a moment. She rolled her eyes heavenward, realising how right she had been earlier when they were with Rike.

    I rest my case.

    Libby doubled her pace in order to catch up with Whistler who, by now, had pulled a bit ahead. Nothing further was said between them at this time; merely because Libby found herself too busy getting distracted again. This time it was by the sights around her, particularly the ones she saw once they finally entered the Bandit's Disguise Department.

    Wide eyes feasted on the wild array of colours and textures that were strewn before her, and she crinkled her nose in wonder. The young vagrant had rarely set foot in this part of the base and, quite frankly, she was soon in awe of it. This was the most diverse collection of clothing that she had seen in her entire life.

    As Whistler took charge of introductions, Libby absentmindedly nodded in agreement with what he was saying, but paid little heed to what was even being said. That is, until the Snow Elf began walking towards her. Friea politely introduced herself to Libby, beckoning her to follow her into a private dressing room.

    Roughly one hour later, Libby re-emerged from said room, carrying a satchel with a dozen changes of clothing (for later use) stuffed inside. Instead of her usual pixie cut, the girl was sporting a mid-length blonde wig that appeared to be real hair. As for clothing, she was no longer decked in the darker neutrals that she was known to wear. Instead, she was in a pale blue dress, and tan leather shoes.

    When she turned to see where Whistler was, it was incredibly obvious that she did not approve of something regarding this undercover appearance. In fact, she looked a bit miserable, but made no remarks. Instead, Libby skeptically looked over at Whistler with one brow raised, as if her gaze cautioned him to keep any teasing comments to himself.
    Last edited by Leanna; 04-03-2018 at 10:22 PM.




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  3. #13
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    Whistler's transformation was a touch more involved. He needed a bath, a hair-cut, and he had to get fitted for contacts that change his eye color so people won't be able to tell he has magic. It was more touching than he liked or was used to. But it was needed to blend in properly with the white collars.

    He hated getting gussied up. Everything fancy felt so stiff and wrong to him, like any sudden movement and he'd rip right through his pants or shirt. Plus these clothes gave him no place to hide his kit. Pockets weren't deep enough, and middle classers don't go around carrying large knives on their belts. Still at the end they gave him a duffel bag with spare clothes and some other body care items like shaving razors and such. Not that he grew facial hair very fast, but all employees for the Rizzol bank need to be clean-shaved at all times.

    He exited his own private dressing room wearing a casual business suit of navy blue blazer, white shirt with black suspenders, and navy blue slacks with a pinstripe pattern. His hair was cut in an almost military fashion fade and his eyes were deep brown. With his hair gone he looked almost his age instead of some kind of punk. All and all he looked handsome, but how he hated it still.

    He grunted putting a sold blue tie around his neck and studied Libby. She looked like a girl, a real pretty one, longer hair suited the half-elf and the dress did well to both hide and compliment her lithe figure. The boy finally got the tie on and nodded to his friend giving her a genuine smile. "You look very nice Libby." Genuine smile genuine compliment, whether the girl took them or not was up to her, but he was willing to begin this whole try to be a loving couple thing. Their lives would very likely depend on it.


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  4. #14
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    "Really?" Libby responded clear as a bell, her tone inferring the genuine surprise she obviously felt at receiving such a compliment. Such niceties came few and far between; especially after she had ceased to make much of an effort in her appearance around the age of fourteen.

    It was then that her body had noticeably begun to mature, and she could no longer rely on childhood cuteness to garner sympathy whilst begging. So, once the look of youthful innocence was lost, Libby found it much more difficult to be seen as something pitiable. Older beggars were rarely seen as anything other than full-grown pests.

    So, once adolescent, the natural progression of Libby's street life was to turn to thievery, as begging could no longer keep the belly full (even with her small appetite). Her first few snatching jobs were meagre, but done entirely on her own; and in this she was self-congratulatory. She would galavant around the streets with her little purse of ill-gotten gains, rewarding her work with pointless purchases (usually sweet pastries or cosmetics to experiment with). It was nice just to feel like a normal girl for once.

    But just as her success in begging had eventually dwindled, so did her initial successes in solo thievery. This was due to the girl's criminal novice; and her antics did not go unnoticed, particularly by an established gang of teenage male bandits. Young Libby had been hustling on what they considered their turf, so one night, those lads followed and ambushed her. The troupe had given her an ultimatum; and it was one that she would not accept. So, instead, they taught her a lesson that she was not like to ever forget.

    It was not long after this that Libby fell in with the Bay Water Bandits, seeking the safety of numbers that such a 'community' provided. It was also amongst this new commune that she decided she would no longer be too noticeable in the underworld. Everything and everyone even remotely pleasing to the eye attracted attention, and sometimes it was the kind that was not desired.

    This was one of the lessons the half-elf had learned, which eventually lead to her decision to cut off her shining hair in one fell swoop. Nor did Libby buy another cosmetic again, or veer toward bright clothing. Needless to say, Libby had grown quite unaccustomed to receiving compliments, and it showed.

    "You look nice, too," she continued, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue that showed just how deeply his comment made her blush. Trying to distract from the embarrassment of this, she began fussing with the base of the wig, before tussling the locks of faux-hair between her fingers as if it was something completely foreign.

    "I don't like it, though," she mused out loud, beginning to fan her reddened face with her hand. "Er, my wig, I mean. It's itchy and impractical. But, phew. It is warm in here, isn't it? Hmmm. Anyway, I told Freia I had no interest in wearing it, but she told me I had no choice. She said she was under specific instructions to change my hair."

    The half-elf shrugged. She had ceased her fanning (once the feeling of flush subsided, of course), and was now turning her attention to the Puppet Master's appearance. Speaking of hair, his was now a lot different too. Hm, this was too good to resist. The young lady sauntered up to Whistler with an inobvious intent, blinking innocently... and then flicked his ear, just as he had done to hers.

    "Nice ears ya got there. But why are you dressed like that, Whis? You don't exactly look janitorial," she stated matter-of-factly, noting his pinstripes. Her garment was of a much more casual variety, something a young lady of her age might wear on any given day. Even so, he did look smart in his jacket, and so incredibly different with that haircut.
    Last edited by Leanna; 04-15-2018 at 01:16 PM.




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  5. #15
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    Whistler snorted slapping the girl's hand away smirking. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get you later." He noticed the girl's blush and made note of it to play with later. He squirmed in his monkey suit, it felt so wrong and restrictive. He hated dressing up, but it was needed according to his file. He shrugged at her comment.
    "Apparently, I need to pass an interview before I get hired to sweep floors. Go fuckin' figure. Hopefully we have someone else on the inside to give me a pass. As for the wig, it's prolly just until your normal hair grows out some then you can probably ditch the wig. From the few times I've been up that high, women don't usually have short hair like you."
    "Hm. Yeah. I guess you're right..."

    Libby's expression grew increasingly thoughtful as Whistler made his response. Her somewhat uncomfortable fidgeting had finally ceased, and soon she was mulling over the new names that Rike had mentioned earlier. She flashed a toothy half-smirk coupled with an arched brow at her friend, her demeanor once more turning playful.

    "...Bartholomew."

    Libby giggled.

    And then, a beat later, she was whipping out her own file once more, this time studying the text a bit closer. She appeared to be speed reading, soaking in the finer details of her profile.

    "You've got to be kidding me."

    The half-elf was soon glancing up at her friend with a critical eye.

    "Apparently I enjoy scrap booking. Who the hell wrote this?"

    She shook her head dismissively, and placed the file back into the envelope.

    "Ehhhhhhhhh. What does yours say?"

    Whistler busted out laughing covering a snort with his hand. The pair was ushered out of the disguise building and a guard directed them to drop their new clothes and their gear in the transport bay. Before a taxi would take them to the lower market for supplies, it was around a 20 minute drive so hopefully that'll be enough to help them learn each other.

    Picking up his own file and flipping to the interest and personality page he sighed deeply.
    "Apparently, I'm almost a drunk with a penchant for gambling and...coin collecting? Where in the shit of Halin am I supposed to find coins to collect?" He shook his head and shoved his file away. The guard handed them the "shopping list" Rike wrote up. The pair had done supply runs together, but never with real money, they stole supplies like ammo, meds, food occasionally. But this list had things like make-up, cleaning supplies, and bedding. Looks like he wants them to stock their own house some.

    He handed the list to Libby walking for the taxi after he handed his stuff to the guard.
    "Well looks like we get to buy our own house warming gifts...wifey." He said leaning against the rickety old car crossing his arms over his chest watching her.

    "Huh. Seems so," Libby responded matter-of-factly, even as she mulled over the list that Whistler had suddenly handed her. "This is a pretty extensive list. Rike really must be expecting a considerable return if he is willing to invest so much into this heist."

    He must be starting to trust me more too, because this is bigger than any other job he's asked me to do, she inwardly considered, unsure about how she felt about all of it, save for one thing:

    I have to impress Rike.

    Lost in this train of thought, Libby turned towards Whistler, suddenly showing a demeanour that was a bit more serious than her normal self. She needed to set something straight with her rambunctious roommate before all of this took flight. Just in case.

    "Whistler, the last thing I want to do is let Rike down, especially after my last fuck up. I agreed to do this so that I can finally prove that I'm capable, that I'm worth my weight here, and..."

    Libby paused for a moment to sigh.

    "...that I really do belong in the Bay Water Bandits. This place is all I have, so I want to prove that I am a valuable player in all of this. So I'm willing to make every effort to ensure this job is successful, even if..." Libby said, before beginning to trailed off awkwardly, fumbling over her words a bit. She was growing increasingly self-conscious, doubting that she was relaying her point properly.

    So she tried again, this time gesturing to her dress and made up face, before finally referring to the thick wig of shining blonde that rested on top of her head.

    "Listen. None of this is real. None of this is me. So anything I say or do while on this job is not real, nor is it me. This is a job. This is an act. You know, like you do with your puppets."

    There. I said it.

    Even though she was not sure if saying such things was even necessary, at least she had gotten that out there in the open. Because being caught up in a scenario where you may have to fake displays of affection with a friend and partner-in-crime could prove quite... well, confusing.

    Sooooo now it's time to change the subject.

    "Anyway. That bit about being a drunk better only be an act as well, by the way. Because this job description definitely does not include babysitting your ass," she finished, punctuating the comment with a smile before forcibly slapping the shopping list onto his chest. Her expression turned playfully mischievous. "It's a shame you're the one who is the gambler, because I'm ace at poker. And as for the coins? Eh, we'll figure that one out. We are thieves, after all."

    Whistler listened to Libby and hid his emotions well as he always does, but hearing the words were akin to a rejection from his close friend. He thought they had something a little deeper than just business partners. But he should've remembered the hard lessons he learned before joining the Bandits. "Trust no one at your back nor at your side."

    He snorted derisively shoving the list into his pocket. Seems they were fucked from the start maybe he could find someone who'd be more committed to the bit. Fake affection was easy to spot by anyone who knows what to look for. Gossip magazines, TV, and movies have made even the most oblivious person notice things like that. If this whole job was just an act, a way for Libby to impress Rike then their marks would be able to see the lack of heart or conviction in her actions.

    Whistler had some genuine affection to go off of and fake it, but now he was doubting Libby felt the same way. And now that there is doubt in his mind this shit just got even harder. He opened the cab door and slid in with a quiet. "Yeah sure." Before he sunk into his seat and focused on studying the rest of his file, waiting for Libby to join him.


    Libby tilted her head in slight confusion, considering Whistler with a thoughtful gaze. She had expected some sort of smart comeback from him, not the vague one that had brought all conversation to an abrupt end. Hm. Was he all right?

    Perhaps he was just concerned about the job (and not letting down Rike), like she was. At any rate, Libby was pleased to hear that he agreed with her regarding the importance of maintaining a professional relationship. She didn’t just want to be a good bandit, but a great one; and if she was going to that, she could not afford... distractions.

    Libby offered him a gentle grin in thanks, but soon was doubtful he that even noticed it; because before she knew it, Whistler was turning away and ducking into the cab. So Libby made for her place on the seat beside him, all the while peripherally eyeing him, curious as to why he had fallen into such sudden silence. Was he ignoring her? She couldn’t tell. But if she was reading his body language correctly, he did want to be left in his thoughts.

    So Libby merely rested her forehead on the window glass to blankly stare into the streets of Halin, while mentally reiterating what she had read in her own file. First, she needed to keep an eye on the staff members of Deja Vú Cafe, taking notes on their every move. (The file did not list the exact reason for this, except that it was vital for Whistler to know what happened inside that cafe. The place was somehow connected to the Rizzol Bank, and Rike wanted to know how.)

    Other than that, there were a few details listing a backstory for ‘Elisa,’ as well as notes on how she needed to play a convincing significant other to ‘Bartholomew,’ particularly around colleagues. Hm. This was going to feel odd. She really loved Whistler’s company, but to act like-

    The cab suddenly slammed on its breaks, barely missing a pedestrian. The driver angrily beat down on the horn, shouting a colourful array of curses.

    “My file doesn’t say a whole lot about the job itself,” the half-elf suddenly spoke up, deciding it was okay to talk to him now that the silence had been shattered. “It only has a foot note that says you will give me more details at a later time.”

    Libby wrinkled her nose in discontent, looking over to her friend. She eyed his hands eagerly, wondering what details were contained inside of his file—and if she could get him to spill it. With innocent eyes, she reached over and poked his arm.

    “Whiiiiisssstler,” she said with a tone dripping with sweetness, before mussing his hair. “Why can’t I know? I never get told any good stuff. Why don’t you let me see what yours says? Just a peek.”

    The young man had flipped through his file a few times. There wasn't much outside of basic details. It seems Rike either didn't want to restrict them too much...or he intentionally left out details to see how they handled themselves. Both were within the man's wheelhouse and from what he's heard about other pairs who have been sent out to do jobs like this the man wasn't above putting people in harm's way to meet his ends.

    Whistler still wasn't happy with Libby's eagerness to not put her all into this job, but talking would just make it worse. If she wanted pure professional coldness he could do it, but it wouldn't help them make this work. His thoughts were so absorbed in how this could go wrong he didn't even notice the cab stop or the girl talking to him. As she touched him magic sprung up in his hand a small fireball crackling to life, the heat instantly blooming around the already stuffy interior of the vehicle. He instinctively looked up at her the magic of his eyes flashing behind the contacts, thankfully he regained his composure before he blew them all up. He let out a deep annoyed sigh and quickly shut his file looking out the window. "Mine's as uninformed as yours, we're supposed to learn our targets in the Bank, watch and hear what we can from them and those around them, then report anything and everything back to HQ. Rike's main informant in the Bank will present themselves to me with more details of what we'll do once Rike gets enough info from us. Now get your marital smile and love eyes on we're at the market." There was an unemotional snap to his words, professional pure and cold. He slid his file into the back of his coat were an opening had been made in the seam for him to stash stuff.

    The young mage rubbed his face tiredly then exited the cab coming around and opening Libby's door offering her his hand giving a slight smile. "Here let me help you out Elisa...my love.

    Libby was always taken aback by Whistler’s magic, and this fact showed when she looked agape at the fireball that had begun to form in his hand. She almost smiled at the spectacle, but then she cowered at the look in his eye.

    Was he all right?

    She would have asked him as much; but these were thoughts were never given the chance to verbalise; because as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the cab door was clicking open and her mage companion had vacated the vehicle.

    Libby blinked in mild confusion.

    Then, moments later, there was a second click; and this time, it was coming from her end. Just outside her side of the car stood Whistler, seemingly already beginning to act out this charade of theirs.

    Well, here goes nothing, Libby resolutely thought to herself, even as she placed her hand into Whistler’s palm. It was time to show him just how good of a show she could put on; so she squeezed his hand, and looked at him... in a different sort of way than she ever had before, intently trying to play her part convincingly.

    “Thank you,” she responded in a kind tone, before flashing him a gentle smile.

    Whistler nodded taking the girl's hand, ok time to play the game. He lifted her up from the cab like a gentleman. He kissed the back of her hand then came in and kissed her cheek before lacing their fingers and shutting the door of the cab. "Ok Ellsy, do you still have the list or do I?" He asked changing his voice to sound a little lighter and less rough in his speech patterns.


    It felt strange to be called something other than Libby, and even stranger to hear her friend’s usual gravelly voice soften into something a bit more gentle.

    “I do,” she responded aptly, handing the list over to her friend with her free hand. She wasn’t used to the attention—especially from Whistler—so even a little felt a bit overwhelming. As with most people, a brush on the shoulder or a hug brought a sense of well-being to Libby; but to her, sensations tended to be a bit more intense, so she was trying to hide any sign that she felt uncomfortable.

    “I assume you were given money to pay for everything?” she continued hesitantly, before turning to whisper a rhetorical question into Whistler’s ear.

    ”Or must we always be criminal?”

    Libby hastily pecked Whistler’s cheek in an attempt to not seem suspicious with the whisper, all the while ignoring how uncanny (and just plain odd) it felt to do so. She was used to pranks with him, not pecks.

    “I... ehm,” she then spoke up with an intention to change the subject before he could give much of a response. She released Whistler’s hand, and motioned for him to follow her even as she began to walk away. “C’mon. We better hurry.”

    Whistler sighed gently watching her walk away taking the list and studying it closely. He knew this was gonna be hard for Libby, but he hoped they'd manage to convince anyone with her being twitchy like this. He caught up with her and chuckled. "Of course I have money dear, your mother was surprisingly generous with my birthday and gave me two-hundred dollars for being such a good man to her baby girl, but slow down or we're gonna get lost." He caught her hand again chuckling and returning the whisper. "Be casual dear, remember this is a big whole day thing for us poor folk."

    Libby did slow down.

    But it wasn’t because of Whistler grabbing her hand, but because of his mention of her mother.

    Of course, it wasn’t her real mother he was talking about. That would just be silly.

    “Oh. Right.”

    Libby half-smiled.

    “My mother.”

    She then rolled her eyes heavenward.

    “Generous. Hm. She is that, isn’t she?” she finally commented, as she sassily snatched the list back from Whistler.

    Generous? She wasn’t generous. Why would anyone generous end up incarcerated... and now likely dead?

    Libby’s eyes lit up as she read the list.

    “Oooooooo. Let’s start with food. I’m starving.”

    Her tummy gurgled.

    “Then onto clothing.”

    Whistler hmmed softly and followed his new wife, he was getting hungry himself.


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  6. #16
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    It was likely that Whistler had a bit of trouble keeping up with Libby during their rendezvous through the market; because after the two had grabbed a quick lunch, the lady thief began running to and fro, wildly ticking items off the list as she found them. Needless to say, it was very easy to see that Libby was enjoying this part of the excursion immensely. She had never really done anything like this before and, to her, it sort of felt like a treasure hunt. Or perhaps Christmas.

    Several hours later, after the last item had been ticked from the list, the sun had begun its descent and the two thieves were once again in transit down the darkening streets of Halin. This part of town certainly seemed safer than the boroughs that they were used to; but under the cover of darkness, even the safest places likely had their own share of rabblerousers that would come out to play. So from her place in the taxi, Libby sat quietly, surveying their new neighborhood with a keen eye even as their cab zoomed through.

    Red light.

    Libby’s gaze fell upon two drunken revelers exiting a fancy strip club with neon lights (well, fancier than what was near where she was from), each accompanied by an exceedingly beautiful woman—who each wore high heeled shoes. Libby started to wonder how these ladies managed to walk without tripping. She herself had worn a pair of heels once (having sneakily tried on a pair during a heist at some rich woman’s house), but had looked something like a baby giraffe trying to take its first steps. So thank heavens she had managed to kick them off before Whistler (who was meant to be scouring the living room) had unexpectedly wandered into that woman’s bedroom, too. (Whis had even seemed to believe her little lie as to why she was standing there, barefoot, while on a job: I, uh, just wanted to feel the carpet between my toes, she had explained to her friend.)

    Green light.

    The cab was once again revving into motion, and Libby still kept her eyes on the streets of Halin, quietly soaking in the flavour of this unfamiliar borough. This part of Halin felt so strange—almost foreign. It was when Libby was lost in these thoughts of hers that the cab once again slowed to a stop. They had finally made it to their apartment building, it seemed; and it was not long before the two were trudging up six flights of stairs like a couple of pack mules (as there was no elevator). Libby waited patiently, leaving Whistler to unlock the door to Apartment 61. Once open, Libby immediately dropped what she was carrying, kicked off her shoes, and whizzed past Whistler in her nylon clad feet—sliding through the living room as if she was on ice skates. She was still wearing the dress and the wig, but now also donned a wide brimmed hat that still had the tag dangling from it. From beneah it, she began to sniff the air, theatrically.

    “Hm. Can you smell that, Whistler? This place...”

    It smelled clean. She really had gotten too used to living in the damp, musty air of the Bay Water Bandit warehouse, hadn’t she? She inhaled deeply once more, enjoying the soapy scent, wondering it was actually strong enough that he could smell it too. Sometimes she forgot that others sometimes didn’t notice certain things like she did.

    “It smells like lemon! Come and see.”
    Last edited by Leanna; 05-14-2018 at 11:27 PM.




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  7. #17
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    Despite his worries in the cab Whistler found himself rather enjoying the day. Libby played the part, but the young man still saw questioning looks and incredulous faces among the crowds of the marketplaces and shops. Still he kept his face smiling and his voice soft, he hoped they could address this before it gets too far along they may be expected to do something like kiss on the lips, do unconscious shows of tenderness, stuff like that can't be acted convincingly. The young Mage has spent many years studying people it's part of being a good thief.

    If he was on the outside looking in he could see through this game. But all he could do is smile and hope. He followed his pseudo-wife around playing the good husband and relegating himself to carrying most of the bags. Luckily the cab from before was on call to take them to their new "home". It was a fun day, but Whistler was feeling quite exhausted. He wasn't used to running around like this all day, nor was he used to carrying shopping bags all day. He's spent days doing his thief thing, but he never carried anything heavier than his weapon and gear. All his loot was deposited in dead-drops and taken back to HQ by runners he never had to carry it longer than a few hours.

    But now he was carrying around twenty pounds of stuff, some of it he was sure wasn't on the list and it is tiring. So when they arrived at the apartment and he saw Libby slide across the plush carpet Whistler was glad to drop the bags and rub his shoulders. She was excited at least, he kicked off his shoes and walked across the living room checking the locks on the windows and closing the blinds. Once he was secure in his mind he nodded beginning to undress. "Yea lemonly fresh, I'm gonna jump in the shower you mind setting the place up dear wifu?" He chuckled tossing his monkey suit onto the bed and grabbed some body wash and clean clothes before walking into the bathroom wearing just a pair of boxers.


    Xbox One Gamertag: Free Today56 just say who you are first.
    Breath deep as the snow falls around you. Let it fill your lungs and purify the fires of doubt within you.



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  8. #18
    The Art Vandal

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    “Okay,” she said as she began to unpack the bag nearest to her, never bringing her eyes up to actually look at Whistler as he undressed, lest she blush. Sure, she had seen the unshy mage quickly change like this before (being roommates and such). But at those times it was not only her face, but her pointed ears that flushed red with coyness. It was just so embarrassing, and was a thing she tried to avoid.

    “No problem.”

    As the mage made his way to the wash room, Libby sifted through their newly acquired items and began to store them around the apartment, accordingly. Clothing went into drawers, food into cupboards, sheets onto bedding; until even the smallest of trinkets had found its way to the proper place. Hm. This was a lot of stock (pssst, including a few items she snuck, and was now hiding beneath the bed to keep from Whistler). How long did Rike expect them to stay here?

    Libby started to tug at the pins that were fastening the wig firmly to her head, shedding them as happily as she did hastily, until the hairy blonde monstrosity was finally loosened from her scalp. Her own hair had, at this point, become an absolute mess—a mess that she left—since she was just too sleepy to really care.

    The wig now laid in a messy, hairy pile on the floor.

    The dress was next to go, and it too was a relief to be rid of. Libby was now free to redress into garb that was a bit more comfortable: a pair of woolen knee socks, along with a pair of unremarkable cotton shorts that matched her tank top. You know, things you could actually move around properly in without fear of them flying up in any sudden gust of wind.

    The dress was now in a heap beside the blonde headpiece.

    “Finally!” the young woman blurt out into the empty room, making her way to a standing mirror before positioning herself into a headstand. To aid in flexibility and maneuverability (while on jobs, mostly, but also for fun), Libby had made it a daily ritual to practice such gymnastics; but she couldn’t do a damn thing in that dress.

    She stared at her now-upside-down reflection in the mirror, as blood rushed from her feet to her brains. The dexterous half-elf then slowly began rotating herself on her head, until she has turned a full 360 degree. Okay, time to change position. Libby worked her core and skinny little twig-arms, pushing herself up into a two-armed and then finally a one-armed handstand.

    Not a damn thing.
    Last edited by Leanna; 05-26-2018 at 07:07 PM.




    art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable

    - banksy


  9. #19
    Red Ninja
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    As Whistler stepped into the bathroom and locked the door he found himself simply in awe at the washroom. It wasn't huge, but it was a helluva lot better than the concrete boxes and upside down buckets that made up the bathrooms at HQ. Nice clean looking toilet, a sink and vanity stuff, a shower and tub big enough for two, and the most amazing thing...a full stocked supply of toilet paper. He almost felt like crying at the idea of not having to use the old sandpaper they get at HQ.

    Luckily he was alone in the bathroom so Libby wouldn't see his emotional state. He'd never hear the end of it. Wiping his eyes he placed the clothes on the sink counter and walked to the shower studying closely. It was a fancier set-up than at base, it even looked like it had a hot water option. They only got lukewarm or frigid cold before. If this wasn't a job that would have to end someday Whistler wondered why he never tried to get this far up the economic ladder before. He certainly stole enough to pay for it and his magic would make him a hot prospect for most jobs middle classers get. He turned the water on nice and hot and step back to the mirror above the sink while the shower got going.

    While unbeknownst to him he was studying himself in the mirror like his wife was. It would be fun washing all the crap from the day off and he looked forward to dropping Bartholomew Axin for a few hours and just go back to being Whistler Merning. He pulled the contacts out and rubbed his eyes feeling the twinges of a headache starting up. He hoped he'd be able to get used to wearing the color changing lens soon, the glow of his eyes would be a death sentence for them both. Steam soon began to fill the bathroom and as nice as it felt the boy was exhausted and after dropping his boxers he climbed into the shower and cleaned the last remnants of being a poor dirty thief from his body upon the conclusion of the shower he'd be a middle class working stiff with a wife and a job.
    He stayed in the hot cascading water for five minutes before he decided it was enough. He breathed in the warm steam and found himself smiling. He could get used to this life, but as he dried off and redressed he exited the bathroom and came to a realization he hadn't thought of before.

    They had a couch in the apartment and a few comfy armchairs, but only one bed. He could never sleep on a couch or a chair. He had to do that a lot as a kid and just thinking about it made him queasy, he didn't want to make Libby sleep out there. So that meant they'd need to share a bed, the idea made his eyes widen a little. He's slept with girls before, but not with Libby they've only shared a room together. He hoped that wouldn't be too huge a problem. He entered the bedroom watching Libby doing her gymnastics in knee-high socks, shorts, and a tank-top. He nodded approvingly, she had a nice little body still. Of course he was built more like a wild dog, wiry muscles and a number of scars. He looked more a scrapper than a Mage, but Libby looked like a Gymnast. He hang his suit in the closet and looked at the mess Libby made of her disguise. "You may want to pick those up and hang them somewhere wife, I don't think we have an ironing board in this place yet." He pulled out his pan pipe and flopped over onto the bed. "So how we doin' this sleeping thing? You know I can't sleep on couches or chairs, and I feel bad making you do it." It was an simple question, but one that needed to be asked.


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  10. #20
    The Art Vandal

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    “Oh! I didn’t realise you were there,” the lady thief commented (in a wee bit of a lie), her face now bright tomato red due to being upside down for so long. Libby had been holding her handstand whilst patiently waiting for Whistler to enter—because she absolutely loved to show off—to anyone and everyone who was willing to humour her.

    Indeed, any morsel of praise (irregardless of what the praise was for) felt like soul food; as such superficial attention had often been the only supplement she had for the deeper affection she so starved for. This need for praise also partly explained why she felt so desperate to make Rike appreciate her, because in her mind, if someone that high ranking thought you mattered—well, then you must, right?

    But for now, it was Whistler who was around, so it was he that she was targeting in this moment. She decided to take full advantage of his undivided attention, and gracefully lowered herself back down onto the crown of her head, and slowly began to turn herself like a spindle as the mage spoke on. And so she rotated, very slow and steady; only deciding to give him a sort of finale once he had finished speaking.

    Bracing herself and contorting her body into a perfect backwards walkover, the young lady gracefully flipped her legs over until she fell into a backward somersault. This roll brought her directly to the feet of the mage, from where she quickly hopped into a standing position, before standing face to face with him. A single beat of silence passed (with Libby looking quite amused), until her legs melted down into a sideways split, toes pointed.

    “TA-DA!” she chimed, holding her hands in the air as she looked up to Whistler from the floor. She was hoping that she was entertaining him (even just a little bit), as he had seemed rather cross in the taxi. She hated it when he was anything but his snarky self.

    And as for his previous comments, Libby finally chose to address them. “I’m not wearing those again,” she began in an offhanded referral to the crumpled dress and wig on the floor. “I have a better idea.”

    This so-called ‘better idea’ was nestled inside that box that she had slipped beneath the bed; but that was to be kept a secret from Whistler—for now, anyway. So the next order of business, presumably, was the ‘sleep situation.’ Libby shook her head nonchalantly, trying to avoid any sort of awkward air.

    “I wouldn’t make you do that, Whistler,” she said kindly, before heading over to the plush mattress. She gave it a couple test pokes with her index finger. “The bed is big enough, I think. Besides, I’ve slept in the same room as you for a while now. I’d say I’m fairly used to it.”

    Libby mischievously half-smiled while raising a single brow. “Your sleep talking, I mean,” she remarked as she crawled into the bed, proceeding to place a fluffy pillow in between where she and he would sleep. “So I know your secret,” she joked, implying that she had hear him say something rather personal in the dark of night. As for what those mumblings were? She did not say.

    “Also, that pillow barrier is for your own safety, haaaah. I’ve been told I am a bed hog, and supposedly kick in my sleep.”

    With that, Libby curled up in a kitten-esch ball beneath the duvet, soaking up every sensation of the bed: its cloudlike softness, its welcoming warmth, its cottony fresh scent. All of it was just so overwhelming, once again, to her acute elven senses.

    “WAAAAH! WHISTLER, IT’S SO NICE. FEEEEEEEEEL.”
    Last edited by Leanna; 06-10-2018 at 09:24 PM.




    art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable

    - banksy


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