Arc is not to be trusted (misericord) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-05-25 00:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | ruby |
Who: Arc
What: Narrative: Getting money and getting digs
Where: Aubade, the bank, Edison
When: Nowish
Warnings: None
Seattle was cold. Cold and rainy, and Arc didn't like either of those things very much. He was going to steal a very little amount, but the cold made him cranky, and the crankiness made him greedy. He was like that sometimes, greedy. Someone once told him it was because he was a teenager too long, and that teenagers were always greedy. He thought children were greedier, but he didn't say as much. He thought a lot of things he didn't say, Arc. Today, he thought he was cold. He counted on his fingers, counted three months of warmth and living like a king, and he waited outside the big building. He knew the people inside were rich, because they wore expensive shoes and suits, and he knew expensive shoes and suits because that's how he knew who to case in Vegas. He missed Vegas; it was warm there.
The man he chose had black hair and blue eyes, like him, and he wasn't old or fat or bald. He felt like familiar skin that day, and this guy would do. Plus, he had really expensive shoes. He followed him to a bookstore, a dusty place that was warm, which was something. He waited until no one was around, and then he closed his eyes.
Bang. Just like that. He wobbled, his own physical body growing accustomed to this new one.
The expensive shoes were uncomfortable, and the expensive clothes were scratchy. But the wallet, the wallet was perfect. Identification and a bank card, and he smiled at everyone he passed as he left the store and walked the short distance to the bank. Yes, he was Cassidy Moran. Yes, it was a lot of money to withdraw. Yes, he was having a great day. Sign, thumbprint, handprint, wait, and jackpot!
Fifty seven minutes.
He ducked into an alley to wait, and he was sure these shoes had never seen an alley. He liked alleys sometimes. He'd had good times in a few over the years.
Bang. He got kicked out, like he always did, and he was five feet away from the not-as-rich-anymore guy, behind him. And then he was back in - one minute, tops.
He whistled as he left the alley, and a bar caught his attention. Edison. He grinned. He liked the name, and mister expensive shoes could do with a good time. He tipped everyone a hundred dollars - he could spare it - and he sat front row center for the strip show. Another thousand found itself into panties and garters. And, well, the lap dance cost a little more, but it was worth it.
Fifty five minutes.
Bang. And then he was out, and he whistled to himself as he left mister expensive shoes in the front row with a lapful of blonde. He could get used to being like expensive shoes, for a few months anyway. He was greedy. Ten million could last him years, but no, he wanted that big building. He would get that big building.
And a bike. He wanted a bike. He whistled. He'd find Harry later. After the bike, and the apartment, and a decorator to make it feel like home. Maybe he'd meet some of the neighbors first. Harry wouldn't be in a hurry, if she was even really here. Rumors, rumors, rumors. He had an apartment to rent. But first the bike. He could be sexy on a bike. Really sexy.