Who: Bela Talbot What: Bela reunites with some items she didn't realise she still had. When: Sunday Evening Where: Down town LA Status/Rating: Finished/PG
Bela gave a rare smile as she stepped through the door of the large apartment. It hadn't taken very much effort to find the place with the title listed in her name. Over the years she'd amassed several bases where she could lay low around the world. She had more than seven in America alone, and this penthouse in Los Angeles was one of them. It was lucky for her that she'd already purchased it in 2005. She closed the door behind her and dropped her new handbag down on the small table in the foyer's corner.
She'd taken no more than five steps towards the sitting room when a familiar sleek shape dashed towards her, jumping up and landing neatly on the armchair in front of her. Bela's lips quirked again, and perhaps her smile became a bit wider as she scooped the Siamese cat up in her arms. "Hello there, love," she murmured, continuing her strides through the sitting room and stroking behind the cat's ears.
The room was decorated as she remembered it, tasteful, muted colours and furniture that looked as if it was never used. It rarely was; Bela was hardly the sort who entertained guests in her homes ad she kept mostly to the master bedrooms and the kitchen. There was a gas fireplace built into the wall and it was the one thing the room was good for. She made a beeline for it, setting her pet down on the couch so that she could reach up and run her fingers across the mantle until she found the latch she was looking for and the top of the false brick fixture swung up revealing cool, grey metal and a keypad beneath. The coordinates and zip code of the apartment sufficed as the code.
The cat joined her, staying a cautious few feet away on a table as Bela reached into her safe. She kept one in every house, though not all of them had anything of selling value in them. This one hadn't either, from what she remembered, but it didn't hurt to be sure and she was rewarded for it.
It seemed as though she was to be granted with the few possessions she'd had before her death. Her guns were there of course, there was little surprise there. She removed a Glock, her two Brownings and the Smith and Wesson, placing them down on the coffee table after checking the magazines. If she knew herself –and she did—there was plenty of ammunition stashed in the master bedroom. Next out she recognized the mojo bag she'd taken off of Gordon Walker that last and final time they'd done business. It would most likely be sold, but she would decide later; it went back in the safe. Dried Devil's Shoestring was pushed into the back corner and she almost missed it in her initial search. Not wanting to take any chances she took it out. There wasn't much of it, but it would do for now matched with the salt she had stored around the place.
Bela's hand hit on something as she felt around the safe one last time. She closed her palm around the rough grip of a familiar weapon. Her face said very little as she pulled her hand from the safe, gun in tow. The cat tilted his head and for a moment they stared at each other and then the Colt with equally blue eyes.