shellyharmon (shellyharmon) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-09-19 13:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | shelly harmon, ~ro clark |
Sharing Is Caring
Who: Ro/Shelly
What: Common Interests
Where: Henderson
When: Present
Content Warnings: Low
The original plan had been to wake up and, once alone, start sweeping the Henderson McMansion for some good blackmail material. Also known as Shelly’s usual Thursday morning. The day, however, held different plans for her. She padded across the master bedroom, the plush carpeting soft and thick around her bare feet. Her attention was caught by a hallway leading to one of the biggest closets she had ever seen in her life. Wide-eyed, the blonde drifted, as if being pulled by some unseen force.
Shelly took in a deep breath and stood in front of a rack of dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. She let her fingers run over the garments, pulling out the most interesting ones. And then, as if by some kind of designer magic, it appeared. A black vintage Valentino, obviously custom, that made the other offerings look absolutely off-the-rack. She plucked the velvet hanger off the railing and carried it, like a lover draped over two arms, to the floor-to-ceiling sliver of mirror.
Staring at her reflection, the blonde looked between her own face and the gown. There was no leaving this house without trying on the dress.
Ro had lost interest in the name and details of the man who owned this house. He'd worn a wedding ring and brought Ro back to his home and his bedroom. Typical male banality. Hardly worth sparing another thought. The man wasn't important. The security code to the front door of the house had caught Ro's interest though, when what's-his-name bent to punch it into the keypad while she nibbled on his neck.
That was a couple weeks ago, long enough that things vanishing from the house wouldn't put suspicion onto the stranger recently brought inside.
There was a mechanical whirring inside the lock before the door opened with a click. Wonderful. Hands shoved into the pockets of the jacket she was wearing to hide her distinctive tattoos, she made her way upstairs towards the master bedroom and hopefully some jewelry awaiting liberation.
When she stepped inside, she thought that maybe there was family in what Ro had taken to be an empty house. A daughter home from UNLV perhaps. But there was something about the blonde woman holding up a black dress that pinged something in Ro's mind. Haunted Victorian doll. The con artist.
"Well," she said slowly, leaning against the door frame. "Somebody's been eating my porridge."
Shelly saw the face in the mirror before she heard the voice. Her heart only skipped one beat. She turned around slowly and scrunched her nose, setting the dress carefully on the marble dressing table. “Don’t talk about porridge in front of the couture,” the blonde told Ro, crossing the room and standing appraisingly in front of a wall display of shoes. Louboutins were too obvious. “How did you get in here, anyway?” she asked with a look over her shoulder.
Ro spread her hands innocently in front of her. "What, like it's hard?" She asked, tone mimicking a movie she'd seen parts of on cable more than once, though never all the way through. "How did you get in here?"
She plucked a Jimmy Choo d’orsay pump in black velvet out of a display cubby. Shelly set it on the floor and slid her left foot into it and wiggled her toes. They were about a half-size too big but they would give her a good silhouette to work with. She put her other foot into the right one. They must have only been worn once, or not at all. They were stiff and unblemished.
“Oh, you know, the usual way,” the blonde responded to Ro, walking around the dressing table. “A violent coup. Didn’t you see the blood stains in the foyer?”
"Blood's not really my thing." Ro smiled and stepped away from the doorway. "All black?" she asked, gesturing at the shoes and dress. "I don't want to step on this American gothic thing you have going on but do you do any color? Or is Wednesday Addams as played by that blonde girl from Game of Thrones your thing?"
Shelly paused in her game of dress-up to shoot an incredulous look in Ro’s direction. “Would you ask Audrey Hepburn ’all black’? Would you ask Karl Lagerfeld ’all black’?” The blonde shook her head and shimmied out of her own dress, a teal sheath in a sheeny material. Reverently, she snaked herself into the Valentino before taking in the full effect in the mirror, lifting her long blonde hair and holding it up in a faux ponytail. “Since you’re here, mind zipping me up?”
Behind the other woman's back, Ro's eyebrows rose. "Certainly." Ro stepped forward, fingertips brushing across the nape of her neck to chase any errant blonde hairs away before tugging up the zipper. "What's your name again? All I remember about you is haunted Victorian doll."
Had she told Ro her real name? She could never keep track. “It’s Shelly,” she replied, smoothing out the front of the dress. Her eyes widened at her reflection. “Oh, no, this was a miscalculation. I look like a fundraiser trophy wife.” The gown was beautiful, there was no denying it, but it aged her about fifteen years. It was a little depressing. The blonde turned around to look at the other woman with an amused expression playing across her features.
“Haunted Victorian doll. I’m from Florida,” she laughed, as if the two were completely mutually exclusive. “If anything, I’m a haunted Publix.”
"Doesn't that require tattoos?" Ro tried to imagine haunted Floridians but the people she pictured were less gothic and more alligator swamp people and brightly colored Nascar fans in trucker caps. People from New England were easily haunted dolls. What were those on the west coast? Shark bite victims?
Ro blinked and stepped back, one hand fidgeting with the zipper tag on her own jacket. "I'm Arrow. You're a lady, it's not so bad." Ro stepped into the closet and flipped through a few hangers. "These are a bit society wife for me but valuable resell. How do we feel about jewelry?"
“Ohh,” Shelly breathed, her eyes lighting up. She reached behind her to unzip and divest. “You’re here to rob.” The blonde put her own dress back on and returned the vintage gown to its velvet hanger. She sighed and gave it a kindly little pat before turning around. “Jewelry is through there, I saw an armoire,” she pointed down the little hallway. “But it’s most likely all registered, so you would probably have to go to a chop shop.”
"You're not?" Ro blinked. "Then why are you here? Or is breaking into people's houses and trying on their things just your particular kink?"
“This is a job,” Shelly replied as if that should have been patently obvious. She stepped out of the shoes and replaced them in their designated cubby. “I’m supposed to be looking for blackmail material, but clothing often calls to me.” She picked up a gilded gold clutch and popped it open. It contained a couple of 20s, a Mac lipstick, and what was obviously drug residue.
“You’re awfully nosy, you know,” the blonde commented with a sardonic smile. “I expect a return of information when being questioned.”
Ro waved a finger at the other woman, eyes lighting up. "You," she said with emphasis, "didn't ask a question. Why blackmail? I can help. What's he done?"
“I asked you how you got in here and you played coy,” Shelly countered, putting down the clutch. “But that’s okay.” She fixed Ro with a shrewd stare. “Well, that’s what I’m looking for. What he’s done. Do you even know who lives here?” Suddenly, she grinned, leaning against the table.
“Was it him or the wife?” she asked, tilting her head, a white-blond lock of hair cascading past her shoulder. “I heard she’s not one to discriminate, either.”
Ro had no idea who lived here. The man's name hadn't been as interesting as his money. "Whoa, hey," she said, posture straightening and eyes sharpening. "You want to search the house, no skin off my nose. I'll help you out. You make me the blackmail, that's the kind of thing that comes back down on me. I don’t need that kind of shit right now. Try it and we're going to have a problem."
Shelly tilted her head back and laughed. “I don’t need you as the blackmail, silly. There’s plenty more where that came from. No, I’m looking for something more…nefarious.” She drifted away from the racks of clothing, the gears in her head turning.
“You know…if you wanted to be my assistant, I could cut you in on the profit. And it would be way more lucrative and way simpler than selling some cut up jewelry a diamond at a time,” the blonde promised.
"Oh, well, if it's nefarious," Ro exhaled. "I'm open to opportunities. May need to define ‘assistant’ and ‘share’. Those are important words."
“I’ll draw something up,” she told Ro while examining her black-painted fingernails. “As for now, I’m going to go searching. He’s in Geneva or maybe it was Georgia...something with a G and an A.” The blonde shrugged. “So we have time. Just don’t take anything too immediately noticeable, I need some time to work my magic.” With that, Shelly drifted out of the room with a nod toward Ro.