miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-07-18 15:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, !playerplot: miles' merry women, miles baines |
i've got it all almost all figured out.
Who: Miles Baines
What: Prepping for the heist.
Where: The Emillion Museum of Modern Art
When: Backdated to last week sometime.
Rating: Tame
Status: Complete!
This time, he did the immediate preparations by himself. It was just down the street from the Museum of Natural History, where they’d lifted the Crimson Coeurl, and that fact didn’t escape him: the Rue Musée contained a whole array of treasures ripe for the taking, the most valuable cultural artefacts assembled in one place for him to slaver over. (The only place more valuable in sheer acreage was, perhaps, the banking district. It was food for thought.) He did this one alone. Miles had obtained and dressed in a security guard’s uniform that looked worn from use, though lovingly taken care of, no loose stitches or stained patches: simply the comfortable attire of a working-class man. He walked through the museum smoothly, at a brisk stride, tipping his cap to the guard checking bags at the door. Deeper into the bustling building and worming his way past clotted groups of visitors, he paused at one of the locked doors—Employee Access Only—and then swiped his access card without hesitation. Looking as if he belonged here. The private hallways behind the door were empty, his footsteps echoing as he walked down them. Having studied the blueprints and maps for obsessive hours, Miles knew the vaults were in the far, far back; they required access cards that he couldn’t hack, not with his contacts, and a rotating set of passwords only handed out to vetted guards. Exactly why they were going to use real guards to get through. Miles let his hand trail against the hinges of one of the doors as he passed, slapping one of the miniature cameras against it, leaving it planted in his wake. He continued through the rest of the halls, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs along the route that they’d be taking come Friday, a network of blinking eyes for Chloe to monitor. If they were lucky and well-prepared—and Miles thought his merry women were both—this surveillance would keep them alive and keep the timing ticking on the night itself. They had a painting to get to. |