stealinyurstuff (stealinyurstuff) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-05-10 21:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | #flashback, #solo |
He's got crazy in him like an incendiary device
Who: Neil and Abri (familiar)
When: about 9pm, June 18, 2009
Where: San Jose, Costa Rica
What: High profile crime
"You aren’t serious of course."
“I am.” He stretched, deceptively slender arms reaching toward the sky.
"You aren't."
He merely laughed, caustic and golden. “I am. Deadly.”
"I forbid this!"
“I’m higher up on the evolutionary chain, monkey-girl.” He grinned wickedly, taking up position on the far end of the rooftop. “You’re a bit furry to be ordering me around so early on in our ridiculous magical Doctor DoLittle relationship.”
"What are you doing? Neil? What are you doing over – Neil! Neil! NEIL"!
Ignoring the horror stricken shrieks from the small golden squirrel monkey Neil MacKenna – age 31 and waaaaaay too invested in this job to call it off just because a talking monkey had shown up in his hotel this morning - took a running start at the edge of the building and hurled himself into the void above the Costa Rican cityscape. Abri – then having known her charge for exactly three hours – loosed a shriek of telepathic horror. She raced to the edge of the roof like a gold and black cat, waiting to feel the hideous soul-shock agony of his death ripping through her tiny form and severing the first connection she’d had with a human charge in a very long time. So long in fact, it seemed impossible that the crazy-hair blue-eyed miscreant she’d met that day in that heart of San Jose (her started partner-to-be and suicidal madman apparently) was already pitching himself off buildings.
Neil, however, was also apparently too invested in this job to kill himself just because a talking monkey thought he was the type. Instead he hurdled the gap between the first roof and the next, pulling a swath of rippling glamour across his body and hitting the roof adjacent with a duck and roll. He came to his feet invisible save Abri, with whom he was psychically linked. She had a clear view when he turned on his heel and threw the furious monkey an inglorious thumbs up from the hip. Then he turned around and went about jimmying the lock of the roof top access door, slipping inside and leaving the quivering rage-ball of his familiar buzzing and fluffy with hate on the rooftop.
The boy – he could hardly be called man by Abri’s standards – was not so audacious as to steal from the Costa Rican Art Museum. Rather he’d elected to restrict himself to robbing the snarky curator of the museum while he was holding a private showing of some the rarer – and rumored to be black market bought – pieces in the less tightly controlled local art house. Neil's plan was, according to a hasty and sarcastic laden explanation, a combo of gymnastics, the Jedi-Mind trick (whatever that was) and a Lookey-Loo Snatch and Dash. (Again, whatever that was.)
And then the fire alarms went off. And then a car caught fire outside (the curator’s Mercades of course) and ten minutes later a soaking wet Neil MacKenna was hauling himself up the edge of the building, grinning and carry what looked like a full black canvas bag at the small of his back.
“Craaaaazy party,” he panted, his glamour still slicked to his skin and crackling. “Damn fire extinguishers. C’mon, I gotta a flight to catch back to Moscow if I wanna impress the Chekovs enough to rush job my way through their inner circle. They’re not just gonna hire any old thief after all. I gotta look pretty and steal shit real good. Real good even,” he said, the last part in perfect Russian.
He was, of course, one of the strongest fae-blooded humans Abri had ever met. There was some spite-spite glee in his grin, electrical and immortal in the blue of his eyes as he hauled himself over the lip of the roof. He stripped his soaking shirt and pants on the roof, redressed himself in a fresh clothes piled on the roof (local police uniform of course), flame dried his hair with a burst of fire, then picked up his bag and grinned at Abri with a fey twist to his mouth that made him look a bit mad and little bit brilliant. (But mostly mad.) Too her shock, the thief handed her the little bag, which was startling light considering Neil had priced the thing inside at some several million dollars.
“Take this back to my hotel. Fast like. No ones looking for a monkey,” he enthused. “See? This is gonna be a beauuutiful partnership.”
Then Neil raced away again, down through the roof access and presumably into the chaos of the streets below. Abri just sat there, too shocked to properly register that her charge was a thief and a delinquent and a madman – but at the sound of sirens Abri took off across the nearest clothes lines, clambering down the side of the building, cursing the MacKenna name and Wheel of Fate that landed her the crazy cocky crook that was Neil. As she ferried stolen goods across the city for him, she could not imagine how she was ever going to get through this cock-eyed companionship. Ever.