vengefulamethystrose: (Default)
[personal profile] vengefulamethystrose
So I and the gang have been planning for a little while. Y'know, we're only just starting out. I mean, a few people have heard of us but overall we're kind of nobodies. And that might be fine for some of the mooks and idiots who follow me, but I want to be known. I want the people I rob to know who robbed 'em, and why. So we chose an unusual target, to help us make our entrance.

Bigelow Advertising was the right kind of place. Big, but not too big. They didn't really have their own security, just a couple of idiots who thought they were hot shit. And they were a growing company, so they already had lots of people's attention. And I'd seen their social media shit. It was good, and we needed good.

After all, a woman's best weapon is fear.

I stormed into the first floor of the office building, the group in tow. I sauntered up to the desk and asked which floor the advertising agency was on. I tell two of my guys to take the stairs so that we're covered there. I have two of my women go up first to make sure we don't have any unexpected surprises. I post my last woman, Felicia, at the front door. Since she's the only one who isn't a total idiot, I'm trusting her to handle it when the cops show up. Then, after a few minutes, I get in an elevator and ride it up to the sixth floor. I open the door, pull out my gun and point it at the handful of people in the office. "Nobody move." I said calmly.
Date: 2016-01-24 07:21 am (UTC)

casey_papillon: picture of a vase of arranged tulips (tulips)
From: [personal profile] casey_papillon
What. What. What.

Invasion of personal space is usually a scare tactic, paired with lowered voice. It feels a little staged, though that could be shock--I'd always put the bad actors on when I needed the scene to feel out of focus. Glass eye? Lazy eye? Something. Exceptionally alternative presentation. Definitely staged. Not fake, necessarily, but staged all the same. The girls in the hall were hers.

"Y--y-yes ma'am. Um." I turn glance at my computer as I open a new livejournal post. That should do. Right? I can always cross-post later.

I skip the title for a moment, shakily write out, "Armed break-in at Bigelow offices," then swallow, looking down. "Uh." I title it, "Eva Blue Is Pointing a Gun at Me", then hit post.

Shit. Shitshitshit. Should've asked. "Uh." I'm shaking badly enough that my hand is clicking lightly on the keyboard. I could say I have a family?--but she wants attention, mother of two is a good dramatic article. I shut my mouth.


vengefulamethystrose: (Default)
Evangeline Sinclair

January 2016



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