Film Noir || Open

[Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld]

COME BREAK ME DOWN,  BURY ME, BURY ME

The Cadogan Hotel was known as a luxury central London hotel. It was known to be a "immersed in romance", at least when you referred to its website. However, one must know their history. Oscar Wilde had been arrested in room 118 for "committing acts of gross indecency with other male persons". Would arrest be considered very romantic? Exactly. Charlotte wasn't here for romance or a wedding. For one, to carry on an affair at the Cadogan Hotel was equivalent to having such an affair on display on a marble pedestal. A work of art? Yes. Scandalous and forbidden? Why of course. Many different kinds of people passed through the Cadogan Hotel every day, usually important or of high position. You never know who exactly you could encounter, and news travelled fast. It was much more likely for a man to take his mistress to a motel in Aylesbury. But Charlotte would ask much more. After all, she felt herself of much higher quality. One who deserved more than being a mistress. At this moment, though, she had no interest in such romance at any rate (unless it got her cash or into higher social circles). No, what was truly at heart were diamonds. The great thing about this "charity ball" was the fact that it was held at the Cadogan Hotel and the host requested all hotel rooms to be used for guest and security. Often, these guests brought their own wardrobes and jewelry, often believing that the security at the hotel was good enough. Of course, this meant fine pickings for her. She had a card key (purchased for her by her dear friend Ciel) that could hack the locks, and she simply had to use a hacking mechanism to get into the jewelry safes. She rarely stole a whole cache, and from time to time, she left "I O U"s in the wake. She was normally careful enough when it came to not getting caught lurking halls — the security normally wasn't that good. They weren't as much of a challenge as they used to be, anyways. Another good thing about charity balls at the Cadogan: The wide array of people of different backgrounds and the opportunities for a socialite to gain more footing in such a posh world. Often, she found that she had a hard time truly standing out. She dressed nice in her Chanel, yes, but there was always someone that would manage to grab something much more expensive, manage to have tea with a famous actor, manage to have a one-night stand with a hotter man (not that Charlotte was trying to beat that, with all the business she had to take care of anyways). She did long to stand out in such a crowd, but at the same time, this helped very much in slipping away from crowds — that, and her good friend Ciel.  Ciel was the voice beyond the earpiece, the best distraction that there ever was, an accomplice for her when it came to clearing up video data. In turn, Charlotte did services for Ciel within reason of course. That, and she kept Ciel company, almost like a lady-in-waiting. They normally came as a dynamic duo when it came to these charity balls. Some days, they simply wanted to enjoy themselves, and some days they had business. And today was serious business. With a bit of rouge and her favorite eyeliner, she was ready to steal eternity back.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Niklaas de Vries]

A potential client had come into the Vortex one night, looking lost and horribly out of place among the Jazz enthusiasts, college students and the average man or woman who came in looking for good music, and reasonably priced alcohol to tide them over until the end of the night. The client, in all his finery and well-ironed three-piece suit that looked like it was expensive enough to pay Niklaas' rent for at least two months, walked through the haze of drunk merriment and cigarette smoke to the front, trying to look as dignified as possible while holding a handkerchief to his nose. Priss, Niklaas thought to himself as he glanced over at the man, and he was half tempted to pick the cigarette up from its ashtray and blow a nice cloud in his face. But his hands were occupied with coaxing sounds from the piano. When his performance was over and another band began to nervously file onto the stage to begin theirs, the potential client pulled Niklaas aside to a relatively unoccupied part of the club to discuss business over glasses of wine.

Niklaas' musical aptitude was highly recommended (“...and I've no idea why you chose to relegate yourself to this” the client said with a scrunched nose as he made a vague gesture to the room around them), and the client requested that Niklaas play at an upcoming charity ball that he was holding at the Cadogan Hotel. The go-to place whenever you wanted to show the masses just how much money you had to throw around. A place that was as renown and romantic as it was scandalous. A tourist attraction if there ever was one, whenever some big-shot in London wasn't renting the place out to hold some sort of grand party. Charity was all well and good, but Niklaas de Vries didn't volunteer his time to any sort of cause unless there was some sort of pay off at the end of the night. At this knowledge, the client rolled his eyes and pulled out a checkbook, scribbling on it a few times before harshly ripping it from its binds and handing it over to the Dutchman with a sneer. Prissy and uptight. Two traits that didn't sit very well with Niklaas, but he was being paid well enough. All he had to do was play the piano all night for other prissy rich people, and entertain any requests that they may have for him. Easy money. Unfortunately, the client snapped it back to his side of the table before Niklaas could take it. "I'll mail it to you the day after the ball." The client said in a snipped tone.

When the night of the party arrived, Niklaas arrived about an hour early, dressed in the only three-piece suit that he had in his closet. It had been used when he bought it, but a few visits a tailor in between paychecks had it looking like new again. Unfortunately the humidity of the evening forced him to shed the jacket and roll up his sleeves to the elbows. Upon entering the ballroom, he was immediately drawn to the piano sitting quietly near the front of the room. Niklaas ran a hand across the body with a low, appreciative whistle. A Steinway & Sons grand piano, carved from red wood and varnished to a glass-like smoothness and sheen, the sheet music stand beautifully carved into an intricate pattern of swirls and curves. His fingers pressed down on the keys slowly, eighty-eight in total, and when the final C note echoed throughout the empty room, he found himself marveling all over again. A work of art in both build and sound, the kind that made his usual piano in the Vortex seem like a cheap knock-off. Hell, if he knew he'd be playing something like this, he might have not demanded a paycheck... might have. Provided the client sweetened the deal a little more. As it was, a nice check and a nice piano was good enough for Niklaas.

ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN

[Nesia Notonegoro]

659 words this will be a looong night

T his is it. The night of her first field mission. Balancing a tray full of of champagne glasses, Nesia made her way into the hall. Guests began to pour into the room, clad in their luxurious garments and adorned with lavish accessories. With a small, professional smile, Nesia offered refreshments to them. She recognized several faces from the media and film industry, all the beautiful people from the screen now stood before her. Had she's not working now, she'd squeal and ask them for an autograph. But tonight, Nesia was not just a mere waitress. She needed to be alert about her surroundings and not letting herself distracted so easily by these glittering gems. Tonight, a charity event was held at the Cadogan Hotel. Which was somewhat ironic, considering the massive pretentious display of wealth. Charity indeed. Maybe that's why the paranoid host asked no less than the MI6 itself to act as the security for the night. Huh, as if they had nothing important to do. Nevertheless, because indeed this event was attended by important public figures, MI6 agreed to provide the security he sought. But they didn't send their best agents; they sent her instead. Of course, she's not the only agent on duty tonight. Nesia had spent two weeks prior to the mission day to get to know the hotel and its staffs. Disguised as a part-timer, Nesia memorized their faces, how people move inside the building, which rooms lead to what room and how the staff conducted the daily business. After months being a spy for the MI6 and the mafia, collecting such information was so easy. Her task for now was just to observe, looking for people who behaved suspiciously. Rumor has it that several people had their eyes set for this event - people who were attracted to these jewelries like ants attracted to an unguarded jar of sugar. That's what the host said to her superiors, though. Then again, who doesn't? One by one, manicured hands took the glasses from her tray. She brought the empty tray back to the kitchen and passed it to another - real - waitress. Time to patrol between the guests and look for the other agents. She didn't bring any weapon with her to make her disguise more believable. If - if - a thievery did happen, she might need a gun to chase down the culprit. Her superior brought an extra for her, but she couldn't contact him via her earpiece. She didn't know why if this just an equipment malfunction or he's too busy with his disguise. By the way, what was his disguise? Nesia should have listened better during their brief-- "Anjrit." Nesia's eyes just spotted the man who sat behind the piano. Her body froze in the spot upon recognizing him; someone whom she hadn't seen since more than a year ago. Someone whose face invoked sad memories within her. It was Niklaas. It was Nesia's ex-boyfriend. Gritting her teeth, Nesia turned around and walked quickly to the other side of the room. She couldn't stay there forever, no. She should focus on her duty as an agent here to keep tonight's guests safe from harm. She wouldn't be able to talk to him - not that she would want to. But resisting such desire was difficult, since she knew that it was him who made this beautiful melody. And wherever Nesia stood within this room, she would hear it. She couldn't ignore it. Nesia had missed listening Niklaas playing the piano. So why did it have to be tonight, of all times, when she had a duty to do? Cold sweat trickled down her neck. Calm down, she told herself. She clenched her fists so tight, causing her nails to dig into her skin. Taking another tray full of champagne glasses from another waiter, Nesia returned to mingle with the guests. She was an agent. She had a duty. And duty always comes first before personal feelings.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Deleted]

luck (♠) is (♥) a (♦) lady (♣)

word count

1176

tags

Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld
Niklaas de Vries
Nesia Notonegoro

notes

i wrote too much gomen

T

he glamorous lights. The grandeur embellishments. The disgustingly pompous people.

These were the things she would be entertaining herself with as the Princess of the Principality of Monaco. Would, being the key word; if she had been able to maintain such a title, had she not vowed vengeance against the murdered who had destroyed her life. Although, perhaps, it wasn't a bad thing -- the smell of wealth permeated the air, polluting it far too much for Ciel's liking. She much rather preferred screwing over the rich and stealing their money.

Robin Hood, in a way. Not very reminiscent as Charlotte wasn't exactly the noblest, nor were her driving motives, but theft nonetheless. Lacking the morals; but that was what made Robin Hood the hero. She supposed it didn't matter too much, in the end. Everyone was living their own life, living their own tragedy, and some just couldn't keep up. Fortune, fate, luck, whatever people wanted to call it -- they'd thrive, suffer, revive from their hopelessness, and cycle on through again. They made choices.

She wore her disdain in the form of a strapless scarlet dress tonight. Simplistic in its beauty, it was just enough to be accompanied by an alluring necklace to complete the look and charm any of the party's attendees. Her hair was free from its normal braid for the occasion, brushing against her back and shoulders. "Best not too look too flashy" was always the dress code. Presentable but not memorable was the way to go, and relatively easy to do when at least twenty other women were also dressed in red.

"This will be the easiest job in a long time, Char," she spoke to the means of communication tucked neatly around her ear, smiling as she nodded to a passing couple. Charity balls were always the paragon of irony and hypocrisy, honestly. She kept rapt attention, focusing on the mass of people surrounding her. It wasn't enough to be suffocating or cause temporary claustrophobia, but enough for a thief to blend in with her victims. As far as Ciel could tell, Charlotte was gone. Perfect.

Surveying the rest of the incredibly accommodating room, she observed to see if there was any unwanted company blending in as well. As good as an asset as it was, it could also be easily turned into a disadvantage if Ciel was distracted for even the slightest of a moment.

She hadn't been expecting to spot familiar tanned skin along with ebony hair, tied in the same ponytail she saw most days of the week among the seas of people. Why would Nesia be here? For a moment, she had thought she was mistaken, but she moved closer to inspect -- and sure enough, it was Miss Nesia Notonegoro... in a waiter's outfit?

That set off alarms.

Both puzzled and suspicious, Ciel followed after her instinctively. A part of her began to nag her not to and inspect this later, but curiosity had already caught her tight in its grasp. But warning bells were ringing incessantly in her ears, and she just had to inspect this. It didn't seem possible that she would have another part-time job, and even if she did -- there was no reason to lie. She recalled Nesia texting her to say she was ill for the night and couldn't work. Ciel narrowed her eyes. There was most certainly something wrong here.

There could only be a few possibilities for such circumstances. One, Nesia wasn't who she said she was. A cover, most likely? But then that led to even more questions; if it was a cover, what was it for? Was she with the law -- an agent of the MI6, perhaps, or an officer? -- or another lawless, much like Charlotte and her? Either way, it didn't bode well for Ciel, and she frowned. How could this have gotten past her? There was clearly a gap in her security, particularly when it came to employment. She would most certainly be settling this by the end of the night.

She watched as Nesia suddenly stopped, still carrying a tray that had been used to serve the champagne glasses. Interesting. She had seen something that had surprised her in some way -- now, what could that be? Ciel looked in the direction her employee was, pinpointing the origin of her shock to see --

Niklaas?

What on Earth was happening here? She recognized the irritating hair style; the one that defied gravity, most likely with the use of an incredible waste of hair gel. Memories of conversing in the bookstore from only a few weeks ago surfaced. The man had proved to be intriguing company and they were now acquaintances after that day. Niklaas stood by the piano in the front where the music would soon be playing -- ah, yes, she remembered him mentioning he was a musician. The chances of him playing at this particular ball, however... They were low. And even more so that it seemed he and Nesia knew each other -- or, at least, Nesia did. This just continued to get more interesting, but at the same time, particularly perplexing. More and more complications appeared as she watched, and this would just maybe make Ciel have to retract her previous statement to Charlotte.

Concentrating back on Nesia, the girl slipped away in a hurry to flee to the other side of the room. She would take the time to investigate Niklaas later. Why? Ciel asked rhetorically to herself. It was obvious Nesia wanted to get away from him, as if they had bad history. It was plausible they did with such a reaction. Her body language clearly said she didn't want to see Niklaas right now, for whichever reasons.

Ciel pursued after the other woman again, moving with careful steps so as to not appear suspicious herself. A few others greeted her, and she returned it with a faked smile. Nesia fetched another tray after preoccupying herself with a moment, tightening her fists. This confirmed her reasoning that there had been something between the two -- negative on Nesia's part.

Right, she should update Charlotte on the current events. It would be too risky to do anything yet, before she ascertained there was nothing they truly had to worry about. "Char, I suggest you wait a few more minutes. There's something strange happening here that I'd like to ensure won't cause any problems for us."

Nesia returned to the crowd with the drinks, and Ciel took the opportunity to approach her, wearing her best knowing smirk. Time to corner the girl with a little guilt, this interrogation shouldn't take too long.

"Why, hello there, Nesia," said Ciel, graciously taking a glass from the tray. She sipped out of it, before glancing back. She had never really liked champagne. "Imagine, meeting you here! I wasn't aware you had another part-time job," she continued, feigning surprise, "and, oh, before I forget -- are you feeling better? I do hope you aren't serving people with a cold!"

by worldie for mona

[Niklaas de Vries]

The atmosphere of high society and pretentiousness was suffocating. He doubted he would enjoy this kind of situation even if he was living the kind of life he was “supposed” to be living. He wanted to smoke, but smoking wasn't allowed in the ballroom; it was “offensive”, security had said, so Niklaas had to settle with the complimentary peppermints offered at the front desk. He clanked the one in his mouth against his teeth. Just focus on playing and get through the night, then he could smoke all the cigarettes he wanted. Not that he could, of course. Smoking a pack of cigarettes a day got insanely expensive, not to mention wasteful. Why even smoke if you weren't going to enjoy the nicotine? But that was neither here nor there. He flicked the mint to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, and continued to focus on the music rather than the suffocating feeling and the urge for a smoke already rearing its ugly head. At the very least, these people had good taste in music, as his current request was Stardust by Hoagy Carmichael. A soothing, romantic piece that was as smooth as silk and as rich as fine wine. The woman who had made the request, perhaps in her late twenties with curly caramel colored hair, sighed dreamily as she watched Niklaas play his piece. The Dutchman smirked inwardly. For being someone who was, at best, only moderately attractive, he prided himself in being able to make a women swoon with his music alone. It had gotten him all the sex he could ask for, and somehow two girlfriends in the process, if she first could indeed be categorized as a “lover”. All of their passive aggressive arguing and bitching wasn't what one could call “romantic”, and their sex was less passionate and more a contest to see who could dominate who. His second girlfriend, on the other hand, was closer to the typical ideal of what a pair of lovers was. Seemed like something out of a romance novel, actually. It ended like one too, bullshit drama included just because the author (God in this case) decided to throw it in just because he could. But the past was in the past, and it was pointless to dwell on it.

Niklaas popped another mint in his mouth and cracked his knuckles, as the caramel-haired woman curled some hair around her finger and, with a flushed face and genuine smile, bid him goodbye and disappeared into the crowd. He glanced over his audience for the evening. Half of them were probably just riding on the coattails of their parent's fame and fortune and reaping the benefits. But maybe that was him just disliking the ravish lifestyles of high society, period. He was about to turn back to the piano stand, reaching into his jacket pocket for his reading glasses, before doing a double-take back to the crowd. It was a blink-and-you'll-miss it moment, but he swore that he saw Nesia, dressed in a waitress outfit and looking as shy and nervous as she had when they first met. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and the Nesia lookalike turned and vanished into the crowd. With a frown, Niklaas bit down on his mint and turned back to the piano, slipping on his reading glasses and flipping through the sheet music resting on the stand. He had probably just imagined it. If this atmosphere was getting to him, it would probably suffocate shy little Nesia. Besides, how many tanned skinned, black haired girls were there in London? And if it really was her... then so what? She was probably here for the paycheck, just like he was. Chances were they'd both go home without so much as a “how have you been?” And if that was indeed the case, then so be it. Nesia had made it rather clear that she didn't want Niklaas involved in her life anymore.

Niklaas checked his watch before signing inwardly. He still had hours to go before he could head on home, and he hoped that he could take a smoke break sometime between now and then. In the mean time he re-adjusted himself on the piano bench, adjusted his glasses slightly and began his next song; Moon River by Henry Mancini. Again, at least these people had good tastes in music.

ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

“Shaken, not stirred, luv.”

“What are you, James Bond?”

Donald exchanged a grin with the bartender, a beautiful black haired gal with an archly smirk. He gave her a casual wink. “I might be.”

Lucky guess in name.

Another day, another mission. Of course, the venue can’t be any more inviting to trouble. Somehow, trouble is attracted to glistening grandeur, like bees toward golden honey. Ladies and beaus linger around, all gussied up and pretty. The men in black were broad and robust, the illusion of the tuxedo. The women had more variation, in seams of colors, hair, and body shape.

Donald leaned against the counter, silently watching the bevy of ball-goers resume their ‘ball-attending’. He had a penchant for people-watching; it was his way of surveying what kind of people were here. It had been a hand of habit, but he yielded some practical results from being attentive. He learned that no matter how silken the words were, the truth was in the body—the fluidness of the movement, the of their direction of attention. Years of experience with liars had made him weary and wise; he’d best not throw a blind eye when his life was on the line.

This thought suddenly reminded him of her perfume and that wicked maroon glossed smile.

Clinks of wine here, a man blithered about his wife there, a woman chortled loudly and then playfully slapped a man on his shoulder. It was very typical of a party, and Donald had been in many, thanks to his job. First time going to a fancy party was the heart of all fun, but then the following attendances numbed down to nothing but a sole focus to duty.

Everyone can have their fun here, but not him. He was on a mission. As he sipped the brandy, he glanced over at Nesia until they made eye-contact. Donald removed the glass from his lips, smiled at her, but noticed a subtle difference in her movements. No matter how observant he was, he could be wrong. Nesia was the type of woman who held her composure, so an offhand glimpse of her was not enough to prompt conclusions.

Making a split second decision, he trusted that she was alright, and he’ll snake around the guests before double-checking with her verbally. He then downed the glass. A fire folded and writhed down his throat, and it cried in a form of a long exhale. Strong liquor, just what he needed.

The song changed, and he recognized this one. It was played in that one movie with that American dame, Audrey Hepburn. He had no recollection of the song’s title, but the pianist did a darn good job with setting the mood. Donald was getting fired up, and his brilliance showed when he straightened up and adjusted his collar.

A couple of women (and some men, but his faith made this unseeing) daringly stared at him. Finger to lip giggles, smirks tugging the corner of lips, and elusive glances, the few women close to his proximity undoubtedly gave him an ego boost. Standing 176 cm with red hair, Donald stood out quite a bit. There was normally no favor in being so conspicuous in a situation that begged for discreetness, but who knows: he could be in luck.

God knows that Donald had gotten this far anyway.

Donald set the glass down on the counter, thanked the bartender again, and then sauntered to be among the throng of people. He was honestly… a fish out of the water in this one. All this glitzy glam glitter was definitely not his thing, and he hardly knew any of these people. Sure, he had cover-story, but no one was going to be impressed unless they asked for it.

He was James S. Brokerfield, an imaginary man from New York, who was a top notch business man who controlled a portion of the agriculture market industry in the Mid-West. Yadda yadda, jibber jab, in other words, a big pile o’ shite. The only fun thing out of this was that he got to use his faux American accent for the whole night. Goodie goodie: Hamburgers, freedom, guns guns blazing, yankee doodle, “it’s colour without a ‘u’ and realise with a ‘realiZZZze’”.

As he made his amble, he brushed shoulders with someone.

“Whoops, I'm sorry,” Donald said as he turned to face the person—a woman. Her hair was blonde, wavy that brushed against her shoulders. She had a kittenish face, even with the look of surprise. There was no profound beauty on her, but that was not to be meant as an insult. She had simple features, and that made it appealing. An allure swept in like a tide, but the attraction could not budge his stonewall resolve. Mission, still on a mission.

“I can’t be the first person who ‘accidentally’ brushed by your arm,” Donald commented, mustering a natural American accent. He simpered, his emerald eyes gleaming with gentle mirth. 

[Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld]

COME BREAK ME DOWN,  BURY ME, BURY ME

She remembered attending these sort of events as a child with her brothers. Her parents would bring them along when applicable, though it was normally simply her mother and herself. Her mother was the socialite, and Charlotte was born to fill in such a role when it came time for her to be presented to society formally. Her older brother wasn't so good with these kinds of events, considering them stuffy and unnecessary. Not that a young boy would be interested in such an event, especially a boy such as Niklaas. The men were meant to do the work, and the women were the ones being pretty and gossiping among themselves, being the mothers of the households and ruling their husbands with iron fists. If things had gone different, Charlotte would have perhaps been simply enjoying herself at this event, rather than being on her toes. For her 18th birthday, she would have had her debutante ball, would have been pushed into Britain's social season. Or she would have been whisked to the residence in Belgium, would have been cavorting with the princes and high class people. But no, that's not how it worked, has it? And look at you. Your brother isn't doing the work. You're doing it all by yourself. "This will be the easiest job in a long time, Char." a confident voice said through her ear speaker. She smiled at that thought, coming from such a calm voice. If Ciel said it would be an easy night, it would be an easy night. And an easy night was calming to the nerves. She liked easy nights. This place was easy pickings on most of her visits with Ciel. She liked that idea. Very much so. She swirled her wine glass, gazing into it. She sometimes did wish that she had more attention as many of these socialites did. She blended in just well. She wasn't questionable in appearance or anything of that sort. Simply... one of them. Now that was a different story, a couple years ago. She was trash to them. She wasn't invisible. She was so visible. She stunk with the stench of her name's dishonor. To be associated with van Rosenfeld was something that scarred many. Those scandals, those lies... it was a wonder she even stuck to the old name, stood by adamantly as her brother gave up hope in a dead horse. But I showed him, didn't I? Look at me now. She had much attention when she occupied the bed of hard-working politician Ludwig Beilschmidt, caused scandal as he spoiled her in her Prada and Chanel. She turned herself into an object to be spoiled by any man who was willing to let her become their eye-candy. A silly notion that moeder would never have approved of. If mother dear saw her now, how proud would she be? Not very, of course. But this was how to survive in this world, wasn't it? Aim big, you've always said, dear mother. Don't settle for less. Was she becoming nothing, though? Was she slowly reaching that point of invisibility? A name, just in the back of people's minds? She had to grab people's attention somehow, but at the same time, she simply had a hard time maintaining that attention without, bless her mother's soul, losing more of the little honour she had. To disappear in the crowd and become nothing, well... She would resolve to steal tonight. That's what she was here for. Let stealing be a distraction. Let's go ahead and put the wine down and— “Whoops, I'm sorry,” a voice said from behind her, having bumped into her shoulder, jerking the wine glass a bit foreword. Some drops had sloshed out of the glass, but otherwise, nothing ruined. She turned towards the voice, about to say something, but stopping at realizing the fact that the accent was American, and the owner of the voice was a charming ginger. "No matter. I wasn't going to drink the rest of it, anyways," she said, straightening herself out as she placed the glass on the counter. "How are you tonight, sir?" "Char, I suggest you wait a few more minutes. There's something strange happening here that I'd like to ensure won't cause any problems for us." a voice said through the earpiece. Charlotte was tempted to ask her just what was the matter... but not in front of this American. No, it would be quite suspicious to say the least... She needed to find Ciel, get some sort of explanation. Ciel wasn't one to second judge a situation. She was usually sure, and something out of the ordinary happening... well, there were many extraordinary things that the two of them encountered in their heists, that they simply rolled with the punches. “I can’t be the first person who ‘accidentally’ brushed by your arm,” the American commented nonchalantly. "It is quite crowded," she sighed. "But that's to be expected. Especially with how old Wenceslas hosts these events."

LAIKA OF GS!

[Niklaas de Vries]

Niklaas leaned back and cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders to ward off the imposing stiffness that had begun creeping up his back. He was used to sitting for hours at a time, but then he had been comfortable or tucked somewhere in the corner where the only indication of his presence was the music he played. Here? He was front and center, surrounded by a world he hadn't belonged to in over ten years. He could imagine his mother being here, gliding from person to person and joining in on their conversation as naturally as breathing, and laughing the loudest out of everyone. He didn't often think of mother and father, but when he did a small feeling of guilt welled up in their stomach. Wherever they were, they were probably ashamed of the son who they had so much hope for. Just another reason to leave the past dead and buried back in the Netherlands; he didn't need the imaginary ghosts of his parents to haunt him.

He stood up and tucked the piano bench in, weaving around party goers and offering muttered apologies to any women that he might have nudged (never let it be said he wasn't taught how to be a gentleman), making his was over to the bar. He could have sworn he saw Ciel, but quickly looked away. They were friends, he supposed, and she was good company but every siren in his head screamed at him to stay away from her. Best to keep her as far away from him as possible. Of course it was always easier in theory than it was in practice, since the elegant young lady seemed to exemplify everything Niklaas found attractive in a person. God fucking damn it.

An American with flaming red hair left the bar as soon as Niklaas sat down, but the Dutchman didn't pay any mind. It was true enough that American tourists were insufferably annoying, but so long as they kept out of his face, Niklaas didn't mind them. He ordered a glass of red wine (he didn't drink it as often anymore, but might as well indulge himself in someone else's freakishly expensive alcohol) and turned around fully in his seat to survey the crowd. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it purely as a force of habit, and the bartender behind him cleared her throat in the most exaggerated way possible. When he looked back at her, she was drumming her nails against the counter impatiently, a scowl set firmly on her face.

“Smoking isn't allowed inside.” She said curtly, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Niklaas frowned around his cigarette, letting out a steady stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth before removing and extinguishing it. He placed the barely-smoked cig back in its box and turned to face the bartender, eyebrows cocked in a vague “happy now?” gesture. The glass of wine was slid over to him before the bartender left to tend to her other customers. The wine was rich and fruity, very full bodied with a slightly bitter after taste. The kind of wine you sipped and savored; not exactly his taste, but it would do. He doubted the bar carried chocolate wine, which was a damn shame.

ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN

[Nesia Notonegoro]

462 WORDS I am late

D id he notice her? It took a great effort not to turn around and look at the stage for the second time, But Nesia didn't need to glance to know who was there; her ears still recognized the same song that was playing. Yet that didn't stop her to wonder if Niklaas saw her among the crowd. No, that would be unlikely. He had a job to do and she was just another unimportant waitress in tonight's event. Except that she's not, but he didn't know it. Still, no use in getting her own hopes up. Suddenly she wanted to go back home. Maybe after the party was done she could slip away. Nothing big would happen here tonight anyway, just the host happened to be a paranoid man. Nesia kept her polite smile and played her role well... that until a terribly familiar figure approached her. Even though the person took her time to come over, Nesia didn't dare to look or move. The muscles around her mouth became stiff since she had to put more effort to keep her smile intact. Another glass of champagne was taken from her tray, followed by the petite figure of Ciel Blanc into her sight. "Why, hello there, Nesia." Oh, isn't this such a lucky night? The agent had to be absent from tonight's job at Ciel's casino to be here. Of course she couldn't tell the real reason, so naturally Nesia lied at her boss. She thought there was only a small chance that Ciel was invited to the party. What are the odds? Nesia had met two people from her "someone I want to avoid tonight" list. If a certain Russian appeared out of nowhere Nesia wouldn't even be surprised anymore. But, back to the party. The tip of her fingers turned colder when Ciel asked her about the cold. Nesia bit her lower lip, partly because of nervousness and partly because she needed to hold herself from swearing. Instead, she smiled curtly. Must stay professional after all. "Good evening, Ms. Blanc," she returned her greeting. "I... I'm sorry I can't go to the casino tonight. I was asked to be a waitress here because they lack people." Good enough, and at least it wasn't fully a lie. "The offer came so sudden... I couldn't refuse it either, to be honest." Implying that she needed extra money was good, although she couldn't refuse it for another reason entirely. No one would suspect that a woman like her did need money. "How is the party tonight? I hope you are enjoying it." Nesia really wanted to run back into the kitchen now, but that would appear rude. Ciel Blanc was a good boss - perhaps the best of the three bosses she currently had.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Deleted]

luck (♠) is (♥) a (♦) lady (♣)

word count

411

tags

Nesia Notonegoro

notes

substantially shorter than the other post pff

R

eading a person's body language had become an acquired skill. It required careful cultivation over the years, as people could just as easily learn to feign their own body language as it was to learn -- meaning, it was equally difficult. Nesia didn't seem like the type of person who would have learned to accomplish such a feat; she seemed quite honest.

Then again, she had lied to Ciel only earlier that day.

Take everything with a grain of salt. A very fitting saying for nearly all occasions -- it didn't take very much to tailor for this one.

Nesia was tense. Her muscles contracted, stiffening under Ciel's watchful eye. Subconsciously biting the lip could be taken as a sign of anxiety, which would be entirely appropriate for this situation. It was clear that the other woman did not want to be here, conversing with her boss.

"Good evening, Ms. Blanc. I... I'm sorry I can't go to the casino tonight. I was asked to be a waitress here because they lack people. The offer came so sudden... I couldn't refuse it either, to be honest."

The excuse wasn't particularly full of holes. She doubted that Nesia had been anticipating stumbling across her, judging by her initial surprise as she had approached. Therefore, there must be a genuine thread of truth in it.

"How is the party tonight? I hope you are enjoying it."

However, that didn't excuse the fact that Nesia had completely lied to Ciel's face.

"Oh, perfectly fine," she said, brushing past the attempt to direct the conversation away from the main subject. Her excuse had opened up new possibilities, questions she desired answers to. Nesia's words hinted to a lack of money, as well as the obvious fact that she had at least connections with other people for job opportunities -- despite her already being employed in a decent job. Ciel would be obtaining them one way or another, she would make sure of that. "I would like to discuss what happened this evening soon."

She smiled coldly. Perhaps a bit harsh to the poor woman, but Ciel did not take lying -- particularly from her employees -- lightly. "Understand?"

Punitive measures may be taken to a degree, depending on what their conversation unveiled; although, she was understanding. If there was a legitimate reason that required schedule rearrangements, Ciel would comply. Compromise existed for a reason, especially when it came to work.

Excuses would not be tolerated.

by worldie for mona

[Nesia Notonegoro]

376 WORDS donny senpai pls notice me

T he party was reduced into Ciel Blanc, Nesia's champagne tray, and unimportant background noise made by the shadows in silk around them. 'Perfectly fine' did not exactly describe her employer's mood tonight. Even though the blonde's expression remain unchanged, Nesia knew that she was in trouble. She knew some bits about Ciel's policy for her employees, but lying to do another job elsewhere would bring a certain consequence that she didn't know yet. The worst that might happen is she got fired. Nesia would not want it to happen, but not because of the pay - she had two other jobs to support herself. The casino was a good place to spy on the rich ones, be it the good kind or not. Gossips circulated freely like oxygen, so there's always something that Nesia could tell to her two other employers - whom paid her exactly to do so. Losing the showgirl job means that she loses an access to eavesdrop at the latest issues. "I would like to discuss what happened this evening soon. Understand?" Nesia's jaw stiffened as she took a heavy breath. Her tray somehow felt heavier, so she held it with both of her hands. She nodded, forcing a polite smile to show through her neutral expression. "I will come to the casino tomorrow at the usual time, I promise." She didn't like Ciel's smile. Her gaze moved from her face, unable to keep the eye contact. Her tray was empty now, yet she didn't remember when people took the rest of the glasses. She would have to refill it. "I hope you're enjoying the rest of the party tonight, Ms. Blanc. I have to go now," politely nodding, Nesia turned her back and quickly walked away leaving the shadows in silk behind her. The woman didn't stop until she reached the kitchen, where she put the tray together with the others and went to a corner. The shock from the unexpected meeting with Ciel made her fingers cold. Carrying a tray full of champagne glasses would be too risky. So after she managed to breath normally, Nesia adjusted her earpiece and talked to the microphone again. "H-hello?" she started, not sure how to begin. "This is Notonegoro. Please tell me your position, sir."

LAIKA OF GS!

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

Well that was convenient. She wasn't mad at him for that.

Donald--erm, James returned with a genial grin. "Doing great, thanks. I didn't expect to bump into a wonder." That's what Americans usually say, right? "Speaking of wonders, how are you yourself?" That sounded better in his head, and the only safety net he had was the charm in his smile. Being a ginger had its' perks.

Anndd she didn't catch one what he had said. "Crowded, but lively." Donald nodded, refraining saying more. He had been hanging around a certain American, and now it all came to him that he should not imitate that man. Instead, he looked to some of Hollywood's figures for reference. As he was doing that, he felt a faint ring in his earpiece.

... Odd.

Donald had sensitive ears, and he figured that out over the years he raised Rover. The earpiece he had was advanced, a small, nearly unnoticeable contraption that hid in the external acoustic canal. Not only was the piece of tech well-programmed for stealth, it had a knack of messing up sometimes--whenever another high frequency transmission was nearby. That much, Donald remembered from the long and dull trainings at the agency. He gazed at the woman, just long enough to study her before she stole him a look, to which he straighten up with ease.

She was a little more than she looked. It was in those features he had noted before. Those eyes looked sad while she was looking away. Donald didn't know why he interpreted it as that, but he believed in it. Sad eyes hide things. The only problem was this: Donald's intuition was not always great. He could not be sure with his suspicion, but he was not going to let her waltz away from his sight.

In a natural movement, Donald pressed the joint of his thumb against the tragus of his ear, triggering the communication line. "I am Bosch by the way. James Bosch. I'd have to be careful about standing near the punch table. Crowded places mean clumsy people."He chuckled as he reached out to shake her hand. The line was still on, and agent Notonegoro should have an idea of where he was. Now, he just needed this pretty lady to reply with her name.

[Deleted]

luck (♠) is (♥) a (♦) lady (♣)

word count

428

tags

Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld
Nesia Notonegoro

notes

holla girls ready for the fun to really begin?? lET'S GO

N

esia's stiffening allowed Ciel to read a decent amount of her thoughts at the moment. She felt trapped underneath Ciel's inquiries, her icy tone, and she wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Clearly uncomfortable, hundreds of different thoughts rushing through her head all at once, Nesia's smile -- more like a grimace, really -- was forced.

"I will come to the casino tomorrow at the usual time, I promise."

Ciel returned a curt nod, sipping her champagne pensively. "See that you do."

Although her employee refused to make eye contact with her, Ciel herself didn't take her eyes off of Nesia the entire time she was in her presence. "I hope you're enjoying the rest of the party tonight, Ms. Blanc. I have to go now."

"Of course," she said, and Nesia was gone within the instant. Watching her go was similar to watching her prey scurry away, granted freedom from her impending claws, and now Ciel began to understand these feelings that Char often liked to describe to her.

Glancing towards the piano again, Niklaas sat there, contentedly playing a beautiful melody. He was more talented than he had originally let on, and she found herself genuinely enjoying the music. It filled the room graciously, and people danced with each other, accompanied by laughing and mingling among the courteous small talk. These socialite events were always over the top in a glamorous sort of way, with seemingly ever participant attending the party with the intentions of boasting about their opulence. They deserved to be robbed, Ciel observed, finishing off her glass. It wasn't like they couldn't afford whatever petty little trinkets Char and herself made off with during these nights now.

Nearing another waiter with a tray full of empty glasses, she deposited her own along with the rest, murmuring a quick expression of thanks to the young man. She fixed her glasses, which had begun slipping down the bridge of her nose just the slightest, and propped them back to where they belonged.

Glancing for Char among the sea of people, Ciel sighed. She was no where in visible sight; this was the perpetual problem of being so short. Thank God for heels, but there was only so much they could do. "Char," she greeted her partner in crime familiarly over the earpiece tucked carefully behind golden strands of hair, while offering polite smiles to strangers as she passed them by, "where are you? Don't worry about what I said before. It won't be a problem. We can get the real party started whenever you're ready."

by worldie for mona

[Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld]

COME BREAK ME DOWN,  BURY ME, BURY ME

"Doing great, thanks. I didn't expect to bump into a wonder. Speaking of wonders, how are you yourself?" She had to note that he didn't sound quite like the typical American. A bit old style there, but no matter. The Americans she had met weren't quite as endearing to say the least. After all, most of them were out to strike business deals. She had to give them credit though. They gave her patronage, despite the questionable methods implemented in the diamond business in Rwanda. Patronage that she desperately needed.  And so, she laughed demurely, as the Americans would. She had an excuse to be free at this kind of event, having drank the stars in the champagne. Oh the English, whose stiff upper-lips barred them from laughing as the Americans do. "Charmed, I'm sure. As you Americans would say, I'm having a 'awesome' time," she said, smiling. She glanced about, still waiting for Ciel. What could be going on with that girl... There really could be a lot that could go wrong on any heist. That risk, she understood. And her gut feeling was telling her that, definitely. And she felt it in her ears. That's some powerful high frequency transmission. Stronger than the usual security by the feel of it too. What the... She wouldn't be able to ponder it, though. She couldn't try to address such a concern with someone already talking to her, after all. Especially when he introduced himself. "I am Bosch by the way. James Bosch. I'd have to be careful about standing near the punch table. Crowded places mean clumsy people." He held out his hand for her to shake. A direct gesture, certainly. It gave off the impression that perhaps he was a bit new to these sorts of functions. The language of business flourished here, and the upper crust rarely saw reason to shake hands with each other... unless they were to engage in a business negotiation. Handshaking, of course, is still a polite formality. However, with the direction that the social crowd was going in, every action was calculated. And every word was double-edged. And of course, a name was something that was not to be thrown around lightly. Char had learned that at a young age. She had seen the van Rosenfeld name revered, seen it said with such importance and weight. It was one not to be used in vain, one to be respected. And then, she had seen the van Rosenfeld name used like venom. Thrown about, spited, poisonous. Using the name equated her to disgrace for a time. It's funny how she could almost be invisible as long as she did not use the name. So she didn't. Not unless it mattered. Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld disappeared during heists, and she resurfaced when it mattered. No one needed to know her during these parties. Not unless she wanted them to. "My name is Alice de Lichterwelde. it is nice to make your acquaintance," she said, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "I hope you find it as nice in this country as I have found it." And she meant it. A nice country, but as cold as its rains, certainly. "Char, where are you? Don't worry about what I said before. It won't be a problem. We can get the real party started whenever you're ready." And starting this party, she hoped to do. "I hope you have a fine evening yourself, Mister Bosch. But would you excuse me? I need to visit the powder room again for the evening. These lights can't be good for my make-up," she said, knowing that Ciel would hear her. "I do hope to see you again soon."   She turned away... though a thought came to her. At least she would give the American she deceived an ounce of truth. "Be careful in your business deals here. They'll assume there's much more if you freely let your hand shake. The distance between insanity and genius is only measured by success." She scanned the crowd for the nearest exit, hoping to find Ciel. Whoever was sending out the frequency, they were close. And leaving much too quickly would be a cause for alarm. Turning away and slowly losing herself in the crowd, she said "Ciel, meet me at the powder room as soon as you can."

LAIKA OF GS!