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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jun 16, 2015 15:47:45 GMT -8
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jun 5, 2015 9:48:43 GMT -8
COME BREAK ME DOWN, BURY ME, BURY ME | The diamond mines in Rwanda really do pay for themselves, even as they begin to run dry. Even with most of her father's assets taken away by those greedy bastards, she found that diamonds were truly a girls best friend. No one wanted to touch the diamond business. They didn't want to sully their hands, or pursue diamond mines that were probably dried from generations of excavation. But diamonds still paid for her satin throw pillows and premium exotic cosmetics. But besides that veil of glamour... she spent most of her money on technology. As the Belgians have traditionally pursued, much of her money has been spent on the latest technology. Better mining equipment for the mines, more efficient machines for the confectionery factories, the latest research in the toy industry. And tools to make thievery easier.
Hence the card key, outfitted to look like a card key from the Cadogan.
“But before you do that, bella, perhaps you can explain to me how you came about the cardkey to the Boss’ room?”
the stranger said, tugging on her wrist. He had a surprisingly strong grip and a cold, hard stare. She looked at him with does eyes, a film of water form over her green eyes
"How else do you think I procured this cardkey? He gave it to me personally... and requested my services, even if I did say that I wouldn't normally do this. But anything for mon parrain. I myself feel uncomfortable coming up here alone, especially with the deposed and somewhat drunk people at the party. I had to make a break for it from the elevator, as a truly disgusting man had tried to— never mind, it's too difficult to say!" she said, slowly freeing herself from his grip and wiping a tear from her eye.
"I know that Monsieur Bucciarelli isn't very trustful of having people in his room, but he trusts me. I've known him my whole life, and... and t-this isn't the first time. But for a nice man who gave me such a beautiful present and offered some protection after the death of my father... well, how else should I pay the favor? My family is truly indebted to the Bucciarelli. Your boss is a truly kind man," she said, fingering the diamond pendant that hung around her neck and sighing. This was perhaps the only viable explanation, and if this man was truly an underling of Bucciarelli, he probably wouldn't try to tamper with the Boss's, ahem, more intimate matters.
This would be a tricky guise to hold. If her memory served correctly, she could easily be playing Yvette Amalberti, Bucciarelli's French goddaughter and a rumored illicit affair of his. Scandalous enough, and from Charlotte's experience, seemed vulnerable enough to be whisked away into such a fantasy. Did she have enough knowledge to play Yvette? She hadn't quite researched the role. The Bucciarelli may have been one of Nik's contacts, and Charlotte may have had interacted with the girl several times, but were the rumors true? Charlotte wasn't too sure.
But she would run with it... until she could either break this guy's front or make a break for it. Bucciarelli's jewels could be stolen tomorrow night. But that would be a wasted night in Charlotte's book. And due to the risk that she puts herself in every time she decides to go shopping, she would never want to waste a night.
She smiled to the Italian and pulled the card key out.
"All I wanted to do was get ready and surprise him. He would never expect it. I aim to please," she said. "I aim to make his heart mine, as that is all he deserves."
She turned around to unlock the door and paused a moment. Within her experience, no one would truly be this innocent or so truly passionate for the older man. Yvette Amalberti did have something up her sleeve as she swished her red wine back and forth and gave calculated, romantic glances to Bucciarelli.
"Though I do suppose I have time for yours as well, before he arrives," she purred.
She placed the card into the card reader, listened to the satisfying click of the unlocking door. She removed the key card and pocketed as the door opened.
"I'm not the only one requiring access to mon parrain's room," she said, sitting herself down on the bed, her eyes quickly scanning for a safe or jewelry box, and then meeting the Italian's emerald eyes. "Just tell me... what are you here for? Where is your card key, mon ami? I am sure mon parrain would have given his underlings cards, especially because it wouldn't make sense for him to ask to have food to delivered to his room while he is making merry downstairs."
She crossed her arms, holding tightly to "Yvette." She wasn't going to drop it until she could deem herself safe to start her shopping spree. And if it entailed charming this obstacle, or convincing the obstacle she was a trusted mistress, so be it. If he was a simple robber, she'd allow him to divide the pickings. If he was going for something other than the jewels, she wouldn't care either way. Bucciarelli was a bastard to broer, and any damage done to the man would be of no concern to her. |
LAIKA OF GS! |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Feb 4, 2015 14:09:15 GMT -8
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Feb 4, 2015 14:08:33 GMT -8
| COME BREAK ME DOWN, BURY ME, BURY ME | If there is one rule that is universally followed by thieves of all varieties, it would be don't get caught. In the event of getting caught, it is obvious that the possible success rate went down considerably. For thieves of high profile, or wishing to maintain a high profile, getting caught would be the end. Charlotte happened to want to maintain a high profile for business, but she knew when to put on the mask of another identity at the drop of a hat. If she had been a thief that needn't care for their identity to be found, she probably would have taken a much flashier edge when it came to building her thieving repertoire. But those thieves rarely last long.
As she wasn't on the guest list for this party in particular, nor had she made an attempt to fashion herself a fake invitation, she wouldn't be able to use the party as an excuse to be in the hall. Of course, the advantage of stealing from a hotel is that there would always be hotel guests that are not part of the soiree. She simply had to keep a low profile, call herself a hotel guest, claim that she had just checked out of her hotel room, her bags had been chauffeured, and she was simply waiting for her passage to Heathrow.
“Good evening. Are you lost, bella?”
Play innocent, play charming. That's what she had to do here. If she was lucky, he didn't see her try her way into the other rooms. If she was unlucky, he caught her trying to get into 434 and hadn't said a thing. And if she were really unlucky, he would be 434's current tenant. From the hotel log she purloined, knew the names of the people who had rented out these rooms, but she knew not their faces. If he wasn't in utter shock over her trying to get into the room, he probably wasn't Bucciarelli.
"Ah, bonsoir monsieur. I wouldn't say so. Would you happen to be the owner of 434?" she said, the corners of her mouth curling into a playfully innocent smile. "I did receive a nudge down there at the party to come pay 434 a visit for a little present."
She pocketed her key card, showing not an ounce of panic.
"If you happen to be Monsieur Bucciarelli, how may I offer my services?" she purred. She hated to play the elite's little kitty, but if that was what was required, so be it. And besides, "Mr. Bucciarelli" seemed like good evening company.
A small price to pay for shopping? They say it's easier to slip by when passion blinds. |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jan 26, 2015 17:58:12 GMT -8
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jan 26, 2015 17:51:20 GMT -8
| 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."
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Nov 25, 2014 13:38:53 GMT -8
| COME BREAK ME DOWN, BURY ME, BURY ME | Parties are serious business.
Time and again, Ciel and she would go off on their own little personal heists. They needed each other to a degree, but cats are independent creatures. When their whims called for it, they went off on their own and did as they wished. Her very first heists were independent heists (if they could be called heists), and so this was no trouble.
It was simple, really. Easy pickings. Sometimes, she would call it "shopping". Sometimes, she would come into hotels under the guise of being a guest for a party... fake invitation acquired of course. The larger heists required real invitations, but for small gigs like this, a fake was good enough. She wouldn't need to show her face at the social event, anyhow. She wasn't interested in tainting her image too much, after all.
She would show up, decked out in livery. She greeted guests and made small talk in the lobby to arouse less suspicion. Keeping them at arms length, she was usually able to slip by and show herself as overshadowed by the other partygoers. She was simply a presence, a placeholder for many of them. They had buried her into obscurity, and so she now revels in it. You take what you're given and twist it to your advantage.
She excused herself from general discussions in the lobby, saying that she would need to go up to her hotel room in order to "powder up and pretty". The excuse usually worked.
The powder up part, the beautiful Ciel Blanc was able to provide her with. A touch of Lancome powder and a touch of blood red lipstick (said to compliment any skin tone) always did the trick. However, her definition of prettying up involved taking her pickings.
And so, that's how she found herself surveying the hotel rooms on the fourth floor. With her automated keycard in hand, she scoured the hallway, ready to take her pickings... |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Oct 21, 2014 17:23:06 GMT -8
We can come up with a lawless target. I'm pretty sure Vash will still be on the case if Feliciano is a particularly successful assassin. Underground targets or not, assassins are dangerous. Uh... how about Ivan? Or actually, since Katyusha is a particularly valuable asset for the lawless and isn't such an antagonist in the terms of Ivan, she might be a more likely target. We can talk to Derp, definitely. I can't wait to chase you through London >w>
We can get into some adventures ahaha, Charlotte often can be found at socialite events, so if you're anywhere high-class, I think that would be easy to arrange. Or... we can even meet accidentally during a heist? Charlotte and Ciel often go poking around hotel rooms for stuff, and if Feliciano does the liberty of researching his targets, it would be interesting to meet another "subtle" criminal. Is Feliciano particularly infamous as an assassin or is he sort of "underground"? Charlotte wouldn't be outright labelled as lawless by the public unless someone catches her in the act of stealing.
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jul 18, 2014 14:33:57 GMT -8
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jul 18, 2014 14:33:06 GMT -8
| 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." |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Jun 27, 2014 14:07:57 GMT -8
@ Antonio:
Certainly! Do you want me to write a starter, or shall I? I just realized that if Charlotte once dated Ludwig... she technically dated Antonio's sister's boyfriend at one point. And Charlotte happened to break his heart badly. Will that be cause for concern? e ue
@ Mona:
He'll sponsor us, then? *O*
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Apr 30, 2014 14:05:53 GMT -8
| 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. |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Apr 10, 2014 7:05:55 GMT -8
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Apr 10, 2014 7:02:08 GMT -8
[attr="class","aprh2"] YOU'RE MY FAVOURITE DRUG  | She was somewhat surprised at the person who opened the door. With these scientific types, there was the recurring theme of ages going towards the elderly, whitened hair, never getting out of the lab, and not being remotely attractive. It seemed this one was still quite young and his hair is simply a light blonde. But perhaps the never seeing the light of day was true if he had the whole floor to himself. And perhaps he could be considered attractive, if not for the dull look in his eyes.
And perhaps it was also surprising that she finally connected the name and the face. She did read up on her economics and business papers to be able to talk of recent events and be able to join in with intellectual circles. Lukas Bondevik had ties with Maximantics. Specifically, this would eventually be his company, or his more-known younger brother, Eirik Steilsson, would inherit. That is, if Steilsson lived long enough. Given some of the gossip she had heard at a recent soiree at another company, Progressive Royal Pharmecutical (which is ironically a competitor of Maximantics), Steilsson probably won't live past his 20th birthday anyways. She was going to take that as a grain of salt— they did have their diatribes with Maximantics, but she had to believe just a bit of it. This meant, though, that the man right in front of her was important. And so perhaps she would have to be, ah, a bit careful with her words, so to speak.
He didn't look like the charismatic type, so to say. She would go with a different face this time, with a different approach than she went with the receptionist. Bribing him was probably not going to be as effective if he had his own money.
"Can I help you, miss?"
"You are Mr. Bondevik, I presume? If so, I would like a word with you," she said, keeping a friendly, polite tone. She would have to gauge the conversation to know which edge to go with. "You see, I placed an order a while ago... Is it okay if I come in? I certainly hope I'm not being a bother, since the receptionist Miss Winston told me that you have this floor to yourself!"
She took off her trench coat and placed it on the coat hanger right outside his door, patting away nonexistent dust from the outside.
"But yes, I would like to talk business today. I believe you are familiar with my order. If not, I have a copy of it with me, and I would like to discuss the nature of my order."
Today, she decided, she would go with "all-business". She would have to go with being a negotiator. If he decided to go on the argumentative, she had some stories up her sleeves. Hopefully he enjoyed a bit of sentimentality and perhaps some exaggeration. If anything, she could tell he was somewhat surprised that she was at his door. |
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Post by Charlotte Anri van Rosenfeld on Mar 27, 2014 12:22:34 GMT -8
Mkay let's see for Francis first, shall we? Does Francis frolic in socialite environments? If so, it would be a piece of cake (or c'est du gâteau as the French say) to meet up. Perhaps strike up a conversation, and perhaps get Francis to help sponsor her in her quest to rebuild her empire— that is, if he doesn't believe in the slander of her name, of course. Does Francis happen to like underdogs?
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