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Bullet-Nicked
Hoodies were a fantastic invention. Not only were they comfortable, they also hid shape, size and gender, and although a pulled-up hood might imply you were doing things of a shifty nature it was hardly illegal. There were no buttons to snag, no ties to catch, and they were so common that no-one looked at you twice. Vyvian favoured green. The colour choice was of no particular use to her work-wise and was chosen simply because she liked it. A good, solid colour, unremarkable and easy on the eyes. Practical.
All it took was a single mistake and bad timing, mixed in with a healthy dose of greed. She hadn’t needed this particular heist. She and the gang were set for at least a year with their last haul even with considerable spending taken into account. It wasn’t necessary for her leave the manor without telling anyone where she was going, nor to go about this break in by herself. Dominic would have helped. Any of them would have. She didn’t need this time alone, the hefty and ugly necklace that dug accusingly into her palm as she ran, and she most certainly didn’t need that damn bounty-hunter galloping somewhere behind her. Tonight she just wanted it. A guilty pleasure, a shot of adrenaline and this invisible itch would be scratched if only for a little while.
Kleptomania didn’t cover it. Stealing wasn’t a compulsion for her. It was handy, certainly, and it kept the bills paid and a rather ornate ceiling over her head but she could be leaving empty handed and be happy. There were very few things that gave the same thrill as being where you weren’t meant to be and the possibility of getting caught. Yes, caught. She didn’t want to be, didn’t plan to be but the threat had to be there or it just wasn’t any fun anymore. That’s why, when she’d slipped across her own neighbourhood and just walked into one of the houses – well, not quite, but close enough – she’d been disappointed to find that the family had gone away for the weekend and left the house unattended. Boring, and she’d planned on just walking through the place out of curiosity until she’d set sight on something shiny and thought, well, why the heck not?
Whatever they said about curiosity and cats also applied to brown-haired, grey-eyed thieves named Vyvian. No sooner than she had palmed the outrageously gaudy and no doubt expensive piece than she’d heard a familiar voice echo through the hall. There were only two people who could mix disinterest and disdain so potently, yet still be glad to see you, and only one would bother coming after her. Virgil Passado, resident grouch of the bounty-hunting groups of the area, had a tendency to show up when she least wanted or expected him to. It was both frustrating and flattering that he paid so much attention to her and her little ‘company’, taking care to keep such a close eye on them that he never missed a heist. Never ever. It bordered on creepy.
A shot grazed the marble tiles beneath her feet and she ducked behind an antique sofa to catch her breath. How the hell had Virgil found her in here anyway? Even she hadn’t planned this little run; she’d just walked out the door and into the wealthy home at whim. No plans, no way to track her movements, there was only one answer and that was just a little too creepy. The tell-tale cock of a gun sounded just above her, and she leant backwards, gazing up the muzzle to the familiar, stoic face hovering above it. She knew him well enough to interpret that subtle lip twitch as a smile.
“Got you.”
Like hell. It was reckless for her to reach up and pull his gun away, especially from that position, but Vyvian had always been slightly reckless no matter what the others thought. A bullet pierced the carpet as Virgil jerked off a shot in surprise but by then the thief had rolled to the side with her prized clutched to her belly. He would never have shot her at such close and deadly range; whatever Virgil’s hit records might imply about the ‘dead or alive policy’ – and she’d checked every single one of them – he wasn’t trying to kill her. If he was, she’d have been dead a long time ago. Yet here they were in a routine cat-and-mouse game and she was going to milk his reluctance to hurt her for all it was worth. A Ming vase, she’d checked and it was imitation, went chattering into the wall next to the bounty-hunter’s head as Vyvian bolted back into the dimly lit corridor. She fought dirty but wasn’t that the point? The aim of the game was to win and right now her score was so high above Virgil’s that she no longer even bothered to keep track. She’d never lost. She wasn’t better, stronger or faster, not by much if by any at all, but unlike Virgil she didn’t have to hold back. Her gun, Louise, would stay firmly in her holster until the last second and until then, she’d just keep running.
Pale shafts of moonlight slunk through the venetian blinds as she ran down the corridor, hardly registering his footsteps pounding against the carpet until he began squeezing off shots again. She had to get down the stairs because the last time she’d jumped from the third floor, Dominic had piggy-backed her from the scene to keep her off a fractured ankle. Dominic wasn’t here and it was time for her to take a chance.
The door of the room she ducked into closed behind her with a satisfying thunk, good, thick wood and steel between herself and Virgil. Bolt, lock, and the only thing she had to confront for the next few minutes was the large four-poster bed that dominated the bedroom. Easier to go over than around, the silk sheets came untucked as she slid her way over to the window. By now the door was jumping in its hinges as Virgil assaulted the handle, and there was no other way out except out and down. Shaky hands – when had that happened? – fumbled with the outdated locks to throw the window up. Curtains tumbled into her face as the cool spring breeze brushed past and it was obvious that this was the end of the line.
Virgil was sick of jiggling the lock and a loud crack meant that he’d begun shooting at the lock. Like something from a horror film the door creaked open ever so slowly and his shoes, beautifully polished and zipped up tight, were muffled by the thick carpeting of the bedroom. Aside from the rumpled bedsheets, strewn about as if someone had been roused suddenly from their sleep, and the billowing curtains the room was completely intact. The rude rumblings of a garbage truck passing in the street broke the heavy silence, and as the sound died he suddenly became aware of his own heavy breathing. It was obvious where she’d gone and a smirk tugged at this lips. Too obvious. She wouldn’t have jumped. Keeping close to the walls so that no traitorous floorboards would give him away, Virgil inched towards the window and ever, ever so slowly pressed his back against the wall and glanced down. Nothing. He frowned a little and muffled the cock of his gun in his coat, before whipping it out and leaning out the window, his aim at the sky. The moon smiled down at him and he tensed, the sound of safety being switched off on a weapon not his own setting the hair on the back of his neck on edge.
Her hair mussed and pulling free of its braid, the triumphant grin on Vyvian’s face was both uncharacteristic and ever so slightly maniacal.
“Got you.” It widened ever so slightly. “Put the gun on the floor, Virgil.”
Like hell. His position wasn’t a good one and it was a relief to pull himself back inside and out of the chill. Despite the pistol – Vyvian’s favourite, an elaborately engraved six-shooter from who knows how long ago – Virgil’s little smirk remained in place. Ember eyes grabbed at Vyvian’s grey as he ever so slowly bent down to rest his own pistol on the floor. As it touched the carpet Vyvian appeared to relax, and it was enough for Virgil. Dropping to a crouch he snatched up his weapon and squeezed off a shot. It hit it’s mark, just catching Vyvian’s hand and causing her to lose her grip on the weapon, and with the thief nursing her own hand to her chest Virgil leapt over the corner of the bed and struck out at her. A short grapple followed, him trying to get her against the wall, against the bed, anything where he could get a good aim and subdue her and her grabbing at the gun, his face, anything to make him let go. He didn’t want to shoot her, and she refused to be caught. Her fingers caught his eyes and he finally let go of her hoodie, stumbling backwards and she grabbed her gun and ran. The thought of shooting him dead there and then never crossed her mind and the gun was shoved into her pocket, safely out of the way.
Dawn broke, and Vyvian had reached a dead end. As she’d scampered down the corridor for the second time she’d found the stairs but had been unable to get down them, Virgil’s shots raining splinters from the wooden balustrades whenever she made a dash for it. He was trying to keep her up there and she’d got herself cornered, just like he wanted. Her breath was short and ringing in her ears as she glanced around. She could hide again but that wouldn’t save her for long, and both of them were getting sloppy. Nicks marred her jacket, her arms, and her hand was still bleeding, and Virgil’s aim was slipping. One of them would get hurt if this kept up and there was no way she was going down.
De ja vu permeated the air as she yanked the solitary window at the corridor’s end open and let the night in, though this one lead to a balcony rather than a sheer drop below. Less than a foot, for decoration more than anything else, the wrote-iron railings hung over the main street complimenting the overtly fancy lampposts of the neighbourhood. Vyvian could see her own place from here, within walking distance, and realised with a cynical smile that she’d fallen into the generic criminal patterns. Robbing her own neighbourhood, how typical. It wouldn’t happen again. Her gloved hands ground into the barricade and Virgil’s steps
She stood in a rectangle of the setting moon for a moment as Virgil’s footsteps slowed and halted behind her. No longer holding the element of surprise, Vyvian knew she couldn’t out-gun the sniper like this; she’d be down for the count before she even drew.
“You can’t jump it, Vv.” First name basis, he was worried he was going to do something stupid. She’d been thinking about it too because this time she was cornered. This time she couldn’t outwit him. Her hands tightened around the railing and in one fluid motion she’d sprung up, catlike, to balance on the thin iron strips designed to prevent this sort of thing. Her arms shot out to balance herself as she teetered, ever so close to falling, but the look on Virgil’s face was worth it. Slack jawed and bug-eyed, he looked torn between threatening her and rushing over to pull her back inside himself, completely surprised. She was rather shocked at her own daring herself. This sort of stunt was Mana or Dominic’s style, not something the normally practical, sensible leader of the Anna-Louise ‘company’ would pull. She was here now. She closed her eyes and forced a smirk onto her face, feeling herself lean a little closer into the room.
“Get down, Lee!” Ah, he was angry now.
“No.” Contrary, she cocked her head to one side. She’d found her balance now and was well aware that Virgil would not shoot her down like this, and it was only with that knowledge that she finally noticed that whatever it was she’d stolen in the first place had since been dropped along the way. Tcht, she was losing her touch. “How about we call it a draw?”
“The hell? Vyv, get down now and you know I…look, you won’t get hurt, alright?”
No, but she’d have to escape from handcuffs again and that never went so well. A deep grumble was trundling towards them below, headlights pushing back the setting moon, and Vyvian’s smirk became genuine.
“Can’t make me.” So what if she was feeling childish? In a moment of insanity jumped, not forwards towards Virgil but back into the night, the feeling of wind rushing past her ears and her hood and hair streaming upwards after her. She vanished within a second and Virgil didn’t move for two, then ran to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Nothing, just the angry red tail-lights of the light-night lorry short-cutting it’s way through the deserted pre-dawn streets. It was difficult to tell if the short sigh he breathed was one of annoyance or amusement, and he slipped his pistols into their holsters with a shrug. Unhurried he shoved his hands into his pockets and replaced his steps through the deserted house, ignoring the bullet-nicked furniture, walls and the dawn slowly creeping in from the east. The bedroom, one of five or more, was cold as the curtains buffeted about of their own will but he ignored those too, instead stooping to pick up the rather horrendous necklace Vyvian had dropped. It was shoved into his pocket and with a casual, comfortable gait, Virgil walked out of the house as if he belonged there.
She’d had the wind knocked out of her and her ankles ached from breaking the fall, but as Vyvian Less lay sprawled on her back on top of a lorry heading for nowhere, a huge smile split across her face. There was a sliver of dawn on the horizon.
Er, it's barely proof read and probably awful, but I wanted to get it up fast. Might re-read and fix later if I need to. XD
...IalsorealiseIsuckatactionscenes,don'tkillme.
Virgil belongs to Joejoe
Mana belongs to Leyla
Dominic belongs to Chelsea
Vyvian is mine. Back off!
