april
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,307
- Points
- 83
(A collaboration with element)
London, 1967 - Kensington
Fog crept along the cobbled streets of Kensington, curling like smoke around the iron fences and flickering lamplight. Midnight chimed from a distant cathedral bell as the estate of Sir Wallace Harcourt stood in silent defiance of time; its gothic silhouette buried behind a veil of vines and old secrets. Inside its walls slept a collection of stolen masterpieces, hidden from the public for decades. Outside, two shadows approached with the kind of grace honed through years of criminal elegance.
Evelyn Vale moved like a phantom. Her black catsuit clung to her slender form, each movement smooth and calculated. Auburn curls peaked from behind the hood, her lips stained red, though the night was meant to leave no trace. Her eyes were sharp; cognac and cunning as she glided through the greenhouse door, disabling the final security point with the tap of a gloved finger.
Elsewhere, Sabine Laroque descended from above; grappling silently from the rooftop like a silken clad panther. Her dark blue blouse shimmered in the moonlight, tucked neatly into high waisted black trousers. Violet eyes gleamed beneath tousled raven hair as she slipped through an open balcony window, heels clicking softly on polished marble. Her sun-kissed skin caught the soft glow of electric light within just as her smirk caught the air; she was already inside.
And then fate crashed them together. They met in front of a Goya. The two thieves froze; recognition a lightning bolt.
“Vale,” Sabine purred, a hand already on a hidden weapon at her hip.
“Laroque,” Evelyn returned, cool as frost, blade slipping from her sleeve. “Always a pleasure.”
It wasn't. Not since Madrid. They lunged at each other. The scuffle was swift but elegant; two professional cat burglars, dancing in the shadows and tension. Sabine's laugh was low and taunting. Evelyn's blade grazed the collar of Sabine's blouse. But neither noticed the blinking red light nestled in the chandelier.
They were being watched.
A low hum. Then snap! Electric pulses surged through the floor, paralyzing both women with sharp jolts. Not enough to harm, but enough to end the fight.
The walls rotated with mechanical precision. A hidden door opened, revealing a third woman, backlit by the glow of old paintings and new tech.
Ophelia Grey stepped forward; regal in white, her tailored suit and pencil skirt untouched by dust or worry. A long cigarette holder poised smartly from her fingers like a scepter. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her eyes unreadable behind diamond dusted sunglasses. She moved like a myth, heels whispering along the marble floor.
“Well,” she said exhaling. “This is unexpected. Or…maybe not.”
Behind her, armed guards filtered into the room. Evelyn clenched her jaw. Sabine tensed but smiled.
Ophelia inspected them both. “You two have caused a lot of trouble for a lot of very wealthy people. But lucky for you, I have a soft spot for talent.” She paused, turning. “You'll be repaying your debt. Together.”
Sabine arched a brow. “Working with her?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I'd rather go to prison.”
Ophelia exhaled another stream of pale smoke, watching the two thieves with cool amusement. Evelyn and Sabine stood in silence, defiant, furious, their clothes slightly ruffled from their failed heist, pride more bruised than skin.
“There are worse places than prisons,” Ophilia said, walking slowly toward them. “I think it's time to test the new system.”
Sabine's eyes narrowed. “System?”
Evelyn's voice dropped. “What kind of system?”
Ophelia turned back toward her guards and gave a lazy flick of the fingers. “Take them to the lower wing.”
The guards stepped forward immediately.
“If they make it out unscathed,” Ophelia continued, “they're free to go their separate ways. Their little rivalry can continue in the dark.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “But if they don't, if they…crack under pressure, then they'll have no choice but to work for me. Together. On the Barcelona job.”
Sabine scoffed. “You can't be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” Ophelia purred, “deadly serious. Except, we'll. Not so deadly.”
The stone corridors of the estate gave way to an elevator built into the wine cellar. With a low hiss of hydraulics, Evelyn and Sabine were systematically relieved of their clothes save for their undergarments and were escorted into a large underground complex that looked far too modern for an estate built in the 1800's.
Glass walls. Stainless steel floors, ceiling mounted mechanics that glimmered like metallic serpents. And then…laughter. A single giggle, faint and strange echoed from deep within the maze.
“What is this place?” Evelyn whispered.
One guard snickered. “Prototype testing. Non-lethal interrogation. All designed by Miss Grey.”
Before either woman could respond, they were both shoved through a doorway, which slammed shut behind them. The lights flickered on.
A smooth voice echoed through speakers; Initiating assessment protocol: Euphoria.
Feathers dropped from the ceiling like snowflakes; white, pristine and slow. Then the fans kicked in, sending them whirling into a frenzy. Hidden jets in the floor released puffs of air that lifted the feathers, swirling them around Evelyn and Sabine, who were trying to dodge the chaotic flurry.
Suddenly a burst of air shot up Evelyn's leg. She yelped.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Sabine muttered, trying to side step a vortex of floating fluff.
The feathers seemed innocuous at first; until they started sticking. A thin, invisible static field caused the feathers to cling to exposed skin, especially at the neck, underarms and calves.
Worse yet; the hidden air jets burst unpredictably, sending feathers dancing up their torso, across kneecaps and teasing the back of their thighs.
Evelyn tried to keep her chin up; dignity intact as always, but the moment a feather grazed her neck, her lips twitched. She took a sharp breath, blinking fast, her lashes fluttering like she could blink away the rising giggle. But then came the full storm. Static charged feathers stuck to her back, working their way beneath her brazier strap while others taunted her ribs. She slapped at them with futile grace, stifling laughter between clenched teeth.
“Not…funny,” she gasped, voice breaking into a broken yelp as a fan sent a flurry straight across her belly. Her knees buckled, hands bracing against the wall. “Oh my god…this was not covered in my training!”
She tried to twist away, but every movement made the feathers stick more stubbornly.
Sabine; less polished but far more reactive, snorted from the first moment the first puff of air hit her ankles. She flailed as if stepping into a wasp nest, laughter erupting from her throat in adorable peals.
“No…nonono…! Noooo!” She howled, practically doing a tap dance across the floor trying to avoid invisible jets.
Feathers worked their way between her toes and she immediately dropped to the floor, giggling hysterically, only to be blasted repeatedly with soft bursts of cool air that tickled the insides of her arms and thighs.
“Mondieu! You'll pay for this Evelyn!” She screeched, as if the British agent had personally built the system. She tried to crawl on her hands and knees but more gentle puffs of tickly air against her bare stomach only brought her crashing back down again.
The room had become a bedlam of static and laughter. Electric charge danced across the walls and floor, making the thousands of pale plumes stick to everything; hair, skin, lashes. Evelyn and Sabine had been reduced to fits of helplessness, tangled in each other, clutching their sides.
And then…silence. With a loud pop, the soft buzz of static power stopped. A subtle flash of energy crackled through the floor, and the air shifted. The charged tension in the room dispersed in a warm breath, and slowly, magically, the feathers began to fall away, like snow melting mid-air. The two women looked at one another in disbelief as the downy tuffs loosened their grip, drifting gently to the floor in innocent, useless piles.
Sabine gave a weak, wheezing laugh, pulling a stray feather from her hair. “Finally!” She gasped. “I was beginning to think we'd be turned into a pair of decorative pillows.”
With a soft chime, the door ahead slid open. Evelyn straightened, eyeing the threshold suspiciously. “Well, we're not out of this yet.”
The next room was a stark contrast; bright, clinical, and blindingly white. The walls and floors shimmered like polished pearl and embedded within them were countless glass panels, laid out in odd intervals like a broken chessboard.
“Its a maze,” Evelyn said, brushing the last feather off her shoulder.
“It looks simple enough.” Sabine replied.
“Too simple,” Evelyn muttered, stepping cautiously inside.
The moment both women crossed the threshold, the door behind them shut with a sharp clang. Darkness fell like a curtain. And then…the floor hummed.
The first tremors were subtle; just a faint buzzing beneath their feet and fingertips. But it escalated with a whisper of promise. The floor began to pulse rhythmically. The walls behind their backs shivered, almost alive. It was as if being inside the body of someone dreaming.
The vibrations weren't painful, on the contrary…they were maddeningly soft, almost teasing in nature. Like phantom fingers pressing just so against their skin that had already been overstimulated from the previous chamber. Every movement triggered different intensities; step too far left and the floor tingled along the arches of the feet. Brush the wall too closely, and a warm ripple of vibration curled up the spine.
Evelyn let out a surprised shout that turned into a half-laugh, trying to steady herself. “Sabine,” she whispered. “This room is alive.”
“Its worse than the last,” Sabine hissed back, breathless, unable to suppress a giggle as she hugged the wall. “I…I think the panels react when we move.”
Just then, she stumbled, pressing her palm against a high waist panel. The wall responded instantly, humming in swift pulses that slid up her arm and down her ribs. She exhaled sharply and hunched over, her laughter echoing strangely in the space.
The room was pitch-black now, lit only by brief flickers of blue under their feet as they stepped or learned; each step activating a new tremor. It disoriented their balance and assaulted their senses.
Evelyn froze in place, her calves twitching as the ground buzzed beneath her soles, teasing her toes relentlessly.
Sabine bit her lip and tested what crawling would accomplish; but even the palms of her hands set off ripples of tickly zaps, sending her into a fresh, hopeless fit.
“No touching anything, I get it.” Evelyn muttered, attempting to bite back the laughter as she tried to stand upright. But the second she touched the next panel to re-steady herself, the entire surface stirred with soundless waves that kissed along her sides, neck and lower back.
A chime sounded faintly in the ceiling. The floor lit up with brief lines. They were being shown a path, if they could just stop laughing long enough to walk it.
With each step, the girls were forced to strategize; Sabine pressed herself against a corner, trying to trace the cool steel seams of the wall without touching the glass, but failed. Her body jerked at the unexpected buzz across her hips, her giggles intensifying against the onslaught.
Evelyn tried walking heel-to-toe, carefully, only to trip and land elbows down, body flat to the floor. The whole section shuddered, sending wild vibrations across the entire length of her body. She bucked upward in a panic, shrieking.
“Who builds this?!” She cried through laughter, desperately pushing toward the next lit edge.
“A madwoman in heels,” Sabine gasped between her own helpless outbursts. “And we're her bloody mice!”
Every turn brought on more and more intricate tickling; some gentle like fizzing champagne over skin, others deeper, pulsing into muscles, causing breath to catch and bodies to squirm uncontrollably. The room seemed to learn; to detect where they were most vulnerable. Every movement became a fight for their sanity.
After a long, disoriented crawl, punctuated by yelps, protests, endless giggling and near paralyzing sensations, they saw it; a glowing rectangle ahead. The door. Sabine dashed toward it with a ragged, forced grin.
And the floor beneath her erupted in a final, all-out ticklish assault, as if protesting her escape.
She collapsed in a defeated heap. “Go on!” She managed to gasp out. “Save yourself!”
“Dont be ridiculous,” Evelyn replied, reaching down, yanking her toward the door. “We can make it!”
The door slid open silently. Inside was only soft light, two chairs and a new voice from the speaker above.
“That was adorable,” purred Ophelia. “There are eight more rooms, ladies. Shall we talk business now?”
London, 1967 - Kensington
Fog crept along the cobbled streets of Kensington, curling like smoke around the iron fences and flickering lamplight. Midnight chimed from a distant cathedral bell as the estate of Sir Wallace Harcourt stood in silent defiance of time; its gothic silhouette buried behind a veil of vines and old secrets. Inside its walls slept a collection of stolen masterpieces, hidden from the public for decades. Outside, two shadows approached with the kind of grace honed through years of criminal elegance.
Evelyn Vale moved like a phantom. Her black catsuit clung to her slender form, each movement smooth and calculated. Auburn curls peaked from behind the hood, her lips stained red, though the night was meant to leave no trace. Her eyes were sharp; cognac and cunning as she glided through the greenhouse door, disabling the final security point with the tap of a gloved finger.
Elsewhere, Sabine Laroque descended from above; grappling silently from the rooftop like a silken clad panther. Her dark blue blouse shimmered in the moonlight, tucked neatly into high waisted black trousers. Violet eyes gleamed beneath tousled raven hair as she slipped through an open balcony window, heels clicking softly on polished marble. Her sun-kissed skin caught the soft glow of electric light within just as her smirk caught the air; she was already inside.
And then fate crashed them together. They met in front of a Goya. The two thieves froze; recognition a lightning bolt.
“Vale,” Sabine purred, a hand already on a hidden weapon at her hip.
“Laroque,” Evelyn returned, cool as frost, blade slipping from her sleeve. “Always a pleasure.”
It wasn't. Not since Madrid. They lunged at each other. The scuffle was swift but elegant; two professional cat burglars, dancing in the shadows and tension. Sabine's laugh was low and taunting. Evelyn's blade grazed the collar of Sabine's blouse. But neither noticed the blinking red light nestled in the chandelier.
They were being watched.
A low hum. Then snap! Electric pulses surged through the floor, paralyzing both women with sharp jolts. Not enough to harm, but enough to end the fight.
The walls rotated with mechanical precision. A hidden door opened, revealing a third woman, backlit by the glow of old paintings and new tech.
Ophelia Grey stepped forward; regal in white, her tailored suit and pencil skirt untouched by dust or worry. A long cigarette holder poised smartly from her fingers like a scepter. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her eyes unreadable behind diamond dusted sunglasses. She moved like a myth, heels whispering along the marble floor.
“Well,” she said exhaling. “This is unexpected. Or…maybe not.”
Behind her, armed guards filtered into the room. Evelyn clenched her jaw. Sabine tensed but smiled.
Ophelia inspected them both. “You two have caused a lot of trouble for a lot of very wealthy people. But lucky for you, I have a soft spot for talent.” She paused, turning. “You'll be repaying your debt. Together.”
Sabine arched a brow. “Working with her?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I'd rather go to prison.”
Ophelia exhaled another stream of pale smoke, watching the two thieves with cool amusement. Evelyn and Sabine stood in silence, defiant, furious, their clothes slightly ruffled from their failed heist, pride more bruised than skin.
“There are worse places than prisons,” Ophilia said, walking slowly toward them. “I think it's time to test the new system.”
Sabine's eyes narrowed. “System?”
Evelyn's voice dropped. “What kind of system?”
Ophelia turned back toward her guards and gave a lazy flick of the fingers. “Take them to the lower wing.”
The guards stepped forward immediately.
“If they make it out unscathed,” Ophelia continued, “they're free to go their separate ways. Their little rivalry can continue in the dark.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “But if they don't, if they…crack under pressure, then they'll have no choice but to work for me. Together. On the Barcelona job.”
Sabine scoffed. “You can't be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” Ophelia purred, “deadly serious. Except, we'll. Not so deadly.”
The stone corridors of the estate gave way to an elevator built into the wine cellar. With a low hiss of hydraulics, Evelyn and Sabine were systematically relieved of their clothes save for their undergarments and were escorted into a large underground complex that looked far too modern for an estate built in the 1800's.
Glass walls. Stainless steel floors, ceiling mounted mechanics that glimmered like metallic serpents. And then…laughter. A single giggle, faint and strange echoed from deep within the maze.
“What is this place?” Evelyn whispered.
One guard snickered. “Prototype testing. Non-lethal interrogation. All designed by Miss Grey.”
Before either woman could respond, they were both shoved through a doorway, which slammed shut behind them. The lights flickered on.
A smooth voice echoed through speakers; Initiating assessment protocol: Euphoria.
Feathers dropped from the ceiling like snowflakes; white, pristine and slow. Then the fans kicked in, sending them whirling into a frenzy. Hidden jets in the floor released puffs of air that lifted the feathers, swirling them around Evelyn and Sabine, who were trying to dodge the chaotic flurry.
Suddenly a burst of air shot up Evelyn's leg. She yelped.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Sabine muttered, trying to side step a vortex of floating fluff.
The feathers seemed innocuous at first; until they started sticking. A thin, invisible static field caused the feathers to cling to exposed skin, especially at the neck, underarms and calves.
Worse yet; the hidden air jets burst unpredictably, sending feathers dancing up their torso, across kneecaps and teasing the back of their thighs.
Evelyn tried to keep her chin up; dignity intact as always, but the moment a feather grazed her neck, her lips twitched. She took a sharp breath, blinking fast, her lashes fluttering like she could blink away the rising giggle. But then came the full storm. Static charged feathers stuck to her back, working their way beneath her brazier strap while others taunted her ribs. She slapped at them with futile grace, stifling laughter between clenched teeth.
“Not…funny,” she gasped, voice breaking into a broken yelp as a fan sent a flurry straight across her belly. Her knees buckled, hands bracing against the wall. “Oh my god…this was not covered in my training!”
She tried to twist away, but every movement made the feathers stick more stubbornly.
Sabine; less polished but far more reactive, snorted from the first moment the first puff of air hit her ankles. She flailed as if stepping into a wasp nest, laughter erupting from her throat in adorable peals.
“No…nonono…! Noooo!” She howled, practically doing a tap dance across the floor trying to avoid invisible jets.
Feathers worked their way between her toes and she immediately dropped to the floor, giggling hysterically, only to be blasted repeatedly with soft bursts of cool air that tickled the insides of her arms and thighs.
“Mondieu! You'll pay for this Evelyn!” She screeched, as if the British agent had personally built the system. She tried to crawl on her hands and knees but more gentle puffs of tickly air against her bare stomach only brought her crashing back down again.
The room had become a bedlam of static and laughter. Electric charge danced across the walls and floor, making the thousands of pale plumes stick to everything; hair, skin, lashes. Evelyn and Sabine had been reduced to fits of helplessness, tangled in each other, clutching their sides.
And then…silence. With a loud pop, the soft buzz of static power stopped. A subtle flash of energy crackled through the floor, and the air shifted. The charged tension in the room dispersed in a warm breath, and slowly, magically, the feathers began to fall away, like snow melting mid-air. The two women looked at one another in disbelief as the downy tuffs loosened their grip, drifting gently to the floor in innocent, useless piles.
Sabine gave a weak, wheezing laugh, pulling a stray feather from her hair. “Finally!” She gasped. “I was beginning to think we'd be turned into a pair of decorative pillows.”
With a soft chime, the door ahead slid open. Evelyn straightened, eyeing the threshold suspiciously. “Well, we're not out of this yet.”
The next room was a stark contrast; bright, clinical, and blindingly white. The walls and floors shimmered like polished pearl and embedded within them were countless glass panels, laid out in odd intervals like a broken chessboard.
“Its a maze,” Evelyn said, brushing the last feather off her shoulder.
“It looks simple enough.” Sabine replied.
“Too simple,” Evelyn muttered, stepping cautiously inside.
The moment both women crossed the threshold, the door behind them shut with a sharp clang. Darkness fell like a curtain. And then…the floor hummed.
The first tremors were subtle; just a faint buzzing beneath their feet and fingertips. But it escalated with a whisper of promise. The floor began to pulse rhythmically. The walls behind their backs shivered, almost alive. It was as if being inside the body of someone dreaming.
The vibrations weren't painful, on the contrary…they were maddeningly soft, almost teasing in nature. Like phantom fingers pressing just so against their skin that had already been overstimulated from the previous chamber. Every movement triggered different intensities; step too far left and the floor tingled along the arches of the feet. Brush the wall too closely, and a warm ripple of vibration curled up the spine.
Evelyn let out a surprised shout that turned into a half-laugh, trying to steady herself. “Sabine,” she whispered. “This room is alive.”
“Its worse than the last,” Sabine hissed back, breathless, unable to suppress a giggle as she hugged the wall. “I…I think the panels react when we move.”
Just then, she stumbled, pressing her palm against a high waist panel. The wall responded instantly, humming in swift pulses that slid up her arm and down her ribs. She exhaled sharply and hunched over, her laughter echoing strangely in the space.
The room was pitch-black now, lit only by brief flickers of blue under their feet as they stepped or learned; each step activating a new tremor. It disoriented their balance and assaulted their senses.
Evelyn froze in place, her calves twitching as the ground buzzed beneath her soles, teasing her toes relentlessly.
Sabine bit her lip and tested what crawling would accomplish; but even the palms of her hands set off ripples of tickly zaps, sending her into a fresh, hopeless fit.
“No touching anything, I get it.” Evelyn muttered, attempting to bite back the laughter as she tried to stand upright. But the second she touched the next panel to re-steady herself, the entire surface stirred with soundless waves that kissed along her sides, neck and lower back.
A chime sounded faintly in the ceiling. The floor lit up with brief lines. They were being shown a path, if they could just stop laughing long enough to walk it.
With each step, the girls were forced to strategize; Sabine pressed herself against a corner, trying to trace the cool steel seams of the wall without touching the glass, but failed. Her body jerked at the unexpected buzz across her hips, her giggles intensifying against the onslaught.
Evelyn tried walking heel-to-toe, carefully, only to trip and land elbows down, body flat to the floor. The whole section shuddered, sending wild vibrations across the entire length of her body. She bucked upward in a panic, shrieking.
“Who builds this?!” She cried through laughter, desperately pushing toward the next lit edge.
“A madwoman in heels,” Sabine gasped between her own helpless outbursts. “And we're her bloody mice!”
Every turn brought on more and more intricate tickling; some gentle like fizzing champagne over skin, others deeper, pulsing into muscles, causing breath to catch and bodies to squirm uncontrollably. The room seemed to learn; to detect where they were most vulnerable. Every movement became a fight for their sanity.
After a long, disoriented crawl, punctuated by yelps, protests, endless giggling and near paralyzing sensations, they saw it; a glowing rectangle ahead. The door. Sabine dashed toward it with a ragged, forced grin.
And the floor beneath her erupted in a final, all-out ticklish assault, as if protesting her escape.
She collapsed in a defeated heap. “Go on!” She managed to gasp out. “Save yourself!”
“Dont be ridiculous,” Evelyn replied, reaching down, yanking her toward the door. “We can make it!”
The door slid open silently. Inside was only soft light, two chairs and a new voice from the speaker above.
“That was adorable,” purred Ophelia. “There are eight more rooms, ladies. Shall we talk business now?”
