edgeofyourseat | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's late at night in LA and Laney is up to no good, as usual.

He hasn't tried hooking again since the latest disaster; first he wants to see if stealing will work any better. So he found himself a nice deserted toy store, picked the lock, and opened the cash register with a crowbar.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No," flatly.

She'd behind him now.

"Okay," he says cheerfully, and starts walking away.

A strong, slim, gloved hand wraps around his wrist.

He glances back at her inquiringly.

Girl in a ski mask and a lot of black, a little shorter than him, presumably familiar from that time he got shot in the face.

"Put back what you stole," she snarls.

"...Why?"

"You don't need it," she accuses. "They do."

"...Do you have magical poverty detection powers?" he wonders.

She yanks him back down the alley and swings him around to put him up against the wall.

"Give it back."

His eyelashes flutter.

"Make me," he suggests.

"I don't have to. The police will."

Immediately, he tenses. But he tries to hide it.

"Aww," he says, putting on a disappointed look, "and last time you were so nice about that part."

"Give. It. Back."

He hesitates.

"...And you won't call the cops?"

"No need to."

It makes him want to squirm in a very not-awesome way, but the fact of the matter is, he doesn't really need the cash and he kind of does need to stay out of major trouble for at least another week.

"Okay," he mutters, suddenly uncomfortable. "Fine."

She eyes him through the mask for a moment, then steps back to watch him.

He hooks the crowbar over his shoulder to get it out of the way, then trudges back to the store and opens the door again. It's even easier the second time.

Oh look, he's being shadowed!

As it were.

Yep.

"What's in this for you?" he asks as he gets the door open.

She might have made him put it all back (and, regrettably, not in the fun way), but no force on Earth is going to make him sort the damn bills again. He just leaves them in a heap on top of the wrecked cash register.

"What does it matter?"

Shrugging, he turns away.

"It doesn't, I guess."

"Hmp."

She's eying him closely, wondering whether she needs to search him--

When the pager in one of her pouches lets out one, almost silent vibration, and she straightens up abruptly.

He glances back at her, cocking his head.

"Daddy gonna ask why you're out so late?"

"No," she says, distracted.

"Now leave before I do call the police."