The Mares Continue in The Night {D3 Train Thread}

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Correction spews from Larceny the moment my words conclude on the ease this train possess for us Thefts to purge it of it’s precious belongings without a threat. Observation, consideration, and cation had always been skills he’s never lacked where I do. But bronze and brains does not separate us in black and white. Rash decisions may fault me, while intelligence still layers us both simply in different mannerisms. That swift judgement of mine has saved us in the past where a second was not provided to tally all possible outcomes, and Larceny’s thorough surveillance had prevented us from grave danger far more often then not. Reexamination glistens in my traveling stare as if the future offered the potential of this heist, as if we weren’t being shipped off the ultimate one already.

Further words of his breach through the momentary silence like he had known of my thoughts once again. If one of us were to overcome this upcoming Game with our breath still intact, then all of this would be ours without even a need to thieve it. And if somehow we managed not merely the ultimate heist, but a legendary one - outdoing the Capitol in the force for us both to live, as Vandal’s convinced that we can accomplish, we’d be the owners of the entire Panem… and we’d steal from it anyways. A sly smirk curls the corners of my lips for this unspoken goal, unwilling to speak of it aloud with conviction that Capitol ears even linger within every wall.

Attention travels to Atticus with the subject altering entirely, aside from the snarky remark to coil from my Twin’s tongue and the shattering bottle he chucked at our Mentor’s proximity. A flinch doesn’t embracing me but rather a chuckle sighs past my own at such brutality, amused by the hardship we can potentially ignite upon a new Victim who’s already gone through the ringer with the Capitol. Does his past nightmare halt me from crafting another for him? Certainly not. And sure enough, Larceny plays along as well.

An option to my offer deceives to life from his thoughts, the possibility of blaming my plan on Atticus as well. It’s pure toying that’s brewing from our lips, though it’s a play often deciphered to be truth to those unaware of our games. But to Atty? Annoyance seems to shine from his features, his comments as well - though both alike don’t bother with the severity of our words like others would. He breaks from his seat, leaving behind his mind altering beverage, and closes some distance between us as if we were no threat at all. Brows furrow above my eyes in distaste to this contentment of his.

A request spikes from his vocals, like he pertains the power to do so, to not blow anything up. Apparently his salary of luxury isn’t enough to prevent mayhem. He had killed to gain his current placement, endured hell to be where he is, but diffusing bombs is where he draws the line. Fear doesn’t cocoon me, it never has, to any superior. All 4’10 of me completes the elimination of the distance between us, like my stance actually reached six feet before him.

“And I don’t get paid enough to be sentenced to my possible death, but you don’t see me complaining.” My words bite back to his own, testing the waters of our new company. Not a muscle budges from my seek to be intimidating inches ahead of him, though my vision does turn back to Larceny in this faux planning over our imaginary mission of humor. “But if we framed it on Atty that’d mean we didn’t succeed in escaping. Maybe the best decoy would be a murder, that’d surely distract everyone for just the second we need to get out.” And to pinpoint exactly who I’m pretending we might try to kill, my stare returns to Atticus.

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