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 Reflections of myself
Jamie Moriarty
 Posted: Jun 29 2017, 12:29 PM
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Elementary

Tomorrowland

Jessica is online


35 years old / 40 posts




just point and shoot
REPEATEDLY.
"I think you already know the answer to that. "I usually do," Jamie replied evenly. There was no uncertainty in her words, no attempt to soften her own self confidence or make it in any way more acceptable. Her tone stated that this was what was, and what is, and what would be. At least, she thought so. The young mastermind was still concerned with how to conduct herself, how to brand herself in this world of so many copies and not enough originals. She had the intelligence, but to rise in the criminal world more was needed - confidence, the look she could carry something off rather than whether she really could or not. She was still mastering it, still adapting herself to this new way of living.

"But I like getting the answer from the horse’s mouth." She sipped at her tea. It was still piping hot, far from the cold floor of the studio. She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It had to be getting on for something near one o’clock, but she didn’t feel tired; not yet, with this stranger sitting opposite. Harbouring a petty criminal hadn’t been in her plan of operations but he was proving interesting to talk to, at least.

No one dared to talk to her like this. Not anymore. Out of her little network of people they all knew how to speak to her - and that was with respect. Not the highest respect, Jamie knew; that was reserved for the people who had the real power, for the crime lords and the gangs. But respect, and nothing nearing normal conversation. It was one of the first real talks she’d had with anyone for a while, even if it was about violence and self defence. He was hiding his emotions from her, she could tell, and so was she - but it was nearer normal than almost anything that had happened to her these past months. Hearing his comment, she nodded. "Naturally. I’d expect nothing less. I know the same. You saw my gun." She indicated to the gun that she’d set down moments before. She was lucky, here in America. People were waving guns around all the time. Back in Britain guns weren’t commonplace - not that it stopped the crime groups there.

She laughed lightly. The sound bounced off the walls, the clean and minimalist studio. It was a sharp and harsh sound, somewhat unused - unlived. "We do all have our pasts, though that’s not something someone of your age would usually say. You don't have much of a past to speak of." Jamie assumed she was the oldest here, out of the two of them. "But I’m still curious. Consider it a trade for my shelter." Jamie shifted on her seat, her bare legs tangling with the legs of the stool. She added dismissively, "I don’t usually want to hear about the lives of ordinary people. They scuttle around below my attention. I don’t concern myself with their issues." She glanced to him, turning her head on one side as her voice became softer. "But you don’t strike me as ordinary." It was an investment, wasn’t it? She had never spoken to the homeless before. They were too far from the luxury she hoped she would reach one day, the dizzy heights she would soon occupy. But maybe she could learn something here - if anything whether to employ the homeless in future.

"I’m after the truth, Neal." She flashed a smile. "Ideally. But I can start first, if it’s too much." Information for information, after all. "For example, I can tell you right now you’re surrounded by lies." She glanced to the paintings and gestured to them with her free hand almost airily, as if they were little flights of fancy and not something you could serve time for. It didn’t cross her mind; she wouldn’t get caught. "The paintings. They’re not real. They’re fradulent copies of other, original works of art. I plan to sell them to keep my lodgings here, while I find employees in my chosen profession."

Emphasis on chosen. She could hear her parents’ voices in her head now, as she had since she had made this choice to focus on a life of crime. They didn’t know about this, and she didn’t want them to. But she could hear them nonetheless - inviting her back into the world of English literature, of Law and History of Art and Mathematics. But she was bored of that world. This one was new, with unique challenges.

Speaking of which..."That’s one truth. Perhaps you could reward me with another." She looked at him over the rim of her mug as she took another sip of Earl Grey. "Come. We might as well have something to occupy the hours."

ADD.: Neal Cassidy | WORDS: 806 | NOTES:

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