The Accessories

This world is corrupt and the game to be top dog is a bloody battle behind closed doors and private affairs.  The tools of capitalism is no longer just money, bargaining, and connections; but also a secret game of black market deals, backstabbing, and death.  

Introducing The Accessories, an elite and specialized organization of assassins, spies, and thieves to serve in furthering the market game.  The members are highly respected in this society, trained for their jobs since a young age to keep the flow of power and wealth continually shifting instead of pooling under a select group of individuals.  They're employable by most anyone for a supporting fee - from CEOs to worker unions - requests carefully weighed by the organization's board of directors before approval.  

Not every organization is incorruptible, however.  Some boards are paid off, and the checks and balance system is upset.

Each member is specialized under one specific field, and names are a bit peculiar. First names relates to an item, an 'accessory' as it were, which last names clearly define a person as a part of the guild by being a play on word with miss/mister.  Members are usually paired off for support, but solo missions or multiple teams for a larger mission are acceptable.

relevant pics
 
HQ rooftop/lounge/ballroom thing

And this is mostly for my convenience to remember.

Current members - skills (item and wordplay)
Clo Leading - poisons (cloak, misleading)
Anlace Eckt - blades (dagger, misdirect)
Quellazaire E - guns (cigarette holder, missy)
Butane Able - arson (lighter, miserable)
Jewel Terry - hacking (bracelet, mystery)
Riviere Terry - spy (necklace, mystery)
Stetson Lee - tech (hat, miserly)
Mitt Guide - theft (glove, misguide)

idk give descriptions if you'd like, Gabs.

Name
Age
Personality
Appearance
Other

Clo Leading, twenty two, sat within their lounge, a large room of a prismed glass sun room upon the Accessories' head quarters roof which sent rainbows of light everywhere in the afternoon day sun and polished metal floors that reflected as a watery surface. Presently, she was upon the lone off white wicker set across from the winding staircase, reading over a debriefing of a branch of their organization turning spoiled like a fruit left too long on the vine of their influence in this garden of capitalism. Her black elbow length shawl rested upon the furthest armrest on the love seat cushioned in a light chalky grey exposing her more gifted figure's stockier build. A heart shaped face read modestly, as was usual for her expression, but her small, red painted lips pinched slightly in thought. Taking out their own members, how troublesome...

Anlace Eckt, twenty five, scaled the stairs to find his partner at her most likely location. The clicking of his business shoes drew her attention, wide amber eyes shaded by the strong line of her milk chocolate bangs just over top met his lazy looking dark blue eyes, as she thumbed over a page in the document with her hands clad in embroidered brown riding gloves. Very little of her skin was ever exposed, no matter the weather, and he was rather done with asking how she could stand the heat of this greenhouse without a hint of it getting to be too much. In his mere dark pinstriped grey pants, white business shirt, and matching grey vest it was getting to be an annoying amount.

"The others are coming in," he said blandly, always keeping communication with Clo rather short and to the point. With the branch corrupted, HQ called back the members it could to determine who remained loyal. Fixing these messes was such a pain. The board had to be replaced, members bought off to protect those upsetting the check and balance system had to be taken out along with their employers...

She gave a little smile, eyes holding some internal amusement about anything and everything. Clo stood, straightening out her dress of the day - a darker velvet red than her lips, a V neckline top in the fashion of a vest that extended down to her knees covered in black leggings - and pulling her tight long sleeves down just so. Her short cape was taken up upon an arm before she took the lead back towards the stairs with a strut that just bled superiority, but only in the most frustrating of ways, her brown ankle high heel boots clacking.

"Anlace, don't keep them waiting," she called back, a flow to her voice.
The short haired blonde was only a few steps behind. "It would help if you didn't always hang on the roofs."
"I favor topping for a pleasant view, and you know where to look. I fail to see the problem."
She always insisted on trying to continuously have this conversation. Really, he should stop mentioning it. Anlace had learned a while ago to stop double guessing her games, what could be considered flirting from any other person. She was always somehow playing. "Only one pair returned," he muttered instead.
"Shame," was the returned comment while slinging her cape about her shoulders to fasten at her neck.

Rivier lowered herself onto the arm of Mitt's chair, watching over his shoulder as his long, thin fingers deftly tapped away at the ipad settled on his lap. He did not seem to mind, or even notice, as he caught his tongue between his teeth and typed feverishly away. Rivier, expression blank, slowly drifted closer. Her dirty blonde hair slipped over her shoulder and fell right into Mitt's face and tickling his nose. He, of course, sneezed, his black framed glassed going askew.
"Aw, man!" he quickly fixed them and caught the iPad as it slipped between his legs. The screen went black, as the four other iPads had before it. Whoever the mole in HQ was, he certainly had a hacker up his sleeve. Disgusted, Mitt threw the iPad across the room, not even bothering to watch it land.
Mitt rolled up his sleeves and glanced up to Rivier, who lacked a care for personal space and had her face a few inches away. "Which one are you?" She blinked, blue eyes not leaving his face. "Wait, let me guess... Jewel? You gotta be Jewel, you have that freckle on your jaw..."
They both had that freckle.

Quellazaire, twenty four, and Butane, twenty, arrived in the front entrance to the assassins' private quarters, recently returned to HQ from their corrupted agency. Butane pinched over his scrunched eyes beneath his glasses to get rid of the slight sleepiness from travel as Quella dropped her bags promptly on the carpeted marble. The red carpet continued over the webbed black on white stone floor to lead to the center staircase.

Her tongue messed with the backing to one of her spider bite piercings in her dusky colored skin, a look of perpetual boredom fixed on her face. "To my room," she instructed to the promptly present maids while Butane issued a polite thank you and handed his bags over.

Quella's hands propped onto her hips, making a few bangles chime, a black sleeveless sweater hugging her lankiness to her mid thighs tightly. Violet leggings took over down her legs until disappearing into her black and white converse sneakers. Over her right shoulder spilled a thick knot of thinly braided dreds while the other half of her head was bare. Her ears were gauged to about the size of a dime, dual bullets acting as plugs. She looked over at her partner, eyes an unnatural color of florescent blue as her aperture adjusted quickly to focus. Digital eyes made her one of the sharpest shooters presently a part of the Accessories. Her stare usually turned into unsettling territory, never really needing to blink anymore.

"Seems like the lack of attention is the 'make yourself at home' message," she commented blandly, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Butane shrugged, fixing his glasses slightly. He was one of the younger members currently allowed into a partnership, though he suspected it was because there wasn't exactly a gross need for time to teach someone the basic chemistry to make something go boom. He was simply dressed, comfortable khakis and a light blue polo shirt for the travel. "Maybe they're out?" His voice was a note too loud, but mostly by accident from hearing loss. Similarly, his forearms and hands held the patchy evidence of misfires on his beige skin, but he had all his extremities still, which was more than he could say for the few others in his skills set. Chestnut brown hair settled curly on his head over his green eyes, longer in a mopish look.

"Whatever. All I know for sure is I'm fucking starved." Butane only watched her disappear down the left hall as he put his hands into his pockets, standing around.

Riviere's head snapped up, eyes narrowing on a door that led toward the main entrance. Unknown to most, her ears were digitally altered to allow advanced hearing. She tilted her head, listening to the new arrivals.
Mitt looked between the doorway and her, raising a brow. "You know, it's really creepy when you do that."
Riviere shrugged and stood, footsteps quiet as they transitioned from the marbled floor in the lounge, to the carpet that lead to the entryway.
Mitt sighed and watched her go, taking his time to stretch out his long limbs and run a hand threw wayward brown locks. Finally, he stood and followed her. As he entered the entryway, he made no attempt to hide his presence. He walked out the side door, brushing by Riviere as she lurked unnoticed by Butane. "Like I said, creepy."
She shot him a look, crossing her arms and stepping out of her place.

Butane looked over, giving a simple little smile.  "Creepy" didn't really bother him when Quella could comment on the pattern of upholstery someone's interior designer stupidly chose across half a block when staring down the barrel of her sniper.  

"Hey.  Nice to see you again, Mitt, Terry."  Last names were always safest with those two, and he didn't like being wrong about the little things.  The consequences of mistaking the little things gave him enough paranoia from his experiences, and the physical repercussions had him jumpy in most other situations.  

The clicking of heels on the second floor declared the arrival of others before falling silent on the carpet.  "I said we'd be late..."
"Far from my fault," Anlace answered, hanging at the top of the staircase while Clo descended quickly past the maids to briskly approach.  
"Hellohello.  My dear, how lovely to have you back," she said happily.

Butane somewhat struggled with Clo's words, a fast speaker difficult to lip read and help with the muted sounds.  But he smiled when she did, thanking for the welcome, even if it was slightly delayed.

Mitt nodded back, shoving his hands into his worn, loose jeans as Clo entered.
"Unless you turn out to be the mole. Then we'll have to kill you," Jewel added from her spot besides Riviere.
Mitt startled and looked around Riviere, raising a bushy brow at Jewel. "When the hell did you get here?" Riviere smirked, threading thin fingers together with her twin. Side by side, they were identical. Down to the freckles on their noses, they were what people called "mirror twins." Only a skilled eye would spot the Necklace tucked into Jewel's shirt, and the bracelet under Jewel's flowy sleeve. An experienced eye would not even trust that.

"Mitt, always focusing on the prize and never the environment. Such a thief, no wonder Stetson needs to blind the cameras for you," Clo said with a laugh. To be rude? Condescending? It was a strange combination of a polite expression with the grating judgement of skill.

"Loyalties have been checked, no worries," Butane said, rubbing the back of his neck with the awkward moment. Quella came in with two sandwiches, promptly holding one in front of Butane's face for him to take.

"Fucking hell. Just about ready to skin the officials with those tests coming in," she muttered. Patience wasn't a virtue for her, an accent sneaking into her voice - something European, but not well distinguishable with only the minor annoyance.

((twitches shortness))

(puuuuuft, that's not short.)
"Hey," Mitt grumbled, taking it ease. "At least I do more than sit on my ass. Stetson needs to get working on the iPads. I can't get to my games."
Jewel rolled her eyes. "This /is/ the game." She snatched the sandwich out of Butane's hands before he could take a bite and walked away nomming it.
(this is short)

"Oi mini devil. Are you the one just come in from seven hours of travel?" Quella quipped, frowning after her.
"Correct, Jewel? Where are your host manners?" Clo raised an eyebrow at her team member walking by. Erg, embarrassing...
Butane gave a slightly overwhelmed look. "I wasn't exactly hungry, it's fine..."
"Like you need to get more skinny, Miserable," she elbowed him slightly.
Anlace continued to loiter a bit away from the group, hands still in pockets.

(TWITCH)

Jewel smirked, turning on her heel and walking backwards. "Just checking for poisons." She hovered at the door frame, taking a large bite. "... I'll have to do some test and get back to you." She winked and walked off to God knows where, Riviere muffling a soft laugh into her hand as she watched her go.
Mitt shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I'll order some pizza. Hey, 'Lace, you want something?"

"If we're all having something I would join," he said, leaning back against the stair railing at the bottom. "Missions were postponed for you two. Debriefing in four hours after you get settled, the Board would like to organize where you'll fit into the schedule here and figure out the process of recovering the Chicago base."
"You're talkin protocol again an' the listenin dial goes way down," Quella teased, pretending to turn the knob by her ear.
"Might as well listen, I've still got your number beat by seven," he fired back, a small smirk playing at his own expression. The classic rivalry between firearms and blades, basically tradition when going through training.
Quella rolled her eyes. "Blahblahblah. Where's Stetson at, if we're havin some 'family' dinner. Swear base technician screwed with my eyes, I'm seein no evidence on the matter."

"How could you see it if your sight is compromised?" Riviere responded softly, her voice so low only those with sharp hearing or in close distance could hear.
Mitt's lips twitched, nudging her lightly. "Hey. No pulling a swap here." He meant in reference to her twin. He could swear they made a game switching. "I'll make the call. No olives this time though, Clo." He crinkled his nose. "Or you're paying."

"Then nothing absolutely dripping in grease otherwise you'll be taking the laundromat bill when your selections forever stains my dress again," she offered back simply, politely smiling to the thief.

Oh yes, the banter... Butane lapsed into silence, only absent mindedly smiling while his eyes followed whoever was speaking, but the words were slightly too muffled and their mouths moved to quickly to read. The general expression of friendships acquired through training with this group of people, seriousness entirely reserved for missions.

"Steak bombs it is then." Mitt winked at Clo and flipped open his phone, walking towards a quiet hall.
Riviere watched the others, her eyes lingering on Butane. At some point she managed quiet footsteps to his side and raised a hand, snapping her fingers behind his ear. Because that wasn't weird.

The sharp noise made him jump to look over at his suddenly close company, taking a step back for comfort. "Yes, Terry?" He didn't completely lose his hearing, it just wasn't good. Soft conversation like this was difficult, but that was loud enough for him.
" 'Scuse me, twin terror two. What the hell," Quella snapped, suddenly brought back to being aware of her partner's status. The florescent blue colored eyes bore down on the invasion of Butane's space in a full protection mode.

Riviere ignored the others, her other hand raising unseen behind his head and snapping again at a further distance. "Your hearing is off," she stated curiously, studying his reaction. "Why do you not get that fixed?"

He kind of guessed the question off the bat with her curiosity, giving a look to his partner to show that it was okay. "Never really thought it was much of a problem, I guess," he answered quietly, not exactly willing to get into the whole issue of why. Any other person probably would have just gotten it fixed, and he didn't have to worry about the money behind it either. He could just as easily get rid of his burn scars on his arms... It was too much of who he was.

Riviere pursed her lips, her brows scrunching and head tilting in the way it often does when she is trying to understand something foreign.
"Oh boy," Mitt sighed, walking back in on the scene. "What has she gotten herself into now?"

"An embarrassment, as usual," Clo muttered. "Quell, I can show you to your room if you wish to settle? And Anlace, the same for Butane?"
"Don't be dragging me into your sudden housewife motif," her partner brushed off. Though Butane glanced up again to give a reassuring smile.
"It's fine. You can go on..." He preferred the simple company compared to the group discussing all at once. Butane never truly minded the twins, even while they attempted to break his comfort like this.

Mitt grinned and gave Butane a hearty pat on the back. "I'll keep Terry in check for ya." He winked at her playfully, arm resting across his shoulders in a friendly manner, tugging him back towards the common room he game from. "And boy, do I got something to show you... You good with iPads?"

"It...would matter?" Wiring a bomb to a signal and pressing the detonate button? Yeah. Games? Mixed results. It was kind of juvenile to Butane, though he didn't mind it much. Entertainment, right. He just preferred books and simple company to electronics. Perhaps another reason why he never sought to fix his hearing?