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S T A N D  O F F

—aka, what does a con artist face off look like? something like a hug with a spider

INT—A BALLROOM.

PARIS, FRANCE — NIGHT.

SCENE VI.

You might be wondering what happens when a con artist meets another con artist in the middle of a play/game/scene. One you didn't anticipate, which usually means one that threatens your share of the loot.

Especially if the very loot is obvious, which means the other con artist is also vying for it too.

Now, how do I explain to you who Joseph Evans is?

It isn't a very complicated story, and we weren't lovers— or one night stand degree by any grand proclamation. Haven't even kissed the man, I'm sure. He wishes.

But Joseph Evans was a beautiful man, his money makers being his good looks and woefully manipulated charm. He was tall with well kept muscles and an ever bronze tan with a hint of freckles on his shoulders to just make him a tad adorable. He's got unnaturally white blond hair (which I know is dyed for a fact), too straight pearly whites, and a mesmerising shade of brown. Coupled with long lashes and a full bottom lip— your purse strings are loose to his presence.

His usual marks were rich older ladies who have too much money on their hands than sense and warning signs, husbands that don't care or cheat or both, usually too lug up on their own vices to notice their wives' indiscretion (or didn't care enough to see it; seeing the popped pills and too many botox was a smokescreen enough to hide from. After all, the root cause would have been their blatant ignorance and apathy, causing depression and turmoil, and no man with enough money would really care about their wives, much less their turmoils, now would they?), and were easy to manipulate with a good enough smile and stamina.

Sometimes he gets a cherry or two, and you best believe he'd pounce on that sad old sack before anyone can say cawabanga! Cons like him find cherries as the best of the best. Old men and women who had no family to speak of, no one to look for, and at least a few toes in the grave.

It was almost too easy.

In our world— of cons and fickle, dirty, dirty money — it was easy to meet a fellow bastard with a good smile and a quick hand. We almost, always recognise each other quite well, if not, outright met through certain circles only known to the elite of the elite of money-grabbers.

I had met Joseph that way. When I was still under Mama's wing, Joseph was also on practicals to who we called the Cougar Catcher.

Names were creatively uninspired but made way to the point, you know?

And when Mama taught the likes of me to go for the deep pockets of the monstrous, when to smile and when to bare your teeth, and the numerous and wonderful vanishing acts— Joseph liked it uncomplicated.

Find a lonely woman who had a distracted husband with enough pockets for loose change (and then some), and you got yourself a fun little getaway, give or take three to six months.

He worked fast and worked loose, and the last goddamn place I would ever see him was in the arms of a complicated woman with a monstrous family.

And apparently, neither did he think I would be here.

It was very much coming to a tightly wounded showdown only to realise it was going to become a draw.

Because as soon as the music charged the room, forcing the revelry into a waltz, obligating those of upper crust to move their pearly-pulled skins, Joseph had pulled Soo Young into the fray just as Louis arranged us together and led.

Our gazes met in the middle and for a fraction of a second, our eyes widened and a silent agreement came to pass after the initial shock of what in the ever loving hell are you doing here?

If there was one thing con artists of the same pedigree knew was how to operate and communicate in the midst of a delicate situation.

We let the waltz finished.

There was a laugh, a show pony dance of appearing as if we were enjoying ourselves— even making polite and useless conversation with Louis who looked a little disgruntled and amused by it, but I steered him where I wanted him to go, and I was not below stepping on his foot to keep my way. He seemed to figure as much— good boy — and followed my lead.

When the music pitched to the next song, I heard Joseph apologise to go the restroom— dancing in my near vicinity was not amiss, and I tried to find Kristoff in the crowd, try and give him a silent message but he was preoccupied with a small crowd, his cousin Tae Yang and a renewed Yuna beside him. I turned to where Archie kept vigil, a shadow of Kristoff's every movement in the sidelines, with his own, bigger shadow beneath his fingertips.

He looked idle, almost bored, but I knew better. Archie was puppeteering an entire army for his master, and his eyes locked on mine as soon I turned to him.

I raised a finger to my lips and tilted my chin down. It was the only warning I could give. There wasn't a possibility of a microphone to put on me. Then I followed after Joseph out of the ballroom, leaving the spilled laughter to sudden quiet of the corridor.

There was space between us and we were never seen interacting, just in case. That was important.

Thankfully, the lavatories of men and women were only a hallway apart, and just before Joseph turned to the men's enormous double doors, he swept a look behind me, making eye contact, before skipping that hallway and turning a sharp left.

When I reached the sharp left, the doors to an unknown room was just about to close before I slid in. I took note of everything in the area with a quick sweep— empty bathroom, all three stalls open — before landing on the glorified cougar chaser in the middle.

He had an eyebrow raised in disbelief with his hands on his waist as if him appearing was my fault.

When I made sure everything was clear— I hissed at him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Me?" An affronted laugh burst out of his lips. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? Didn't you say you would rather fall into the gutter, drink rat piss and shit it out through a tube— yes, this is word for word — than fall as low as I have?"

"What the hell are you on?" I looked down on him, grimacing. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

"This is Vitton."

"You look like a walking billboard sign, you basic bitch."

Joseph grinned, thrilling into laughter. He wasn't as beautiful when he laughed; Joseph had a laugh that resembled a hyena trying to cough up a fur ball, with his face breaking open into a too wide grin too full of his teeth. This was why he rarely laughed during cons; less perfect presentation is a minus to the total bank.

"Fuck you, Mara."

"Antonina."

"Antonina," he savoured the name with his tongue. "That's actually a very pretty name."

I snorted. "So very glad you approve of it."

Joseph shook his head, smiling in a way as if he was amused by everything about me, his eyes roving me from top to bottom as if I held answers to the universe beneath white silk.

"What are you doing here? Can I hug you?"

"Of course you can, and you tell me first why you're here."

"Isn't the saying ladies first?"

"I am not a lady, nor are you someone who abides by sayings like that, so don't try. We're both doing ourselves a disservice by acting as if we had any good moral bone in our bodies."

"And here I thought it's our bread and butter," he sang, before enveloping me in a hug. Joseph is tall, and though I wasn't a goddamn gnome, it still feels weird to have someone completely tower over my frame.

Though a lot of the boys, Kristoff and his merry men— him and Archie in particular — were both taller than me. And though there wasn't a time where Archie had any cause to wrap his hands around me, I couldn't help but compare Kristoff to Joseph, only because there was a note of familiarity and difference to both.

Where Joseph hugs you loose, his arms tight with his light perfume a penetrating concept— it puts me on my guard. I wait for the ball to drop to show his intentions.

That's the thing about hugging con artists. You never know if they're actively patting around your body, bodice and piles of chiffon be damned, to check out if there is anything to pinch.

It's annoying but it's a habit.

"Yes, that's real white gold and pearl on my hair, and it's owned by my boyfriend, so I'd say leave it be this time, Evans," I muttered against his chest.

On a technicality I can easily jump over (I really do think Kristoff wouldn't give a shit if I kept a few of baubles he supposedly gave me, his enchanting pregnant lover that I am), but Kristoff did seem to have a good scare on Joseph, so why not use your scary boyfriend privileges to good use?

I felt his laugh against my ear.

"That is one terrifying boyfriend you got yourself, Ninabells."

I made a face when we pull away. "Now don't call me that."

He smirked. "I'm here as Park Sooyoung's date."

"Ah. Do I want to know the specifics of that?"

He shrugged. "I have been pleasuring her to get a few more things off my Christmas list. Same old, same old."

I shuddered. "Right, yeah."

He laughed at me. "She's young! She is quite literally one of my younger haunts. Met her in Singapore. Has Park Clan Family Money without actually being part of the Park Clan Family. Has no husband to actively fear from, even if he did care, he can't even blink for himself. The rest of the family doesn't give a shit what happens to them as long as they get monthly reports that, you know, the son and his son are alive. Who cares about a lonely daughter-in-law when she has a pipe of the family cash?

"There's only an ignorant and stupid son prone to excessive bacchanalia, in need of a rich enough friend who doesn't obviously look like he's only there for his money with a good ear and a good dick." Joseph shrugged. "Ex nihilo nihil fit."

He placed his hands on the wash basins as he leaned back against them with a practiced look of disinterest and elegance as he regarded me with a cool eyebrow and calculated eyes. His smile was pretty but it was shrewd.

The thing about con artists— we know the best lies are the closest one to the truth. Enough that the truth bleeds when squeezed.

And there was no lie to dance around in the face of another who knows.

Not who you are, but what you are.

"Now, don't be rude. Tell me why the hell did I just see you in the charming arms of that scary little Park grandson who I'm pretty sure has made people disappear before. Soo Young definitely thinks so. She's got such a barrage of colourful words for her niece and nephews, I tell you. The things I've heard her say about Yuna is a little insane..."

"Well. She is a little insane."

"So she has razored the shit out of an old classmate's hair in elementary because she got jealous?"

I blinked. "Didn't know that but I wouldn't be too surprised."

"She also apparently tried to drown someone at a college party."

"Jesus. How do you know all that? I barely got information myself." I didn't want to say how I didn't even know who the fuck they were when I was first approached by Yuna. That was revealing a chink in the armour. A weakness that couldn't be brought to life in front of shrewd gazes as thirsty as your own parched throat.

Joseph snorted, a hand brushing through his blond hair. "Because despite what you make yourself believe, you're not a horrible person, Antonina. And these people... fuck, they're truly horrible. Soo Young talks about it like it's a scandal worthy of a few weeks of public outcry, spending in the Bahamas, before the world forgets. A slap in the wrist mistake and not like... psychologically disturbing. They make most serial killers sound like jolly little farmers testing out styles of peeling out sirloin. And this is coming from me."

I made a face.

"Honest to god." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Soo Young wasn't even supposed to come. I volunteered to look after Philipp in her stead, thinking I could get a vacation from my cash cow, easy enough gig— too easy enough gig as a matter of fact. Because here I was, already daydreaming about all the sorts of drugs and women I could freely get my hands on — "

"Of course."

He winked. "I was going to follow after like, 'oh yeah didn't see you there', so you know, the son with the already fucked up mommy issues isn't too threatened, until boom, said mommy issues finds out that Kristoff Park, her beloved nephew, had a plot going on that involved Natasha, and boy do I tell you, she does not like Natasha at all— coupled with the fact that the family patriarch was involved, woman didn't even give me enough time to have a whiplash before she hijacked the entire plot and decided she was coming with."

He blew a raspberry. "Sidenote: nothing good comes out of being stuck in a private jet with a woman who looks like her ass is always halfway trying to shit. Fuck, she asked me to please her twice in one plane ride."

"Lovely," I muttered, trying to keep the bile down of that delightful image. "But you still haven't answered how you know them, moron. Stop trying to distract me and answer the question. We don't have much time."

He grinned, all sharp teeth and languid flick of his wrist. Then he shrugged. "Soo Young talks. Her son talks. I think being attached to the vegetative thing they call a husband and father depresses you in some way. They like talking. Did you know he's been in that state for more than a fucking decade? Steer the conversation in a few minced words, casual comments, and boom, you get yourself information. It's why I'm still here. Money's good. Money's real good."

"I can tell."

He did look... luxuriated was the word. It wasn't just his clothes, it was his skin, the determined glow of someone who is paying thousands of dollars to keep it pussy-whipped for clientele.

"Now. Don't be shy. Your turn for show and tell, babe."

"What else is there to say?"

I felt cagey now that the spotlight was on me, everything I know and don't swirling in my head, trying to keep it all straight, but he shook his head as if sensing my walls, smile as poisonous as it was sharp.

I wasn't going to come out of this one unscathed.

Obvious by the first question.

"Fucking him, too?"

"No."

"That's a lie." He barked out a laugh. "You answered too fast, Nins. Can't blame you though, I have my own pair of eyes. If I didn't mind the fifty fifty chance of ending up quartered somewhere who the fuck knows, I'd have gone for that Park too. He looks like he likes it rough. But what I can't wrap my head around is the kind of play you're doing here. They have their eyes on you, you know. When we were on the plane on the way here, Soo Young got a rundown, and I know for a fact she had expert people in retainer and yet your records were wiped."

"It could be that the person she hired just wasn't up to par," he hummed, pushing himself off the wash bin to encroach on my space as an intimidation tactic. He glides like a snake, dancing in the bright lights and shadows. He picked my wrist, sent shivers through my skin as he run a thumb through my arm. "Or Kristoff Park is helping you hide. In which case, you're way too deep into this."

I placed a hand on his chest, pushing him away with a stern look. "Don't try and bully the answer out of me. You'll do more trying to sugar your way through, but uh-uh." I pressed my fingers to his lips when he lowered his head in an attempt to kiss me. "Unless you want Kristoff to indeed quarter you, I'd keep your lips to yourself. But yeah. I'm in deep. Sort of."

"How dangerous? And how much are you getting out of it?"

"Out of it... The world, if things come out positive." I almost, almost snorted.

His eyes flashed. A look I recognised spread across his face. "If it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't, well. You might find my remains quartered somewhere. Just know that I lived a full life and made a fun little gamble to end it all." My fist clenched. But I'm not going to lose. It doesn't work that way. The fear mangled with fury-licked determination.

I will have that man— his fucking family, on their knees if I have to.

"So a fifty fifty chance." He smirked. "I like those odds. I'm in."

"You're in? I never asked you for help."

"And yet, I know things about you that can challenge your little game."

I ground my teeth. "Do you really think I'm making a play like this, with a man like that, and think I'm going to let one word from you ruin everything? You're going to die going against me, Joseph. As much as it might be funny seeing you floating somewhere, you are not going to be the reason I lose everything. This isn't like your usual plays, there's no old lady to fuck the dime out of. My life is hanging by a rope, and someone like you or your veritas isn't going to be the one that destroys everything for me."

"Huh." He looked a tiny bit impress. "For some reason I don't think those are empty threats."

"They aren't." After all, this isn't even my goddamn plan. Joseph didn't need to know that of course, but if Kristoff finds out Joseph is threatening our little spiel...

I really don't think he's going to come out of this breathing.

"Fine." He shrugged. "But I still want in on this. I can help. I know the ins and outs of the family at a more... personal level, and I can spy on Soo Young for you. Adjacent her, Philipp. But Philipp really isn't much of a threat. Give him enough booze to make an alcoholic anonymous shiver, and you're fine. Severely depressed and kind of suicidal. It's the mother that's got her pies in everything. That's moving him."

"Fine." It might be good that I had someone who was just like me in the schemes of things; someone who's got their lives on the line just by being in proximity to the family. There's a lot you can do with two conniving heads than one, too. "First order of business is something that I know you can do well."

He bust out a wide grin, too toothy to be pretty and too pretty to be innocent.

"I'm all ears."

EXT— A ROOFTOP OUTSIDE IN THE COLD.

PARIS, FRANCE — NIGHT.

SCENE VII.

KC was having a rough night.

First, he had to wear a suit that was too tight in places, too straight-cut, bad for mobility which was his entire job, all for the sake of appearances. He pulled at the sleeves, at the hem, every ten seconds in agitation.

If Natasha could see him, or Archie, they'd crinkle their noses at him and at the numerous creases in the suit.

But they couldn't blame him too much.

Carrying a Barrett M82 wasn't an easy thing to lug around. It's a heavy boy, each new angle is just the perfect accuracy. And through the bustle of the streets, the loudness of the night and weather— KC was just thankful that the windows of the building where the gala was being held had an architect who enjoyed long, dramatic windows. Light poured from them, straight to the cold streets.

KC may dislike being in freezing fucking temperatures, frozen in one spot, in one position for hours on end while his eyeballs glisten with ice from the lack of movement— he'd prefer all of this than being in the party.

"Goose and Little Prince is in the West Wing," Hamms' voice crackled through the earpiece. It brought KC from his two hour body lean on the edge of the rooftop. He checked his watch. Three minutes. "Goose slapped the shit out of the Little Prince, got a cut from her engagement ring. They're heading back to the gala. Blond John Doe is MIA. Still no sight of the Angel?"

"Calculating," KC replied, then he mouthed a, 'fuck' under his breath. Three minutes in the bathroom might not be too long for a woman to need— especially because KC saw the dress gown thing that Antonina was wearing and he couldn't even wrap his head around how it all makes sense to fucking piss in it, but KC was on Antonina watch all night. He had watched her enter, dance, and hold her own between Yuna and the cousins. He watched as the Goose made her entrance and how she started talking rapidly to Kristoff, Archie immediately going off with—

"She knows him. Find out everything you need to know about this man."

And while everyone fucking scrambled to find information on the Blond John Doe that they just know fucks Soo Young on occasion, because that's not new, KC watched as the Blond Doe left the gala, Antonina not soon after.

He watched them walk to the bathrooms— thank fuck for no privacy hallways and very thin curtains — before disappearing in the corner bend where the bathrooms were, his line of sight cutting off by building's infrastructure.

Four minutes now.

KC untangled himself from his position, just as Hamms asked again.

"Calculation affirmation?"

"No sighting on my end."

Then the chorus.

"None either."

"Nope."

"Nada."

"Seconded."

Four more soldiers affirmed their lack of eyesight on Antonina La Verne. Nine soldiers, all on Kristoff's orders, wary of the Interpol posts doing the same surveillance.

None of them knowing where Kristoff's Angel is. For the last four minutes.

"Affirmative for contact," KC muttered, moving in rapid succession to tuck the sniper rifle into the corner, marking everything was in order in his nest, before pursuing off and down the rooftop, taking two at a time on the staircase, patting his pistols and knives for their location strapped on his body.

The signal was fried here, but he understood the immediate anxiety of the rest of his soldiers. He could feel them shift; enough of empathy for his position, but having no wish to help him and risk Kristoff's anger. Last time they let Antonina get the better of them, Kristoff made sure they would never make the same mistake ever again.

Kristoff was a good employer. He paid well, there were benefits, and didn't demand much but the basics of what it meant to have an army in his disposal.

But there were consequences for failure.

The memory resurfaced easily, and KC rubbed the back of his wrist in a subconscious tick he was still practicing to get rid of.

"Your job, KC, is to protect her. I don't care if you have to glue yourself to her shadow— if anything happens to her, even if she is the cause of it, you protect her. Anything else is a casualty I'm sure you are more than capable of burying. Her life is tied to you. I don't care about your life, but I do care about hers."

And all of these were in his head when he sneaked into the building, checked every bathroom on the floor he last saw Antonina disappear to, before he came upon a room.

When he heard voices— a glass breaking, he had kicked down the door, gun drawn.

The last thing he ever could think to see was Antonina La Verne, the Blond John Doe, and two FBI agents tangled in some sort of showdown.

Everyone turned to him.

"Well," KC said cheerfully. "Shit."

LATIN TRANS.

Ex nihilo nihil fit. = Nothing comes from nothing.

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This is a 4k build of absolute madness. I hope ya'll like it.

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