So Many Timelines, So Little Time

"I don't think it's that fucking hard to get into this shithole of a house? What's taking you so damn long anyways?!"

"Relax, Bri! Lock-picking is a fine art, or more like a fine cheese aged to perfection," Belle wistfully whispered, starting to wonder about some of her favorite cheeses. "Hey, by the way, what wine would you pair with manchego?"

"What wine would I pair with... Belle, do you not understand we can get caught any-fucking-minute by this bitch's security cameras or her dogs?" Bri looked around nervously, the pit in her stomach growing heavier and heavier as the seconds ticked on deeper into the night. They just needed to go in, steal some of the bitch's cash, maybe some jewelry, flee home and worry about sleeping into the next morning. "How's the picking goin'?"

"Just about done, I think!" Belle's obliviousness to their situation didn't make Bri feel any better.

The pair didn't hear a car beep as it locked after being parked in the small car tent and they also didn't hear the crisp high-heel clicks on the fancy tiled driveway, heading directly towards their direction.

"Belle?" Bri started biting her dirty manicured nails. "Almost?"

A small squeak underneath her gave her the response of "almost" being almost done. Standing behind the pair was the bitch herself, curious about the two low-lives she used to call friends trying to break in. "Lock-picking is my speciality! Like, just grab a rock, just make sure to not dirty your French nails, and throw it at a fancy lookin' window! Then your lock-pickin' needs are, like, done!"

"Also, I'm like, calling the cops."