Mark acquired

She couldn't help but smirk, these stupid rich people were far too trusting of their staff. Shoving priceless furs, and overcoats of the most decedent fabrics at anyone in all black. On an average day she would simply riffle through the pockets; often scoring some forgotten, but still precious, jewelry, the occasional bank note, and sometimes if she was lucky....secrets. The wealthy could really be naïve sometimes, thinking themselves safe from thieves in one of New York's finest and most lauded restaurants.

            Today, however, she decided to up her game. Today she was going to take a few of these carelessly cast-off furs and make herself a small fortune. She wouldn't get caught; she was too smart for that. Fake furs were easy enough to come by, and most of these frufru ladies couldn't discern fox from mink. So it was little effort to pass off synthetic fur off as the real deal. Her fingers tingled in anticipation as her least favorite socialite in the world came into view.

            Donnatelle Marsconia, a beautiful stick thin woman with the palest skin that made even the moon jealous. She always wore the same fur, one that Isla always coveted. A sleek coat of soft, slippery grey fur, always glinting so perfectly off of any light that glanced upon it. The coat had always seemed too big for the waif of a woman, even though Isla was sure that Donnatelle stood every bit of six foot. The coat was just as much an accessory as Donnatelle's miserable and brooding looking lover. He was also a thing coveted by Isla, tall and broad with the most sensual lips, despite their consistent tensed position, with hair the same shiny color of the soft coat. Isla thought that maybe that's why Donnatelle wore it, so that her accessories would match to stake a claim on him. She wonder, in an amused way, if his hair was as soft as the coat.

            Isla knew that this coat would be the hardest to steal away, Donnatelle rarely checked it in no matter the venue. Something about the coat had always called to Isla, she knew that she had to have it. But this one was for personal use, rather unlike those she already squirreled away in her hiding place behind the dumpster in the poorly lit alley way where the staff took their smoke breaks.

            "Servant girl," a waspish voice called, drawing Islas hungry eyes away from the shiny silver treasure. Donnatelle glared at her with a gaze of honey colored orbs filled with the kind of superiority that only came with having far too much money. Her moonbeam pale arm stretched out holding the grandest object of Islas affections over her forearm. Isla let her eyes flicker to Donnatelle's evening companion, whose pink bottom lip was caught between straight white teeth and his obsidian eyes tracked the movement of the fur with almost as much desire as her own. This struck Isla as strange, but she quickly let the feeling go as euphoria of finally getting her little hands on the fur set in.

            "I'll gladly take that for you, madam," she purred, reaching out exuberantly only to have her fingers barely brush the silky surface before Donnatelle jerked it from her reach with a haughty scoff.

            "Not the fur!" Donnatelle hissed, Isla could swear her honey eyes flashed an angry red for a second, "MY MANS overcoat, you simpering idiot."

            The way she emphasized 'my man' made Isla cringe internally, like he was a possession more than a lover or equal. Drawing her hands back quickly she gritted out her best customer service smile, whipping her slightly damp palms over her tight pencil skirt. At least she got to get her hands on ONE thing she wanted tonight, Donnatelle's date was dressed fashionably as always. A black satin overcoat covered a dark grey suit that reminded Isla of the seas reflecting the night sky after a storm, all impeccably tailored to fit his sleek, but arguably well muscled form, of course. Slipping behind him Isla realized just how tall this man she'd only really seen at a distance really was. The top of her auburn topped head just brushing under his chin, even in her impossibly tall heels.

            "Allow me, sir," she said quietly, sliding her hands over his tense satin covered shoulders in attempt to slip the well fitted garment from his tense frame. She could have sworn she heard him breath 'sir' incredulously and almost amusedly, as he slid his coat from his shoulders. She allowed her fingertips to brush the edge of his grey toned hair, touching is was the next best thing to getting her paws on the coat. With a shiver, she was pleased to find it just as silky and soft as she always hoped, and the already tense man seemed to tense even further as if that was even possible. Reluctantly, she twirled away folding his overcoat over her arm giving Donnatelle another oh-so-polite smile.

            The man with hair like starlight held out the crook of his arm to the svelte honey eyed demon, but his cool black eyes never left Islas small figure. She could have sworn there was pleading look in those eyes as he escorted the preening woman, whose clawed fingers dug into his bicep in a way Isla was sure caused him no small amount of pain. As she walked back to the coat room, feeling defeated, she buried her nose into the satin fabric taking in a greedy inhale. Scent of ocean air, and maleness eased her bruised ego.

            Isla liked to think that she had the patience of a saint, she could wait for a mark for hours. Of course saints probably weren't saints because they waited to rob people, but she couldn't help herself. She had always had an undeniable urge to take things, even as a young child much to the chagrin of her benefactors. It started as particularly smooth stones, or an apple from the kitchen; but it slowly evolved to shiny things, or little notes meant for one of her classmates confidants, and then finally brought her to slipping into venues of the rich and famous to take things of greater value, to her or others.

            So standing in the oddly dry underground lair that housed a horde of stolen and shiny goods while she waited for the growly man to determine how much he would give her for the furs she had amassed, and the secrets she found, severely tested her. Taking from Derick was not something that was advised even to the best of thieves.  Rumor has it that the last person who attempted to make away with one of his treasures was found scorched on the bank of the docks nearby. The fear was just enough to keep Isla's hands from wondering over the jewels strewn over the counter on a bed of ancient silk.

            "Nothing exceptionally rare here, Red, but I think my woman will like them," he said, his ageless face propped up in a heavily ringed hand. Through the years, Isla noticed, Derick had not changed a bit. His golden skin unlined and flawless save for the deep scar spanning from the tip of his fine blonde eyebrow to the bottom of his sharp jaw. "Thesphania, has been real into mink lately," his eyes the color of rubies, Isla wasn't about to question why a fence for thieves felt the need to wear contacts, flickered over the pile of furs "I can give you $4,000."

            "We've been doing business for years, Derick, but I don't think Thes would enjoy you screwing me like this," Isla said, scowling at the scarred man. She knew he was greedy, but he never shown it so much to Isla. Those coats where worth at least $15,000 even stolen as they were.

            "Ah, but, my little poppy, you have to pay for the query you seek an answer to," he purred flashing his oddly sharp canines at her, the ringed fingers of his free hand tapping away at the marble countertop. It was jarring that he always seemed to know just when she needed intel, he always had the answers.

            "I heard that!!!" Thesphania's tinkling voice called somewhere from the never ending shelves of antiques and valuables.

            "I hate how you always seem to know when I need info," Isla sighed, toying with a precious gem that caught her attention earlier. "Donnatelle Marsconia, she has something I want and I need to know when my best chances are of getting it."

            "Saturday, there's going to be a gala for some blood bank. Donnatelle goes every year," he started, snatching the sapphire from her busy hands with a mulish look. "Ran by her.....people, the only time she is relaxed enough to let that coat of hers out of her sight. But, red," he said, voice turning smokier and eyes seeming to glint a brighter ruby shade. "If you end up with that coat you should know that you are going to open yourself up to far more than you think."

            Scrunching her face in a mask of confusion, Isla snorted an incredulous laugh. Derick always ended his intel in a word of warning or wisdom. This one left a chill over her skin, one that didn't dissipate on her way back to her apartment, which she affectionally referred to as her nest.