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Post by tallon clement yves hale on Nov 24, 2019 15:53:28 GMT -5
  Whenever Tallon walked into a room the first thing he did was take stock of what was in it, how to get it, and what it could be worth. He may not be running heists with the family anymore, but he was still capable alone. That wasn’t to say he planned on looting every room he walked into, but he liked the way his mind figured out the routes to take, noted the security features, and worked to bring to life a plan that was something out of an Ocean’s movie. Some people could look at a puzzle and instantly find an answer, but Tallon looked at something and instantly knew how to take it far away and make a pretty penny on it. It was what he had spent his life doing. He had a role within the family and once he branched out alone, he had surprised himself by how much he knew about what the other relatives did. He had picked it up over the years from watching them and listening to them. None of it was easy – at least not all the time – but he liked feeling like he had accomplished something he would have never been responsible for ten or so years ago. Every successful job pushed him to do something even better for the next one – and he was already working on big scores. He hadn’t been the type to lie low and do measly jobs that would only just put food on his table. Tallon had come from more than that and he knew he was capable of so much more. He wasn’t about to become a common thief just because of a few close calls and incidents within his family. He had made his choice to leave and he had done so without leaving a trace of himself behind. He trusted his family, but there were other people close to them who he would happily throw into a volcano before asking for their help.
He was actually surprised by how much he preferred working alone. There was no one to get frustrated with, no one to take a share of his prize, and no one to question his plan. Tallon was still just a kid when he pulled jobs with the family, so his input was rarely considered as there were more experienced players in the game. He did, however, often hear those players arguing over what rulebook to follow. Tallon didn’t want or need any of that in his life. He called in specific cousins when he needed a wingman, but often he set his jobs up to be solo. He liked his family, had very little against them, but after branching out on his own he didn’t know if he could go back to working with them like he used to – like they all used to.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that. Nor did he have to worry about finding the best way to loot this Starbucks. He was only there to grab a coffee on his way back to his apartment. New York was growing dull for him, and Tallon was contemplating a return to his beach house in Fiji. It was where he kept some of his best pulls, though very few of them were on display. He had a safe room where he kept the really good stuff. His neighbours and the locals knew he was a successful businessman, so they were aware he collected nice things and never questioned it if he came home with some large painting or sculpture.
Tallon was thinking of that soft golden sand and blazing sunshine when he was handed a cup with his name on. He took a tentative sip to gauge the temperature and then pulled a face. This was not his drink. His name might have been on it but it was not what he had ordered. It was sweeter, with foam he never liked or asked for. “This isn’t my drink.” He stated just loud enough for the people standing by him to hear. He cast his eyes over those already served, trying to see if any of them looked confused or disgusted by his strong, rich black coffee.
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TAGGED! Dorothy Paige Fletcher
WORDS! 704!
LYRICS! Holy - - - Deaf Havana
NOTES!
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