Wealth Only Goes So Far (Alvis Alendran & Cerulean Reverie)

[Alvis Alendran]

The van was parked at the marina. The place was stocked with the yachts of the spoiled and fabulously wealthy, and a lot of them had small crews, and people that weren't interested in getting too riled up over their employers. The gate to get in was controlled, card access needed, but wth the right timing, adn some generous bribes, a way in could be found, and that was exactly what had happened. When the gate opened up, the van did the same, and seven men filed out, moving forward. They moved with some purpose, like they knew what they were doing. They got close tot he mark that they had come for, adn saw that something was amiss. They took quick cover behind a storage shed.

"Kale. What the fuck man? You said the boat was empty! Does that look fucking empty to you?" One of the men demanded of their leader. Kale looked at him, staring him down. Kale was not the biggest of hte bunch, nor the best fighter amongst them. But he was cold, calculating, and cruel, and had been good to his word of scoring them money over the years. Kale was a tall man, not bulky, but tall and lean, hard as a whipcord. His hair was a light brown, and his eyes were an icy blue. A lean face with pronounced cheek bones would have made him stand out significantly, had his skin not been darker than the night around them.

"No. It doesn't. And you know what that means?" Kale asked in a tone that made it sound like he was lecturing a child. "It means we have a bigger payday. Phil. Scope it." One of the other men jumped to task. Phil was a shorter man, just over five feet. He carried a bit more weight on himself, clearly a man who appreciated a good meal, and often. But depite that, he still had bulk to him, and under any fat, there was clear sign of muscle, a great amount of strength to him. There wasn't room for soft ones in this group. Phil had a pair of binoculars, and focused them on the yacht.
"I count, ten...no, twelve...maybe fifteen girls. No more, maybe a bit less. I...don't see any guys. No crew looking people either. Just a bunch of rich bitches." Phil informed. Kale nodded.
"Any of 'em look like they can be trouble?"
"Pft, like any bitch is trouble."
"I'm gonna tell jade you said that." Phil froze, going pale a moment at the thought before reasserting himself, and taking better stock.

"Nah. All kinds of tasty up there, and all in nice shape, but no one looks like a fighter to me." Phil answered.
"Then we go in. New plan. Standard hold up. We take them below deck. Out of sight. James, can you drive that thing?" Kale asked another man. James, a tall man with a classic blind hair and blue eyed look that had turned many a head over the years, looking more suited to a modeling career than what he really did for a living, nodded.
"Yeah. I can do it. Take longer if we gotta kick start the engine on the thing, but if it's primed, I can have us out of there in ten, twelve minutes tops." James aswered. "Where to?"
"Open waters. Just somewhere else for now."
"You got it boss. We really doin' this?" Kale answerewd by reaching into his worn leather jacket, and pulling out an equally worn, but well maintained revolver. The others all smiled, and nodded. Time to make things happen.

 

[Cerulean Reverie]

Veronica Verheyden, daughter of the famed oil magnate Richard Montebank Verheyden, was currently below decks on her father's superyacht in the galley while the female half of her guests availed themselves of the alcoholic offerings procured especially for this evening. She was giving one of the three crew on staff for this evening a good, old-fashioned verbal evisceration for having the temerity to not only spill $500 champagne, but to do so on a brand new pair of Valentino lace pumps. It was simply unconscionable. She'd most certainly taken her father's instruction in that particular regard especially to heart.

"Veronica, my love," He often began. "You absolutely cannot allow the sheep to run roughshod over you. It is imperative that they, and you, always remember who you are. You are a Verheyden. Blood and bone."

Sheep having been appropriately shorn, the lady of the ship paused as she walked past one of the silver trays holding some form of barely touched crudités and summarily dumped the food on the floor for the offending peon to tend to. She used the reflective surface of the tray's back to appraise both her make up and hair, ensuring they were holding up under the unnecessary strain of having to set one of her lessers straight. She set the tray back down and paused beside where the crewman was hurriedly gathering the upended vegetables, crushing a carrot beneath the outsole of her pump. "And polish that tray when you're through."

Normally, the strike of those heels against a hard surface was as a death knell to whomever was within earshot. The sound of them heading in the opposite direction, however, could be compared to the Hallelujah Chorus for the faithful. Veronica finally made her way along the companionway, headed to the upper decks to rejoin the party, such as it was. They were still waiting on all of their male counterparts who, if they didn't arrive soon, were going to force Veronica to very publicly and very ferociously fucking meltdown. Taking a calming, cleansing breath, her hands smoothed the short, peach-colored bandage dress her shoes had been dyed to match down against her thighs.

Fortunately for her, with exceptional breeding came good genes and all of the trappings of wealth that had allowed and otherwise enabled her to grow into an attractive young woman. Thick, raven hair that fell just beneath her shoulders framed a heart-shaped face with elegant features and full lips. Caribbean blue eyes and milk-pale skin completed the strikingly colored picture that was the young heiress. Most fathers would be eager to see a girl with her looks married off rather quickly. Richard Verheyden was another story entirely. He recognized the true value of his female offspring lay in her rapidly developing business acumen bolstered by a ruthless voracity that certainly matched his own. No, she wouldn't simply add to the illusion of another man's value, Veronica wasn't merely a prize, she was the race itself.

"Alright you bitches..." She called out in the same forceful, arresting tone she'd perfected as a competitive cheerleader right into her collegiate career while plucking up a glass of the very same champagne that had nearly sent her into orbit scant moments ago. The girls who'd merited an invitation to the little nautical soirée all quickly turned attention to their hostess. "...who's ready to get this party started?!" It was less question more war cry of the idle rich kid met with the cacophonous whoops, screeches and cackles of the up and coming female elite, each lifting their respective drinks in the air in unison. Now all they needed was for the stupid boys to show up.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Kale and his gang moved up tot he yacht. It was a huge thing, looking like a small skyscraper had been knocked over and made to float, but that just meant there were more places to loot. Still, a small group, moving quickly and with purpose could make a lot of progress quickly on a ship like this.
"James, head for the bridge, get us moving. Phil, cast us off. Cain, Derrick, Van, Karl...you all come with me. Like we mean it." Kale ordered, and people moved in accordance to his will and orders. Karl was a bigger guy with some heft to him, around five foot eight and pushing two hundred pounds. Light brown hair and eyes rounded out his face. He had a disheveled look about him, and was usually in faded jeans and a button shirt that usually resembled some kind of plaid. A lot of people had nicknamed him the Farm Boy, though few had the gut to say it to his face.

Van was a shorter one, only around five six, with a lean rangy build. He had dark hair and eyes, and his skin tone showed a bit of likely middle eastern descent to him. Van wasn't loud, but he was smart, quick and did what needed to be done, when it needed to be done. Kale had found him valuable to say the least.

Cain was someone that Kale was damned glad to have on his side. He was tall, nearly six feet, and had a build that was corded with muscle. His arms were a bit longer than normal, which gave him good reach. The biggest thing that set him apart from most was on hsi hip. He carried a long bladed fighting knife, more of a dagger really. And Cain had been through more than a little formal training on how to use it. It made him one of the more dangerous members of the group.

Last aomng them was Derrick. Derrick was less of a man, and more of walking stone statue that had learned to talk and get thigns done. Towering at nearly six and a half feet tall, he was well over three hundred pounds of solid toned muscle. He'd been a friend to kale for many a year, and had just naturally seemed inclined to follow Kale's lead. But no one, not even Kale, was willing to argue a point with Derrick if it came down to the big guy putting his foot down on something. It made thigns in the group a mite...unpredictable at times.

The sound of voices rising to cheers made Kale nod to the others. People armed themselves. Cain drew out his knife, Karl slipped alength of iron pipe from where he hung it on his back, Van simply shouldered the whethered looking oak baseball bat, and Derrick...well, Derrick simply closed his hands into fists, adn that seemed like enough to everyone around him. Kale, ever practical, drew out a whethered, beatne looking revolver from hsi coat pocket, checking hte cynlinder to make sure it was loaded and ready. They approached the main room where teh guests seemed to be.

A man wearing what could only be a crew uniform approached, making Kale inwardly curse. There wasn't supposed to be any crew! He'd kick Phjil's ass until it was a whole other shape when he saw him.
"Excuse me, but I don't believe you're on the guest list tonight, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to-" The man was saying, when Kale simply inclined his head. The crewman noticed the readied weapons just as Derrick stepped forward and hit him.

The punch was like the fist of God landing, and it sent the man spinning to the floor, knocking over a small table as he fell. Kale stepped up as a few faces started to turn to face him. Kale did what he knew would gather the best attention possible, adn spotted a steroes that was playing a background music, and fired his pistol. The bullet tore into the system, throwing sparks into the air, adnthe sound ofhte shot started off screams and gneral panic, but he fired again, the bullet hammering off of a bulkhead and arresting hte flight of a pair of girls. His own crew spread out to cover the other two exits, Derrick staying at the door they'd come through.
"Ladies! I'm to be your Master of Ceremoies! And I've come to collect my fees!" Kale announced, firing another bullet inotthe ceiling to punctuate his words. As he did so, the engines rumbled to life, the yacht starting to gather power to start moving.

 

[Cerulean Reverie]

If this was some sort of joke then the amusement was entirely lost on Veronica. Her rather finite reserves of patience had already been quite taxed for the evening and whomever Dirty Harry was, her father would be even less pleased than she was that someone was discharging a handgun on his incredibly expensive and incredibly not bullet-proof vessel.

The girls split off into huddled groups, clinging to one another as a general fear bordering on abject panic gripped them, souring the previously jovial atmosphere. Only one of them seemed to be proof to the pall, at least outwardly. You'd never say she was particularly tall, she hit an average height of 5'7" in her heels, but she did have a certain undeniable presence. If Kale was the leader of his band, she was his foil insofar as the group of rich hens was concerned.

It wasn't so much bravery that nudged her to step forward, instantly marking herself a most likely target, as it was an air of absolute indignation. These unwashed assholes had absolutely no clue the hornet's nest they just jostled, but as God was her witness, they'd know it soon enough. Her arms slid against one another as they crossed, hip cocked ever so slightly to the side, one leg bearing most of her weight; a defiant pose to be sure.

"Just who the hell do you think you are? Don't think for one moment that there won't be very serious consequences for all of you the second my father hears about this. Which, believe me, will be very soon. Tell your... monkeys to get us back to the dock and I'll see what I can do about helping you not to end up thrown into a very dark hole in the ground for the rest of your miserable lives."

Almost immediately, the girls closest to her were trying to pull Veronica back, keeping her quiet with hushed suggestions. All of which went entirely disregarded as her steely gaze met Kale's. Her blood pressure rose and her pulse felt as if a living creature had rather suddenly decided it was no longer willing to be contained within the restrictive cage of her blood vessels. She patently refused to be cowed by these pricks, regardless of who they thought they were.

 

[Alvis Alendran]

Kale cocked his head, looking at Veronica as she launched into a tirade at him. he ahd to admit, it was a nice change from begging and blubbering, but he also had to admit that this was not exactly conducive to progress. He took a few steps towards her, looking at his crew. They were all fighting a smirk, knowing what was coming. Or at least having an idea.
"Well, you heard the lady, we done fucked up guys." He turned to Veronica, his face downcast, looking crestfallen. "I'm so sdorry ma'am, if only I'd known who you were I'd never have tried something so brazen." He was close enough to touch her, adn that was what he'd wanted. He brought the pistol around and slammed the butt of it into her forehead, toppling ehr like a bowling pin.

"Shut the fuck up you dumb bitch!" Kale roared, sending hte ladies scurrying away from his wrath. He leveled the pistol at Veronica's face, drawing the hammer back manually, audibly. "Guess all that money makes you stupid, but remember this bitch. I have gunned down and cut up bitches like you for a lot less than that little speech." he planted his boot on her stomach, not resting much weight on her, but certainly making it clear he could hurt her more than a little, and in the meantime she was on the floor.

"Laides, this is how it's going to work. One of my boys will come around with a bag. You will deposit all of your worldly valuables into the bag, and if you give us anyn kind fo shit, my boy here-" At the prompt, Cain cleared his throat, tapping the flat of his knife on his hand. "-will start cutting things you're currrently attached to off. Like fingers. Or ears. Or a nose."
"Or tits, if you really piss me off." Cain announced to the shivering fear of others around him.
"But first, we're going to have every person here throw their phone onto the floor in front of them so I can get me a head count. Fucking NOW!" As kale roared, there was the sound of purses being opened, and phones hitting the floor.

"They pay you good for this shit?" James asked the man driving hte yacht. The man hadn't wanted to really start anything, not once James showed up with a knife and a knuckle duster.
"Not bad, not enough to start gettin' cut on though." The crewman admit.
"They treat you right?"
"Not even fuckin' close man. Rule of the boat, stay outta little miss tantrum's way. Worse than her old man, and he's a piece of work." James nodded.
"You ever consider a life of crime my man? Way better benefit package." Teh crewman seemed to consider this.
"Not until now I haven't."