weekend meme // no longer accepting

weekend meme // no longer accepting

weekend meme // still accepting!

the estate was cold, far too large, and guarded. and yet, for the first time, he was escorted inside without a pat-down or search. by the time they left him in a study, he had counted exactly three exits, four windows, and a poorly-fixed vent. and yet, he stood in the very center of the room, hands visible.

“ alright, ” he called, knowing @ofsvnlightt was watching. “ point is made. impressive aim .. hideous furniture. ”

a small, ugly, brass clock with a broken hand, no numbers, and the noisiest tick. it sat in the restricted archive of a private museum, behind a coded door, two cameras, and a curator hellbent on folks not touching it.

so, naturally, atlas touched it.

in his defense, it is his job.

he stood alone in the archive with a penlight between his teeth and a stolen access card clipped to his sleeve. a hand was wrapped around the clock while the other manuevered the display stand to not notice the weight shift and go off. the clock ticked once in his hand, then twice, then backwards. he froze, looked at it, and frowned.

“ no, ” he muttered around the penlight. “ don't do that. ” the clock did not listen. it was popped into his jacket for its crimes. but, the moment it disappeared against him, every hair on the back of his neck lifted.

somewhere behind him, a lock clicked and atlas went still. that was a problem, considering he locked that door himself. the penlight went off, his frame shifting sideways between two shelves with the confidence of a man who had no interest in being arrested .. again. the archive door opened, he held his breath.

but, it wasn't security that stepped inside. too direct, too .. inconvenient. it was @dreadbound.

the night market had been someone else's idea, technically. dc-after-dark, a converted alley strung with warm bulbs and crowded with tables full of candles, incense, hand-made signs, and people referencing energy as if it provided financial security. atlas had wandered through once, seen a woman charge eighty dollars for a simple jar of lavender with a ribbon tied around it, and almost immediately realized he had been thinking far too small.

by friday, he had a table. by saturday, inventory.

most of what he sold was junk. attractive junk, even-- rings from estate sales, coins stolen from antique shops, charms from places with distracted clerks. all they needed was black velvet and a makeshift history, buyers would do the rest of the lying; people wanted to believe they were cursed, haunted, protected -- chosen. he simply provided props.

he was halfway through convincing a nervous man that a cracked button once belonged to some titanic-passenger when he felt a shift. not physically, that would've been normal. this was odder, like a subtle tightening at the back of his neck. eyes flicked down to the cheap brass pendant ready to topple off his table, words stuttering and ceasing. then, they flicked back up to the someone in front of his table.

immaculate. expensive-looking. atlas knew opportunity when it wore guyliner. he grinned, waving off the other man. “ good evening, ” he said, smoothly sweeping the pendant into his palm to save it from splitting on rock. “ you have the look of someone who knows what he's looking for. ”

it had everything a man could want if said man was underpaid and trying very hard to avoid questions. crowds, noise, tourists with cash and teenagers attempting to look dangerous. every booth flashed, every ride screamed and the entire place became one sugary headache. a perfect cover.

atlas stood near the edge of a gathering crowd with a deck of cards in one hand and a stolen watch in his other. that was the problem. the man he had lifted it from had turned too fast and atlas had planned to be gone by then. instead, he was trapped between a cotton candy cart, three laughing girls, and @wheelsrusted beginning to realize his evening had become stolen.

eyes flicked to him, he cleaned up quick. “ fell off. pick a card, ” he covered, “ or look offended, either one works. ”

he was not supposed to be there. technically. he had been hired to retrieve a necklace from a handbag, which sounded simple until the client described said handbag -- with a very clingy owner, even clingier friends, and held like a gem.

he adjusted. improvised. lied with his hands. a deck of cards moved between his fingers as he wandered, dressed well enough to be mistaken as entertainment and badly enough to not be offered a little sandwich. that was the real trick -- not the cards or the coin.

he was in the art of convincing eyes to go where he wanted them to.

a small crowd had formed near him after his third pass through the room, made of curious guests and folks who wanted to see something impossible but not badly enough to ask whether he was actually invited. and yet, atlas grinned like he belonged.

“ alright, ” he said, lifting the deck. his eyes locked on @drvcxrys, attitude physically shifting to appear interested. crowds like these tended to fall for it. “ i need a volunteer. ”

was that [JESSE EISENBERG]? oh no no, that was just [J. DANIEL ATLAS], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [NOW YOU SEE ME 1/2/3]. they are [THIRTY-FIVE] years old, use [HE/HIM], and [ARE NOT] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

j. daniel atlas, often referred to as "danny" or by his last name, is "unemployed" / a thief for hire. he's a former magician by trade, though washington has more than enough magic for his tricks to not be as popular as hoped. regardless, he's a good thief, though his name isn't advertised as thief -- he's a freelancer who specializes in gaining things other's don't want to share.

he's pulled from the ending of the first film -- the four horsemen went into hiding following their heist, framing thaddeus bradley efficiently and managing to fall into quiet life. though, j. daniel didn't get much farther than that carousel. he is unaware of his past, does not remember his life as a horsemen or his fellow partners. thus, he also does not remember he once was even better than he is now.