Everything had been going well, room number obtained - a suite of all unnecessary splurges - passwords figured out - he was over fifty, of course it was a birthday. It got him upstairs, in the room, and into the man's laptop. Copying files onto a USB stick way about as far as his IT literacy went, but that was enough.
Then the asshole came back early.
Maybe he hadn't been thinking right, rushing and being stupid, but somehow a fox ended up tumbling into the neighboring suite's balcony. Only to then hear the man slam his door and storm off - presumably to go yell at the staff for slightly moving his laptop during housekeeping. He could've just fucking hidden, crawled under a sofa and waited it out. Now he was stuck.
For some reason the balcony had angled railings, designed to stop small animals from being able to climb up them, and he tried. He tried to drag the patio table close to the balcony railing, it was far too heavy, he tried to open the door with just little paws, and only proceeded to slide defeated against the glass. So he paced.
"Great. Fucking. Great job, idiot, really good work." He growled at himself, too wrapped up to notice his audience. Unaware of how long they'd been there, or what they'd seen. "Fuck."
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Kaz hummed and took a long drag, "I guess," Smoke billowed out, "If everyone wasn't capable of some selfishness or greed, I'd be out of a job." He waited, staring at nothing for a long moment before adding, "Not sure what it says about someone who takes advantage of that fact."
"Hey now, how's it my fault whoever fitted the damn thing clearly did a bad job?" Kaz flopped back onto the patchy old motel couch with a huff. The AC was broken, still, and the sheen of sweat hardly sold his innocence.
The ankle monitor, his ankle monitor. How had been so stupid? Slipping it by shifting forms was a near nightly activity. Only to forget to put it back, leaving it sat on the coffee table in plain view when Will showed up for work.
"Can we let this go, strap it back on, and focus on what I found out? I have a contact, swears he saw O'Connel, last night, moving shit around by the freight yard in Brighton Park." The contact might've been an unnoticed fox hopping along the tracks, enjoying the night air even with the fumes around the train yard, but unless Will was asking, he was telling that bit. "Isn't that a bit more important than this." He gestured first at the monitor-less ankle, then the ankle-less monitor.
"Huh." Kaz cocked his head to the side, watching the film's dramatic unfolding as the foretold white horse appeared. "You know," He started, shifting in his seat and turning towards them, "That horse isn't white. It's grey. See it has a grey nose, a true white horse has a pink nose. And, whoever is their animal handler did a bad job, you can see there's some slip when he got on, the girth is not tight enough. And-" He managed to catch himself, ears tinted red, and sunk further back into the couch.
They were headed south to Boulder City, but the night had gotten too dark to safely continue on, forcing the pair to camp out for the night. As eerie as it was, they'd found an empty campsite not too far out, likely only a few hours walk in the morning.
Casimir hated the late, in the low light he was certain there were things moving around in it. Big water meant radiation, and it meant those fuckhead crab things. Neither of which were welcome. So as they settled in, fire lit and some sliced up gecko stuck haphazardly in it, Kaz checked through his bag, counting up their radaway supply.
"Who are we looking for in Boulder again? Or are we poking around hopefully but directionless-ly?" Satisfied with his count, his pack was slung away, and the gecko poked at to see if the char went deep enough down to burn the damn thing to a safely edible level yet.
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Open RP
Basic Idea: Your muse is getting into a car (theirs or they're stealing it, whatever the situation is up to you!), only to find themselves potentially in the middle of a dangerous situation.
Open to: All. - Potential connections: Total strangers or acquaintances.
Parking garages at night always seemed sinister. Empty and loose from the world around them. Flickering lights no one bothered to change, stair wells that at best were sticky and questionable, and worse actively in use as urinals. Of course, they could also make for a decent escape. How crowded they were, how convoluted their structure, it all helped.
Down below, a car screeched as it turned into the parking lot. The door from the stairwell slammed open and Casimir bolted out and tore across the concrete towards the nearest car, scrambling down onto the ground, keeping himself hidden from view of the road or stairwell. Panting heavily, he pushed back against the vehicle and finally looked around, wide eyes staring straight up at the presumed owned of the car he’d dived behind.
“If you help me hide, I can make it worth your while.” He scuffled about through his suit pockets to pull out a wallet, hands shaking from exertion. At the start of the night, his suit had looked expensive, but by then was wrinkled, torn at the shoulder, and the knees were scraped and frayed.
Age: Claims mid to late 20s, he's actually 23/24ish
Height: About 5ft9, lies about being taller.
Pronouns and gender: He/Him
What they are: Fox shapeshifter
Personality: When working, or with new people, tries to come across professional and level headed with a veneer of confidence. When he knows someone better, more and more of the light hearted gremlin vibes come out. Constantly works to seem animated and engaged. Doesn't let people know who he actually is, it's too raw and vulnerable. Always prefers to be direct, can come across as blunt or rude because of it, but he's just being clear.
Style and Appearance: Unassuming. He wont stand out whatever the crowd. On his own, at home, he's a jeans and tshirt scruff pup, everything is messy, outside of that, it depends on where he is, what he's doing. Keeps his hair a good length for styling smart and back, or leaving unkempt and fluffy.
Piercings and Tattoos: Not routinely worn, but does have pierced ears. Has a tattoo on his lower back that looks about the same age as him, and was clearly done with little skill or care, heavily faded and feathered, some wobbly line work, already blued. It's an american traditional style with some playing cards, dice, and a magic 8-ball, that says 'fortune favors the brave'.
Scars and Distinguishing Marks: Appendix surgery scar, and a small one on his upper right thigh.
Sexuality: Bisexual, verse, the closest he got to anything he considers beyond vanilla sex was stumble-assing into a BDSM club when working a con on a man who frequented it.
Abilities: Yeah sure he can turn into a fox, but that's way less impressive than his sleight of hand skills, from close up magic with coins and cards to picking pockets and lifting watches. Pretty good at cold reading, knows the patter and spiel for bridging the gaps in his skill. Flexible and light on his feet. Heals faster than a human.
Weaknesses: Zero pain tolerance. Absolute little wuss. Zero technical skills, if it involves something he can't get at Best Buy, he doesn't know shit. Not a good fighter. Can't handle a gun in a combat situation (Steady shooting games, hunting, shit like that, he can do.)
Links: Canon - Media - Fun Stuff - Aesthetic - Music - Threads
Bits and Pieces:
Grew up wandering midways and hanging out at state and county fairs, doing a circuit of them every year with his parents, who were performers - they had a stage magic and contortion show. The rest of the year was spent in rural bumfuck nowhere Illinois.
The nickname Cash is a remnant of too much time in 4H and FFA clubs where people refused to get his name right.
Forged early acceptance letter to NYU to have a believable excuse to run away. Of course, the fact it was a lot harder to rip off people in the real world vs punters and chumps at a fair was a hard lesson to learn when he arrived. But grabbing bags at Penn station did evolve into more stable work with time.
Prefers to do small and quick jobs, even with lower payouts, than something that has a lot of layers or takes a lot of time. Needs to see the more immediate progress. He'd rather just break into a house than take another multi month corporate espionage check, even if it's usually a better pay out, and safer.
Reineke is not his real surname, it's just the one he uses most.
Needs glasses, tends to wear contacts, but does have a pair.
No family issues in this lad. He fucking loves his parents.
Certified horse boy. Decent trick rider, with rodeo experience, favoring barrel racing (when it wasn't gender gated) but he can ride a saddle bronc pretty damn well.
Thinks the reason he has this long standing sense of alienation and detachment, and has always struggled with people, is because of the fox thing. Cause his parents are the same way. They were the only people he's ever felt normal around.
Is upfront about what he does with anyone who isn't a target.
Prone to week long burn out when he's been working nonstop. Sometimes he vanishes and spends it unwashed and zombie mode around his home, other times he pushes himself to ignore it and make it worse by getting wasted and trying to socialize.
In reality, under all the layers of pretence and masking, he's this whirlwind little gremlin, desperate to feel like he's wanted, whose been taught he's too much and doesn't belong anywhere. He's soft and squishy and feels things a bit too much emotionally and loves with his whole damn ass and his single braincell.
Open to men, can be total strangers, friends, someone he's worked with, it's all good.
Basic idea: After a job gone wrong, Kaz, was stranded after a job gone wrong. YM graciously stopped to give him a ride, found out he was broke then asked how he planned to pay for it.
"What? Jesus, dude, what are you? Some old perv from the 60s with a 'gas, grass or ass' bumper sticker?" Kaz snorted dismissively, his eyes flicked from the man's face, down, and then out the window. Fingers played across the seatbelt, tugged it looser, then slipped it off his chest entirely. "Alright." To hide his interest, Kaz adjusted his bag across his lap, "Theoretically. What are we talking? You pull over, I suck you off and you drop me in the middle of town not in the middle of nowhere?"
