What started here, and continued here, now continues here! A Six Sentence Story, the prompt word set by Denise at Girlie on the Edge, is forge. A crossover featuring the Dropped Apostrophe from my side of the page, and Rue DeNite from Clark at The Wakefield Doctrine’s!
The Dropped Apostrophe and Rue DeNite walked quickly up the four flights of stairs to the second floor of the building that housed the Casino-on-Brickell-Street, a building that once was home to a multinational bank and the administrative offices to a now defunct steel forge, Art Deco wallpaper featuring gold embossed tulips on a blood-red background surrounded them and the plush red carpets they walked on, not that they could make out many of the features with the single candle Rue carried… and after a quick succession of Manhattens and a lust for all the money in Lou Ceasare’s safe, neither were particularly bothered about the classic decor anyway.
Reaching the security door to the room that housed the vault, Rue quickly tapped an eight digit code into a numerical keypad, her black acrylic nails clacking loudly through the semi darkness… and nothing happened; Rue brought her free hand up to her mouth and giggled, leaned against the wall for balance, and breathlessly said, “Oops… no power… the door won’t open.”
Catching his breath, the Apostrophe contemplated smashing his way through the door, first by using his own brute force, and then by blowing the door off its hinges by a small dynamite charge he had in his back pocket; Rue seemed to read his mind, saying “Dropsy, it’s a reinforced security door, in lockdown because of your dampener, and one small charge won’t affect it one iota – we won’t get in until the power comes back on when I can unlock it.”
The Apostrophe thought for a second, weighing up the plans he had memorised of the building, and remembered the thin ledge that ran around the building on this level, just below the windows outside; he looked at Rue, the clothes she was wearing, her fishnet-clad feet tucked inside her white stilettos, and the way she elegantly leant against the wall, candlelight making her facial features seem almost doll-like. “We could get in through the window,” the Apostrophe said, intently watching his accomplice’s expression for signs of a horrified change, swiftly continuing when there wasn’t one, “well, you could fit nicely on the ledge, and use my glass cutter, and I can guide you from the fire escape; if you really want half of the money, that is.”
Rue giggled again, then stopped when she saw the Apostrophe’s fixed expression… “You seriously want me to walk along the outside of the building, dressed like this, to break in through a window to my boss’ safe, take all the money and give you half, while you watch…” she saw the Apostrophe nod, grinning broadly, and reciprocated with a half-smile, “OK, but a change of plan… I now want sixty per cent.”
The Mansionic Perspective 
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