windfield | iris and delilah

Iris Huntington might have been arrogant, a control freak, and a self-described bitch, but she wasn’t stupid. She learned from her mistakes - when they were truly her mistakes, and not just the world being stupid - and adapted. So her first robbery might have been a bust, landing her in CIA custody and forcing her to do some quick thinking to escape. But a few weeks later, after ironing out the kinks in her safecracker’s programming and tinkering with the ammo capacity of her guards, she tried again. Coast Star Bank might have been a bit less prestigious, but it was far enough away that the CIA wasn’t watching over it. Coverage of her first attempt had been a curiosity, tucked away in the third pages of newspapers that bothered to cover it.

The Coast Star Robbery, though? Put in the cash, the bonds, the savings, the jewelry and watches, and she had nearly half a million dollars. Now that was something worth reporting on. Front page, a photo of Iris sauntering out of the bank and to her car, flanked by knockout gas and gunfire. One for her trophy room.

She kept going - another few banks and museums, until they started shoring up their security in paranoia. The headquarters of Ford Automobiles during a shareholders meeting, mostly to tell them that their new breakthrough was crap. One day, she’d held an entire movie set hostage, primping and preening in front of the cameras, trying to get the actors to smile. She’d gotten bored and left - but really, that had just been for fun.

But the attention from the public meant attention from the Government, and the day came where her stream of luck ran out. Somehow, they’d found her hideout, nestled away in the Appalachians. Assembly line in an abandoned mineshaft, laboratory and a sprawling apartment on a mountainside, all powered by a series of nearby dams - it might not have been the glamorous retreat a Bond villain would have, but it was close.

And the best part, in Iris’ opinion? A complex-wide speaker system. So while she directed her troops (seventy soldiers strong) from her laboratory, she blasted the Rolling Stones so everybody could hear. Paint It, Black was such a damn good song, and she knew the words by heart.

“Come o~on,” she sing-songed into the microphone, cutting the music out for a moment. “Surrender and I won’t kill you.”

Threaded | Flat

Delilah had had been a decidedly less fruitful time of it since Iris' escape from custody. It wasn't that her letting the suspect get away had exactly diminished her in the opinion of her male coworkers -- it was just that it had solidified their bad opinions of her. Worse, they felt pity for her. Damsel Delilah, unable to figure out how to defend herself against the madwoman's robots. Unable to protect herself (even though if Iris had been telling the truth, doing nothing did protect her).

They condescended about as much as usual, which meant that her presence on the mission to bust up Iris' lair was mostly clerical. They'd needed someone along to take notes, to run point back to the base, all that stuff.

"Sure you don't just wanna soothe your ego, Kaye?" one of them had asked -- and well, of course she did. But she wasn't letting that guide her.

So now here she was, keeping up with the men, gun at the ready. She was a more capable fighter than they gave her credit for, and she hadn't needed any babying, but when that voice came over the speakers she knew she'd run out of her dubious luck.

"Shit," one of the men swore. "What do we do?"

"Run!" another shouted.

And then they ran.

Delilah couldn't say why she didn't follow. Maybe it was the fact that they all took off before she had a chance to process their stupid decision. Maybe it was that she suspected that running would just get them killed instead.

Maybe she was just panicking again, just like before.

Maybe, maybe.

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