Stealing From The Dragon (closed for Ohia_Lehua)

[CaliforniaRP]

Drake Grimsonn wasn't the name he'd been born with, but for now it suited him. In truth, he'd never had an actal name given to him...that was the way of his kind...only those that had been inflicted upon him. Of these, Grimfyre had been his favorite, and as such he came back to it frequently to take on a new name for himself when the need arose; It seemed to carry a certain weight to it, a strength he felt was deserved, earned over several years of striving to have it all.

Several...several years; He'd been playing at being human for nearly four hundred, and lord knows how many had passed before he bothered starting to count them.

In that time, he had worked his way from apprentice work under a tailor (his first human form, a mute child, so as to learn humanity amongst other children in school, and to hide his inability to speak their language) through all forms of employ, crossing from Europe into the Americas shortly after they'd been colonized. In time, he returned east, his sights set on Africa and her diamond mines, adding to his growing fortunes before being driven back to 'The States' as they were now called...apparently, when a series of tunnels collapse in rapid succession, the white man with the red eyes is the first one superstitious miners blame. When they came at him with a pick and Drake's arm healed without scars in only two days, he felt it best to flee for a few decades or so.

The gold rush in California had been equally good to him, but more than the gold itself, Drake's greatest prize had been the accidental discovery of a large cave deep in the Rockies, which he promptly purchased and filled with the amassed weath of his long life; Gold and precious stones, as well as art and other assorted items the humans seemed to hold in high regard. Heaped together in this way, it was beautiful to behold...but his cave was vast, and much of it was still empty; Drake would have to correct this.

As he passed from one life into the next, inheriting his own financial holdings from his previous life every forty or so years in a new state, his treasure hold...his horde...continued to grow. Conversely, the more of it there was, the more Drake wanted there to be, and the more he had to protect it, to check in upon it like a first time father, waking every few minutes with a driving need to see his baby lying safe and sound.

Clad in hiking gear, Drake was returning from one such check up now, dark glasses blocking out the oppressive rays of the sun, his cane tapping along before him over the uneven ground. As always, his assistant Catherine was waiting at the foot of the trail, the smile on her face showing gladness that Drake had returned alive, and concern that he had gone off alone at all. She came forward and placed a hand between his shoulder blades, walking the rest of the way to the car with him.

"Welcome back, Sir...I just you enjoyed your time away?"

Drake smiled and looked down towards the sound of her voice, his six foot height putting him ten inches above her (ideal for stolen glances into her blouses) and shook his head. "I did, as I always do...and, as I always do, I assure you, I don't require your help to camp. You would spend the entire time fussing over me, and I'd never have a moments quiet, which is the very reason I come into the mountains."

Catherine nodded, having been through this same scene at least six times a year since coming to work for Mr. Grimsonn, knowing better than to argue. She helped him into the back of the car and circled round to the front, driving them back to the airport for their return flight, looking in the rearview constantly at her employer.

From his place in the backseat, Drake watched those glances and ignored them with practiced ease. In his guise of blindness, he shouldn't even be aware of them, and so he simply forgot them. He did enjoy the pity and concern behind them, however, and it once more crossed his mind he would need to make use of those emotions and get his assistant into bed sooner or later. A few compliments on the sound of her voice, a casual "I wish that I could see you" followed by a deep sigh, and that would be that...something else that came with practiced ease.

After a dull flight filled with chatter, catching him up on the four days he had missed while away from his shipping company, Drake was home to his estate in the hills just outside the city limits...his smaller horde as it were, the house being decorated with his personal favorite items, the ones he can't live without seeing on a regular basis. Removing his dark glasses, he walked the halls slowly, viewing each piece and touching it lovingly in turn...until something made him stop cold and frown. One of the paintings in his bedroom hung askew. In and of itself, this was nothing alarming, but this particular painting covered his wall safe.

Punching the code in frantically, Drake openned the safe to find it, as he expected/feared, empty. Just shy of two million dollars cash, gone. A drop in the bucket compared to what he still had, true, but it was his and he intended to have it back.

Eyes flashing a deeper red, growling deep in his throat, Drake drew his cell phone and fought to calm himself as he dialed.

"Catherine...have the head of security come round the house with copies of the past four days surveylance tapes, would you? It would seem I've have a break in. Also...be so kind as to start pulling personel files for me; I shall be needing a new head of security in roughly an hour, and would like to promote from within...assuming they can learn from the bad example set forth by their predocesser."

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[Ohia_Lehua]

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[CaliforniaRP]

Yet again in his life, Drake reveled in being able to secretly observe the people right in front of him who thought him blind. Around midnight, it had been Mark Ryan, a veteran of the Chicago police department who had relocated and taken a position as head of security for the Grimsonn estate and main office; A man who had been shot at countless times, and successfully shot twice, now shuffling from foot to foot in Drake's office, swearing he would find evidence of who had been in the house.

Six hours later, he had returned, looking even less at ease with his results. Drake tapped a finger on the garnet head of his cane slowly, drawing out the moment...leaving the man to sweat that much longer before he spoke, with painful calm.

"Say that to me...one more time."

"There's...there's nothing to go on, Sir. The security tapes all jump twenty minutes forward at the same time...not even static, where I might be able to pick up audio. No finger prints, no fibers. No tire marks leading up to the house, or foot prints around the grounds. Whoever did this, they were--"

"A professional, yes, that much I can understand, but what I cannot seem to wrap my head around is what lead me to believe you were also a professional at what you do. What you used to do, rather." He paused, letting the weight of the words settle a moment. "In lieu of the standard severance package, what say I simply not hold you responsible for replacing the sizable sum of money you've misplaced for me, and you...figuratively speaking...getting the Hell out of my sight as quickly as possible?"

Drake turned away, but he could hear the softly mumbled appologies as Mark exited, stumbling in his haste to leave the office. Standing at his window, watching the man drive away, Drake turned his focus to the less practical evidence he himself had been able to compile. He certainly couldn't have explained it without appearing to be insane, but certain traces had been left in the house the previous night.

One was a lingering energy, like a dull electricity on the air...an arcane residue that intrigued him greatly.

The other was a pair of smells that he had followed through the rooms, unknowing retracing the steps of his thief. At the door, something wild and organic, without the processed, chemical notes of a perfume or cologne...something rooted in nature. A little later, this scent was joined by that of rich leather; Common enough in his home, he would have looked past it, had it not become entwined with the first. Whoever had been here, he or she had coveted that leather and kept it close. A satchel, he had to assume, as it seemed unlikely anyone would steal a snce piece of leather clothing...or, less likely, that they would choose to walk off with a pile of cash and a wingback chair. Drake didn't recall owning any such bag however, and as with all those of his race, his mind was meticulous in listing his possessions. More interesting.

After a quick call to Catherine, informing her he wanted to be left alone the remainder of the day, Drake got onto the road to follow the energy and the smells. Much as he would have prefered her company (for all their faults, humans did turn out worthwhile females on occassion), he would have had a hard time explaining that one to her, and he was in no hurry to reveal his true nature to her, as yet if ever.

A stop at a rundown diner which was no doubt supposed to be charming, and a greasy young frycook finishing a double shift told Drake about the young woman with the incredible appetite who had left an overly generous tip. The young woman clutching the leather bag.

"It was too big, ya know, for just a purse? And she was kinda...kinda too into it, ya know? Not obsessed I mean, she wasn't going all Lord of the Rings and all 'My precious!' on it, but she wasn't letting it go, ya know?"

"Yes, yes, I do know what you mean, even without you having to check every other word. Now, what did she look like?"

The cook grinned. "Ohh, hot...really hot, ya--" He caught himself, seeing Drake's teeth clench behind his frowning lips. "Uh, yea...she was sexy. Not one of those real tall, bony model types, but not all short and petite either...right in the middle, the way I like. Real nice ass too."

Drake could have happily brained the man right on the spot for that useless information, but he contained himself and left, following the trail further.
And so it was that roughly twelve hours after discovering his money missing, Drake was certain he was close to it again...standing at a cheap motel door, knocking lightly with the head of his cane, as outwardly calm and composed as he was seething internally.

 

[Ohia_Lehua]

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