[emporio!]

smooth-talking russian man who's very good at stealing things

Name: “call me crow, kotyonok."
Pronouns: he/him

"hello there," he greets, voice pitched low and saturated with heavy russian. he knows his way around types like her, with diamonds around her neck and gold between her ears, so he sharpens his e's and lightly rolls his r's to make her practically swoon in front him. the more prominent the accent the better results, he's learned, so he lays it on thicker than he would during normal conversations and watches her infatuation show from his voice alone. (he's not sure why all the men and women from here are so dazzled by it. maybe it sounds exotic?) "could I buy you a drink?" she smiles and let's him pay for two of something overpriced and fruity, not really up his alley but alright since it's not exactly meant for him anyway.

"so," she says, idly twirling a dainty silver piercing around her finger. he allows his shadow to hold her's in a loose grip, making the grin on her face spread further. "what's your name, stranger? or are you just planning to come here, buy me a drink, rob me of my riches and walk away?" he freezes before seeing the glint of amusement in her eyes, quickly offering an easy smile in return.

"you can call me crow, krasavista." the words fall easily from his lips, as he's repeated them several times before. she, just like the others, practically melts. he keeps it up for another two hours of aimless chatter, throwing in endearment and unnecessary phrasing, before getting tired of pretending. "now. would it be rude to ask to continue this elsewhere, preferably your home?" he doesn't even have to continue persuading her; she's already nodding.

*

(he already has three pieces of her fine jewelry resting in his coat pocket by the time they get there -- a thin gold bracelet, a heavy diamond from the center of the ring on her middle finger, and a watch from her purse bigger than his palm -- and he can't help but be excited for what she might have in her house.)

*

the indoors meets his expectations. almost everything is decorated pearly white and gold; perfectly geometric couches and long glass tables decorated with gaudy decorations fill almost every room she leads him through, leaving him delighted as he slips expensive trinkets into his pockets. she herds him to a room upstairs, similar to the living room downstairs but smaller in size and accompanied by a wall mounted television, and sits down on one of the perfectly rectangular couches. she gestures for him to sit beside her and he does. he begins to follow her example and starts toeing off his shoe before remembering the handful of tiny diamonds he's hiding in them.

"now," she starts, slipping off her shoes and placing them neatly beside the table in front of them. she crosses her legs and reaches forward to tap something resting on the table; it makes a sharp ringing sound when her dainty fingers come in contact with it. a bell, then. he has almost no time to wonder what it's for before there's another flit, dressed in pressed black pants and a slightly wrinkled white button down, stumbling into the room. there's a heavy bruise on the flit's forearm and their eyes look terribly, terribly young. "this is my servant," she says, gesturing to their form in the doorway. "is there anything you'd like my servant to get for you?"

crow meets their eyes. they sparkle like gems and plead for him to say no. he does just that.

*

(stealing the child is much easier than crow imagined, no more difficult than obtaining a particularly large diamond ring. the first thing the child does is apologize, thinking they're in trouble, only to thank him for taking them away moments later. at first, crow doesn't know how to react when they plaster themself to his side, sobbing profusely while thanking and apologizing to him in the same breath. him, a complete stranger. being thanked by someone no older than fifteen.

crow settles on vowing not to let them get hurt again. he hopes that will be enough.)