It's a fairly regular process for a Saturday night sucker.
The perky brunette has a signature finger-in-mouth puppy-dog-eyes hair-twirling look that immediately gets nearly every guy in the joint asking "Can I help you with something, Sweetheart?" A little giggle, some small talk about how she's never been to a place like this before. When she starts walking her fingers flirtatiously up your arm, you're done for. Don't bother checking your pants pocket, your wallet won't be there. The tanned leather is already twirling between the fingers of that innocent little pixie-cut brunette.
Don't be fooled by the redhead's flirty bangs or teasing short-shorts. She may seem like any other friendly girl at the club, dancing with anyone she sees, talking to absolutely everybody. Anna will strike up a conversation with your typical pig-headed barfly, putting on her most interested face when he tells her about the time beat up three guys with his hand behind his back (because obviously that story is completely true). She'll make it look like she's being flirty by pulling out his phone and taking a winking selfie with it, then justifying it by saying she's putting her number in his contacts. Before he can get another word in, she's changing the subject, saying she's supposed to meet up with her sister and that she has to go. She'll pawn off his iPhone for as much cash as she can get the next morning.
You don't want to mess with Merida, let's just leave it at that. All four ladies are a storm of their own, that's for sure, but this Scot in particular is her own force of nature. Tight black pants, laced up boots, shoulder-spiked leather jacket. Her smirk may be the sexiest thing you've ever seen, but if you piss her off, you'd better hope you never see her dagger glare. Let's just say you won't be the first guy to wake up half-conscious on the side of the road three miles out of town with a black eye and a broken ribcage. Whenever the four ladies find themselves going up in a fight, Merida will always be at the front of their group. Always.
To call Elsa the brains behind all their operations would be an understatement. The cherry-lipped blonde has her usual stool in the isolated part of the bar, sipping a Frozen Daiquiri. She has a good eye for easy targets. The college sophomore with too much confidence and just as much cash in his wallet. The thirty-something leering man too drunk to see. Elsa is very particular about who they con. She tries to only pick guys who she thinks deserve what they're getting. Something about not wanting to cross that line. The others think she worries about losing her humanity. She thinks about what they do more than the other three. Elsa almost never does the conning herself. She'll enter the bar with the three other girls, scan the place over, and point to each shadowed man in a smoky corner. She'd be the best con artist out there, if her own vulnerability didn't wrap around her like a vice.
It's a Friday night and they're in a smoky club. Multi-colored strobe lights are flickering over four bodies clad in skin-tight outfits. Red lipstick and black leather. Elsa already sees two guys at the back that would go for the innocent little puppy, so Rapunzel bats her lashes and heads in their direction. Merida is at a small table in the corner winning at a poker game three hands in a row. Anna's dancing with some rogue on the dance floor, hands wrapped seductively around his waist, traveling closer to his back pocket. They suck each joint dry the way you siphon poison from blood veins. They're in their third bar when a boy with white hair that falls over his eyes slides up to the counter.
"How ya doin, princess?"
Rapunzel looks up from the apple martini she'd been quietly stirring. Her green eyes are wide and innocent. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"
His hazy smirk is almost enough to make her falter, but she stays in character.
"Oh no, sorry, I was trying to talk to the girl who wasn't acting all sweet and innocent."
Uh oh. This wasn't the first time she's been caught, but usually she can convince the guy that she's being honest. So she throws him a giggle and a flirty eye roll. "Am I supposed to be sweet and innocent?"
His smile is wry when he nods back at her. "Oh now that's a good one. Lemme guess, this was how you got straight A's in school, right? Nah, but then if you did well in school, why would you be here?"
A playful sip of the apple martini. "Oh, well, I sorta just got out of a…serious relationship—"
"—No I mean why are you really here?"
Rapunzel stares dumbstruck for less than a second. It made her uncomfortable the way he was analyzing her. But if she knew anything about the con game, it was once you're in you can't get out, so she'd better roll with the persona she's working.
A dreamy shrug and a change of subject. "Oh wow, I love this tie," She runs her finger down his chest, but he doesn't flex his chest the way the other guys do when she does this. Icy blue eyes roll to the ceiling and she can tell he's playing along now.
"You think so? I dunno, my girlfriend picked it out."
"Oh?"
"Ex-girlfriend."
"Oh.."
"Oh, hang on, you've got a loose hair here…" His face is about four inches from hers, and she hates herself because she's holding her breath now as his cool fingers graze her cheek. She unconsciously bites her lip because normally she can use clues to figure out where the guy keeps his cash. The way he holds himself, where his hands instinctively flinch to, his eyes may flick down or to the side… But with this white-haired boy Rapunzel has absolutely no idea.
"So how 'bout a name?" There's a hint of sincerity in his smile.
"It's Lucy," she lies easily, a bashful smile plays across her lips.
Another eye roll. "No, I mean your real name."
Her insides freeze for a moment. That's never happened before. She stutters and in a moment of weakness and confusion nearly says "Rapunzel".
"You think I have a fake name?" She giggles, but even she could tell it sounded fake.
He laughs so breezily. "Mine's Chad. My real one…maybe I'll tell you sometime."
Their eyes lock for the length of a breath. He was a conundrum, that's for sure…
However in the time it took for him to change the subject she'd discreetly removed the bus pass from his pocket. Not too valuable, but at least it was something.
"So tell me, princess, how long've you been in the game?"
"Why would I tell you that?" What the hell, she thinks. I've got what I want, why not humor the guy?
He's wearing the smuggest grin she's ever seen, and holds up the wad of bills she kept in her bra from that night's raids. She ought to play the innocent card again. She ought to scream "THEIF!" and let the crowd of drunks dreaming to be heroes surround her and save the damsel in distress. She ought to keep both the act and the wall high up. But instead a tiny, impressed smile grows across her face.
"Tell you what, I'll trade you your con cash if you give me back my bus pass." Green eyes widen in shock, which gets a laugh out of him.
"Deal." She spits under her breath. She's grimacing to herself as they exchange stolen tokens.
A pale freckled arm links with hers for a moment. "Hey, Luce. Ready to go?" It's Merida, with the front pocket of her jacket significantly bigger than it was when they came in. Rapunzel didn't even need to guess that Merida won every hand at poker.
The knowing smile on the boy's face is both intriguing and concerning. "Alright, see ya later…'Luce'. Good talk."
"How much did you get?" The redhead murmurs under her breath once she thinks they're out of earshot. Rapunzel glares down at her feet, furious with herself.
"Let's just go." How could she have let any of that happen? Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her? Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. The white-haired boy was an exception, and a rare one at that. He wasn't a regular, and she would never see him again. No need to worry. Still, that unease sat festering in the pit of her stomach.
They're waiting for a cab outside the bar. Every few minutes a piss-poor drunk comes stumbling out the door. They come at a steady pace, like rainwater.
A twenty-something man with too much stubble and not enough sobriety comes bumbling towards the four of them. He's wearing a blue Dodgers baseball cap that's twisted thirty degrees to the left. Elsa feels an immediate discomfort as he gets closer to them.
His words are slurred and his voice is low and sloppy. "S'an asttractive bunch here, ehh?"
Elsa plans to do nothing, but the man is six inches from her face. He's staring directly at her chest, and the disgust is bubbling inside her like a thick poison. But this isn't her first time dealing with an obnoxious drunk, so she knows what to do. Direct eye contact. Firm voice. Powerful posture. "Get away from me."
"Shweetheart, c'mon…" Maybe it was the alcohol, but there was a fire burning in Elsa's stomach. She despised the way he spoke as though he deserved something from her. She owed him nothing.
He pawed at her arm, though she suspected he was aiming for something else. "Stay. Away."
An eyebrow cocks, like the guy is offended that he's being denied access to her boobs. She notes the look of drunken determination on his face, but before she can do anything about it, his hand is pressed against her chest, and the stench of a hard whisky stains the air around her.
"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME." Right hand gripping the wrist. Left hand choked around the collar of his crewneck tee. He's on the ground in less than a second. Elsa is seeing black spots and white-hot rage as she sinks her black heel into his gut. The toe of her right foot shoves hard into the crotch of his pants. A kick to the face until blood is gushing from his nose onto the pavement.
"ELSA!"
"You're gonna kill him, stop!"
Familiar hands are holding her against a cool brick wall and her sight is fading back in spots. Strands of blonde hair are stuck to her forehead. A guttural choking is coming from the bloody pulp on the ground. Fear stabs through her as Elsa sees the worried expressions on her friends' faces. Knuckles bruised purple and stained with dried blood. Panic is filling her up like an unrelenting hot steam. Her eyes squeeze shut and she's sinking to the ground buried inside herself. It's horrifying because she's one step closer to an accidental casualty. That's the line she'd never cross. And now she's tiptoe-ing the edge of that line, barefoot and monstrous.
They're lounging around their hotel suite on a Tuesday evening. Merida's watching football in baggy sweats. Elsa is reading a book with a blacked-out cover, spread out over a tacky floral armchair.
"Does he even know you're a con artist?" Rapunzel's giggling as she reads the texts over Anna's shoulder.
"I maaaaaay have left that teensy detail out…" Her thumbs are tapping wildly across the touchscreen, tongue poking out her mouth in concentration. A blush spreads across her freckled cheeks when thinking about the bulky awkward blonde from the gas station. What would he think if he knew about her? "I might tell him sometime…just not…right now."
A breezy giggle spills out the brunette's lips as she flops onto the squeaking bed. "Whatever you say, Hannah Montana."
All four women stiffen when there's a knock at the door. A knock this late at night means someone knows where they are, which always means trouble.
Three of them look at Merida hesitantly. "Ya big babies," she rolls her eyes and presses her face against the peephole. "Punz, isn't that the guy you were scamming the other night? How'd he find us?" Rapunzel's conned lots of people since "the other night", but her chest tightens because she has a sinking feeling she knows who's at the door.
The door is open and the white-haired boy is in their hotel room before Rapunzel can even form words.
He's leaning against the frame of the door. "Ladies,"
Elsa is the first to say something. "What are you doing here, Frost?" She means to sound intimidating but there's a shake in her voice. Confusion blooms on the faces of the other three.
"I'm here to enlist your help."
"And what would the self-proclaimed 'greatest con artist' want with my help?"
He's wearing that wry smiling again, glancing up at Elsa through half-lidded eyes. "Not your help alone, dear Elsie." A pang of anxiety shoots through Rapunzel when the boy meets her gaze. "I was impressed by one of your partners…" His gaze shifts back to the perplexed blonde. "I want all of you."
Elsa rolls her eyes. She's growing impatient with his vagueness. "What are you talking about, Jack?"
He answers quickly. "I'm talking about the biggest scam you could imagine, precious."
The black and white photographs of three other men are fanned out on the coffee table of their tiny hotel room. One has sexy smolder and roguish goatee – Flynn Rider. Specializes in breaking and entering. Another has floppy brown hair that falls in his face. He has a confused yet dopey grin plastered on his face – Hiccup Haddock. Supposedly a technological genius, one of the best hackers in the business. The third was the very definition of charming: fresh-combed hair and a dashing yet polished smile. Hans Westergard. The most manipulative bastard in the con industry.
These three men compiled Jack Frost's team. Frost himself is one of the best con men, quick-thinking, slick-fingered, and every kind of street smart.
"My plan involves the use of some alluring ladies who know the game well enough not to slow us down."
"Gee, I'm touched." Merida mumbles from the floral chair.
Elsa's face is concentrated and contemplative. "It looks like a good setup, but what exactly is your plan, Jack?"
"Oh Elsa, you of all people should know…a good con man never reveals his whole plan. Not even to the accomplices."
The four ladies exchange suspicious glances.
"Look, I've got a good team put together. And this plan is sure-fire. I'm not talking about a simple robbery here. We're talking about millions of dollars."
A sudden tension floods the air.
"So you in?"
A series of nods. Then, four distinct voices, "We're in."