Hi all, I'm back. To be short, I've had this story rolling around in my head for years. I also promise to finish When Words Fail when I take a read through and determine how much is left/where I left off. I do plan on finishing.

Anyway expect~ 25-30 chapters for this fic. I hope you like it as much as I do.

~Rosey

New Moons - Day 1

This was a rubbish plan and even Cook could vouch for that. But you go along with it anyway because something in the coastal air was invigorating and reckless. The sand and the sea and the surreal way it never really rained made you impulsive, made you need to get up and do something to change your life. You've sat too many days in that bloody office with pitiful white walls watching paradise through the slits of generic blinds, typing notes no one gives a damn about with monkeys in suits already under the spell of monotony.

Until you got fired that is.

You might be the only person to smile when come face to face with unemployment, because you were free and you got to stay here. Tiresome tourist spot as it may be, Florida rings loudly with its' luxury appeal. Not now though, as you head into the end of summer. Things wind down, the weather will cool and all the fanny packs, camera's and screaming children will dwindle, thank Christ.

You needed money because there's only so long an accountant's intern pay will support you by the costly state's coastline. You blame the weather, you blame the chokehold of newfound freedom, you blame your best mate, but here you are still doing something stupidly reckless-emphasis on stupid since there were many factors you'd not taken to account. It would only be a few knick knacks. They would pawn one at different shops across a few towns and be steady for a few more months. At least that's how Cook said it went. It used to be him and Freddie, until the pothead decided to grow a conscious after his mum's death. The inconsequential items would not be missed, this family was more than well off and could easily find some other baubles to replace them.

But this plan was still rubbish.

"Look, it's just a few yards, gettin' sneaky with some camera's, slip in, slip out, and th' jobs done! No need for worries blondie," James persuaded, lighting up a smoke as we sit on the curb a few blocks out. "We're just even'n up the money, these blokes are burst'n with cash from their balls, it's about time some of it came our way, huh?" He gave my shoulder a shove, grinned, and gnashed the fag on the grass, getting up and walking towards Corvell Drive, the mark. It was the luxury end of the town, outside the city but made for millionaires, no doubt. The sun had set but a low purple hazed across the Atlantic. Another half hour and it would be time to move.

The end of the road fashioned a massive house, barely smaller than a mansion. Glass walls overlooked the coast while the windows were structured within brick, somewhat stable. The second floor was set over a terrace and bedroom balconies made the place seem too accessible. You are hesitant to follow through-it's too easy. Still, money is money, and with the family on a weekend getaway, there was only tonight. You put out your own fag and follow Cook, watching him strut ahead.


Before you know it, the stars are out and the night arrives. The plan is only fractionally better that the moon is hidden in it's phases tonight, no risk of getting caught from it's luminescence. You dress to match, all black-just a precaution-and a black bandana to cover the mouth. No ski masks, according the James, he's not a bloody terrorist. A simple backpack and socks over the shoes-no treadmarks, no footsteps that sound.

And then you're going. The driveway is cleared out of all the cars, a reassurance in this wildly idiotic notion that's about to happen. You're going, going, gone, tucked in the shadows of the terrace. The only lights on illuminate the front garden of orange trees, the inside looks asleep and dim. He scales the terrace to a slender second floor balcony because 'no one gives a fuck lock'n things up high.' You follow with nervous footing from socks scaling the structure. The window slides up with ease, used often in the summer, and you both tumble in with equal ease.

Still you can't help but think: This is too easy.

James has never been one to stop and think, so before you're fully on your feet, he's already out of the bedroom-the master bedroom apparently with darkened oak bedframes and smooth sleek furnishings. A mirror opposes you on the far wall and you're startled by your own figure in the dark. Your heart is about to beat right out your chest.

Three items apiece is what was agreed on. In and out in ten minutes tops. Coming out the bedroom overlooks the entrance to the lower level, lots of space, lots of elegance, lots of...emptiness if you're honest. James is already finished and heading up the winding staircase as you put two onyx encrusted bookcase holders in your bag. He signals to wrap up and jesus the adrenaline is making you dizzy, you can't believe it's going so fast. You understand now, when people say 'I can't remember, it all happened so fast…' You try not to think that people hear those words after accidents.

A pack of silverware, of real silver is tucked away in a cabinet in someone's room. You aim for nothing obvious that would be missed, and silverware will be easy to sell. Wrapped up tight, you slip it in your bag, carefully not to rattle anything before your eyes set on a beautiful sapphire watch with a deep blue and silver band. The gems match your eyes and you know immediately-obvious or not-you want it. So you take it. You can't even be bothered to put in the bag so you slip it on and fuck, doesn't it feel like water on your wrist.

And then a door opens down the hall. Quiet footsteps.

Cook knows better than to screw with a job, and that's what makes the enclosing proximity even more terrifying. Running into a problem on your first and only job is enough to make you lose any cool you ever had going into this fucked up plan. So you run. You'd only gone three rooms over so you fucking run for the love of all things holy to the master bedroom again, while sliding the bag off your shoulders, cradling it in your arms. You don't bother climbing down the terrace but climb out the window ready to just fucking fall. Anything to get out right now. You've only just got on the other side of the balcony before a silhouette appears in the doorway and you panic. You jump and land ungracefully on your feet and roll on your back, you screwed up your shoulder as you tumbled but the adrenaline is making everything numb as you stumble to your feet.

"Please wait! That's my watch, please I need that back, it's for someone important!" a voice pleads behind you, cracking and about to cry. A girl by the sound of it, tears lodged in her throat. "Please no don't take it, no don't.." her voice dwindles off and she knows it is too late, as you run farther away.

You stifle your feelings behind your burning lungs as you haul ass to the end of the drive, finding Cook look startled at her distress. He pauses a moment before jogging alongside her.

"Fucked up din'ya?" You punch him rather forcefully in the arm before you both head back to yours, dropping off the bags before getting a much needed drink. You try not to let your own throat lodge as you think about that voice while tipping back tequila shots.