Stacie spied a dark-haired woman with obviously expensive tastes sitting in a dark corner of the dimly-lit London bar, hunched over her glass of dark liquor on the rocks. Slowly sauntering over to the woman's booth, Stacie mentally segued into her "mysterious seductress" persona. She was only looking to make a few pounds tonight to get the gang out of a tight spot, not trying to spot a mark for a long con, so there was no pressure. If she couldn't manage to pick this woman's pocket, there were plenty of other lonely-looking bar patrons she could dazzle. Hell, if she couldn't manage to take her money, perhaps they could adjourn to Stacie's apartment for more… interesting activities.

The woman was alone, so Stacie slid into the booth across from her, greeting her with a husky, "Hello, darling." Stacie hadn't yet glimpsed the woman's face, but something familiar stirred inside her at the sight of the woman's hands wrapped around her glass. And then, with a practiced flick of her head, the woman flipped her hair out of her face and looked up at Stacie.

They both froze.

It was like looking in a mirror. Their eyes roamed over the planes of each others' faces, shock, distrust, and disbelief flitting across their nearly identical features. The first coherent thought Stacie's mind recognized made her choke out a giggle at its sheer irrelevancy. She looks so much… older.

The noise made the woman across from her snap out of the trance that seeing her physical double had placed her in. Twisting her lips into a strangely cynical smirk, she finally spoke. "And who might you be?"

Stacie supposed it only made sense that if this woman was nearly identical to her in looks, her crisp, low voice and clipped, almost snobbish accent would sound nearly the same as her own as well. Still, seeing her own lips move and hearing her own voice coming out of this stranger across the table caused a shiver to run down her spine.

"…my name is Stacie," she finally said, nearly managing not to stammer, all seductive pretense dropped in the wake of her surprise and confusion. "But who are you? Are we related? You look almost exactly like me, but… older. You could almost be my twin. Where were you born? What's your surname?" Once Stacie started speaking, it was hard for her to stop, question upon question tumbling about in her head and out of her mouth almost faster than she could think. It was making her a little dizzy.

"I assure you, dear, that we are in no way related." When Stacie began to protest, threatening to begin her questioning anew, the woman held up her hand. "Please do not ask me to explain; suffice to say that I know without a doubt that it is simply impossible."

Taken slightly aback, Stacie tried a simpler question. "So who exactly are you, then?" she asked, the frightened note clear in her voice.

Softening slightly, the other woman looked at Stacie and sighed. "My name is Helena Wells," she said simply.

Stacie attempted to swallow, only to notice that her mouth had gone completely dry.

Raising her hand, she signaled to a near-by waiter.

"I think this calls for a drink. Top shelf scotch on the rocks, please."

The waiter nodded, but before he had the chance to turn around and head back to the bar for her drink, Helena put her hand on his arm and said, "Please, allow me to put it on my tab, sir."

All of a sudden, Stacie remembered why she had come to talk to this woman, and that thought, combined with all the other feelings that were currently tangling up inside her head, caused her to burst out into hysterical laughter.

"And to think," she tried to catch her breath, nearly doubled over with laughter, "I came over here to pick your pocket!"