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Sep. 9th, 2017 10:59 pm"Sayuri." Famed masterpiece of a modern genius. Worth millions. The crown jewel of the multi-million-dollar art collection of a billionaire industrialist. It's Fujiko's dream heist.
A brief casing of the home told her that the security was astronomical. While she surely could do her usual cat burglar schtick, it'd be risky. Better to find another route. She applied for a job in the mansion as a maid, forged papers listing her as Ayumi Sato, and got it.
Even up close, the security is as close to impregnable as she's ever seen. Her job gives her a little leeway, but not enough to truly bypass the systems. So what's left? Human error.
The billionaire has a daughter. Cute little thing, a real sweetheart. The sort who's going to get her heart broken someday. Not unusual in itself, but Fujiko has noticed something. The girl keeps staring at her. And not just in a casual way, but in a way that's so obviously lovestruck it's almost pathetic.
She'd gotten herself assigned to be effectively the girl's personal maid, and the longing only got more and more obvious. A surreptitious search of her browser history confirmed Fujiko's suspicions, because boy that sure was a lot of girl-on-girl information, literature, and plain old porn. This little butterfly was gay as hell, and either in denial or just deep in the closet.
Fujiko had a way in.
She knocks on the girl's bedroom door. "Miss? I brought some evening snacks," she says in the cheerful soprano she's affected in her time here.
A brief casing of the home told her that the security was astronomical. While she surely could do her usual cat burglar schtick, it'd be risky. Better to find another route. She applied for a job in the mansion as a maid, forged papers listing her as Ayumi Sato, and got it.
Even up close, the security is as close to impregnable as she's ever seen. Her job gives her a little leeway, but not enough to truly bypass the systems. So what's left? Human error.
The billionaire has a daughter. Cute little thing, a real sweetheart. The sort who's going to get her heart broken someday. Not unusual in itself, but Fujiko has noticed something. The girl keeps staring at her. And not just in a casual way, but in a way that's so obviously lovestruck it's almost pathetic.
She'd gotten herself assigned to be effectively the girl's personal maid, and the longing only got more and more obvious. A surreptitious search of her browser history confirmed Fujiko's suspicions, because boy that sure was a lot of girl-on-girl information, literature, and plain old porn. This little butterfly was gay as hell, and either in denial or just deep in the closet.
Fujiko had a way in.
She knocks on the girl's bedroom door. "Miss? I brought some evening snacks," she says in the cheerful soprano she's affected in her time here.
