"So that's it, is it? What our mysterious benefactor included with the plans of this latest rich bint's mansion? Let's have a look, then." Two Fingers cocked her head and made a little twirling motion. Stared at her blushing gangmate's new outfit.
It looked... warm, comfortable, and blacker than a priest's soul, as if it swallowed all light, which meant it had to be ridiculously expensive. Still, she could see how it could be advantageous for those who plied their trade. She could also see a lot more of Softpaw than she ever had, because very little was left to the imagination, which she didn't mind at all.
"I guess it makes sense why they only included the one, you never having mentioned the rest of us Poor Orphans to protect us so that if anything goes wrong on that end, the rotters wouldn't be able to trace anything back to the rest of us and all, which we're all very grateful for, aren't we girls?"
Agreeing noises all around, as the rest of the gang abandoned all pretense of being absorbed in their preparations. Of not listening to their leader and New Girl, never mind that Softpaw had been with them for months now. New Girl stayed New Girl, until relieved by someone else.
"But... that note was a mite queer. Telling you to dress up warm and all. Who do they think they are?" Two Fingers looked around the expectant faces as she prepared to drop her punchline like it was a winning hand of Knickers Down. "Your mother?!"
Uproarious laughter in the hideout.
Softpaw — née Caroline Marie Josephine de Baiemont de Longdanseur de Rochecant — laughed along with the rest. "I know. Crazy, right?" she tittered nervously as Two Fingers slung a companionable just-a-joke arm around her shoulders.
She was going to kill her-mother-the-marquise, if these English didn't discover who she was and killed her first.
