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---- A little less than paper cuts ----
-- Snow gracefully fell from the icy white sky, caking the ground of North Yankton. Days of work from stocking up, and preparation was shown from the scattered piles of weapons, duffel bags, and costumes. A quaint woman with black, silk pressed hair sat on the brown couch beside a pile of winter coats, and iron-toed boots, pondering the very existence of own self. Cash filled her pockets, and needles filled her arms, but what was it all for? Surely the thrill of it all. The pure adrenaline that pumped through her drying veins, and the way her hair stood on the back of her neck each time she changed into a new costume. Their lifestyle was overrated, never seen as exhausting, and fraught of pure horror.
Into the main room in which the woman sat, walked a shorter man in comparison to the others. His black hair was buzzed short, and his eyes shined an arctic blue. "You got the van already?" He asked while he removed his black gloves from his calloused hands. "A?" Avril peered up from her hands, and looked to Michael as he sat beside her onto the leather, brown couch. "Everything alright?" The brown eyed woman nodded gently, her mind somewhere completely different. "Listen, we really need you all there for this heist. If you can't follow through with that, you really need to let us know that before you get us all killed."
"I'm fine, M. Promise," she responded with a faint smile. Michael placed the palm of his hand onto her knee, his eyes staying trained on the woman to his right. "I got the van ready, and even cleaned off the prints just in case it's investigated beforehand." Avril sighed as she placed her cleaned hand on top of Michael's. "Are you doing alright-"
"This is it boys," a man announced as he pushed through the main door, his hands raised, and his face was covered in an overgrown mustache. "And gals." His left arm gestured to the sorrowful woman as her eyes slowly met with his. "This is the one!" Trevor let out a shout as he leaned backward, and pumped his fist into the air. "Who's fucking ready!" Trevor silenced himself, though his face held much volume. His eyebrows scrunched, and his mouth was left agape. "Where's the excitement, ladies?" Michael rolled his eyes, and leaned into the palms of his hands. Taking notice in the damp mood, Trevor yanked Avril off of the couch, his arm tightly wrapped around her waist. "Come oooon!"
"Trev-"
"Live a little, A. We're about to rob a fucking bank!" Trevor was the lively, psychotic one of the group with his nonexistent shame. He lived for the thrill of killing, and stealing. Trevor spun the woman in a circle as if they were ballroom dancing, his eyes concentrated on the corner of her lips as they quirked up into a grin. "There ya go." The brunet's index finger jabbed into her side before he walked off into the kitchen to grab himself a bottle of Pißwasser.
Mikey was always the planner of the group, a concerned father figure with the eye for a good heist. Strategic, and willful. Whereas Trevor was more about the partying, and worried more about the income more so than the outcome. An abundant amount of anger constantly possessed his mind, never letting him know when to stop his constant shouting. Brad was... Well, Brad was Brad. Somehow he was like a mixture of the other two men, more like Michael than Trevor, but nobody could ever be like Trevor.
