Ocean's Eight Fanfiction

Executing the plan....

"...And we're closing in..." Debbie announced, pressing the earpiece closer to her head as she spoke. 

    "I got the aim." Tammy said.

    "'Kay. Ready, Nine Ball?"

    "Wait. I can't locate the place where the hook's supposed to catch. Just a moment.

    "Okay, found it. The speech will start in five minutes. Ready."

    "Alright, ladies, let's do this."

    Their plan was simple and wacky: Each of them would be positioned around various parts of the crowd of reporters. Amita, Lou, and Rose would distract the president and the other reporters with crude and unusual questions. Tammy would wait for the moment he turned his head so that the target area was facing her, and then she would click the pen, and before anyone knew what was happening, Debbie would use a remote control-like instrument to steer it to her by the floor, and snatch the wig up into her bag before anyone saw what she was doing. She would be positioned in the very back, where it was hard for anyone to notice her.

    Nine Ball had hacked into the security cameras and was watching from the limousine to alert them when their next target was nearing: Willow Ranger, a snobby reporter who once tried to sue Daphne a while back (naturally, Daphne requested this twist in the plan). The wig would be passed to Daphne, who would be standing in the hallway leading into the location of the speech, and as Willow approached, Daphne would swiftly place the wig on Willow as the reporter went in. Constance would pose as a security guard, so that she would pretend not to notice Willow as she went past the entrance.

    Therefore, Willow would be framed for stealing the wig, and the eight will have a good subject to laugh at for years to come.

    As the countdown was given, Debbie couldn't help but steal a glance at Lou, who was standing opposite her in the auditorium. She looked so pretty in that midnight-blue suit with her hair flopping cutely around her face, her blue eyes bright with mischief and fun. A little smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth and Debbie could tell from the way her slim frame was twitching with anticipation that Lou couldn't wait to pull this off.

    She recalled what they had been doing the afternoon before, and her body itched for some more of it. She knew a part of her was still trying to resist Lou's sexiness, but the way Lou had cupped her body in hers, her slender arms embracing Debbie's cold heart warmly, her face buried in the crook of Debbie's neck, the way she whispered raggedly in her ear that she loved her, loved her, so vulnerable and sweet was the sound, and Debbie wanted nothing more at this moment than to have it happen again.

    Nine Ball's voice shook her from her thoughts. "And....Here comes the president."

    "Ready, Constance?"

    "Yep. You, Daphne?"

    "I got ya."

    Debbie joined the roar of applause that met the president as he stepped up on the podium. She could distinctly hear Nine Ball's growl as she watched Trump take in the cheer.

    "Chill, Nine Ball." She heard Rose say.

    "Okay...Lou, your question is after the reporter with the ugly yellow suit."

    "What? Oh, yeah now I see it. Ew."

    Debbie snorted in a barely-suppressed burst of laughter.

    Trump gave out a couple words, but Debbie heard nothing, she was too focused on Lou. She gave a jump as Lou's cue came closer and closer. Lou had refused to tell them all her question, and Debbie was eager to hear it once and for all. 

    "Excuse me! Mrs. President! Over here, please." Lou's husky voice rang out over the reporters.  

    Everyone went slightly quiet as they turned, Trump as well, to Lou.

    "So, Mrs. President, I have one question to ask you today,..." Lou said, pretending to shuffle around in her papers.

    "I'm going to have to ask you to call me Mr.--"

    "SO, Mrs. President, do you like the lights on or off, and when you do sex, is it usually oral, anal, or vaginal?"

    Debbie busted out laughing. She couldn't help it. But it didn't end there.

    Mr. Trump turned a slight shade of pink, and he began with the upmost indignity, "Excuse me, but that is not a--"

    "Because you see, I am a whoreophil, the lover of whores. I study the behavior and habits of whores like you. Can you tell us how many times you've done it in the public?"

    Debbie was doubled over, clutching her sides, barely able to breathe, as was some of the other reporters. Others were standing, appalled, staring at Lou with slackened jaws, while still others were a ferocious shade of red. 

    Trump did not know what to say, except furiously stutter and make angry motions of his hands, while Lou's icy calm face waited expectantly for an answer.

    "Excuse me, how rude can you get?!" Heads turned to Amita, who was pretending to be deeply offended by Lou. "You don't ask those questions to the president, or to anyone, at least, not yet." She then beamed a winning smile at Trump and asked dreamily, "did you use condoms the first time?"

    Before anyone could register this question, Rose jumped in. "Mr. Trump, if you had the choice to stare at a vagina or a penis for, say, four days on end, which would it be?"

    "Enough!" Trump cried, but at this point everyone was either yelling, laughing, or talking excitedly, his words were no more heeded than the next reporter.

    "This is the moment, Tam!" Nine Ball said, her voice thick with chuckles.

    "Alright."

    Debbie saw Tammy take out the ball point pen, squint one eye to take aim, and shoot. Though no one else noticed it, Debbie watched the little hook fly through the air on the thin clear line, and snatch the wig off Trump's head.

    The hilarity mounted as Trump clapped his hands on his bald head and the air was flashing with cameras taking pictures, and Debbie whipped out the remote controller and steered the wig, which had dropped on the floor behind Trump, toward her. She saw the yellow bunch of fake hair come shooting towards her, weaving swiftly in and out between the reporters' and audience's ankles, until she found it at her feet, grabbed it, and stuffed it into her bag before anyone could see it.

    So far, so good.

    Debbie whipped out of the room unnoticed, and walked out through the exit, where Constance had--

    Wait.

    Where was Constance?

    The security guard that was standing at the exit was not Constance, but a tall grumpy man who looked at least 6 feet. "Hey, what's going on in there?" He asked her.

    "Some reporter asked the wrong shit." Debbie replied.

    Daphne was nowhere to be seen.

    Debbie turned swiftly into the ladies' room, and found Daphne standing awkwardly near a stall. "God, Daphne, what the hell is going on?"

    "I don't know! Where's Constance?!" Daphne demanded.

    "Constance, Constance, you there?" Debbie said through the earpiece. 

    Nine Ball's voice answered instead. "We lost her!"

    "Oh my God, Willow's gonna be coming in any minute now." Daphne said, panicking.

    "Constance?" Debbie repeated.

    Suddenly, a crackling exploded in their ears and the seven of them all hissed and gripped their heads.

    "What the fuck was that?!" Lou gasped.

    "Guys. Help. Help." Constance's voice was thick and unclear with static. "I'm tied up. I'm going to die."