#and that is incidentally also how the myth of the art thief werewolf of florence begins

[be-gay-do-heists]

(this is just a random thought i had but i wanted to send it to you since meg is yours) 5 times quinn and parker do a heist and 1 time meg joins them. the heists get increasingly complicated and nonsensical. (parker: i want this one. quinn: how are you picking these? parker: i like pantone 19-4052. quinn: excellent point.) the meg heist ends up famous in the art world, it’s like the gardner heist 2.0. except. people may have legitimate theories about the gardner heist. the meg heist? most people will say it was the perfect heist, it will never be solved, it’s a waste of time to even speculate. in certain circles, however, the leading theory is that a dog did it. but no one is willing to really claim that theory, they would be the laughing stalk of the thief world. (of course meg would never leave a footprint by accident. parker asked her to do it because she thought it would be funny.)

i'd like to thank you for this ask and my life as i have not been able to think about anything else since reading it

imagine. you are a night guard in one of the most esteemed art museums in the world. despite the high profile, it's surprising a very laid back job (your cousin helped you get it. he said nothing actually ever happened, it was good pay, and you got to look at art. you love art and hate talking to people. win win). and for the most part nothing does ever happen. you haven't even had an alarm go off until now, in the impressionist gallery. on your run there you almost miss the empty case where a chihuly had been, and where you're pretty sure there should be an alarm going off too. you leave it aside for the moment, only to have the exact same experience in the next room

to your horror, the first night where something actually happens, it's not one piece stolen, but seven, with no connections between them by period, artist, medium, or country of origin. (you think. in the background of the painting, flecks in the metal, in the glass. they all, in some capacity, contained that one shade of blue-- you dismiss the thought. it seems silly). an open door, which should also have set off the alarms in the control room but didn't, is found on the east staircase, and all the way across the museum you find two other guards who were choked unconscious with a brutal kind of efficiency. you can't even say for certain how many people were in your museum

there's one thing you don't put in your report, when the directors and the insurance investigators are grilling you for all you're worth. it still makes it out, somehow; you see it on the news forums that you despondently scroll in your bathrobe, once more out of a job. on the floor, in front of the only stolen piece whose wall alarm had gone off, was a single print left in the same tone of blue. a very large pawprint, to be exact. it wasn't painted; you saw the marks from the grooves of the pads. you're pretty sure that somehow, in some way, a dog was involved in the middle of biggest art heist of the last three decades