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Rikku loves working soirees. Something about the smartly fitted white coats and tuxedo pants she gets to wear and seeing the men and women dressed in their black-tie best makes her feel warm and cuddly inside, almost as much as catching internationally renowned villains does. Even surly Nooj—her partner for this mission—hadn’t looked at all terrible in his rented tuxedo and best cane.
Nooj’s report filters in through the speaker discreetly hidden in Rikku’s ear, and she recalls glancing at the woman. Way to blend in, Rikku thinks, although standing out as a wacky socialite in a hot pink sheath or an art student moonlighting as wait staff is better than drawing suspicion by brooding in the corner during a party. Nooj could at least pretend that he has some reason—business or pleasure—to attend this charity dinner—something about silent auctions and kids in hospitals. She doesn’t sigh at her subdued partner so much as gives an amused shake of her head and flits from group to group with a tray of champagne glasses artfully arranged.
Rikku nods, half a signal to Nooj who broods near the stairway and half to the group of businessmen complimenting the beads in her hair.
“Prosecco?” she asks the nearest one, with the most winning smile, “It’s from Italy, near Verona.” Actually, it was still champagne, from the only region allowed to call their fizzy wine champagne, but the words ‘prosecco’ and ‘Verona’ tell their back up crew that LeBlanc has been confirmed to be in attendance, and that any relevant gossip on her activities tonight would be much appreciated.
"Searching for her now," Shelinda's voice responds in her ears. "We're syncing the guest list and the seating chart we found earlier and seeing if any of them match to her known aliases. How's Nooj holding up?"
Rikku's answer is delayed by the brush of soft paper against her hand. The tallest of the businessmen has written his room number down on a cocktail napkin and now passes it discreetly to her. Rikku lowers her eyes and pretends that she hasn’t already collected half a dozen scraps of paper tonight with various and sundry phone numbers or that despite all her flirtations, the ideal ending to her evening will likely mean going home with a not-at-all-amorous criminal in tow.
"Hard to tell with him," Rikku quickly responds to Shelinda, before she continues her rounds, "but we're on."
Right on schedule, Nooj makes his way over to her, and Rikku shifts her path oh so slightly to meet him. If anyone ever needed something to loosen them up, Nooj would be Rikku’s top candidate bar none. “Champagne, sir?”
“Thank you.” Nooj plays—poorly—at being a party goer, as he takes the most miniscule of sips from his flute, before dropping his voice into spy mode, low, quiet, and as little lip motion as possible. "Everything proceeding according to schedule?"
"Hear ya loud and clear," she replies in spy mode, and then raises her voice to a level able to be overheard by eavesdropping people. "Dinner starts in fifteen minutes, but I suggest you get a seat before then."
Nooj nodded. "Perhaps you could show me to the dining room?"
Rikku indulges in a quick glance at their target; if she recalls correctly, the stout man next to her is Ormi the Bulletproof, and she risks a scan of the room to see if any of her other known agents are out in force before looking back up at Nooj. "This way, sir." She tucks the tray—now free of its last glass—underneath her arm and escorts Nooj through the clusters of elegantly clad guests and around to the dining room's back entrance. Simultaneously they pause in front of the closed door for any signs of a straggler or curious passerby, before they slip through together. One more cursory check follows before Nooj shuts the door and lets his gracious demeanor drop into a scowl.
"What was that?" Nooj demands. Someone was certainly in a mood tonight.
Rikku plays the fool. "What was what?"
"You not clearly communicating that you'd received my signal."
Rikku sighs. "It got you over to me, didn't it? Which was the plan, right? I don't see why you're complaining -- we're both in place, or close enough."
Nooj narrows his eyes. "Yes, well. Let's just hope we weren't noticed. Has Central been notified?"
"Yes, I sent the code as soon as I got your message. They should be—"
Rikku stops, her keen ears catching the sound of approaching footsteps and the turn of a door handle. Think quick, she tells herself. What's the most plausible excuse for a waitress and a guest to sneak off alone during a party? Inwardly, she groans at the obvious answer that comes up, but Rikku prides herself on being a good sport, and click of the door handle tells her there's no time for anything but the most makeshift of Plan A's.
Rikku pulls Nooj into a quick kiss and hopes that he at least understands that he needs to play along at least well enough to make it convincing. He does, and that at least helps Rikku concentrate on her performance, though as his right arm goes around her waist—a voice in her ear interrupts her thought stream.
"Rikku, we have a match on the guest list. The name she's using is Lauren Weiss. She's at Table 19." Of course the information has to come back now, while Rikku scrambles for some way give the kiss a little more gusto without actually having to involve tongue. How much longer is this going to take?
She pulls away at the clearing of a throat behind her, performance completed. The look that Mr. Andrews, the matire'd, shoots her now could rival Nooj's for distilled essence of irritation. More importantly, it gives her now time to actually relay the information to Nooj, who could keep a watch on her. "Miss Ross. Give me one reason not to fire you right now."
"Sorry, sir." Rikku contrives her most suitably embarrassed countenance, complete with blush and lowered head.
"My apologies. I take responsibility for encouraging your fine staff into dereliction of duty. Perhaps you can let it slide this once?" Nooj offers his right hand, $100 of bribe money half-concealed in his fingers.
"Well, perhaps we can overlook one indiscretion." He falls for it hook, line, and sinker, Rikku thinks, keeping her head down and her amusement concealed. "But only one. Now get back to work."
"Yes, sir." She sneaks one last glance at Nooj, who looks almost…shocked that the excuse worked so well. Has he never used—or at least seen—the Distraction Kiss before? Heard about, maybe? Did he live in a world where spies didn't use the tools of seduction as part of their arsenal? She dismisses the thought. After all, that was the first move she learned, and she suspects it's the oldest move in the metaphorical book.
“Rikku?” Shelinda’s voice sounds in her ears, “Please confirm that you have received the message.”
"Just a youthful indiscretion?" Rikku raises her right hand. "I promise it won't happen again." If the worst that happens tonight is that some front-of-house overlord thinks she has a bit of a thing for silver foxes…well, Rikku would say this mission could be her best outcome yet.
Rikku leaves the room alongside her boss and waits a few moments after he's decided to check up on her fellow waiters before she begins speaking under her breath. “LeBlanc is attending under the alias Lauren Weiss and she’s sitting at Table 19.” Something else occurs to her. “Oh yeah, and I saw her bid on something tonight.” Much louder, to a woman wearing a pantsuit and a deep purple blouse, “Right this way, ma’am. I’ll show you to your table. And might I say, your earrings are absolutely divine.”
At the code word, Shelinda’s voice returns in her ear. “Good. From Nooj's examination of the silent bids, Lauren Weiss will make a bid on whatever is in lot 128. All right, I’ll let you work. Please fill Nooj in on the details.”
"Roger that.” She switches the communication channel to Nooj. "Agent Nooj, we have confirmation that Leblanc is bidding on lot 128. I'm gonna be stuck waiting tables a little more, so make sure mix some snooping in with your mingling, if you're up for that, old man."
"Old—" Nooj's voice comes to a sudden halt in her ear. "Never mind. Just don't mess this up. I'm counting on you to watch my back."
Rikku understands. Despite her chipper attitude and love of parties, the real work begins now. "Got you covered."
--
“I just don’t believe it,” Nooj says afterwards as he and Rikku finish dragging the drugged bodies of Leblanc and Ormi into an abandoned storage room. They make one last scan of the area, before Rikku softly closes the door behind her. Nooj sets out the lengths of rope they'll need to keep their captives out of trouble.
“What?”
“That the maitre’d believed that someone of my status would deign to have a liaison with a member of the wait staff.”
“Believe it, buster!” Rikku says, pulling down the hood that has been concealing her hair. She retrieves a length of rope and binds Leblanc's hands and wrists behind her back, while Nooj does the same to Ormi. “That room was full of people who are actually as rich and powerful as you pretended to be, and my napkin count says at least twelve of them would have loved to be caught in an indiscretion with me.”
“But still you’d think they’d go for someone a little more—“ He pauses and Rikku can see the thoughts switching tracks in his head. “Napkin count? Honestly?”
Rikku grins. “Yep! Want to see?”
Nooj just shakes his head. “Keep watch outside for the clean-up crew’s arrival. I’ll keep an eye on our cargo.” He motions to Leblanc and Ormi bound and unconscious on the floor. “What of their purchase?”
Rikku reaches in the pocket of her jacket and pulls out the tiny and potentially very explosive sculpture she filched. “Safely acquired.” The silvery (and deactivated) object passes from Rikku’s gloved hand to Nooj’s.
“Hmmph.”
“I must admit, you didn’t do too shabby back there.” Rikku says in a low voice as she raises her hood again and fixes it so that none of her long blonde hair shows. She checks the corridor for any sign of surveillance, and dashes out of there before Nooj can respond.