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The first thing Twilight sees when he steps into the dance hall is her and, just like that, alarm bells are blaring in his head.
They make eye contact almost immediately. Because of course this woman just has to have senses as sharp as the knives she's most certainly hiding underneath the skirt of that black ball gown of hers. Of course. Just his damn luck. He turns his gaze away in an instant, but he can still feel her staring. Now, the weight on his back is far more heavy than it was just ten minutes prior. Back when this was just a simple assignment.
Bloodlust is thick in the air. He can't tell if that's him or her.
Regardless, he approaches his target with a practiced smile, pleasant conversation topics and two glasses of wine at the ready. One is poisoned, one is not. He used to label them– back when he was a rookie. Now he likes to test himself. If he ends up dead because of it then so be it.
"Package delivered," he says into his earpiece minutes later, taking a sip of unpoisoned wine as he watches people waltz past him in droves. The dance hall is big. It's easy to slip into the shadows. "We have company."
"Again?" Franky sounds pissed. The static doesn't help. "Damn it! Just where in the hell are they getting their info these days?"
"I doubt we'll find the answer to that now."
Franky sighs. "How many?"
Twilight takes stock of the venue. Mostly old socialites spending the last of their days wining and dining. A couple of fresh-faced 20-somethings swaying around, trying to be discreet about finding other places they can sway around. Emotionless staff. He's vaguely familiar with all 108 guests, 14 servers, and 12 chefs. It's part of his preparation.
He doesn't spot her anywhere though. He tries not to fuss over that yet.
Twilight adjusts his tie and says, "One."
"What?" Franky sounds appalled.
"Just the one, if I'm not mistaken." And he rarely ever is. "A woman."
He hears the faint sound of clicking before Franky says, "Describe."
"Long black hair, red eyes, no notable beauty marks. Gold head piece with rose details, black ball gown also with rose details."
"Cause for suspicion?"
"There was blood on the gown." And, he doesn't say, she'd somehow managed to sense him as soon as he'd walked into the room. This information is a double-edged sword. For one, it means she is alert, vigilant, but, on the other hand, what kind of alert, vigilant person would be so tactless as to prance around with blood on their clothes? "Probably assumed it would blend in with the red of her dress, but there was a smell and I noticed the pattern was unusual."
More typing. Franky snorts. "What are you- a fashion designer suddenly?"
"If I need to be," Twilight offers, nonchalant. He'd had to be a stripper once. A priest. A stenographer. A fashion designer doesn't seem so bad. "I can't imagine it would be difficult."
"That's an insult to all fashion designers."
Twilight knows he's only indignant because he has a cousin in the fashion industry. A struggling intern hoping to claw her way to the top by running around delivering coffee. Now, one would argue that's too much for him, a spy, to know about his colleague, also a spy, but the universe digresses. Franky's the one who ran his mouth in the first place anyway. And all of it could've easily been a lie.
"I was referring more so towards the acting rather than having the actual knowledge. Leads?"
"Give me a minute and ha! As if you know any designers to emulate."
"It's nothing research can't remedy. Speaking of, for someone assigned to act as my aide, you're annoyingly argumentative." This is hardly the first time he's pointed it out. Franky never cares.
"Someone has to keep you on your toes."
"And that person has to be you?"
"Duh," Franky says and so much sarcasm manages to drip from the single syllable alone, Twilight actually rolls his eyes. He's just about to retort when the typing abruptly stops. He hears Franky suck in a harsh breath. "Shit."
Twilight narrows his eyes. "Franky-"
"Twilight, get out of there now."
He's puzzled. Franky's voice is suddenly weaker. "What-"
"Get out! No-" Static.
"Tell me what's going on."
More static. Then, "-horn Pr-" before another bout of interference and, "Run. Quic-"
"Don't move."
Twilight does as he's told.
He can feel the cold metal of something sharp even through the layers he has on. It digs into his back, not enough pressure to pierce but enough for him to feel the threat. And the shame.
It is, quite frankly, embarrassing for him to be caught off-guard like this.
"Follow me," the woman says quietly and Twilight acquiesces, letting himself get nudged into the direction of a vacant balcony with its doors half-closed. There wouldn't be any witnesses there, he thinks idly, and, of course, logically that means one of two things. This woman either intends to kill him or-
"You stole my target," is what she ends up saying to him, a golden stiletto pressed to his throat. Twilight gapes.
"What?"
The stiletto is pressed deeper into his throat. "You stole my target," she repeats, looking displeased. He sees her brandish a second stiletto behind her back. He conducts a quick assessment.
Up close, he realizes she's quite attractive. Red eyes are stunning up close, deep and alluring. Bewitching, one could even say. Fair skin and sharp features. A honeypot then, he concludes, but the weapon digging into him begs to differ.
"I beg your pardon?" Playing dumb traditionally doesn't work out in these situations, but he'll try anything to gauge more information now that he knows she isn't looking to off him immediately.
"I saw you slip poison into his wine," she continues. "The Westalian officer. I was supposed to take care of him."
"I see." And he'd been so discreet. He grits his teeth. Tonight just isn't his night. "And you are?"
"None of your business," she replies, not particularly cold, but not exactly warm either. In general, she just looks very frustrated. In the quiet sort of way. It's interesting. "That poison?"
"Slow-acting. Death is expected to be some time around dawn."
"Why target him?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"He was a traitor to Ostania. Traitors to Ostania are to be disposed of," she responds, almost robotically.
He startles. That sounds eerily familiar. It takes a second for something to click in his head.
"You're with Garden?"
Her eyes narrow. "Yes."
No wonder Franky got so frantic. Twilight had been confident he could take this woman earlier, but now he isn't so sure. Garden isn't something to be trifled with after all. Garden is why half of Ostania’s underground is in disarray. He's fortunate they seem to be on the same side tonight.
"He's been facilitating some illegal dealings on Westalian streets," he offers. "So you could say he's a traitor here too."
"Oh." Understanding flashes in the woman's eyes then. She bites her lip, seemingly contemplative. The pressure on his neck eases the slightest bit. "I see."
"I suppose you have my apologies then. For stealing your target." He gives her his most disarming smile. Her eyes widen, clearly surprised. "We're allies tonight, it seems. As long as you have no intention of killing me, I don't see why we should treat each other with hostility."
Well, allies is a far cry, in truth. WISE and Garden may have similar goals but they vary in many ways. He hopes the woman doesn't call him out on it. He also hopes his seduction skills haven't gotten rusty.
"I suppose," she agrees softly before finally retracting her stilettos. He stretches his neck around a bit, stiff from being held one way for so long. The Garden agent still looks troubled though. "I'm sorry I tore at your disguise."
He goes rigid. "Sorry?"
"Your disguise," she repeats, cocking her head. "I exposed some of your real skin." And before he can ask what she means, she steps forward and taps a finger to a spot on his neck. The warmth from her finger bleeds into the exposed area and Twilight, for the first time in a long time, finds himself at a loss for words.
There's a sharp intake of breath suddenly and the woman's face flushes crimson so rapidly, he's taken aback. She pulls away violently, muttering apologies for overstepping. Twilight thinks she's about to actually bow when he holds a hand up to stop her.
This woman really is odd. Whether that's a good or bad thing remains to be seen. For now, "How did you know I was wearing a disguise?" His mask is designed to practically mesh into his skin. His wig is made of real hair. For her to have noticed is both impressive and alarming.
"Ah, experience," is all she says, still red. "Also, um, you didn't seem very present."
He arches a brow. "Present?"
"Your stare just seemed very vacant. Empty. Like you were playing a character. It wasn't a far-off assumption that you were in some sort of disguise." She catches herself. "Oh! Please don't take that as an insult!" she exclaims and this time, to his bafflement, she actually bows.
Irked that he's being reminded his performance was laughable tonight, he responds with, "As long as you don't mind me pointing out that wearing a bloody dress to assassinate someone is careless, it's fine."
Pale skin grows even paler then when he watches her frantically examine her dress. Her eyes finally zero in on the specks of blood he'd seen on the hem of her gown when he first laid eyes on her. She squeaks.
"Oh no, oh no, they won't be happy with me tonight. This is horrible!"
For you and me both, he doesn't say. At least he'd succeeded in his mission. "I have something that can get that out, if you'd like."
"I'll have to kill you."
Again, he freezes, fake smile slipping. "What?"
"Ah, I just mean no one is supposed to know of my presence tonight. Letting you remove the blood would be suspicious. Protocol dictates I eliminate you, especially since you interfered with an operation, but I don't particularly want to kill you. You seem... pleasant."
Twilight is floored. What the hell is going on right now? He laughs awkwardly and suppresses a cringe at how pathetic it sounds. "I'm flattered. If it'll help, you could say you're the one who got the kill."
The woman sighs. "They would know it wasn't me. Poison isn't how I work. As you can probably guess." She gestures at her dress.
"Right."
"Yes."
Then silence. People usually avoid eye contact with him when he stares, but she's meeting his gaze head on, unwavering, unflinching. He's intrigued.
Technically, he's supposed to kill her too. Just like her, he's supposed to work undetected after all, but this encounter has been anything but normal and he isn't exactly eager to end it in a fight where he'll most certainly either lose or be beaten within an inch of his life. WISE will probably forgive him for deviating this one time. Especially if they get a pseudo-ally in a Garden agent in exchange.
He breaks their impromptu staring contest with a nod. "I'll be taking my leave then. Thank you for sparing me." It's an odd and more than slightly demeaning thing to say. "I appreciate it."
She bows again. "Thank you as well. As sad as I am for not doing my job, I'm quite thankful I won't have to wash any more blood off my dress." She smiles up at him, genuinely grateful. (Either that or she's just a really impressive actress.)
He blanks. What is he supposed to say to that? "It's really no-"
"Is anyone out there?"
They both turn towards the balcony doors in alarm.
Twilight recognizes Guest 24's voice immediately. He'd also deduced Guest 24 was probably one of his target's goons from the moment he stepped into the room. Him standing here alone with a beautiful woman isn't damning in any sort of way, but there's a hole in his mask and Twilight doesn't take any chances.
"Pardon me," is the only warning he gives the Garden agent before he pulls her close and smashes his lips against hers.
She makes a small sound of surprise, stance stiff and hands caught at the sides. Before he closes his eyes, he guides her arms around his neck and tightens his grip on her waist. Her face is steaming red.
Though she's unresponsive, he finds that it isn't a bad kiss. Her lips are soft and taste faintly of strawberries. He has full control over what's happening, but he doesn't push. It would be improper given how she's shaking the slightest bit. Her nails are sharp against his neck and it's with a shock that he realizes giving a Garden agent a direct ticket to one of the most vulnerable parts of the human body- his human body- probably wasn't one of his brightest ideas.
As he's pondering this, he feels the hesitant press of her tongue against his lips, the abruptness startling him into gripping her waist tighter. Against his better judgment, he's just about to open his mouth to her when he hears Guest 24's surprised little, "Oh!" and the subsequent sound of balcony doors closing.
If he pulls away from the woman reluctantly, that's only for him to know.
"Sorry," he says immediately, pulling away slightly. He retracts his hands from her waist slowly, tilting his head to search for any signs of discomfort. "I didn't want to risk blowing our cover."
"Sure. That's all you did it for."
Twilight holds back from rolling his eyes. Leave it to Franky to suddenly come back from whatever technical difficulties plagued him at the most inopportune moment. At least Twilight knows he's alright.
"No, I understand," the woman assures him, still red. The dazed look in her eyes fades and her arms are still around his neck, but when she realizes this, she removes them immediately, face even redder. "Thank you. Thank you."
"You were shaking," he points out. "Did I do something to upset you?"
Another squeak. She raises her hands over her eyes. "S-Sorry! It's just that... um. That was my- my first-"
Twilight takes pity on her. "You don't have to tell me." He can guess what she was going to say anyway. If he's right (and he always is) then it's a little shocking. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"What chivalry!" Franky exclaims and, not for the first time, Twilight wants to throw his ear piece to the ground.
"Thank you," the woman repeats, a bit calmer now. She steps away, a hand on her chest. She won't look at him. Perhaps it's for the best. "It's about time I go too. Don't let me keep you any longer."
"I-"
"It was nice meeting you, Twilight," she says and, before he can stop her, ask her how in the world she could've known, a gust of wind hits his face and she's gone.
He gapes, watching her hop down from the balcony- the third floor balcony- onto the ground below. In heels. He hears Franky yell some choice words in surprise, but Twilight's jaw is too busy hanging open to respond. What the hell. What the hell.
As if on cue, the woman turns around one last time, nodding at him bashfully and bowing before she disappears into the night. The dirt she'd landed on is flattened, decimated. He's a little ashamed to admit he finds that arousing. God, this night has been a disaster.
"I can't believe you just made out and survived an encounter with the Thorn Princess."
"Thorn Princess," Twilight repeats, more alert now that someone who'd turn out to be Garden's top assassin has left. "She said I stole her target."
Franky clicks his tongue. "Makes sense. WISE and Garden have a lot of overlapping persons-of-interest these days." He sighs. "Let's hope that doesn't happen again. That was scary, Twilight. I thought she was going to end you."
Twilight only hums in response, eyes on the trees he'd seen Thorn Princess flee into. What an odd woman. He holds a hand to his lips. He smiles.
"I wouldn't be opposed to working with her again."