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Kitty squints her eyes behind the azure mask and pats down the fabric of her dress above her left thigh – a lady fixing her appearance and a thief checking for her knife.
The guests at this ball are the regular, pompous bastards, and she’d already done well in scouting out the main room (8 guards are accounted for), the hall to the bedroom (4 guards) and the escape route down the spiral stairway in the back. If all goes well, she won’t be needing the knife.
But she can’t put the plan into motion. Not yet. Because one guest keeps catching her eye, and Kitty is certain she had seen her before. Try as she might, she can not remember where or when, though.
The woman’s mask is longer, unlike the small flirtatious ones many other women wear. It’s loose, dramatic, with black tassels that line its edge and reach down to her chin, swinging with each move of her head.
Kitty thinks she looks like a half-wit.
Still, she has to admit: the deep shade of the mask brightens her green eyes. They seem to glow, even from this distance, even beneath the dazzling golden light of the chandeliers.
The music swells again, and Kitty, smiling flirtatiously, links her elbow with a man nearby, nodding her head to the side in invitation. There’s no better place to confront her mystery lady than the dance floor.
The man only has a second to glance down at her body, the white lace covering her arms and the modest dip of the gown across her collarbone, before Kitty pulls on his arms with momentum. It is not exactly a formal (or polite) way of asking for a dance, but Kitty can’t focus on etiquette, not when her eyes are glued on Mystery Lady. In any way, her dance partner seems content enough to have been dragged along. In only a few steps, she concludes he was a good pick; he dances skilled enough to keep time, but clumsy enough to accept her lead so as to not make a fool of himself. This gives Kitty the chance to twirl their pair in the direction of Mystery. She dips once when the music calls for it, and just as the melody shifts to something slower, she’s beside her target.
From up close, Kitty first notices the many freckles on the stranger lady’s skin. Wait a moment. Green eyes, freckles, and-- Mystery’s curly ginger hair is put up in a simple chignon, a hairstyle that, in truth, is not suitable for such an event. Why did Kitty bother with braiding her own hair and settling it carefully with pearl pins and wire nets, if she is welcomed with such a look? Damn her. And damn her pretty eyes.
The song comes to an end, then the musicians move on to a silly ditty, one that allows for same-sex couples. Perfect, Kitty thinks, and the pair change ensues.
She reaches for Mystery’s hand before anyone else can. Although the woman’s eyes widen at first, the panic seems to dissipate in a second, getting replaced by recognition.
Leaning in close, Kitty speaks in an undertone, “Never seen you without a moustache, Ginger.”
She – well, he, but Kitty believes it’s best to keep things in line with an act even in her mind – smiles slyly. And it’s that smile that ultimately seals it.
“It would rather ruin the illusion, no?” Puss replies, slipping into the dance with ease. “What is the famous Softpaws doing in a ball such as this?”
“What she does in any place she shows up. I’ve heard of good loot and come to check it out.” Kitty replies with a little shrug, their hands still joined.
Puss arches a brow, appraising her attire. A quick glance down then back up. Kitty notes the difference between how Puss looks at her in comparison to her earlier dance partner – Puss may like what she sees, but there’s no possession in her gaze, only admiration. She asks, “You just happened to be walking around looking like this?”
“Why not?” They stretch out their arms, then Kitty’s twirling fast, in the end stopping with her back against Puss’s torso. “And what are you doing here, eh…?”
Kitty looks at her, wordlessly asking for an alias.
Puss smirks sheepishly. “I have already used three different names tonight by accident. Allow me not to invent a fourth.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“Yes, well. I am here for much the same thing as you.” She dips Kitty low when the music drops, but three steps after, it is her bending backwards in Kitty’s hold. Kitty notes that Puss at least is moving in the dress confidently. “The man of the house is planning to extend his already ridiculously long list of properties with yet another castle. I have come to send a message, carve a couple of P’s.”
Kitty only hums in reply at first, but frowns in confusion quickly after. She holds onto her dress as the music crescendos and Puss reels her back from a spin. She’s a bit breathless when she asks, “Where does that plan call for masquerading as a woman?”
Puss smirks, and Kitty feels the hold on her back tighten slightly as Puss pulls her closer, their hips touching.
“Nowhere,” she whispers right as the song comes to an end.
They part, clapping for the musicians. Puss, who is apparently allergic to being inconspicuous, also whistles twice in quick succession. Some heads turn to stare at her disapprovingly, but others join in with their own cheers. Having caught people’s attention, Puss is already eyeing the next potential dance partner, while Kitty feels ready to sneak off for her loot, now that the mystery is put to rest.
Puss nods her a goodbye, winking dashingly. “But it is fun!”
Kitty’s lips curl into a faint smile. She’s thankful that Puss doesn’t see it, her back already turned on Kitty – her ego is already stroked enough as it is.
Although the thought catches Kitty off guard, she realizes that she wouldn’t mind running into her again. Not Puss in Boots, but Mystery. One might even say Kitty wants to see her. Later in the night, in some seedy bar more befitting their pair, she could buy Mystery a drink. Or maybe she’d steal her coin purse instead, just to see that sly smile return.
She adjusts her mask and slips through the dancers. Heading toward the back corridor, her fingers brush the cool metal of her hidden blade, but against her better judgement, she glances back toward the dance floor.
Puss is already moving with another partner, a man in a ridiculous wig and purple mask. She’s laughing at something her partner said, but for the briefest second, her gaze flicks to Kitty’s. Her look is sharp and deliberate. Knowing. Kitty feels as a mouse might, trapped beneath a cat’s claws. Then, as if nothing happened, Puss is back to smiling at the nobleman.
Kitty can only catch glimpses of her lips as the dark mask swishes back and forth – obscuring and revealing, teasing – but she doesn’t even need to see them to know that Puss is smiling. More specifically, she’s doing that infuriating smile of hers, the one that makes promises she never intends to keep.
And damn it all, Kitty hopes one of those promises is meant for her.