"Yeah, right, she'll never agree to that, either." [That's what he had said when someone had proposed the terms of the mission to them. He had guffawed, scoffed. Snorted in disbelief.
Except she did - and Mamoru wasn't really that surprised, if it helped with the mission, Vietnam would decisively do whatever it took. She is a dutiful professional, after all. But it still the alarm signs in his head started ringing.
This had all the hints that something was going to end up wrong, they bellowed.
Yet, when they entered the building and she did most of the talking, charming her way through with a quiet demeanor through the guests; her arm wrapped around his own wasn't tugging him down because she was wearing high heels. The socialites they were supposed to spy on had already a buzz dulling their senses that it took very little coaxing to overhear the intel they came to extract. Mission accomplished, without much of a fuss.
As he pretended to nurse a glass that had more melted ice than whiskey while sitting - almost laying down on this couch, this thing just sucked you in and was going to make it very difficult for him to get up quickly if shit hits the fan - in a secluded corner, he waited for Vietnam to come back with some food. Because, to make things even better (or worse, considering your point of view), the food was absolutely exquisite.
In the plushness of the couch, he cannot feel but restless, a little suspicious. This is going too well to be true.
So when the system gives him a soft blip of acknowledgment at her proximity, Mamoru watches another socialite give a nod at her, and then at him. "Seems like he's jealous we've been keeping you. Newly-weds are so possessive these days," they quip humorously before leaving her to talk to other guests.
Mamoru almost chokes on the watered-down whiskey.]
no subject
Except she did - and Mamoru wasn't really that surprised, if it helped with the mission, Vietnam would decisively do whatever it took. She is a dutiful professional, after all. But it still the alarm signs in his head started ringing.
This had all the hints that something was going to end up wrong, they bellowed.
Yet, when they entered the building and she did most of the talking, charming her way through with a quiet demeanor through the guests; her arm wrapped around his own wasn't tugging him down because she was wearing high heels. The socialites they were supposed to spy on had already a buzz dulling their senses that it took very little coaxing to overhear the intel they came to extract. Mission accomplished, without much of a fuss.
As he pretended to nurse a glass that had more melted ice than whiskey while sitting - almost laying down on this couch, this thing just sucked you in and was going to make it very difficult for him to get up quickly if shit hits the fan - in a secluded corner, he waited for Vietnam to come back with some food. Because, to make things even better (or worse, considering your point of view), the food was absolutely exquisite.
In the plushness of the couch, he cannot feel but restless, a little suspicious. This is going too well to be true.
So when the system gives him a soft blip of acknowledgment at her proximity, Mamoru watches another socialite give a nod at her, and then at him. "Seems like he's jealous we've been keeping you. Newly-weds are so possessive these days," they quip humorously before leaving her to talk to other guests.
Mamoru almost chokes on the watered-down whiskey.]
Alright?