The mention of murder made a real smile appear on her lips. Out of all the agents, she trusted Ana with her life. The woman was severely underestimated. She had an almost sixth sense of intuition. It really fascinated Vivian and in this instance saved the magazine editors life. For the time being anyway. Perhaps UMBRA would send a kill order. The lord sometimes worked in mysterious ways. “I believe men take that look as a challenge. He was about to slip a hand down to my ass.” Her mouth focused on the word ass to make sure she didn’t pull back into her Irish accent. She couldn’t afford to break character, not even for a second. Both Ana and Nadia had made sure to keep her cover intact over the last week. “Luckily for him, you glided in and saved the whole night.”

Being pulled away from the crowd did much for her nerves. The bourbon in her glass was warming her. She needed to pace herself. The night wouldn’t go to shit because she needed to self medicate. A glass or two would hardly do much for her tolerance. Vivian didn’t need to mask her face with awe at the way Ana effortlessly kept up the charade of Jacqueline, sending a flirty wink to a disgusting man who stared at her. 

She squeezed the agent’s hand as they studied the crowd and spoke. Vivian nodded a few times as she took in the information. “So, no surprise that McGee has a laundry list of enemies. He didn’t mind stepping on a few necks to make it to the top. Which, I suppose, makes sense. But which one of these people had enough motive? It’s not like this doesn’t happened every day in every industry.” She mimicked Ana’s movement and took a sip of her bourbon. It was on the best she had tasted in a long while. In a time before cartels and hiding in fear. “At least you left him with a little hope. Plus, I hear the Maldives are beautiful this time of year.” She couldn’t help the playful roll of her eyes of the soft giggle that followed. 

          “Unfortunately for them, yes.” Anastasiya lifted the flute to her lips, leaving a second crescent of crimson lipstick imprinted on the mouth of the glass as she allowed herself another sip. Drinking expensive, imported champagne in moderation was excruciating but necessary for the success of their protection and intelligence detail. When it was all over ⏤ McGee safely escorted back to his residence, the team debrief wrapped up, her paperwork filed; another mission done and dusted ⏤ she would reward herself with a bottle of vintage brut, perhaps to be shared with Eighty-Seven. 

To anyone else in the room, Ana knew that the pair would look like two women catching up with one another, hands clasped glee for the chance meeting at the dinner gala they were not expecting to run into each other at. It was precisely what she wanted them to project in the moment, so that everyone would be more focused on their body language and less on the words they were exchanging. “No, no surprise there. Show me someone in business who hasn’t stepped on a few necks get ahead, and I’ll see a liar.” Shifting from one foot to the other, she turned away from the other agent for a moment to subtly scan the room. “At least they give some sort of warning here; if this happened where I’m from, he would already be dead.”

Ana cradled her flute close to her chest as she turned back to Eleven. “As for Mr. Maldives, that is the trick: give them hope, or the illusion of it.” She said nothing more of the wiles intended for men. She had clocked McGee standing some twenty feet away over her companion’s shoulder, talking animatedly with a man she recognized as Ramil Dimaguiba, head of Dumangan Shipping, one of the biggest freight transportation companies in Southeast Asia. “Your accent is excellent, by the way,” she said, releasing Eleven’s hand to brush an errant strand of synthetic blonde hair away from the fair-skinned agent’s face. “You’re a quick study. Perhaps we can work on your Russkiy next.”

Upon noticing she was speaking with Eighty-Two, Clara took a subtle step back; she was a guest and May was a worker at the event — that distance had to be kept, for their cover’s sake. The girl looked at the sculpture again, after hearing the other woman’s words. “Maybe that’s the point… to help… humanity come to terms with not understanding everything.” She was joking of course, and May made it obvious as she shook her head with a small smirk upon her lips — who wore no colour but the slight glow that came with good chap stick. “The kind that’s really good at keeping the infestation a secret.” The girl, part of the personnel team, spoke with a playful tone. “Is there something I can get you?” Clara spoke, sliding into worker mode.

          Fifty-Three adjusted her stance, introducing just a little bit more space between them to further distinguish their roles, apart from the obvious signs in their attire. “That’s... incredibly deep. Maybe hospitality management isn’t your calling ⏤ it’s art theory,” Ana chuckled, trading a grin with the younger woman before a shudder creeped up her spine at the thought of coming face to face with any variety of rodent. “At least you’ve found yourself an upgrade here. Do you think you might be able to escort me to the ballroom?” She wanted to buy herself a bit of time with the agent before heading off to rejoin Seventy-Three.

@redspvrrow​

There was little thrill in this mission, no high stakes, no grand heist. It was just protection detail for a high-paying client, and Nadia found it ironic that she was working for a man who her father used to know. If this had been her old life, she would have been a regular guest, making connections and gathering information to cement her position in the realm of the wealthy and elite, not to stop a potential assassination. She’d gone from a queen on the chessboard to a pawn, but that wouldn’t stop her from acting like she still wore a crown on her head. 

( That was her assignment tonight, anyway. Play a role and play it well. )

She flitted through the crowd like a glittering butterfly, making casual conversation and laughing at all the right times. A glass of champagne was ever-present in her hand, yet she barely sipped from it, preferring to keep her mind clear and in control. But she encouraged her fellow guests—her new friends—to take a second and third glass, to try the wine because it was absolutely amazing, it’s a Cheval Blanc, you know. Loose lips sink ships, and if there was one thing alcohol did well, it was getting people to open up. 

Removing herself from the absolutely riveting story of some hotel magnate’s rise to success with the excuse to freshen up, she wove through the ballroom and towards one of the hotel’s bathrooms. It was too far for most people to have the patience to walk, and thus was almost always empty. Heels clicked on tile as she walked in, stopping in front of the mirror. She shot a glance at Ana, who had joined her right on time.

“Have you met Simon Bellamy yet? He’s this duke who I’d very much like to punch in the face or break his wrist, or both. Would that be so bad?” She pulled her lipstick out her clutch, leaning forward on the counter. “Anyway, anything interesting you’ve learned? Gossip’s only useful when it’s about certain things, and who’s honeymooning in Santorini next month is not. However, the CEO of Dalton Industries swears Mr. McGee stole his investors, and the wife of that one plastic surgeon is his college ex-girlfriend. It appeared to be a bad break-up.”

          Recon had yielded an attractive number of places for rendezvous points between agents. One of them had been the furthermost ladies room, which by all accounts would be empty, given its distant proximity to the ballroom. Anastasiya had conspired to meet with Nadia in that particular washroom to compare notes, identify next steps and freshen up. They had spent the first part of the evening shaking hands and taking business cards from other guests eager to be in touch with them for investment opportunities; it was important for them to position themselves front of as many people as possible, while establishing connections substantial enough to yield intelligence that could be used for McGee’s protection. Ana had marveled her partner’s tenacity in executing her half of their joint cover, but it came as no surprise that the linguistics expert would perform stunningly in such a situation.

         Nadia was waiting for her when she entered the bathroom, closing the heavy door adorned with ornate signage behind her. She trusted that the other agent would have already done a full sweep of the room to determine that they were alone, and so she closed the lock on the door to guarantee their privacy and joined her partner at the sinks. “No, but I’ve seen him accosting other guests,” Ana tsked, opening her glittering silver clutch to retrieve her compact. Her nose needed a bit of powdering. “Are you asking me as an agent of UMBRA or as a person if you should perform an assault?” 

         A knowing smirk played on her lips as she patted the cushion sponge in powder and began applying it to her t-zone. “Bozhe moi, these people have more problems than money, and that is saying something. McGee seems to have burned a few bridges on the way to becoming VP, which doesn’t really help us in narrowing down threats. There’s something off about this, though.” She set the sponge back into the compact and closed it with a loud snap. Turning to Nadia, she explained: “If the whispers of a take down were loud enough to get back to McGee, one has to wonder if we’re being led to believe that it’s an enemy of his. Someone to close to him would have even more opportunity to take him down, literally or figuratively.”

The night was going okay. No information had jumped out at her. A lot of the patrons so far only wanted to share idle gossip. But liquor would loosen lips and Vivian knew that. It was why she was subtly encouraging anyone she interacted with to take another flute of champagne – drink a little faster. Within an hour, she would do another sweep to see what each guest would like to share. Plying the rich and bored with alcohol would lead to something, whether actual usable intel or just gossip was yet to be told. 

The most exciting portion of the evening had been the persistent magazine editor who apparently hadn’t been watching the news lately. Unsolicited touching seemed to be his favorite form of communication. Vivian briefly toyed with the idea of using her clutch as brass knuckle. One swift hit to his bulging Adam’s apple and he would crumple to the floor. The thought alone was enough to calm her. She knew if she broke or told the man to fuck off it could blow the whole thing. 

Her jaw set, she playfully removed the man’s hand from her waist and was about to say something when an angel appeared. Ana must have known that Vivian was about to lose control and hit the man. She was effortless, pushing her way between the two of them and somehow making Viv even more alluring than originally intended. The tension building in her shoulders dissipated as she slipped back into character. “Jacqueline Rutherford?” A posh laugh left her lips as she leaned into each cheek kiss. “I heard rumors that you and your wife would be here, but I thought it sounded too good to be true.” She shot the handsy editor an apologetic smile. “I have to go where I’m called. I’ll make sure to circle around later.” She blew him a kiss as Ana intertwined their fingers and lead her away. 

“Make it a double, please.” Her speech slowed down by her American drawl, she leaned into Ana and sighed. “Thank you.” She kept her voice low so no one else could overhear them. Once at the bar, her eyes flitted around the crowd to observe. “How did you know I was planning on bashing his face in?” She smiled sweetly at the bartender when she brought over a bourbon on the rocks. “Have you heard anything interesting?”

         It was a quick and easy extraction, executed with the grace and expertise of a woman who had completed her share of rescue missions over the years, pulling colleagues and even strangers out of the clutches of men undeserving of their time. Anastasiya squeezed Eleven’s hand as they crossed the room to one of the open bars. “No need to thank me. I could see the look of murder in your eyes from a distance; it’s a wonder he didn’t.” She didn’t have to make mention of the asset or their directives. Eleven knew as well as she did that a little violence, while sometimes necessary, wasn’t in the room, nevermind on the table. They couldn’t afford a slip up, no matter how much the ublyudok deserved it.

         The suits stationed around the bar parted to allow the women through, and Ana made a point to give them a look of interest before ordering Eleven’s drink of choice along with a fresh glass of champagne for herself. She’d circle back to pick their brains ( and maybe their pockets ) later. When their drinks were procured, she led the agent away from the bar to find a quieter space to talk, but not before tossing a wink over her shoulder at one of the older men, whose gaze lingered longingly across her exposed collarbones. 

         “Mm,” Ana hummed in confirmation. “I had a rather interesting conversation with one of Gilmore Inc.’s former investors. I shared with him that I was looking to invest some money and asked if he had any experience in private equity or venture capitalism. He went off on some tangent about wanting to warn me about pouring money into Gilmore, and that McGee might try to solicit an investment. Apparently he and our guy had a falling out. And then he not-so-subtly asked me if I was interested in vacationing with him in the Maldives because he needs a break from the wife and kids.” She took a sizeable sip of her champagne and sighed. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“Well, this takes me back.” Clara began, getting into character — May Rogers; only child, freelance photographer that hasn’t gotten her big break yet, college dropout. It was good enough, right? “Last time I worked at an hotel we had rats instead of…” the girl looked at a weird statue, part of the decoration, “whatever that is.” Not that it was a complete lie; Clara did have to take odd jobs here and there and working at a run down hotel had been one of them. The best lies are the ones that have some truth to them, right?

          Anastasiya regarded the offending piece of décor pointed out by her fellow agent. While she enjoyed the occasional trip to a gallery or museum, she was not one for such abstract artwork. But Jacqueline Rutherford, fashion magnate and creative visionary? She was very much interested in the inventive and oftentimes scientific approach to art, even if the pieces in question were in no way directly relevant to her work as a fashion designer. And so she afforded the onyx-colored sculpture a lengthy glance before turning back to Fifty-Three, who was clad in a crisp hotel uniform. Part of her cover. Ana scanned their immediate surroundings for any eavesdropping guests before speaking, assured that they could speak freely: “If I’m being honest with you, I’m not entirely sure I understand it. Wait, did you say rats? What kind of operating hotel has rats?” 

Okay, not the best start to a mission but Robin was a driver, not an undercover agent who played pretend. Even her alias was ridiculous. Was it really a surprise that she dragged a fool into a closet for entertainment? There were so many of them and it was too easy, all she had to do was pop the earpiece out for a moment and enjoy herself. So she did and when she was done, she left the dude to make himself presentable again. All Robin did was brush her hands through her hair as she slammed the door shut behind her and attached the earpiece back in place. 

Unaware of the company, Robin jumped ever so slightly when she turned around to face the individual. “Oh,” she let out startled before she managed to compose herself. Although Robin was hardly composed under any circumstances. The corner of her lips tugged into a smile as she cleared her throat, nodding towards the direction where the main event was taking place. “Havin’ fun?”

          The hotel was something of a labyrinth: a carefully constructed maze of corridors and rooms that would impress even Ariadne. Thankfully, Anastasiya had tasked with reconnaissance to map out the venue’s nooks and crannies prior to the mission, giving her an excellent overview of all the blindspots, as well as a terrace to steal away to through the night to check in with the team’s nerve center while she helped herself to a cigarette. There were enough sets of eyes on McGee to make her feel comfortable taking a quick break from the air kisses and boozy flirtations; she could sweep the peripheral hallway for activity, get a bit of fresh air, and make it back on time for the next course.

         It was the promise of nicotine that had lured her out of the grand ballroom and down a side hall that would connect to the uncovered garden outside. Tugging her coat tighter around her frame, she sashayed down the corridor, heels clicking along the pristine marble flooring. The overcoat she had selected from her closet bore a beautiful mink fur trim around the collar that tickled her face as she pulled it closer. It reminded her of winters back home, and of the women who strutted down Nevsky Prospekt wrapped up in heady perfume and voluminous furs, a show of their wealth and status.

        No one was around to see the display she put on as she walked the passageway, bejeweled pumps twinkling under the ambient light. Or at least she had thought so. A woman dressed in the hotel’s personnel uniform clambered out of a side room and slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing over the calm classical music playing overhead. Anastasiya recognized the figure as Sixty-Six, and the flush on her face as something other than her assigned duties.

        Ana remained expressionless as the brunette started in surprise and asked after the ongoing event. “Not nearly as much fun as you appear to be having,” she replied, lifting her chin in a nod that acknowledged the other woman’s mussed hair. It was one thing to use one’s body as a weapon in the forging of connections and extraction of information, but to be tangling with a civilian outside of the mission directives was, in her eyes, a form of sabotage. Even if it was what Ana was paid to do. She was well aware that the team’s view of her and her skillset was no where near that of their respect of what they deemed practical trades. In fact, she was sure that some of the agents housed in IDA’s headquarters thought of her as nothing more than a well-paid whore. She was used to the whispering. The officers of the SVA had treated her no differently. 

       Straightening her back, Ana regarded Sixty-Six, her head tilting slightly as she looked the younger woman up and down to assess her overall appearance. On the bright side, at least she’d remembered to zip her pants. “Need I remind you of what your job is here?”

  └    @agenteleven

          Anastasiya had learned very early on in life that everyone had a tell, no matter how self-aware or composed they were. The subtle lift of an eyebrow, the nearly imperceptible twitch of their mouth, the gentle crossing of one’s arms ⏤ everyone revealed something about their current state of mind through nonverbal cues. Whatever was going on with Eleven had her practically screaming for assistance with her body language in the middle of the bustling ballroom. Ana had spotted the shift in the woman’s usual demeanor from the sidelines as the agent, disguised impeccably in a blunt blonde wig and chocolate-colored contacts, her full cleavage on display in a shimmering low-cut gown, appeared to be pinned by an uncomfortable conversation with a rather persistent guest.

          Not on Ana’s watch. 

          Walking determinedly, she maneuvered herself through the crowd, most attendees already drunk on top-shelf liquor and the prospect of luring in new business before dinner was set to be served. Cocktail receptions always had a way of loosening up a crowd before dinner, which was likely why gala events tended to start off with a bit of drink and casual conversation; by the time the first course hit the tables, everyone was already contentedly chattering with their table mates, bellies warmed by a few double-aged bourbons.

          “Elisabeth Kenway, in the flesh,” Anastasiya exclaimed as she approached her fellow agent, leaning close to kiss both of the woman’s cheeks in greeting. “Oh, my wife and I were just talking about your New York Times feature this morning over breakfast.” Turning ever so slightly to acknowledge the man that had been aggressively hoarding the supposed American businesswoman, Ana offered an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to forgive me, love. I’ve been following Ms. Kenway’s career for years. Do you mind if I steal her away for a moment to talk business?” She didn’t wait for his response before reaching for Eleven’s hand. She tugged the woman away, entwining their fingers, their bangles clattering together as she led Elisabeth to the bar. "Let’s get you a drink, shall we? You look like you could use one.”

  >> ://  MISSION: THE DINNER GALA // ATTIRE

DRESS: Asadi RTW AW18

SHOES: Christian Louboutin “Follies Strass” pumps 

JEWELS: Gold diamond engagement and wedding bands; Harry Winston Secret Cluster diamond earrings; assorted platinum bangles and rings

BAG: Ferragamo Edith crystal and suede box clutch

HAIR: Loose, romantic waves; side part

MAKE-UP: Neutral face, soft pink shimmery eye, subtle blush, dramatic red lip

NAILS: Red with silver glitter french tips

MISC: Black knife garter holster 

  >> ://  MISSION: THE DINNER GALA // COVER

Jacqueline Rutherford is one half of the wealthy and influential power couple ruling the fashion industry. Alongside her wife, Helena Asadi, the pair have built a vaunted empire with their combined business acumen and creative flair.

While Helena heads up their fashion house, the reigning queen of all things business and strategy, Jacqueline serves as the company’s creative director, using her imaginative vision to oversee the creation and execution of new collections.

Jacqueline and Helena have been enjoying their success ( oh, you didn’t see their profile in Forbes? ) and they are very much interested in pursuing new avenues in business ⏤ namely, cultivating new partnerships and investing capital. They’re also interested in pursuing new avenues outside of their marriage, if only for the night.

Expect to find her holding court in small social circles at the gala, a glass of champagne a near-constant accessory of hers. Jacqueline loves being flattered and isn’t afraid to dole out her own share of compliments. She also enjoys gossiping and sharing anecdotes that Anastasiya and Nadia have put together in preparation for the mission. ( Ask them how they met ⏤ it’s a great story. )

  >> ://  MISSION: THE DINNER GALA

CODENAME: AGENT EIGHTY-TWO

UNDERCOVER NAME: JACQUELINE RUTHERFORD

  >> ://  VASILYEVA, A.: STATISTICS

FULL NAME: Anastasiya Vasilyeva ( Анастасия Васи́льева )

AGENT ALIAS: Agent 82

AGE: 31

DATE OF BIRTH: October 23, 1986

HOMETOWN: St. Petersburg, Russia

CURRENT LOCATION: London, UK

OCCUPATION: UMBRA Agent

SPECIALTIES: Seduction, languages, charisma

ACTIVE: 8 months

FACE CLAIM: Amber Heard

                 >> ://   ACCESS MORE DETAILS HERE.