That Girl in White and Gold
She doesn't suspect a thing. Early in the evening, glowing radiantly—standing out—among the crowd at the Warden's Ball. People are still showing up, steadily growing the size of that crowd.
Or, rather, the garter she wears around her barenaked leg beneath that thin, white and gold silken dress is my mark. An associate weaved normal fabric around a strand of pure solidified mana to make that garter. It's natural; the mana expands and contracts to form the kind of elasticity you'd find in such a garment.
She has no idea she's wearing millions of gold worth of lingerie in that garter alone, since mana of any kind has become so valuably rare. But, for once, it's not the monetary value that's of the biggest concern. (But don't get me wrong; it's still a factor!)
In the way I do, I calmly spark up a conversation with her. Some witty, sudden, and wholly unexpected non sequitur to lower her guard, a laugh at my own joke to make her feel comfortable laughing. It's as simple as that; a few seconds; and I've slipped my way past her natural defenses—the kind of defenses beautiful young ladies like her develop innately as they have to fend off the advances of countless unwanted potential suitors over the course of their studies, or their work, or whatever else they pursue.
It's not long before I have her walking slowly alongside me down a hallway in the palace, chatting quietly among one another about this or that. It's when things start to get a little too quiet, maybe a bit too ordinary, that I jolt the evening with a hint of adventure.
I take her by the hand, and sneak her out of the palace. The warden has yet to even make her speech, and I have this gorgeous young lady (and the fortune she wears only inches from her privates) sneaking away from the event with me.
I phrase it to her as an "escape" from the dull boredom of these events. I didn't know that she attended these things all the time. But from the look of her meticulously (practiced, even) fashioned hair and the first glance of daydreaming I seemed to interrupt when I first talked to her, the whole thing seemed like it might be rather rote to her at this point.
So I used that. In reality we were simply leaving early. But to her, I'd painted a picture of "escape" from the place. Of course, she's not an idiot. She just willingly bought into my little fantasy for the fun of it. And I knew that.
Down the steps at the side exit, through the courtyard we sneak, her hand in mine. Just past the courtyard gate is the beach, with a serene shoreline whispering rhythmically as the waves drape against the shore.
But I don't have time to drag out a romance, here. She imagines we'll be taking a walk down the beach to continue our conversation. But I take a sharp turn in the courtyard, and instead we slip into the workers' quarters.
It's here that she first gets a sense that I might be a little dangerous. Wouldn't you, after all, if you saw me pry open a locked window to a maid's bedroom and slip inside without making a sound?
I extend a hand to help her in. She hesitates. But I rush her, telling her that we really shouldn't be caught here. She's faced with a choice: turn around and leave to perhaps get caught sneaking around the palace grounds on her own, or continue our little adventure?
She joins me. I close the window. The room is dim. Now I've got to quell her suspicions. I help her to the bed, and with a smile I cradle her in my arms, her back to my chest. She suspected we were going to get here eventually tonight, I imagine, but they never think it's going to happen this fast.
But that's how I work. If I don't get this garter away from the palace soon, others who are after it will make far less friendly attempts than mine at getting it.
I soothe her with some quiet, casual chat. But casual chat is never casual when sexual tension is rising. With her in my arms and my whispers in her ear, she's welcoming of my advances. I hook a finger around the bottom of her dress, and slide it up her legs. She straightens them to make it easier for me to do so, but she doesn't need to, this fabric is as elegant as any I've ever felt; it slides easily against her flushed alabaster skin.
I press my lips to hers. I normally don't get invested in something like this, emotionally speaking, but tonight I can't help but feel a spark. I'm taken by surprise, and I gasp slightly.
I take just an instant to enjoy the sensation. But then I force myself to focus on what's at stake. Her safety, and the safety of everyone at the event tonight. Even the warden and her private guard could not hold off the army that is en route.
She finds my hands warmly touching her legs, and I glide my fingertips up her inner thigh. Inch by slow inch, I guide my touch toward her crotch, waiting to feel the garter.
She's not wearing it. It's not here.
I feel a spike of panic. I always do at some point in almost every job. Adeptly, I work through it. I realize the time for games is over. If she left the garter at her home, it could be on a completely different continent right now.
My whispered tone snaps into a commanding demand. "Your garter. Where is it?"
She gets that look in her eyes. The confused look young ladies like her get when the fantasy snaps back into perspective suddenly. I recognize it, and I've learned that you can't rush it. You have to let a person get their footing, so to speak, before you can get any real answers. I give her the few seconds she needs to come back to reality, and I have my response prepared when she inevitably asks what she then asks:
"Your garter. The one you were going to wear tonight. White as this dress, with lining as blue as those eyes of yours." (I wouldn't normally have mentioned the blue eyes part, but hey, as I said—I felt a spark here. It's affecting my actions slightly.) "Where is it?"
She sighs quietly to herself. Her form relaxes. "I had hoped you weren't after that," she says, and I immediately recognize her decisive tone. It's a tone I've heard before. This whole thing is a trap.
My mind goes to work plotting a million escape routes. I try to buy some time. "There is no garter, is there?" I know there is one. But when you say something to someone they know is wrong, they often can't resist correcting you, and I need her to talk.
"There is a garter, yes."
"Then where is it?" I already know where it is. My "associate" I mentioned earlier has most likely already delivered it to someone who will be taking the valuable solidified mana to a dangerous pirate captain. She'll probably tell me some shit like, "It's safe."
"It's safe, don't worry."
"And I trust you know, exactly, what it is, then?"
She sighs again. My question eliminates her last doubt that I was who she thinks I am. "I had hoped you really were just some confident rogue looking to get laid tonight," she says.
I really shouldn't ask, but I have to know. "...because you couldn't get enough of me, yeah?"
"I guess not," she replies. Score.
But there's no time for that. Tonight my hands had felt all the parts of her body where she'd hide a weapon, and she's unarmed. This means that as I was buying time to plan my escape, she was also buying time for whoever she's had following us all night to catch up. But I accounted for that already, and I've had an escape planned since "It's safe, don't worry."
Admittedly, a bit more confident and excited that she's into me, I take a second to mentally photograph the image of her in that dim room, the glow of sexual excitement still flushing her cheeks, her hair slightly mussed but still spilling down her shoulders like streams of blonde starlight.
And then, as I calculated, her guard, or mercenary, or whoever he is comes crashing through the window. I'd heard him coming for a few seconds now. Amateur.
The glass is flying through the air. I drop to the floor and roll beneath him as he sails over me. He rolls once into the room, and stands, assuming a rigid fighting stance. But as he's just reached his feet, I've already hopped the window. He's not sure if he even saw me start running.
He quickly rushes the window and looks out. Left and right, he spots nothing but quiet pathways.
I didn't run down those pathways. I kicked off the walls to reach the roof. The sound of my pursuer's own footsteps as he ran to the window covered the sound of my kicks.
I'm only a few feet away from the spot I just left. But to the two in the room below, I've simply vanished. Before they figure out that they can look in the "up" direction, I'm already multiple rooftops away. My escape route accounts for up to 15 or 20 other potential pursuers; but she only had one. I make a clean escape.
While it's probably not the best idea, I'd like to see her again. But with the solidified mana still in play, I've got other concerns.
