@pueroimmersi bc we need fluff or we’re gonna die
they’d tossed a few snide (but still fond) comments back and forth when the assignment had come in. it wasn’t as if they’d never gone undercover as lovers before, but something about this particular mission feels a bit outlandishly mr. and mrs. smith. it’s not the most high-stakes thing they’ve ever done, but merlin had stressed how important it was not to blow their cover while briefing them. a long-time contact had arranged for their invitation to a gala at the target’s home, and the agency needs to protect the informant.
roxy think their story seems a bit thin––– they’re supposedly new money that kingsman’s contact is fond of, thus earning them the invitation. they’re meant to liven up the party, she supposes. the job itself, though, is simple enough. slip by a few guards, download a deal of incriminating files, and leave the party promptly at three in the morning without anyone being any the wiser. they’re both dressed quite extravagantly, and have been milling about for an hour or so. it would be suspicious to disappear too early, and it can’t hurt to wait until the party-goers have a bit of alcohol in their systems to dull down their acuity for observation.
eggsy’s got his arm draped around her shoulders, the two hanging back from the crowd for a moment. each of them holds a champagne flute, but their focus lies on each other. roxy speaks in a hushed voice, hoping to portray a little mischief, as though she’s about to whisk her husband away for something a bit more private. (which isn’t entirely untrue) she teases him, lips pursed, amused at the situation and pleased at herself. the tiny pit in her stomach isn’t enough to fase her. if it had, she would have never been able to correctly identify it’s source, even if he was less than a few inches away from her.
“don’t look now, darling, but it would seem a few of the elder high society ladies are letching after you.”