The Man from UNCLE starters . not accepting
The bathroom of one of the Leville suites was the best substitute they had for an improvised beauty saloon. These tiled walls had seen more blood being washed away and wounds treated than hair styling or make-up being applied in the last years, thanks to the darkness Eos had been plunged into. But sometimes, a rare occasion for celebration would present itself and put these rooms into better uses.
Holly was getting married - one of the main individuals responsible for power and light for all of Lestallum and what remained standing in all of Lucis. Everyone came together to throw a small party for her and her husband, working to scrounge up whatever decorations could be salvaged from abandoned shops and mending old clothes for the celebration itself. Aranea was in a red dress which had been adjusted for her frame and who belonged to Bahamut-knew-who; Ignis luckily had a few sets of preserved shits and pants - but he had always looked the part and hardly needed help to dress for a wedding.
His face, however, was a different matter - it wasn’t unusual for men to sport beards now, and for people to have longer hair. After all, it was hard to procure the necessary supplies, and distribution of the personal hygiene items that remained was done on a priority basis - meaning kids, pregnant women and sick people in general.
But for that night, they had scored a working razor and some shaving foam, but shaving himself wasn’t an option anymore. He had been trained back to his old fighting form, of course, and Aranea was proud to have contributed to that; but shaving himself wasn’t like killing daemons.
That was a task for someone else.
Ignis came to her for assistance, which would maybe have surprised a younger Aranea; but after everything they had gone through and all the endless work to make Ignis capable to fight again, they had grown closer. And despite the fact that their first encounter had involved sharp blades pointed at each other, the former Lucian adviser was perfectly calm while Arena shaved him, the razor going up and down his face and neck smoothly.
His clever comment came when she was finished and Ignis himself used his fingers to assess the results. Aranea merely chuckled while cleaning the razor at the sink, then carefully putting it away. “You think I got potential for this? I am technically out of employment with the empire gone and all that jazz.”
“Is that so? I distinctly remember you telling us you had decided to quit Niflheim rather than the other way around.”
The ex-commodore could see his smile through the mirror, and ended up chuckling again. She had never expected Ignis to be one for witty and caustic remarks - and there he was, proving her wrong again. He was quite good at that, in fact.
“I did you a favor and this is how you repay me? Damn, Specs. I’m hurt,” she grinned and finished washing her hands, toweling them dry - Ignis was now standing and ready for the celebration, his face a perfect image of his younger days - save for the scars around his eyes. “So now, like the good mercenary I am, I will charge you for these services.”
His lips quirked up and Ignis crossed his arms over his chest. “And what is your price, Aranea?”
She grinned then - the sort of grin that made she look like a predator, ready to attack. Her men had been trained to avoid her at times like these, but Ignis was defenseless to it and she knew. Aranea merely took one step closer to him, enough to tilt her head and whisper into his ear.
“You’re dancing with me, Iggy.”
