#ic. gin

[voxvulgi]

a Gin starter for @deamonical​

There were 12 servants in this estate, and all of them worked under the butler. Nobody knew whether to fear him or not, and Gin never dwelled too long on it because she had never messed up like this before.

Except she wouldn’t really call it a mess-up. Tonight’s guests might, seeing that she had spilled an entire tray of drinks on a middle-aged man. They probably thought she had tripped (or worse: was a sap), but the “accident” was the exact opposite. The tray had been dumped on purpose, and now Gin was carrying her skirts through the corridor, walking too fast in the direction of her room. She didn’t think Sancti had seen her, but the other servants always claimed he could see everything. And if he could see her spill drinks on a guest, he could surely see the intention in her movements. Maybe if she retired without him catching her, he’ll forget about it tomorrow.

She didn’t really believe that. She felt followed. And despite her gut feeling, she still gasped when she turned a corner and the head butler was there, looming over her. She knew he’d been waiting for her, and yet, she jumped, hoped to really pass for a sap, and said, “You startled me.” With an elaborate sigh, she bent forward, keeping up appearances.

[voxvulgi]

a Gin starter for @mythvoiced​

Despite having never met the man, Gin’s nerves didn’t peak as much as they could have had she not seen his picture beforehand. She worried more about mixups than about the man hurting her; he was an information broker with a reputation to keep, not a cutthroat gangster. (He’d at least worry about this reputation if not about the sake of a woman he just met.)

Her job for her cousins didn’t include anything directly gang-related. However, they thought that sending her with the information would have been the least suspicious means of delivery. Their last guy was excellent at his job, but he still got suspected, followed, caught, and killed. That knowledge didn’t sit well with her as she waited in the destined meeting spot (The broker was late.), but she was a woman, and women were supposed to be weak. So really, her gender and the pistol in her purse were the elements of surprise no man could ever have.

She kept her back to the wall, watching the mouth of the alley. Finally, after checking her watch for the fifth time, a figure approached the clearing. He paused upon seeing her, his eyes betraying his confusion. To let him know that yes, he was at the right place and she was the right agent, she said, “You’re fifteen minutes late.”