#letale.galastarter

[claralivng]

“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?

[agent-34-blog]

@emiliamariamartinez

Sandro couldn’t remember when his vision turned red, or when his focus switched from making the best of a shitty situation to simply staying alive, but maybe that didn’t matter anymore. The mission was compromised, Tehrani took his gun, and his brain had just turned foggy from too much alcohol with too little food. His fists, the one source of reliability no matter the scene, were formed long before now, eager to collide with a jaw, a gut, an eye -- anything nearby that just barely asked for it -- and as his steps echoed in the once-bustling corridor, the curled fingers of both fists raised to his chin in anticipation of throwing the first punch, senses heightening as he turned the corner.

There was no real threat here, only her, and when he saw the living, breathing face of the only agent he’d been properly assigned to assist and protect, he couldn’t help but exhale in relief. There was too much blood on his hands already.

“You,” Sandro barked, not caring who heard him when everything around them had turned to chaos. “With me.” He gestured for her to follow him as he turned back the other way. “Destination might be safe, but the path sure as shit won’t be. Got a gun on you?”

[nadiatehrani-blog]

@agntrobinson​ @claralivng​

Her wig was now pulled up in a chignon at the nape of her neck; the last thing she needed was her hair being a distraction, of all things. She hadn’t seen Agent 45 and 37 since she ran into them on her way out of the ballroom, and while she wanted to believe they were doing rounds or still rubbing shoulders with the world’s wealthiest, she couldn’t help but suspect it wasn’t that simple. Someone was watching them now, someone who could bring the comms down, bring everything down. What if protecting Peter Mcgee had been a trap? What if he was just a prop, a puppet whose strings were controlled by an unknown puppeteer with unknown motives? 

After the mission had been compromised, Nadia assumed the worst, and as she turned a corner, her trepidation only grew. A trail of crimson could lead nowhere good, but before she reached the end, she nearly ran into Clara and Harry. “----Oh, thank god you’re alive.” Her voice filled with relief, her eyes darted around, watching for any signs of an immediate threat. “What the hell happened? Are you two okay?”

[nadiatehrani-blog]

Nadia knew former friends and flames would be on the invite list, and she had more than enough practice being nice to their faces only to mutter very choice words they couldn’t understand as soon as they were out of earshot. She knew this, and she still wished she hadn’t run into her ex from Oxford. The arse had gone and cheated her, which, in hindsight, wasn’t too surprising; her pride had been more wounded than her heart. Still, it took all her control not to throw her drink in his face for her younger self’s sake. Apparently he was recently engaged to an absolute gem, but still wouldn’t mind if Helena joined him for a private dinner to discuss future investments. She told him maybe with a smile and a tinkling laugh, took his business card, and disappeared into the crowd of designer garb. As she took a left out of the ballroom and retreated into an empty corridor, her expression darkened and the smile fell. “Khange kodah,” she muttered, ripping the card in half and tossing it in the trash.

[nadiatehrani-blog]

@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 flute 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 1962, 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 of 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 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.”

[linawalsh]

High society missions were not Lina’s forte, that much was obvious. She hated the posh environment, hated the crowd, hated the clothes — both, the blinding shimmer of the overpriced gowns and the restrictiveness of her own stupid uniform; but most of all, she hated the overbearing rich old farts who believed they owned the world and everyone in it. It was just her luck that one such specimen cut her off on her way back to the bar, a silver tray balanced on the tips of her fingers as elegantly as she could muster after a week-long practice, an order for three different wines she couldn’t even pronounce the names of going through her head as she did so. The man checked all the boxes — visibly rich, balding and with an ego the room could barely contain. He was gross, determined to flirt with her and all Lina could do was force the best ‘future dentist, people’s person Eva’ smile on her face while all she wanted to do, was to deck him in the jaw. Swear to god, a minute more and she’d do just that. Eva had drinks to deliver and Lina had phones to steal — neither had time or patience for this shit.