The Ballroom

The Trade

*Lucky's Perspective*

"Is she your woman, Agent?" Brutus barked at Lucky Dawson, shaking him out of his brief trance. 

"I don't have a woman, and Agent Romeo is no one's woman. It's just me and my dau-"

 Lucky caught himself. He wasn't inexperienced as to let this killer know he had a daughter and therefore put Lillian in danger. It was dangerous to let anyone get close to you, no matter who they were, so he had decided to not look at Juliette for the rest of the evening and to cancel that date of theirs (if it wasn't off already). 

Brutus grinned, "What was that, Ladybird?" 

Lucky had just let the assassin know that he was off his game. Now Brutus was going to try to take advantage of that. Lucky knew that this is what happens when you let someone too close, whether on purpose or by accident. They try to take advantage of you and hit you where it hurts.

Lucky scrunched his eyebrows together and grimaced at his stupid actions. I'm such an idiot, he thought. 

"I said nothing, scar-faced bastard," Lucky retorted. "Mind your own damn business."

"Gee, looks like it poked the bear at the wrong time. My bad," Brutus sneered sarcastically. 

All Lucky could do was shoot the man sitting on the staircase with him a sharp-eyed look, and go back to sifting through the vermillion crowds below for Remi, aka Agent Sunset. Lucky wouldn't have been surprised if Agent Sunset had paid a visit to the elegant bar across the ballroom for a margarita, or to obtain a refill of rose-gold rosé. Hopefully, he wasn't too tipsy, but Lucky wouldn't have forgiven himself if he didn't check. 

He stood up, his backside slightly sore from sitting on the gray stone, and made his way down the staircase, leaving Brutus behind. One person at a time, Lucky pushed his way through the sea of people outfitted in scarlet dresses and tuxedoes. Just a couple more yards to the bar. He cringed at the bartender, whose black handlebar mustache moved dramatically as he spoke French to a strawberry-blonde woman at the bar. 

Shit. Lucky knew it was a bad idea to meet up with Ghislane and her goons in Paris. His French was utterly laughable. 

"Um, J'm'appelle Romeo," Lucky stuttered as he introduced himself to the bartender. 

"Oh! Je suis Pierre, vous-voulez quelque chose? Nous avons beaucoup. Vodka, margaritas, et nous avons un peu de vin rouge qui semble être un succès." The man said in crystal clear French.

Oh, God.

Hopefully, Lucky remembered how to ask if the man spoke English. "V-Vous parlez anglais?" he asked as his voice trembled. Somehow, he was a trained mercenary and still had social anxiety when it came to meeting new people.

"Oh, yeah, I speak English. My name is Pierre. You sound like you're from the States, but look quite German. Are you from Europe?" The bartender asked, sliding a dark and stormy to the strawberry-blonde across the bar. There was no trace of a French accent in his voice, as if every ounce of French in him had disappeared, save for the bright red beret atop his gelled ebony hair. 

"My parents are from Germany. I'm first generation American." Lucky responded.

"Not surprised. Can I get you anything?" Pierre yawned as he poured red syrup into a glass.

"I was actually wondering if you had seen someone. He has pink hair, is about six feet tall, has honey-brown eyes, and has a lotus broach on the right side of his tux jacket. You seen him?"

Lucky knew his description was more detailed than the average person's, but he doubted it would draw suspicion from Pierre, given his purple-hued eye bags and heavy eyelids. That man needed some coffee.

"Actually I have. He's come for almost four refills of rosé. I think he's not too far from here, since I last saw him heading toward the stairs."

"Jeez," Lucky hissed under his breath. Remi must've become a little more than tipsy at this point.

"Thank you," He sighed to Pierre, "I'm going to go look for him,"

"You should, he seemed quite drunk to me,"

"Thanks again."

Not only did Lucky have to take care of himself, he had to take care of this barely 21-year-old. At this rate, he might be unable to keep his gun in its hidden holster if something goes even slightly wrong with Juliette and her tradeoff with Ghislane.

-------------------------

*Juliette's Perspective*

"I saved Ghislane and I a private room on the third floor for tonight," Juliette told one of the assassins in Ghislane's entourage. The woman nodded her head slightly, acknowledging and taking in the information. 

Ghislane had gone to grab herself a drink, so Juliette had decided to take advantage of the time to gather information on her lackeys, who were two women and two men. Besides Brutus and Ghislane, all of the assassins had platinum blonde hair, green eyes, and a stocky, muscular build. The woman standing a few yards from Juliette had a short pixie cut and a far slimmer frame than the other, who wore her long, cascading hair in a ponytail.

Hardcore, unyielding agents. Despite her years of experience, Juliette doubted she would be able to squeeze any more than a drop of intel out of them, and besides, she could see Ghislane making her way through the crowd,  sipping a fizzy non-alcoholic drink in her left hand. 

She needed to make it convincing enough to the people around her that she and Ghislane were just two young women ready to have some fun for the night in the rooms that were often rented out during these balls by couples. No suspicion must be raised.

"Let's go!" Juliette giggled, grasping Ghislane's right wrist with a falsely lustful gaze over her body. Despite her inexperience, Ghislane caught onto Juliette's act and played along, flashing a feral grin. 

"One sec, lemme grab our briefcase." Ghislane chirped back with false enthusiasm, exchanging her drink for the briefcase her short-haired lackey was holding. Juliette slid her hand around the girl's waist and squeezed it, making sure to play up the false love for any onlookers.

The elevator ride had been painstakingly long and awkward, given the fact that Juliette and Ghislane had just pretended to be going up to the room to do something far naughtier than an exchange, not to mention that Ghislane was married. When they finally reached the room, with its ivory walls, gold trimming, and silk-sheeted bed, they resumed their hatred for each other. 

"Do you have the jewels, girl?" Juliette snapped, ready for this night to be over with.

"Of course I do. You have the money, hag?" Ghislane retorted. All Juliette could do was stare her down.

Juliette pulled out fifteen hundred of the two-thousand dollars she had tucked into her bra, remembering the words of the Obsidian Mercenary's Board; Negotiate. Use as little as possible.

"Hey! That's only $1,500. I thought we agreed on two grand." Ghislane growled.

Juliette thought the girl would be too dumb to notice, but maybe she had a thing for transactions, and that's why the Granger Assassin's Board chose her to take this mission. Juliette huffed quietly, frustrated at the girl.

"Well, how much I give you depends on how much the diamond seems worth once I inspect it to see if it's not fake. It's not fake, is it?" Juliette questioned.

"Why the actual hell would it be fake?! Are you calling my Assassin's Board liars?!" Ghislane shouted. Thank heaven Juliette had reserved one of the soundproof rooms. That extra money was worth it. 

Ghislane's palms were sweaty, and she seemed to fidget slightly. Maybe she was lying, and the diamond was fake. Juliette would have to see. She snatched the briefcase from Ghislane and popped open the latches. The diamond sparkled brightly in the chandelier light. She unclipped her diamond necklace and took the diamond from the briefcase, holding them both against the light. Juliette's necklace refracted the light and sent small pearls of rainbow rays across the room. The diamond; it did not. 

"I guess I am calling your Assassin's Board liars, Ghisl-" The sound of a handgun being cocked cut off Juliette's words, and the muzzle of it pressed against the back of her brown-haired head. 

"Don't move a damn muscle." Ghislane hissed.