𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐀

39. Skirts, smiles, and daggers

enjoy!

song: 'Only Girl (In The World)' by Rihanna

——————————————————————————

Azalea stood in front of the mirror, hands on her hips, and burst out laughing. "Oh my God, we look ridiculous!"

I glanced over at her, eyebrow raised, trying to fasten the holster for my two thigh daggers; the ones gifted to me by Isa. "This was your idea, you know."

She snorted, still grinning like a lunatic as she admired her handiwork. "Hey, it's practical! Plus, nobody expects two girls in short skirts to be armed to the teeth on a mafia mission."

I rolled my eyes, tugging at the hem of my skirt. "Yeah, maybe because of the fact that our asses are half out, and not the fact that we're sneaking into their boss's hideout."

She threw her head back in a fit of laughter, pulling the waistband of her skirt a little higher. "Come on, it's genius! We'll have full mobility, and we look cute doing it."

"Cute?" I deadpanned, looking down at the black, fitted skirt she had me wear. "I feel like I'm about to give a lap dance, not fight extremely dangerous guards yielding weapons."

"And yet, you look dangerous," she countered, flashing me a wink as she twirled in her own skirt, the hem swirling around her upper thighs. She was already armed underneath, her twin blades strapped securely to her legs.

"Dangerous? Azalea, I feel like if I bend over, I'm going to show the entire underworld my—"

"—your blades, obviously," she cut in, barely containing her laughter. "That's the point! We go in looking like party girls, and when they least expect it—bam! Daggers out."

I tried to fight a smile but failed miserably. She had a way of turning even the most serious situations into something comical, and she always dragged me along for the ride.

Still, I had to admit, there was something kind of brilliant about the outfit—at least, from a tactical perspective. The short skirts did allow for easy access to our weapons, and in a weird, twisted way, she was right. No one would suspect us among the party goers.

"I don't know how you convinced me to wear this," I muttered, trying to adjust the belt that held my holstered gun around my waist without making it too obvious. "We're about to commit murder, and I'm over here worrying about my skirt riding up."

She shot me a playful grin, grabbing her lipstick and applying a quick swipe of red to her lips. "Trust me, they won't know what hit them. Besides, we've got the element of surprise. Skirts, smiles, and daggers. What could go wrong?"

I sighed, finally giving in to the absurdity of it all. "Fine, fine. But if we get caught because you insisted we look 'cute,' I'm blaming you."

She winked at me, adjusting the small knife strapped to her thigh. "Blame me all you want, but when we pull this off and look amazing doing it, you'll thank me."

I gave her a side-eye, still tugging at my skirt, but I couldn't help but laugh. "You're crazy."

"And you love me for it."

"Debatable."

We both stood in front of the mirror for a final check. Our black skirts hugged our legs, the weapons hidden just beneath the surface, waiting to be drawn at a moment's notice. On the surface, we looked like we were ready for a night out—but underneath? We were armed to the teeth and ready for anything.

"Let's do this," Azalea said, spinning around one last time, her skirt flaring as she struck a pose.

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're impossible."