Of The Wolves And The Orphans

A Masquerade

Keira's P.O.V.

I look in the full length mirror. The reflection staring back is one I haven't seen for too long than I care to remember. Before stands a girl in a lavish, gold, tight-fitting dress that hugs the curves and drapes over one shoulder. The skirt falls tastefully to the floor with a slit all the way up to my thigh. I wear five-inch platforms and tinkling jewelry to match. My dark hair is actually styled and curled so it sweeps over my shoulder and down to my fitted waist. My skin is snowy white and my makeup is done tastefully yet simply with nude tones and a splash of gold eyeliner that adds to the exotic feel of the whole outfit.

Standing here, posing, with one hand on my bony hip, I feel completely foreign. The Kiera I've been used to has not worn any makeup, been bruised, beaten, and exhausted to the point of a Frankenstein look. Here stands a model worthy of the Cover Girl front page, but she's not me.

Not me by a long shot.

Clint comes up behind me wearing a tux. I have to admit, he's striking. Something about the eyes, I think. Our gaze meets in the mirror. I feel an unspoken agreement. This is the first time we will truly go into the field together. We have to have each other's backs. If we don't this whole mission goes south.

I feel a lead weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I know Clint could most likely handle this whole operation single-handedly. But this is up to me. This is my learning curve. I am the biggest liability in the mission.

He holds something out to me and I turn around to get a better view of it. It's a leg holster for a sleep serum. I take it and look up at him. He smiles down at me.

"Even in that dress you can still conceal weapons."

"Please don't tell me you know this from personal experience." He ignores that.

"Remember your mission?"

I nod. Courtesy of SHIELD, we were able to dig up the blueprints of the mansion, desperately looking for some clue as to where any information could be stored. Of course, there could be safes hidden all over the place, but none showed in the construction plans. However, we had a breakthrough when I noticed the dimensions in the study of the left wing were off. After we had done surveillance of the mansion, I pulled up the pictures. With a little luck, we reconstructed as much of it as possible and that's when I noticed there was an extra twenty-five feet in the outer wall. From there, we deduced that this could be some sort of vault. This is the most likely place for incriminating evidence to be stored.

The plan is simple on my part. Get in, split up, charm the first available creep into time alone. Sedate him, hide the body, find the vault rendezvous with Clint and then use my vault-picking expertise to open it.

Of course, there are flaws. Firstly, that I have no idea what type of security is on these vaults. If it's anything like a bank vault, I'll need specialized equipment. We already know there are metal detectors. It's Clint's part of the job to somehow sneak the equipment in. But I'm not even sure if it's the right equipment.

Secondly; I have to flirt.

I am hopeless. All I can hope is that maybe this dress can be persuasive enough on its own, because my nonexistent sunny personality will do nothing. I'm in a dress. I am in a dress. My knowledge in the art of seduction is in the deficit. I'm not exactly charming, alluring, beautiful, seductive, sexy, or sensual. And I would need all of those traits to get anything out of these drug-dealing playboys.

And there lies another problem. Exactly how far am I supposed to take this? I'm not the most experienced. Hell, I have no experience. For anyone to fall into an infatuation with me would take a miracle from the God Almighty. I push my skirt aside and buckle the serum to my leg. I barely feel the small vial. I know it's not much, but I'd rather have something to put someone to sleep temporarily rather than permanently.