── 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲 ──

The estate was classy, elegance seemingly hand stitched into every scrap of fabric, every gown and suit that had stepped onto the scene that demanded only the utmost respect from its guests. Tiled flooring had been polished and scrubbed so thoroughly that it was pleasing and pristine to the eye and even slightly slippery when stood on. The room held the faint scent of disinfectant from its rigorous cleansing that was slowly being overpowered by the lavender incense burning along the windowsills, each and every window bolted shut ─ the aroma lingering.

A forty piece orchestra had been situated in the centre of the floor with music sheets delicately placed on diamond stands, not that any of the members needed them, as they flawlessly executed classical pieces ─ Nera assumed it was Beethoven. She gently hummed along to the deep, distinct plucks of the viola's strings, the bow creating a beautiful melody as the agent ran her pointer finger around the rim of her thin champagne flute.

Nera Lucille Blackwell had dressed to fit in with the pompous crowd, a beautiful hunter green gown encased her body perfectly. Thin straps sat on her strong shoulders, the neckline drooping drastically to her upper abdomen, the curves of her breasts embellished with the lengthy diamond chain she wore around her slender neck. The upper half of her dress clung tight to her figure, up until a narrow, almost unnoticeable belt where it became much looser and created a beautifully sophisticated skirt that fanned away from her body, emphasising her daring frame. A little to the side of the gown was a slit in the expensive fabric that ran up the length of her left leg, exposing her upper thigh ─ if the cut was any higher those in the ballroom would be shown a holster that comfortably housed a pistol. Along with the fine necklace that dipped into Nera's cleavage another thicker diamond piece hung around her neck regally, two rows of precious gems decorating her throat as well as matching tennis bracelets on her wrists. Heavy rings sat upon her fingers and her ears had been thoroughly decorated with jewels of varying sizes and styles ─ the perfect picture of wealth.

However, despite the charm and grace that surrounded Nera, she still stood out from amongst the regular party-goers for one particular reason. Almost her entire body was covered in swirling dark ink, different beautiful depictions coated her right arm from her shoulder down to her knuckles and the other arm seemed to be an unfinished sleeve ─ from the crook of her elbow downwards, it was bare. The top of her right arm was home to a plethora of roses and dahlias, hidden in their petals were three skulls, each one had a different sense covered, the first blocked it's ears, the second, its eyes and the third, its mouth ─ a homage to the phrase her mother repeated consistently, 'hear no evil, see no evil, speak to evil.' Just below that and practically in line with her elbow was a pair of angel wings, feathered and detailed, painted in black and white like a majority of her body art. Nera's forearm had a hyper-realistic portrait of a pretty woman, plump lips and rosy cheeks, long silky hair had been whipped around her face, eyes obscured by the light locks and surrounding her were butterflies of different species and sizes ─ her favourite piece.

Her left bicep was filled with odd little doodles and things that, at first glance, would appear like meaningless, drunken tattoos. In actuality, each and every piece on that bicep had been designed by Nera's two younger sisters. Isla was five and could barely hold a pencil at all but when she drew Nera herself as a superhero, guns ablaze, she had gotten it tattooed and from then on she dedicated that arm to her family. Her other sister, Cora, was sixteen and had earned herself a scholarship to a prestigious art academy, even going as far to have created an entire realism project based on her older sister's body art, sketching potential tattoos based on what she already had. As a surprise, Nera had gone out and got them tattooed on the same arm as Isla's, a snake coiled around her arm, daggers and guns in the background as well as skulls with flowers blooming from the eye cavities. Her chest too had been used as a canvas, two thin lines bloomed around the curves of her breasts, growing into leaves and flowers that had been lightly coloured in ─ the only coloured art she had.

Upon her exposed thigh was a realistic portrait of Medusa, the beautiful gorgon from greek mythology, it was a sizely tattoo of her face, her snakes acting as a crown around her head before curling around her thigh. Even painted on the sides of her left hands fingers ─ from pinky to pointer ─ were four dates of birth in roman numerals, her mothers, fathers and sisters.

As if the dark ink painted upon her body didn't draw enough attention to Nera, perhaps her stoney expression did. Rounded red lips made no attempt to curl into a smile but were rather puckered into somewhat of a pout ─ her natural angry and unpleasant expression. However, she did make the effort to give a blatantly sarcastic and toothy smile whenever she made eye-contact with the guests, much like they did to her, very clearly showing what too much wealth did to people. Nera had been told many times through her twenty years of life that she had a resting bitch face, a poker face, a face that made people nervous to go near her and she couldn't have been more thankful for it than on this mission.

Despite Nera Blackwell's intimidating body ink and thunderous resting face, the second she opened her mouth, her lips breaking into a smile ─ it was as though the sun itself had flooded into the room, brightening it. Her voice invited joy and her pure excitement at even the littlest things made everyone around her fall in love, she embodied all the stars in the sky, taking in their light for herself only to expel it upon everyone she met in joyous bursts. There was a reason she was called Vega ─ one of the brightest stars in the sky because she was as pure as she was warm and inviting. There was no-one better, the most odd thing for a trained killer to be described as.

For a good majority of the gala so far, Nera had been left alone ─ guests stumbling upon her before taking a glimpse at her expression and hurrying away, louis vuitton's clutched tightly as though she had a history of committing daylight robbery. A snobbish, upper-class woman was a rather easy part to play, it simply took a permanently curled lip, hard eyes and the ability to snootily look down one's nose at others ─ despite the fact Nera was the complete opposite, snobbish folk were rather two-dimensional and made easy characters. She played the character to a tee, keeping her thigh exposed through the seductive slit in her ballgown in the hopes she'd entice her target to the bar and then her bedroom where director Nick Fury and multiple members of the STRIKE team would be waiting for him. Before her mission, Nera had been debriefed and learned her target was a weak in the knees ( and possibly the cock ) for women who were, according to him, hard to get and easy on the eyes. The agent hoped her antisocial display would allure the target to her pretty face but there'd been no luck despite the daring gazes they'd shared ─ if he didn't make his way over soon, she'd have to approach him herself.

It was then she noticed a large, hulking figure striding towards her purposefully, arms stiff by his sides, fingers twitching, Nera could see a not-so-inconspicuous knife tucked into his pocket and she subtly squared her shoulders ─ preparing for a fight. He was very handsome, Nera couldn't deny that as he drew ever nearer. A strong jawline was partially obscured by thick, brunette locks that fell by his broad shoulders, few strands falling into his cerulean eyes and Nera swore if she gazed into them any longer she'd delve into the depths of ocean with him, bypassing the frothing waves. They were a mixture of apples and the horizon where the blue of the sky and the ocean met, but there was something else too ─ pain. His eyes seemed to cower under the returned ferocity of her gaze and yet remained cold, the layers of emotion that fled from him in a single meeting of their stares, enamoured her. His lips were full but broken, split and chapped with a permanent downturning at the edges, there was a tan across his face, small, hardly noticeable but with the sharp eyes Nera possessed, there had practically been a written note across his forehead. It cut across his cheeks and bridged his nose, from the tip of his nose downwards was slightly paler than the rest of him ─ a purposeful, clearly repeated action caused the difference in shades. Perhaps he was a doctor, or a surgeon? ─ but what medical man carried a knife?

If there was one thing Natasha Romanoff had taught her, it was that a handsome man was often more trouble than he was worth.

The unnamed figure seemed unbothered by her unintiving expression and stiffly leant against the bar, body turned into hers. The two held eye-contact for a moment, the connection only breaking when Nera scraped her eyes down his body ─ he was thickly built and muscular, the definition visible even through his expensive suit and once again the theory of this man being a doctor thinned. After a moment, the man seemed uncomfortable leaning against the wooden surface and instead stood upright, towering over Nera's head. She noticed that he stood as though he was waiting for instruction, legs shoulder-width apart and his arms hung by his sides, careful to not catch his jacket with his sleeves. That was suspicious, before meeting his eyes once more Nera subtly examined his suit jacket and saw odd shapes beneath the material ─ this man was heavily armed.

"Well," drawled Nera, playing her part to perfection, "aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Her voice was like singing in his ears.

He stiffened for a moment, "James," he grumbled, low and gruff.

"Marina," she replied, holding out her poised hand, poison red nails glinting in the artificial lighting.

His hand twitched by his side and he clenched his fist to the point it quivered quite noticeably, Nera said nothing but her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. There was a moment where he reached to grasp her hand but he changed his mind and gently held her fingers, bendly slightly at the waist to dust a kiss upon her knuckles. It was barely there, a touch of his cut lips and hot breath but it was enough to have a grin break out over her bright face ─ it was like he was from another time. It was stiff, almost reluctant, as if he once knew the maneuver well but had unlearned it ─ making the whole interaction a little awkward but Nera was too intrigued to pay much attention.

"What can I help you with?" Nera asked, cutting right to the chase ─ no matter how handsome he was, she did have a mission although she couldn't deny her interest.

"Can't I talk to a pretty girl?" James retorted in a low murmur although he seemed more frightened of Nera's questions rather than her threatening glare.

"For someone who wants to talk you don't seem to like the idea," waiting for a reply, Nera took a sip of her champagne and like she'd been doing all night, James surveyed the room with a critical eye.

As somewhat expected, James didn't reply but simply stood by Nera's side, eyes repeating the motion of scanning her body ─ seemingly assessing her.

"You don't seem very at home here," started Nera, making sly eye contact with her target before returning her gaze to the man in front of her ─ small talk slipping off her tongue easily.

He hummed, peering quickly over his own shoulder, "and you seem too at home."

"Sharp eye," she praised, lips curling into a smirk at both James snapping back and the fact her target appeared to be making his way to her, the echo of a stride in his slightly drunken hobble.

The target, the host of the extravagant event, was so close that Nera could practically taste the overwhelming scent of his flowery cologne and James stiffed even more so.

"Well, thank you for your help Agent Blackwell," stated James and Nera's expression dropped.

Before she could even spit out her protests, her target had already slid to the ground, hands frantically clutching his throat, blood spilling over his fingers and bubbling rapidly from the wound. His mouth opened and closed in unadulterated panic, wheezes and squeaks fell past his lips but words evaded him, his vocal cords split.

James still held the knife in his left hand, the glove of which had been torn off to reveal a silver plated metal arm, it's fingers digging tightly into the knife, unfeeling.

"Who are you James?" Nera spat out his name like poison, hands pulling apart the slits in her gown to clutch her own two daggers. She flipped them between her fingers before gripping them almost as tightly as the man in front of her.

No reply was needed as his right hand made contact with his own face and when he pulled it away a black mask that sat over his mouth was in place and he lunged for her.

Nera turned her whole body to the right and James flew past her before turning around, fuming with frustration and the two faced one another.

"I said," started Nera, "who the fuck are you?" For a moment she waited for some kind of reply, anything to humanise the figure in front of her but when nothing was offered, she bounced on the balls of her feet despite her unfortunate choice of shoes and dived.

James assumed a straight back position, ready to defend from her high attack but Nera ducked down at the last minute and fell to her knees. Gliding across the ground with the soft material of her gown, Nera spun right past her opponent, her blade caressing the back of his right knee. He let out a snarl of pain, fingers immediately going to sooth the cut but when he caught sight of Nera still on her knees, clean knife dangling by her side and the other sodden with his blood, stabbed into the marble flooring that ( he assumed ) stopped her flying into the bar ─ he felt rage flood through his entire being.

With a sharp snarl, James once again began an attack and Nera combated his every touch, their knives clattered against one another as they cut through the air with violent slashing motions. Grinning slightly as she saw a brief but noticeable gap in James defences, Nera lunged forward with her less predictable left hand and whilst her dagger indeed found its home shallowly in James' side, his metal hand took hold of her wrist. The metal churned and wired loudly as his grip got progressively tighter, Nera felt something pop and cried out in agony, her right hand bringing down her weapon at his head but he batted it out of his way and his fist caught her in the jaw as he secured her broken wrist by lurching it forward.

Tears streaming down her cheeks and her jaw lightly bleeding from the force of her suffered blow, Nera felt a little light headed and her disfigured wrist throbbed angrily but it didn't stop her bringing up her knee harshly to James crotch who doubled over. It was just enough that even Nera's small stature could drop the weight of her body onto the base of James' neck, between his shoulder blades from her elbows ─ forcing him to the ground.

Nera staggered, the overwhelming pain radiating through her wrist was making her dizzy and in her brief moment of weakness, James plucked up her own engraved knives from the floor and thrust it just below her breastbone, the crunch of her bones shattering underneath the entire length of the knife made her wretch. James didn't bother to pull the hilt-deep dagger out of her chest but rather turned his back.

She gurgled, blood dripping over her lips and down her chin only to stain her teeth and skin. Trembling fingers reached for the knife embedded in her chest but she knew better than to remove it ─ she wasn't even sure she could because it was buried so deeply. The front of Nera's dress was stained crimson and she quickly lowered herself to the floor before she crumbled and did more damage. Her vision slowly fading to black, Nera dreamt that James dared peer back, sympathy deep within his eyes.

Or so she thought she dreamt.

───────────────