Feliks had had his fun dressing everyone on Team One up, or at least everyone who needed the help -- doing their hair and makeup, suggesting outfits, giving the younger ones teasing reminders not to drink too much. Now, it was time to put his game face on...
Which, in his case, meant taking his game face off. He'd long since determined that one of the best ways he personally could get information out of people involved acting like he was too ditzy to do a thing with it.
Every aspect of his appearance was calculated. Blue contacts and hair extensions long enough to manage a little updo, to keep himself from being too recognizable. Heavy makeup, gaudy and glittery, to draw attention to himself, and away from his natural appearance. A long black dress with a side slit nearly to the hip, classic, attention-grabbing without being too recognizable in a lineup or too nouveau-riche. Small falsies -- big ones wouldn't look natural on him, and would stand out in the high-fashion crowd. Sky-high heels, because fantastic legs couldn't hurt.
In short, he looked every inch the role of someone's gold-digging arm candy.
If you find out what we're looking for, he'd instructed the rest of the team on the Blackbird, come to me and I'll report back to Nightcrawler and coordinate everyone getting out. As for your cover stories for coming to get me... Girls, you need to head to the bathroom for a second, and obviously you can't go without bringing your best girlfriend. Guys, I'm your date, and you just noticed me flirting with whoever and think I'm too drunk and we really need to get home. When we're good to go, I'm gonna mass text all of you about losing my bracelet -- don't all leave at once, just start looking for a natural time to bail and get to the rendezvous point!
He took a moment to get himself a drink as he entered -- something pink, girly, and utterly weak for him -- before making his way in with runway-confidence, on the lookout for a target.
no subject
Which, in his case, meant taking his game face off. He'd long since determined that one of the best ways he personally could get information out of people involved acting like he was too ditzy to do a thing with it.
Every aspect of his appearance was calculated. Blue contacts and hair extensions long enough to manage a little updo, to keep himself from being too recognizable. Heavy makeup, gaudy and glittery, to draw attention to himself, and away from his natural appearance. A long black dress with a side slit nearly to the hip, classic, attention-grabbing without being too recognizable in a lineup or too nouveau-riche. Small falsies -- big ones wouldn't look natural on him, and would stand out in the high-fashion crowd. Sky-high heels, because fantastic legs couldn't hurt.
In short, he looked every inch the role of someone's gold-digging arm candy.
If you find out what we're looking for, he'd instructed the rest of the team on the Blackbird, come to me and I'll report back to Nightcrawler and coordinate everyone getting out. As for your cover stories for coming to get me... Girls, you need to head to the bathroom for a second, and obviously you can't go without bringing your best girlfriend. Guys, I'm your date, and you just noticed me flirting with whoever and think I'm too drunk and we really need to get home. When we're good to go, I'm gonna mass text all of you about losing my bracelet -- don't all leave at once, just start looking for a natural time to bail and get to the rendezvous point!
He took a moment to get himself a drink as he entered -- something pink, girly, and utterly weak for him -- before making his way in with runway-confidence, on the lookout for a target.