#☞A MESSAGE FROM GARDEN; ask meme answer

[shockwavepulsar]

@decayinghonour​ ( PUSH ) + ( SILENCE ) ( from decayinghonour who does doubles and you can't stop us, kane! )

send in one of these for my muse’s (RECEIVER) reaction to your muse (SENDER)

Internally, she’s screaming, cursing every member of Garden staff for sending her out here for another one of these missions. It makes her feel so uncomfortable when they point out her beauty, her sex appeal, her charm. At least they know she’s capable of outsmarting her targets, so she’s not entirely reduced to an object, but it doesn’t wash the taste of disgust from her mouth. It doesn’t change the fact that she feels awful in these heels, in this tight dress, knowing she has no access to her weapon. She’s junctioned, at least, if it comes to that, but hopefully she can manage without having any unexpected twists. These missions usually went smoothly enough with targets lower on the chain of command, but to have to go after Saran Deling of all people meant she’d have to pray to whatever deity exists that it goes smoothly.

“Why was I chosen? Why me, specifically?” she had asked then, demanded, really. She watched Squall sit back in his chair, unable to make eye contact with her. “Any woman here could have been chosen. Xu is an expert in this field, but you appointed me to this mission. Why?” He shifted uncomfortably, an audible creaking from the leather of his chair the only thing breaking the awkward silence after her outburst. He cleared his throat, quickly took in her form without lingering too much, and handed her the file. “Deling has a preference for blonde women,” he offered. “It was unanimously decided that you would be the best candidate for this mission. I’m...sorry, for the record. You depart tomorrow at 0600 hours. Good luck.”

She had plans for what she would do to Squall when she got back, had mulled over the various ways she would make him regret accepting this mission in the first place, but especially for making her do this. For explaining to her everything this mob boss liked in a woman, appearance wise, mannerisms, even down to the dialect. For expecting her to go through with such a demeaning aspect of espionage. Quistis would much rather be in the thick of battle than to cozy up to a criminal and possibly have to— Externally, she’s focused, despite the thumping bass permeating throughout the club and the sickening aroma of sweat and alcohol. She’s searching for him while moving her body in rhythm with the music, attempting to blend in with the crowd. It’s not long before she feels a tap against her shoulder and although every muscle wants to react in proper combat form and send this person careening into the dozens of swaying bodies, she keeps collected and faces the newcomer. She offers Quistis a drink, leans in, and describes that a man on the far side of the room wanted to purchase it for her. Following the woman’s gesture, she could see a small group of men sitting in a lounge area, dressed rather nicely. In the middle sat Saran, relative of the infamous Vinzer Deling, and his henchmen. A few other women were there, though they looked completely miserable. Quistis couldn’t blame them. She accepted the drink, and the bartender returned to her post. Dipping a finger into the liquid, Quistis swirled the ice around and took a peek at her fingernail. The polish color stayed the same. No drugs on the first drink—she expected as such. These men were scoundrels, for sure, but they also knew what they were doing. At least she didn’t have to work too hard to get his attention. But she also wasn’t going to give it to him that easily. She didn’t want to seem too desperate to talk to him. She kept eye contact with him as she swayed, sticking her finger in her mouth to taste the beverage. She reasoned that if she took her time getting to him, he would want her more and it’d be easier to make him talk, so she remained on the floor, sipping her drink and occasionally looking over at the man in question to keep him interested. When she was finished with the drink, she made her way to the bar and set down the empty glass. Then, she made her way towards the lounge area. In transit, however, Quistis was pulled to the side suddenly. She recoiled out of the person’s grasp and began to protest, when she saw it was Vidar. Knowing the stall had likely alerted the attention of Deling’s henchmen, he snarled and grabbed at her once more and commanded her to come with him. Sure enough, she could see two of them standing up as if they were to come after Vidar for daring to touch the woman Saran had his eyes set on.  On one hand, she was livid that her mission was interrupted, but on the other, she was desperately happy to not have to go through with it. Instinctively, she ran with Vidar, following his lead as he guided her through a corridor, down a flight of steps, and into a storage room. Once inside, she felt the impact of her back hitting the wall and found herself sandwiched between it and Vidar. A sliver of light from the door frame allowed her to see his face, close as he was, and he clearly wasn’t happy. But more than just anger...maybe...fear? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat as she felt his finger press against her painted lips. Attempting to wriggle out of his grasp was useless; she was fully pinned by his weight. He was determined not to let her go. Anger gave way to confusion as she searched his eyes for an answer regarding his motivation. He began to lean in closer and Quistis felt her breath hitch until he stopped just at her ear. The feeling of his breath against her skin made her sigh. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he whispered, removing his silencing finger from her lips.  She turned her head slightly to whisper back, “I’m doing my job.” It was a reminder that just because she looked like any other woman, and maybe it was easier for Vidar to see her as a woman instead of a SeeD, she was indeed a trained mercenary. She didn’t need his help, didn’t need his protection. “As much as I prefer to have you against me like this rather than him, I have intel to retrieve. So, unless you have information on Saran and his men, we’ll have to take a rain check on this.” Her body language told another story because as adamant as she was about completing her mission, she sure didn’t make much effort to go through with it. Honestly, she was thankful for his intervention. Maybe she could find a way out of it now. She could call Squall and tell him the mission was compromised, to send someone else out. Her rank would likely take a hit, but her dignity would be intact, at least. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. “Or do you have a better plan?”