#icaruswest

[agentmonet]

@icaruswest​

Is it honor, or stubbornness that propels Jack to the commercial kitchen of the Pantheon’s safe house? She would claim the former, but the latter seems more likely. A way of minimizing the blunt of pain along her arm, and resisting the embarrassment of acting like a wounded gazelle. She is no soldier, but she is a Pantheon Agent. Fully emboldened to shoulder past the pain and fury, and simply move along with her day. After the haze of operative tasks were completed, including an un-packing of the the recent debacle, they disperse. A deafening silence among the roaring sound of failure, that allows each agent to find their footing yet again. In the wake of it, Jack emerges with conviction. A quick text message for West to meet her at the warehouse’ kitchen, with an appetite and a thirst for bubbly wine. Her pristine upbringing made the sum total of her culinary repertoire dismal, at best. But what she knows, she knows well. And regardless of West’s baseless, American flavor palette - croque monsieur is as satisfying a comfort food as any. Especially, when paired with an exquisite bottle of vintage, Moet Chandon.

The fresh brioche is sizzling on the frying pan, as the bottle of champagne sits comfortably on the icy pale. The sound of shuffling and West’s presence, clear even as her eyes fixate on the cheese and ham sandwich. “The bottle is just begging to be popped.” Jack comments, as she places the meal onto the porcelain plate, circa 1800′s. “I said I’d buy you a drink.”

[agentmonet]

@icaruswest​

It’s the scent that first catches. Her nostrils crinkling at the pervasive scent of rubble, explosives, and fire. The aftermath of the explosion leaves her worst for wear, a ringing inside the ear where her ear piece once existed. it’s lost in the commotion, with agent scrambling to escape. There’s a surge of adrenaline that propels her back through the cavernous walls, managing to remain clear of the initial detonation. But it’s only half the battle, and unfortunately, nothing but the standard issue handgun is in her arsenal. And though Agent Echo taught her a fair amount, there is still much to be desired with her ability to yield and aim. She is no stranger to the danger of the job, the prevailing threats that existed. Her mission; however, often relied on her wits and her malleability. A woman capable of talking her way out of the criminal underground, or break into the Pentagon’s facility. But she is not a warrior, nor a skilled fighter. She manages to catch the light, the sound of bullets ricocheting filling her ear.

She summons a clear gaze and a steady stance, as Jack wades her way out of the cave. Fast, but precise. One eye caught on where the Pantheon’s escape vehicles were, on the opposite end of the entrance’s gate. The unknown figures surround the Agents, and her hand is already on her holster - until it comes. A precise gun shot that lands just shy of her shoulder, creating a significant scrape. She lets out a long, languid yelp of pain as the blood takes shape. It drips along the rocks, and prompts the Agent down to her feet. Amidst the pain, she can hear the faint sound of West’s voice. But the bomb’s effects are too pervasive, and his voice barely cuts through the barrier. “Get out of here.” She manages through gritted teeth, trying to clasp a hand on the growing injury.

[agentmonet]

@icaruswest​ | Luxury Shopping Center in Budapest, Hungary (Outfit of The Day)

Vigilance is the mark of any true, accomplished agent. It’s what makes a historian, artist, thug, or engineer from a functional profession into a consummate spy. A skill that can only be learned through instinct, rather than rigor. Even in something as banal as a trip into the city center, it’s as astute as ever. The public outcry of the agent’s disappearing act, surely gathering the attention of the European press. But Agent Monet blends, a forgettable French woman in a sea of tourists and patrons. Stylish, but indistinguishable - just as an Apollo ought to be. In the case of Agent Icarus; however, deception is an unlearned skill. That, combined with his remarkably bland yet symmetrical features, make him stand out amongst the crowd. Without making his presence known, she catches enough giddy people glancing behind her to make it known to her.

Jack stops at a nearby stall, purchasing a plate of Hungarian Lángos. Just enough of a delay for Agent Icarus to inevitably catch up, and for her to pass him a wry glance. “Not very subtle, mon cheri. I caught you from the moment I left the Pantheon.” If this is some experiment in nuance, he’s surely failed. Never the less, she extends her plate of deep fried flat bread. Half the indulgence would be tossed out, anyways (Agent Monet and her strict, healthy diets). Might as well share. “Don’t tell me. You’re also in the market for a bikini to wear undercover in Peru?”