You were in fact not ready.
You tugged on the uncomfortable white tights that were so constrictive they probably took you down a pant size, and you shimmied in your tight corset, trying to make it as breathable as possible. You exhaled for a long time. It's been far too long since I've last done this.
You were nervous, to say the least. Your palms were clammy, you kept gnawing on your lips, and constantly scratched itches all over your body that weren't really there, a product of your new onslaught of anxiety. Your stomach churned.
Yet, you walked through the bustling backstage with ease, earning a couple of smiles and nods your direction, greeting the famous prima ballerina Clara Angermeier. You didn't have to be in the crowd to be aware that the Hofmann Theatre was packed full tonight, all excited to see the infamous Swan Lake ballet.
You don't know if you could bear over an hour of dancing while you knew König was sitting right and the crowd with terrorist, much less stomach the idea of Ghost going down to disarm a missile — the possibilities are endless; the Task Force has no idea what obstacles await them below the stage.
You swallowed dryly, raising an awkward hand to greet a fellow ballerina. You were never like this. You carried yourself with haughtiness and a fervent attitude of superiority amongst others, yet here you are, shaking like a leaf.
Were you losing your mind?
It made everything worse that your nerves were only intensified by the fact that people you actually cared for could be in danger. Yuck. You scowled at the warm feeling that plagued the inside of your chest.
"What's with the face, Clara?"
You almost leaped out of your skin, even managing to accidentally bump into a man covered in synthetic leaves. You furrowed your brows as he walked on, muttered a, "watch it, Clara," and you whipped your head around to the man that just spoke to you.
"N-Nothing," you replied. Did I seriously just stutter?
He quirked a brow. "Nothing?" The man was rather short, appeared to be a producer or some sort judging by the wires he had around his neck and the headphones with a mic he had on his head. His nose was abnormally large and his face was wrinkled to bits. His hair was thin. He scrutinized you, and then added, "You appear rather... nervous."
The two of you were conversing in German, the language feeling oddly foreign on your tongue. It is your second language, but you know it so well it might as well be your first.
"I'm not!" you said quickly. Noticing your outburst, you shrunk. "I-I mean... I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."
"You look... different," he nagged on. "Did you dye your hair?"
"I darkened it," you said. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit bitch cunt fucking fucker, I'm done for. He's caught me.
"You shouldn't do that so close before a show," he said. "I just saw you this morning. Did you do it in the afternoon?"
"Of course I did," you hissed. You shut your mouth after that. "Sorry, that was so rude. I'm really stressed out." I wouldn't have apologized if I wasn't pretending to be this Clara chick. This guy is dumb as a rock.
"Hmph," he huffed. He gave you a pat on the shoulder. "Well, Miss Clara, I am certain you're extremely busy. Your makeup isn't even done yet. I'll see you later."
You pursed your lips and nodded. "Yep... Bye."
You dashed off before he could reply.
Christ, that was close. You could feel sweat dripping down your forehead. This was nerve-wracking as it is having to go on stage in front of a thousand people to perform a ballet you haven't in years, but to go undercover as somebody else? That made everything a million times worse.
You weaved in and out of people, your duffel bag swung over your shoulder. What no one knew, even the Task Force, was that your sniper rifle was in there. You were going to kill that terrorist. In front of everyone.
Ironically enough, your pointe shoes were crammed right on top of your rifle.
The sound of constant movement and talking was overwhelming. You bit your lip and spotted a door across the room. Ducking under a prop, you hastily threw the door open and went inside.
The room smelled stale, like powder. The light was already on. Your slick hand fell off the doorknob as your turned around.
"Clara!"
You almost shit your pants for the second time.
A young girl, about your age, squealed and ran up to you. She was wearing a white swan outfit similar to your own, but much less exquisite.
She was pale with light hair and lots of beauty marks, and her face was covered in pounds of stage makeup. She embraced you tightly; you struggled to breath.
"Good... to... see... you...?" you managed out.
She released you and backed up. "Its good to see you too, dummy!" The girl lightly punched your shoulder. "I was looking for you everywhere! You're on in fifteen, you know."
"I know. I got lost," you said dumbly. Shit.
"Lost?" she said confusedly. "We've been here like a million times."
"Yeah, well, there's more people here tonight than I'm used to. I guess my mind is just in the gutter," you fibbed, saying the first thing that came to your mind. It's partially true, though.
"That I can agree with," she nodded. "You know, I was thinking to myself—" she gestured with her hands energetically, "—'Ada, don't let yourself be nervous tonight. Ada, don't let the amount of people psyche you out,' but clearly that didn't work!" she exclaimed. She was talking so fast you could barely blink. "I'm already nervous! There's so many people here. I have no idea why."
"Me either, Ada," you said, making note of her name.
"Ooh!" Ada said in a high-pitched tone; you winced. "Did you dye your hair darker? That's ingenious! It will be perfect for when you show up as Odile."
You feigned a smile. "Yeah, I did. It's nothing big."
"It is!" she nodded. "It's a really cool idea, you know. But you do look a little pissed. Is everything okay?"
"That's just how I look, Ada." Your brow twitched. Is she saying I have a resting bitch face?
"Not usually. You're usually very nice looking," Ada said in a matter-of-factly tone.
Her spontaneous and high-energy persona managed to make you forget about your mission for a moment. That kind of personality was not something you were accustomed to, seeing as you made a living by basically killing people. It was nice, for the most part. Other than that it was just downright annoying.
"I guess I'm just nervous," you said quietly, using the same excuse for the millionth time. She "hmph"ed in understanding, nodding her head.
That's when you noticed the man in the back of the room, about to grab your duffel bag.
Your heart dropped.
You ran towards him, snatching the bag out of his hands and almost shoving Ada down in the process. She had a puzzled look on her face as you backed up, clutching the bag to your chest.
"Jesus, Clara," said the man, "I was just trying to get out your makeup. You don't have any on."
"Yeah, I noticed," you barked. You bit your tongue. I really have to stop doing that.
Stitching his furry brows together, the man crossed his arms, taken aback. "Woah. You really are worked up about this performance. Did anything happen?"
"It doesn't matter," you said. You turned around, still clutching the bag to your chest. If he had somehow managed to see that, and saw my rifle... "Ada. Can I use your makeup? I left mine at home."
"Of course," she said, bewildered. She gestured to the vanity, where her makeup was strewn out along the surface. Small bulbs lit up the mirror with a bright white light. "It's right over there, to the left of Lukas."
They're suspicious of me. Clearly, you're weren't very good at this whole undercover thing. There was an uncomfortable silence as you began to grow anxious once more. I really need to touch base with the group, get them an update.
Despite this, you made another mental note of the man's name, in case you needed to use it for later.
And it was quiet evident that you did whenever the man spoke.
"Ada, can you leave us? I need to speak to Clara. It's important."
"Sure," she said plainly. She gave you a concerned and perplexed glance before shuffling out of the room. The door echoed when it shut behind her.
You turned your head back around to stare up at the man. He was hardly taller than you. "Lukas," his name was. Quite fitting for his appearance. He was youthful looking, freckled with fluffy brown hair. He wore tights similarly to you, showcasing his muscular build.
His outfit made it evident that he was the male lead role. You suddenly felt a lot more pressure.
The room was stuffy and suffocating. Your throat was dry as you hugged your duffel bag closer to your chest. His gaze at you was indecipherable. You were extremely unnerved.
That's when he kissed you.
You almost threw up in your mouth.
The man pinned you against the wall, making you drop your bag to the floor with a thud as he moved his lips all over your own. You forced yourself to kiss back, physically recoiling from disgust. He pulled away and started to undo the buttons on his blouse.
"We've got twelve minutes. You'll have ten to do your makeup if we hurry," he said in a growl.
"What?" you gasped, putting your hands on his chest to stop him from moving further. "Hell no."
He paused completely, his lips parting. He breathed heavily. "The fuck?"
There was a prolonged silence, an overpowering tension. Your stomach churned as you felt white-hot anger bubble up inside you.
"I said no."
"What the fuck, Clara?!" he hollered, grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving you against the wall. "Again? What did I do wrong?"
Whatever relationship Clara has with Lukas, it's clearly not healthy. You might as well do the poor girl a favor.
"For one, act like a child," you said wittily.
Lukas clenched his jaw, his nails digging into your shoulders.
"For two," you winced through the pain, squeezing your eyes shut before mustering up the courage to knee him in the balls. "Touch me."
"Fuck you, bitch! You wouldn't give it to me the other night and for what? We've been doing it every day after rehearsals for the past month! And now what? What changed?" Lukas shouted, clutching his manhood in pain. He could barely get out his words.
"For three..." you tilted your head, feeling your anger dissipate into amusement. "...I mean, come on, Lukas, you just called me a bitch. Can't you do better than that?"
"You've changed, Clara," he managed through his pain. "And I don't like it."
"I really wish I cared," you pouted. "Now get the fuck out of my sight before I ruin your entire career."
Lukas opened and closed his mouth like a fish, struggling to find the words. Ultimately, he gave up, running off with his tail in between his legs. The door slammed behind him. His hand was still on his balls.
You felt your body ease as a smile crept upon your face. Not only did you probably save Clara a lot of trouble, you never get tired of putting sad little boys in their place.
You sighed and plopped down on the chair of the vanity, unraveling the mess of Ada's makeup and debating where to start. Before you could dab on some foundation, though, you hear a crackle in your earpiece.
"Odile. Status?"
It was Ghost. His voice right up in your ear sent shivers down your spine.
"Everything's good. Had some bumps in the road but nobody has suspected anything." It felt nice to talk in English again, strangely enough. Probably because the last conversation you had in German wasn't very pleasant. "How about you?"
"König..." he said the name with spite, "...and Los Vaqueros are in position. They've been talking to the owners and have kept them distracted for the most part. They've sat in their seats all night."
"Good," you said. You ignored the way he said Kilgore's name.
"As for us, well, we're just waiting for the show to start," he said. "When it does and everyone's busy, we'll move in and try to locate and disarm that missile."
"Sounds like a plan, Lieutenant," you replied. Your voice shook a little bit. He noticed.
"...You got this, [Y/N], alright?"
The kindness from him took you aback. Your heart warmed.
You chose not to respond, mostly because you couldn't, and started working on your makeup. As you put it on your face, starting with foundation, of course, you thought of Kilgore, and wondering how everything played out for you and him to get to the place you are now. Where did it all start? Where did it go from there? You've had so much on your mind this past month you haven't been able to get your facts straight.
You needed to sit down with him when all this was over and start from the beginning. You smiled softly at the thought, remembering when you used to talk to each other in those dank alleyways about stupid stuff like why the earth was round, and why cows make a "moo" sound instead of an "oink." You miss how safe you felt with him. It's strange how everything has changed.
Then, like a looming dark cloud, you thought of Ghost. As you applied your lipstick, you thought of those same lips on his, the fire, the passion, his touch, the lust... you wanted it back. You wanted the thrill and pleasure of him all over you back. His gruff, slow voice, his gentle, yet scary demeanor... it was all so enticing.
Jesus. It's like the angel on my shoulder and the devil on my shoulder. Which should I listen to? You rolled your eyes at yourself.
You finished your makeup and checked the clock on the wall. Somehow, you'd done it in under five minutes, so you had some time to kill. You packed up Ada's makeup for her and zipped up her bag. You then stretched, going down into a split with ease, rolling your shoulders and your feet... It felt good to stretch your body out like this again.
When it was almost time to go onstage, the nervousness made a grand reappearance. You opened your duffel bag and slipped on your pointe shoes and zipped it back up, ensuring to put the bag in a non-conspicuous spot. You gave it a pat, thinking of your sniper rifle. I have big plans for you.
At last, you left the room, remembering its location as you moved further into backstage. You found yourself near the curtains as the sound of the crowd and music grew louder. It was time.