LONDON, ENGLAND
--
Howler had a gift for grifting. She could blend into any and all situations without a modicum of a give away. Give her access to make up, wigs, and colored contacts . . . she could disappear right out from under the noses of any curious eyes, government or otherwise. It was something she'd had a knack for as a child, that LASAR had picked up on and then devoted attention to. What started as a skill for voice and behavior modulation rapidly turned into something more -- allowing her to become the brilliant master of disguise she was.
Oftentimes, she was the one others were sent to for brief undercover assignments. A few brushes of makeup, some style and vocalization tips, and any number of agents were sent on their way. Howler was the queen of disguise, and no one questioned it.
When stationed in London, Howler had her own place, largely because she was intended to be the pit stop for a number of agents that were in the field doing any number of jobs. One day she could see Team Echo and give both men haircuts, another she would see Snag to give her tips on blending in in the Philippines.
And then there was Team Alpha, whom were chaotic like none other. It was always an adventure for Howler when she had to help Alpha with undercover information -- mostly because the duo would either start bickering, or somehow know most of what she was trying to tell them. Or both. When it was both, it was double the insanity.
Needless to say, Howler was one of the LASAR agents that frequently needed to brace herself prior to interacting with Team Alpha.
And today was one of those days.
As they came in, they were jabbering in Russian, so rapid-fire that Howler couldn't determine what they were saying. Though she spoke many languages -- more than the rest of the LASAR agents, sans Imitate -- and Russian was one of them, she was not even close to as familiar with it as the duo before her. They knew the slang, and they spoke with the kind of speed that could only be acquired when one knew the ins and outs of a language with great familiarity.
Howler watched the duo make sharp retorts to each other, catching small words like 'you,' and at some point 'mission,' before Risk waved a hand and made a sharp, final retort that was a mix of Russian and French. Immediately after, Risk turned her quartz eyes to Howler, flashing a familiarly crooked smile. "Howler," she greeted with a polite nod.
"Risk, Rebel," Howler sighed, resisting the urge to scrub a hand down her face. "I presume you've already been briefed about the New Zealand assignment?"
They both answered in unison, Risk agreeing, "Absolutely," while Rebel drawled a "Yup."
Howler nodded at that, feeling somewhat relieved. "Good. All they wanted me to do was make sure you were both cleaned up, and had clean clothes." She gave them a very pointed once over. "Given what you're currently wearing looks like you've been through a war zone . . . it's a good thing I have clothes for you."
"That's all?" Rebel asked, brows raised. "Sounds easy enough."
"I'd also recommend bathing," Howler mused then, looking at Rebel in specific. "You first." She turned her attention to Risk then. "I'm presuming you're going to want a haircut, given it's starting to curl over your ears."
Risk smiled somewhat. "Glad you put that together on your own."
"Of course," Howler waved a hand. "Wouldn't want you asking or anything," she said sarcastically. "All right, you--" she waved at Rebel, "shower and take these." She thrust a neatly folded stack of clothes toward him before turning to Risk. "You, take a seat. You can shower when I'm done."
"Aye aye captain," Risk hummed with equal sarcasm, winking at her partner before moving to take a sit.
So today would be an easier day with the two of them, she thought before she moved to grab a comb and scissors, the razor on stand-by. She would most certainly take it, that was for sure. "So," she said, scooping up a spray bottle filled with water and beginning to douse her fellow agent, "where'd you lot come from this time?"
Risk glanced at her in the mirror, a small smirk curving her lips. "Siberia. Rough assignment. Rougher exit. Hence our war clothes."
Howler hummed at that, most of her attention devoted to trimming the other's hair. "Understandable, I suppose. Why does Rebel smell like smoke?"
Risk waved a hand passively; "There was a slight issue with a smoke grenade. Nothing too dangerous."
Howler resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No, of course not," she murmured. "You don't smell nearly as bad."
"Well, I wasn't in the same vicinity as the smoke grenade," Risk shrugged with a catty smile at Howler's reflection.
Howler did roll her eyes at that one, though a fond smile found its way onto her lips once Risk zoned out somewhat. Terrible though the duo may have been, they did at least have a habit of keeping things interesting. And she couldn't deny, a little bit of interesting every once in a while was an excellent way to keep her life from being boring.
Besides, if they were going to be cooperative, all the better. They were her last agents she'd be assisting before she went on another assignment of her own. And she was counting down the hours . . .