Welcome to my new assassin's fic! So i've never written anything like this, so if you catch plot holes, or inconsistencies please please let me know! I hope you enjoy this! please r&r MUCH LOVE!
Moscow, January 1st, 8:17pm
The halls of the Grand Hotel were empty and the warm tones of a cello drifted through the halls. Quickly, she scanned up and then down the hall before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The thick carpet effectively muffled her footsteps as she wandered back down the party.
She was rather proud of herself and couldn't help but imagine the headlines for tomorrow:
DIPLOMAT FOUND DEAD IN A HEART STOPPING ACCIDENT
A smile pulled at her lips. Only the media would actually put something so stupid on the front page. Not that it mattered because tomorrow she would be gone. Her name, her job, even her favorite color, like an old skin, all shed and left behind. Tomorrow she would be someone else, entirely.
She stopped in front of a long, thin full-length mirror in the hall, wedged between two rooms on the main floors. She looked like every other waitress at the party. She wore a knee length black skirt, a white buttoned blouse, and a thin black tie. Her brown curls pulled into a once-tight ponytail, now became untucked, and she looked, well, like she has been waiting on rich and snobby Russians, all night, she reeked of garlic bread, and lobster dip. Yes, perhaps tomorrow she would be a high stakes gambler, someone flashier than a simple waitress. She gave herself one final look before tightening her hair and returning to the kitchen to serve more huerdouves and champagne.
The end of the night came as a huge relief to her tired, swollen feet as she trudged down the freezing streets. It was a little past midnight and plenty of people still wandered about going to bars or out for a late night stroll. The air was heavy with smog and the cold burned her lungs when she inhaled, but she was too tired to care. She couldn't remember reaching her hotel, or getting to her room. She was so tired, all her mind really registered was softness of her pillow as she laid in bed.
It wasn't the bright winter sun across her bead-spread that woke her up, or even the cleaning lady knocking at the door, it was the insistent buzzing of her phone on the wooden end table. It rattled through her subconscious mind and into her dreams, bringing them crashing down as she reached for the gadget grumpily.
"What?" She mumbled into the phone receiver.
"You didn't check in last night," Lucy's stern voice came through a but too loudly, causing Levy to cringe, didn't Lucy realize how early it was?
"Yeah, it was a late night, but I got it taken care of," she was now overly aware of the knocking at the door. Damn it was annoying.
She got off crawled off the bed, already missing it's warmth, and went to the door. After a peek though through the peep she cracked the door open an inch and spoke quick, clipped Russian to the irritated, pudgy woman on the other side, and shut the door behind her. She walked into the bathroom and looked herself over, glad to see that she did look as exhausted as she felt.
"That's not the point," Lucy said harshly reminding Levy that she was indeed in the middle of a conversation, "if you had checked in last night you would've known you had a new assignment,"
Levy rolled her eyes. Of course she did, there was always another scummy, corrupt soul. Another person who needed to be taken out for the "greater good".
"What now?" she bit her lip to keep from sighing.
"This is too big, you'll need to come in to be debriefed."
Lucy hung up the phone and Levy finally let out the breath she'd been holding in as she pulled off her wig, revealing her natural, blue mess. She stepped out of her clothes and into the shockingly cold shower.
It had been a long time since they pulled her out of the field to give her an assignment, they usually came in covert drop off in busy city squares, a sealed envelope, or a carefully hidden code in that day's newspaper. Either way she could feel adrenaline lighting her up like a spark to a tinder box. This was sure to be worth the trip home.
Cancun, January 2nd, 12:00 pm
In these moments, the seconds before that bullet flew, he never breathed. He never moved except for the nearly indiscernible twitch of his finger on the trigger. He never liked being up close to his target, too much blood, too much risk. Here, almost a mile a half away, was perfection. He'd been watching his target most of the day, and he was ready to end it. A breeze ruffled his sweaty, matted hair and he adjusted his scopes to a trajectory that made up for the change in the wind speed.
He watched his target, a tiny, balding man, walk along the edge of an elegantly designed pool, a green beer bottle hanging loosely in his grasp as he gently swayed back and forth. The man was drunk. He'd been drunk for sometime, all the man did was drink and flirt with the waitresses, all day long, hard to believe he was important enough to deserve a bullet to the head. These posh resorts were perfect place for men like him, a place where they could prance around with all the booze and sex they wanted. No one thinks twice about it.
He pulled the trigger. The man teetered on the edge of the pool for a moment before falling into the water, deep red, seeping into the light blue around it. Gajeel didn't wait to see what happened. He packed up his rifle, quickly sweeping and clearing away any evidence of him being there. As nonchalantly as possible, he made his way down the stairs of the abandoned apartment building and into the tourist packed streets.
He disappeared into a crowd where everyone saw him, but no one remembered him. He paused at all the correct moments, took pictures of the sights. He even bought a few over priced items at a gift shop, flirting with the female clerk. If you asked the her later if that man had come in, she would vaguely remember talking to him, but not what he looked like, he was too easy to forget.
No one would remember his unusual piercings, or his wine red eyes, or even his tangled, jet black hair, because while he physically looked different, he acted like everyone else. He said predictable things, acted lost at the same street crossings and stopped for directions like every other tourist in the city.
He was a blurred memory, one where you can remember the words, maybe even the place it happened, but you can't pull out the finer details. The colors of the background, or even the names of the people you were with, a memory that's too distorted and too mundane to spend the effort it would take to bring back those details.
When Gajeel was sure no one followed him, he made his way back to his hotel. He greeted the man behind the desk with a silent wave of his hand and trotted up the stairs. Once in his room, he set his rifle bag down, and was just about to get in the shower when his phone rang. The small black burner skittered across the table as it vibrated and he snatched it up hastily,
"I was just about to report in Lil."
"No you weren't," his friend said smugly.
"Either way it's done,"
"Sure you didn't miss?" Lily deadpanned.
"I don't miss," Gajeel stated frankly.
"I know, its all over the news already." was the concession from the other end
That was fast, there must have been paparazzi nearby spying on him, especially if the story leaked this fast.
"Then why are you callin'?" he asked gruffly, the dried sweat on his body was starting to make him itch and he gazed longingly at the bathroom door.
"You've got a new job. You're getting on a plane tonight."