(846 words.)
"How does it look?"
Daud walks a quick half-circle around Billie, looking for any obvious flaws that might give away the deception. He finds nothing. She looks finer now than any true highborn lady he's ever seen. To her question, he simply says, "It should do."
She snorts. "It better. Took me most of an hour to get into all of this."
"Will you be able to fight well enough if something goes wrong?"
"Yeah, the skirts actually give a lot of room to move. Might have to tie it up a little higher, though, if it comes to that."
Daud's eyes flick downward before he can stop himself, lingering on the place where the loose fabric sways around her bare legs. Skirts and gowns have been out of fashion for decades now, and it's rare to see them outside of fancy dress parties like the one the Boyles are holding tonight. It's even stranger to see such a thing on his second-in-command, who hardly even takes her whaling mask off if she can avoid it. She'll blend in well pursuing their target this evening.
He lifts his chin with a jerk to meet her eye again. "You're armed?" he asks.
A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth. "You want to check?"
He looks her up and down again, slow and considering. "How many?" he asks, taking a step closer.
"Three blades," she says, uncrossing her arms and squaring her shoulders with her feet in an easy, open stance, "and a few other things."
"That's not much for you."
"Should make it easy, then."
He snorts and takes another step closer, accepting the beginning of this game. He starts with the most obvious one, putting his hand just above the curve of her hip and sliding it around to her back. The dress is cinched around the middle with a thick band of fabric tied in an elaborate bow, and it covers enough space to easily conceal even a decent sized weapon. He slips his fingers up under the soft fabric and quickly finds the dagger sheathed there, resting flat across the small of her back. A flick of his thumb at the handle brings the blade out an inch or so, and he nods, satisfied that the knife is still accessible from its hiding place.
Billie laughs quietly, something he feels beneath his hands more than he hears. "Finding that one hardly even counts," she says.
"Give me time," he murmurs in reply. He pushes the blade back into its sheath and pulls his hand from beneath the band of fabric. He reaches up to press his fingers along the back of the gown, where the lacing draws it all together, but he feels nothing disrupting the smooth planes of her back and shoulders underneath. With a shake of his head, he takes a half-step back and drops into a crouch before her.
The boots she is wearing don't quite fit with the rest of the costume, but they are still much less thick and sturdy than the Whalers' usual standard. They don't go very far up her calves, but there is still enough room to conceal certain, smaller blades. Daud puts a hand around each ankle, pressing lightly up the sides of each boot. The left gives completely, but the right has a hard line of resistance along the outer edge. He slides the knife out carefully – a short, wedged blade best suited to being thrown rather than any sort of close combat – and when he pushes it back down, he finds the butt of the knife sits just below the edge of the boot, easily spotted if one were looking.
"Be careful no one sees this one," he cautions her, and she immediately scoffs above him, dismissive of such a basic warning at her level of skill.
One more blade left and really only one more place to adequately hide it.
From here he stands up slowly, letting his hands slide along the backs of her calves, then pushing the skirts up until he brushes the thin leather straps encircling each thigh. Billie's breath hitches in his ear as he traces along the bottom edge of each one. The right holds the final knife, pressed against the outside of her thigh with the tip resting just above her knee. The left holds a small pouch with two glass vials in it. Poison, he assumes. She wouldn't waste time with the sleeping draught. The fine, silk gloves she is wearing won't allow for concealing her wristbow, but if she can get close enough for a quick jab with the needle…
Daud leans back to meet Billie's eyes, though he lets his hands linger beneath her skirts, fingers rubbing idly along the edges of the leather. "You seem to have everything you need."
"I like to be prepared." Billie sets her gloved hands on his arms, holding them in place. "I'll kill him quickly," she promises, looking at him with dark, half-lidded eyes, "and then you can see if I've brought everything back."