Chapter 11: Appearance is Everything
Dominique should've never opened her big mouth.
Her mother always told her her big mouth would land her in hot water; she was right, but Dominique talked her way out of hot water and instead have landed herself in a much bigger pot.
She doesn't know a thing about espionage; she doesn't have high tech equipment, intricate disguises, and a captivating personality that attracts the masses. She's no James Bond; she's a regular 23-year-old woman who is a hairstylist. The cards are not stacked in her favor in this department.
She remembers her skills: She's a listener, observant, and a team player. God, it's like filling out a job application…
She has to think of how to go about this; Vaas does have a point about her identity on this island, despite Dominique's annoyance. This is her last shot at getting her friends off this island and saving herself; even though she makes good on her promises, if there's a chance she can make it off this island unscathed, she'll take it, scouts' honor be damned.
She holds up her barber's razor, rust starting to form on the corner of it. This razor won't do anymore; she needs a fresh blade and she doubts Vaas has any shaving equipment, let alone personal hygiene products lying around. She doesn't want to ask; his mood swings are making her antsy. Ever since that chat with the Southern Belle, Vaas has been more irritable than normal, and it didn't help that she's shackled to him after the ambush. The tribe is scattered, many of the warriors did the best they could but they were no match for RPG's, assault rifles, and bombs. The once peaceful island is riddled with blood, gore, and singed pieces of earth where trees and nature should've flourished. The things she seen are reminiscent of the warzones in Iraq and Afghanistan that she'd seen on television…devastation and violence, children crying for mercy and for their dead relatives to come back home…
Her heart is heavy.
She whittles her stick, her mind focused on making her weapon sharp and ready for battle.
"Do you even know how to use that thing, Shaka?" Vaas deadpans, hands laced behind his head. They're on the northern part of the island, in an abandoned village that somehow has a run-down diner that's still standing. Vaas' expression looks amused at Dominique's activity.
"I do." Dominique fires back.
"Do you? I want to see how you wielding a stick is going to bring me Jefe's head. His men have weapons that will turn your stick into firewood. What the fuck can you do?"
Dominique throws her knife down in a huff.
"Still waiting, Princess."
"I don't know how to use it. I expected to get lucky or turn into some warrior goddess at the last minute."
He snorts.
"You watch too many movies."
Silence.
As much as Dominique hates admitting it, she misses Vaas' talkative nature. A quiet and moody Vaas is a far more dangerous one than a wisecracking and cocky one.
She looks at herself through the dingy mirror; she looks terrible. Skin dirty and dry from lack of proper skin care regimen, hair wild and tangled from sleeping without a scarf and hair care products, her once pristine clothes filthy, torn, and are starting to look baggy on her; at least she can say she's losing weight. Her eyes have bags underneath them from nights of unrest and her lips, in a form of irony, are nice and soft.
She looks terrible; no one in their right mind would even look, let alone talk to, someone who looks like a mental patient or a vagabond.
She needs a makeover.
For espionage, she reasons.
"Vaas, I think I know how to go about the mission."
Ever since she was a teenager, Dominique understood that appearances are everything; it dictates who your friends will be, what jobs you'll get, and especially how you'll be treated. If she walks into a bar, dressed to the nines and her attitude is at a 10, best believe she'll turn everyone's head and be the center of attention.
As she runs the brush through her freshly detangled hair, she feels like her old self again. She looks in the mirror and back at the pitiful arsenal of makeup Vaas scavenged, wishing there was a strong disinfectant to put her at ease at the origins of said makeup. She picks up a tube of plum lipstick, slices off the edges and top of it to cease infection, swipes it on her wrist to see if it compliments her skin tone, and applies it. Her eyes are done with a kohl stick and smudged for a smoky effect, her hair brushed into a high ponytail that's secured by a rag, and her lips perfectly purple and enticing, she can say her face is done to the best of her ability.
The clothes, however, are a tricky spot.
Because of her size, it's scarce pickings for clothing that fits her. Everyone seems too small for her; her size 16 won't fare well with the size 6's, 7's, 10's, and sometimes 11's. Even the tourists are small-sized; the biggest size they can find are on the men's but their tacky prints and oversized shirts compliment her none. She's going to have to improvise.
She settles on a man's long-sleeved dress shirt that's somewhat clean and is in an olive green color.
She'll make it work.
She gives herself another look in the mirror, surprised at how well it turned out; the tutorials of using a man's shirt have worked in her favor. Yes, it makes her chest look saggier than normal, but accessories can take the eye off any worst asset. She grabs the bracelets and try (in vain) to fit her hand through them, but she knows her hands and wrists are too big. She tries on the necklaces, and feels embarrassment when the perfect one won't fit her neck. She settles on the pair of clip-on earrings; they're the only ones that seemed to fit her, it seems. She puts them on, the color and the way they dangle compliments her round face and wide shoulders. She's ready.
She comes out of the dressing room to an expectant Vaas and notices his eyes widen and his grip on a joint tighten.
"What do you think? Is this a good disguise?"
"This is a disguise?" he circles around her, "You're supposed to spy on him, not seduce him."
"A woman who looks good looks more trustworthy than an ugly one."
They lock eyes; Dominique's eyes settle on the green jewelry hanging from Vaas' neck.
"Your necklace. It goes with my outfit. It would make this outfit perfect."
Her freshly polished nails grace the necklace.
"Don't." he grabs her hand.
"Please? It looks so pretty, Vaas. It'll make it look perfect. It even matches my earrings, see?" her hands hold up the dangling green earring. She bats her eyes at him, her lips in a pout.
"Fuck," he breathes out. He steps back, bows his head, takes off his necklace, and places it on Dominique. The green gem seems to find a home in her cleavage; she notices Vaas bite his lip, his eyes locked on her chest.
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" she says softly in his ear, her finger stroking his jawline. Pride wells up in her gut when she hears him take a sharp intake of breath.
She pulls away and looks at him. His eyes look clouded and his hands are curled around the gem that's nestled between her breasts.
"You think I'm ready for espionage now?"
"...you're good." Vaas cracks a smirk.
"I learn from experience."
She turns and walks away to the diner, her hips switching extra hard.
This is going to be a cakewalk when it's time to meet Jefe.