Tap! Tap!

Dea's eyes flew open and flinched when she saw movement happening inches away from her face. It took her a few seconds to process where she was. The motion happened again and she caught the golden blur of Deacon's cane. He was tapping it against the nightstand to wake her up.

"Ugh…" She groaned, digging her head back into the sheets.

She felt the mask press against her face. She was sweaty and her hair became tangled in knots under the cloth still attached around her head. Had she slept with her dress on, too? Did she even bother removing her boots last night? She looked at her clothes with a hidden grimace before a masculine voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Good morning, princess."

That was Deacon's voice. But when she looked up, it was not him she recognized.

The man standing before her wore a different ensemble - a black hat with a pinched front, and under that remained his bauta mask, except a bandana was loosely wrapped around the lower half of it. He wore a dark trench coat, buttoned on his chest and separated at his stomach, revealing a tight vest. A belt wrapped around his waist with a holster for his gun. His usual cape was missing from his shoulders, which threw her off the most.

Without it, she was able to see his frame more clearly. His layers of jackets concealed how thin he actually was. His clothes fit so snug on his body that she wondered if he had any fat at all. Her eyes curiously trailed Deacon's stature as he stood straight. He lowered his cane to clutch it with both hands. He discarded his gloves for a pair of black leather ones. Her attention was drawn to them instantly.

"It's time to get moving." He told her.

This did not snap Dea out of her ogling. She was only brought back to reality when he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Deacon was no doubt waiting to hear an explanation for her staring, so she blurted out:

"You're skinny."

She regretted saying that. His eyes subconsciously flicked down to his body. He lowered his arms to keep them to his sides. She wanted to apologize. But he spoke before she could even open her mouth.

"How are you feeling?"

She finally sat up and rubbed her temple behind her mask. She could faintly remember what happened, but some details were still unclear. She recalled Deacon carrying her up the stairs but that was the last thing she could picture before passing out. She sagged her body and let out a defeated sigh.

"Pleasetell me I didn't do anything stupid last night…"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You made a friend at the bar."

"...Not one I got too close with..?"

He laughed. "Not on my watch. Have you forgotten we're sharing the same room?"

She wanted to banter some more, but a sharp ache came to her head and her hand shot up to clutch it. She regretted drinking so much last night. She wasn't hungover, but she felt terribly dehydrated. She needed to brush her teeth and take a shower. Her dress would need a proper wash soon as well…

His voice was quiet. "Do you remember anything?"

"I think you rudely threw me on the bed and then I ate a lot of meat." She placed her palm over her stomach, hoping she wouldn't come to regret that. "Why? Did something happen?"

His silence stretched out too long for her liking. "...No." He knew she was going to pry, so he tapped the nightstand again and pointed to the bag placed beside her. "You'll want to change into your disguise, now."

She took a quick glance at it before standing and stretching. "Give me a bit to shower, then I'll do whatever you want."

"Bene. I'll get us some coffee."

Dea was troubled as she stepped into the shower. She felt guilty for getting tipsy last night, and on top of that , something happened that Deacon didn't wish to disclose. Did she make a fool of herself? Had she sung drunkenly at the bar in front of everybody? Is that why he had to carry her away? She narrowed her eyes in thought as she spread the soap on her body. A frown settled on her pink lips.

There was something else bothering her, too.

She'd be lying if she said his disguise wasn't convincing. It looked like a bandit had single-handedly made his way into their room and was ready to send a bullet through her skull. She was thankful Deacon woke her up the way he did. But that wasn't what bothered her about his appearance - rather, that she found it attractive.

She used to watch westerns with her sisters growing up. They were popular pictures in Monquista. She used to fantasize about the cowboys, imagining herself getting swept away by them. They were silly daydreams back when she couldn't sensibly comprehend the danger. But her attraction remained, and the man she was assigned to work with unknowingly met the imaginary checklist she'd made for her idealized cowboy boyfriend.

…And she called him 'skinny'! She wanted to slap herself in the face.

She reminded her conscience about the man behind the costume. This was the same guy who read novels when they sailed and took his coffee black. He was the most boring person she'd met to date. Sure, she learned a few interesting things about him…he was musically inclined and was fluent in different languages. He had an interesting trick where he could summon his pistol from thin air, and he could gracefully twirl it in-between his gloved fingers. He also had lovely handwriting and his cape looked mesmerizing when it caught the wind a certain way-

…Hold on..!

Dea stopped lathering herself as her eyes grew wide. Her heart beat intensely and her breathing became unsteady. She willingly emptied her mind, focusing on cleaning herself as best as she could. She was thankful to get the grease out of her hair and properly clean her skin. It felt strange not applying makeup anymore…there was no need to, since her appearance was hidden, and it would get smeared anyway. She sometimes had to stop herself from the habit.

She stepped out and dried herself with a towel, taking the briefest glance into the mirror to spot the faint blush on her cheeks.

Deacon obtained the coffee and added the amount of sugar and cream he knew Dea liked. He carried it back to the saloon. On his way, he couldn't help peering down at his disguise and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. It was habitual for him to wear several layers. It kept him warm for his trips to colder regions, like Polaris, and offered many pockets for him to keep various things in. Above all - he liked covering himself. He felt bare to be in anything less.

Dea had a point, though. He was…terribly thin.

Being overseas all the time meant that he didn't have a nutritious diet. He never ate that much, since he was busy working, and rarely spared an evening to have a good supper. He mostly ate on-the-go snacks so he wouldn't have a growling stomach giving himself away. MRE meals were the most he would consume. But that wasn't saying much.

He was happy that his mission with Dea enabled him to eat a little more properly. She wasn't as content with snacks and wished to have at least one meal every day. This was more than he was accustomed to. But since he moved so much, he burned the calories quickly and didn't gain any weight. He wasn't as unhealthy as Bishop was, who starved himself for days when he was engrossed in his experiments, but he must have been thin enough to gain Dea's attention.

He felt self-conscious. He questioned why .

It wasn't like he held her opinion in any high regard - she'd teased him about his shoes and hat before, which didn't phase him. If anything, he should be flattered, since her entire uniform was solely based on his . And she couldn't see his face to judge any of his features. But her first comment on his body was what evoked a reaction out of him. He fumbled to articulate why.

Was he trying to impress her? He didn't have bodily mass like Rooke did. He'd be the least athletic out of the Elites if it weren't for Bishop. Deacon chased his convicts down - he didn't completely lack strength or agility. But he was about as average as any man was. He was unimpressive on the eyes. He knew this. It's partly why he dressed the way he did. But now he was realizing it was far from stately to gain a woman's attention.

Deacon forced himself back to the present when he found two swinging doors in front of him. He strode through and climbed the stairs to their room above.

Dea bit her tongue as she struggled to tie the corset around her body. She swore under her breath as she twisted her fingers around. She wished this room had more than one mirror. Why did she even have to wear this with her disguise!? She had no prior experience with these, despite how much her family pressured her to. She wished she had paid more attention when her mother tied her sister's corsets.

She kept her original mask and zendale with the outfit, but had to wear a red underlayer and corset. She wore longer black boots that stopped below her knees. A modest skirt of similar color came down to her lower thighs, accompanied with a pair of fishnets. Her gloves covered her forearms and she was provided with a small holster for her own pistol. The arrangement was finished with a fancy hat attached with large feathers, and a small coat that would cover her arms.

The door opened in the midst of her frustration and her head snapped in its direction. Deacon came in carrying two cups. He paused when he saw her posed uncomfortably in front of the mirror. It didn't take long to piece two-and-two together.

"Having trouble?" He teased. She glared at him.

"Were *you* the one who asked for this!?"

He shook his head innocently, setting their drinks down. "Queen insisted on the corset. I had no say in the matter."

'She's testing me!' Dea thought helplessly as she reached behind her again. Deacon watched her in the reflection. She struggled for a minute or two before he offered his assistance. "Do you need help?"

She released her grip in surprise. "You know how to do this?"

He nodded. He stepped forward and gripped the string from behind. She couldn't see what he was doing, but watched his arms move along with his eyes. She felt his fingertips ghost along her back and she involuntarily shivered. They'd never shared actual physical contact like this before. His touch was…a little intense. The leather texture from his gloves weren't helping. She nearly arched herself away from him before she stopped herself, realizing that it might give her away if she reacted at all.

The corset was secured around her figure as Deacon stepped back. It was close-fitting, but not overbearingly so. She could still breathe and move freely in it, which was what they wanted if they were to partake in some action today. She moved closer to the mirror and turned around to admire his work.

Her partner, however, was a little preoccupied with the sight now laid before him. Dea's hourglass figure was more prominent with a tight corset wrapped around it. His eyes came down curiously to her skirt, boot, and fishnet combination. He didn't exactly know what Queen had gone for with the getup; all he told her was that she needed a disguise to blend in with him in Cool Ranch. Whatever it was…it was surely going to distract a few of their enemies, if they looked in the right places.

Dea repeated something, and he tore his gaze away from her body. She looked a tad aggravated with him. "-Sorry?"

"I said 'thank you'. Where exactly did you learn to tie a lady's corset?"

He cleared his throat and adopted a more professional stance. "Queen was the one who taught me. She has the mindset that every gentleman should know how to do it."

She snickered. "You? A gentleman? Could've fooled me."

"You'd be surprised how chivalrous I can be, to ladies who deserve it. Now, come on. We need to get going."

She rolled her eyes before picking up her gun and coffee, making sure she had everything for their mission. They departed from the saloon in the direction of the docks. When they arrived, Dea noticed The Executioner was nowhere in sight. Instead, Deacon led them to a frigate completely different in appearance. There were no clockwork emblems anywhere on it, leaving no hint to their affiliation with the Armada. He likely picked it up from a vendor nearby. She recognized the crew's voices as they greeted them - who had changed to blend in with the locals.

She was impressed by his attention to detail. "An undercover ship? Why didn't I think of that?"

"-Which is why you didn't plan this operation."

He ignored her offended gesture, leading them onto the ship and preparing to set sail. The wind was a little rough today, so the ride wouldn't be entirely smooth, but he was confident they could get there in a timely fashion. As soon as all the crew-members were settled and the ship was moving, Deacon decided to get something important out of the way.

He approached Dea with a serious look in his eyes. "I need you to tell me how experienced you are with fighting."

She was a little surprised at the inquiry, but answered truthfully. "I have basic combat and weapon training. I was praised for being particularly good with guns."

"Are there any weak spots I should know about..?"

She hung her head for a moment, reflecting on her shortcomings. She hated thinking about this. She wanted to focus on her strengths and prove she was worthy to be in the Armada. But after what happened in Monquista…she understood why he wanted to know. They couldn't have something like that happening again.

"I'm not the strongest girl, but I can be pretty quick. Should I know some of your drawbacks, espía ?"

"I'm not too tough, either, but with some coordination, we should do just fine." He opened one of his pockets and handed her a pack of bullets, which she accepted. "Since we're both dependent on our guns, distance is imperative. Be aware and avoid any and all weapons pointed at you. Our main objective is to capture our wanted fugitive - the moment we have them, we leave. I have no interest in arresting other criminals right now."

"So, we shoot but don't kill, right?"

He nodded. "If you can help it."

Her figure stiffened as she took in the intensity of their mission. They were dealing with raiders, who would undoubtedly be equipped with weapons and thugs. The fighting and shooting would be inevitable. She could only hope they would not be on the receiving end. She took a good look at their crew and felt some hope - they had a dragoon and a battle angel, known upper-fighters of the Armada. Their soldier was intelligent and one of their crew even had extensive medical training. As Deacon informed her of the rest of their game plan, she carried a good feeling that they would be returning with their target without deep repercussions.