First Job

She ducked under flailing arms and quick-stepped her feet over and under the thong of high-heels an loafer. The music pounded in her ears and thinking here was impossible. She dodged a couple in an embrace, the girl intoxicated and giggling. A fog of nostalgia settled in her stomach like the dry ice on the dance floor and she hurried on.1

Her destination, the back room. Her face was a mask of determined apathy, but inside her emotions were buzzing and bubbling, fear, exhilaration, blood lust. 2

She felt a shiver go down her spine and twirled out of a drunken mans sweaty grip, placing her hand on the gilded door handle and turning it swiftly. The door opened soundlessly, well oiled and she strutted confidently into the room, looking abashed.3

"I'm sorry" She said, in a mellifluous Oklahoman accent, when the buzzing of chatter in the room stopped. "I must of come to the wrong room, I was looking for the bathroom" She made the red rush into her cheeks, feigning embarrassment. A chair creaked as the target sat up, motioning for her to come closer. All eyes were on her and she sashed in her stilettos up a few steps to where he sat, a smug look on his slightly square face. His eyes twinkled mischievously, a pale blue colour making her think he had the start of cataracts and his hair was thinning and slightly grey but he sat erect in his chair and looked to be only 40.4

Of course, she knew his real age. She knew his history, his mis-demeanour's, the things she was going to make him pay for.5

She pretended to stumble and land on his firm lap, swiftly pulling a dagger from her stockings and stabbing him in the left thigh, right where his vein was, in the process, pressing her lips to his to stop him from screaming out. Blood was pooling in his trousers she knew, and she had to act fast. Pulling a small packet from her bra, she popped a pill from it under her tongue and forced it into his mouth, tickling his throat to make him swallow. He'd be found dead in less than two minutes she knew, after the poison would of vanished into his blood and gushed out the wound in his thigh. 6

Rushing from his lap and running flawlessly back down the stairs, she turned at the door and twanged in the fake southern accent she'd chosen for the mission "sorry y'all, I'm simply burstin',must run" And she danced her way back tauntingly through the club, glad for the foot gel pads her sempai had gifted her and twirled into the arms of her accomplice and alibi for the night.7

"sorry I took so long, shall we go upstairs?" In her mind, Kira ticked of the checklist and declared the mission complete, being a hired assassin hadn't been so bad after all and when she was paid she could skip out of the vermillion stained dress, let her black hair out of its scraggly bun and party like the morning would never come.