[attr="class","lucystarsd"]Undercover work was really not his area of expertise, but neither was it his style to simply refuse an invitation to a party, a grand gala no less. The mass of attendees would be sure to dampen his spirits once he actually got there, considering who and what they stood for. But he was going there with Emilio, so things would definitely be better. The suit he was wearing was in blatant defiance to the darker colours of those around him (and that was without mentioning the loudly patterned bowtie in all its blue and gold glory), which made him all too satisfied by the looks it earned him. The pair were undoubtedly much less discreet than intended for what was a simply recon mission, posing as an openly gay couple doing little to help said fact. [break][break]

He took his time to admire the mansion for its sheer size if nothing else, for apart from that, there was nothing he found exceptionally remarkable. It was decent, probably meant to impress but failed to do so. Perhaps it would have been nicer, in all its muted beige and cream tones, had the abhorrently dull tones of idle chatter not reached him, monotonous grey strands peppered with ugly, watery green. If not been for the delightfully cerise voice that broke through that cloud, a frown might have made itself rather apparent on his features. As it were, it was a smile that made its appearance, fleeting and sudden before he consciously smoothed it into a subtle quirk of the lips that could only be called charming. [break][break]

It was hardly a secret that he admired his date's acting ability, at which he could scarcely call himself an equal. Deception earned a whole different meaning when used by Emilio, raised to a whole new level he could never quite hope to meet. As it were, he played his cards in a different manner. The doorman who waved them in after some dithering earned a cheery grin as Morgan chirped "thank you" as he breezed past. Miraculously, the grin stayed firmly in place (lopsided as it may be) as they greeted their host.[break][break]

This one's voice seemed, for lack of a better description, the sickly green of undigested food, disgust flecking his voice like mold on bread. Morgan, for a rare moment, lamented his possession of synesthesia. Their host's general existence seemed revolting enough without the additional mental association. But instead of pretending to gag on air as his inner child seemed to beg him to, he simply stood by and offered minimal comments as Emilio and the host conversed, focusing on mulberry hues of the former's voice, watching as it darkened abruptly as the republican took his leave and wriggled away (all too eagerly, he noted). "Just a bullet? Cmon, he needs a couple of kicks as well," he teased, grin widening to something noticeably more shark-like before once more resuming the act of simply being pleasant. "Do you think they have decent food here? I mean, he's definitely keen on showing off wealth enough to have fancy dishes but I wonder if it's actually any good."

[attr="class","lucysund"]

[attr="class","lucystarsd"]"Yay, food!" His mood lifting once more at the prospect of a delicious (and expensive, no less) meal, he was content to follow Emilio as they meandered towards the food table. It was rather extravagant, he soon realised, and any reason why he had somehow failed to notice it eluded him. Alas, his thoughts were drawn away by the guests who skillfully placed themselves in their path, not explicitly blocking their passage yet making themselves just noticeable enough, not unlike that one book that refused to sit nicely on the bookshelf. Except that this time, a suitable comparison would be a very, very disorganised bookshelf. Emilio, however, seemed perfectly adept at navigating the maze. Morgan simply followed two steps behind, occasionally offering a polite comment and peppering small talk with a well-timed laugh here and there. [break][break]

As interesting as the people's attempts were to get them to divulge every possible scandalous secret - by way of poor attempts to steer the small talk, a feat accomplished by few, of which were not them - Morgan found his attention drawn towards his more petite partner. It was absolutely fascinating, seeing the spy dance around questions so artfully, only to strike a blow that left the other party metaphorically reeling. The other also seemed to have a certain delicacy in procuring fine jewelry, nimble fingers working to relieve one guest of her emerald ring. The artist chuckled quietly at the comment that followed, finding himself moving unconsciously to block off blind spots (not that Emilio would have needed the help). "You have a good eye for colour."[break][break]

The elusive food table soon drew within reach, though Morgan was prevented from his usual habit of simply diving in by the sheer fact that he had little idea what he was about to put on his plate. Thankfully, his date was far from clueless, indulging him in a whispered explanation about the rare, and illegal, beluga caviar that he proceeded to pile onto some toast. Morgan mirrored him a second later, doing his best to act as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he wasn't just another bumbling idiot who couldn't tell the obscenely expensive roe from, say, cheaper tobiko he could pick from a grocery store. [break][break]

Speech was quite impossible, he soon realised upon taking a huge mouthful of said toast and roe. Split between horror and embarrassment (oh how graceful he was), he promptly decided to once again pretend that nothing had happened and take this time to not-so-discreetly stare at his partner, all the while trying his best to chew furiously, but not at that fast a rate to be noticed, acutely aware of every action and desperately trying not to be. Idly, he wondered how taxing all of this acting was on Emilio. The enforcer was no stranger to his methods, yet it was not fear or unease that gripped him unlike the others, but concern. He made a mental note to check up on how the other was holding up after tonight. Oh, right, the mission. Morgan swallowed, with some effort, consciously tearing his gaze away from the shorter man and dragging it over the room. [break][break]

[attr="class","lucysund"]

[attr="class","lucystarsd"]"Me, doing fine?" The enforcer carefully kept his eyes from lingering too long in one place, instead perusing the room in a manner that simply oozed the confidence and conviction that he lacked - a manner that could not possibly draw any unwanted attention because he was perfectly, or at least in some vague notion of the word, copying the mildly curious looks of the people around him (people who knew exactly how to act in such an event, unlike himself). "As fine as a goose falling down the stairs, perhaps." The oddness of such a simile failed to stay very long in his mind for soon after he trailed behind Emilio again as the other found more targets to pry some deliciously scandalous secrets from. Nonetheless, Emilio's words put some nerves at ease, in particular the ones that dreaded the idea of disappointing. He was rather content to use the excuse of food to mask the fact that his range of cheerfully neutral comments was, alas, running low.[break][break]

Thankfully, it seemed that conversation would be sparse and scattered for the rest of the night as the revolutionists gradually accelerated through the mission, breezing through conversations and guests alike as they worked their way around the mansion. Morgan was almost inclined to believe that perhaps he wasn't all too bad at this after all (though much of the success was attributed to the more petite of the two, who played the ballroom like a maestro, albeit a maestro performing to a crowd too beneath his level to appreciate the true skill they were facing). In fact, Emilio's patience and talent for lockpicking was a valuable asset that night. The artist would have resorted to simply kicking doors down, but that was not a concept to be entertained for their current operation. Still, all the legwork done that evening was almost worth the rush of accomplishment when the files successfully copied over, for that meant more ammunition to hurl against the operation's enemies.[break][break]

"Good, good. I was starting to think we would be trapped here forever," he murmured quietly as he slipped out after Emilio, a small grin tugging on his lips. "Not that being stuck anywhere with you is a bad thing, but I really want to punch our dear Mr Bailey." The fact that he was nearly willing to entertain actually doing so only proved that his patience with the politician was strained at best. His own vivid imagination sought to paint a satisfying picture of him doling out the enforcers' callous methods, an unspoken thought that hung heavily in the air during the short duration of their meeting, a disturbingly painful period of time in which Morgan had to work his hardest to pretend that he was indeed all too pleased to make a donation. [break][break]

And so it seemed the most excruciating part of the mission was over, with another date scheduled for the sake of a more official meeting. That, however, was a bridge that he would deal with another time (and hopefully not burn in any spectacular manner). For now, he was content to genuinely enjoy the presence of his coworker and simultaneously ignore the nagging possibility that this was purely pretend, that there were really no feelings, no purpose of choosing him as a date except purely to vex their host. The voice of reason calmly explained that such a thought was extremely stupid, whereas the other little voice fervently argued that yes, he was indeed a moron (to which he somewhat agreed with, anyway). "A fire pit sounds nice right now," Morgan slowly replied upon gathering his thoughts. "I'm beginning to think everyone here enjoys freezing their asses off, pretty suits and dresses or not." His mouth quirked into an expression more grimace than smile. "Honestly, if I have to entertain more small talk about wine and champagne or whatever they're chattering about I might just try to throw myself into the fire."

[attr="class","lucysund"]

[attr="class","lucystarsd"]And so a unanimous decision was made, the pair heading towards the blissful warmth of the fire without further ado, with Morgan consciously having to restrain himself from from charging headlong towards the fire pit, instead matching his stride with the shorter man. He could scarcely contain the satisfied sigh which escaped him upon sinking into a chair, but even then, the brunet pulled himself upright against every wish and made to look as if he was really not thinking about simply dozing off in this wonderful cocoon of warmth right there and then. Instead, he shifted his weight to lean towards Emilio and did his best to attentive to mirror the other's expression. There was a certain element of looking 'just right' he failed to attain, and before long he gave up on such a pretense. After all, he was genuinely curious about what Emilio had to say about the party, light brown hues reflecting the firelight in a way that made them almost orange. [break][break]

"Will you look at all my money! Oh, good sir, do allow me to worship the ground you walk upon while I'm at it," he mimicked in a high falsetto, though was careful enough to keep his volume low, sweeping his arm around in what would have been a grand gesture if he had care less about keeping movements discreet. As it were, he succeeded in imitating a broken wrist. "Oh man, where's the fun without drunken mobs and assassination attempts?" Another grin, mirthful and genuine, tugged at his lips. For all his jokes and ridicule of the finer works of the upper class, he was not foolish enough to think that they were not important. He was handy with a knife, knew exactly where to hit to cripple someone even larger than himself, yet words were no better than a broken bat in his hands, but to someone like Emilio, it was different. They wielded a sharpened blade, a polished dagger, to seek out every fatal flaw in a wall, to plunge deep into a chink of an armor and pull their targets apart with a single thread. Did Morgan admire them? Of course. Did he fear them? Absolutely.[break][break]

And now, was he playing into those webs, no different to the other unfortunate flies ensnared? There he was, hanging off Emilio's every word, and if lies were anything tangible it would not be a lie to say he was so very entangled, the epitome of captured itself, so much that he could not see the truth. Would hardly want to see it, if everything were but a lie, to have the words, "it was just for the job" lift the veil from his eyes to see a beautiful, terrible truth (to know that he was doomed, doomed for being so very enraptured with one who would possibly not care at all).[break][break]

Yet there it was, shades of periwinkle and lavender, threads of sound which he convinced himself were true. A certain mauve that though occasionally covered, never quite disappeared - something that convinced him that even the puppeteer had to be more than he seemed, that he somehow managed to catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask and he wanted more. Morgan had a habit of simply blundering through one mess to the other, a certain aftereffect of throwing a "live in the moment" mindset around as a simple excuse. It did, however, help when he did not want to think of painful possibilities, or when every little thought within his head decided all so helpfully to argue with one another. [break][break]

"So I assume this one is one of the latter, then." Morgan started again, almost eager to carry the burden of leading a conversation, since retrospect suggested that the other rarely liked to talk, leading him to an assumption that conversation, while something that Emilio was all too adept it, may not have been something enjoyable. "I'm open to any suggestions to make it more interesting. Or, we could just stay here and uh, enjoy the fire. That's good too."

[attr="class","lucysund"]

[attr="class","lucystarsdlt"]He had done something wrong, he could tell. A flicker of colour, one he couldn't quite discern but it unsettled him nonetheless, a single hint of something green, perhaps, that told him quite clearly that the other was uncomfortable. But as quickly as that, Emilio's words cut off again, the colours faded and the enforcer was left no less bemused than before. Yet the more petite of the pair quickly stood and left with a few hurried words, an excuse, to which Morgan nodded, called out a cheery 'have fun!' and sank back into his seat, dragging his eyes to stare into the depths of the fire. The knife settled against his neck and pressed down, drawing the first drops of blood.[break][break]

It suddenly seemed a lot colder than before.[break][break]

Silence settled over the fire pit, the only sounds that punctuated it being the crackle of the fire as it danced merrily about, or the muted chatter of other attendees as they drifted from corner to corner, spilling lies upon lies from their lips. For a moment, his eyes lingered on their speech, shades upon shades of clashing colours, a dreadful combination that made him grit his teeth and turn away. Even among liars, it seemed few had such skill to half as good as Emilio. Some clung furiously to every word that left their mouth, eager to please and to give every truth. Some held on to none, until every strand drifted too far from reach, until they became nothing more than void and grey. Then there was Emilio, who held every string oh so delicately, nimbly switching from one to another without even pausing to draw breath. Wrapped so tightly in webs of his own, drawing it close to him like a second skin. Yet there Morgan was, determined to pry past all that, to loosen the cords around his neck so that he could breathe. [break][break]

Emilio would return to find Morgan rocking the chair back on two legs, eyes fixated no longer on the fire but the night sky above, his features smoothed into an unusually pensive expression, though that disappeared quickly upon noticing the other's return. An easy smile once more settled on his lips at the offer, a smile that was again so very painfully honest and genuine it almost seemed out of place. "Why would I ever say no to more free food?" He didn't quite think before moving, leaving his hands where they lay quite comfortably on the armrest, casually plucking the piece of toast right from Emilio's hands with his mouth, before once more reclining and proceeding to chew with all the proud contentment of a dog which had successfully completed a trick.

[attr="class","lucysundlt"]

[attr="class","lucystarsdlt"]"We need to leave."[break][break]

A sharp line of chartreuse cutting across his vision, the words were a crack of a whip down his spine and the enforcer reared backwards, eyes wide with alarm. Morgan was beginning to think he had forgotten how to breathe, and not in the nice way either. No, this was more of a steady mantra "oh shit, I did something wrong" that repeated incessantly in his mind as he stumbled to his feet and did his best to follow after Emilio. He managed to look composed enough not to draw any additional attention, but a close examination would easily reveal the thin line of his lips, or how his fingers drummed on his sleeve in time to his heartbeat. Light brown eyes darted about, as if seeking answers in every shadowy corners. Yet even they, much like the man who stood before him, yielded little in terms of words.[break][break]

Again silence fell, suffocating and thick enough to cut with a knife, until Morgan was suddenly aware of his own breathing and forced it to steady, his lungs reluctantly compliant. And then there it was, the silvery blade that bore down upon the quiet, Emilio's voice an enigmatic vortex of colours that jumped from muted to deafeningly loud; that were knotted here but swirling there; that were clashing and competing and screaming-[break][break]

It made him sick.[break][break]

Reminders of one of his first assignments, of being tasked to break, to try his best to absolutely destroy the very person sitting beside him. The very person who screamed and cried and for all his bravado and no matter how good a cause it may have been, there was no denying that Morgan had hurt him (bones breaking with skin, blood running in rivulets down a pale back). And here he was, doing it again.[break][break]

"Shut up, okay? Just, oh god, don't cry." Maybe he should have been angry. Annoyed, at the very least. Yet all he was concerned and guilty and any form of vexation was nonexistent, save for perhaps at himself. Again he moved without thinking, sliding over just enough to rest an arm around narrow shoulders, a poor attempt at reassurance. "It's okay to be scared." His voice scarcely more than a whisper, forced out through a constricted throat, choked out, but even then there's a quiet breath of laughter, the defeated chuckle of someone who had no idea what was happening except for the fact that everything was going downhill very, very rapidly. Things don't go bad with one big mistake, no, they go bad because a series of steps were taken to a certain point of time where all those little missteps just come snowballing down the path and there's absolutely no room to move, and one can only accept their fate. "It's okay, don't worry, it'll be okay." Repeated like a prayer. [break][break]

Here he is, murmuring reassurance that he genuinely, truly means. The knife is clumsy, it wobbles and still it cuts, but he's alive. "You're not being anyone for me, Emilio. You're just you." In a way, it's true, because despite every mask, every extra layer, he can still see glimpses of that particular violet shade and that is enough to spur him on. A sudden moment of clarity. "Really, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere."

[attr="class","lucysundlt"]

[attr="class","lucystarsdlt"]And so he remained. He never quite realised how tense he was, how stiffly his shoulders were set until Emilio leaned into the hug and he relaxed to curl around the smaller man, shifting just enough for his chin to rest lightly atop the other's head. An affectionate gesture yet not one uncommonly seen for the enforcer, done thoughtlessly out of the sheer need to comfort his companion. For a while he remained silent, the passing traffic a distant hum, punctuated only by the painful, strangled sobs that tore away from Emilio. They lanced across his vision in broken staccato, a dark mournful blue coiled around mulberry wisps. [break][break]

The words were thorns, he could see now. Struggling desperately only helped each barb to sink in deeper, to dig into pale skin, to break until blood ran freely. Now the colours ran amok, a maelstrom of blues and reds and yellows that fit together only to create the very picture of misery itself. The enforcer drew back ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes to regard the other. His eyes were clear, the type of clarity you would not find in someone wallowing in their own despair, in someone who was heartbroken. "Emilio. Hey. Look at me." His voice was steel wrapped in wool, firm yet gentle, reassuring. "It'll be fine." Slowly, slowly, one step at a time. If his heart had to break, well, now was not the time - he'd hold it together with brute strength alone until his best friend was no longer breaking down in front of him; until he was alone and then he could break.[break][break]

But not now.[break][break]

"If I say it's going to be okay, it'll work out, alright?" He spoke in nothing higher than a rumble, a steady adagio that had absolutely no intention of picking up the pace anytime soon. "I'll hit it on the head until it goddamn agrees with me. Just don't worry, okay?" Oh, there it was, the odd feeling of simply floating away, as if he were speaking not from his own mouth but someone else's. Sheer willpower hauled him back, painfully, harshly, and now is not your time Morgan, shut the fuck up brain I don't need this right now. A clumsy pat on the shoulder, as if that did anything to help. Did he know what he was doing? Absolutely not. Was he still trying his best anyway? Of course. To try seemed to be all he could do.

[attr="class","lucysundlt"]