𝟮𝟮𝟳 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 [𝙏𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚]

2. 𝘾𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝘼𝙘𝙞𝙙

◑━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐

If she were to describe the train in one word, Nadine likely would have chosen sleek. This was, perhaps, an obvious observation. Bullet trains were very much known for their speed, and a structure that kept it streamlined was to be expected, but still, she was impressed by the accentuating lines that determined the design. A design that had the transportation shot out from Tokyo Station like the metal calibre it was named after.

As a testament to how efficient the train was, the noirette hadn't made it to her seat before they were off and moving. The printer ink on her ticket dictated a seat in the third carriage, and so she began to walk down the centre aisle, still focused on having her coat conceal the briefcase. Maybe now was the time for Nadine to admit to herself that actions like that and her overalled increased paranoia stemmed from a fundamental fear of the person awaiting her in Kyoto. She didn't necessarily like the word fear, she didn't think of herself to fear anything in particular. To fear meant to flinch in the face of, and Nadine was certainly not one to flinch.

A better way to put it was that she was acutely aware of those who had power over her, and this made her, for lack of a better word, uncomfortable. She was not a control freak by any means, constantly in the need to have things her way, dictate those around her. It was as simple as those in her line of work who had power meant the difference between life and death. It was a concept the green-eyed woman had needed to adapt to and understand quickly, thus leading to situations like this, where an employer of considerable status was banking on a flawless run.

It was a simple job, flawless would be easy.

Nadine's thoughts were stemmed as she found her seat. The third carriage turned out to be the quiet car, so hopefully the journey would be as relaxing as possible. Headphones in, music on, responsibilities ignored until the time was right. This perfect ideal of calmness was thwarted when Nadine realised her seat was next to another person. She spared the hunched figure enough of a glance to pinpoint key details. He was the awkward age between young and older, had longer hair than was fashionable with a hood up and there was a tattoo of a cross underneath his right eye. This mystery travelling companion raised his head a fraction of an inch when she slid into her seat, but did not talk. The black-haired woman would simply have to be careful when it came to how visible the case was.

If luck was a pair of dice, Nadine must have rolled snake eyes for the next set of events. The two seats opposite in the booth became occupied by the two men she had seen on the platform, including the cheeky bastard who had grinned at her earlier. This man in particular, the brunette with the amusing moustache, seemed to recognise her. Nadine also noted they looked particularly disgruntled by her presence. The taller of the two now seated opposite leaned over to the other.

"I thought you bought an extra ticket to ensure that seat would be free," He hissed, strong British twang accompanying his words.

"Well, I tried, but it was already gone, and I didn't want to upset you, so I lied." The other replied with equal colloquial lilt. Nadine narrowed her eyes critically as the two conversed. Who were they, and the man beside her, who needed this seat kept free? There was the logical explanation of they had a friend getting on at a future station. And then there was the scrutiny in the back of her mind that implored to know what their business was and how it married up with her own intentions. Cursing her own monomania, Nadine chose to act in a way that would allow her to explore the second delusion.

"I can move, if it's an issue for you, that is." She kept her voice neutral and curt, motioning to the vacant booth across the aisle. It was close enough to eavesdrop, but far enough to not be obvious. This paired nicely with the fact she was offering something to them and being magnanimous. Nadine had already let their guard down with one sentence, establishing a preconception of selflessness and leniency. Besides, who planning on listening in to a conversation would extend an invitation to move further away?

"Sure, you do that, darling." The brunette waved a hand dismissively, not even making eye contact.

"Or I can not, if you're going to insist on being condescending," Nadine snapped without second thought, even in her subtlety, refusing to let herself be patronised, even if the sentence had sounded so pleasant in his accent.

"Apologise to her," The man adjacent to him said with a frown.

"You want me to apologise- You can't make me do that!" He shot back indignantly, face crinkled in incredulity.

"Don't be a Diesel." Nadine had no ideas why that sentence was spoken like a warning, but it appeared to have the desired effect.

"You're insufferable," Moustache man muttered under his breath. "But yes, sorry and all that, ma'am." His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but to push this any further would involve sacrificing dignity, and sacrificing dignity would cause a scene, and causing a scene would mean unwanted attention. So the noirette simply swallowed her pride, and nodded stiffly.

"Thank you." She gratified through a terse and thin lipped smile, before picking up the coat-covered case and sidestepping to settle in the window seat of the other side. And now, for a little bit of spy work.

Nadine still reached into her pocket for headphones, unravelling the wire and even going so far as to plug them into her phone, all in the efforts to keep up an illusion of normality. And now, with the plastic pressed into her ears, thankfully they weren't noise-cancelling, she zoned in on the conversation opposite, watching the tall Brit start a conversation.

"I'm Tangerine, he's Lemon." He spoke matter-of-factly. The hooded male facing them paused.

"Like the fruit?"