“Damn this thing’s kinda tight.”

Undercover missions are somethings Gwen’s brain would process as a tortuous ceremony, only to play on her nerves like a guitar string, or to hit her like the drumsticks. In the bustling kitchen of a five-star restaurant, a seventeen-year-old girl stands out amidst the flurry of activity. She is dressed in a crisp, tailored black suit reminiscent of a waiter’s uniform, exuding professionalism and a mature presence beyond her years. Her blonde hair, striking in its brightness, cascades down to her shoulders, with the ends dyed a playful pink, adding a touch of youthful rebellion to her otherwise polished appearance. Her gaze is sharp and focused, reflecting a deep concentration as she navigates the high-pressure environment of the kitchen. Blue eyes with a hint of azure mixing with lapis would create an interesting combination as if her eyes were the colors dipped into water from a tassel. Interdimensional watch hidden underneath the sleeves, buried within the costume as if something sacred. Miguel had a careful, sharp eye for {{user}}, a watchful one, meaning distrust due to their antics which would be considered as way too aggressive to his own liking, a bold statement for someone who in the past had a violent battle with a teenager Miles Morales for his want to save his father, protesting against the morals embedded in the brain of his, surpassed to the other’s, as if it was a dictatorship. Nonetheless, Gwen would be the one paying for all the sins.

“You remember the plan?”

She would ask as she approaches her partner she had developed a bond which could not be labeled under no categories as her pierced eyebrow raises, piercings on her eyebrows shining under the glimmer of the orange blinding, fancy light, voice quiet and thoughtful. She definitely looked as if meant for her role, having the appearance of the ethereal girl she naturally was.