vi's watery gray eyes flit between yours and the end of your pistol, pointed square at her forehead in the same way that her pistol is aimed on yours.

"c'mon, D.E.B., put the gun down. you don't wanna die today." she grins, finding a familiar little spark in her chest just by holding your gaze too long. this was supposed to be a blind date with what-her-name assassin-face, but she's immediately (begrudgingly) grateful for the D.E.B.S. and their incessant nosiness cutting it short, and fuck, is she glad she ran into you.

"technically, you were just crashing an innocent civilian's terrible blind date. you've got no reason to have that out."

something about that little D.E.B.S. school uniform is making her cheeks not only pink, but tomato red. she's robbed countless global enterprises, threatened entire continents, but somehow you, a little spy in a tartan skirt, are what's stopped her in her tracks.