Laila rested her hands on her hips. "Hippolyta..."
Jada pouted. "Why couldn't I be named Hippolyta?"
"Hippolyta doesn't suit you," Ciema smirked.
"Penthesilea," Jaiden interjected. "Was a Queen of the Amazons in Greek Mythology. She was brave and beautiful. She fought in the battle of Troy."
"Yee haw!" Jada's pout turned into a grin. "I'm a warrior."
"I have your first mission," Jaiden added. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Laila said, urging forward.
"Tomorrow night," Jaiden said. "Hexcorp will hosting its annual charity gala. You three and I will attend."
"A party?" Ciema grimaced. "Yay..."
"Don't tell me," Laila began. "You're an introvert."
"Nope," Ciema shook her head. "I don't like social gatherings."
"I share the sentiment," Jaiden sighed, setting the untouched glass aside. "I find them most unbearable. Especially Cornelia..."
"Don't drown in the alcohol," Ciema commented. "Promise you won't use it as a crutch."
"I'll have one glass," Jaiden nodded after a pause. "I swear."
"Let's get you three ready for that day," Mr. Mace stepped in. "Namely etiquette."
_______
Laila sat at the table, tugging at the napkin. Jada slapped her palms on her thighs in a rhythm. Ciema's eyes were trained on Mr. Mace as he paced the dinning room.
"My dears," he said solemnly. "It is in great interest that I ensure you don't embarrass Mr. Maximoff at the dinner."
"Do we have to learn this stuff?" Laila winced. "I mean, it's table manners right?"
"No, Ms. Edwards," Mr. Mace corrected. "It is not just table manners. Jaiden is an honorable man. And you must reflect as such."
He gestured to the empty plate in front. "What is that plate?"
"Dinner plate!" Jada answered eagerly.
Mr. Mace smiled. "And what is the other plate?"
"Salad plate!" Jada replied.
"Very good," Mr. Mace nodded. "You're well versed with these things."
"I went all over the world," Jada grinned. "Sophistication's my middle name."
"Well that's ridiculous," Laila countered. "Cause all I see are a bunch of plates."
She picked up a spoon nearby. "And a spoon."
Jada smacked it out of her hand. "That's a soup spoon, sugar."
She pointed to the spoon next to the salad knife. "And don't touch the dinner spoon until the main course or the etiquette police will have your head."
Laila rubbed her bruised hand. "I'm gonna hate this after we're done."
"We have today and tomorrow," Mr. Mace smiled. "I'm sure by then, you'll get the hang of this."
"By the way, Laila," Jada whispered. She picked up her knife and fork, pinning it against the dinner plate. "This is how you cut meat."
Laila watched as Jada demonstrated it by cutting at air. "You mean, I've been doing it wrong my whole life?" she asked, stunned.
"No sugar," Jada laughed, setting her dinner utensils down. "In a formal setting, however, you can't do what you do at home in public."
Mr. Mace clapped his hands for their attention. "When seated, drape the napkin over your lap."
The girls picked up the napkin. Ciema carefully unfolded it like a robot dissecting a rat. Laila plopped it, folded, on her lap. Jada shook out her napkin and gently lowered it onto her lap.
"Very good," Mr. Mace applauded her.
Jada curtsied in her seat.
"You've failed, Ms. Edwards," Mr. Mace said.
"What?" Laila snapped, standing to her feet.
He turned to Ciema. "You too, Ms. Frederick."
Ciema sighed, hands on her hips.
This was going to be harder than she thought.
Mr. Mace held the door open as they entered the dressing room. It was a massive, the walls painted a soft pink. Opaque cream closets lined the walls, mirrors sandwiched neatly between them.
Several mirrors were sandwiched between them.
Laila slid the closet door open, her eyes falling on a red Cheongsam. Its skirt reached the thigh with a small slit. White flowers decorated the fabric.
"Oh, I want this," Laila said, reaching for it.
"Are you a small, Ms. Edwards?" Mr. Mace asked her.
Laila turned. "Huh? No."
"Then you can't wear it, my dear," Mr. Mace said curtly.
Laila closed the door, muttering, "Damn!"
Jada raised her hand. "What about the dresses I bought?"
"They were inadequate by the Gala's standards," Mr. Mace said, approaching a door.
"What?" Jada exclaimed. "Inadequate? I've got taste."
"And our seamstress, Annie Fuller," Mr. Mace smiled as he slid open another closet. "Has style."
Jada and Laila gasped. Ciema shifted anxiously.
"Normally I'd say you ruined it," Jada said excitedly. "But Ms. Fuller somewhat made it better!"
She slowly approached them like they were precious gems. Plucking the red one from the rack, she turned to Ciema.
She grinned. "Look! Ribbons!"
Ciema eyed the dress. What was once a sleeveless dress was now one shouldered, with a single long sleeve. Satin long ribbons, shaped as roses, cascaded down the hip.
"It's gorgeous," Jada breathed. "This dress is heavenly."
Ciema nodded, offering a polite smile.
"I can't wear this," Ciema thought. "It's too...extravagant."
Laila inspected her own dress. It was a green Bandeau dress with one high thigh slit trimmed in soft silk ruffles.
"Nice," Laila said, appraising it like a weapon.
"I wanna see mine," Jada said eagerly.
She pulled out her own gown: a mermaid dress fading from black at the bodice to lavender at the sweeping, flowing train.
Pearls and silver dust shimmered across the fabric.
"I love it!" Jada squealed, hugging it to her chest.
"Damn," Laila muttered. "I want the purple one."
"Too bad," Jada giggled.
"Are we satisfied?" Mr. Mace asked.
Ciema held the red dress against herself, admiring the stitching and subtle golden sparkle.
"It's not so bad," she admitted. "I'm satisficed."
"Yeah, me too," Laila agreed.
"Good. Put them back," Mr. Mace said briskly. "We now have to practice dancing."
"Dancing?" They echoed in unison.
_______
Jada tied her brunette hair in a ponytail. The women had gathered into a secret ballroom.
"I didn't know you had this," Laila said, tying her hair up.
"We keep certain rooms closed off until needed," Mr. Mace explained.
"I'm gonna fail," Laila snorted.
"It'll be fun," Jada promised. "大丈夫 "
"What?" Laila squinted, confused.
Mr. Mace nodded at Ciema. She pushed the play button on the boombox.
Pyotr Tchaikovsy's The Snow Maiden: Buffon's Dance played softly in the background.
Both women faced each other. Jada took Laila's hand, raising to the ceiling.
Laila's free hand found Jada's left shoulder blade.
Ciema loomed in the corner, near the boombox.
"Left foot," Mr. Mace clapped.
Laila and Jada both moved.
"No, Laila," Jada said. "I lead."
"Hell no," Laila countered. "I do."
"But you don't know how to dance," Jada reminded her.
"Right foot," Mr. Mace said.
Both women moved their right foot parallel to their left.
"I think I should lead," Jada grimaced.
"Jada," Mr. Mace said calmly. "Step back with your right foot."
Jada did so confidently.
Laila rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"
"You're doing it wrong," Mr. Mace smiled at her. "And yes, seriously."
Laila murmured his words mockingly.
"Separate," Mr. Mace ordered.
"What did I do wrong?" Laila asked, annoyed.
"Jada is the lead," he said firmly. "Anyone have a problem with that?"
"No," Laila sighed reluctantly.
"Back to positions," he ordered.
Laila and Jada rejoined hands.
"Again," Mr. Mace clapped his hand. "And remember to relaxed."
Jada stepped back. Laila let herself be pulled. Jada yelped as Laila's body weight made her fall. The women hit the ground with a slap.
Ciema winced from the echoing sound.
Mr. Mace rushed to their side. "You alright?"
"No," Laila groaned, getting up. "I fell on my ass."
"You mean you fell on me," Jada corrected, scrambling to her feet.
Ciema stifled her laugh.
"Good lord," Mr. Mace muttered. "Not that laxed Laila."
"I'll keep that in mind," Laila said, stretching.
"Again," he ordered.
______
Ciema stood alone in the ballroom. Jada and Laila had already left with Mr. Mace.
She'd stayed back to practice.
Waltz of the Flowers softly played in the background.
She turned to the mirror, and raised her hands. She began to spun around the room briskly, pretending to dance with a partner.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the bright lights and soothing music.
She opened, meeting the gaze of Jaiden.
"Jaiden?" She breathed, as he spun her.
"Sorry," he smiled, as he took her hand again. "I thought you needed the practice.
Ciema smiled in response.
"Relax your shoulders," he whispered. "Lower her arm."
She nodded, lowering her arm a bit.
"Very good," he appraised. "You're doing better than Laila for sure."
Ciema laughed.
"Thank you, Jaiden."
Jaiden nodded, twirling her again. Ciema spun on her toes then retook his hand.
Ciema sniffed his breath, earning a raised eyebrow.
"I'm making sure you're not drunk," Ciema said.
Jaiden stopped, separating from her. "I don't need to be drunk to know you are the best Amazon I've ever met."
"Thank you," Ciema curtsied a bit wobbly.
"No, no," he said, curtsying as a demonstration. "Like this."
Ciema copied him, earning a smug smile from him.
"Very good," Jaiden nodded.
Ciema smiled back before hearing snickering.
She turned to see Laila and Jada in the door way, hiding their smiles.
"Shut up," Ciema blushed, rolling her eyes.
_______
The morning sun shimmered against the calm surface of the seawater. Laila cut into the meat at the table, her gaze focused and surgical.
"You're practicing?" Jada smirked, joining in her in the sunken living room.
"I don't wanna mess it up," Laila replied. "Plus..."
She gestured to her green facial mas. "You made me wear this all night and this morning."
"I thought you liked green," Jada teased, sitting on the couch.
"I don't like it when you put on this bullshit on my face," Laila frowned.
"Party Pooper," Jada smirked smugly
Ciema joined the pair, nodding to them.
"Morning," Laila replied.
Ciema crossed her legs, placing down some makeup kits. "Who here knows how to do makeup?"
Jada raised her hands eagerly.
"Is there nothing you can't do?" Laila frowned.
"Get a boyfriend," Jada sighed.
Laughter erupted from them.
________
The moon, partially blocked by clouds, was reflected in the calm water.
In the bathroom, Laila dried her face with a towel. "Man, it's so soft," she murmured
"Sit down," Jada urged, patting the space on the ground.
Laila sat, frowning. "Why are we doing it here?"
"Because it's easier than walking back and forth," Jada said, tipping the brush in. Laila leaned forward as Jada applied it on her eyelid.
"I'll use green eyeliner," Jada said, turning to her other eye. "Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Laila muttered.
Ciema sat on her bed, brushing her short hair. She set it down, picking up her red dress.
"Ow! Ow!" Laila cried out as Jada tugged on her hair. "Be careful, damn!"
"Sorry," Jada apologized, as she parted her hair down.
Ciema twirled in front of the mirror. How it hugged her curves, giving her a flattering shape.
"I look amazing," she thought.
Tears sprung to her eyes, but she blinked it away.
The makeup had set but she didn't want to ruin Jada's hard work.
Laila stepped out, posing like a model. Her green dress sparkled.
Jada followed, applauding while dragging her sweeping train. Her brunette hair styled in a chignon, held by a white rose hairclip.
"You look great!" She smiled.
Laila patted her braided bun. "I didn't think you could do braids. You got me right, girl."
"Never underestimate me," Jada winked.
Ciema shuffled out, waving sheepishly at them. Laila and Jada, mouths open, rush towards her.
They envelope her in a tight hug.
"Never doubt how beautiful you are," Jada whispered.
"Thanks," Ciema smiled.
The girls exit their room. Mr. Mace bowed upon seeing them. "You're very beautiful," he smiled.
"Thank you, Mr. Mace," Jada grinned.
"I have something for you," he said. "Follow me."
Following him into the living room were three purses matching their dress colors. Besides them were pistols and knives paired with their holsters.
"Hell yeah!" Laila cheered, hobbling towards them.
"They're to be hidden by your skirts," Mr. Mace explained. "Easily accessible."
Jada joined Laila, opening her purse. "Of course. More weapons," she giggled.
Laila peered at it, marveling the ebony cylinder-shaped bombs and throwing darts.
"You're giving us pepper spray?" She frowned.
"No, that's pepper spray," Mr. Mace pointed at a small bottle tucked away. "The rest are flash grenades and bombs that are set off by touch. You have three seconds to throw them."
Laila leaned back, earning a light chuckle.
"We're still here?" Jaiden's voice made the girls turn. They gasped in shock.
Standing there was Jaiden Maximoff wearing a purple suit coated in glitter. A red tie was tucked under his blazer. Yellow gloves clutched a cane: the shaft purple and the head a silver dragon.
His red hair styled in a textured pompadour.
"Are we ready to go, ladies?" He asked.
"Yeah," Ciema said. Then she cleared her throat. "I mean yeah."
"Show off," Jada smirked. Laila nodded in agreement.
-
Aleen Leon walked into the warehouse, her heels clicking against the surface. Mr. Spencer turned, chewing gum.
"Comfortable, Mr. Spencer?" She smirked. "Where are my bombs?"
Mr. Spencer coolly threw the decahedron bomb towards her. She caught it, gently spinning it in her hand.
"Three thousand as promised," he smiled.
"Good," she smirked. "Very good, Aaron Spencer."
"I also have this," he revealed, holding up the spider camera.
"What is that?" She blinked. She approached him, peering the machine.
"This is a spy camera," he explained calmly. "And look."
He pointed at the logo; An M in the university roman front with angel wings attached.
"Maximoff..." Aleen gasped. "What is this doing here?"
"Clearly, Mr. Billionaire is spying on us," Mr. Spencer chewed.
Aleen leaned back, wringing her hands. "The Amazon Initiative is back in action."
"Amazons?" Mr. Spencer blinked. "I thought that was a mere rumor."
"Oh it's true alright," Aleen sneered. She spun on her heel, storming towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" He called after him.
"Some friends!" She answered. "Now excuse me. I have a party to attend."