Pretty Face

"When death finds you, may it find you alive."

~ Jean Gebser

---

There was no one to be seen walking on the bank of Thames right now. Of course, except for James.

The most eye-catching clothes he wore were that black coat and the cheap gentlemanly shoes. But if one looked close enough, he would notice James was humming a happy tune to himself and had a rather excited expression on his face.

It was currently raining, but James didn't seem to mind. As if it ever doesn't rain in this godforsaken city.

Then, he leaned against the brick wall of a nondescript pub, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his match. The flame danced in the reflection of the window beside him, giving him a brief glance of his own face. Not bad, he had to admit. Strong jaw, green eyes, hair just long enough to run a hand through. The exact kind of face which had gotten him his code name: Pretty Face.

His real name? No one needed to know that.

James believed the Okhrana hadn't gotten to him yet. Russia was far away after all. Or they hadn't dug deep enough. James was smart and didn't just leave evidence anywhere but that didn't mean the Okhrana couldn't find or even invent something eventually. It's not like I'm innocent.

He had been slacking off. Lazing around, living a lavish lifestyle with the pension of the Okhrana. He would send a random report once in a while and that was it for him.

But he wasn't impervious to the news from the Motherland. He had heard of the purge and his bones felt cold. Ever since he heard of the mass purges, he had been looking to prove himself. So even if they found fault in him, he would be too useful to be discarded.

When a mission finally came in tonight, he was thrilled. And what a mission? Probably the greatest and easiest mission of my life! This is the ideal mission! May God Almighty bring more missions like this my way!

The ideal mission? Exactly... James was supposed to develop a relationship with an unassuming young maid. James didn't personally know her, he just had seen her sometimes in passing. She was cute, but nothing that special. Except for the fact that she was one of the house maids of Lord Cavendish.

Lord Cavendish was a high-ranking Tory, deeply involved in Britain's foreign affairs.

For now, he just had to develop a relationship with the maid, Margaret and win her trust. Something which wouldn't take Pretty Face that much effort.

So Pretty Face got inside the pub and looked around. Then, he saw her.

Margaret. Dark curls, bright eyes, average height.

James walked and sat on a table, ordered a whiskey, while still keeping his eyes still on Margaret.

She was on her feet, looking puzzled, seemingly not finding what she was looking for. Then, spotting it on the lower shelves, she crouched down to get it. To James's surprise, as that wasn't the norm of the time, her lower back was out. There, James traced a tattoo with his eyes: Jesse Forever.

An amused smile found itself on James's face.

"Who's Jesse?" He asked

Margaret laughed and turned her head to glance over her shoulder. "Well, he wasn't forever."

"His loss." James said, while raising his glass of whiskey to a toast.

He also gave her the look. The one that said, I see you.

Margaret scoffed and turned her head back to the shelve. I like that, James thought to himself.

"Oi, you think I don't see you stealing glances?" He continued teasing her.

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Think rather highly of yourself, don't you?"

"I mean, the alternative is that you think too little of me." He smirked. "And that'd be just a shame if we left it like that."

She huffed a laugh despite herself. "We'll see about that."

The way she smiled then... slow, secretive... i got her.

...

It has been two weeks.

James didn't rush things. No, that would be sloppy. Predictable.

Instead, he let it build.

A "chance" encounter on the street. A fleeting smile across the pub. A casual, "You always work this hard?" when he caught her rubbing at her sore shoulders.

Tonight, though, he decided it was finally time for him to push it a bit further.

Margaret was wiping down tables, moving slower now, exhaustion settling into her limbs.

James leaned against the bar. "Busy night?"

Margaret gave him a sidelong glance. "Aren't they all?"

He chuckled, took a sip of his drink and said:

"You know, I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

Margaret smirked. "What, and deprive myself of your charming company?"

James grinned. "Exactly!"

She shook her head, but James saw amusement on her face.

"But I asked around and they told me you also work at Cavendish's house and only come here when you've got a day off there. Don't you ever get tired of this?"

She shrugged. "Pays the bills. Why, you missed me?"

James smiled. "I did. You ever get an actual off day?"

Margaret tilted her head. "Why, you planning something?"

James flashed a sheepish grin. "Depends. You like trouble?"

Margaret laughed, shaking her head. "I don't know if I like it, but it seems to find me anyway."

"Well then," James said, finishing his drink. "Might as well make it interesting."

...

Over the next few weeks, James played the game well. No, not well. Masterfully.

He didn't smother her with attention. He didn't act too interested, didn't push too hard. Instead, he masterfully made himself a habit. Something expected, familiar, comfortable. A passing smile in the street. A drink at the bar. A hand offered when she struggled with a heavy tray.

He listened when she complained about work. He made her laugh. He teased her just enough.

And slowly, subtly, he made his way into her life.

One night, he walked her home after the pub closed. Another, they sat on the steps outside, sharing a cigarette in the cold night air.

And finally, one evening, as she leaned against the bar, sighing about how exhausted she was, James leaned in a little closer.

"You need a damn break." He murmured.

Margaret smirked. "You offering?"

James gave her that look. The one that said, I see you.

And she saw him right back.

"I might be." He said "If you're interested."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

...

A week later, James found himself outside the Cavendish household.

He'd made sure it was casual. Nothing too much, nothing too eager.

Margaret had played it cool. Said she'd think about it. And yet, here she is.

She stepped outside, pulling her coat around her against the cold.

"Thought you might've stood me up." James teased while falling into step beside her.

Margaret scoffed. "I thought about it."

He smirked. "And yet, here you are."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

They walked through the city, past damp cobblestones and gas flickering in the mist. James led her toward the cafè he'd mentioned. A place tucked between a tailor's shop and a bookstore.

Margaret raised an eyebrow when they stepped inside. "But nicer than I expected."

James grinned. "What, thought I'd drag you to some smoke-filled dive."

"Well, that is your usual habitat." She teased.

James laughed and pulled out a chair for her. James had already started noticing the little things about her. She was clever. Witty. That makes it more exciting! And more important, she liked him!

It was in the way she leaned forward when he spoke. The way she tilted her head when he made a joke, the way she caught her bottom lip between her teeth just slightly when she was thinking. The easiest mark in the world.

And yet, James couldn't help but enjoy himself. This is the thing about seduction. If you did it right, it never felt like work. Working on a girl like Margaret helped too.

They talked for a bit until, unexpectedly, Margaret sighed and said:

"You ever want to just... leave?" She asked.

James tilted his head. "Leave?"

Margaret exhaled. "I mean, just... go somewhere else. Start fresh. Do something new."

For a moment, James's mind fleeted. To his Motherland, to Russia. He would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. But he soon recomposed himself.

Then, he studied her, then gave a small, knowing smile.

"You ever think about it?" He asked. "Running?"

Margaret scoffed. "Don't have anywhere to run to."

James took a slow sip of his drink. "Mabye you do."

She looked at him then, really looked.

There it was. That flicker. That moment of hesitation, of curiosity, of wanting.

I'm almost there. Just have to reel her in.

Hook.