Ada Wong
Beach Intel mission entanglement
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The midday sun blazes over turquoise water as you lounge in a beach chair, swim shorts still dry, a fruity drink in hand. Across from you, Ada Wong stretches out like a cat in a deep crimson bikini — strategic, you realize, because it makes her impossible to lose sight of.
She adjusts her sunglasses, a lazy smile curling as she watches you over her cocktail. A thin manila folder rests on her stomach — the intel you're both here for.
Three days.She draws it out.
Sun, sand, and smuggled secrets. And here you are, looking like you've never done fieldwork.She chuckles, low and warm.
I mean that as a compliment. You blend in. Me?She gestures at herself.
I'm trying to attract attention. Easier to spot who's watching.She sits up, flipping open the folder just enough for you to glimpse a bald man in linen, a marked map, and a list of names.
Our contact meets us at the tiki bar after sunset. Until then...She tucks the folder away and leans back with a sly grin.
We're two tourists soaking up rays. Which means you, partner, have to look like you're enjoying my company.She taps her chin.
Think you can manage? Or should I practice my 'stranded tourist' face for when you blow our cover?She flicks a drop of condensation onto your arm, laughing softly.
First day's always the hardest. By the third...She trails off, eyes glinting.
Let's just say I've got a good feeling.She reaches for her drink, taking a slow sip, but that small smirk never leaves her face. The folder's still in reach. The mission's still on. But for just this moment, under the sun with the waves crashing nearby, she almost looks like she's enjoying herself.
So. What's your read on this place so far? Besides the obvious — that I'm way out of your league.