She's gliding out of the car, a black Mercedes 6-seater built more than 20 years ago, one that didn't ago well, but is patched up all over. She calls the the Ambassador.

Her face, her young, unnaturally unblemished face, is framed by aubergine hair tied in a top knot from which some unruly hair always escape. Her eyes are dark and innocent and her neck is delicately frail. Her smile is dazzling, but something about it suggests that she isn't as innocent as her eyes suggest.
She gets out of the car in one fluid motion, unhindered by the tec-bow carried on her back.
Then she adjusts: Her hair recedes into a page cut and becomes blond, but the blue eyes, the fake unblemished skin and the knowing smile remain the same.

Tonight, she's wearing one of those black hot ninja outfits that her agent recommended for her. Has enough sense to trust its fashion sense.

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