no strings to bind your hands – Killing Eve; Eve/Villanelle; 1,500 words. Eve and Villanelle dress up for Halloween.
Read it: [AO3]
“Isn’t this a little on the nose?” Eve says. “I mean, totally backwards. But also on the nose.”
“What do you mean?” Villanelle demands.
Eve surveys their reflections in the smudged hotel room mirror. When they’d been hired to take out a mark at Prague’s hottest costume party on Halloween, she hadn’t thought much about the costume part. She was puzzling out a way to kill a shitty rich powerful man and make it look like an accident.
(Un)fortunately, her partner has costumes covered.
Eve has been trying to get Villanelle to understand the beauty of a budget. Now that they’re a freelance assassinating-shitty-powerful-men team of two, they can’t Marie Antoinette their way through Europe anymore. She’d been so busy trying to find a hotel that was cheap while not crossing the line all the way over to You might get murdered in your sleep here! that she’d forgotten to tell Villanelle not to go fucking nuts on costumes.
To be fair, that’s on Eve. Villanelle has never been able to resist a costume. Eve knows this.
Right now, Villanelle is dressed in endless folds of white tulle with a pair of fluffy wings on her back and a Beyonce-style halo crown headband that makes her face look like the center of the sun. (Looking at her face is kind of like staring into the sun anyway: irresistible, likely to cause irrevocable damage.)
Meanwhile, Eve is wearing a slinky red dress that she never would have glanced at twice on her own. Way too Jessica Rabbit. Her headband has two little red devil horns on top, each horn covered in sparkly red rhinestones. (God, they’d better be rhinestones.) Her hair falls down past her shoulders. Villanelle insisted, of course.
“It’s classic,” Villanelle says, slinging an arm over Eve’s shoulders like they’re posing for a picture together. “Good versus evil.”
Eve snorts. “And you’re good?”
“Obviously,” Villanelle says, and blows a kiss to her own reflection.
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