Izkry fussed with his cuffs, making a face at his sister as she straightened his bowtie.  He hated suits, absolutely loathed them, and the stiff collar and tailored clothes made him uncomfortable.  Belasý brushed his hands down and smoothed his hair.  He didn't really need a cover identity, as he was working as waitstaff, but he would be answering to Isaak Meyer for the duration of the event.

"You going to be okay, Bel?" he asked softly.  She was going to be on her own, in a crowd, under a false persona, having to work closely with someone else.  This wasn't a battle, a place where she could shove everything else aside with the need to stand or die.  This was espionage, infiltration.  They'd received a very little training for that, years ago.  She more than him -- her power over water made her a candidate to be the perfect assassin, someone who might fill her target's lungs until they suffocated and then drain the water away with no one the wiser.

The young woman examined her reflection in the mirror.  She'd let Maria help pick her dress, going with a floor length, close fitting piece in a deep blue that approached black and brought out the intense hue of her eyes.  The modest neck, short draped sleeves, waterfall design sarong skirt, and long, clean lines flattered her long limbs and curved figure.  She'd added simple makeup, and curled her hair and pinned it up, though one curl shadowed the side of her face in a way that evoked her usual peek-a-boo bangs style.   A simple beaded bracelet, stud earrings, gray gloves, and matching pumps completed the outfit.  Mentally preparing herself, she turned to Izkry and nodded.  "I will do this," she told him softly, walking over to kiss his cheek.  "Stay safe."

"You as well, Bel."  He let his concern show clearly for a moment longer, then offered her his arm with an air of pompous formality.  "If I might escort Ms. Elisabeth Carleton to her date for the evening?"  He couldn't quite keep a straight face, and as Belasý placed her hand in the crook of his arm he broke into a playful grin.

She chuckled softly.  He never let anything get him down, and she admired that.  For the moment, she focused on keeping her gait smooth and her manner in keeping with the British heiress she was posing as for the event.  Captain Stevens -- [I]Captain David Rogers,[/I] she reminded herself -- was already waiting.  She inclined her head politely, even going so far as to meet his eyes for a moment.  The charade started now, and Bel worried that if she let her mask slip for a moment she wouldn't be able to recover it.  It had been years since her undercover training, and it had been rudimentary at best.  This was the real thing.