"D-Do I look good, Marcel?"

Priam stared at his reflection on one of the reflective glass panes on the streets. Hands kept fixing his hair, seemingly disinterested at his current look, but not actually changing much of its appearance. Practicing his smile was made in between every little change he made. He already made a fuss about the clothing he wore before going to the place of meeting, but he still felt unsure if he looked presentable for his admirer.

The situation was already explained to him, along with the possibility that the one sending him messages had only been doing it to get information out from an impressionable young lad such as him. Still, it was going to be a 'date' if he followed the script. Going on dates never was on his agenda, and being on one made him panic. It wasn't like he did not want to experience them, after all. He was just 'lacking in opportunities' or so he'd reason out.

He quickly turned to Marcel, eyes clearly filled with panic. "Quick, give me tips! How do I make myself look good?" While he knew the objective at the back of his head, he couldn't help but worry about presenting himself. He still was in an adventurous phase, and this types of things gets the hormones going.

"What time is it? Fuck, I don't think I'm ready for this."

"Y-You think so?" he'd say with a breath of relief. The rush came back soon after with the following statement however. "Ah!"

He'd reach for his crotch, the panic inducing enough confusion for him to simply not care whether the practical joke was true or not. His attention was, instead, on the demeanor he would be showing. The option to fake a persona to make himself look as presentable and likable as possible was there, but if Marcel says that being himself would also be an acceptable option, then he'd take the advise he was given.

"Can't I just get my Zoroark to sub in for me?" He'd like to explore the alternatives if there were any.

The pat on the back eventually ends his panic attack. Taking a deep breath, he'd return his gaze to the senior. "Yeah, I got this!" The words were directed more at him than the companion, pumping himself up for the task. He was a likable being, he supposed, else no one else would hang with him. Sometimes, he forgets how great he is, which should be a sin in itself. Priam Conrad would be a personality everyone would want to meet some day, and so this task shouldn't be worrying at all.

"By kill them, you mean figuratively or literally?" he clarifies.

With the sudden shift of mood, so did his cautiousness with his surroundings. Eyes on Marcel, Priam wouldn't notice someone nearing the scene. A figure would be approaching from a distance, though with the pace the person was taking, they can have one quick exchange before anything exciting happens.

He swallowed, steeling his resolve to accomplish the task. Marcel has given him encouragement. He can't disappoint him now.

Priam would turn to see a girl. Her appearance was dainty and made her seem unlikely to be someone suspicious. Had he not been told about it, Priam wouldn't even consider the possibility of her being a mole. The dress was cute. The face was cute. The glasses she wore were cute. Priam never found himself getting infatuated easily, though perhaps the scenario of being on a date helped escalate his feelings.

"H-Hello," he'd call out to her as she approach, voice shaky.

Despite his attempts to look cool and breezy, he was not. He hoped he wasn't sweating. He rehearsed a lot of lines to say during their initial meeting, although most of them were forgotten the instant that she showed up. Turning bashful, he almost froze on the spot, save for the scratching of his chin as he waited for her to initiate the conversation instead.

"Y-y-yeah. Fish. I love fish too."

Priam didn't know where the conversation was going. When was the part where she spews out all the manipulative things that would force him to confess the secrets of the organization to her? He was told to be careful in case it happens, and having such thought in mind did not help him ease into the situation no matter how Marcel tried to coax him into it.

He would have loved to get to know her well, but conflicting thoughts had poisoned his thinking.

"I, uh, I-I..." he started stammering.

The boy was confused. The sequence of events in his head eventually got muddled with his impulsive decision making. Panic eventually took over him, along with indecisiveness and lack of experience influencing his further actions. Accelerating how the encounter should work, he'd punch her in the gut. The girl would cough, and then fall limp, unconscious. Priam caught her before she hit the ground.

"Marcel!" he'd call him, the girl still cradled in his arms. "T-This wouldn't be a hindrance to the plan, right?"

Priam hands over the unconscious body of the girl to Marcel. This girl was nothing but a seductress, waiting for the right opportunity to prey upon the innocent such as him to pry information about the organization from him. He had to remind himself that he did a good job to stop himself from panicking about accidentally forgoing the plan.

"Good..." He starts slow, before pepping up all of a sudden. "Good!" he repeats in a more upbeat tone.

The usual smug expression returns to his face, seemingly erasing any trace of his guilt earlier. He did his job, which was all that mattered. It was considered even better, as the superior called his unsightly panic 'speeding things up'. The sense of accomplishment feeds his pride. Any positive thing he can extract from one's statement was enough to get his spirits up from being down.

"Guess I did a good job, huh?" he asks as he moves with him. Eyes looked expectantly, waiting for a response. Marcel didn't have to answer. Priam knew he was the best boy this day.