One Big Mistake

“You've got to be kidding.”
“I'm serious.” The man hissed. “I only have this night to operate in what I'm here for, and either I drag you with me, or I'll kill you for the sake of silence.”
“I hate to say this to you, but that's not the first time I heard a threat since I got here, and I'm already sick of it.”
She whipped her arm away and cussed, shaking her head. Eyeing the cold-covered glass of the room's window, she stared at the ominously bright flares of the torches down there, and felt like crying.
She wanted to cry hot, angry tears. It isn't fair. How much bullshit does she have to go through to avoid all those death-threats, all those bullets and swords, all those diseases and...and...those assholes.

“I can't be seen walking with you.” She said. “I'm pretty much house-bound.”
“Then be someone else.” The spy snorted, shrugging as if it were obvious.
Jodi looked at him. “Do your job?” She exclaimed.
The man blinked. “I'll bring you because you should help me.” He replied.
“And I'm helping you because I'll be making my disguise. Got a knife, by the way?”
“Yes.” He growled. “But consider it missing, woman.”

“Thanks.”
She managed to find a pair of scissors on the desk, shining dully under the reflection of the window. Dark hair quickly fell into the shadows as she sheared off her layers, cutting it across the back of her neck.
Like dogs uneasy at each other presences, Jodi and the man kept their eyes on each other, though Jodi more discreetly. Flicking her eyesight at him when he so much as turned to look at where else is left for him to collect, but glancing away when he started to meet her eyes again.
She tied it back with a ribbon she tore off of an elaborate letter, and found a decent pale shirt and breeches from the wardrobe, making sure that there was no elaborate stitching or decoration by her hands and a somewhat heightened sense of sight.
The scissors were hard to use. Rust collected around the hinges, and she had to let it gape to tear apart the corset. As she undressed, she felt the man's eyes stay on her with a higher intensity, and felt her skin crawl uncomfortably. She knew she wasn't even pretty, even to the standards of the people here, who liked their women soft and full all around. She could imagine her thin and sharp features as strange to anyone here, and had been ridiculed more than once for her 'chicken legs' merely from raising her skirts when rushing through a flooded camp-site.
But she still had the breasts and vagina. And that's always more than enough for any man here.

Hands shaking, she pulled down her pantaloons from underneath her dress with one hand. Trying to make it seem inconspicuous as possible under his glare. The draft down there has never felt so cold.
The pantaloons were quickly replaced with breeches, and she made sure the scissors were positioned low against her hip. Ready to stab anything from below the arms should the man rush to her.
After the quick change from the dress to the shirt, and the shoes kicked off, she beat her hand against her back, wiping out any more traces of cut hair.

“Okay. I really don't think you could carry all that outside.” She pointed out. “At least it will look suspicious. Since...since you don't have anything to hold it all in place, right?”

He grunted, tying the string of his shirt-collar. “Shut up.” He muttered.
Jodi glared at him, noticing how it had sounded like a blunt order. The kind that expected to be followed without question.
'You'll have to try harder than that on me, bub.'

She bent at the hearth of the fireplace that sat before the four-poster bed, scooped up a handle of ash, and wiped her face and neck with it. She patted the rest of it over her entire front, and slid her hands over her knees. Inwardly, she thanked her parents for her pale skin and dark hair. After not shaving for so long, hair now covered her legs, making her androgynous from the knees down.

God, she felt sick. She had never taken such a big step like this in her life. She's not running away from a house for god's sakes, but an entire army. She hoped to god she can be fleet-footed barefoot. Her toes curled at the alien idea, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

She padded over and picked up the coat the spy had thrown down in some time. Handing it over to the man, she told him, “Okay, I'm ready. I recommend buttoning up so the papers won't show.
She indicated the stiff material jutting out from inside the man's shirt. Wrenching the coat out of her grip, he shrugged it on, papers crinkling drily as he moved.

“The negra should be cleaning up in the dining room by now.” He grunted. “We'll leave in the back.”
“Ah.” Jodi nodded. “Alright.”

The noise in the house seemed too loud. Jodi flinched as the door screeched slowly when the spy opened it for her, and no matter how she tried she couldn't figure out where Mme. Wimund and the men are. There was noise everywhere, the rumble of chorused laughter, the sounds of heels brought down on the floors, the rattling of plates...she kept finding security that no one would step out, turn and notice them, but...
The man impatiently pushed her forwards, almost forcing a surprised squeak out of her. Stifling herself, she padded down on the old stairs.