The storm clouds parted quite elegantly to let the small private jet through, closing with thunderous lightening as soon as the wheels steamed against the tarmac of the landing strip. She tucked the cigarette filter back into its case and returned it to her handbag with an elegant gloved hand. She didn’t really know why she was still in the Hepburn phase, but she enjoyed it and so it had stuck, albeit in reds and blacks.
“Mistress, the car is waiting as you asked,” the pilot said, sticking his head out of the cockpit.
“Excellent.”
She made her way down the steps and into the car; the door was closed behind her by the chauffeur. The car purred forward and she sat back, fiddling with the necklace around her throat. For a second it glowed and the glow caught in her eyes.
-Sir?-
-Medea, you know what you’re doing?-
-I have done this before, sir.-
-Yes, several times, and as I recall there tended to be limbs strewn about the place, usually of small children. Artistic, certainly, but lacking...subtlety.-
-Are you complaining?- Medea snapped silently.
-No, but this time...listen, darlin’, we don’t need them dead.-
-We’ve been over this before, sir.-
-Yes, and you still somehow managed to get three pairs of feet up into the rafters, and the house didn’t even have rafters.-
Medea rolled her eyes and tugged her filter case and cigarettes back out of her bag, expertly lighting one up with one hand.
-I will avoid that. In fact, I won’t shed blood, would that make you happy, sir?- she asked him.
-I’d appreciate it, Medea.-
The connection faded as swiftly as it had come. She tapped the end of the filter against the glass.
“Swing by the store, I require rope.”
“As you wish, Mistress.”
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