How Droll!
“What are you doing here, honey?”- mattress on the floor and bottles strewn everywhere
- hardly high espionage drama
- “darts of insanity”
- feels and smells exactly like fried chicken
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“How droll!” the man cried.
I remembered all too well the incident with the cliff that the woman had mentioned. The twins she referenced were Jason and myself. It had all been part of our senior class project. Our Academy had been pitted against our rival school in a sort of spy olympics. Despite the fatalities at the cliff, we had won. This woman must be one of our vanquished foes. I needed to get out of here before they discovered me, even if I was handcuffed, and naked from the waist down.
There would be time to rid myself of the cuffs later. I scuttled toward the tunnel to the submarine dock, grabbing my pants as I went.
The woman froze. I tried to lunge out of sight, but she turned around and spotted me. A bemused smile appeared on her face.
“What are you doing here, honey?” Her tone was one you would use with a lost kitten.
Her companion turned, too. “Who’s that? What’s he doing down here? Is there a mattress on the floor and bottles strewn everywhere?”
“Of course not,” the woman said. “This is hardly high espionage drama, Fernando. This is just a poor homeless man taking refuge from the cold.” She winked at me.
“In handcuffs? Really, Betsy, you’re too soft-hearted.”
Betsy? Oh shit, now I recognized her. This was Betsy Murgatroid, infamous for her use of the poisoned projectiles she invented and called “darts of insanity”. From the intelligence reports I’d read, when you’re under the influence of her drug, everything feels and smells exactly like fried chicken.
I gulped. What could make such a dangerous woman smile at me like that?
bonus points for using them in order