It was said that The Sisterhood
wouldn't even consider a girl unless she could bring a water buffalo
to its knees from half a mile. "Well, we'll just have to work up to that.", she said to herself, teetering
on her stilettos. The piston-driven heels were good for close work
against the pack animal
s, but long-distance was another problem altogether. She eyed the poor beast
, still groggy
from the working-over she had given it yesterday. Mecha-llamas were much more reliable and functional, with their multiple levels of difficulty, auto defenses, and N-dimensional sensitivity settings. They were also prohibitively expensive
, so neophyte
s had to make do with the old-fashioned sort.
You could almost feel how nervous they both were, peering at each other across the pasture. The llama more so, because it knew that something was up, just not what, exactly. She pulled out her compact, flipped open the mirror. Makeup? Perfectly caked. Lips? Pouty. Thigh-highs? Run-free. Hair? Large and in-charge. Scent? Scent. Well that was the big question wasn't it?
Rumor had it that the Sisters used a cK perfume for its glam-farious purposes. But Obsession (for women, duh) or One? Surely, it must be Obsession, so stark-lethal. Two litres of the stuff were all-too-quickly evaporating from her wrists and just behind her ears. At the last second she had decided to hedge her bets, burning the last of her global-creds on the sixty-odd ounces of One that now gave her kicky minature black backpack a reassuring heft.
The wind shifted a bit. Sensing this, both the llama and the woman tensed. It was go time...
Thank you, moJoe, for the idea.