MHA #6, Friday Evening
Sarah had been listening to a lot of Elton John since Tuesday, and he was still singing from her stereo as she threw clothes, accessories and weapons into a duffel bag. A car would meet her at the causeway just before midnight.
I was justified when I was five
Raising cane, I spit in your eye
Times are changing, now the poor get fat
But the fevers gonna catch you when the bitch gets back
She'd called her handlers that morning. Told them things on the island had been worse than unusual lately, and passed along a photo of herself in the hat to back it up.
They laughed, of course.
Eat meat on Friday that's alright
Even like steak on a Saturday night
I can bitch the best at your social dos
I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue
And then she had, very calmly, very steadily, informed them that if she didn't get a real assignment that weekend, she didn't know how good she would be at selling potential recruits on the agency.
I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch
Oh the bitch is back
Stone cold sober as a matter of fact
I can bitch, I can bitch
`cause I'm better than you
It's the way that I move
The things that I do
General Beckman called back within the hour with an assignment. Nothing big, nothing she couldn't do in her sleep: A hostile agent, a weekend gathering at a country house, a need for a pretty girl who spoke passable Russian.
It was ambrosia to Sarah's soul.
I entertain by picking brains
Sell my soul by dropping names
I don't like those, my god, what's that
Oh it's full of nasty habits when the bitch gets back
And now here she was, packing up, moving out, mentally translating the song into Russian, and in a better mood than she'd seen all week.
[OOC: Establishy. Will be a linkdrop when I'm less lazy.]
I was justified when I was five
Raising cane, I spit in your eye
Times are changing, now the poor get fat
But the fevers gonna catch you when the bitch gets back
She'd called her handlers that morning. Told them things on the island had been worse than unusual lately, and passed along a photo of herself in the hat to back it up.
They laughed, of course.
Eat meat on Friday that's alright
Even like steak on a Saturday night
I can bitch the best at your social dos
I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue
And then she had, very calmly, very steadily, informed them that if she didn't get a real assignment that weekend, she didn't know how good she would be at selling potential recruits on the agency.
I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch
Oh the bitch is back
Stone cold sober as a matter of fact
I can bitch, I can bitch
`cause I'm better than you
It's the way that I move
The things that I do
General Beckman called back within the hour with an assignment. Nothing big, nothing she couldn't do in her sleep: A hostile agent, a weekend gathering at a country house, a need for a pretty girl who spoke passable Russian.
It was ambrosia to Sarah's soul.
I entertain by picking brains
Sell my soul by dropping names
I don't like those, my god, what's that
Oh it's full of nasty habits when the bitch gets back
And now here she was, packing up, moving out, mentally translating the song into Russian, and in a better mood than she'd seen all week.
[OOC: Establishy. Will be a linkdrop when I'm less lazy.]