Lucrezia Borgia Bartolomeo Veneziano
Boris Badenov, Natasha Fatale, and Fearless Leader
Written 23 June, 2008
A Three-Donut Vacation
VI. Getting the Go
TO: Group Members, Sweetie’s Super Secret Spy Sorority
FROM: The Incomparably Dressed and always Perky Sweetie
RE: Raid on TSA Headquarters Secret Stuff
We are meeting at 4 pm Linden time at Pele the volcano on Whimsy to hear a message from our leader. Please arrive fabulously attired and be no more than fashionably late. Virtual finger foods will be provided.
Tell no one. Loose lips sink sims.
Sweetie was anxious. “Do you think there’s enough food?”
“Vell,” I said. “Lady vingers, petit-fours, cucumber sandviches, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and wodka. I should think so. And if we run out, we can just make copies. But more importantly, do I look all right?
Sweetie gave me a quick up and down. “Morticia Addams, right?”
“No!” I said, stung. “Haven’t you been listening to the accent? I’m Natasha Fatale, dollink, from the Rocky and Bullvinkle Show. I’m the intellectual superior of that no-goodnik Boris Badenov and a member in good standing of Local 12 of the Villains, Thieves, and Scoundrels Union.”
“But who am I?” asked Sweetie. She was wearing a gown suitable for a medieval French or Italian court and her elaborate white hairdo was wound high on her head. A miniature electric train ran around and around in her tresses.
“Mata Hari?” I asked.
“Mata Hari? That early Twentieth Century Dutch tramp? You silly girl! Don’t you see the skull and crossbones on the hollow poison-filled ring on my finger? I’m Lucrezia Borgia!”
The first cell member to arrive was Michel R-- I mean a close friend who cannot be named. She was completely invisible. Even her tag wasn’t showing. “Hssst!” came a voice from thin air. “Is it safe?”
“It’s never safe,” I said. “The TSA could nuke us at any time. But I swept the sim for bugs and to be safe I’ve disabled scripts on the entire island—to the chagrin of some honeymooners, who got bounced off their pose balls. We’ve taken all appropriate measures.”
“Good,” said our friend xxxxx, and turned off her invisibility. She was dressed head to toe in camouflage.
“We’re busted!” I cried. “It’s Whimsy’s top cop!”
“No, no,” Sweetie said. “She’s gone deep undercover to infiltrate Second Life’s Wall of Blue.”
“That’s right,” said xxxxx, “so cool your jets before I run you in.”
The minutes went by. No one else arrived.
“Where’s everybody else?” I asked.
“Silly spy,” said Sweetie. “Cells have only three people. You guys need to start your own cells.”
“Oh,” I said.
“We’re waiting to hear from our Fearless Leader.” She nodded toward a plume of pink and green smoke.
I looked hard at the smoke. I thought I could make out a shadowy oval shape inside.
“Friendly greetings!” it said.
“OMG,” gasped xxxxx. “I know that voice! It’s Tor—“
“Shush,” said Sweetie. “Only code names from now on. We’d better make some up.”
“You can call me Fearless Leader,” said Fearless Leader.
“I’m Fashionista Bandit,” said Sweetie.
“Wait a minute,” I cried. “I wanted to be Fashionista Bandit.”
“You can be, um, let’s see, “High Priestess of Fashion,” said Sweetie.
I liked that, but I wanted a promotion. “Goddess of Fashion,” I said, sulking.
Sweetie sighed. “You’re competitive, even with names,” she said.
“I’m not competitive!” I said. “I'm not! I’m the most noncompetitive person there is! There is NO ONE less competitive!”
“See what I mean?” Sweetie said to no one in particular.
“I’ll be Top Cop,” said xxxxx.
Fearless Leader spoke. “Your mission, should you choose to accept, will be to infiltrate the world headquarters of the Teleportation Security Administration and there carry out instructions known only to your cell leader. If you fail in your mission, Linden Lab and the world community of watermelons will disavow any knowledge of you or your actions. This cloud of smoke will self-destruct in ten seconds.”
“Stand back!” cried Sweetie. “That watermelon is about to explode!”