Tessa stared back at the three people staring at her. “What?”
“We can’t change her look completely; people would notice and comment.” Max was ignoring her, sort of.
Bel nodded. “Yeah, right, we need to enhance it. Dial it up.”
Juno was frowning. “But do we dial it up by going outrageous, or high class?”
The three of them resumed assessment as Tessa squirmed. “How about I don’t go at all?”
Now Max replied. “Oh, no. You have to go. You’re the only one who can get in there and the only one who’s got any chance of getting near the Commander to drop the message.”
“And that’s another thing,” Juno put in, “what form is the message going to take? You know the security there is going to be everything barely short of a cavity search.”
Tessa cringed. Gross.
Max said. “Lipstick tube?”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “Not after the Ladies had to be evacuated last year because Melinda Swifton accidentally set off her tear gas spray during touch-ups.”
Bel sniggered at that, then suggested. “Something with the jewellery? Like rolled up in a bangle or something?”
“You want me to hand my bangle to the head of the arms forces in the middle of a ballroom?”
Max choked. “How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”
Tessa stood. “If you want me to do this, it’s going to be a verbal message and you’re going to make me so high class, Phoebe Oberswith-Taylor will choke on her own fake diamonds and hide behind a potted palm the entire night.”
The DNA of Stories 