"What will it be, director," emphasis placed on the last word, the lady waited.
"I'm afraid its too late to cancel the ceremony," said in a nervous tone, a screen turned on displaying a live feed of the event.
"I see," she stood, "-if this is how you're going to act," reaching in her handbag. "Hello, this is lady Goldberg, has the note been delivered?" a phone call to the informant who was given passage into the Imperial Palace.
"What do you mean no," her face changed, "-Martin, is that you?" on the other side, bearing an accent, Renaud. "Martin boy is tied, my lady, what part do you wish for, head, hands, or feet?"
"What sort of joke is this?" her tone grew menacing, "-hand the phone to Martin this instant."
"Sure," the voice faded, "-aye, bring that little man child, a lady wants to speak to him… what, you cut off his tongue? fucking idiot. *BANG,* loud, the call deafened her ears for a few seconds, "-I'm afraid the informant is dead. Sorry about that."
