This post is part 1 in a series of 2. The other post in this series is: Part 2
“Alright, you can do this.” Grace looks in the mirror and takes a few deep breaths. She brushes a few creases out of her ball gown and makes sure all her wires are plugged in. She failed way too many test runs because the network crisscrossing between her petticoats didn't like the sudden direction change when she kicked on her rocket parasol. The tablet on her belt lit up green. 269 tests run, 269 passed. Eyepiece calibrated and highlighting good girls. Choker choking. Hair freshly ribboned.
“Well, hm. That's a little cliche. Maybe if I went with the stage magic theme.”
Ahem. “Connection established.”
She muttered to herself about how that sucks too when she stepped up to address her adoring public. She should get one of those people who announce “Minions!” The microphone in her choker connects itself to the speaker system in her lair. Her voice booms across the room. “Today, we-”
“Can you not call us minions any more?” A girl with pink hair swooping out from under her maid cap raises her hand.
“Yeah!” Someone dressed as a butler waves. “We took a vote at the last union meeting. We prefer 'henchfolk' or just 'henches' for short.”
“Some of us are okay with being called 'minion' in an erotic sense, but that's it.” A third calls, leaning against her gravity hammer.
“Very well! Henchfolk! Today, we launch our first real heist!” She swings her parasol with a flourish. The tip flickers to life and the fans inside begin to whir. She projects the official portrait of a certain local politician who's been in the news lately. A groan rises from the crowd.
“I know, I know. We're all sick of hearing about her. That's why we're going to stage a little coup. We all know you can't fight City Hall, but~?”
“Modemoiselle! Modemoiselle! We'll follow you right to hell!
Minds empty! Hearts filled! Thinking only what Mistress willed!
Empty dolls will fill her halls! Perfect thralls will empty her balls!
Modemoiselle! Modemoiselle! Modemoiselle! Serve!”
Her henches chant in perfect unison and stand straight in perfect rows. Modemoiselle smiles and thrusts her parasol forward.
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