"You want me to do WHAT?!"
The female voice bellowed in a desolate tone.
"Yes" said he, the designer of fashion, thatd been hired for this mission.
He was, of course, utterly ignoring her.
"Classic will most definitely do. I suggest we dye your hair a wine red. Then a dark maroon for the lips, and crushed velvet, no sleeve gown."
She blinked.
"You have heard that Ive been considered a psychopath?"
Though calm in tone, her words had been gritted, spit with flame.
He, to the disbelief of those present, continued to ignore her.
"And you."
With a kind of pleasure in his eyes, he turned to her partner, Don Mitchel.
"To match your green eyes and flawless olive complexion" the designer winked, "I suggest Armanie."
She stared at the designer, who she now identified as Zhan, and then at Mitchel, who was sweating with a sense of dread.
A cold smirk played on her lips, earning wide eyes from Zhan.
"Yes," she stood in frozen air, "I see it now."
Fear entwined itself in the eyes of her fellow agent.
"I believe a soft or perhaps chestnut brown, or maybe a grayish mocha. Then well clean up those shoulder length blonde locks of yours with a shave, perhaps slight spikes."
A frown came to the designers lips.
"But I like long hair."
"A shave it is."
She looked at him, Don that is.
He was eager.
<You owe me.>
"Well have to get rid of that stubble of yours."
Panic streaked through his eyes.
"I also think a new hair color is in order."
His eyes widened again.
"After all, this will be formal dining."
