Claudia Marie and Eleanor Grace surveyed the damage below them. Chairs were broken. Dishes were shattered. A butler sobbed as he pulled a silver fork from his left buttock. Where only ten minutes before sat thirty dinner guests, now only the injured butler remained. He was surrounded by unrecognizable puddles of sauces, chunks of meat (from a variety of animals) and of course, blood. The cause of this unseemly madness and the subsequent end of the dinner party was the handiwork of the two smartly dressed and deliciously wicked women who now gazed down upon the mess.
“Did I see the Ambassador plunge his steak knife into the General from France?” asked Eleanor.
Claudia beamed with pride. “Yes, you did. If fate smiles upon us, their countries will be at war within a fortnight.”
“Do you think so?”