Miranda sat at the bar in the smoky speakeasy. She’d already fended off the advances of five gentlemen, there was only one person she was there for: Donna Sheridan.
Donna’s smooth, dulcet tones filled the small space. She held Miranda’s gaze, no one else in the world existed in that moment. Miranda was transfixed; Donna was a vision in her cerulean blue dress, sequined and fringed, her long blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Miranda sipped her gin and tonic. Tonight would mark the fifth night she’d take the lounge singer home. Miranda could get used to it.
“Are you a musician?”
Miranda looked down at her cello case. “What gave me away?”
The blonde laughed a little. “I’m terrible at small talk.”
“Not my preferred talk either.” Miranda thought for a moment. “Do you want to sit?”
“And, yes. I’m a concert cellist.” She held out her hand, “Miranda Priestly.”
“Donna and the Dynamos Donna Sheridan?” Miranda blinked.
“In the flesh.”
“I love your music.” Miranda admitted. “It’s the cd in my car stereo right now.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes. Hand to god.” Miranda paused for a moment. “Would you… have dinner with me?”
Villadonna was not like the other gods on Mount Olympus, the ones who viewed humans merely as amusing diversions. Villadonna admired their drive and determination while the others laughed at the futility of their actions. The others fancied themselves great lovers but they weren’t moved to poetry, to great devotion like mortals. It was probably the mortality itself which made the passion all the more precious.
Villadonna particularly admired one mortal woman: Mira Andapolis. She spent her days watching Mira and indeed felt herself moved to poetry.
One day they would meet; Villadonna was the goddess of fate, after all.
“I have to go…” Miranda whispered, not making a move to leave. Her arms were still wrapped snugly around Donna.
“Wish you didn’t have to.” The blonde murmured against her lips.
“It wouldn’t do for The White Devil to be seen canoodling with The Dynamo, now would it?” Miranda teased. “I would lose all my supervillainy cred.”
“Well, we can’t have that…” Donna purred. “You know… I never thought ‘The White Devil’ suited you.”
“What would you suggest, my love?”
“I think you’re a pussycat.” Donna grinned.
“Pussycat. Yeah, that’d strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.” Miranda laughed.
“Miss Donna.” Miranda greeted.
“Sheriff.” Donna grinned. “Are you here on official business?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Miranda leaned on the counter. “Has anyone answering to the name Jacqueline Follet checked in here at Villa Donna?”
“Not as of yet.” Donna replied.
“I think the powers that be mean to replace me with Miss Follet and I’d like to know if she checks in.”
“Of course.” Donna nodded. “But they can’t replace you. The town wouldn’t stand for it.”
Miranda shrugged. “As long as the job is done, folks don’t care who does it.”
“Well, I won’t stand for it.” Donna smiled.