Even crime-fighting superheroines need a vacation. The Veiled Vigilante had packed her bags for a fortnight in St Lucia, and she’d advertised for a substitute to keep the city safe in her absence.
The Blue Belle certainly ticked all the right boxes- she was flawlessly elegant, she wore haute couture, and she had a mean right hook. But she didn’t seem to understand the whole secret identity thing, despite the Veiled Vigilante’s polite suggestions:
“You don’t think a little mask might suit, dear? A darling wisp of chiffon? Or scrap of silk organza?”
But the Blue Belle had just laughed. It seemed she had beauty products to promote, and appearances on the Late Show to arrange, and all that was useless if no one could see her face. Her face, she’d said, as if it was perfectly obvious and the Veiled Vigilante was charmingly Old Skool (ie. hopelessly out of touch), her face was her Brand.
At that point it began to dawn on the Veiled Vigilante that her young replacement might be a trifle over-ambitious (ie. a pushy little upstart). Worse that that, she suspected that once the Blue Belle had gained a stiletto-hold on the graceful rooftops of Paris it might be hard to get rid of her again.
This city ain’t big enough for the both of us, she thought. Still, she was absolutely certain she could kick the Blue Belle’s satin-clad derrière if it came down to it…..