C Travel

Bronwyn scratches his chin, watching Caesar stand at the shoreline. "What do you mean," he mutters, under furious yet subdued breath, "I can't pass. I don't suppose you know who I am, but I wouldn't put it past you to have forgotten." Bronwyn shrugs his shoulders. "No can do. I own the ocean." He smiles, hands on his hips, as Dominus emerges from the haphazard pile of golden artefacts Bronwyn had lying on his ship in his 500k Stuart Weitzman Diamond Dream Stilettos and Armani crop-top layered with his Gucci jeans. "He's got the paperwork." Caesar's clenched fist shakes at his side. "May I see who signed it? You have no jurisdiction over sea travel" Bronwyn quickly answers, "I did.." Caesar, in rebellion, leaps into the ocean, his luxurious blonde hair clumping around him.   Bron chuckles , "You look like a drenched cat" but Caesar can't speak, because he boycotted the YMCA when he was 9 years old so he never finished his swim lessons. Fin