Doing it right...

[Julie]

That's just....wrong...on every possible level... I mean, I've heard of marshmallows being a part of sweet potato casserole, but not green bean casserole.

Then they're obviously not having apple pie as I know it (even if they're supposedly having apple pies per the pie list in this post), since that's best served warm. Couple that with the weird green bean mess, and I might have to (reluctantly) admit I'd skip this Thanksgiving meal...in spite of the company. No one messes with my green bean casserole and apple pie!

Pie is best rewarmed...let it settle then warm it back up to serve. Try it sometime. The apples compact, the structure gets denser and it's really good. The crust suffers a bit, but the apples do really well out of it.

And as for the green bean casserole...I've seen it, sad to say. A neat border of them to hold in the fried onion rings.

{shudder}. Thankfully, I managed to avoid the dish completely.

If you need something fresh out of the oven there will be Winter pear crumble - think all the best bits of French apple pie over pears poached in simple syrup flavored with vanilla and fine brandy.

I will grant that apple pie on the reheat isn't bad...but I love freshly baked pie crust that hasn't had a chance to get too soggy from the filling yet.

The fact that you have actually seen something as terrible as green bean casserole with marshmallows makes my skin crawl...because that means it's really a Thing to some people somewhere. Kudos to you for avoiding it...but you didn't have to remove it from your post! It actually could have made for interesting table talk between those who liked and disliked the abomination.

I can and will promise you one thing – some time at the British Museum and a lovely cream tea while we wait for the tailoring to be done.”

Her face, souring at the horrid time I’d asked her to go, brightened considerably when the British Museum and the cream tea were mentioned. “I have no idea what a cream tea is, but it sounds wonderful. What’s in it?”

With the fervor of a true convert I espoused the virtues of the English cream tea. A big pot of tea or coffee with cream and sugar, supplemented by homemade scones was the basis of the cream tea. These were accompanied by pots of clotted cream and strawberry jam, which were liberally slathered on the still warm scones.

These in my eye are the best accompaniment of a trip to the museum – and was at one time a regular habit of mine. Hopefully, my little café was still there…

Want! Tea and British Museum would be enough to have me awake at any requested hour...with a smile instead of my normal morning grimace...and I would have protested vehemently had anyone suggested the shopping trip occur anywhere but London after that.

[jwhouk]

---
"You were planning on going to England?" Buck perked up on hearing the words from Al's lips. "Sad thing now that you can't, though."

"Why is that?" Monica inquired.

"Well, I have a car that I was going to have delivered here next month, but perhaps if you could pick it up for me..."

"Poiting doesn't work like that," Monica said with a small eye roll. "I tried that once with my Toyota. I left, the car didn't."

"Perhaps if you ask the right people," came a voice behind the three of them. "Or, perhaps, someone who can make connections?" Phix raised her eyebrow at Buck.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Al queried.

"If you can get the vehicle to a proper portal location - and I do know there's at least one or two over there - it might be possible to transport the vehicle across the pond via the Library." She smiled knowingly. "Though I will admit, I don't think the one in London proper would be able to accommodate a car."

"Wait - what type of car are we speaking of?" Al looked quizzically at his dam's oldest.

"Oh, just a little sports car I've had our UK skunk works tooling with." Buck turned to Phix. "Would the other portal be viable?"

"It's possible," she said with a nod. "It hasn't been used in ages, though."

"Wait, wait," Monica shook her head, trying to fathom all this. "There's a portal in London, and another one elsewhere in England - and that one's large enough to drive a car through?"

"Well, British Antiquities might have a row if you drove the car into the middle of Stonehenge, yes," Phix said in assent. "But considering that the other portal is a janitor's closet in a London tube station..."

"A Tube station?" Al raised an eyebrow at Phix. "Where at, Platform 9 and 3/4 at King's Cross?"

"No, silly. Mornington Crescent."

[Just Old Al]

"Oh, that's convenient...right at a Tube station. Accessible via the Library, you say? I assume after our little contretemps this means that it is accessible to me?"

Phix twitched, appeared to deliberately control herself, and continued "Yes, it means exactly that. You've earned the right to use it. Accessing it should not be an issue once I make sure that Nudge is read in on the connections."

"Mornington Crescent would suit me nicely. It's just a hop down the Northern Line to the Victoria at Warren Street, then to Oxford Circus, then one stop down to Bond St. Completely and utterly simple. I could even stop in at the Transport for London museum or any one of a number of places."

"You did mention that the large gate was in the middle of...Stonehenge? Somehow I am not seeing that as a viable plan, for some reason. They have that area very securely fenced off and access is thoroughly controlled. Unless, of course, MIB has contacts there - and we can get in at night. The other problem is the access to the centre - there is a cleared road of sorts across the outer circle, but the underside of your car may get a bit scraped up."

Phix smiled. "Just leave it to me." Somehow, I found that grin less than comforting. Why did I get a sneaking suspicion that I was going to get my comeuppance for that little dance in the Library?

"Monica, I realize that Jet suggested the local tailor and that they are very good, but would you and she be overly offended if I took this opportunity to be home for a bit? You are still more than welcome to come along and I'd love your company, but this is an opportunity to breathe the air of my native land."

Monica smiled, then said "I doubt she'll be angry - this poor woman has more work than she can handle anyway, and Jet would have been pulling strings to get your work in. Go where you want to - it makes sense especially if you get the chance to go play with Buck's toy while you're there. I would love to come along, but if you're going to be away for a day or so getting the car back I'd better stay here. The wedding plans are going into high gear right now, and with the hall finally finished we're planning the table setups and everything else. Unless you want to stay and help us assemble party favors?" She grinned wickedly.

"Well, it sounds as though we have a plan. I hop over via the Library, get my tuxedo and other items, drop them back at Mornington Crescent for the library to hold for me, and then go to Alexander Harvesters and pick up your project if we can get MIB to get us access to the site for transport. Or would it be possible to set up a temporary gate to do this rather than irritating the antiquities folks?"

[jwhouk]

---
"Leave it to us," Phix said with a smile. "Trust me."

"Our UK R&D department is over by Heathrow," Buck explained. "I know that there's a bus line that goes from their front door to the Heathrow Terminal 5 stop; our staff use it regularly. I can get you an Oyster card so you don't have to worry about payment."

"A free pass on the London Tube?" Al was starting to salivate at the prospects.

"You'd likely still need to leave at 5 AM central time, though, to be there at 11." He smiled a bit. "And, you'd be able to get the car back here before lunch."

"Okay, I'm sold. But that means I'd best get off to bed, then."

"True. Oh, and one thing, Al?" Buck had a very serious look on his face. "Don't touch any of the buttons. Please."

[GlytchMeister]

A wise half-giant once said that the fastest way to get people to do something is to tell them to not do it...
(Or was that Dumbledore?)

[Dave]

DAVE! Dave? You here, man?

Round up the 'taters and get 'em in a circle, have them keep their eyes out for Sarge! He's-a headed your way, loaded for some Calinorphia bear!

Not to worry. I work, every day, with a whole bunch of senior software engineers. Compared to some of them, our Sgt. Greg in a towering rage is (as Shelly said about Phix) a bubbly little potted daisy. All I have to do is provoke a spirited discussion about the relative benefits of big-endian vs. little-endian architecture, or (Babbage help us) vi vs. emacs, and Sarge will never get through the resulting fields of fire alive.

I'll keep the potato cannons loaded, nevertheless.

A wise half-giant once said that the fastest way to get people to do something is to tell them to not do it...
(Or was that Dumbledore?)

Any parent, about all teens.

[Sgt. Howard]

DAVE! Dave? You here, man?

Round up the 'taters and get 'em in a circle, have them keep their eyes out for Sarge! He's-a headed your way, loaded for some Calinorphia bear!

Not to worry. I work, every day, with a whole bunch of senior software engineers. Compared to some of them, our Sgt. Greg in a towering rage is (as Shelly said about Phix) a bubbly little potted daisy. All I have to do is provoke a spirited discussion about the relative benefits of big-endian vs. little-endian architecture, or (Babbage help us) vi vs. emacs, and Sarge will never get through the resulting fields of fire alive.

I'll keep the potato cannons loaded, nevertheless.

A wise half-giant once said that the fastest way to get people to do something is to tell them to not do it...
(Or was that Dumbledore?)

Any parent, about all teens.

... I resemble that remark...

[FreeFlier]

. . .

A wise half-giant once said that the fastest way to get people to do something is to tell them to not do it...
(Or was that Dumbledore?)

Any parent, about all teens.

And some never outgrow it.

--FreeFlier

[jwhouk]

By the way: regarding the Tea Maker in the ambulance - Tom Scott reveals that British Tanks do, in fact, have a built-in tea maker.

[DinkyInky]

DAVE! Dave? You here, man?

Round up the 'taters and get 'em in a circle, have them keep their eyes out for Sarge! He's-a headed your way, loaded for some Calinorphia bear!

Not to worry. I work, every day, with a whole bunch of senior software engineers. Compared to some of them, our Sgt. Greg in a towering rage is (as Shelly said about Phix) a bubbly little potted daisy. All I have to do is provoke a spirited discussion about the relative benefits of big-endian vs. little-endian architecture, or (Babbage help us) vi vs. emacs, and Sarge will never get through the resulting fields of fire alive.

I'll keep the potato cannons loaded, nevertheless.

A wise half-giant once said that the fastest way to get people to do something is to tell them to not do it...
(Or was that Dumbledore?)

Any parent, about all teens.

... I resemble that remark...

Ditto. On the parent, front, that is. I tell him not to do something, he generally doesn't...unless provoked and bribed with a reward greater than my punishment.

I've since made the blanket statement that the one bribing him will also be punished in very creative ways...by their parents.
If they are an adult, I hit them in their pocketbook.

[Just Old Al]

Early the next morning Al and Daisy headed for the temporary portal at the stables. Lightly dressed for the Minnesota chill, they expected to be in London facing fairer weather in a few minutes.

Daisy had indeed decided to go along, despite having been in the UK many times on Alexander Harvesters business. “I’ve never had a native guide, so I might as well take advantage of it, shouldn’t I?” she said, impishly.

Stepping through the predawn darkness with a garment bag and a small case he opened the door and they stepped through into the Library proper. As on his first trip, he was awed by the architecture and stopped to gape like any tourist in the presence of overawing architecture.

After a moment or two of rubbernecking, they headed for the side of the atrium toward the now-covered coffee cart of Tina’s temporary location. As they arrived, a yawning, disgruntled Nudge appeared with tousled fur, sleep-filmed eyes and an attitude of wanting to be anywhere but where she was.

“I hope you realize I wouldn’t do this for anyone else – and I’m only doing this because Phix asked me to. Be very, very glad you’re under her protection or I’d let you both wander around for a day or two.”

Al took a piece of paper from his pocket, and started to read.

“Roast haunch of goat

1 (5- to 7-pound) leg of goat
3/4 cup white wine or cider vinegar
1 cup vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bay leaf, crumbled
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 tsp white pepper…”

“All right, ALL RIGHT! I get it…you’ve been talking to Neil. OK, let’s get this over with so I can get back to bed.”

“What’s been done on the pickup on the far side at Stonehenge?”

“That’s still an issue. Do you have your phone? Good. Take down this number” and Nudge rattled off a UK phone number “ and call when you pick up the car. We’re not sure if we can get you onto the site yet – MIB is finding the locals to be annoying. We may end up having to try and set up a temporary portal somewhere and picking you up that way.”

“Let me know if that’s going to be the case – we could probably site it at the Alexander plant if we’re quick about it.”

A few minutes walking during the conversation had brought them to an unlabeled door – one of many on this corridor.

“Here you go – step through and you’re in “Jolly Olde London” Now, if you don’t mind I’m going back to sleep till a decent hour.”

Pulse quickening, Al opened the door and they stepped through.

His first impression was noise and the distinctive smell of the tunnels of the Underground. A miasma made up of equal parts of damp,oil, ozone from electrical equipment and the funk of the tunnels it is a distinctive smell that no Londoner ever forgets. Breathing deeply, Al walked to the Northern line toward Morden with Daisy in tow.

She was overwhelmed. When they’d been here on Alexander business she’d been picked up at Heathrow by a car, whisked to the plant, whisked to a nearby hotel, back to the plant and had never really seen London or its environs.

Now, the crowds in the cream and oxblood tiled tunnels were almost overwhelming, with the rush, the smells, and the off-key buskers playing in side alcoves. The sheer vivacity of the life of the city was an adrenaline rush, she was finding, and she tagged along eagerly, waiting for the next sight.

Taking a train to Warren Street, they hopped over to the Victoria line, then to Oxford Circus. From there he decided they should walk , rather than taking the Tube any further. Emerging to the surface, they dodged the newsagent’s stalls and hawkers that inevitably gathered around Tube entrances and walked down toward Bond Street.

10 minutes saw them outside of a quiet, dignified shop front labeled “Prescott And Sons – Clothiers”. Stepping in the entrance he was taken by how little the shop had changed since he was there over a decade before.

Daisy was fascinated. Rather than the shiny, modern shops she was used to, this small establishment could easily have been a leftover from Dickens’ day. The dusty front room was tiny, and relatively crammed with racks of mens’ clothing – all of it of good cut and impeccable taste. Daisy was getting a real feel for the world her madman had come from – and she found it terribly exciting and different.

“Good morning, sir, madam, may I help you?” The rubicund gentleman with the shock of snow-white hair regarded him kindly, though a bit vaguely.

“Yes, my name is Allan Richer – I am one of your customers, though perhaps not for the past decade and more. I require a security tuxedo, and time is sadly of the essence.”

“And what timeframe is Mr. Richer considering?”

“I will need to take it with me, and require it in hours.”

“Oh, dear. I do hope the gentleman realizes that this will mean that we do not have time to make him a proper suit of clothes and that fitting an off the peg suit will have to be acceptable.”

“Of course. I would not expect you to be able to produce a proper suit of clothes in that amount of time – off the peg was what I had in mind. I do however have a few requirements that the suit will need to be fitted for.”

“And what will Mr. Richer be carrying as a weapon?”

Al removed his outer coat, and draping it carefully over a rack extracted his much-beloved Webley from the case with its shoulder rig. Putting it on, he turned to the clerk, who remarked “A Webley – we don't see many of those any more, though we have fitted many a suit of clothes for them in the past. VERY good, sir! We can fit an interior pocket for ammunition storage if you like – will 20 rounds be sufficient?”

“Yes, that will do nicely.”

“What would Mr. Richer like in a tuxedo?”

“Black of course, and double-breasted with the traditional button pattern. Proper wool Barrathea cloth, of course, peaked collar – none of that shawl collar though I know they’re popular nowadays.

With it I will require a proper gentleman’s kit – Overcoat, fedora, shirts, ties, silk underclothes. Cufflinks in silver – if you have any with the 1 Para shield on them I would appreciate them, if not plain will do.

Shoes – size 11 in leather uppers and rubber – not leather soles. I will need proper security shoes as I may need traction.”

With this, the clerk and a tailor swung into action. The shoes were sourced and Al put them on, then he stepped into the centre of the tailor’s area and the measuring began. With this done, a lounge suit of his specification was brought out and the fitting began.

Stepping up into a triple mirror, the tailor carefully checked the fit of each item, marking with chalk where things would need to be taken in and fitted. Darts were marked in the jacket at the waist, and the shoulders were marked for a bit of letting out. The legs of the pants were chalked to indicate length and taper, and marked to provide sufficient room for active movement as a security man might need.

Turning to face the tailor, even more careful fitting was applied to the jacket to allow concealed carry of the Webley despite its size, and easy access to it if required. The buttons used to hold the jacket closed were threaded relatively weakly, so that if interference between the weapon and jacket happened the jacket would yield.

Daisy watched all of this with utter fascination. She had dealt with efficient tailors before, but this ritualistic fitting of the clothes to the man was almost a sacrament despite the relatively dim, dusty interior of the small shop.

Soon the fitting was done and Al regained his street clothes.

“When can I pick this up? Time is of the essence I hate to say.”

The clerk and the tailor went into a huddle, scrambling a bit to calculate a schedule.

“It’s approximately noon, sir. If you could stop by about three we could check the fit and you can be on your way. I’m afraid we can’t do it any faster and guarantee our usual quality.”

Al pondered. This would give plenty of time for shopping, and hopefully anything Daisy wanted would not require extensive tailoring. Frankly he wasn't all that excited about meeting a tight schedule - being home again for even a short time he wanted to enjoy it.

“Mrs. Alexander would like to do some shopping while we are here, and that gives adequate time. Can you recommend a clothier preferably nearby?”

“Certainly, Mr. Richer. There are several shops down New Bond Street that I’m sure would catch the fancy of such a sophisticated woman, and if you walk back toward Oxford Circus there are many others.”

“Will Mr. Richer want this on his account, or will he be paying now?”

“I’ll happily pay now – that account you have is long out of date. “ Al proffered his credit card, and a few minutes later he and Daisy were back out on the street, baggage left behind to be filled by the efficient gentlemen.

“Al, let’s not go shopping. I want to see London! This is just…amazing. And you used to live here?”

“Not here specifically – I had a small place in Richmond. I’ve spent plenty of time here in London, so you could say I lived here.”

They walked back up New Bond St toward Oxford St, and turned right toward the Tube station. Everything fascinated Daisy – the little corner shops with signs out front hawking the latest newspaper happenings. The bustle of the traffic – looking so wrong to her eyes as it was on the “wrong” side of the road, was deafening, made up of cars, trucks, buses and the eternal line of London Metrocabs with a few black cabs still mixed in.

Even the people – women with children, hurrying businessmen, workers, young people with the inevitable cellphones and music players – fascinated her.

Al bought a copy of The Sun, and both of them had a good laugh over the news as it was – and the Page 3 girls.

They got back to the Underground and rode the mile and a half to Tottenham Court. Re-emerging into the wintry sunshine a 10-minute walk took them to the imposing gates of the British Museum.

“Here is one of my favorite places in the whole world. This is where I spent many a happy afternoon wandering the exhibits – and I’d love to show it to you if you will let me.”

“Let you? LET you? I’d force you to if you’d just walked by and not wanted to go! Let’s go in!”

They entered, and Al headed for the things he loved the best.

The room containing the Elgin Marbles was lit with a diffused light and quiet. All the people entering were hushed, first by the grand scale of the room, and secondly by the wonders on display there.

The sculptures, originally acquired by Lord Elgin, came from the Parthenon in Greece. They walked along the row of friezes, scanning the descriptions and studying the tremendous power of the figures frozen in marble for eternity. The stories told there were never-ending – the relationship of man to his gods even then still could bring wonder to the mind.

Daisy was struck by the power of one piece – two plunging stallions ridden by determined men. “It’s…unbelievable” she breathed.

As time was short, they moved on. The Egyptology section with its cases of mummies and artifacts, the Assyrian and Mesopotamian…they went on and on till both of them were ready to drop from exhaustion.

They exited the museum, and Al was thrilled to find the little café where he had eaten so long ago to be still there. They entered, and Al said “I have a treat for you – we’re going to have a cream tea.”

Daisy had heard him talk about this before…she was more than game.

The waitress came over, and Al ordered. “Two cream teas, please.”

The waitress son returned with a laden tray. Dealt onto the table were coffee cups, a large stainless-steel pot of coffee, and a plate containing scones warm from the oven. With the scones were full dishes of strawberry preserves, proper English clotted cream, and butter for those who wished it. Cream and sugar for the coffee completed the table setting, with small plates and silverware.

Al said, “Let me show you how this works.” He took a scone, split it, and piled it high with clotted cream, topping that with a generous dollop of strawberry jam. This, he passed to Daisy, while he filled their cups and flavored them with cream and sugar.

Daisy took a bite, then another. The fresh-baked, slightly crumbly texture of the scone, when combined with the almost-buttery but subtle flavour of the clotted cream made a wonderful counterpoint to the intense strawberry flavour of the jam. In moments the half of a scone was gone, and she was greedily reaching for another.

“This is amazing. Can we get a few of these scones to take with us? I want Rosalita to try one of these.”

“Certainly, love, though I am not sure the clotted cream will travel well.”

“I don’t care – I need these in my house.”

Like Al had long long ago, Daisy was falling in love with London – and deeper in love with the madman she was sharing it with.

[jwhouk]

(Cough Daisy's been to the library where do you think she and Lily got into that argument over their children COUGH)

[Dave]

Want! Tea and British Museum would be enough to have me awake at any requested hour...with a smile instead of my normal morning grimace...and I would have protested vehemently had anyone suggested the shopping trip occur anywhere but London after that.

Ah, the Museum. I've only ever been there once in my life, and only for a few hours... but it was a wonderful experience. Everyone in the group was seriously fatigued, as it was the day after a very special concert which ran rather late, but seeing the Elgin Marbles and the museum's wonderful collection of Asian artifacts in the company of Dick Godfrey and the Field family made it quite unforgettable.

Didn't have cream tea, alas... just a snack in the museum cafe. Not at all bad (or unreasonable) as museum cafes go.

[Sgt. Howard]

I have been to the War Museum... they literally had to pull me off of 'Willie', the WWI tank... I was convinced I could start it up...I was not quite 17 at the time...

[jwhouk]

---

Tom Johnson had just gotten off the phone with the home office back in Minneapolis. The Matriarch and a guide would be stopping off at the plant around teatime, where they would be presenting him with the keys to the "Project Car".

There are times, he wondered, if that silly Yank only thought of his cousins in the UK as a source of personal fascination with the MI6. But, as it was, Mr. Alexander seemed to be a bit calmer since he'd found a lady to settle with.

They were slated to call before they arrived, so they'd at least have a heads up when he would get there for the car. He didn't have a clue, however, how the missus was going to get it back over to her side of the pond.

---

"You want us to do what, again?"

"We need access to that old portal. Get a car over to the US - very hush hush. Anyone asking too much, explain surreptitiously that it's a promotional stunt for the new Bond film, Spectre."

"Well, I guess so, but this ain't like yeh closin' down the Motorway for a visit from the Queen, y'know!"

"We know," she said firmly. "But it is in the National Interest. We're dealing with a very powerful individual over in the US - one who'd make ISIS quiver in their knickers." She pushed her glasses up firmly on her nose. "And you're aware of the portal, of course."

"Course I am, Madam Phix. The site where it's located is a dig site, though."

"We won't disturb anything, promise."

[Just Old Al]

(Cough Daisy's been to the library where do you think she and Lily got into that argument over their children COUGH)

Who said she'd never been there before? Not me...just ignore the line where it says "Edited..." That's what I get for taking cold medication that is supposed to be non-drowsy when I'm supposed to be sleeping.

[Just Old Al]

Re: Small cafe for scones:

Sad to say the one I used to frequent is no longer there...replaced by an {ick} Starbucks.

There are days Google Maps is not my friend.

Alan

[Just Old Al]

After an all too brief time, the coffee pot was empty, as was the plate of scones. Bribing the waitress to give them a dozen in a sack “for the lady” and paying the check took a matter of minutes, and they emerged into the waning sunlight. Al, realizing time was short, hailed a cab and giving them the name of his tailor they clattered off toward Bond St. again.

When they arrived the tuxedo and coat were hanging waiting for a fitting, and he quickly slipped into both, to admiring remarks from Daisy and the critical approval of the tailor and clerk.

Bags packed, tips paid and Al back in his street clothes the intrepid couple hurried back out, Al opting for a cab to the plant rather than the Underground and the shuttle. Once on the way Daisy got out her phone and made a call.

“Good Afternoon, This is Daisy Alexander calling for Tom Johnson, please. Yes, I’ll hold.

Tom, this is Mrs. Alexander. My escort” she smiled wickedly as Al chuckled “and I are in a cab on the way out to the R&D facility now. Figure us for a half hour or so.”

The phone made half-heard mumbling noises.

“Yes, I know – we’re running late. The business we had in London” again that smile appeared “took longer than we thought. My sincere apologies, and could you have the car ready to go when we get there? Please make sure it’s fueled – we will have some traveling to do with it before we’re able to stop – and I would rather not have to deal with fueling it.”

More noises, sounding reassuring to Al’s ears though he couldn’t make out the content.

“You will? Wonderful. Thank you so much for making it possible for us to pick it up on short notice – I was here on personal business and Buck asked me to do so. We’ll see you soon – ‘Bye!”

With that, Daisy ended the call and sat back in the rear of the Metrocab. Al would have preferred a traditional black cab (even though so few cabs were black anymore) but they’d gone the way of the dinosaur. Driving through the city streets Al wondered why he’d left. The reasons seemed so vague now, though to the younger him with a wanderlust they’d seemed important.

Al got out his phone and made a call to the number Nudge had provided.

“This is Al – what’s the status on the gate? What do you MEAN you don’t know?”

The phone squawked indignantly, and Daisy had to assume this was not at all good.

“OK, I am going to assume though I should know better that you lot are going to have access for me there after dark. Sun’s nearly down now, and we’re nearly to the plant. Call me at this number” Al read off his phone number, adding the +1 for foreign exchange to it “and let me know what’s happening when you find it out. We’re likely an hour or so out. Ta.”

As they got into the area of Runnymeade (somehow without touching the Circular) the traffic diminished and soon they were pulling up at AHI’s facility. Paying the cabbie was a matter of a minute though he protested at having to take US currency – a protest which was settled with a fat tip.

Al exited, opened the door and offered his hand to Daisy as she exited the cab. With that Al changed, becoming the efficient escort and bodyguard.

Daisy was a trifle disconcerted at the “ma’am” that escaped his lips, till she realized he was doing this for her employees and was uncertain how much of her personal life she wanted to reveal.

Smiling, she looked at him, winked in acceptance of her role in his play, and with him lugging the bags she stepped through the main doors of AHI’s reception area.

[GlytchMeister]

(I'm catching up with the others, sorry for the time warp)

Glytch was an exceedingly happy young man. He had just spent his morning sleeping in, then visited Atsali and Castela before all three headed out to the forest to visit Eme'. Castela had lots of fun making snow angels with halos and no footprints.
Now, he was seated between Atsali and Eme', busily passing platters and dishes and baskets, occasionally taking a serving or sneaking in a bite during the gaps in the assembly line. After the toasts, and after the serving dishes had been placed on a separate buffet table to give everyone room to maneuver and eat, everyone dug in. Glytch served himself heartily; he spent his last thanksgiving eating a cheap turkey sandwich, and he had no intention of letting any of this food to to waste. On his plate were four slices of turkey covered in orange/cranberry sauce, a pile of stuffing, a baked potato with a large helping of butter, shredded cheddar, and bacon bits, a small helping of the green bean casserole (he had carefully avoided the marshmallow option), a larger pile of sweet potato casserole (he made sure to get the marshmallows with this one), and two rolls, both with butter.
There wasn't an inch to spare on his plate.
He ate ferociously at first, attacking the turkey with vigor, his eyes rolling back as he savored the amazing taste and making a mental note to never spend another thanksgiving alone with just a sandwich.
Once he began to fill up, he slowed down and ate at a leisurely pace, taking more and more time between bites to talk.
Oddly, his food never got cold. He even separated a single green bean and let it sit on his fork for several moments, only to find it still warm... In fact, it was almost at the perfect temperature for eating.
What the he- oh. He looked over at John, who tapped his nose and smirked.

---

John served himself with a small helping of everything - he couldn't quite remember what "Thanksgiving" foods were and which ones he liked. The red, tart sauce gave him a bittersweet flash of memory; an excellent meal soured by the family he ate it with - how he could almost pluck the tension in the air like a taut string... The turkey and the potatoes were his favorite, having blander and less powerful flavors.
He didn't eat much. He was still getting used to food again - so he instead sat back, made sure all of the hot foods stayed hot with carefully controlled tendrils of heat from his fingers, and listened to all of the conversations, letting the noise and bustle wash over him instead of pounding against him. Breathing deep, he focused on his hearing and ignored sight, letting him listen to multiple conversations at once just as one could normally see and pay attention to multiple moving objects at once.
Everyone here is so at ease despite the... Problem. How strange...

---
Hours later, Glytch was busily packing food into Tupperware and cramming it all into the fridges and freezers, doing his levelo best to "Tetris" it all in when he felt his phone buzz. His crawler swarm monitoring criminal chatter had suddenly gone almost completely silent.
He frowned and showed the new trend to Sarge. "It seems somebody told everybody else to shut up."
Sarge nodded. "And they all listened."
"Nodaki is up to something." Glytch scrolled through the swarm's results. "The only noise left is the usual background noise and a few small spikes regarding armored transport."
...
Everyone was asleep now... Except for Glytch. He was working on his fourth bottle of vanilla coke, slowly munching on a Thanksgiving leftover sandwich, and trying to analyze patterns and trends in what his crawler swarms were turning up. He leaned back in his chair to rub his eyes and yawn... And heard an eerie sound. It was like nothing he'd ever heard before.
He grabbed his bow and carefully followed the sound outside, where he found John sitting in the lotus position in a circle of snowless, dry ground, his hands aflame. The sound was coming from the oddly flickering fires... A combination of a wobbling base line and a warbling treble... Like ringing and rumbling. Glytch watched, mesmerized, as the sounds slowly warped into different instruments. Then, a song slowly emerged from the discordant mix... Slowly, it swelled from a sad, mournful feeling with organs and pianos into something angrier and more powerful with guitar and drums... Before finally calming into something that felt happier and more peaceful and content, with flutes and other woodwinds.
John stood now, and began to move through a complex set of forms; some seemed to be made for stretching and warming up, others looked more like actions that would happen in battle, and still more seemed meditative. The music continued with the movements, and the flames trailed farther and farther behind John's hands until they hung in the air like hovering, flaming ribbons, creating a beautiful sculpture of fire and smoke. The lines of fire hummed with the sound of the song until the last dying note faded away into the night. The fire died and the smoke drifted away, leaving behind a sweating, panting John, standing with his back to Glytch, head bowed. He was clothed only with a strange black fabric tied around his waist, revealing the now quickly fading swirling patterns glowing in the night.
As they faded, Glytch prudently decided to leave John be and went back inside to go to bed.

John heard the door close behind him. Turning, he saw a figure wreathed in shadows staring at him with bright, icy blue eyes within arm's reach. John instinctively let his fire escape a little, igniting his eyes and making his skin glow a little again.
"Good evening, hateling."
"Good evening, firestarter."

[Julie]

Want! Tea and British Museum would be enough to have me awake at any requested hour...with a smile instead of my normal morning grimace...and I would have protested vehemently had anyone suggested the shopping trip occur anywhere but London after that.

Ah, the Museum. I've only ever been there once in my life, and only for a few hours... but it was a wonderful experience. Everyone in the group was seriously fatigued, as it was the day after a very special concert which ran rather late, but seeing the Elgin Marbles and the museum's wonderful collection of Asian artifacts in the company of the Dick Godfrey and the Field family made it quite unforgettable.

Didn't have cream tea, alas... just a snack in the museum cafe. Not at all bad (or unreasonable) as museum cafes go.

I've been to the British Museum once as well...and I really don't feel like I got to appreciate it and take the time I'd need to really take in what I saw. I guess I'll just need to go back again. Oh darn.

Also...

Al would have preferred a traditional black cab (even though so few cabs were black anymore) but they’d gone the way of the dinosaur.

All of the cabs I saw when I was in London a couple years ago were black. Is this "traditional" black cab you speak of something different than the black cabs I saw everywhere?