Pillsbury + 1 year:

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Just Old Al
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

As the set ended Al wandered over toward the bandstand. Xera awaited him, half eagerly and the rest with a shade of disquiet, overlaid with a veneer of what in the name of the gods am I DOING?

" Shall we? If you've changed your mind I will not rebuke or twit you on it - it's entirely understandable. If you haven't, I applaud your foolhardiness, er, bravery." Al snickered a bit, and he and Xera headed for the kitchen and the back door.

Working their way through Rosalita's domain took a bit, as the service work was still well in play. Servers, bussers and staff scurried here and there, and they needed to pick their way through carefully to avoid being trampled.

At the back door, Al reached up and removed a red cloak from a coat hook, along with a pair of short boots from the seat by the door. " I think the boots will be an adequate fit, and the cloak was the first thing to hand my daughter had that we were sure would work for you."

Xera put on the short boots, and then took the cloak with a skeptical expression on her face. "Really? Red Smegging Riding Hood? You, mister, have a very strange sense of humour."

"Cross my heart the thought never occured to me until you mentioned it. if you like, I will find you something else-"

"No, let's get on with it. If you think, however, I am going to tell him "what big eyes you have", you are sady mistaken. She donned the cloak, not bothering with the hood, and Al hefted a wicker basket covered with a cloth.

"No, I am NOT carrying that - and I'll say it again you have a WEIRD sense of humour, Al."

Al chuckled quietly. "My dear lady, trust me, the thought never occured to me. Do let us be off, though - I think Master Prroul will enjoy what we've brought for him."

Al handed Xera the basket, much to her inward amusement and outward scowl, and took an oil lamp from the cabinet by the door. Lighting it and setting the wick for a good light was the work of a second, and they were ready to go.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
ShneekeyTheLost
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by ShneekeyTheLost »

[AN: with assistance from Al]

"So, what's with the lantern?" Xera asked, wondering if the old man was pulling her leg

"Well, he doesn't do well with technology or really anything that runs on electricity, so rather than use an electric torch, we use this." Al lifts he hand holding the bulls-eye hooded lantern which serves as a flashlight.

"Doesn't do well as in doesn't like?" Xera wondered if this creature would take offense at anything technological and mentally went through a checklist of things to not pull out.

"No, more like... he has a tendency to ground anything electrical in his immediate area. Apparently, it also works on magic, which was the intended purpose, but it also seems to work on the electromagnetic spectrum."

"Oh. So, what's in the basket?" She was wondering if this was an elaborate gag on the old man's part. With Glytch's friends, you could never be sure.

"Raw salmon." She hefted the basket and came up with a weight of 'probably two or three smallish fish'. The mental image of a large carnivore eating raw fish was not a pleasant one. The scene in the Lord of the Rings movies with Shmeagol eating a raw fish was brought to mind. With that, the two stepped to the door and out into the cold and dark, and onto the path through the woods to Prroul's cabin.

"Now, do keep in mind, he is a civilized fellow, but he is also a predator. No sudden moves, that sort of thing." Al explained, as he led the way with lantern in hand. The woods were sparse enough and bare enough to lend that creepy and/or spooky air, and the light clouds partially masking the moon only reinforced that. The flickering light from the lantern was the icing on the cake for the mood.

As they came up to the cabin, Xera was a bit awed at the size. When she'd had been told it was 'centaur sized', she didn't understand what that had truly meant. It was like someone built a log cabin cottage to barn specifications. The doors were large enough for a thoroughbred horse to walk through. However, it was a very welcome and cozy sight, with the soft glow of lanterns repelling the gloom from the windows and open door. It made it almost appear to be the last homely house.

Al stepped in quite firmly, no attempted stealth here, and stated in a quite loud voice without quite shouting "Prroul, ye here? Got a friend who'd like t' meet ya. She's all right." Xera followed closely, as much to get into the very nicely lit and decorated building as anything else. It was done up in 'western chic'. Raw wood was in plenty, but it was carefully smoothed. Pictures in frames, some of them in the old black and white style, some of them carefully doctored to have that sepia tone. Rugs dotted spaces. There was a lit black pot-bellied stove that looked like it came straight out of Little House on the Prairie, adding a lightly mesquite-smoky atmosphere to the place. It also had a covered pot and tea kettle on. But while there was quite a bit of horse accouterments, there wasn't a saddle, bridle, or bit to be found anywhere. Neither, it seemed, was there any such creature as she'd had been expecting.

"So... where is he?" Xera asked, hoping she didn't sound rude.

"He is rather shy of crowds at times, quite understandable really. Perhaps he took himself deeper into the forest..." And just at that moment, he was politely interrupted with a noise that sounded like it should have come from a large cat trying to decide if he was going to purr or growl.

"When you hunt monsters, do not forget that you may become the hunted." a deep basso-profundo voice with an oriental accent spoke from behind the pair. Xera dropped to stance almost instinctively, and turned slowly toward the sound of the voice. A very large, vaguely inhuman silhouette filled just outside the door frame, and green cat-slit eyes glowed from just under the top door beam down what had to be a muzzle.

This was impressive, until one realized that the door was sized for a horse, in which case it went from 'impressive' to 'eeep'. The initial impression was not unlike the werewolf movies with the figure swaddled in darkness and the green reflections of its eyes.

Then, the figure stepped fully into the light.

Prroul in person was a humanoid figure, rather like what one would expect of a werewolf, save that it is feline rather than lupine in figure. Scarring across his chest was outlined by the lack of black fur that covered the majority of his body. He wore hakama and zori. And while his smile was genuine enough, it also contained plenty of teeth...
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lake_wrangler
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by lake_wrangler »

ShneekeyTheLost wrote:And while his smile was genuine enough, it also contained plenty of teeth...
Yes... Sentient carnivores always have to be careful about how they smile... :P
chicgeek
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by chicgeek »

*hums*
'little red ridin' hood, you sure are a lookin' good, you're everything a big bag wolf(prowl) could want...'
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Just Old Al
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

AN: This is every word Shneekey The Lost's and not mine. I am merely posting it for him as he's not feeling well.

Xera's response would be much the same it would be if she were jumped from behind by a junky with a cheap gun. Turn around slowly, so as to not to make any sudden movements, with hands clearly visible. Then she looked up... and up... and up...

Being told they are going to be meeting a seven foot plus predator did not adequately prepare her for actually meeting said creature. A primitive part of her back-brain advised her to make scarce. She deliberately and pointedly ignored that with only slight difficulty. Seeing the expression on her face, the creature makes a noise that could have been mistaken for a chuckle, or just a really gravely growl.

"Ahh. My apologies if I startled you. My presence here is something which is... how you say... on a 'need to know' basis, even among those who are... I believe the term is 'para-aware', yes? So when I heard people moving in this direction, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor. When I heard Al mention me specifically by name and he indicated that you were on the list, I returned. It did not occur to me that it might not be the most appropriate of first encounters." He moved through the door. He didn't stoop precisely, it was more of a flowing into a deeper stance, then flowing back out of it once through the door. His eyes still seemed to glow, even though he was now fully in the light.

"Prroul, mate... I think it was an entirely appropriate introduction to yourself." Al said with a grin "So, you asked for it, here he is."

"I... ummm... wow. Okay. I was wondering how he was expecting to do much of anything to a golem. Consider my curiosity answered."

"Make no mistake, young miss. A Golem is nothing to toy around with. If he had achieved his goal, even I would have had... difficulties." The large felinoid moved with the boneless, flowing grace of a predator as he went to the black potbelly stove and lifted the tea kettle from where it had been resting. "Care for some tea while you are here?"

"I... uhh... yea, sure." Xera's brain was still trying to process, but something in the general cultural mish-mash that she had been exposed to mentioned something about Tea Ceremony and how important it was to some Oriental culture or another. Polite is fine. She doubted she would be bored. Then she realized that she had the basket. "We... umm... brought you something from the carnivore table that Al thought you'd like."

Prroul's nose twitched and his ears perked up, much like a cat scenting something interesting. If he was any less intimidating, it might have almost been cute. However, as it was directed in her direction, the ambiguity as to whether he was referencing the basket or the holder of the basket made it more unnerving than cute. "Oh, how thoughtful of you. Thank you, I appreciate the courtesy."

"Well Prroul, mate, you couldn't exactly come to the buffet, and leaving you out is just not on. It was the least we could do. Besides, she's being introduced to various members of our society in a more socially acceptable manner and meeting the people behind the monstrous reputations."

"Ahh, yes. A laudable goal. Turning your enemies into a faceless evil is a hallmark tactic of the dictator. Taking away that faceless mask and putting a person in its place is not an easy trick, but one worth developing." He took a folded red and white checkered tablecloth and flicked it open, settling it down on the floor, setting places for three upon it. "Here. I do not do well with chairs, unfortunately. My overall body density is such that it tends to... what was that phrase you use... 'compromise the structural integrity of the support'?"

"Quite." At a curious expression from Xera, he clarified "Our good friend here weighs near five hundred kilos, or in American weights and measures, around half a ton. Most furniture is not designed for that sort of load-bearing weight."

A sudden mental image of a pratfall involving a breakaway chair came to her mind, but she managed to refrain from letting the giggle surface. "I... see. Here, some fresh Salmon."

"Indeed, a rare treat for me. The rivers where I normally reside do not have Salmon. Please, set it on that counter by the stove." Feeling entirely too self-conscious, she gingerly set the basket down and went over to the spread on the floor by way of not-quite-retreating. Prroul lifted up the first fish, headless and gutted, and set it down on a cutting board. With a knife in each hand, Xera was treated to a show whose sheer ability showed a talent that any hibachi chef would envy. Knives flashed, slashing open the fish and de-boning with deft flicks of metal, then a blur as they precisely sliced up the fish into proper portions.

Xera was mixed between awe, mouth-puckering fear at the skill and speed of those blades, and a very strange surreality as a large felinoid monster (and she could not put out of her mind the werewolf comparison) acted as a performing chef for her. More subtle, but no less amazing, was that the cutting board was unmarred when he was done, implying a level of control that was... oddly comforting. Or perhaps not so oddly, at least he wouldn't kill her by accident.

Prroul then lifted the lid on the other pot, which turned out to be rice, and he breathed in deep as the steam boiled up when the lid was lifted. "Ahhhh...." he rumbles "The Chinese character for 'Chi' is a literal depiction of 'the steam which comes off of a pot of rice as it cooks'. Perhaps not food in and of itself, but the... vitality... which life itself brings." The rice was sticky enough that it kept together well enough, and salmon was served atop rice patties. If there was seaweed involved, she would've called it sushi.

Once the platter of food was prepared, he sat it down roughly in the middle of the table cloth, as well as the tea pot and saucer. He first served Xera, then Al, then himself. The tea cups were not as dainty as she had feared, although they weren't the size of the bottles of iced tea commonly available. She took a sip, and was rather pleasantly surprised. She was expecting something not unlike grass, but the flavor was surprisingly varied, with a touch of sweet. There was more than a hint of mint, and she detected the definite kick of caffeine she would normally expect from coffee.

"This is good. What kind of tea is it?"

"This is Oolong, or 'black dragon' tea. It is the strongest of the teas, with a very complex process to prepare properly, and which has the most invigorating aspect to it. It also has mint steeped in it as well, and a dollop of honey for sweetener, as a personal preference. I am glad you enjoy it." He used chopsticks to eat with, which she found amusing, but a vast improvement over the feared 'biting into a raw fish' scenario she had originally envisioned.

"It is good, mate. I may have to find your source and splurge a bit myself."

"That would be difficult, with the unrest in the region I obtained this from. It was made using older techniques, in a village not too far from where I reside. I do not believe it is commercially available. However, I can put you in touch with some which are that are nearly as good. It will have to be imported, probably through Hong Kong. But I understand you might have a shipment moving in that direction already, so perhaps an accommodation may be reached."

The two smirked at each other, leaving Xera feeling that there was something left unsaid, and decided to not pry. After a moment, Prroul turned his attention back to her "So, you have come to see the great predator in his natural habitat. I hope I have been all you were hoping for."

"I... well... yes. You are certainly... umm... impressive. And not just in a terrifying way, either. I mean, I work with MIB, but I hadn't heard of you before you showed up on our doorstep, which means you're pretty low-key. People like that tend to have a reason to be. And, umm... some of the reactions your presence caused were unexpected. Our boss, the immortal Golem, was shaken. Seriously, that just doesn't happen. Greek deity in town? Get him a spot of tea and he'll be fine. That's her thing. She's never shaken. So, I guess you could say my initial expectation was 'holy crap, something that can scare HER? Like... what the flip? But... yea, you're scary dangerous, but you're also... I dunno... under control. Like Phix, sure you're a predator who could turn me into ribbons, but you will not."

"Mmmm. Once, you would not have been wrong in your initial assessment. It took some time for me to learn that control. To be fair to your... boss, I was something of an... Oni... umm, 'demon', to her people." Prroul looked over at Al for proper translation

"Boogeyman. Big scary thing that goes 'bump' in the night that eats naughty little girls." Al interpreted.

"Yes, precisely. In her current state, I do not know if I could come out the victor. If her two cohorts intervened, or if the Jaguar Girl came to aid... even such as I would prefer a tactical withdrawal. But such was her youthful upbringing."

"Okay, so, like... what is it you do? I mean, Phix is the Librarian for the Bibliotheka. Yanno, in addition to being an apex predator and Apo Sphinx. So you are..." she gestures to indicate all of him "...you. What else other than 'apex predator'?"

"Mmm, fair question, fairly asked. Lately, I have been something of a teacher. Training those with... abilities... which do not lend themselves easily to being trained, and how to harness them and control them rather than being controlled by them."

"So... Professor Xavier's School for Talented Children?" At his blank look of non-understanding, she continues "Umm... you teach people with powers, with stuff that could really cause trouble if it went uncontrolled, and show them how to control it."

"It is more of a mentoring process than a schooling process, but... yes. Similar in concept, in many ways, to teaching martial arts. Control must come from within before it can be exerted without."

"So, uh, you know martial arts?"

"You could say that, yes." his grin deliberately tried to cover teeth, but it didn't quite parse out properly and came out as a snaggletooth grin.

"What style?"

"That is a question that has cropped up recently, I find the singular pronoun most perplexing. How can someone only know a single style? A student must learn under different masters, learn different techniques, if he is to become whole."

Xera parsed this non-answer to be 'probably most of them' "I suppose your training was quite different from most around here."

"It is... quite likely. And it has come in useful in my other occupation."

"Oh? What else do you do?"

"In nature, when a predator is wounded, it will often seek out prey which it normally does not take, because it is easier to do so. Then, that predator will prefer to do so because it is easier, often unbalancing an ecosystem. For example, a wounded tiger might hunt man, be called a 'mankiller', and hunted down, but not before it kills several." He refilled his tea cup as he came to the point obliquely "Within the... paranormal, there is a similar problem. Those things which normally do not go after humans, which humans are largely blissfully unaware of, may occasionally decide to take the 'path of least resistance' and start taking humans. This brings a hunt from humans, and often shines light in corners it is best to leave dark. Thus, when someone steps out of their place and disturbs the balance, they will find themselves instead the prey. And so, the natural order is restored."

"Oh. So... you make the bad ones stop being so bad?"

"Bad is a... subjective term. It is rare that one is being malicious with forethought. They just simply do not consider humans to be anything other than a prey item. it is... nothing personal. Just as is my response."

"And in those cases with malicious intent?"

"They tend to be... taken care of... much faster."

"Like with that mob boss guy?"

"He... was a very special case. Suffice to say, that was a punishment that has been many thousands of years in the coming. Perhaps in as many thousands of years of suffering, he might begin to comprehend what he left in his wake. I know not, I care not. He is no longer a hazard to others, I am satisfied."

"Ooo... kay. So, what about humans?"

"Not my prey, except in very specific and deleneated circumstances in which they dabble once again in things that should not be meddled with."

"Like what?"

"One miscalculation, and time folded back upon itself, an... elastic recoil... which lasted for tens of thousands of years, subjective. The binding of certain non-euclidian, perhaps the term 'incorporeal' might apply, creatures to people. Dabbling in certain substances which do not conform to your laws of thermodynamics, as they are currently written. In general, any kind of thing which has the potential to cause a planet-wide extinction event. But nothing less than that."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

AN: More of Master Prroul from our friend Shneekey The Lost.

Xera made a mental note to be elsewhere, like in another state perhaps, should this fellow ever encounter Glytch. "So... ummm... sounds kinda lonely. Do you have anyone you... I dunno... you can hang out with or something? I mean, I know you can't use most technology like phones or computers or anything. Any... er... missus? I mean, even Phix has that fellow, with at least one little kiddo, so it doesn't seem to be against the nature of the alpha predator."

Al tried very carefully to not choke. That was a topic he had very carefully not broached, because he'd known, in a very general sense, talking with the elves, that it was a sore point for him. However, the cat, as they say, was already out of the bag. Prroul very carefully finished his 'bite', and washed it down with a sip from his tea, before responding.

"Mmm" the rumbling utterance sounded like a cross between a growl and someone trying to clear his throat. Xera began to wonder if she had stuck her foot in it when Prroul chuckles, then laughs loudly, ending with a slow shaking of his head "You know, I do believe I shall take that as an honest question, and treat it as such. As the phrase goes... what was it again... out of the mouths of babes? Let me ask you, young miss: If you were ordered by your boss to try and take me down, how would you go about such a task?"

"Tell her she's got her head up her arse?" Xeras quip was part in scarcasm, but not entirely jest. He gave her a hairy eyeball, and she responded more seriously "No, really. Not gonna happen. I don't have what it takes to take you down. I'm not just not in your league, I'm not even in the same game. Hell, you can shrug off a Tommygun, nothing I can pack will do much more than piss you the hell off. I'd tell her if she wanted you to go down, do it herself."

"Fairly answered, and I suppose your commander would actually accept such an answer, since it is a sane one. But suppose you worked for an underground organization with fewer scruples and an inclination to shoot minions who declined suicide-by-mission?"

"Well, like I said, flatly impossible for me to do anything to you, so I'd... oh. Oh." She felt rather silly at that moment as the revelation hit her like a fur-wrapped gold brick.

"As it says in the Art of War: Strike where your enemy is not. If you wish to hurt someone invulnerable, strike at his weaknesses. Or, as I believe someone or another put it so elequently: hostages to fortune."

"Now, I do understand the theory, but if I may raise a counter-point?" Al interjects. Prroul makes a nodding gesture of acquiescence, and he continues. "I tried to use that same argument once. I was... er... rebuked for it. Soundly. The problem is, as the lass said, loneliness. If you have no one to share humanity with, then you shall lose your humanity and nobility."

"Mmm, fairly said. Yet, I have... several such agencies who wish... what is the term? Ahh yes, 'leverage'. The Rus, not so much, at least not anymore. Their eyes have turned to other problems, and no longer have the resources to chase me as much, although they wouldn't pass up the opportunity to do me ill. The Chinese, on the other hand, have made themselves... a nuisance. And would no more hesitate to stoop to shooting, or taking hostage, friends and loved ones than you or I would hesitate to dine on meat. And that is the merely mundane. Trust me, I have made many powerful individuals quite upset with me over the centuries. I am largely immune to their ire, but few others could make that claim."

"So, you don't let people get too close, because you are afraid for their safety, yet by pushing them away, you keep them from being under your protection. Protectio trahit subjectionem, et subjectio protectionem" Xera showed her education in the legal field by quoting an old roman phrase about protecting those under your protection. This causes both eyebrows to raise on the large felinoid, and he tips his head to her in acknowledgement of the verbal hit.

"You impress me, young miss. Yet, parva sub ingenti, the weak under the protection of the strong, only works when you can, in fact do so. As stubborn and tenacious as I am, it is but one person, that I am. Which will do any theoretical friends little good against a sniper from a kilometer away. Not because they feel it will convince me to act on their behalf, but out of spite because I will not."

"But a person must warm himself by the fire of friendship, lest his own fire dwindles to ash. Shunning friendship will cause you to become emotionally stunted, ultimately turning you into that which you hunt. I don't care how superhuman you are, you are still a person on the inside, which means basic psychology still applies." Xera wondered if she had gone too far as Prroul remains absolutely motionless, down to the last little whisker, and even the tail had frozen in place.

"I will thank you for that compliment, youngling." he says softly after a moment, then continues "For simply assuming my basic humanity. Yet there would be another bar on entertaining any sort of emotional entanglements, even if the former did not exist. Quite simply, I am effectively immortal until someone finds a method of successfully putting me down. I have lived for thousands of years. I have seen empires rise, decay, and shatter. I recall the Lanthian constructs, I remember when the pyramids were commissioned, I was there when the city-state of Athens spawned a young fellow by the name of Alexandros, who conquered all land known to them. And I saw them conquered by Rome. I saw Rome splinter and decay, finally dying a festering, putrid collapse, where scavengers picked the remains. You may learn in school, be able to recite dates, but can you truly comprehend it, young miss? Your little upstart nation has only been around less than three hundred years. In that time frame, Rome had only grown stronger, with the Punic Wars still on the horizon, and a thousand years left before they would ultimately die as a nation. Along the way, there have been friends, yes. Yet how close can I let someone be, knowing that in a few short decades they shall be but dust?"

Xera opened her mouth in hot retort, then pauses a moment, and looks over to Al for help with this one. The old soldier probably knew this one well. "Do we mean so little to you, then?" was Al's soft rebuttal.

"No, that is the very problem. Unlike some, I do not underestimate humanity, and I do not discount them. If I did, the problem would be no worse than losing a favored pet."

"So there is no one to come home to, then?"

"Mmm. Occasionally, I have students. Those who survive fill such a niche. I also currently have a... hmmm..." he ponders for a moment ... "let us say, I have an executive assistant who needs to be kept on a very short leash."

"For her sake?"

"For everyone else's. She is... contained. And she serves a useful purpose. Unlike myself, she can use your technology, and has been invaluable in tracking things down for me. But she is... feral."

"What is she?"

"I am not so sure. I would almost suspect sphinx ancestry, only she has displayed no other signs of such heritage, and she is female, therefore I must conclude that she is merely a very... damaged... human."

"Why do you say that?"

"She... does not play nice with others. Or rather, she enjoys playing a little too much."

"How did you meet her?" Xera had some notion of Prroul putting out an ad for an executive assistant in the paranormal papers. 'Must be able to use a computer and do research on obscure topics, hacking a plus, and be able to handle anything up to a minor deity that might try to attack you to deprive me of my resource'.

"She was sent to kill me. She was of a branch of Chinese special operations which is... segregated from most of their secret projects. I suppose you could say they would be MIB's counterpart. Completely 'black', even from their own government. With a very ruthless efficiency. And... rigorous training, both physically and psychologically. She was already... mentally and emotionally suited to their needs, before their psychological adjustments." Al winced at the polite euphemism "By the time they got done with her, she was... let's see... what was the phrase... 'one bent chippie'. She was one of their star pupils, with reflexes I have not previously seen in humans, another pointer to possible sphinxian ancestory, leading an extermination squad to rid the world of me. As you can well expect, things did not turn out so well for them." He gave her a rather toothy grin.

"So... how did she survive?"

"I... am not sure. Yet another pointer to something paranormal in her ancestry. I actually thought I *had* killed her." There was a hint of a sniff, as though an artisan had noticed some flaw with his work which no one else could see, but was nonetheless a blemish on the work, preventing it from being a true masterpiece. "She certainly recovered on her own, quite rapidly. And she came back to me, this time to serve."

"In what capacity?"

"In any capacity. Again, a pointer to Sphinx ancestry, I suppose." Al nearly choked, having almost brushed up against that particular Sphinxian instinct unintentionally. His dam still teased him about it from time to time. Xera, on the other hand, missed the reference, still looking puzzled. Seeing her puzzlement, he continued "Perhaps she saw herself as spoils of war. She felt that she was my possession, to do with what I will. She did not care if I would kill her, for such, to her mind, was my right by conquest. But I had, apparently, proven myself to be worthy of her service, and so she has served me faithfully since. Much to the extreme irritation of aforementioned shadow agency. But, so long as she believes this, she will obey me. Which means I can curb her... less pleasant habits. Although, due to aforementioned habits, she does make an effective foil and threat. Particularly in the orient."

"What, be nice or I let my assistant have her way with you?"

"Something like that. You see, there are still those who still have a worldview that is... I believe the term might be 'misogynistic'. So the fact that she is female is an additional insult on top of the insult that they aren't worth my time, that they are only fit for my minion to deal with. On top of her... less savory habits, which are generally regarded as... umm..." he hunts for the phrase, but Al supplies

"A fate worse than death?"

"Yes, quite. They trained her in such matters of interrogation and torture, and she was one of their most apt pupils. No surprise, considering how much she enjoyed such things. So an additional insult that they are actually afraid of falling into her hands alive more than they are afraid of my simply killing them quickly and cleanly. It implies cowardice on their part that I exploit their fear of her skills. And so the number of annoyances from that quarter has... sharply declined. Which, by itself, would be enough of a balm to be worth the troubles she occasionally causes."

"Is that why you put up with her then?"

"Several reasons. First, she can use computers to uncover information far more rapidly than I can through conventional means. Second, she is a stick to beat off threats from certain quarters, and is not herself seen by those aforementioned powerful paranormal enemies as a weakness to exploit. Third, I keep everyone safe by keeping her on a short leash, which I suppose falls under the category of civil service. Fourth... she deserves some measure of redemption. At least she is happy serving me, happier than she has ever before been, and is no longer a danger to society in general. Currently, she is following the instructions I set forth for her before I left, and will continue to do so until my return. The only circumstance in which she is permitted to... indulge in her excesses... is if an armed party intrudes on my home. In which case, as the saying goes... you get what you deserve."

"And this... executive assistant... is where you are taking John to train?" Al asks, only now beginning to realize that John's trials may be more severe than hauling water buckets and being told to wax cars and paint fences.

"Yes. However, she understands that anyone with the title 'student' is under my protection, and is sacrosanct, save in self defense. Besides, she may be quite a bit more agile, and stronger, and has faster reflexes, than the average human... John could turn her into a cinder with a thought. And is also far stronger than the average human, even if his fire were not an issue. If I thought she would truly be a danger to him, I would train him elsewhere. He is my student, I have a debt of honor I owe to him. I would be forsworn and dishonored if I let her have her way with him."

"So, the only person you regularly interact with is... umm... a 'bent chippie'?"

"Not the only one, although she is my only houseguest at the moment. The half-elven sisters who made this campsite visit from time to time, although not so often lately due to my assistant's presence."

"She tried to hurt them?"

"She tried to flirt with them. Safyr, in particular. My assistant assumed that they had similar interests, and wanted to talk shop. Words were exchanged. Then blows. Unfortunately, my assistant took the assault as merely being forward, and has been wanting to express her interest since."

"You mean she..." Xera's voice trailed off

"She is several things. She prefers her amatory conquests to be female, she is... sadomasochistic, a 'switch', depending on the circumstances. So yes, they understandably prefer to not be around her."

"I... see. So, you've known the elves for some time?"

"Oh, yes. I have dealings with her people from time to time. Unfortunately, that side of things has a... what is the phrase... ahh, a 'non-disclosure agreement' regarding such matters."

"So you aren't entirely alone, then."

"Not... entirely. I also have certain contacts which alert me to the comings and goings of certain... persons of interest, shall we say, within the paranormal realm."

"Well, you know, if you ever need anything. Let me know. As a friend."

"I doubt that should happen, young miss, for I intend to leave with my student in short order, and it is doubtful I shall return to your country within your lifespan. However, I shall... keep that in mind. I believe I may leave with your host a means of contacting me, which you may avail yourself of."

"Right. Soooo... one last question, what is with that paddle that you brought with you? It was listed in various agents reports as anything from 'an oar' to 'a paddle, the likes of which not seen since British boarding school'."

"Ahh, that. Yes. It was a gift, you see, in thanks for rescuing a clan of... well, let's pass over the details. Suffice to say that while magic may have played a part in its creation, it is completely and entirely non-magical in nature, and a singular piece of craftsmanship." he finishes his tea, having already consumed his sashimi, and stands. "This requires more space than we have in this building. Shall we adjourn for the moment?"

Al, the materials engineer in him curious, quirked a brow. "I'd like a sight too, if that's okay."

"By all means."

Prroul cleaned up the meal, over Al's objections, citing rules of hospitality and that he will not leave a house in worse condition than he arrived in, and then they went deeper into the forest. Finally, they stopped in a clearing. There was a... woven hut here. As though vines and roots had simply... grown intertwined. And quite a well laid out campsite. Prroul went into the hut, and came out with the aforementioned 'wooden paddle'.

"This is a weapon which is somewhat more dense than it would appear to be. It was based on the Zan Mo Dao, or, roughly translated 'horse chopper'. Many different types of weapons over the years were made with such a title, but this is one based on a weapon from the Song dynasty." With a twist, and a half-spin, the sheath is let lose into the dirt at his feet, burying itself nearly a foot before resting. The blade which was revealed shone in the firelight. It was a three and a half foot long, thick at the base and tapering to a razor edge almost like a wedge, heavy chopping blade, in the style of a polearm, and a three and a half foot haft. "As you can see, it is a hybrid design, somewhere between a polearm and a sword, although this particular one would likely qualify as a polearm despite the short shaft." He moves with slow determination, bringing the weapon up and around "As you can see, this is a heavy chopping blade, originally designed to go through a horse's neck, and the rider behind it, typically grounded, much like pikes were used by the Swiss. In this regard, it is much like a polearm. However, the short haft allows me to wield it as though it were a two-handed sword, but because it is a haft, not merely a hilt, it is long enough to afford me a liveliness of blade which polearms simply cannot match. It is designed to chop through significant threats. The density and strength of the material means I am less restricted in the use of my strength when using the weapon without fearing damage to the weapon itself." As he discusses the weapon, he puts it through a form, blade flicking like a flame, whirling with a speed and accuracy that was unbelievable, literally hearing the hum of the blade as it approaches the sound barrier.

"So, how much does yon fine piece of craftsmanship weigh?" Al very carefully did not ask to let him get his spectrometer. He already knew what the answer would be, after all. Still, a few basic calculations from inferable data points...

"Oh, probably a hundred kilos or so." was Prroul's nonchalant response. Al mentally calculated what an object of that approximate volume made of Depleted Uranium would weigh, which fell far short of the mark. Then he calculated the kinetic force of such a blade with that much mass, moving at that speed, would have. Let's see... one hundred kilograms times three hundred forty meters per second is thirty four kiloneutons, multiply by the mechanical advantage of the lever, as applied along a fine edge less than one mm thick...

"Oh." Xera's voice was quite small "Now, I think, I understand why people were concerned. But... umm... what do you do when there's an opponent out of reach?"

Prroul grinned at her, as though she was a student who had asked the right question. He brought the form to an end, re-sheathed the weapon, then stowed it back and came back with what appeared to be a quiver. On further examination, however, she realized that they aren't arrows, they're... metal javelins, about two or three feet long. "Now, these are solid steel. Over the years, I've lost and had replaced various of them. The originals were... rather old. I picked up a few in Damascus, but they've long since gone. These are rather new, my assistant found a forge who likes a good challenge, and so I was able to restock. These, you may handle, just be careful of the blade, it is very sharp." Al also picked one up to examine in the light.

The shaft was made of high-tensile steel, probably spring steel or somesuch. At first, he thought it was drawn using typical methods, but then he realized that it wasn't, it was twisted bar stock until it twisted into a spiral pattern that was nearly cylindrical, with the three vanes actual extensions of what had to be three different bars being twisted together around... Al checked the butt of the weapon, and saw that they had been twisted around a thin almost certainly drawn bar of probably low-carbon steel, possibly even rebar, to give it the flexibility it needed. It all came to a point on the business end that was rather reminiscent of an icepick, or perhaps the gray goose arrow which made the English longbowmen such a force. The wrapping served much the same function as layered hammer-welded steel, to give it flexibility and strength. A heft put the weight at well enough to go through... quite a bit, actually. It wasn't an anti-tank depleted uranium penetrator dart, but it was sure as hell the next best thing.

"Now this is a work of beautiful craftsmanship." Al muttered. There was no water-mark pattern, of course, because the hammer-welding all came in the twisting, and gods alone knew what they did to twist it so without shearing it. They probably went through three or four for every one they finished. Then filed and sanded aerodynamically smooth, the vanes were even angled properly to give it spin, much like rifling or a sabot shell. Had to have been a custom order. "Say, would you mind if one of these made its way into my shop?"

"May I ask the reason?" Prroul inquired. It was only an inquiry, which spoke of the trust they had for each other.

"Call it a competing bid on replacements." Al grinned back "It's an interesting design, but I may be able to put a few heads together and make a few modest improvements. Also, have you given thought to a launcher of some kind?"

Prroul pulls out of the bag what appears to be an oddly shaped club, until the back is revealed to have a groove along it which would exactly fit the darts. "Something like this, perhaps?"

"Oh, is that what I think that is?"

"Once, it would've been called an atl-atl. But yes, it does exactly what you think it does. The design of the dart is no particular secret, so I don't mind. I trust you will obscure its origins sufficiently. Besides, I know the type. Once you present them with a problem, the origins become less interesting than the design." Unspoken, but acknowledged nevertheless, was that he was not getting a crack at that polearm.

"Aye, there you have us." Al turns back to Xera "So, feeling a bit better now about what goes bump in the night?"

"Oh, yes. It's just..."

"Just what, lass?"

"What big teeth he has!" Al and Xera erupted into laughter. Prroul, not catching the reference, decided that it was a good sign, and left it well enough alone.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by FreeFlier »

Just Old Al wrote:"Once, it would've been called an atl-atl. But yes, it does exactly what you think it does. The design of the dart is no particular secret, so I don't mind. I trust you will obscure its origins sufficiently. Besides, I know the type. Once you present them with a problem, the origins become less interesting than the design." . . .
:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

Engineers!

--FreeFlier
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Y'know, there's some amorphous metal alloys that are self-sharpening when used as projectiles. Depleted uranium, too, but that's all full of lead and radioactive junk that I'm sure Prroul wouldn't want to fling around and pollute the countryside with.

Give Glytch a day in the library and then a day in a suitably-equipped lab, machine shop, and foundry, and he could whip some right up.
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

GlytchMeister wrote: Give Glytch a day in the library and then a day in a suitably-equipped lab, machine shop, and foundry, and he could whip some right up.
[Al mode on]
Kids... self-sharpening indeed....

Methinks even master Prroul can't pitch them fast enough to get that to work properly even with the assistance of a woomera. (atl-atl is such an awkward name).

Humph. :)

[Al mode off]
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Well, DU burns away at the edges. That requires some serious oomph. However, an amorphous metal alloy like Liquidmetal sharpens via compression fracturing, shearing off at an angle to produce a new point.

I'd be willing to bet $20 a new or modified alloy formula could be found that would fracture the right way under the forces Prroul can produce.

As for time requirements, he could whip up some Liquidmetal in a couple days, but he'd require a month or three to make a brand new alloy through experimentation that behaves as required.

It might be possible to use a tungsten rod in the middle for kinetic penetration, with a tip made of self-sharpening amorphous metal alloy, and sharp Damascus steel spiral twisty bits wrapping around the tungsten formed to look a little bit like this.

Not only would that shape provide stabilizing spin in flight, I'd imagine it would also make very complicated and difficult-to-stitch wounds to fleshy things.

The trick would be in making all those different metals stick together... To which I would initially gravitate toward friction stir welding (I'm up late; 7 AM here now so I'm not gonna go look if these metal combinations are compatible with FSW) ... Getting in there between the metals would still be tricky, but... what if the stirring tool were a hollow tube the right inner and outer diameter to catch on both the steel and the tungsten? As for the tip... hmmm...
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

AAAAAAAAAnd back to the story.... :)

With the laughter came a vibration at Al’s breast. Surprised, he realized that unlike most visits to Master Prroul, he’d left his phone in his pocket.

Stepping back and pulling it from its nest, he swiped open the screen to a message from Glytch, reading Can we have our violinist back, or has she been eaten by Prroul?

Snickering to himself, Al turned to the other two. “It seems, Master Prroul, that our young friend Glytch would like the young lady here to return to her duties at the party. I’m afraid we will need to take our leave – I have duties as does the young lady.”

Prroul rumbled in his chest. “That being said, Sergeant-Major, please do not let me keep you from your guests. Young lady, I hope your visit here has not been a disappointment.”

Xera blinked – her time visiting with Prroul had been anything but. “Master Prroul, the time here has been anything but a disappointment. Tonight has been a time of learning – I’ve had my eyes opened in ways I never expected.” She bent at the waist, right fist in left palm, and expressed her respect and her thanks for the lessons learned.

With that, Al offered his arm, and the pair walked from the clearing, leaving Prroul to the rest of his dinner and his pursuits.

They walked back toward the house, though the moonlit woods that now no longer seemed eerie to Xera. Her mind was awhirl – the conversation, the salmon, the ideas exchanged and shared…it all added up to a dizzying expansion of her world.

“Xera, lass – still with us?” Al asked, quietly, as they walked along. “Been quite an evening for you, getting to know some of the cast of characters in our world.”

“How do you handle this? I knew about all of these…people…but they were all apex predators and things that went bump in the night. Now, they’re husbands, wives, lovers, friends…people.

Amazing.”

Al chuckled again. “Xera, meduck, sometime I have to tell you about the case of culture shock I got when I came here the first time. I knew of all of this at an abstract level, but not viscerally. The first time I saw a centaur – Rowdy, it was – well, let’s say I understand well what you’re saying.

The one thing you learn is that people are very much people, whether they have hooves, horns, wings, scales or whatever other body bits you might imagine. You know this – the discussion you had with Prroul about his humanity shows your understanding and empathy.

The next time you come here, and the next and the next” Xera realized that this was an invitation, however couched “you will simply accept people as they are and enjoy them for what they are.”

Surprised, Xera realized they’d reached the back of the house. Al extinguished the lantern and set it on a rail to cool and they stepped through the rear door of the house back into the warmth.

“Now, I need to ask this. Are you all right?” Al looked her straight in the eyes – he was quite serious and asking for the truth.

Flipping the hood back on the cape, she stared directly back into his eyes and said “No, I am not all right. I am damn good. The words smeggin' fantastic might well apply. Thank you.”

“Very good, then.”

As the two entered the house and shed their Winter garb, it was obvious that the party was still going strong. They made their way through the kitchen, weaving ad dodging as needed, until they reached the door to the main room. As they did, a voice and a loud guitar riff emanated from the audio system.

“AAAAAOOOOOOOOOO!
Who’s that I see walkin’ in these woods?
Why it’s Little Red Riding Hood!”


Al and Xera stared at each other – and immediately dissolved in laughter.

“And on that note, young lady, I am going to let you return to your duties as I must to mine.” He bowed, and turned toward Daisy on the other side of the room.

Laughing, Xera closed the distance toward Glytch, still laughing and expecting the grief that she no doubt was about to experience.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Glytch grinned at Xera as she came near. "I think hoods suit you quite well, but I'm not sure they're really your style." He turned his phone to show a still from Castle Alexander's security cameras, featuring A heavily tattooed Red Riding hood, complete with wicker basket, walking into the woods accompanied by Al, who, for all intents and purposes, could easily fill the role of the Huntsman.
Xera glowered at Glytch. "Keep bein' a smartass, see what happens."
"Hey, all I said was you look good in a hood!" Glytch put on his most innocent expression, but couldn't completely hide the quirk in his lips.
"Sure. Unlike someone I know."
Glytch put a hand on his chest and staggered back theatrically. "Thou hast griviously wounded me with thine razor tongue!"
"Yeah, yeah. Cut the shenanigans," Xera rolled her eyes, grinning. "I bet people are getting tired of listening to pre-recorded music by now."
Glytch dropped the act, but had to get one last bit in. "Shenanigans are part of the GlytchMeister package deal." He looked around at the crowd, noting subtle signals from body language and verbal tones as he observed. "Well... I think I may have just the cure. C'mon, let's go."

Xera nodded and returned to her place on the band's stage, followed shortly by the others. Glytch, meanwhile, went not to his computer, but to the covered apparatus and whipped the cloth cover off with a flourish... Revealing a beautiful Hydraulophone Armonica combination. A nest of artfully tangled pipes polished to a mirror finish surrounding a cone of concentric, nested lead crystal bowls lying on its side over a shallow trough of water. Above the cone of crystal was a thick pipe with several holes drilled into it at precise intervals and placements.

The Lady in the Lake.

With most Armonicas, the player needs to continually wet their fingers while playing the glass. Also, most Armonicas produce a clear, almost shrill sound.
The Lady, however, allows the player to continue to produce sound while wetting their fingers by playing the Hydraulophone. The Hydraulophone, contrary to the Armonica, produced a deeper, darker, heavier sound... And Devan's additions allowed the Lady to produce subsonic notes. All together, the Lady gave Glytch command over an enormous range of notes - the Armonica could resonate with the Hydraulophone and each bowl of the Armonica could resonate with several others with different ratios, while the Hydraulophone allowed Glytch to combine the effects of blocking up to ten different water passages at once.

The Lady was entirely analog. No electricity was involved in the instrument. The water pump was run by bike pedals hidden in the nest of pipes around the chair, as was the rotation of the Armonica.

The Lady in the Lake was not an instrument that could be learned. To attempt to learn how to properly use the Lady defeated the purpose - Devan had set out to build an instrument that was too complex and had too many possibilities to fully understand in its entirety. He had written no sheet music for the Lady, and she has never sang the same song twice. Devan's dream was for the Lady to provide a conduits for pure artistic expression...

From soul to sound.

Which was exactly what Glytch had in mind.

Glytch took off his jacket and cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves, sat in the chair, and gently placed his fingers on the pipe and glass as he began to pedal.

Slowly, as the water began to flow and the glass began to spin, a mournful, thrumming hum swelled from the Lady, containing some crystalline peals as well as deep, abyssal bass notes. Glytch closed his eyes, and his lips curled into an indecipherable expression as he continued to caress the instrument, exploring the sound and finding patterns he liked, slowly and gradually weaving a song from raw emotion as he began to meditate. Lower notes began to emanate from the crystal as they began to resonate, and higher trills echoed within the pipes at complex intervals as the sounds built each other up and then muted one another. Xera stared at Glytch. She had never seen him play an instrument before, and here he was, making it up as he went along... And he seemed to be speaking his heart through the Lady as eloquently as she could speak hers through her violin.

Overall, the sound of the Armonica was ghostly, angelic, and bright... while the Hydraulophone spoke of mysterious, terrible things that stirred listlessly, buried in deep pits and submerged in dark waters.

Soon, Xera caught on to some of the patterns Glytch was creating and began to emulate them as she began to understand his language. Together, they began to tell a story. Neither knew what that story was, and it was a different story for both. It slowly resolved into something mournful, longing, yearning, and aching.

Geoff began to absentmindedly strum his bass, and almost before he was aware of what he was doing, he joined in and added his own rumbling part to the story... Sounding almost like distant thunder. Then Rachel, who switched to an acoustic guitar and began to play. Her music gave the story a southwestern soul, as her story sounded like the relaxing notes someone might play at a small campfire after a hard day's ride through the desert as they thought of a love they were riding toward after too much time apart.

Finally, Bob began to gently tap his drums, adding his percussion to Geoff's rumbling bass. With the addition of Bob's drumming, the song uplifted, finally complete. The mournful yearning turned hopeful, as the wind of the violin carried on it the unique scent of freshly wet ground. Then, as Bob sped up and became louder, the hope turned to exultation.

Rain had finally come to the desert.

Glytch had a momentary sensation of not being the one playing the Lady, but of the Lady playing him. He was reacting without thought to the sounds around him and his hands moved before he realized he had done so. Suddenly, the Lady burst forth with a choir of hundreds of notes as the music hit a complex resonance for a split second.

Beautiful, life-giving water from the heavens. The wind of the violin rushed and whirled, weaving and swirling the tapping, thumping, drumming raindrops as they fell, punctuated by deep growling thunder of the bass and the bright flashing lightning of the guitar. Under, above, and within it all was the feeling of life and magic and wonder as the Lady's song weaved itself through the room.

Then, both as gradually and as suddenly as the storm came, it left. But the ground was wet, and the desert now sang of life and plenty rather than desolate parched thirst. The rain slackened, the thunder and lightning died away, and soon only a gentle breeze remained, a happy, cheerful note lingering in the air as the musicians finally opened their eyes. Glytch was the last to come out of the trance, and the Lady fell silent.

The room was completely silent. Glytch tapped a button on his headset and spoke through the speakers. "We celebrate three things tonight. The anniversaries of Shelly and Justin and of Al and Daisy... And the joining of all of us as friends and family." Glytch raised his ever-present bottle of Vanilla Coke, smiling wide. "Here's to all of us, and may the two duets continue to make happy, lovely music together."
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Dave »

Wow. :shock:

Beautifully written.

And the only sorrowful part of it all, is that I'll never actually hear a recording of that, any place outside of my own imagination... :(
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Dave wrote:Wow. :shock:

Beautifully written.

And the only sorrowful part of it all, is that I'll never actually hear a recording of that, any place outside of my own imagination... :(
Strive to make the sounds that echo in the vaults of your mind more beautiful than any earthly music.
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

AN1: Glytch has had his hands in the dialogue...much to its improvement.

After the ethereal music Glytch and the group had played and Glytch’s announcement there was silence in all of the rooms. No one moved, no one spoke – and then hands were swiftly divested of plates, glasses and cups and brought together in applause.

The groundswell of approval rose to become a torrent, going on and on.

During it, Glytch’s display beeped in his headset and the following words appeared.

You’ve knocked it for six – bravo! What in Hades is that thing, anyway?

He typed rapidly back She's a combination of a Hydraulophone and an armonica – it’s bonkers and beautiful because of that. Come have a look when you can.

Will do. Al out.


As the exchange took place, the storm of approval settled down and the sounds of the party resumed, with an excited buzz of conversation around the audible wonder they’d just experienced.

Glytch tapped his earpiece and said “If we keep this up, topping ourselves is gonna get HARD!” Chuckles returned to him from the circuit, and he continued.

“Arright, Xera, call it.”

“What? Are you gorramin’ insane?”

“Well, yes, but that’s got nothing to do with it. Go with what suits you, and we’ll follow. Don’t think – just do.”

With that, Glytch bolted for his computer and console, hands poised to follow her lead.

Rival.” One word from Xera spoke into all their headsets.

{AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you can avoid moving or tapping your foot I give up.}

One second passed, then two, then a few more crawled by. Into the silence broke the wild strains of the violin, accompanied by loud thumping drumbeats from Bob’s kit. Around the room the reaction of the audience was immediate – faces looked up, and every right foot in the room began to pulse with the insistent, thumping beat of the drum.

As the violin continued its call, it was joined by the dark undercurrent of Rachel’s and Geoff’s bass, hers hastily snatched from a rack behind her. The bass then took over, acting as a competitor for the attentions of the audience in its deep thrumming – all enhanced with Glytch’s mastertouch on the mixers.

The violin then came out to the top, bass deep below it and the two continued to compete in perfect, balanced counterpoint.

The tune ran wildly, amazing in its irrepressible call to movement. The dance floor was empty, everyone just basking in the energy of the tune.

Through the bridge, and into the final stanza the players worked, crafting a sonic tune of conflict and eventual harmony. With the end, the audience in all the rooms roared approval, clapping loudly and cheering with the sudden influx of energy.

“Hot damn! We did it again – these people are gonna be riding this for WEEKS!” Glytch chuckled. “So, I know that took a lot of energy, but think you can manage “Shatter Me”? Rachel – can ya handle the vocals on that?”

Rachel snickered. “Lizzy Hale I’m not, but it’s worth a try”.

“Go for it.”
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

---

Sarah was already rolling her eyes as I started tapping my foot to the beat of the violins and guitars.

"You and your 'Hooked on Classics'," she said into my ear so she could be heard.

"Hey, this is great stuff!"

She just shook her head.

"You oughta see those two Croatian guys! 'Thunderstruck' has never sounded more metal on electric cellos!"

"Electric what?"

"Yeah! I'll show you the video when we get home."
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

{This was a result of some quick improv between Sarge, Al, and I - had to post it...}

With a twinkle in his eye, Greg turned to Annie and said "I want one of those..."
After a long-suffering sigh, Annie rolled her eyes and replied "Where would we put it? Even with the boys gone, there's no room in the house for it." After a moment, a dangerous smile graced her face. "Well," her grin was disconcertingly similar to the signature grin of the resident madboy, Glytch. "if you would clean out the gunsmith shop..."
Greg's palms began to sweat - his organizational preferences were best described as 'a place for everything and everything all over the place.'
"On second thought, I guess I don't really need one..."
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Warrl
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Joined: Sat Jul 20, 2013 10:44 pm

Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Warrl »

Are you sure that the real Mrs. Howard didn't have some input into that? :mrgreen:
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GlytchMeister
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Warrl wrote:Are you sure that the real Mrs. Howard didn't have some input into that? :mrgreen:
Not that I know of...
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
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GlytchMeister
Posts: 3733
Joined: Wed Oct 16, 2013 2:52 pm
Location: Central Illinois
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

{Author's Note: The following was mainly Sarge's idea (surprise surprise, aye?) and contains sections that were largely written by Sarge, Al, myself, and any combination thereof. I can't really remember who did what exactly, but one can probably tell what bits the two old hopeless romantics have influenced. Some sections merely have some Glytch seasonings and spices added.}

----------

Glytch had been keeping tabs on everyone dancing and customized his playlist to give the dancers plenty of chances to leave the plasma dance floor for drinks, rests, or conversation with those who weren't dancing. He also rotated through genres at a fairly even schedule, ensuring everyone had an opportunity to dance to whatever music they preferred. Requests were inserted into this rotation, but sometimes he switched it up so requesters didn't have to wait too long... All the while creating freestyle remixes of songs that struck his fancy on the fly so he could join in on the performance with the band.
He was infinitely grateful for the breadbox-sized Library Annex. It received commands from his laptop and produced a pristine vinyl copy of whatever song Glytch wanted, if such a vinyl had ever existed, and any album that was returned to it was automatically put into its appropriate spot in the Library itself. Glytch had briefly tried to reinvent this using his access to the VORP system and learned (to his relief) someone had already done it a few decades prior.
Juggling vinyls, uncompressed audio files from the Internet, picking songs and genre rotations up to thirty minutes in advance, sorting requests, remixing songs, and keeping an eye on the crowd, tracking body language and conversation to gauge satisfaction with the music and the level of exhaustion of the dancers all at the same time proved to be rather challenging for Glytch.
Calculus III was easier than this...

Bud was letting Kevin recuperate after a long stretch of dancing, and the two of them sat together across a table from Brandi. They were all eating a varied selection of foods from the buffet... Brandi sipped on a well-crafted cocktail while Bud drank champagne.
Kevin, wisely, drank ice water and was eating plenty of carbs and proteins. He did a fine job of dancing, but no human could ever hope to compete with the stamina of a Golem.

Brandi found herself focusing on Glytch. It had been several minutes since he had stepped away from the Lady in the Lake, but she was still getting goosebumps from the mere memory of the improvised song. And then, as if to drive the point home, the band and Glytch rode the wave of energy that surged from the applause, adding to the vitality of the crowd with a pair of excellently-done covers of Lindsey Sterling songs, and it just kept going.

I never knew there was such an artist in him... And he's putting just as much mental effort into it as when he's in the lab...
Something clicked in Brandi as she continued to watch with rapt attention.

During a lull in their conversation, Bud had taken to people-watching. It was nice to see everyone so happy, healthy, free, and safe. As she browsed the crowd, her eyes brushed past Brandi. They knew each other so well she didn't expect to see anything new there...

But she did. Not so much new... She had seen it before a few times, but it was rare, and Bud hadn't anticipated it. Not here, at least.

Bud peered again at Brandi as she took a sip of champagne to make sure. Brandi was staring intently, yet dreamily at one person in particular. Bud couldn't help but grin wide and mischievously.

"...What?" Brandi blinked and came back from dreamy contemplation with a slight jolt. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Bud snickered. "You're practically drooling over him, you know that? I'm gonna have to get you a bib here soon."

Kevin looked up from his plate and began to pay attention, though he decided to keep his silence for the moment.

"What do you mean? I'm just-" Brandi actually blushed as a complex mixture of emotions crossed her face.

"Oh, don't try that with me. I know you're making eyes at him." Bud smirked as Brandi's eyes flicked toward Glytch again. "So why aren't you doing something about it?"

Kevin furrowed his brow and followed Brandi's glance... Which had been aimed directly at... "Glytch?" Kevin raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else as he took a large bite of steak.

Brandi pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "He's with MIB. It wouldn't be right for me to try anything."

----------

Glytch nodded to Xera to signal another break at the end of the song. First, he silenced the Lady, then set his laptop to play random songs at a somewhat lower volume for a while to let everyone mingle as well as to let the dancers rest. Many dancers, while all fit as fiddles, seemed especially grateful for this reprieve. Dancing was hard work.
Glytch angled toward Atsali but was intercepted by Buck.
"Your selection of music is quite eclectic, Glytch. I honestly didn't expect to hear AC/DC right after... Uh... What was it again?"

"Bassnectar." Glytch laughed a little. "I think your daughter was born a few decades late for her taste in music. She was rockin' out to stuff older than she is. I don't know where she got it, but I commend whoever is responsible."

"I think she picked it up from Kath." Buck refocused. "I've heard you've been busy lately. Brandi and Billens tell tall tales, though they all sound different... Even if they're talking about the same thing."

Glytch chuckled. "Billens thinks I'm deliberately trying to give him grey hair, so I've heard."

"Well, considering you tried to deep-fry your brain from the inside with an Etheitian Hivemind and a Lanthian A.I., I'd say the same thing if you were my employee."

"I didn't try anything." Glytch smirked. "I was cooked. Well-done. It was quite the learning experience."

Buck gave Glytch a brief blank look before laughing. "What all did you learn?"

"Be careful when playing with fire. It's hot." Glytch grinned mischievously. "The jury's still out on whether I should play with fire in the first place."

Buck shook his head slowly. "Well... I'm starting to feel like I'm asking the wrong person, but I was hoping you could take a look at something for AHI."

"Why would I be the wrong person?"

"Well... You're up to your eyeballs in all of this crazed bleeding edge science and engineering. I don't know if you'd be interested in something as mundane as farm equipment."

Nearby, Brandi looked up from her shrimp and peered at Buck and Glytch. Bud followed her gaze and grinned at Brandi.

"Buck, I can still be entertained by Legos. Playing with farm equipment is not boring. What did you need me to look at?"
"We've been working on a new autonavigation system and one of the programs just is not coming together right. My R&D department is stumped. We've already sunk a pretty penny into it, and if it flops now..."
"Yeah, I can see where that might cause a bit of a problem. Unfortunately, there may be an issue."
Buck's face fell. "Oh? What is it?"
"I'm not really sure I can work for you while employed by MIB." Glytch scratched his head, grimacing.

At this, Brandi stood and began to make her way toward Glytch.

"But don't you work with Al and Greg?"

"Pfff. Building 2 might as well be an MIB shop and everybody knows it. It just doesn't have the same décor. And Sarge is... Sarge." Glytch smirked. "I'd love to work on this, b-"

"Don't worry about it, Glytch." Brandi spoke from directly behind Glytch.

"AH! Uh, hey... Brandi!" Glytch turned quickly, caught completely off guard. As he turned, he involuntarily inhaled deeply. Overlaying the mixed scents of the various people and species assembled as well as the olfactory cacophony of perfumes and colognes and the smell of delicious food... was the wonderful scent of a woman. Glytch breathed deep again and took in the sight of Brandi...

...and saw her as if seeing her for the first time. Her tall, lithe, athletic, yet still curvy form was draped in a fiery red dress (it actually matched Glych's own red) with a v-neck... The cut left little to the imagination, and Glytch's own high-powered imagination took the image and ran with it, cackling madly. The hem was high in the front and curved down to just above her ankles at the back, displaying her strong, toned and smooth legs. The contours of her torso, sleek as the predator that she was, were on full display. Glytch was absolutely thunderstruck that he had never noticed these qualities before and started to feel the heat rise to his cheeks and forehead... as well as the flutter of his pulse as adrenaline flooded his system. Her eyes... deep, dark, limpid pools that could drown a man... why had he not noticed them before? And her scent- here was an animated lump of clay, an ancient computer, yet the earthy, musky scent that screamed 'woman' could not be mistaken for anything else or ignored.

A bead of sweat started rolling down either temple- Glytch knew he was blushing furiously, and he was very thankful for the deep hood he was wearing. Making an effort to not move too fast, Glytch put his hands in his overcoat's pockets and carefully covered up his suddenly eager biological barometer. Glytch struggled to keep his mind clear and sharp against the hormonal torrent. He found it terribly difficult to focus on anything other than Brandi. WOAH, WOW. Ok, I gotta stay focused. Just like in high school and college. Oh my universe, she's beautiful... Certainly knocked me for a loop. What am I supposed to do with this? How do I act on it? I don't know how to... GAH, no! Stay on target, then get back to the music and do your job! You can deal with this later! Glytch shook his head slightly as he cleared the fog, blinking hard under his hood, as though he had just had a bright light shone into his eyes.

Brandi, for her part, had a bit of a challenge of her own. She could actually feel her nipples hardening... and was terrified that they might show through the flimsy bra and the snug fit of her dress. She also felt a little heat in her cheeks, and was eminently thankful that her melanin enhanced complexion could mask the most of it. Hopefully, the nature of the lightshow would hide the rest.
"Normally someone like you would not be allowed to work for anyone outside of MIB while still employed by MIB, but that is mainly due to the risk of leaking the Para world into the normal one." Brandi spoke in a professional yet friendly manner. This wasn't as they say, her first rodeo.

Ok, just uh... Keep it professional. Yeah. I can handle that. I'll deal with the other stuff when I can... Glytch, on the other hand, was relatively inexperienced... He continued to hold the internal conversation with himself as he struggled to conceal his bewilderment.
Brandi continued, "If you keep us appraised of what you are doing and let us check in on your other projects to ensure nothing paranormal gets out, I think we can work out a way to convert your employment with us to a 'Safe Harbor' contractor."

Glytch thought about it for a quick moment, forcing himself through sheer effort of will to ignore the more primitive instincts that had suddenly lit a fire in his belly. "So... *ahem*... I keep my lab and office and everything?"

"Of course." Brandi's smile seemed to have a little extra... something to it that came dangerously close to overwhelming Glytch entirely.

"Well, uh... alrighty then. That, er, sounds fine." Glytch turned quickly to Buck, almost seeming to take refuge in Buck's unarguable masculinity. "I'll, uh, go in tomorrow and *ahem* get that whole... thing... figured out... And then I'll, eh, call you." With that, Glytch quickly turned and headed for the restroom, beating a hasty retreat.
"Sounds good. Thank you, Brandi." Buck intoned as he watched the young man make his getaway.
"Any time," she responded... and gracefully turned to her table, giving Glytch a final glance as he disappeared around a corner.
Buck felt a bit flummoxed- his equine nature had cued him to the confusion and hesitancy of both parties, yet his own understanding of human affairs (in spite of his very human wife) seemed inadequate to the challenge.
What just happened? And make no mistake, something just happened... but what? Humans are such funny creatures sometimes...

Sarge had watched the exchange from his table not far away- he had simply settled his eyes in that direction by chance and got caught up in the interplay.
There was no mistaking what happened- body language does not lie. Brandi had walked up to Glytch with a very 'happy little schoolgirl' bounce going on. Glytch's response was very much 'WTF AND WHAT DO I DO NOW?' Greg started to chuckle.
"What amuses you, Howard?" Annie asked him.
"Heh- nothing more that normal human behavior, Sassafras... but it does appear as one tall drink of a Golem has taken a shine to a resident Madboy."
"Brandi and Glytch?- Well... THERE's a situation... what did you just see?"
"I saw what I believe to be Brandi's first play... and I think she spooked him. Not really sure, but I suspect he doesn't really know what to think."
"Hmmm... what do you suspect will come of that?"
"Heh... time will tell better than I... but unless I miss my guess, young GlytchMeister might be asking for an audience with the Old Sgt. in the near future. Funny how they always come to me in such matters,"
"Not all that funny, Mr. Howard- not all that funny at all," she said with a warm smile.
"I suppose, Mrs. Howard," he replied, "I suppose,"

Al, also somewhat nearby, had heard the conversation taking place and noticed... something... Was up with his young colleague.

Glytch locked the bathroom door and immediately leaned over the sink, panting slightly. "What the hell, man? Been hanging out and working with all of these beautiful women ever since I got sucked into this whole paranormal thing and tonight, all of a sudden, my body just up and decides it's back to high school antics?" Glytch muttered aloud as he turned on the sink, lowered his hoods, and splashed cold water in his face several times... Not satisfied, he filled the sink and dunked his face and head into the frigid water.
I've had a few flings, but they all just sort of... Happened. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Ask her out? She isn't really going to be my boss, so I don't have to worry about that, but...
Glytch raised his head and dried off, staring at himself in the mirror, eyes wide. "I am SO far out of my area of expertise here..."
With an effort of will, Glytch pushed this new conundrum to the "back burner." After a final splash of cold water, Glytch dried off, replaced his hoods, and opened the door to get back to work...

And damn near ran right into Tina - whose smile was of the sort one would normally see on an inspired mad engineer upon finding themselves in a position to acquire a friction stir welder. Which is to say something either very good, or very bad, was going to happen.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
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