It had been an entirely too eventful day, Al thought to himself. The early morning, then the whole scene with Emerauld in the glade was more than he cared to think about right now. Daisy had gone feral when they’d gotten back and gone to the centaur quarters to rest – the stress of that meeting had told on her in ways he didn’t like to contemplate.
He was still not in a quiet frame of mind either, despite the reconciliation with Emerauld. He couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, but time would hopefully scab things over again. For now, some simple mechanical activity was in order. Honing his skills was never a bad idea, especially at his age.
Meeting with John over and a few discussions with others completed, he headed for his and Daisy’s room. He intended to get his 7.62 rechambered Lee-Enfield, but when he walked into the room he saw it sitting on the lid of his weapons locker.
Chryso, the modified Lee-Enfield lay on the lid of his locker, glowing in the light from the window. The scrollwork was picked out by the soft light, and contrasted sharply with the matt black of the locker itself. The metal of the receiver and barrel looked scuffed and battered – a surprising contrast to the beauty of the woodwork.
Trying that rifle after the morning he’d had was the last thing on his mind, and he picked it up to put it in the locker, moving it to extract the 7.62.
When he picked it up, however, he felt a shock like the one he’d felt at the clearing by the willow. This rifle nearly vibrated with power – a power he could feel. It gave him a feeling he couldn’t fire it wrong – an energetic solidity that begged to be put to the test.
With a mental shrug, Al decided to give it a try. Considering what its creation had cost him, simply throwing it into his weapons case was a foolish thing to do.
Shouldering the rifle and two bandoliers of stripper clips, he headed out the back to the range. Snagging a utility vehicle from the maintenance staff he drove to the range, which was untenanted at this time of the day. Stepping out he walked to the firing pits, attached a target to the wire at 100 yards, and then walked back to the bench at the back of the range.
He put the weapon on the bench, extracted the bolt and the clip and inspected its parts. He had never seen an SMLE in such clean condition that wasn’t straight out of cosmoline. Reassembling it, he loaded the clip with two strippers of ammunition, pressing them home with his thumb. Loading completed he left the bolt open till he reached his firing position.
Setting this adjustable rear sight for the proper distance for the ammunition he was used to (the new ammunition would take a bit of trial and error) he then performed his safety checks – scanning the range around him and in front for unauthorized individuals and spectators. Sure he was safe, he turned back to the range.
Donning hearing protectors and prescription shooting glasses, he loaded a round into the chamber, set the sights on the center of the target and squeezed the trigger.
Dead miss.
Click-click.
CRACK.
Another dead miss.
Click-click.
CRACK.
Another.
Al operated the bolt, ejecting the rest of the rounds onto a shooter’s cloth on the ground. He gathered them up and left the bolt open and went back to the weapons bench. Disassembling the bolt and performing the ritual checks for a round he took a pocket tactical light and looked at the barrel – it was pristine. He examined the sights again – maybe Emerauld had damaged them.
Nothing. The firing mechanism was working perfectly and everything was perfect – nothing had been touched on the sights since he’d last used it – and he’d shot tight patterns then. This made no sense.
Every time he handled the rifle, he felt that shock. Perhaps that was part of it – the magic that Emerauld had called down on it had been crafted so that he could no longer use the rifle, though it was in perfect condition. This was simply adding insult to injury – and was not going to be permitted. He would get it to shoot consistently, no matter what it took.
Cleaning the ammunition he’d removed with a soft lint-free cloth, he pressed the rounds into the receiver one by one, not bothering with a clip for loading. That done, he went back to the firing line, checked for occupants, re-donned his safety equipment, chambered a round, then lifted the rifle to acquire his sight pattern.
As he focused on that spot, the energy of the rifle seemed to flow into him from the weapon, and his senses came to sharp focus. Suddenly, the prescription safety glasses seemed to distort his vision. He stopped, set safety on the weapon and put on a pair of plain ones. His patterns would suffer, but the others needed cleaning.
Rifle back to shoulder, cheek in the pocket, hand in the carved grip in the stock he re-acquired his sight pattern and again let the energy of the weapon flow into him.
CRACK.
A hole appeared at the exact spot he’d aimed for, dead center of the square white inset of the Canadian bull.
Click-click.
CRACK.
The edges of the hole fuzzed a bit.
Click-click
CRACK.
Click-click
CRACK.
Click-click
CRACK.
Click-click
CRACK.
Click-click
CRACK.
On each, the edges of the hole fuzzed a bit more, till it had assumed a slight oval section with ragged edges. Magazine now empty, Al went down and fetched the target.
Well!
Al was severely confused. What in Hades was going on here?
He tried again – another ten rounds, and began to understand. With concentration he felt the power of the weapon, and accurate hits were a certainty. The slightest wandering of focus or inattention, and the results were valueless.
A new target hung Al went back to the firing line and decided to try an experiment. He wound the adjustable sight up to its upper limit, loaded a stripper clip of rounds into the magazine.
Five rounds downrange – to the same results. Dead accurate, and right where he was aiming even with the sights completely wrong.
New target, and sight full down – utterly useless.
Five more rounds – to the same results.
New target, and sights properly set – another stripper clip into the receiver, and don’t allow the power to work.
The still-pristine target was still in its place. Without the concentration and the power, the rifle would not aim accurately.
Al decided to try something dangerous. Loading the rifle with a full 10 rounds, he stepped up to the firing line, folded the sight down, and took a good mental picture of the target swinging slightly on its clip. He then shouldered the weapon, closed his eyes, and fired the ten rounds downrange using his mental image and the power of the weapon to guide his shots.
When he opened his eyes, the Canadian bull center box had had 4 neat holes punched in the corners, each centered on the corner of the box. Two more were centered between the corners in the vertical sides, and two more in each of the top and bottom edges also centered on the line of black and white.
Al broke out in a cold sweat. Walking to the weapons bench, he dug into his shooter’s bag for his cleaning rod, patches and brushes and thoroughly cleaned the rifle. Reassembling it, he set it in the passenger’s seat of the utility vehicle and headed back to the manor with his equipment and the perforated targets.
He desperately needed to talk to Greg.
Doing it right...
Moderators: Bookworm, starkruzr, MrFireDragon, PrettyPrincess, Wapsi
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1693
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
"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
- Posts: 1693
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
“Greg, this is simply daft. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Spread on the table in the room Neil had adopted as a command post was Chryso, the modified .303, with the targets Al had recently shot arrayed below it. Greg lifted each, examining it with the eye of a connoisseur before putting it down and picking up the next.
“Damn good shooting, Al, though at 100 yards with your experience I’d expect no less. I like the way you walked the borders of the box. All this with the new ammo we bought?”
“Yes, but that is not the point. This” he said, pulling out the first target “was shot with the sights properly set. This was with the sights mis-set high, and this with the sights mis-set low.” He pointed to the other targets, all with their slightly oversize hole.
“This” pointing to the Canadian bull with its neat border “was with my EYES CLOSED. CLOSED – working off a mental sight picture. NO VISION. NO SIGHTS.” Al’s voice shook a little, and the cold sweat was back.
“Wait. Wait a minute. You said you shot that with your EYES CLOSED?”
“Yes. No vision. Strictly working off the sight picture in my mind. I could see the target moving in the wind, and picked my shots carefully. This was the result.” Al threw the target sheets back on the table, with them skittering and sliding under the rifle.
“It was an energy – there is an energy in that .303 now that simply won’t let me miss if I tap it properly. I pick it up and it feels like I’ve grabbed a 220 line.”
Greg picked up the rifle, gingerly at first, then more confidently. “Can’t say I feel it, Al. Damn nice balance, and the stock is obviously very well fitted to you. I’m just not seeing magic here, though. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you think you can shoot that weapon?”
“Al, I can shoot anything. I’ve owned .303s, though I prefer the Mosin-Nagant – it’s less prone to jams.”
“OK, let’s go. Bring your shooting gear.”
------------------------------------------------
Al demonstrated Chryso's accuracy again, leaving fuzzed single holes with 5 rounds at 100 and 300 yards. He didn’t duplicate the blind shooting – too dangerous with another person present.
“OK, now you try. Set up the rear sight to whatever suits you and try to just hit the target at 100 yards.”
”Five bucks says I blow the center out of it.” “You’re on.”
Al had no intention of taking his money. He knew what the results would be. On second thought, he was still down 5 dollars from that bet back when they got here. He smiled – sometimes karma did pay off.
Greg loaded the .303 with experienced ease, set the sight by eye asking Al’s opinion on the setting, then took his stance and fired downrange.
Looking through the spotting scope Al could see the target clearly. Its surface was unmarked, hanging there accusingly.
“I don’t get it. I was right on center.”
“Keep trying. I’ll watch your shots with the spotter and see if I can pick up where you’re at with your pattern.”
Greg fired, again and again, till the clip was empty. The target hung there, taunting him with its pristine condition.
“You’re all around it – off by as much as 5 feet. No particular pattern – almost a circle.”
“Pay me.”
Disgruntled, Greg dug a ten-spot out of his wallet, and Al ceremoniously counted him out five singles for change. Transaction over, Greg picked Cryso up again and headed for the shooting bench.
“OK, there is something wrong with this rifle.” Greg walked back to the shooting bench, removed the bolt and the clip, or tried to. The bolt end refused to pivot so it could be removed, and the clip refused to respond to the lock.
“Al, Emerauld’s jammed the mechanisms on this thing while she was working on it. This thing is not right.”
Al walked over, and relieving Greg of the weapon stripped the bolt and clip in a matter of seconds. Performing the pinky check he passed it to Greg with a light and said “If you can find something wrong with it tell me – it looks perfect.”
Greg inspected the rifle, examining everything he could without disassembling it further. “There’s something wrong with it, I tell you. I’ve never missed like that.”
Al reassembled it with a few sure motions, loaded it and stepped to the firing line. Summoning the power was becoming a learned pattern, so he told Greg as he appeared to sight the target “Watch the pattern through the spotting scope.”
With swift motions Al fired 5 shots downrange – bracketing the center of the bullseye and punching a hole through the center.
“Look at me.” Al turned to Greg after lowering the weapon and opening the bolt – and his eyes were closed.
Spread on the table in the room Neil had adopted as a command post was Chryso, the modified .303, with the targets Al had recently shot arrayed below it. Greg lifted each, examining it with the eye of a connoisseur before putting it down and picking up the next.
“Damn good shooting, Al, though at 100 yards with your experience I’d expect no less. I like the way you walked the borders of the box. All this with the new ammo we bought?”
“Yes, but that is not the point. This” he said, pulling out the first target “was shot with the sights properly set. This was with the sights mis-set high, and this with the sights mis-set low.” He pointed to the other targets, all with their slightly oversize hole.
“This” pointing to the Canadian bull with its neat border “was with my EYES CLOSED. CLOSED – working off a mental sight picture. NO VISION. NO SIGHTS.” Al’s voice shook a little, and the cold sweat was back.
“Wait. Wait a minute. You said you shot that with your EYES CLOSED?”
“Yes. No vision. Strictly working off the sight picture in my mind. I could see the target moving in the wind, and picked my shots carefully. This was the result.” Al threw the target sheets back on the table, with them skittering and sliding under the rifle.
“It was an energy – there is an energy in that .303 now that simply won’t let me miss if I tap it properly. I pick it up and it feels like I’ve grabbed a 220 line.”
Greg picked up the rifle, gingerly at first, then more confidently. “Can’t say I feel it, Al. Damn nice balance, and the stock is obviously very well fitted to you. I’m just not seeing magic here, though. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you think you can shoot that weapon?”
“Al, I can shoot anything. I’ve owned .303s, though I prefer the Mosin-Nagant – it’s less prone to jams.”
“OK, let’s go. Bring your shooting gear.”
------------------------------------------------
Al demonstrated Chryso's accuracy again, leaving fuzzed single holes with 5 rounds at 100 and 300 yards. He didn’t duplicate the blind shooting – too dangerous with another person present.
“OK, now you try. Set up the rear sight to whatever suits you and try to just hit the target at 100 yards.”
”Five bucks says I blow the center out of it.” “You’re on.”
Al had no intention of taking his money. He knew what the results would be. On second thought, he was still down 5 dollars from that bet back when they got here. He smiled – sometimes karma did pay off.
Greg loaded the .303 with experienced ease, set the sight by eye asking Al’s opinion on the setting, then took his stance and fired downrange.
Looking through the spotting scope Al could see the target clearly. Its surface was unmarked, hanging there accusingly.
“I don’t get it. I was right on center.”
“Keep trying. I’ll watch your shots with the spotter and see if I can pick up where you’re at with your pattern.”
Greg fired, again and again, till the clip was empty. The target hung there, taunting him with its pristine condition.
“You’re all around it – off by as much as 5 feet. No particular pattern – almost a circle.”
“Pay me.”
Disgruntled, Greg dug a ten-spot out of his wallet, and Al ceremoniously counted him out five singles for change. Transaction over, Greg picked Cryso up again and headed for the shooting bench.
“OK, there is something wrong with this rifle.” Greg walked back to the shooting bench, removed the bolt and the clip, or tried to. The bolt end refused to pivot so it could be removed, and the clip refused to respond to the lock.
“Al, Emerauld’s jammed the mechanisms on this thing while she was working on it. This thing is not right.”
Al walked over, and relieving Greg of the weapon stripped the bolt and clip in a matter of seconds. Performing the pinky check he passed it to Greg with a light and said “If you can find something wrong with it tell me – it looks perfect.”
Greg inspected the rifle, examining everything he could without disassembling it further. “There’s something wrong with it, I tell you. I’ve never missed like that.”
Al reassembled it with a few sure motions, loaded it and stepped to the firing line. Summoning the power was becoming a learned pattern, so he told Greg as he appeared to sight the target “Watch the pattern through the spotting scope.”
With swift motions Al fired 5 shots downrange – bracketing the center of the bullseye and punching a hole through the center.
“Look at me.” Al turned to Greg after lowering the weapon and opening the bolt – and his eyes were closed.
"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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Sgt. Howard
- Posts: 3384
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 11:54 pm
- Location: Malott, Washington
Re: Doing it right...
Greg stood there in total wonder- trying to comprehend what he just witnessed.
"Your eyes were closed the whole time?" he asked.
Al opened his eyes and looked directly into Greg's- "Yes... absolutely,"
Silently, Greg searched for any hint of untruth... to no avail.
"Al... I have to admit... I have no understanding of what is going on. I have been shooting since I was six. I was eleven when I apprenticed as a gunsmith. I did my first long-range competition when I was fourteen- with a rifle I had made myself. In the Army, I qualified ninety-seven percent effective at 1,000 meters. I have fired everything from matchlock to full-auto, I have taken deer with a caplock.... I OWN a functional set of flint duelers... THIS... this... this is something I cannot explain. This is like learning that the earth is actually flat. That wood elf did something that I cannot explain... and if it means you keep your eyes closed to shoot, then SHUT YOR DAMN EYES!... damn... I want a smoke... or a drink... or both... "
"You are closing in on thirteen years of sobriety, unless I miss my guess- and past seven years without tobacco... you need neither. I now think I understand what is going on... well, not WHAT is going on, but I THINK I understand how to work it... somewhat... and I think some well-spent time exploring the possibilities will reveal more secrets, don't you think?"
"I'm thunk out at the moment,"
"Your eyes were closed the whole time?" he asked.
Al opened his eyes and looked directly into Greg's- "Yes... absolutely,"
Silently, Greg searched for any hint of untruth... to no avail.
"Al... I have to admit... I have no understanding of what is going on. I have been shooting since I was six. I was eleven when I apprenticed as a gunsmith. I did my first long-range competition when I was fourteen- with a rifle I had made myself. In the Army, I qualified ninety-seven percent effective at 1,000 meters. I have fired everything from matchlock to full-auto, I have taken deer with a caplock.... I OWN a functional set of flint duelers... THIS... this... this is something I cannot explain. This is like learning that the earth is actually flat. That wood elf did something that I cannot explain... and if it means you keep your eyes closed to shoot, then SHUT YOR DAMN EYES!... damn... I want a smoke... or a drink... or both... "
"You are closing in on thirteen years of sobriety, unless I miss my guess- and past seven years without tobacco... you need neither. I now think I understand what is going on... well, not WHAT is going on, but I THINK I understand how to work it... somewhat... and I think some well-spent time exploring the possibilities will reveal more secrets, don't you think?"
"I'm thunk out at the moment,"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
---
Sarah and I had been invited – along with the MIB contingent – to have dinner at the Alexander estate that evening. Tsillah said she would "babysit" the apartments for us; she indicated that she'd actually enjoyed playing with my cat while watching our place previously.
As we stepped through the "temporary" portal from the laundry doors of the apartment to the main dining room entrance, I saw that Neil and Greg were in deep conversation with a young man who looked rather familiar.
Sarah was greeted by Phix, who ensconced her off to talk about some concerns she was having with Aeternia. Neil waved me over and introduced me to… Johnathan Smith.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Johnathan Smith? Don't I know you from somewhere?"
He turned to look at me, with a deep, dark, and somewhat concerning look on his face.
"Uh, should I?" he replied uncertainly.
I looked at him briefly. He looked a lot like that one kid from my early days as a youth counselor… but this kid looked like he was only…
Oh.
"Uh, this might sound a bit personal, but did your father happen to… attend… an Ethan Allen School back in the early 1990's?"
"My… my father, I don't remember much about him," he said, sipping slowly on a cup of tea. "I know he was in and out of jail in Wisconsin a few times, before I was born…"
"Oh. Uhm, yeah."
Neil saw my face had changed, and felt it necessary to intercede. "John is apparently just as much a 'wanted' man as you are, Joe."
"He's also been working with Lily and Suzie, also," Greg stated. "They trust him."
I picked up the immediate, unstated end to that statement: And so should you.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's with him?"
Neil gave me the rundown.
"I wish I hadn't asked," was my reply.
===
ED.NOTE: I did actually have a "Johnathan Smith" as an offender back in about 1993-95. Of course, it was a common name...
Sarah and I had been invited – along with the MIB contingent – to have dinner at the Alexander estate that evening. Tsillah said she would "babysit" the apartments for us; she indicated that she'd actually enjoyed playing with my cat while watching our place previously.
As we stepped through the "temporary" portal from the laundry doors of the apartment to the main dining room entrance, I saw that Neil and Greg were in deep conversation with a young man who looked rather familiar.
Sarah was greeted by Phix, who ensconced her off to talk about some concerns she was having with Aeternia. Neil waved me over and introduced me to… Johnathan Smith.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Johnathan Smith? Don't I know you from somewhere?"
He turned to look at me, with a deep, dark, and somewhat concerning look on his face.
"Uh, should I?" he replied uncertainly.
I looked at him briefly. He looked a lot like that one kid from my early days as a youth counselor… but this kid looked like he was only…
Oh.
"Uh, this might sound a bit personal, but did your father happen to… attend… an Ethan Allen School back in the early 1990's?"
"My… my father, I don't remember much about him," he said, sipping slowly on a cup of tea. "I know he was in and out of jail in Wisconsin a few times, before I was born…"
"Oh. Uhm, yeah."
Neil saw my face had changed, and felt it necessary to intercede. "John is apparently just as much a 'wanted' man as you are, Joe."
"He's also been working with Lily and Suzie, also," Greg stated. "They trust him."
I picked up the immediate, unstated end to that statement: And so should you.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's with him?"
Neil gave me the rundown.
"I wish I hadn't asked," was my reply.
===
ED.NOTE: I did actually have a "Johnathan Smith" as an offender back in about 1993-95. Of course, it was a common name...
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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GlytchMeister
- Posts: 3733
- Joined: Wed Oct 16, 2013 2:52 pm
- Location: Central Illinois
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
John went back to the table and slowly sat down, reflexively attempting to will a seat into existence. The real chair was a few inches lower than he would have made it... The wild-looking man yelped as his rear went farther down than he expected and he dropped heavily into his seat.
Everyone stared at him, and many eyebrows were raised.
"Sorry..." He mumbled as he stared down at his tea.
Brandi moved to sit next to him. "I've done that a few times too. Chairs always seem too short."
"Or you are all too tall," Monica chortled from her spot next to Jet.
"I'm... Not used to... Reality." John rested his head in his hands. "That sounds so ridiculous..."
"Well, it makes more sense when you understand that you haven't experienced this kind of reality for... so long." Brandi leaned forward into John's line of sight. "Hey. It'll be fine... You'll get the hang of it again soon enough. It's like riding a bike."
A flash of memory flooded John's mind... He was learning how to ride a bike without training wheels for the first time... The road was covered in tar and gravel, and he fell... The hydrogen peroxide and the wire brush hurt so bad... The huge scar on his knee...
John reached down and massaged his scarless knee... All of his scars had been removed when he blew up at Hades before falling into the Hole. It was apparently an extension of his healing ability.
John quietly finished his tea, marveling at the strange sensation of having something in his stomach... breathing was easy, there weren't any nerves in his lungs to feel the air... But the hot tea in his gut, be could feel every movement.
He hadn't felt that since a few centuries after his training started... He had survived on dark energy conversion since.
He looked down at his hand, now resting on the table, and was promptly mesmerized by a knot in the wood... The ridges and swirls, the colors... He began to trace every swirling line in the knot with his eyes, following them from the center outward...
John felt his skin cool down... The sensation jolted him back to awareness. The table was empty now except for Monica, Brandi, and Tepoz. They were all watching him closely.
"Are you ok, John?" Tepoz cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed.
"Yeah, yeah... Just... Getting used to all of this. Again, I suppose. There's not a lot to look at in the Hole... And the there's all of this." He waved a hand around at the room before pointing at the knot. "Even this little knot is... Enchanting."
...
Glytch sneezed. It wasn't a sneeze of a person exposed to a minor allergen... Nor was it the sneeze of a sickly person.
It was the sneeze of someone who had just been exposed to entirely too much dust. The young man was busily rooting around in a storage area of the Manor looking for old, beat-up cardboard boxes to help him manage the nest of cords in the office. Wiping sweat from his brow, he looked over and around a few boxes and totes before moving them. There, in the back, was a pile of cobweb-covered empty boxes. He began to dig with renewed vigor, shifting boxes while grunting and groaning under their weight, occasionally cursing when something especially heavy needed to move.
Nearly an hour later, the office had been transformed yet again. Now, every cord was held in place by painter's tape to the floor, completely untangled and laid out like circuits on a circuit board. They only intersected and bent at roughly 90° angles. Over top of these went a re-flooring of the entire office made entirely of cardboard and duct tape. The only holes were to let cords ended or exit the cord layer and for furniture. Even the desk chair went on top of the cardboard.
Written carefully all over the cardboard were lines, each one labeled at 24" intervals. Every line represented a cord underneath. This would make it easier to troubleshoot as well as warn whoever was walking in the office where the cardboard would be uneven.
Glytch, no longer wearing his hoodie but wearing a plain black baseball cap, surveyed his work, hands on his hips. He thought it was quite an impressive achievement.
Now he had to make an alarm clock. He just needed some wood, some saws, and a motor... And a switch he could hook up to whatever alarm system he and Stan would end up making.
Everyone stared at him, and many eyebrows were raised.
"Sorry..." He mumbled as he stared down at his tea.
Brandi moved to sit next to him. "I've done that a few times too. Chairs always seem too short."
"Or you are all too tall," Monica chortled from her spot next to Jet.
"I'm... Not used to... Reality." John rested his head in his hands. "That sounds so ridiculous..."
"Well, it makes more sense when you understand that you haven't experienced this kind of reality for... so long." Brandi leaned forward into John's line of sight. "Hey. It'll be fine... You'll get the hang of it again soon enough. It's like riding a bike."
A flash of memory flooded John's mind... He was learning how to ride a bike without training wheels for the first time... The road was covered in tar and gravel, and he fell... The hydrogen peroxide and the wire brush hurt so bad... The huge scar on his knee...
John reached down and massaged his scarless knee... All of his scars had been removed when he blew up at Hades before falling into the Hole. It was apparently an extension of his healing ability.
John quietly finished his tea, marveling at the strange sensation of having something in his stomach... breathing was easy, there weren't any nerves in his lungs to feel the air... But the hot tea in his gut, be could feel every movement.
He hadn't felt that since a few centuries after his training started... He had survived on dark energy conversion since.
He looked down at his hand, now resting on the table, and was promptly mesmerized by a knot in the wood... The ridges and swirls, the colors... He began to trace every swirling line in the knot with his eyes, following them from the center outward...
John felt his skin cool down... The sensation jolted him back to awareness. The table was empty now except for Monica, Brandi, and Tepoz. They were all watching him closely.
"Are you ok, John?" Tepoz cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed.
"Yeah, yeah... Just... Getting used to all of this. Again, I suppose. There's not a lot to look at in the Hole... And the there's all of this." He waved a hand around at the room before pointing at the knot. "Even this little knot is... Enchanting."
...
Glytch sneezed. It wasn't a sneeze of a person exposed to a minor allergen... Nor was it the sneeze of a sickly person.
It was the sneeze of someone who had just been exposed to entirely too much dust. The young man was busily rooting around in a storage area of the Manor looking for old, beat-up cardboard boxes to help him manage the nest of cords in the office. Wiping sweat from his brow, he looked over and around a few boxes and totes before moving them. There, in the back, was a pile of cobweb-covered empty boxes. He began to dig with renewed vigor, shifting boxes while grunting and groaning under their weight, occasionally cursing when something especially heavy needed to move.
Nearly an hour later, the office had been transformed yet again. Now, every cord was held in place by painter's tape to the floor, completely untangled and laid out like circuits on a circuit board. They only intersected and bent at roughly 90° angles. Over top of these went a re-flooring of the entire office made entirely of cardboard and duct tape. The only holes were to let cords ended or exit the cord layer and for furniture. Even the desk chair went on top of the cardboard.
Written carefully all over the cardboard were lines, each one labeled at 24" intervals. Every line represented a cord underneath. This would make it easier to troubleshoot as well as warn whoever was walking in the office where the cardboard would be uneven.
Glytch, no longer wearing his hoodie but wearing a plain black baseball cap, surveyed his work, hands on his hips. He thought it was quite an impressive achievement.
Now he had to make an alarm clock. He just needed some wood, some saws, and a motor... And a switch he could hook up to whatever alarm system he and Stan would end up making.
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!
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!
-
DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
Keeping the Winter from the manor and stable entryway and paths off of the properties was simplicity itself.
Hiding from Matriarch Daisy and Al...less easy, especially since she needed to speak to the one called Sarge.
Remembering her one encounter with him on the night of the capture of the Yuan Ti "pureblood", Emerauld used her Sight, and attempted to scry. A sharp blow on the back of her head brought that idea to a halt.
"Give it here, and I will do it. They seem to like me for some strange reason."
"I'm fine."
"Sister, ask. for. help." she said, holding her hand out expectantly.
Rubbing the back of her head, Emerauld handed her sister a leather coat, gloves, a pouch which she placed in the left pocket, and a scroll...then hugged her with a tearily stammered thanks.
"Shcrten.""Stubborn."
Stepping into the shadows, Safyr moved through them to the place where the old warrior usually could be found inside, and appeared, bowing.
"Sarge, I have need to speak with you in private. Could you please follow me?"
Handing him a mottled leather jacket and gloves, reminiscent of military camouflage, she stepped back and waited for an answer.
Greg looked at the strange apparition in front of him- he had seen her before, when she had strangled Tsillah to get their attention. Centaurs, Sphinxes, Sirens, Immortals, Golems... now this. A Dark Elf, commonly called a 'Drow'. Were he to believe the explanations given by those who play D&D, this creature was incurably evil by nature- yet Neil trusted her. Al trusted her ... sister?... a half elf and a Drow... hardly what one would call family. Phix had misgivings, but relented. And here she was, hat in hand as it were...
"And... how can I be of assistance to you?" he asked cautiously.
"You do not trust fully- I appreciate that, and admire your hesitance," she said in a low voice.
"I assure you, none but the most dire of situations could cause me to ask favor of a human- my being here is beyond painful - but I seek to help she who is my sister and he who is your brother,"
That last bit hit too close to the truth to be anything else.
"Lead on, young lady- I will see what I can do."
Once outside, she led him to a clearing out of earshot of the stables and spoke.
"My little sister, in fear of causing discomfort, is being a thrice named fool. She cannot ask for help herself, as while they forbid her to leave, they ordered her to remain hidden...which she promised...to stay out of their sight...I am only holding in my anger...barely.
Lady Phix knows all, I told her in secret, and she said we need to stay out of it. I am not inclined to listening to that order...but I rarely do these days if is for a good reason.
I forced her to let me do it. I shall read her letter to you, so you will not have evidence that will strain your friendships, should you decline...or accept."
Unrolling the scroll, she began reading, clearly uncomfortable.
"To the one called Sarge, and in my fervent hope that Sarge is similar in meaning to our own S'argt(here Safyr translated it to mean "guardian" and said she believed it did), I humbly ask for your help.
I have blundered and wounded two very fine people, and pray they heal from my mistake.
As such, I am not welcome, but forbidden to leave.
I fixed your friend Al's 'rifle', but did not know how to make the metal 'arrows' for it.
As such, I fear he may get hurt because it cannot handle your 'rounds' as he called them, even as fine as those you have made.
I need a way to cast them, and fit them to the 'clip' I withheld so I could finish the job, and a way to place it with the weapon. I'm in absolute fear of going near it again.
Could you please help this complete and utter fool finish the task?
I also have an item of the Matriarch's that I...repaired...without her permission, or knowledge. It is vital that it is returned as well...I believe it to be precious.
If agreeable, we can barter...I am in desperate need of your superior mind and tools in this smithing task, and I can craft knives, swords, tailor clothes, or some tasks not involving magic or guns.
Please ask your mate first. I'll not harm another bond due to my foolishness.
Regardless of your decision, the coat is for you, and the bauble in the pouch in the left pocket is for your beloved. It contains several charges of a shielding charm that can protect her from danger. It will automatically cast when she's in danger.
Thank you for considering,
Tor'yll Drathmir
Ranger of L'olath taur"
At the reading of this, Safyr looked to him stunned, and spoke in a strangled whisper.
"She gave you her true name...
She...trusts you with this.
Please help her, because I cannot.
She needs to make this right to make her whole again. She's the only family I have that matters."
"Let's see what I can do about ammunition- I DO know something about that after all. I will need to get some specialized gear from home to make that happen, but once done I can manufacture as much as you need... as much as Al needs... regarding that bell, I can get that back without trouble.
I think...I do the mechanical efforts, you can do your ... 'modifications?' I suppose... and that ought to do it," he rattled off in his usual way.
"Anyway, give me that bell, and I'll go return it."
Unbeknownst to her sister, Safyr already had it, wrapped in a silk embroidery, clapper muffled, which was then placed in a small pack. It was this she removed, handing it off to Sarge, who slung it over his shoulder.
"Ask your mate first. We will know if you haven't. She would not bring pain to your beloved, and a loss of trust is...just go ask your mate."
Opening her pack, she removed a dark object housed in leather, and pressing it into his hands, she vanished into the shadows saying,
"You have my eternal gratitude. Never have I been proven more wrong about humanity than this moment."
Staring back at him was a sheathed long knife...no, a dagger. Removing from it's sheath, curiosity took over, and he noted it was made of a dark metal, with smooth dark cabochons...dark reds, blues, and blacks all adorning the pommel, with a bare hint of colour as the smoky dark overcast light barely shone upon them.
Shadowy silk wrapped the handle in a more Asian style, which gave it just the right feel in his hand.
The pommel, made of the dark metal, reminded him of those movies with the pale, blonde elves...well, he's met two of them so far, and neither were blonde, or pale.
Continuing, he noted the blade, also of the same dark metal, was covered in writing, right up to the blade edge.
Picking up a dead branch off the ground, he shaved the bark as thinly as he thought possible, and noted that it was as thin as it possibly could be.
Wiping it on the edge of his coat, being careful not to cut it, he resheathed it, noting the writing was also on the sheath, and noticing the fine chainmail 'cord', meant to sling over a shoulder. Guessing it to be too short, he put it over his head anyway to see how much adjustment to ask for...only for it to be exactly where it should.
"Huh. Looks shorter than it is," he thought, now putting it under the coat, and rearranging the small pack.
Shaking his head he muttered, "Well, time to talk to Annie." He noticed the overcast skies seemed to brighten up a bit from the smoky grey of before, so he would be able to walk back easier...
Seeing the human...no, Sarge! His name was Sarge...trying to whittle with the dagger, Safyr smiled, knowing what gift to give him. She was also pleased he took her gift without question...though she did vanish on him. It would shield him from sight of most enemies...and well, practically speaking, it was a rather fine weapon.
Hiding from Matriarch Daisy and Al...less easy, especially since she needed to speak to the one called Sarge.
Remembering her one encounter with him on the night of the capture of the Yuan Ti "pureblood", Emerauld used her Sight, and attempted to scry. A sharp blow on the back of her head brought that idea to a halt.
"Give it here, and I will do it. They seem to like me for some strange reason."
"I'm fine."
"Sister, ask. for. help." she said, holding her hand out expectantly.
Rubbing the back of her head, Emerauld handed her sister a leather coat, gloves, a pouch which she placed in the left pocket, and a scroll...then hugged her with a tearily stammered thanks.
"Shcrten.""Stubborn."
Stepping into the shadows, Safyr moved through them to the place where the old warrior usually could be found inside, and appeared, bowing.
"Sarge, I have need to speak with you in private. Could you please follow me?"
Handing him a mottled leather jacket and gloves, reminiscent of military camouflage, she stepped back and waited for an answer.
Greg looked at the strange apparition in front of him- he had seen her before, when she had strangled Tsillah to get their attention. Centaurs, Sphinxes, Sirens, Immortals, Golems... now this. A Dark Elf, commonly called a 'Drow'. Were he to believe the explanations given by those who play D&D, this creature was incurably evil by nature- yet Neil trusted her. Al trusted her ... sister?... a half elf and a Drow... hardly what one would call family. Phix had misgivings, but relented. And here she was, hat in hand as it were...
"And... how can I be of assistance to you?" he asked cautiously.
"You do not trust fully- I appreciate that, and admire your hesitance," she said in a low voice.
"I assure you, none but the most dire of situations could cause me to ask favor of a human- my being here is beyond painful - but I seek to help she who is my sister and he who is your brother,"
That last bit hit too close to the truth to be anything else.
"Lead on, young lady- I will see what I can do."
Once outside, she led him to a clearing out of earshot of the stables and spoke.
"My little sister, in fear of causing discomfort, is being a thrice named fool. She cannot ask for help herself, as while they forbid her to leave, they ordered her to remain hidden...which she promised...to stay out of their sight...I am only holding in my anger...barely.
Lady Phix knows all, I told her in secret, and she said we need to stay out of it. I am not inclined to listening to that order...but I rarely do these days if is for a good reason.
I forced her to let me do it. I shall read her letter to you, so you will not have evidence that will strain your friendships, should you decline...or accept."
Unrolling the scroll, she began reading, clearly uncomfortable.
"To the one called Sarge, and in my fervent hope that Sarge is similar in meaning to our own S'argt(here Safyr translated it to mean "guardian" and said she believed it did), I humbly ask for your help.
I have blundered and wounded two very fine people, and pray they heal from my mistake.
As such, I am not welcome, but forbidden to leave.
I fixed your friend Al's 'rifle', but did not know how to make the metal 'arrows' for it.
As such, I fear he may get hurt because it cannot handle your 'rounds' as he called them, even as fine as those you have made.
I need a way to cast them, and fit them to the 'clip' I withheld so I could finish the job, and a way to place it with the weapon. I'm in absolute fear of going near it again.
Could you please help this complete and utter fool finish the task?
I also have an item of the Matriarch's that I...repaired...without her permission, or knowledge. It is vital that it is returned as well...I believe it to be precious.
If agreeable, we can barter...I am in desperate need of your superior mind and tools in this smithing task, and I can craft knives, swords, tailor clothes, or some tasks not involving magic or guns.
Please ask your mate first. I'll not harm another bond due to my foolishness.
Regardless of your decision, the coat is for you, and the bauble in the pouch in the left pocket is for your beloved. It contains several charges of a shielding charm that can protect her from danger. It will automatically cast when she's in danger.
Thank you for considering,
Tor'yll Drathmir
Ranger of L'olath taur"
At the reading of this, Safyr looked to him stunned, and spoke in a strangled whisper.
"She gave you her true name...
She...trusts you with this.
Please help her, because I cannot.
She needs to make this right to make her whole again. She's the only family I have that matters."
"Let's see what I can do about ammunition- I DO know something about that after all. I will need to get some specialized gear from home to make that happen, but once done I can manufacture as much as you need... as much as Al needs... regarding that bell, I can get that back without trouble.
I think...I do the mechanical efforts, you can do your ... 'modifications?' I suppose... and that ought to do it," he rattled off in his usual way.
"Anyway, give me that bell, and I'll go return it."
Unbeknownst to her sister, Safyr already had it, wrapped in a silk embroidery, clapper muffled, which was then placed in a small pack. It was this she removed, handing it off to Sarge, who slung it over his shoulder.
"Ask your mate first. We will know if you haven't. She would not bring pain to your beloved, and a loss of trust is...just go ask your mate."
Opening her pack, she removed a dark object housed in leather, and pressing it into his hands, she vanished into the shadows saying,
"You have my eternal gratitude. Never have I been proven more wrong about humanity than this moment."
Staring back at him was a sheathed long knife...no, a dagger. Removing from it's sheath, curiosity took over, and he noted it was made of a dark metal, with smooth dark cabochons...dark reds, blues, and blacks all adorning the pommel, with a bare hint of colour as the smoky dark overcast light barely shone upon them.
Shadowy silk wrapped the handle in a more Asian style, which gave it just the right feel in his hand.
The pommel, made of the dark metal, reminded him of those movies with the pale, blonde elves...well, he's met two of them so far, and neither were blonde, or pale.
Continuing, he noted the blade, also of the same dark metal, was covered in writing, right up to the blade edge.
Picking up a dead branch off the ground, he shaved the bark as thinly as he thought possible, and noted that it was as thin as it possibly could be.
Wiping it on the edge of his coat, being careful not to cut it, he resheathed it, noting the writing was also on the sheath, and noticing the fine chainmail 'cord', meant to sling over a shoulder. Guessing it to be too short, he put it over his head anyway to see how much adjustment to ask for...only for it to be exactly where it should.
"Huh. Looks shorter than it is," he thought, now putting it under the coat, and rearranging the small pack.
Shaking his head he muttered, "Well, time to talk to Annie." He noticed the overcast skies seemed to brighten up a bit from the smoky grey of before, so he would be able to walk back easier...
Seeing the human...no, Sarge! His name was Sarge...trying to whittle with the dagger, Safyr smiled, knowing what gift to give him. She was also pleased he took her gift without question...though she did vanish on him. It would shield him from sight of most enemies...and well, practically speaking, it was a rather fine weapon.
Last edited by DinkyInky on Sun Nov 15, 2015 7:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
-
Just Old Al
- Posts: 1693
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
“PHIX! PHIX, WHERE ARE YOU, DAMNIT!”
Al walked into the great room in a seriously disturbed frame of mind. The normally calm and collected Englishman was in a fine panic at present, because a bit of mythology had come to mind after his second trip to the range.
After parting with Greg on their return from the range, Al had headed down to his room to put away Cryso. Thinking about it and about the debacle of the morning, Al suddenly realized something that he had forgotten – something dredged up from an old course on comparative mythology he’d taken at Oxford.
Elves are literal. They do not understand colloquialisms.
In the choice of words he’d made he’d condemned her to lurking in the woods or so he thought. The only one in the household he knew of who could tell him would be Phix – she was the only one with direct knowledge of Drow and elves in general.
"PHIX!"
Phix appeared from the area of the room she shared with Neil.
“AL shut UP! If you wake Aeternia I am going to beat you and THIS beating you will not enjoy!”
"Phix, I need your help – I think I’ve buggered a situation well and truly – and I need to make it right.”
Phix had never seen the old gent – not so old now – so upset. Even in the midst of combat he’d always been unflappable. This was most unlike him, so she was immediately concerned.
“Al, easy – tell me what it is and between us I’m sure we can sort it.” Her accent, so much like home, began to penetrate Al’s panic.
“It’s like this. After the mess this morning Daisy and I met with Emerauld and she attempted to beg forgiveness. I did not forgive, but I forbade her to leave – and told her to stay out of our sight as well.”
“This is a logic error, not no, not yes, and no way to redress it. Elves take commands literally, am I correct? If so I’ve made a mess in a rather dramatic fashion.”
Phix thought. On the surface Al was right – the English the sisters spoke was archaic, and idiom would not be understood. The commands however were unambiguous, and were a horrid lock and key.
“Yes, you’re right. You’ve set her in a position where she’s damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t. Problem is – what do you do about it?”
Al smiled, a trifle wanly. “What I do whenever I’ve created a conflict with a female – apologize immediately.”
Phix laughed delightedly at that – after their contretemps in the library Al had apologized profusely for his comments. She still treasured them, though, as seeing a human – ANY human – try and face her down was a rare treat. His command of invective without epithet was astonishing.
“I must go. Please excuse me.” Al cast about for his leather coat, decided it was still in the centaur quarters, and tore off out the back door in his wooly jumper and fedora.
AUTHOR's NOTE; In case folks think Al is cross-dressing, this is the wooly jumper he's likely wearing...Americans call them sweaters He has a few of them and they are fantastic - nearly indestructible, comfortable, and considering the archaic state of central heating in England...quite necessary.
-------------------------
At the base of the willow that had become Emerauld’s headquarters Al went to one knee, and shouted “Emerauld! Emerauld, I must see you!”
A voice came from the forest saying ”I cannot appear. You told me to stay out of your sight.”
“You can hear me. I release you from that and request you appear to me here.”
In a blink she was there, looking at him levelly.
“Emerauld, I committed a horrible mistake this morning when we talked in the glade, you, my dam and me. Please forgive me.”
“You made no error. You gave me orders, and I shall obey them.”
“The orders were the error. Emerauld, I forgive you for your actions, and in her name I give you the forgiveness of Daisy. You are unrestricted – stay, go, do as you wish. I do hope you stay with your sister – she needs you…and we need you.”
Emerauld was confused. She had offended, asked for forgiveness, been given a penance, and now the human removed the penance and was asking her forgiveness as well.
Humans were strange. She would never understand them, but she would not contest the removal of the bonds.
“You are forgiven, and I accept the forgiveness of you and your dam.”
“May I rise?”
Humans were very strange. This one was acting like he had committed a grievous offense, but his offense was that of ignorance of her kind – an understandable one for a human.
“Yes, please rise.”
“I will leave you alone now. At some time in the future you and I should speak – I know nothing of your kind, and would not wish to make mistakes again and cause harm or problems.”
Well, that was interesting, Emerauld thought. A human who did not push away, or act in fear, and apologized for errors made in ignorance. Definitely not what she was used to by any stretch of the imagination – this would bear nurturing.
“Come tomorrow, if you can. We will sit and talk. Bring human coffee if you can. I can make it and it would be enjoyable I think.”
With that, Al took his leave. The chill was penetrating his bones and he was certainly underdressed for the weather.
Al walked into the great room in a seriously disturbed frame of mind. The normally calm and collected Englishman was in a fine panic at present, because a bit of mythology had come to mind after his second trip to the range.
After parting with Greg on their return from the range, Al had headed down to his room to put away Cryso. Thinking about it and about the debacle of the morning, Al suddenly realized something that he had forgotten – something dredged up from an old course on comparative mythology he’d taken at Oxford.
Elves are literal. They do not understand colloquialisms.
In the choice of words he’d made he’d condemned her to lurking in the woods or so he thought. The only one in the household he knew of who could tell him would be Phix – she was the only one with direct knowledge of Drow and elves in general.
"PHIX!"
Phix appeared from the area of the room she shared with Neil.
“AL shut UP! If you wake Aeternia I am going to beat you and THIS beating you will not enjoy!”
"Phix, I need your help – I think I’ve buggered a situation well and truly – and I need to make it right.”
Phix had never seen the old gent – not so old now – so upset. Even in the midst of combat he’d always been unflappable. This was most unlike him, so she was immediately concerned.
“Al, easy – tell me what it is and between us I’m sure we can sort it.” Her accent, so much like home, began to penetrate Al’s panic.
“It’s like this. After the mess this morning Daisy and I met with Emerauld and she attempted to beg forgiveness. I did not forgive, but I forbade her to leave – and told her to stay out of our sight as well.”
“This is a logic error, not no, not yes, and no way to redress it. Elves take commands literally, am I correct? If so I’ve made a mess in a rather dramatic fashion.”
Phix thought. On the surface Al was right – the English the sisters spoke was archaic, and idiom would not be understood. The commands however were unambiguous, and were a horrid lock and key.
“Yes, you’re right. You’ve set her in a position where she’s damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t. Problem is – what do you do about it?”
Al smiled, a trifle wanly. “What I do whenever I’ve created a conflict with a female – apologize immediately.”
Phix laughed delightedly at that – after their contretemps in the library Al had apologized profusely for his comments. She still treasured them, though, as seeing a human – ANY human – try and face her down was a rare treat. His command of invective without epithet was astonishing.
“I must go. Please excuse me.” Al cast about for his leather coat, decided it was still in the centaur quarters, and tore off out the back door in his wooly jumper and fedora.
AUTHOR's NOTE; In case folks think Al is cross-dressing, this is the wooly jumper he's likely wearing...Americans call them sweaters He has a few of them and they are fantastic - nearly indestructible, comfortable, and considering the archaic state of central heating in England...quite necessary.
-------------------------
At the base of the willow that had become Emerauld’s headquarters Al went to one knee, and shouted “Emerauld! Emerauld, I must see you!”
A voice came from the forest saying ”I cannot appear. You told me to stay out of your sight.”
“You can hear me. I release you from that and request you appear to me here.”
In a blink she was there, looking at him levelly.
“Emerauld, I committed a horrible mistake this morning when we talked in the glade, you, my dam and me. Please forgive me.”
“You made no error. You gave me orders, and I shall obey them.”
“The orders were the error. Emerauld, I forgive you for your actions, and in her name I give you the forgiveness of Daisy. You are unrestricted – stay, go, do as you wish. I do hope you stay with your sister – she needs you…and we need you.”
Emerauld was confused. She had offended, asked for forgiveness, been given a penance, and now the human removed the penance and was asking her forgiveness as well.
Humans were strange. She would never understand them, but she would not contest the removal of the bonds.
“You are forgiven, and I accept the forgiveness of you and your dam.”
“May I rise?”
Humans were very strange. This one was acting like he had committed a grievous offense, but his offense was that of ignorance of her kind – an understandable one for a human.
“Yes, please rise.”
“I will leave you alone now. At some time in the future you and I should speak – I know nothing of your kind, and would not wish to make mistakes again and cause harm or problems.”
Well, that was interesting, Emerauld thought. A human who did not push away, or act in fear, and apologized for errors made in ignorance. Definitely not what she was used to by any stretch of the imagination – this would bear nurturing.
“Come tomorrow, if you can. We will sit and talk. Bring human coffee if you can. I can make it and it would be enjoyable I think.”
With that, Al took his leave. The chill was penetrating his bones and he was certainly underdressed for the weather.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Mon Nov 16, 2015 1:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
-
DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
"Sir Al...no, wait...that would be Mister Al, I believe."
"Don't you "Mister" me, I work for a living!" he sputtered, some of the old fire returning.
"Catch!"
She threw a dark brown, tan, and green mottled leather coat almost camouflage patterned, fleece lined, with an old bomber style collar. She also threw a small pouch, both which he caught easily.
"I would not be so glad if I lost the forgiveness as soon as gained by you...how is it said...'catching your death of cold'? The pouch is tea...mostly.
There is no magic," she replied, noting his wary expression, "None other than that of healers herbs one can acquire out in the green.
Glytch often said that you seem to enjoy it, unless you are in need of the instant stimulants from the coffee.
Stay warm. Be well, both you and the Lady."
With that, she turned and bounded off into the snow. Al walked back, noting the coat was warmer than the jumper...almost toasty.
"Don't you "Mister" me, I work for a living!" he sputtered, some of the old fire returning.
"Catch!"
She threw a dark brown, tan, and green mottled leather coat almost camouflage patterned, fleece lined, with an old bomber style collar. She also threw a small pouch, both which he caught easily.
"I would not be so glad if I lost the forgiveness as soon as gained by you...how is it said...'catching your death of cold'? The pouch is tea...mostly.
There is no magic," she replied, noting his wary expression, "None other than that of healers herbs one can acquire out in the green.
Glytch often said that you seem to enjoy it, unless you are in need of the instant stimulants from the coffee.
Stay warm. Be well, both you and the Lady."
With that, she turned and bounded off into the snow. Al walked back, noting the coat was warmer than the jumper...almost toasty.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
-
jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
(This is gonna sound stupid, but when did Daisy have a cow over losing the bell?)
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
-
DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
((She hasn't noticed yet, and since she's already on a hair trigger from Al getting his life turned upside down and inside out, Emerauld is worried about upsetting her more, let alone the family.))
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
-
DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
Walking in, Sarge put his gloves in the right pocket, hung his new coat, the dagger laying inside, over a chair, and took the pack over to where he saw the bell hanging on the wall. Seeing nobody there, he got to work.
Grabbing a napkin out of a ring, he muffled the bell, and after a quick examination, removed it, setting it down on the endtable while he retrieved the one from the pack, unwrapping it from the needlework.
Noting the differences from how it looked the last time he saw it, he quickly hung it, then gently unmuffled the clapper, then used that fabric and changed out the napkin from the bell just removed, laying the now wrinkled linen next to the ring.
Finally, he put the bell into the pack, and walked back to the chair to collect his things.
Job now done, he made his way back to his room to stow it all until he could return them.
Grabbing a napkin out of a ring, he muffled the bell, and after a quick examination, removed it, setting it down on the endtable while he retrieved the one from the pack, unwrapping it from the needlework.
Noting the differences from how it looked the last time he saw it, he quickly hung it, then gently unmuffled the clapper, then used that fabric and changed out the napkin from the bell just removed, laying the now wrinkled linen next to the ring.
Finally, he put the bell into the pack, and walked back to the chair to collect his things.
Job now done, he made his way back to his room to stow it all until he could return them.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
-
Just Old Al
- Posts: 1693
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
On his way to dinner from the fields (he really needed to apologize to Phix for the shouting) Al swung by the centaur quarters to escort Daisy to dinner. She was there, standing in her room – he couldn’t bring himself to call it a stall with the level of luxury.
”Ready to go to dinner, love?” He said, putting as chipper a note in his voice as he could. She’d had it rougher today than he had – dealing with him in a collapsed state, then the stress and pain of the meeting in the woods with Emerauld. He’d have to tell her of the latest results of that, but not now – that could easily wait till tomorrow.
“No, Al, I’m not.” She mumbled. She’d obviously not rested this afternoon as he hoped she would, and it showed in her mien. Her tail hung down, her arms at her sides and her human torso bent as if under a great weight.
Quickly doffing his coat, he put his hands on Daisy’s mid-back and vaulted onto her back. Sidling forward, he wrapped his arms around her human torso and pulled himself to her human back, holding her as tightly as he could. He rested his head best as he could against her shoulder blade, and asked “What’s the matter, love?” A stupid question, indeed, but one must start somewhere.
“When will this be over? Next week, next month, next year, never? What new craziness is going to happen before then? What happened to you – the business, then this incident today – what else is going to happen to us before it’s over – if it ever IS?”
Tears welled in her beautiful hazel eyes. “Al, I’m not blaming you – or anyone here. But this is just – hard. I’m afraid for all of you, and my son. Then you two and the General are making plans for a fight nobody wants – just because some crazy Lanthian relic is trying to kill off his competition?
This has gone from crazy to crazier. It’s a shadow war we can’t win.”
“We can win, and we will, love. Take the word of an old soldier – this will be over soon. We’ve been discussing it, Greg, the General and I. We figure that the wedding is going to be the attractant – and they’ll make the hit there because we’ll all be there.
However, a very large Joker appeared in the deck today – a Johnathan Smith. He’s a salamander, and has more power than anyone save the golems. This puts us in good stead, and skillfully led we will prevail.”
“But at what cost? What if I lost…you?”
So THAT was what this was all about. After the questions she’d asked when they were considering operations against the drug gang, the possibility of casualties was very high in her thoughts. After today, that had focused on him.
He slid off her back and to the rubberized floor of the room.
“Daisy, dear, look at me please.
I have been in wars from one side of this sad old planet to the other. I’ve been bombed, strafed and just plain shot at by everything from Provos in Belfast to Saddam Hussein’s goose-stepping morons back in Desert Storm. I have – had – scars from one end of me to the other.
I am still here.
Anyway, I always follow the orders of my superior. I am not going anywhere.”
“Who said that?”
“You did, dear. You are the commander of my heart, and I heard every word you told me this morning though I was... a bit out of it. I have my marching orders. I am not allowed to leave…ever..until you tell me to.
Are you telling me to go?”
She started crying, unashamedly. “Of course I’m not you damned moron! I’m just scared, and hurt, and worried you won’t be here at the end of it because of your damned honor!”
“Then trust in me – I always follow the orders of my superior – you. Now put on your damned amulet so I can love you properly, then we’ll go to dinner.”
With that, he handed her her amulet. She put it around her neck, becoming the strawberry blonde human who’d captured his heart back there at the dance. He hugged her naked form hard, promising himself an even more intimate embrace later.
With that, he helped her dress, offered his leather coat (now and forever hers like his heart) and donned his new winter wear.
Then they left the room to be with their friends and discuss the tidings of war.
”Ready to go to dinner, love?” He said, putting as chipper a note in his voice as he could. She’d had it rougher today than he had – dealing with him in a collapsed state, then the stress and pain of the meeting in the woods with Emerauld. He’d have to tell her of the latest results of that, but not now – that could easily wait till tomorrow.
“No, Al, I’m not.” She mumbled. She’d obviously not rested this afternoon as he hoped she would, and it showed in her mien. Her tail hung down, her arms at her sides and her human torso bent as if under a great weight.
Quickly doffing his coat, he put his hands on Daisy’s mid-back and vaulted onto her back. Sidling forward, he wrapped his arms around her human torso and pulled himself to her human back, holding her as tightly as he could. He rested his head best as he could against her shoulder blade, and asked “What’s the matter, love?” A stupid question, indeed, but one must start somewhere.
“When will this be over? Next week, next month, next year, never? What new craziness is going to happen before then? What happened to you – the business, then this incident today – what else is going to happen to us before it’s over – if it ever IS?”
Tears welled in her beautiful hazel eyes. “Al, I’m not blaming you – or anyone here. But this is just – hard. I’m afraid for all of you, and my son. Then you two and the General are making plans for a fight nobody wants – just because some crazy Lanthian relic is trying to kill off his competition?
This has gone from crazy to crazier. It’s a shadow war we can’t win.”
“We can win, and we will, love. Take the word of an old soldier – this will be over soon. We’ve been discussing it, Greg, the General and I. We figure that the wedding is going to be the attractant – and they’ll make the hit there because we’ll all be there.
However, a very large Joker appeared in the deck today – a Johnathan Smith. He’s a salamander, and has more power than anyone save the golems. This puts us in good stead, and skillfully led we will prevail.”
“But at what cost? What if I lost…you?”
So THAT was what this was all about. After the questions she’d asked when they were considering operations against the drug gang, the possibility of casualties was very high in her thoughts. After today, that had focused on him.
He slid off her back and to the rubberized floor of the room.
“Daisy, dear, look at me please.
I have been in wars from one side of this sad old planet to the other. I’ve been bombed, strafed and just plain shot at by everything from Provos in Belfast to Saddam Hussein’s goose-stepping morons back in Desert Storm. I have – had – scars from one end of me to the other.
I am still here.
Anyway, I always follow the orders of my superior. I am not going anywhere.”
“Who said that?”
“You did, dear. You are the commander of my heart, and I heard every word you told me this morning though I was... a bit out of it. I have my marching orders. I am not allowed to leave…ever..until you tell me to.
Are you telling me to go?”
She started crying, unashamedly. “Of course I’m not you damned moron! I’m just scared, and hurt, and worried you won’t be here at the end of it because of your damned honor!”
“Then trust in me – I always follow the orders of my superior – you. Now put on your damned amulet so I can love you properly, then we’ll go to dinner.”
With that, he handed her her amulet. She put it around her neck, becoming the strawberry blonde human who’d captured his heart back there at the dance. He hugged her naked form hard, promising himself an even more intimate embrace later.
With that, he helped her dress, offered his leather coat (now and forever hers like his heart) and donned his new winter wear.
Then they left the room to be with their friends and discuss the tidings of war.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Fri Nov 27, 2015 9:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
-
jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
---
Rosalita fixed another wonderful, sumptuous dinner for the assembled troops. I was incredibly full from the roast ham and cubed potatoes.
And, of course, the biscuits.
"If this is what a typical mid-week dinner is with the Alexanders, I can't wait to find out what it's like next week at Thanksgiving," I commented.
Daisy's face suddenly paled.
"Thanksgiving?"
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "Yeah, you know, Thanksgiving? Turkey and all the trimmings, and whatnot?"
"THANKSGIVING???" She brought her hands to her face in shock. "OH MY STARS I FORGOT!" She stood up, panicking. "We haven't bought ANYTHING! ROSALITA!" She bellowed. "We're going to need at least THREE birds! And pie... Oh my, I hope the pumpkin crop wasn't spoiled by that last freeze..."
She ran off into the kitchen, past a stunned Rosalita, who followed her.
There was dead silence in the dining room, as we all looked at each other, bewildered.
"I think I may have unleashed a monster," I said quietly.
Rosalita fixed another wonderful, sumptuous dinner for the assembled troops. I was incredibly full from the roast ham and cubed potatoes.
And, of course, the biscuits.
"If this is what a typical mid-week dinner is with the Alexanders, I can't wait to find out what it's like next week at Thanksgiving," I commented.
Daisy's face suddenly paled.
"Thanksgiving?"
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "Yeah, you know, Thanksgiving? Turkey and all the trimmings, and whatnot?"
"THANKSGIVING???" She brought her hands to her face in shock. "OH MY STARS I FORGOT!" She stood up, panicking. "We haven't bought ANYTHING! ROSALITA!" She bellowed. "We're going to need at least THREE birds! And pie... Oh my, I hope the pumpkin crop wasn't spoiled by that last freeze..."
She ran off into the kitchen, past a stunned Rosalita, who followed her.
There was dead silence in the dining room, as we all looked at each other, bewildered.
"I think I may have unleashed a monster," I said quietly.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
-
DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
Al had said she could roam free again, but that didn't make her any less nervous, for she was sure that the Matriarch was still angry at her, no matter the reassurances given.
Therefore she stayed on the fringes, only getting close to clear away the Wint'ry blanket from areas of frequent travel. Spying a splash of brilliant orange peeking through an area less frequently travelled, she turned her attention on what appeared to be a garden, and carefully, slowly, revived it from it's frozen covering.
Autumnal squash, orange pumpkins, the last of the seasons greens and root vegetables, and gloriously decadent Winter melons, all caught unaware and unprepared in the chill.
This was no crop for the markets, this was a family garden, and from the evidence here, a well-loved and cared for one.
Saying a quick prayer of thanks for the find, she got to work, racing from garden to camp, she asked her sister for help, laying out her idea, which seemed to delight her. Cutting trees that otherwise would starve from overcrowding, she gathered twelve such, which were carried to the garden, along with several evergreen boughs.
Together they created a box around this garden, they were "cheating", using magic to float high enough to set the limbs, lash them together with strong rope, and tie sheer silks to make the roof and walls, and setting several laces on a split panel tied them closed for an entrance. Using her smallest stones, she cast spells on them to keep foraging friends out, and hopefully keep the garden warm enough long enough for someone to harvest.
Grabbing the evergreens they tied them into brooms, and swept away all traces of their footwork, leading back to camp, knowing the wind would finish the job.
Feeling better than she had in days, Emerauld set to making a meal for them from the impressive stock Al had gifted her.
Therefore she stayed on the fringes, only getting close to clear away the Wint'ry blanket from areas of frequent travel. Spying a splash of brilliant orange peeking through an area less frequently travelled, she turned her attention on what appeared to be a garden, and carefully, slowly, revived it from it's frozen covering.
Autumnal squash, orange pumpkins, the last of the seasons greens and root vegetables, and gloriously decadent Winter melons, all caught unaware and unprepared in the chill.
This was no crop for the markets, this was a family garden, and from the evidence here, a well-loved and cared for one.
Saying a quick prayer of thanks for the find, she got to work, racing from garden to camp, she asked her sister for help, laying out her idea, which seemed to delight her. Cutting trees that otherwise would starve from overcrowding, she gathered twelve such, which were carried to the garden, along with several evergreen boughs.
Together they created a box around this garden, they were "cheating", using magic to float high enough to set the limbs, lash them together with strong rope, and tie sheer silks to make the roof and walls, and setting several laces on a split panel tied them closed for an entrance. Using her smallest stones, she cast spells on them to keep foraging friends out, and hopefully keep the garden warm enough long enough for someone to harvest.
Grabbing the evergreens they tied them into brooms, and swept away all traces of their footwork, leading back to camp, knowing the wind would finish the job.
Feeling better than she had in days, Emerauld set to making a meal for them from the impressive stock Al had gifted her.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
-
jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
(Stands up and applauds)
That pumpkin pie is going to be delicious.
That pumpkin pie is going to be delicious.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
Re: Doing it right...
And might cure cancer . . .jwhouk wrote:(Stands up and applauds)
That pumpkin pie is going to be delicious.
--FreeFlier
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Sgt. Howard
- Posts: 3384
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 11:54 pm
- Location: Malott, Washington
Re: Doing it right...
EVERYTHING causes cancer- make sure you enjoy it!!!FreeFlier wrote:And might cure cancer . . .jwhouk wrote:(Stands up and applauds)
That pumpkin pie is going to be delicious.
--FreeFlier
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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Just Old Al
- Posts: 1693
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 4:43 am
- Location: Wilderness of Massachusetts
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
As the Bentley rolled through the gates at Alexander Harvesters Al was lost in thought. He'd hated having to modify the old ambulance - last standing relic of his once-proud auto collection. However, it was a very good fit for the task, with its thick, insulated walls and light shielding in the doors and bulkhead. The old girl's structure would at least slow down and deflect small-arms fire if something went pear-shaped, and after the ride in it wouldn't matter as she would have done what she needed to.
He'd still hated to do it, though. But, needs must. After what happened with Stanley and his beloved but battered Winter ride Al had realized that the things weren't what mattered but the people.
The timing on the pickup was serendipitous. Buck had told him it was ready yesterday, and he wanted to be in the plant on the day before Thanksgiving. A good leader cares about the people he has working for him, and it was Buck's custom to be on campus talking to his people before holidays. It suited Al as well - time was getting very short and while the old ambulance would need little preparation it would need some.
Buck dropped him off at the fab shop, then headed off on his own tasks. Al walked up to the security guard, who buzzed McAdams to come to the door. The guard was grinning for some reason, which disconcerted Al just slightly. Buzzed through, he met McAdams and Juan on the other side.
McAdams spoke first. "OK, so we got everything done you wanted. We also added some additions of our own - nothing too fancy but I don't think you'll be disappointed."
Al was reassured - he'd known these men were top-notch from Buck's description, but it was reassuring to hear that at least something had gone off without a Glytch, er glitch.
They enter the fabrication bay where Al had parked the old girl - and Al was dumbstruck to see what had been done.
Trim and resplendent in her grey and white livery sat the old ambulance. Gone was the tired matt green paint with the Red Cross roundels, replaced by a coat of shining white. The wheels too had been transformed - new paint and (Al noticed immediately) new Michelin XZX tyres. The Snobby Winery logos had been impeccably applied, suiting the ambulance's new look perfectly. They'd improved on his design as well - adding some colour shading to the grapes and the bottle.
"Hello, Clara...you're looking pretty in your party dress!" Al breathed, as he circled the truck to take in all of the changes. As he looked he noted other things - the rear crossmember picked out in black with the pintle hitch in its proper red, the chromed exhaust tip replacing the rusted original, and the detail applied to things like the mirrors and exterior trim. This had been a labour of love rather than the cheap and cheerful job he'd requested and resigned himself to.
McAdams stopped by the rear door and opened it. "Have a look" he said..
The interior, still wearing its green paint, had become a proper, efficient armory. The rifle racks were arranged in neat rows against the walls, the Centaur-sized racks at the front end to both sides. They'd improved on his design here as well - setting the racks closer together than he'd specified, they'd found room to squeeze in two lockers at the back. Stepping in and opening one of these he found it compartmented for hand weapon storage and boxes of ammunition.
Even the floor racks had been executed perfectly, in aluminium and powder-coated a matt black, with the top edges picked out in red for visibility.
As Al stepped out Juan escorted him around to the cab, exclaiming "And wait till you see the front office!"
The front office, too, was a sight. The doors had had sheets of steel added to their interiors (a nice touch) but the cabin itself was a showpiece. The ratty ex-military seats had been replaced by custom buckets, modified from the items used in the harvesters. Even the dashboard had changed - the panel holding the 6-way light switch was gone, and replaced with a radio/MP3 player with the switch relocated to the side - again, adapted from a bit of farm equipment.
Al was utterly gobsmacked. He'd asked for a cheap and cheerful bit of bodgery, and he'd gotten a masterpiece.
Juan was bursting with excitement. "We know we did more than you wanted to - but it was just a shame to see it half done. The seats and the stereo come from an axial-flow crop sprayer - they're all low-profile stuff that fit well. The mounts are not cut into the structure - if you ever decide to they can come back out."
"Oh, they won't be coming back out - the seats in this thing were wretched. I'd always meant to refit stock civilian seats, but this is vastly better. Bravo!"
McAdams rumbled, "Now for the engine service. We've got some good news and some bad news on that. The engine was not exactly the healthiest thing around, so we dealt with the problems." Al was impressed - he'd known compression was down on that ancient Diesel, but hadn't worried about it as it still ran well - and only absolutely had to make one more trip.
"So, what did you end up doing to it - a re-ring? Should have been all it needed - compression on it was consistent last I checked it."
Juan had lifted the bonnet as McAdams and Al talked, and now stood back as they walked to it.
Al breathed in..deeply.
There, nestled into the bay as if fitted in Solihull, was a four-cylinder turbo Diesel engine, with the Alexander centaur and the company name cast into its intake manifold. Al doffed his jacket and stood on the bumper, craning to see what was done. The engine had been fitted in the place of the original 2.5D - the mounts were custom but everything else was as it originally left the factory.
"We were just going to pull and re-ring the old one but it turned out after a little research that the block for the AH 2.5 liter turbo Diesel auxiliary engine is the same basic design as the Land-Rover 300 TDi. Your bellhousing bolted right up once we reamed the bolt holes and all we had to do was to weld up a set of mounts to fit your chassis mounts. The truck is unmodified - we figured you rather have it that way."
"Oh, my. Oh, my indeed. You have done a stellar job - I never expected this level of fit, finish and care for what should have been a cheap and cheerful job. Bravo, gentlemen, though I keep saying that." More seriously, Al said "You've kept a cost accounting on this, right? The number of hours alone must be astronomical."
"Not as bad as you'd think. Most of what went into it came straight from stock and a lot of it was off the books from depreciation. The engine is rebuilt stock kept for refurbishing jobs, but the company cost on those is not that bad. The rest was paint - AH White, of course - and time. In any case, I have very strict orders that you don't get that - you are to speak directly to Mr. Alexander on it."
"Where's the team that did this?" Al had noticed men unobtrusively lurking in the corners and idling around the entrance to the bay. McAdams yelled "OK, stop hiding - get over here!"
Al stood in the rear entrance of the ambulance, and looked out on the two dozen men who'd gathered. Painters, weldors, fabricators, mechanics and all - looking expectantly at him.
"I hate making speeches" Al began, "but this is bar none the most beautiful bit of work I've laid my eyes on in many a year of working with both military equipment and British cars. You gentlemen have utterly outdone every expectation I had. The fit, finish and care taken with my old girl here just shows the care you put into your work. My sincere thanks go out to each and every one of you."
With that, Al turned away before they saw the unshed tears in his eyes. One doesn't mist up in front of the troops...ever.
McAdams escorted him to the front of the vehicle and motioned him inside. "Start her up - she's had a wiring check, fluid changes and all, so she should run like new."
Al turned the key, turned it a bit farther to engage the glow plugs, counted to ten (glow plug timer? - how effete) then turned to the start position. A few grunts, and the engine lit off, chattering as only a happy Diesel does. With that the audio system came to life, blaring "Paradise By The Dashboard Light" at full volume. After finding the volume control and then recovering his composure, Al looked out of the windows, to see the crew backslapping, high-fiving and laughing uproariously at the look on his face.
"YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF SICK BUGGERS!" Al roared at the top of his lungs, overcoming the Diesel and the stereo easily. Laughing himself, he turned off the engine, stood on the running board and gave them all a most undignified thumbs-up.
Stepping down, he turned to McAdams and asked, "Can you have her delivered under a cover to the Alexander place? I don't want to drive her till the day she's needed."
"Certainly."
With that, Al walked among the craftsmen one more time, shaking hands, slapping a few backs and letting each one know that their work was appreciated. Then task here done, he headed for the building where the remains of his business were - time to sort a few boxes of the remains before Buck was ready to leave.
He'd still hated to do it, though. But, needs must. After what happened with Stanley and his beloved but battered Winter ride Al had realized that the things weren't what mattered but the people.
The timing on the pickup was serendipitous. Buck had told him it was ready yesterday, and he wanted to be in the plant on the day before Thanksgiving. A good leader cares about the people he has working for him, and it was Buck's custom to be on campus talking to his people before holidays. It suited Al as well - time was getting very short and while the old ambulance would need little preparation it would need some.
Buck dropped him off at the fab shop, then headed off on his own tasks. Al walked up to the security guard, who buzzed McAdams to come to the door. The guard was grinning for some reason, which disconcerted Al just slightly. Buzzed through, he met McAdams and Juan on the other side.
McAdams spoke first. "OK, so we got everything done you wanted. We also added some additions of our own - nothing too fancy but I don't think you'll be disappointed."
Al was reassured - he'd known these men were top-notch from Buck's description, but it was reassuring to hear that at least something had gone off without a Glytch, er glitch.
They enter the fabrication bay where Al had parked the old girl - and Al was dumbstruck to see what had been done.
Trim and resplendent in her grey and white livery sat the old ambulance. Gone was the tired matt green paint with the Red Cross roundels, replaced by a coat of shining white. The wheels too had been transformed - new paint and (Al noticed immediately) new Michelin XZX tyres. The Snobby Winery logos had been impeccably applied, suiting the ambulance's new look perfectly. They'd improved on his design as well - adding some colour shading to the grapes and the bottle.
"Hello, Clara...you're looking pretty in your party dress!" Al breathed, as he circled the truck to take in all of the changes. As he looked he noted other things - the rear crossmember picked out in black with the pintle hitch in its proper red, the chromed exhaust tip replacing the rusted original, and the detail applied to things like the mirrors and exterior trim. This had been a labour of love rather than the cheap and cheerful job he'd requested and resigned himself to.
McAdams stopped by the rear door and opened it. "Have a look" he said..
The interior, still wearing its green paint, had become a proper, efficient armory. The rifle racks were arranged in neat rows against the walls, the Centaur-sized racks at the front end to both sides. They'd improved on his design here as well - setting the racks closer together than he'd specified, they'd found room to squeeze in two lockers at the back. Stepping in and opening one of these he found it compartmented for hand weapon storage and boxes of ammunition.
Even the floor racks had been executed perfectly, in aluminium and powder-coated a matt black, with the top edges picked out in red for visibility.
As Al stepped out Juan escorted him around to the cab, exclaiming "And wait till you see the front office!"
The front office, too, was a sight. The doors had had sheets of steel added to their interiors (a nice touch) but the cabin itself was a showpiece. The ratty ex-military seats had been replaced by custom buckets, modified from the items used in the harvesters. Even the dashboard had changed - the panel holding the 6-way light switch was gone, and replaced with a radio/MP3 player with the switch relocated to the side - again, adapted from a bit of farm equipment.
Al was utterly gobsmacked. He'd asked for a cheap and cheerful bit of bodgery, and he'd gotten a masterpiece.
Juan was bursting with excitement. "We know we did more than you wanted to - but it was just a shame to see it half done. The seats and the stereo come from an axial-flow crop sprayer - they're all low-profile stuff that fit well. The mounts are not cut into the structure - if you ever decide to they can come back out."
"Oh, they won't be coming back out - the seats in this thing were wretched. I'd always meant to refit stock civilian seats, but this is vastly better. Bravo!"
McAdams rumbled, "Now for the engine service. We've got some good news and some bad news on that. The engine was not exactly the healthiest thing around, so we dealt with the problems." Al was impressed - he'd known compression was down on that ancient Diesel, but hadn't worried about it as it still ran well - and only absolutely had to make one more trip.
"So, what did you end up doing to it - a re-ring? Should have been all it needed - compression on it was consistent last I checked it."
Juan had lifted the bonnet as McAdams and Al talked, and now stood back as they walked to it.
Al breathed in..deeply.
There, nestled into the bay as if fitted in Solihull, was a four-cylinder turbo Diesel engine, with the Alexander centaur and the company name cast into its intake manifold. Al doffed his jacket and stood on the bumper, craning to see what was done. The engine had been fitted in the place of the original 2.5D - the mounts were custom but everything else was as it originally left the factory.
"We were just going to pull and re-ring the old one but it turned out after a little research that the block for the AH 2.5 liter turbo Diesel auxiliary engine is the same basic design as the Land-Rover 300 TDi. Your bellhousing bolted right up once we reamed the bolt holes and all we had to do was to weld up a set of mounts to fit your chassis mounts. The truck is unmodified - we figured you rather have it that way."
"Oh, my. Oh, my indeed. You have done a stellar job - I never expected this level of fit, finish and care for what should have been a cheap and cheerful job. Bravo, gentlemen, though I keep saying that." More seriously, Al said "You've kept a cost accounting on this, right? The number of hours alone must be astronomical."
"Not as bad as you'd think. Most of what went into it came straight from stock and a lot of it was off the books from depreciation. The engine is rebuilt stock kept for refurbishing jobs, but the company cost on those is not that bad. The rest was paint - AH White, of course - and time. In any case, I have very strict orders that you don't get that - you are to speak directly to Mr. Alexander on it."
"Where's the team that did this?" Al had noticed men unobtrusively lurking in the corners and idling around the entrance to the bay. McAdams yelled "OK, stop hiding - get over here!"
Al stood in the rear entrance of the ambulance, and looked out on the two dozen men who'd gathered. Painters, weldors, fabricators, mechanics and all - looking expectantly at him.
"I hate making speeches" Al began, "but this is bar none the most beautiful bit of work I've laid my eyes on in many a year of working with both military equipment and British cars. You gentlemen have utterly outdone every expectation I had. The fit, finish and care taken with my old girl here just shows the care you put into your work. My sincere thanks go out to each and every one of you."
With that, Al turned away before they saw the unshed tears in his eyes. One doesn't mist up in front of the troops...ever.
McAdams escorted him to the front of the vehicle and motioned him inside. "Start her up - she's had a wiring check, fluid changes and all, so she should run like new."
Al turned the key, turned it a bit farther to engage the glow plugs, counted to ten (glow plug timer? - how effete) then turned to the start position. A few grunts, and the engine lit off, chattering as only a happy Diesel does. With that the audio system came to life, blaring "Paradise By The Dashboard Light" at full volume. After finding the volume control and then recovering his composure, Al looked out of the windows, to see the crew backslapping, high-fiving and laughing uproariously at the look on his face.
"YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF SICK BUGGERS!" Al roared at the top of his lungs, overcoming the Diesel and the stereo easily. Laughing himself, he turned off the engine, stood on the running board and gave them all a most undignified thumbs-up.
Stepping down, he turned to McAdams and asked, "Can you have her delivered under a cover to the Alexander place? I don't want to drive her till the day she's needed."
"Certainly."
With that, Al walked among the craftsmen one more time, shaking hands, slapping a few backs and letting each one know that their work was appreciated. Then task here done, he headed for the building where the remains of his business were - time to sort a few boxes of the remains before Buck was ready to leave.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Mon Nov 16, 2015 1:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"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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jwhouk
- Posts: 6053
- Joined: Wed Aug 01, 2012 7:58 am
- Location: The Valley of the Sun, Arizona
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
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"Just wait 'til he finds the tea maker we installed custom..."
"Just wait 'til he finds the tea maker we installed custom..."
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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DinkyInky
- Posts: 2382
- Joined: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:38 am
- Location: Where there's more than Corn.
- Contact:
Re: Doing it right...
Bwahahahahahaaaa! Oh, brilliant!jwhouk wrote:---
"Just wait 'til he finds the tea maker we installed custom..."
"Fancy a cuppa before storming the palace?"
"Oh yes, let's!"
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir