Pillsbury + 1 year:

[FreeFlier]

And there's that one that some little old lady from the UK drove...

that is nothing like what Cinnamon ordered up.

Of course not. But it's fit for a queen. And daddy got one for her right after she was born...

And I do believe she's driving without a license . . .

--FreeFlier

[jwhouk]

Of course not. But it's fit for a queen. And daddy got one for her right after she was born...

And I do believe she's driving without a license . . .
--FreeFlier

Are YOU going to be the one to tell her that?

[FreeFlier]

Of course not. But it's fit for a queen. And daddy got one for her right after she was born...

And I do believe she's driving without a license . . .

Are YOU going to be the one to tell her that?

Don't have to . . . she's well aware of it.

And her dogs aren't licensed, either . . .

. . .

And neither is an offense, in her most particular case.

--FreeFlier

[Just Old Al]

[quote="FreeFlier"}
And neither is an offense, in her most particular case.

--FreeFlier[/quote]

Her Majesty was a truck driver in the unpleasantness from 39-45.

I am sure she remembers how.

ajr

[GlytchMeister]

the unpleasantness from 39-45

*Ding!*
Master of Understatement Level Up!

[Just Old Al]

The pace was slowing.

Nothing was complete – but New Alexander was coming to life, as was the tower of Old Alexander.

Still prowling his rounds, Al was very, VERY pleased.

The tower at Old Alexander looked as it had when he first saw it over a year ago – yet infinitely better. Where there had been an air of age and wear, all was pristine. The new woodwork, window hangings and spotless paint shone as did the gleaming floors. The perfectly placed furniture, bric-a-brac , books and wall hangings – all returned to their pre-crash places – had been dusted and polished to within an inch of their lives.

Al found Edward, nearly exhausted, directing the few last efforts.

“Edward, how goes it? Everything looks fantastic.”

“Thank you, Al. It has gone well. We have a few items to finish, but he work is essentially complete, and the tower is again fit to be occupied.”

“Bravo.” Al completely violated protocol by giving Edward a side hug, but Edward took it stoically and good humoredly. “Please, sir, not in front of the others. Everyone will want one…”

Al, trying very hard not to bray laughing, sputtered a bit, then moved on. Edward was a rare prize – a majordomo truly up to the task.

He moved on, inspecting each room of the tower. When he reached “his room”, he opened the door, and leaned in, turning on the light. Other than the new bed and the lack of a large hole in the floor it was identical – the same desk and chair, the same bureau…and a spot at the foot of the bed perfect for a gun case, as he’d found long ago.

Al smiled, making a vow to himself to return with Daisy for some…stress testing…of the new work.

From here, he moved on to New Alexander. The lights were on, and it shone in the slight wintry gloom that had set in. Striding into the main entrance, he stood for a moment enjoying the scale of the room. Someone had lit the central firepit, and its flickering brought motion to the shadows in the corners.

Heartened by the lack of motion, he headed for the kitchen – to be assaulted by wonderful smells.

Baking bread, stew…pie? Oh my word.

The kitchen had come to life – and a raggedly tired but proud Rosalita was bossing its operation.

“I never thought you would do it – but you have! BRAVO, LASS! I bow to your power.” Al tipped his hat and bowed to the woman of the hour.

“I told you I made no promises – but yet, we succeeded. Dinner will be nothing fancy – stew and bread – but it will be HERE.” She stamped her foot, a proud woman with a proud accomplishment. New Alexander was no longer just a house, but had become a home – its hearth burning brightly, and its inhabitants settling in.

“What did you do with Glytch? That’s not him in the stew, I hope!” Al said, mock-horrified.

Laughing, Rosalita said “No – or at least I hope not, There was a bit of confusion when we were stocking the walk-in…so no promises.” She laughed again and added “He’s around here somewhere – I think he went to see what Señor Greg was up to with an eye toward helping.”

Thanking Rosalita again, he headed upstairs – more than a little concerned as to what his two favorite friends were up to.

He found them standing in one of the upper halls – tired, sweaty, but infinitely pleased with themselves. There was still some small amount of noise and motion, but much diminished from where it had been even on his last pass through.

“Al, it’s done.” Sarge, looking a little more tired than Al liked seeing in the older man, informed him with great satisfaction. “Your crew, Glytch and I have been working like Clydesdales getting everything in and unpacked.”

All the occupied rooms – yours and Daisy’s, Rowdy’s and Cindy’s are all set for them down to the toiletries in the bathrooms and the covers on the beds. Once we got the diagrams of what went where, it all went like clockwork.”

“All the rest of the rooms moved – the parts of the library, sitting rooms, your office, Daisy’s and so on are all set up. We may not have dotted every I and crossed every T – but it is there.”

“Okay, you two. Let’s walk through and let people go, then it’s down to the kitchen for coffee and biscuits. I’m sure Rosalita’s got something there for us.”

They walked through the rooms, lending a hand here, praising work there, and acknowledging that yes, indeed, everything was done and where it needed to be.

Finally, the three trooped down to the kitchen and arrayed themselves at the counter, where a large tin of biscuits already waited – moved from the same spot in Old Alexander. Coffee was produced, and Glytch went for the omnipresent endless Vanilla coke, to the familiar barbs from the older men.

Still, something was…missing.

“The bell. The bloody BELL. Damnit, I knew I forgot something.”

“What?”

“I forgot the damned bell. That won’t do.”

“Al, why the hell are you worrying about that thing? It’s not going anywhere.” Sarge, a bit grumpier than his usual self, was less than concerned about the bell.

“This isn’t just about the bell itself, is it, Al?” Glytch had seen this before – something was bothering the old Brit and the bell was the manifestation.

“No, not really. There is…something about that bell. Not sure if it was because it was Ebbie’s and came from the dining room of the “Belle”, but - and I’m prepared to have you call me stupid – it wants to be with the Alexanders.”

Sarge pondered, then nodded. “Not going to call you stupid – some things do take on a life of their own. When did you notice this?”

“End of last year. I have no idea why – but something told me that damn thing was happy to be where it was. Where the Alexanders were it wanted to be. Funny enough – I don’t count.” Al stopped, rubbed his eyes, and said “I’m getting loopy – been spending too much time with that elf and the rest of the crew of this place.”

Sarge, never one to mince words, heaved himself off his stool, downed his coffee and growled “OK, let’s go get the damn thing or I‘m gonna have to listen to you whine about it all day.” He smiled to remove the sting, and the three trooped over to Old Alexander.

Removing the bell and its standard from the wall was the work of a few minutes and a screwdriver. Bundled in a kitchen towel to prevent it clanging, the three trooped back over, Al with the bell, Sarge with the tools and Glytch taking point with the standard.

With Rosalita’s cheerful agreement, the bell was secured to the wall in a spot similar to its place in the old house.

Al gave it a quick polish with the cloth removed from it, then completely at random said “Llentol.” The bell chimed, softly, though its clapper never moved.

“What the hell?”

“I…have no idea…and I am not going to ask. It’s happy now – and so am I.”

Al sat back down and poured himself another cup of coffee from the flask. His family would be home, soon, and he was now content – though he didn’t know why.

[DinkyInky]

Emerauld, back in the camp she made for Prroul out of the leavings of her sisters as Al had only asked her to tend the gardens, felt the bell sigh in contentment and chuckled.

"Al'doer delmah ke." "Welcome home indeed."

[GlytchMeister]

Glytch took one look at the bell with its barely-visible eleven runes, then glanced at the baffled expressions of the two old soldiers. Then he stifled a grin. Seeing these two stumped by a bell was priceless.

[FreeFlier]

/noselick/ Remarkable.

Quite.

--FreeFlier

[DinkyInky]

AN:Thank you Al!

"Ready ladies? Limo is waiting out front." Sterling said, as her phone lit up with the waiting text.

Lots of bouncy cheering and giggles as they collected their discards in the cute VS totes Christine gave them. Sterling peered out the window, noticed the lurid splash of pink and whispered at it, and watched the incredulous looks as all the bags poofed into nothingness.

"Sight targeted transport. I saw the interior from the photos, limo is out front...poof! Wanna cause a traffic jam? Monica, your fave person in the world is working front desk."

Chuckling low and dangerous, showing off a fanged grin, she said, "Ladies, commence operation: Causing Trouble. Synchonize your runway walk and sexy pout for ground floor to the door. Sterling has the beats."

With that, they filed out of the room and into the elevator, lining up and exiting with such attitude no man and more than a few women were safe from the aura of raw sex appeal. 

As they approached the front desk, Sterling snapped her fingers and a heavy guitar intro roared through the foyer as seven vixens strutted out towards their waiting limo, the flashbulbs like starlight from myriad photos, the screech of tires and thumps of minor collisions heard as cars everywhere came to a burning halt to catch a glimpse of them, the music following them out the doors and into the limo.

Once inside, Cinnamon exulted, "HOT DAMN THAT WAS FIERCE!"

As the limousine cruised out of the hotel grounds, the chatter continued, everyone grabbed a Sprite from the mini-bar, Cinnamon playfully sticking cherries down into the glass bottle tops.

The laughter was nearly continuous once the doors closed and the limo pulled away. Their exit had been a supreme cap to a stunning day - and there was more to come, as it was just the practice run to the entrance at Alexander House.

"Did you SEE the faces? I swear a half-dozen guys and at least three women were about to step on their tonsils their mouths were open so wide!" Katherine had never "strutted her stuff" like that before - and had found the experience exhilarating.

"Damn! I have NEVER done that before and I wanna do it AGAIN!" Annie shouted. "I wish Sarge had been there...oh, but wait, he's GONNA be there..." She subsided with almost a feral grin, anticipating their arrival. Daisy, looking much the same, texted Al stating "Take your beta blockers because we are coming in HOT!"

The more experienced hands in the fashion scene were just as bubbly. Jet and Monica, cuddling toward the back, were discussing the Crisco Kid's reaction when they came out of the elevator.

"I was looking straight at the desk. When we hit the floor from the elevator I swear he wet himself. I can't prove it and I am sureashell not going to check - but I will swear to it. His neck snapped around SO hard I think he gave himself whiplash!"

Jet laughed at her partner's reaction. "Oh,yessss...Mr.Greaseball definitely hurt himself back there. He'll be thinking about that one for weeks...and every time he does he's going to realize that he threw us out - and is completely and utterly screwed because of it. "

Sterling sat back and soaked up all of the reactions. She knew EXACTLY what the outcome of that strut was going to be - as a matter of fact she'd planned it that way. The energy in this car could drive it all the way to the Moon and back, she thought - and was supremely pleased to feel it. This was fantastic, and she basked in it like the heat from a log fire.

And the far end was going to be even better.

In the kitchen, half-somnolent over his coffee, Al felt his phone vibrate. He took it out, looked at the text from Daisy, and moaned.

"Rosalita, dear?"

"Yes, Senor Al?"

"...you might want to move the stew to the back burner and get out a supply of steaks. From the text I just got there is a carload of women on the way in that are going to want raw meat."

A loud stream of Spanish was heard from the larder - most of it not found in the dictionary.

*************************

"Daisy, is Rosalita a good find?" Sterling queried gently.

"The best, the absolute best. She's like family. I'd be lost without her daily help." Daisy replied.

"Thought so." Sterling rapped her knuckles on the driver's window and requested two stops, priming her bluetooth to make calls.

Getting out quickly, Sterling ran into the specialty market that opened its doors quickly for a celebrity, only to find everything on her list collected, and bundled into a large basket.
High quality these, nothing less than the best, and two of each...one for Casa alexander, one for her own kitchen...Sterling was in far too much of a hurry to ask if she lived on site.
Flor de sal, Pimentón de la Vera, Pimentón de Murcia, Pimentón Tap de Cortí, Vibrant red Azafrán, Guindilla, wreathes of Laurel leaves, and Parsley plants in cute tiled planters for the window sill.
They also had a fine bottle of Spanish Sangria encased in a black velvet wine bag adorned with Spanish lace.
She paid for it, and handed them a book she brought in with her, signing it elegantly to the proprietors, and included a gratuity she said that could be passed onto the employees or to the community if they did not want it.

*************************

The second stop fared as the first, doors opened quickly for her celebrity, and she walked into their private coolers, stunned at her good fortune. Valencia roses.
"I'll take the lot. I'm imposing on a sweet hostess' majordomo, and need to impress. I'll also take six bud vases with four each of the longstem Matisse, hypericum, heather, and feather fern for filler. What filler for the Valencia's? Oh, freesia, those Symbidium orchids, hypericum.
No, no. Baby's breath reminds me of the Prom...I made toooo many arrangements and corsages back then."

Signing another book, she paid as before, leaving a generous gratuity with the instructions to pass it on to employees or community if they did not want it.

"Okay, we've stalled enough. The spices basket and Valencia roses are for Rosalita and her kitchens. The smaller vases are for you to keep or give...for putting up with my bipolar 360's".

"Sterling, that's called compassion. It's not a mental illness. You've no idea how much that will mean to her. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it," said Daisy, chagrined.

"You did luv, when you told me how much she meant to you."

[Just Old Al]

"Incoming."

Glytch and Greg looked up, not liking at all the tone in Al's voice.

"This spa day seems to have generated some monsters. I just got a text from Daisy - and I quote: "Take your beta-blockers because we are coming in HOT." unquote. This as you can understand has me concerned."

"I need to call Buck and Rowdy and warn them. I also suggest that you two get cleaned up for dinner. Greg if you wish to do so here I can offer facilities, but not clothing as mine would fit you like socks on a rooster."

"Glytch, I know you have ways to get around. If you're going to be here for dinner with this crazed bunch of madwomen I suggest a cleanup - I have a feeling this is going to be one helluva show."

Greg thought for a moment, then stood up. "I'll head back via the Library - won't take me five minutes. How long before the incoming fire arrives?"

"I expect 40 minutes or a bit more. Figure it you have a half-hour and you should be back in plenty of time. I am going to go with casual formal - a Hawaiian shirt and dark trousers. I figure this way we're covered for anything...and Gods know what we're in for."

Greg nodded. "Sounds good. I can do the same. Color?"

"Red. This way we'll more-or-less match Fractal Boy here." Al grinned - he remembered Glytch's taste in cleaned-up look.

"Done. I should have two or three shirts recharged and ready to glow." Greg grinned as well - there was never a bad excuse for a party - and this looked to be shaping up interesting from the sound of things.

Glytch left the room, and faintly Al heard a VORP sound. Greg dodged out the kitchen door for the temporary gate, past the still-muttering Rosalita who had switched to English to make sure that "Senor Al" could appreciate the full level of her ire.

Al pulled out his phone and dialed Buck.

"Buck, mate - the madwomen are returning. I figure we have 35 minutes or so till they get back, and from the salacious content of the text I got from your mother it was an interesting day."

Al listened for a moment or two, mostly to raucous laughter.

"Go ahead and laugh. Realize your wife is part of that madhouse...so whatever happens YOU are just as stuck with it."

More laughter, then a question.

"I am getting cleaned up - slacks and a Hawaiian shirt. I suggest you pry your brother off the couch - of course he's there - I know you two - and throw him in the shower as well. Greg and Glytch are on their way back once they clean up. Black and red if you can manage it."

"No, I have no idea...this is going to be a SIGHT. Bring the girls, of course."

Al steeled himself - this was not going to be pleasant...for him.

"Rosalita, mi amor..."

"Don't Mi Amor me, Mr. Richer. I heard - the herd is descending on us. You take advantage of my good nature. I will have SOMETHING for them....but it won't be in a half hour."

Three heartbeats later the stern look melted, and Rosalita laughed. "I could have done with more notice, but this is doable. You'll have time for cocktail hour before dinner...it's going to take me time to do baked potatoes and glazed carrots to go with the steaks - I have creamed spinach on as well."

"DAMN, you're good. I need to go get cleaned up."

Al headed out of the kitchen, blessing his stars that his dam had such good taste in staff. 30 minutes and counting...

[FreeFlier]

)()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( <-- tailwagging

. . .

A loud stream of Spanish was heard from the larder - most of it not found in the dictionary.

. . .

Hmmm . . . must not be a very good dictionary then . . .

--FreeFlier

[DinkyInky]

)()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( )()()()()()()()()( <-- tailwagging

. . .

A loud stream of Spanish was heard from the larder - most of it not found in the dictionary.

. . .

Hmmm . . . must not be a very good dictionary then . . .

--FreeFlier

Not any polite dictionary, let us say.

Oh, and please tell Wolf-who-watches that next time, she can join the madhouse...

[GlytchMeister]

*VORP*

Coming in hot, huh? Alright... Fine. Challenge accepted. Glytch grinned as he began his cleanup routine once again... Shower...he had to shave again, his stubble seemed to grow faster when he exercised... Bvlgari Black Extréme... All the while humming the guitar riff for "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top as he went.

The outfit he chose was much more dressy and a bit more colorful than the one he had originally planned on wearing that day. A tight black hooded undershirt, silk red hooded overshirt embroidered in black silk with images from a bubble chamber. Over that went a basic black suit coat, then the chain for Safyr's dagger. Black jeans, black socks with a red bubble chamber pattern, and shiny black dress shoes with red laces. Once Eme's knife and Safyr's dagger were secured, Glytch turned to jewelry. He swapped out his utilitarian steel watch for a more formal analog silver one (black face with a red backlight). Then he put on his silver and ruby fractal-engraved ring. Finally, smiling at fond memories, he put in the silver and Tux-engraved jet cufflinks Eme' had given him.
Shrugging into his longcoat, Glytch took a deep breath and VORPed back to New Castle Alexander.

[Just Old Al]

Dodging into his new room, Al was momentarily disoriented. Such a busy day...not so much fun for an old man. The evening was shaping up to be entertaining, though, so there were compensations. Al smiled, memories of his lonely existence surfacing and making the realization of his present life that much sweeter.

Digging through bureau drawers and closet, he laid out underthings in black, dress pants, polished oxfords, and a lurid red Hawaiian shirt covered in bird-of-paradise flowers like the old Matson Airlines crew shirts of long ago. He, Greg and Gytch along with the boys and the young ones would make quite a sight when the women rolled back in,, he thought, smiling again at how lucky he was.

Stripping, jumping into the shower and cleaning up was the work of a few minutes - no time to dawdle! Emerging and dressing took but a few minutes more despite having to search for his things in unfamiliar places.

With this done, a touch of Moroccan Myrrh scent took care of the last of his sartorial needs, as did donning his old military issue watch.

"15 minutes - not bad..not bad at all" he murmured, as he scurried back out the door, turning off the lights. Just time to make sure all was well in the kitchen, and then they'd be rolling in.

[Sgt. Howard]

Greg managed to get through the portal system in record time- arriving at Oyler's field, he scurried to his own home and immediately jumped into the shower. From there, he stropped his razor, lathered the mug with hot water on the soap and slapped the hottest towel he could manage across his face. Four strokes to the cheeks, six to the neck, two to each jowl and a significant amount of carving to the chin, followed by the careful finish of the upper lip after another stropping- the finish was smooth as sanded pine. Then the black dockers, spit-shined black low-quarters and a blasphemous red/purple/yellow floral assault of a Hawaiian shirt finished the ensemble. Throwing his old BDU field jacket over everything, he made the mad dash to Oyler's outhouse.
Roger Oyler watched out his living room window at the spectacle of his crazy Californian neighbor running to the outhouse in a determined manner-
"Kathy, I reckon the Howards have got septic problems again- " he stated to his wife, "There goes the madman again to my outhouse... and it looks like it might be a close race..."

[DinkyInky]

AN: Thanks Al, Sarge, Glytch for the believable reactions...

*************************

Meanwhile in the Pepto dismal mobile...

"So, I have two options. We can repeat the strut from earlier, or I can pick a different song. I had considered choosing this one..."

She clicked the screen of her iPod, and selected a track, which had the predictable responses from Cinnamon, Jet, and Monica. They were all more than familiar with club beats, and this was much more familiar than the guitar riffs from earlier.

However, the verdict was not unanimous.

“What in the HELL is that noise? That is AWFUL!” Annie said, dismayed that she’d even consider such crap after classic Hendrix.

Daisy agreed. “You put that on and I’m staying in the car till it’s OVER! Nasty!”

"...but come on, how could I?" she continued on, ignoring the predicted outbursts. "Passing up classic Jimi for the club beats is like passing up Stevie Ray in favour of Justin Bieber, and that is just not on!"

Katherine’s reaction was much like Daisy’s and Annie’s, though more restrained. “Really? Nelly Furtado? Now if you had gone with Madonna or something a little less screechy I might have bought in, –“

"Does anyone bother to listen to the lyrics anymore? That song is made for the runway...hell, I bet Jet has stalked the catwalk to it many times."

Sterling sang in a sultry purr:

"'Everybody look at me, me
I walk in the door you start screaming!'

It just screams for attention, like Madonna in Gaultier.

Since you three really don't like it, how about a compromise? We play the first three lines, I make it do a screechy record needle noise, then Hendrix. That way, Cinnamon shows off first with me and the dorks, we part in the middle, then you three strut to Hendrix, as the guys need to see their Foxy Ladies."

Sooner than anyone wished, the limousine pulled up to the gate, and Edward was told to not say anything as he buzzed them in.

*************************

Glytch, hoods pulled WELL forward, displayed no reaction other than his body language – which spoke of total revulsion. The giant pink Zinger on wheels was definitely not tolerable, it seemed, though he would not dignify it with a reaction.

Al and Greg could not have reacted more differently. Greg, like Buck, was laughing at the sheer tastelessness of the vehicle and howling comments in between gasps of breath. He was in classic form - the comments started out as “'totally disgusting color for 4x4... and a stretch one at that!" and then continued into:

"If that thing has pups, can I have one?"
"Looky! It's the VomitMcRover!"
"Hey Al- who crossed the Rabbit with a 4x4?"
"WOW! A four wheel drive v-(at this point Rosalita kicked him in the shins and looked pointedly at the girls.)-ow!" he finished, not missing a beat... "BUT IT'S IN THE WRONG SCALE!"
"HAH! THIS is why ENGLAND no longer has an EMPIRE!!!"
"By (snerk!) appointment of Her majesty the Queen, (snerk!) sole proprietor of (snerk!) fancy lady transportation (HAH!) to the Royal Family...BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

The final comment got him an icy stare from AL – who may have been an expatriate but was still a loyal subject of the Queen. At that point the comments may have subsided but the laughter did not.

Al – was Al. Stony-faced, he regarded the turgid pink monstrosity with the sheer friendliness with which he would have regarded a group of teen delinquents with can openers near his Aston-Martin. This was simply bad form, and not on. Knowing well whose idea this had been, he vowed to have a long talk with his stepdaughter at a later date – preferably involving scraping rust of a Land-Rover chassis – with her fingernails – for inflicting this thing on him.

After exiting the entirely-too-pink vehicle, the driver came around to open the side door as the lights turned on (at least to the untrained eye it looked that way), smoke curling around and up as fingers snapped and the dance track started.

With the lights coming up and the smoke rolling in like a fog, Monica and Jet exited the vehicle, taking up their positions to the left of the door. Hand on hip, one foot forward and the other to the side in a pose as old as Mother Eve, they showed off the classic lines of their dresses and the beautiful self-confidence with which they wore them.

They were matched to the right by Cinnamon and Sterling – utterly different in almost every way but the pride and self-confidence they showed in every line of their erect posture.

As one, the four of them walked to the centre, blocking the view of the door of the limousine. A few seconds passed, the sound of a record needle scratching vinyl, then the heavy seductive wail of Hendrix throbbed in the air, as they parted again.

"Oh, MUCH better..." Glytch murmured, the fingers of his right hand twitching involuntarily... Hendrix always made him want to air-guitar.

Katherine runway-walked through the middle, the center of attention, head high and shoulders back. Buck was mesmerized – he could hardly breathe, never mind take his eyes off her. She stepped to the side and turned to the centre as well.

Next, Annie strode forward – proud, beautiful and stunning in her black dress. She runway-walked forward, then turned, the longer back of her skirt twirling and playing across her calves in a satiny, sensual swish. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Greg, who stood slack-jawed, unable to take his eyes off his bride.

Last but certainly not least, Daisy glided forward, her hips swaying languidly and setting the material of the skirt of her dress moving in a sinuous ripple. She walked up to Al, stood with hand on hip, one foot forward, hand on hip with the other at her side and said languidly, looking through hooded eyes. “See anything you like, soldier?”

The tableau held for five – then ten – then thirty seconds – and then the assembled watchers went wild.

Shouting at the top of their lungs the girls dove for their mother – but were beaten to the punch by their father. Striding forward, he swept Katherine up in his arms and the two kissed passionately. Undeterred, the children hugged each side of the monolith that was their kissing parents.

Much the same scene was taking place with Annie and Greg, and Al and Daisy. Embracing passionately, they kissed, deeply, lovingly and with utter abandon.

This did not go unnoticed by Cinnamon, who again punctuated the air with shrill whistles and “GO, MOMMA!” cries. She was joined in this by Rowdy, who was never one to pass up a chance for a rebel yell or a whistle especially when making fun of Momma was in the offing.

Jet and Monica, overcome by the emotion of the moment, had also passionately embraced – their happiness in each other evident in every line.

Sterling, still standing where she began, simply smiled. This moment was so – RIGHT – that it couldn’t be any better – any better at all. Everyone glowing with love, laughter, happiness. The scales were once again balanced.

Glytch was overcome by the beauty of the moment, and smiled a wide, warm grin as he looked on, feeling the beginnings of a knot forming in his throat. He loved it when his friends were happy – and that was most evidently the case here.

Behind the scenes, the driver had emptied the boot that he swore he did not remember filling, and handed the seven bags to Edward, who stoically took the lurid pink bags without expression and headed for the house. The driver then handed off the vases, two at a time, then the large vase, then the basket of goods.

Rosalita bent and reached down for a pair of the vases. Sterling stopped her, taking the small vases from her hands.

“Here – you want this one.” Sterling said, handing her the large vase of roses. “This is a thank-you from me – I know that you’ve had dinner dumped on you unexpectedly and all that after a day of getting this place together. The spices are yours as well – again, a gift from someone grateful for the opportunity to steal your Mistress for her own good. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.”

Rosalita was nonplussed.

She mumbled, “Thank you, Miss – I don’t know what to say…this is too generous…” Swiftly, she set the vase down, and hugged Sterling tightly, mumbling “Thank you, thank you…” over and over. Then, perhaps ashamed at the outburst, she gathered the roses again and headed for the house.

Glytch, ever helpful, gathered the basket (after surreptitiously blotting his eyes with the edge of his hood) and headed for the house with it and a pair of the smaller vases.

"Sharp dressed kid. Polite too. Al's got great family and friends," Sterling noted, watching the hooded youth take Rosalita's basket and some of the flowers.

Paying the driver a generous gratuity, Sterling deadpanned nasally,

"That will be all, Jenkins."

"Yes Miss Damhnait." he said drily, tipping his hat, then he got back into the limo and returned to the garage to prep the other car she had rented for the evening, glad that for whatever reason, he was to be reserved on standby for the rest of the evening.

[Just Old Al]

The weather was cold and the evening growing dark, but the feelings were warm as the now-complete party walked to the door of New Alexander House.

Daisy, walking with Al, arms around each other, hesitated as they walked toward the house. “Why are we going here? The house isn’t ready…”

“Yes, love, it is. It may not be all perfect or tickety-boo, but it is ready. We’re all moved in. Rosalita is making dinner as we speak, and we have time for a sherry before dinner – steaks and baked potatoes, with glazed carrots and creamed spinach – a classic steakhouse meal.”

“Before you ask, I could not have managed it without Edward, Rosalita, Greg and Glytch. I’ll tell you inside – it’s cold out here.”

They entered the brightly lit atrium, and the OOHs and AAHs at the impact of the brightly-lit space were gratifying. The warmth of the natural wood, black flagstone and the light from the black stone-filled firepit created a wonderful ambiance to the room.

As they all filed in and the door closed, Al turned. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Alexander House. You are our first guests, and we sincerely welcome you to our home.”

As he spoke, his eyes passed across all of the beauty he saw here. His closest friends and family – not that there was any distinction there. Handsome men, beautiful women, lovely children – each arrayed in their finery, each magnificent.

Al was so happy he was dizzy.

He turned to the woman next to him, the light of his love shining in his eyes. “Do you see it, too?”

“They’re all..beautiful…is that what you mean?”

“Yes, love. That is exactly what I mean. How did we ever get so lucky?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” They embraced, passionately holding each other.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll step through to the great room I’m sure we can round up a drink for those who would care for one, or something non-alcoholic for those who prefer it. Follow me, please.”

They stepped through to the great room, to more exclamations.

[GlytchMeister]

{Author's Note: Thanks to Shneekey for the huge amount of help he put into this. He wrote every last bit of Prroul. And I think a line for John, too...}

John and Prroul had just finished heaving a ridiculously large antique tube tv up three flights of stairs back to its original place in the North Tower of Old Castle Alexander.
Once the damned thing was in place, John leaned heavily against a wall, breathing deep and fast. Prroul was only slightly winded.
"That thing... They had to have used magic or something to move that thing... Damn werewolf and his crew..."
Prroul could only shrug. It was always useful to know the physical limitations of your student, after all.
After a few moments of silence, John spoke up again. "I suppose I should fill you in on my situation."
Prroul's ears pricked forward and swiveled toward John as he began to explain his training, his forgiven debt to MIB that he still wanted to pay back just to make sure, and his outstanding debt to Hades. As he spoke, Prroul listened carefully, only interrupting to ask for clarification. At the mention of the debt to the God of the Underworld, Prroul's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "That is a most... Precarious position to be placed in. Beings of that level of power tend to call in their favors in the most... inconvenient of manners. It tends to be, how you say, 'an offer you cannot refuse'."
"It gets worse. Apparently, my power is enough to make big players nervous. Just by existing, I threaten the current status quo... And that can cause a war."
"...Precarious indeed. A situation I am well acquainted with. How do you intend to prevent that?"
"Well... Step one is get my fire completely under control. Step two is pay back Hades in a way that doesn't screw things up. Step three is to make sure everyone knows I'm not some pawn or a tool or a weapon to be used or wielded. Safyr warned me about that. I guess step four is to find something useful to do with myself."

Prroul nods "I was... created... made the way I am... to be a weapon. I know that lesson all too well. I would agree, your first step is control. Step two is going to be... difficult. Beings such as that do not idly interfere in the moral realm, it costs them significantly to be able to do what you described him doing. Which means he has a plan which strongly features you. The fact that he let you leave means his plan involves you being highly trained, but not by him or his. He could have left you in that pit with that fire-deity. Who could have trained you. Yet, he did not."

"I'm not so sure. I probably could have only gotten so good there... I know I've seen more progress in myself in the last year back... here... Than what I managed to get in the last few thousand years in The Hole. Practice only works so well, I guess. Real-world stuff helped a lot, I think. And I don't think Gibil is... made for teaching, if you get my drift."

Prroul's chuckle was very dry, with a hint of a purr to it "I think that your being where you were was no accident. I am... for better or for worse... something of a... 'person of interest', I suppose you could say. Those who are large movers and shakers are familiar with me, because our paths have inevitably have crossed at some point over the centuries. He would know of me, and of Nodaki, and of our... history. And that I would feel a debt of honor to one who had defeated him. It would be no great leap of logic for him to assume that I would train you willingly. It would save him ever so much for me to do his work for him, then to swoop in and take you up. The question is... do you wish this, or do you wish to pay your debt to him on your own terms?"

"I'd like for it to be on my own terms... But I'd have to have a helluva trick up my sleeve to make him... Respect my terms, whatever they're gonna be. How do you gain the respect of a god? It might just be easier to make them fear me instead. There's gotta be ways to kill gods. They've been around for too long to not have enemies. Somebody's got to have figured out how to make 'em bleed, at least."

Prroul gives him an approving grin "Enemy of my enemy is... perhaps not my friend, but at least battle-comrade. If you read your mythology, you'll see time and time again the gods being successfully pitted against each other, or even tricked. I do not know how possible it would be to kill one such as he, but as you demonstrated to the oathbreaker... there are things so very much worse than mere death. Of course, by the time I am done training you... well, you will be powerful enough to turn the tide of a war, at the very least. Indeed, you already are. Like it or not, you can easily wipe out an army on your own at your current level of control. But, that is, how do they say... small potatoes. You wish to negotiate from a position of strength, but strength is not good enough by itself."

"Maybe not, but it sure doesn't hurt." John's grimace at the mental image of burning an entire army after loosing control was acute.

"Strength alone, without the leverage to use it, is meaningless. Consider if you will being in... in outer space. You could be strong enough to move whole worlds, but with nowhere to brace against, all that strength is meaningless. This is the basic concept of Akido. It is also an engineering concept that I am sure the lord of the manor would explain to you, although he would call it 'mechanical advantage', I believe. For example, there would be only so much I could push at the moment, not because my strength is limited, but because I would not wish to damage the flooring by digging my claws into it, so I have less purchase in my stance, and so less of my strength can be applied. To defeat this being, you need not pit your strength against his, which would cause loss and ruin on potentially a global scale. You need only shift him off balance. To use a fulcrum. And there are many such beings as would not mind being such a fulcrum. After all, a being of his power and age has accrued quite a collection of... debts to be paid. In fact, I would not be surprised if you start receiving visits and offers once we are out of his immediate area of observation."

John pondered Prroul's words for a moment. "First, you really think I can turn the tide of a war between gods? I didn't think I even operated at that level." John shrugged. "But you said strength won't be everything. I get that. I couldn't defend my home like I did without knowing how... Without intel. We had infiltrators, thieves, turncoats to give us locations, times, details... And I think I might have started fights between competing gangs to weaken both. So... I need to know more about what I'll be dealing with. Then... If I can get them all confused, I'll be able to... Well, I don't know. Maybe pit them against each other, and determine the outcome myself, or keep them from fighting in the first place and establishing a new balance... Hopefully one that's a bit more stable than right now. I mean, if I can throw everything out of whack, it can't be that stable, can it? And if I can get a few good, solid allies in the process, so much the better. The golems and Monica and Phix are all well and good, but I doubt any of them are a match for a big-time God."

Prroul considers a moment before responding "When forces are in balance, even the slightest shift can cause an imbalance in one direction or another. If there is a war among those called gods, and it has gone on this long, then the sides are likely very evenly balanced or one side would have claimed victory by now. More likely, it is in... equilibrium... and requires only a catalyst to effect change. Another concept to take from Akido is to use your opponent's force against them. It does not matter if you are stronger than your opponent if you can redirect his force to be more beneficial to you. As it is said in the Art Of War, in hemmed in ground, employ subterfuge. But before you can plan, you need... as you say... intel. As Napoleon discovered so infamously, not knowing the terrain can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. "

John nodded. "I guess once I master my fire, I'd better try to learn as much about who I'm dealing with... Then I can pay back Hades and... Figure out the mess I created by existing." John fell silent for a moment. "Things are starting to quiet down. We'd better go see if there's anything else for us to do." He stood and was about to turn away when he paused. "Um... Thanks. For the help. It's good to have a plan. I've kind of been making it all up as I go."

Prroul simply shrugs "Master yourself, and your fire will follow." he tips his head to John and gives a soft smile "It is always good to have a plan, but not to be wed to it. After all, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Still, it never hurts to be... prepared. Lighting a candle in a dark room reveals horror, it does not create it. You did not create the mess, you simply revealed it. Come, Let us see what the others are doing. I, for one, enjoy being seen as simply a strong back. It is a vacation from my vocation."

"And what vocation is that?" John's eyes narrowed. He was fairly certain that it wasn't 'cryptic Chinese dude with the beard', since he was doing enough of that already.

Prroul's smile was less pleasant this time "I am the monster that preys on monsters. Doubly reviled by both monsters and their victims. After all, he who preys on what preys on me can also prey on me, no?"

"Heh... No kidding. There's always a bigger fish." John furrowed his brow. "Before... All this..." John waved his hands vaguely, "I was the biggest fish in the area. It took a while to convince the good cops and politicians I was on their side. Before that happened, everyone thought I was an even bigger threat to the town than the actual criminals." John followed behind Prroul as they descended the stairs. "I wonder what I'll do with myself once I'm through with this..."

Prroul just gives a chuckle as he noiselessly pads along.

[GlytchMeister]

{Credit to Dinky for Sterling}

Well. I don't think I've ever been called 'beautiful' before. Glytch smiled faintly as he looked around at his... Family.
Each one, as he saw them, were no longer simply the people he had come to know... He saw them for who they truly were. Monica, the darkness within the sunshine. Georgette, the purged. Al and Sarge, the Guardians. Annie and Daisy, the Inspirations of Love. Atsali, Bearer of the weight of Knowledge. Castela, the Mystery that needs no answer. Katherine, the Student of Life.
Each face was at once familiar, but also reflected in them was a... Meaning.

And the concept behind the new woman bothered Glytch. It was as though he knew he had the knowledge, but he couldn't recall it. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it vexed him to no end. There's something about that woman... Glytch approached her and held out his hand. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Glytch. I'll be handling the encrypted video stream, and I'll also help with some of the tests for your project. Pleased to meet you."

The woman briefly shook Glytch's hand and nodded. "The Laptop was a nice bit of coding. What branch are/were you from? I have not seen that level of work other than with 'Team Spooky'."

"Branch?" Glytch laughed. "I'm not from any branch. I'm homegrown. I first got into hacking during college. Kids kept stealing my wifi for their games, which slowed down my homework. I'm currently contracting for MIB, but my training, as it were, came from dorm and classmates. And a bit of natural talent, I'm told." Glytch fell in stride next to the woman as they walked through the house. "And the laptop was routine. I might show you some of my more exciting bits later."

The woman jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the front door. "Nice G6, did you do the mods, or has the old gearhead helped?"

"So far, it's all me. I'm sure Al has some suggestions, though. I think I heard you are a fan of Pontiacs too...?" Glytch let a little grin flash across his face. "I have a lot more planned for that car."

"I'll have to bring my Grand Am back over here if you're going to stay awhile and we can compare notes."

"I look forward to it." Glytch was always happy to share ideas... The more brainpower, the better.

"By the way, if you rub some tung oil into your bowstave with a silk cloth daily, your bow won't stick to your coat anymore. Those dark wood compound bows are temperamental. Oh, and if you get a block of violin rosin for your string, it will help steady your draw without reduction in aim, not to mention it will lessen the likelihood of you blistering those young callouses...it's just not tourney friendly, but I'm certain you don't shoot for trophies, do ya Scout?" she said winking.
"Hmm, quite athletic too under those hoods...rather uncommon for a nerd. I bet you have all sorts of fun secrets, don't you?"

"Violin rosin? Hmm, that's interesting. And... Tongue Oil? Never heard of that stuff before." Glytch scratched his cheek. "Nah, I don't do much in the way of competition. Never was big on that scene. I'm curious to know how you figured I'm a Scout, though." Glytch narrowed his eyes and breathed deep. Impressive... But she's not the only one who can observe. "You are rather affluent, judging by the quality of the scents about you... You didn't just splurge on our lady friends today... you use quality products all the time. Your relationship with Jet has already informed me of your artistic tendencies, supported by the way you have been analyzing the house and it's decoration, as well as how your eyes linger on our outfits."

She chuckled, and Glytch held back his blabbering politely so she could speak... Once he really got going, it was hard to get a word in edgewise.

"Not quite. Military life and hard work gave me a sizeable nest egg, and an appreciation for good old-fashioned clean. Jet and I have been friends from childhood. We've both always leaned toward aesthetics, as does her sister Jill, who's an artist of gastronomical proportions. As an artist, one has to wear many hats...architecture, landscaping, fashion, anatomy and physiology, colour composition, drafting, engineering...especially if it is to be believable...a jack of all trades if you will.

As to my admiring your finery, I'm pretty sure I know your tailors...jewelers...blacksmiths. Yeah, they're a team," she grinned and held her hands up in mock surrender at his look.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe. They must like you, as they're inordinately shy and don't make things like those Tux-links for just anyone.

As to affluency, I'm frugal, and pick and choose when, where, and whom to spend with and on. I prefer spending my hard-earned pay on high-quality, hand-made products whenever possible. Supporting small businesses and artisans are good, solid investments. What I don't buy, I make myself. I cannot stand harsh products that do nothing beneficial."

Glytch recovered quickly and barreled on, "I can almost see the critiques happening in your head. Your gait, stance, and posture indicate extensive martial arts training, as well as a rare level of self-confidence; you are always centered, your footing is sure, and you are always ready to spring into action, while remaining relaxed and calm. Musculature suggests some form of swordsmanship, and either yoga (Sterling snorted at the mention of contortionists fashionable torture)or tai chi or some other similar slow, meditative kata. Not sure what style of unarmed training yet... Some sort of mixture perhaps? Or something very old... It's ringing all kinds of bells, but I can't quite place it... And, of course, you are a magic user of some sort. That music earlier... It wasn't from an array of speakers, but rather created by vibrating the entire local airmass around that atrocity of a Pepto Limo (Sterling chuckled at his weird science explanations for her amplify spell, which redirected the speakers output into the acoustics of the large open-air space). One thing I'm having issues figuring out is your ethnicity. Your facial structure is... Odd. Nice, but unusual. I can't quite place it yet... Don't tell me, I wanna figure it out myself."

The woman remained studiously expressionless as Glytch finished his analysis. Glytch grinned dangerously.

"Secrets? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I'm just chock-full of 'em... And I'm beginning to suspect you are too."

The woman remained silent, expressionless. Glytch chuckled and moved on. There's plenty of time to get to know one another... And if Jet trusts her, I probably can too... Just so long as she doesn't try to ferret out too many of my secrets.

"There's a practical test, right? Fighting is one thing, but running away is something else entirely. I think I'll want to see if you can keep up with me. Or, at least, see if you don't fall too far behind."

"Well met, Glytch. I'm Sterling." she finally said with an easy grin, hand folded over fist, bowing slightly.

Glytch mirrored the motion, bowing somewhat deeper, and smiled. "Definitely some kind of oriental martial art... I'll get it in a bit. I'm having fun with this."