Pillsbury + 1 year:

[DinkyInky]

Sarge? Is that a Confederate States belt buckle?

...This surprises you?

I can't remember where Sarge hails from (Texas?), so I can't say I'm surprised, as much as wanting to confirm that I saw and recognized correctly. (I am, after all, a mere French Canadian, so I am not as fully versed in all things Americana as some other forum goers might be... )

Washington state I believe.

[Sgt. Howard]

Genuine article

100_6661.JPG (202.1 KiB) Viewed 9008 times

Here they are, Folks!

Sarge? Is that a Confederate States belt buckle?

Se fer yerse'f... actually, I was born and raised in the People's Soviet Socialist Republic of Californicatia- My Mother's family was from North East Tennessee- she was born in California or on the way to there, I'm not sure which. My native drawl, when I use it, is pure Appalachian hillbilly. I actually do flavor my coffee with molasses... on special occasions I use ground-up Abuelita chocolate. A simple breakfast to me involves fried sausage and/or ham, cackleberries (eggs), biscuits and gravy and spuds.(Hash browns).
At age 61 I can still knock out 25 pushups without straining anything, even more sit ups and any number of regular Army exercises- I attribute this to diet and hard work.

[GlytchMeister]

The five musicians trooped into a shabby building that was more a shack than anything else... Sailing-themed decorations were everywhere. A massive fiberglass parrot hung from the ceiling in one corner, nets and buoy lines and pictures of caught fish and boats hung on the walls. The tables were cheap, the chairs wobbly, and the ceiling was low. The staff wore tacky neon-colored tshirts, and one could easily hear the cook bawling orders in the kitchen. The smell of grease was thick in the air, and it mixed with the odor of the nearby Illinois river to make a pervasive miasma.
"Welcome ta Burger Boat, whaddaya want ta drink?" The waiter was big, sweaty, bald, red-faced, and lumbering. A spiraling chain wound down his left arm, ending with an anchor on his forearm.
As he took everyone's orders (Glytch simply said "no thanks") his eyes lingered on the hooded Glytch and the heavily tattooed Xera. "Nice ink," he rumbled as he went to the kitchen to get their drinks.
"Thanks."
"Speaking of ink..." Glytch began tentatively, reaching into his ever-present bag for the refilling bottle of Vanilla Coke.
"What about it? Please tell me I don't have to wear long sleeves for this gig." Xera growled.
"Oh, no. Quite the contrary. I was wondering if you didn't mind, eh, showing off a bit." Glytch swirled the glass bottle, prompting it to fill, watching Xera closely from under his hood. Rachel raised an eyebrow at him, and Bob and Geoff turned to look sharply at Xera.
"Oh, really? And just how much did you want me to show off?" Xera leaned back, sprawling in her chair, ignoring the creak of protest it gave.
Glytch shrugged. "Honestly... As much as you want. They might be a bit freaked if you showed up buck-ass nude, but anything short of that would probably be fine."
Silence.
Then, Xera began to chuckle. That was a good sign.
"Just what sort of establishment are you taking us to, Glytch?" Bob said as his fingers began to tap out a staccato rhythm on the table.
"It's a private gig," Glytch began. "A gathering of friends and family. The boss'll be there, along with the other golem girls. They'll bring Alan and Kevin along. Probably Paulette. The Timekeeper, the Jaguar Girl and Georgette... Hmm... Oh, The Centurion and the Librarian, Shelly and Justin, Katherine Gilchrist-Alexander, and of course Buck and the rest of the Alexanders. And some other people too, Allan Richer, Greg Howard, Joe Houk, Emerauld and Safyr Drathmir, and... Whasshisname... John Smith. I'm probably missing a f- oh, yeah. Billens, Pratt, and McBride oughta be there too. And maybe some more."
Everyone gaped at him. Rachel recovered the fastest. "Wow, man. You got friends in high places."
"Are you sure they won't freak out at me if I show up dressed like I'm clubbing?"
Glytch grinned. "Pretty sure, yeah. They seemed pretty cool."
Geoff shook his head. "The Alexanders are old money, Glytch. That tends to mean stuffy and stuck-up. Last month we performed for an oil tycoon. That guy was so puffed-up I thought his head was gonna pop."
"Nah, not these guys." Glytch flapped his hand dismissively. "They have a big house... Well, two, now, I guess... But they seemed alright. I certainly didn't get any bad vibes. Sarge might have trouble looking you in the eye, but that's because he'll be too busy avoiding the Gibbs Smack from his wife."
Xera smiled dangerously. "Well, if you think the crowd'll be ok with it... I haven't performed in that little bikini top and the daisy Dukes in a while."
Glytch nodded. "I've got black lights included in the setup. You'll be performing at your best."
The big waiter returned at this point. "Arright, whaddaya want ta eat?"
They each ordered their burgers. Xera and Glytch both ordered triple bacon cheese burgers. Bob had a double cheese, Geoff had a double bacon with everything but cheese (he was lactose intolerant), and Rachel tried to order a soy burger.
The waiter stared at her. "A whut?"
"A soy burger? Something for vegetarians?" Rachel looked at the man's uncomprehending expression and sighed, defeated. "Fine, I'll have a salad."
"Ok, we have those."
As the waiter lumbered away, muttering to himself about how eating meat is part of life, Xera smiled impishly at Rachel. "When did that start?"
"What?"
"Being a vegetarian. When did that happen to you?" Glytch raised an eyebrow at the blonde.
"A vegi- oh. No, no no no. I'm not a vegitarian. I just took one look at this place and didn't want to risk eating the meat. All that grease would probably sit in my stomach like a brick for a week."
Xera rolled her eyes. "You're so delicate."
"Just because I can't eat like a dinosaur doesn't make me delicate!"
"You tried to order a soy burger! That's what food eats!"
"Aaanyway. Last time we all got together, it turned into a bit of a fashion show. I don't know how it's going to turn out this time, but cutoff shorty-shorts might not exactly..." Glytch petered off, unsure of how to put the concept to words.
"Glytch, that group is an extinction event waiting to happen. John Smith is a walking natural disaster, and Pratt and McBride are catastrophe magnets. And you! You are a damn mad scientist! I'm not wearing restrictive clothing, least of all a miniskirt. I want to be able to fight and run away."
Glytch blinked. He'd never stopped to think of the potential for trouble his group of friends had. "Huh. I guess you would. I never had the chance to know them before I got sucked into it. Now I guess I'm used to the notion that a bunch of them are powerful enough to obliterate the planet."
"Fine, you can wear the miniskirt."
Bob and Geoff snickered, and Glytch was about to retort when the burgers (and one salad) arrived. "Here yeh go," the waiter said, setting down the flimsy plastic baskets. "Eat up."

[Just Old Al]

An extinction event waiting to happen

Tsk. Children nowdays...so timid.

Al

[lake_wrangler]

Here they are, Folks!

Sarge? Is that a Confederate States belt buckle?

Se fer yerse'f... actually, I was born and raised in the People's Soviet Socialist Republic of Californicatia- My Mother's family was from North East Tennessee- she was born in California or on the way to there, I'm not sure which. My native drawl, when I use it, is pure Appalachian hillbilly. I actually do flavor my coffee with molasses... on special occasions I use ground-up Abuelita chocolate. A simple breakfast to me involves fried sausage and/or ham, cackleberries (eggs), biscuits and gravy and spuds.(Hash browns).
At age 61 I can still knock out 25 pushups without straining anything, even more sit ups and any number of regular Army exercises- I attribute this to diet and hard work.

And is that an antique, or a replica?

And from the way you're holding it, I can't really tell... is it attached to the belf from the right side of the buckle? I thought most belt buckles of that type were attached to the belt from the left side...

Meanwhile, don't ask me to try to do pushups... I stink at them. Always have. Situps, not so bad. Pushups? Forget it!

[Sgt. Howard]

It is an original- a rare original stamped in Macon County Georgia. They managed to knock out 2,500 or so before the dies broke. The repops of that buckle are solid brass- this is stamped brass lead filled. It was dug up at the site of a Confederate Dispensary just outside of Petersburg VA, which means it probably saw the whole war. It does tag on the right and hold on the left- a three fingered frog is involved. They would drop the frog into the stamping and pour the lead- thus it would work either way and quality control and consistency were constant issues. Yes, it's a 'left handed' buckle- not unheard of among Confederate issue.

My home and land was last appraised at $40k or thereabouts. This thing is worth more... and it is NOT for sale...

[DinkyInky]

After dealing with problem after problem, Al needed a break.

The audible VORP! ended with a scroll appearing in familiar hand, in his hand.

{{See here for details.}}

[Just Old Al]

Moved where it belongs...out of sequence here... -Just Old Al

[DinkyInky]

"Emerauld, do stop pacing." Prroul said at the elf's rapid movement.

See the rest here.

[DinkyInky]

"You want me to what." said the petite gal to the phone through clenched teeth.

"Just a little fashion show. It'll be just like old times, Sterling."

"Mother is retired, Jet. She's earned it...more than earned it. I can't sew and you bloody well know I can't.
That sort of tailoring takes precision measurements, elite level skill with a needle, intimate knowledge of fabrics, body types, not to mention what calibers will and will not work with them.
Oh, and then there's lining that shit with lined Kevlar. Try to make that 'light and airy'...

I can't, and I'm not letting Mother."

"Those designs you made were genius." Jet threw just a bit of flirting into her voice.

"I. Am. An. Artist. Jet. I draw pretty things on paper, sometimes even colour them. Of course they were bloody genius." she replied, not bothering to hide her frustration.

"You're also a chain mail Queen. That pocket t-shirt was amazing! not to mention the jewelry, the shoe designs..."

"Flattery gets you zero," she said, pulling at her short cropped silver hair.

"I bet you're pulling your hair," she teased.

*sigh*

"Do you have tailors lined up? I'm totes not effing kidding about Mother not sewing shit. You're sending her and Kay to...oh, let's go with Cancun for their anniversary. Five-star hotel, fat Visa giftcard to get souvenirs..."

"Only the best, promise." Jet agreed, crossing herself.

"I'll need to stress test the shit out of those samples for durability in live fire, oh, and let's up the ante and include six...no, seven different styles of martial arts."

"You are the best!"

"Yeah, yeah. Save the flattery for your fans. Seems like you finally learned why some people need to...possibly might even decide to yourself."

"I... I know. This is why I need you doing the designs. I have...a plan."

"Don't say any more. Be there in sixteen hours. Tell yer girl about me. Don't need green eyes fouling up my blues."

*click*

*sigh*

"Guess I'm going out to cause more trouble. Yay me."

With that thought, Sterling went to pack her car for the long drive.

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

*click*

Georgette hung up the phone and turned just as her favourite busty Latina walked into the room.

"Hey, Monica? Remember I told you about my artist friend..."

[Just Old Al]

The phone rang in Al's office, and for once he was at his desk to answer it.

"Hello, Al speaking. Jet?...Oh, JET! Sorry, dearest, you caught me woolgathering. What can I do for you?"

"Yes, I'm more than familiar with pressure sensors and their usage. What are you trying to do?"

"Okayyyyyyy...armored couture. Have you been talking to that lunatic elf again? No? Homegrown, you say. Well, that could be interesting."

"Not sure how well we could do with the 3D aspects of equipping a dummy, but we can try. Can you get me a dummy to rig out...on second thought - forget it. Might have one here. Give me a call later...I will need to get you dimensions."

Love to Monica - and you too... Ta."

Al put his head in his hands. Between the houses, the business, craziness with that damned Sphinx and everything else he badly needed a vacation - and then THIS shows up. Supermodels with guns....Howard had to have a hand in this somewhere.

"Somewhere in the Universe Murphy is laughing himself stupid...."

Al walked to the outer landing from his office and bellowed. "SMOKEY!"

Out from under a test rig scrambled a grease-bedecked mechanic. "Y'all yelled?"

"Yes. Get over to AHI's ergonomics labs and see if you can talk them out of a 50-percentile female figure."

"Why - going to a party and need a date?"

"If you continue in that vein, my man, I will ensure that Mrs. Alexander-Richer hears of it...and you might not survive."

"Now boss, you know I didn't mean it..."

"Keep that in mind. I have a vengeful spouse and I am not afraid to use it. We are going to need to do some ballistics testing on a female figure with pressure sensors - and unless you want to volunteer the dummy is the best bet."

"On my way. You realize we're gonna need to bribe 'em, right?"

"You know where the choccy biccies are. No more than two packets - and keep the digestives - give 'em the Hobnobs."

"You got it. On it, boss."

Al settled back in his office, serene in the thought that Smokey would soon be back with the ergonomic model - and then they could rig it with sensors. All that for a couple of packets of chocolate digestives...not a bad deal.

[DinkyInky]

Overcast, cold, and wet...just like she left, with perhaps a bit more snow.

"Well old girl, at least the weather is close enough to not matter." Sterling quipped to her car, a nice "simple" burgundy and grey 1989 Pontiac Grand Am SE sedan.
Pulling up to the hotel Jet texted her, she parked in the lot and walked in and right up to registrations.

An overly polished gentleman with slicked back hair in a fussy, badly tailored suit and overly whitened teeth looked up from the computer, and down his nose at her.

"May I help you?" He droned nasally.

Pulling off her green shades, she said, "Sterling D. I believe you have a reservation for me?"

Typing in the name, his stuff-shirt demeanor changed...into one reminiscent of a snake oil salesman.

"Ah, yes. Miss...Dee. Here's your key. The bellhop will take your things and escort you to your room. Welcome to the Grand. I hope you enjoy your stay." That said, he snapped rudely at a young bellhop, with rather vibrant sunset auburn hair peeking from under his cap, and piercing green eyes.

"We shall see." she replied, returning her shades to perching halfway down the bridge of her nose.

A rather flustered young man collected her bags and loaded them on the cart, which decided just then to collapse on him, and stammering an apology, he began again, looking up at 'Stuff Shirt' and getting even more flustered as it refused to cooperate.

'Stuff shirt' decided to try a bullying tone, "Oh, will you..." then found himself unable to speak.

"Take your time. I am not going anywhere at the moment." she soothed.

Turning to 'Stuff shirt' she said, "Please take messages for all of my inbound calls. I will be working until my business associate arrives."

He managed to squeak out a, "Yes ma'am."

"Oh dear. That sounds terrible. You might want to get yourself some 'Throat Coat tea' before it gets worse." she crooned sympathetically.

She then turned and found he had gotten her things loaded on rather nicely, and followed the bellhop to the top floor suites, and after he dropped off her things, she tipped him very generously.

"Oh, one more thing. Do not let that stuff-shirt swaggering peacock get to you. He is a glorified desk monkey, and always will be so. I believe you have other plans, correct?"

He grinned at that and said, "Yes ma'am."

"Not that, please. I work for a living."

"Yes. I plan on going to engineering school. I love working with the big machines, and well..." he said blushing to his roots.

"Say no more. She's lucky. Should he bother you again, just imagine him sitting at the desk eating a banana making monkey faces."

"Okay. Thank you. Enjoy your stay at the Grand." he said, laughing.

"I will now. I am Sterling." she said, holding out a hand.

"I know who you are. My sister owns a few of your art books. My name is Dalarian, but friends call me Dale." he said, shaking her hand.

"See you around, Dale."

And off he went, walking straight and tall.

[DinkyInky]

Because nothing in life is pure and easy...

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

Pulling out her dumb phone, she flipped it open and snapping a bluetooth to her ear, said, "Jet engine."

After dialing and ringing, a bouncy hyper Jet's voice rang out, "You're finally here? Wheeee! We're on our way."

"Not so fast. There's a desk monkey that's greasier than a snake oil salesman. He was a complete ass until he read my name. Come dressed very down, both of you. Nerdy casual. Act like a pair o' boobs."

"Someone's in a..." Jet began.

"If ya want in, shaddap and hurry up. If ya still drive the rattletrap at home, use that."

"On our way."

"Oh, and tell Monica I cannot wait to meet her!"

Snapping her phone shut, she unpacked her flat bag, and set up her easel. Opening her easel sketch pad, she set it up, showing off intricate drawings.

Taking out a smaller notepad, she set up fabric swatches according to weight and durability.

Lastly, she grinned as she began to sketch an sudden inspired piece, deciding to not give Jet a hard time with how hard it was, nor how long it would take to design them all.

She had thirty designs done after packing the car, but before dinner. Damn her.

[Just Old Al]

"Not that, please. I work for a living."

lol... I sense a common thread here....

[DinkyInky]

Arriving at the Grand, Jet and Monica, both decked out in jeans and very loud gaming t-shirts, walked slowly to registrations.

"She wasn't kidding. Think he greased it with stuff from the kitchens?" giggled Monica.

"He got that suit of his tailored at the Mart o Walls, and oh my God that much bleaching can't be good on the tooth enamel." struggled Jet between giggles.

The desk clerk looked up, then down, saying in his most nasal voice, "May I help you?"

This caused them both to start laughing all over again. Regaining their composure, they took deep, cleansing breaths.

"We're here to see Sterling. We're her business associates," Jet said in an amusingly nasal tone.

Still squeaking slightly, the registration clerk said, "I've no idea who you mean."

"Seriously. Sterling is expecting us." Jet tried again, speaking slowly.

Squeaking, "Yes, yes, very funny. I'm still not impressed girls."

Peering out from behind her glasses, Monica said, "She's really not going to like being kept waiting. Better let her know we're here."

Squeaking, he said, "You need to leave. Security, please remove these two."

Being escorted out, they collapsed in front of the hotel, shaking with laughter.

"Well, that was quick." said Monica, smirking.

Touching her bluetooth, Jet said, "Abra ca doodle".

"Hello? Where are you?"

Monica grabbed the phone and said, "The Crisco kid kicked us out. Said he had no idea who we were talking about." Then she collasped into another gigglefit.

"Seriously? You two dorks! That's...perfect! Be right down. Stay on the phone."

Meanwhile, the guard, noticing them both huddled together on the ground, but unaware they had been laughing, ushered them into a side door, and said,

"It's too cold out there, but please stay put. I don't wanna get in trouble."

They promised, and sat down...quietly.

Walking to the elevator, Sterling pushed the button for the lobby snd mentally counted to ten. Breathing deeply, she put on an annoyed air and walked up to the front desk again.

Slamming her phone on the desk she shouted,

"What the buggering hell is wrong with you? I said, 'Hold my calls, let my business associates up when they arrive.' Not insult them and throw them out. How smegging simple can you be?"

"B-b-but m-madam, t-they w-were d-dressed l-like hooligans!" he stuttered, trying to stop his voice from squeaking.

"So you are saying that I dress like a hooligan?"

"Y-yes....I mean no...I mean...I'm..." he wailed.

Whispering low, she said, "Just a 'For your ears only', but they are not just business associates, but friends, and the tall thin one? That was Georgette Sundahl, world famous supermodel. Of course they're not going to dress up. Oh, and guess what, YOU just kicked her out."

Paling, the desk clerk, looking decidedly ill, begged the security guard to find and bring them back.

He walked around to the side doors and said, "Your party is waiting at the front desk. Welcome to the Grand."

Thanking him, they walked up to the front desk and Jet, switching off her Bluetooth, ran to hug Sterling, who left the desk clerk a whimpering mess.

Taking just a touch of pity on him; she said, "In the future, if you are in doubt, send that nice bellhop up to ask me."

"Yes madam." he squeaked weakly.

[Sgt. Howard]

RUB HIS NOSE IN IT!!!

[jwhouk]

So THAT'S where that guy went after he was fired from the Poseidon Resort...

[FreeFlier]

Not quite as good as insulting and cussing out the boss's daughter with the boss watching . . . but close, close!



--FreeFlier

[DinkyInky]

The trip in the elevator was silent, as they were waiting to be well out of earshot.

Once inside the room, however, they looked amongst each other and grinned.

"She's as big a dork as you are Jet." said Monica, taking the lead.

"She's not as big a dork as you though," Jet continued. "Sterling. This gorgeous nerd here, is Monica."

"Finally we meet, and well met it is," finished Sterling. "I am...not so big on travel anymore. Sorry it took so long."

"You're here now, and that is all that matters." Monica said, hugging her.

"Okay, so I was originally going to feed you a line about impossibilities, but after helping me adjust that poncy little desk monkey's attitude... here."

Sterling gestured at the layouts on the easel, the critical data of types and weights in the notebooks, the swatches of fabrics on the coffee table, and with a flourish, a section of corrugated metal siding with dozens of fabric swatches tacked on, and the corresponding bullet damages, calibers marked next to each target.

"I've marked my favourites in blue, the stinkers in red. The 'live' stress test is after you turn these four sets of fabrics marked here into the same dress.
I even made notation of how to layer the kevlar into the linings. Again, I am not a tailor, and Mother and Kay are soaking up rays in Cancun, so I hope those tailors are ready for this."

"Why the same dress? To see which types hold up under fire?" Monica queried, curiousity thoroughly piqued.

"Partly, the other will be a martial arts stress test for ease of movement, and to see which designs work better with which fabric combinations.

I also designed one...full couture...that gets this..."

With a flourish, she uncovered a scale mail covered bodice.

"Wow. That's incredible!" she said while thinking, "What the hell, that looks just like the elven one I've got."

Moving closer, Monica ran her fingers over the scales, feeling the warmth draw into it.

"That is just too weird; I wonder if she knows."

"So, who makes your scales, Dragonfire Forge?" she baited.

"Trade secret. Cannot divulge my sources." Sterling replied, matter-of-factly.

"Ah, okay. It just reminds me of the one I have back home. I...ah, need a few scales covered over, as I tore one bit of the edge at the club, and now it's poking," she ad-libbed.

"Oh, well, if it is just a tiny bit of hand sewing, I can probably cover it over, as that isn't major tailoring.
It's functional, but not so pretty. I just do the mail work over stock bodices a friend makes, and we split profits, so I had to learn tiny fixes for when I 'oops'.
Bring it tomorrow, or I can come over and look at it if it's valuable. Some vintage fabrics are very delicate, and if I can't fix it, I can send you to some friends I know who are experts on vintage garment restoration."

"She's nervous. How odd," thought Sterling, and changing the subject, she said aloud,

"Well, let's go see if the dining is as fine as advertised."

[Just Old Al]

Smokey was soon back with the ergonomic dummy – a 50th percentile human female shape in height, weight, curves and all.

This thing was strikingly embarrassing. Moulded in light beige plastic with metal joints, it reminded Al of a naked FemBot…from a truly bad science fiction movie.

“Boss, it cost me 3 packs of dark chocolate digestives – the Hobnobs weren’t doing it this time. Also, I got told flat-out that after what happened the last time we borrowed one of these – this one was NOT to have ANYTHING mounted to it – at all. Whatever we do – it has to leave the dummy intact. The words “You do a Buster on this thing and you’re paying for it” were said.”

“Did you tell them what we were doing with it?”

“Dang, boss – I may be dumb but I ain’t stupid. Of course I didn’t. So how the hell we gonna mount the pressure sensors on the torso?”

“We aren’t. YOU are. You are going out and you’re going to buy a bodice to fit this thing and you’re going to bond the sensors to that in the patterns we worked out. Then we put the bodice on the torso and bang – job done.”

“Nope. Not happening, boss. You want to indulge yer lin-ger-ee fetish you’re on your own. I ain’t doing it.”

“Look, all you need to do is go down to the Mall Of America – there’s a Victoria’s Secret there. Go in, get the bustier, get out and you’re done.”

“Nope. No way. I’ll quit first. Ain’t doin’ it.”

“Oh, VERY well. Must I do everything around here? EVERYTHING? VERY WELL, then. Get the sensors and the harness ready – I’ll be back with the mounting panel in a bit.” He took a tape measure, measured the bust, waist and hips of the dummy, and armed with these…figures went off to make the purchase.

On his way to the mall Al was somewhat peeved at Smokey, but this moderated rapidly. Some adult males simply couldn’t handle a bit of shopping for the distaff side – not that he’d done much of it – but how hard could it be? Find a clerk, flog the figures at her, buy the thing, save the receipt and job’s a good ‘un.

Parking, finding the shop and walking in took a short while. Handling the embarrassment and not walking immediately out…took most of his resolve.

Walking up to the first clerk he saw, Al said “I need to buy a bodice.” The fact that the clerk was in her early twenties and obviously a shopper in the push-up section of the store did nothing to ease his discomfort.

“Certainly sir. And what material was the gentleman looking for?”

“Sturdy. It has to be sturdy. Here are the measurements.” Al proffered the paper from a sweaty, trembling hand.

“Well, we have these in lace, and these over here in satin…”

“Which of these is the sturdiest? This is going to have to take some abuse…”Al suddenly realized in horror what he’d just said.

The clerk’s smile if anything grew wider. “Of course, sir. We understand…wear and needing things…sturdy. Then what you’ll want is one of these…heavy satin, multilayer – designed for enthusiastic wear.”

“Fine. Black. Give it to me.” Al’s only wish was to get out of this store and never approach a shopping mall again.

“Very good – you lady friend will love it. Do you have one of our frequent shopper cards?”

---------------------------

He drove back into the shop, and clutching the screaming pink bag under his jacket he returned to the work area where the ergonomic dummy hung on its rack.

“Didja get it?” Smokey stood, looking embarrassed at the thought of dealing with the sensor placement.

“Yes, I did. Help me get the damn thing on the dummy.”

Try as they might, they simply couldn’t figure out how to put the damn thing on. There was 50 feet of cord, and lacing holes at the back, and straps over the shoulders - NONE of which made a damn bit of sense to an engineer. Al had seen Daisy in hers in both feral and human – and he simply hadn’t been paying attention…to the bodice.

Finally after several Web searches and more embarrassing videos than either thought they would ever see, the corset was on.

The next 90 minutes was taken up with the sensor mounts – each had to be bonded to the fabric in a predetermined designed spot – and the decoration on the fabric made it little easier. In the end, however, it got done.

They stepped back for a look – and Al immediately started laughing, soon followed by his mechanic.

It was MAGNIFICENT. Between the fembot, the bodice, the sensors and the multicoloured wiring harness they had managed to create a steampunk tribute to Madonna that would never be equaled.

It was almost a pity to shoot at it.

“What the HELL is that?” came a voice behind them both – a voice both recognized. Said voice was immediately followed by the clicking of a cellphone camera….also followed by hysterical laughter.

Daisy stood there, staring at their creation, cell phone in hand trying to take more pictures and failing simply because of the amount of laughing she was doing. “Lily is going to love this…Phix is going to laugh herself silly….you will NEVER hear the end of this….”

“But dear…”