Pillsbury + 1 year:

[lake_wrangler]

Squealing with delight, Annie scampered off to the bedroom leaving the towel at Greg's feet- he watched her naked 200+ pounds with a pride and admiration that he found so natural for this woman.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but inasmuch as admiration is, well, admirable, I thought it was customary to never divulge that kind of information about someone of the female persuasion...

Depends on how comfortable said individual is in their own skin. If you're talking your usual neurotic, celery-stick-nibbling heroin chic fruitcake of either gender perhaps not. Real people don't care - or at least the ones I know don't.

I think it was Monica herself who said she was "4 foot 11" and 102 pounds soaking wet" and with a 28J rack. Not figures the insecure would reveal.

That may be so, in some cases, but I'm guessing that in most cases, people will rather mention it themselves, should the need arise, than have someone mention it for them as part of some unrelated conversation (or narrative)... But kudos for her if she is that comfortable with her own skin.

[DinkyInky]

Depends on how comfortable said individual is in their own skin. If you're talking your usual neurotic, celery-stick-nibbling heroin chic fruitcake of either gender perhaps not. Real people don't care - or at least the ones I know don't.

I think it was Monica herself who said she was "4 foot 11" and 102 pounds soaking wet" and with a 28J rack. Not figures the insecure would reveal.

That may be so, in some cases, but I'm guessing that in most cases, people will rather mention it themselves, should the need arise, than have someone mention it for them as part of some unrelated conversation (or narrative)... But kudos for her if she is that comfortable with her own skin.

I've been a 118-20 lb tailored 0-2 with almost no rack(34A) for a long time. I worked out and ate like it was going to vanish in ten seconds, and managed to boost it up to 140-50, but looked gaunt.

I got pregnant, was smacked a few times by the boob faerie(was a 36 G or H), had my son, became a mother, was a size 16 and nearly 200lb, dropped back to a 0, and 118lb, and was miserable.

I'm presently in the 155-60 lb range, a size 8, my boobs shrank a bit(40DD), I'm wanting to stay that way, but turn my troubled spots into muscle, but stay in the 155lb range, and hopefully, not go smaller than a six.

I have zero issues answering the door in a towel...as long as the idiots on the other side don't make me open my...knife.

I'm 42. 5'3". Not afraid to say my age, nor discuss with a "doctor" that doesn't know or care of my hybrid bloodlines, who says at 160lb I need to lose 65lb, how far he needs to stick "it". My boobs are superglued to my frame, and after discussing it with my only surviving Aunts on my Dad's side, reduction won't help, because they like to be large and in charge, so just exercise just enough to keep them from sagging, and wear a sturdy titslinger.

If I mention all this to you, unless you're being an exquisite arse and saying salacious horse plop, it'd be rather hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for telling someone else that information I just gave freely.

**It's possible for rib cage expansion, and cup sizes to shrink, hence the 36-40 commentary**

[jwhouk]

---

Ari stopped by Building #2 on Saturday after the hockey game. She now sported a #20 Ryan Suter Wild Third jersey, just to annoy that strange man who had attended the game in his Predators gear the previous night. Since the factory was closed for the weekend, she didn't figure she would need to "dress up" for anyone.

She pulled the Mustang in to the gated entrance, next to Chesnut Park. Pressing a code, the gate swung open. As she pulled up to the parking lot, she waved at the security guard who was there. As she pulled up to the garage entrance, she tapped her remote entry code on the specialized panel the boys had installed. The door rose, and she deftly swung the GT into her usual spot.

She tapped a few more commands into the console as she put the 'Stang in park. A moment later, there was a beep from the console, then the front lights for the main shop floor came on as the garage door slowly shut.

Her mind was already pondering the task ahead of her - the reason why she was there on a Saturday - as she climbed out of the car. She'd managed to find a set of keys to that small storage room off the back of her office, and she was intent on clearing it out to make for some useful work space.

Thing is, no one really knew what was back there. The room, from the best guesses that Charlie and Portnoy could determine, was maybe 12 feet by 6 feet - decent enough that it could be repurposed for a server room, or maybe file storage. Portnoy, who'd worked for AHI when the building was last in use back in the late 1990's, said he believed it was used for that - but they never could find the key to it.

Until Al started moving things around at Casa Alexander. Among some of Rock's things they'd found an old keychain set that had "B#2" stamped to a metal tag, and a series of old Sargent keys with various numbers stamped on the foreground. She'd called Portnoy about them, and he was relatively certain one of them was the lock to that door.

"Only two people had keys to that room: Rock and his secretary, Loreen," he explained to her over the phone. "Loreen died the year before we closed B2. Those offices were still being used, even after we'd shut the place down. Rock was using the offices as office furniture storage until his coronary the weekend before September 11."

She had told Al in passing (the brief time he'd been back at the plant) about the keys, and told him she'd like to try to see if she could get in - and maybe get the place cleaned out. He'd assented in a half-heard, "yeah, whatever" comment that was the impetus for her foray into the office today.

She made a quick call to the security guard station, letting him know what she was doing there on a Saturday, then eagerly bounded up the stairs to the office. Had she not been wearing her brand new Wild jersey, she might have flown up to the landing.

She had a guess as to which key might be the magic one; purely by logic, there was one key that had the same stamping on the front (B202103). And, as the key to her own office was numbered 102 - and Al's 101 - it followed that the lock for this unknown room was very likely the 103 key.

She put the key into the lock, and attempted to turn the lock. Nothing at first; the key fit, though. She thought for a moment, then rummaged around in the bottom drawer of her desk. When they'd moved into the old Building 2, the lock to Al's office - and hers - had stuck a lot from disuse. The graphite spray she pulled out had been very useful in getting the tumblers unstuck.

She quickly gave it a spritz into the key hole, then worked the key in slowly, pulling it in and out a few times. Gingerly, she tried to move the key in the lock.

It turned.

She let out a little yelp of victory. Carefully, she unlocked the door, hearing the deadbolt slide open. The door opened with a turn of the knob - though that was a bit difficult, as the internals were a bit rusted as well.

The room was pitch dark. She could see in the dark a bit, but the contrast from the lighting in her office to this room took a moment for her to adjust. She found a light switch - which did nothing. Puzzled, she looked up. There was one light fixture, uncovered, with two empty sockets where there would normally be light bulbs. She shrugged, stepping back out into her office. She had some bulbs in the cabinet next to the door.

Two LED bulbs in hand - and her Wild jersey off - she cautiously spread her wings and flapped a moment to launch herself up to the overhead light. She found herself coughing from the amount of dust she was kicking up, but it was to be expected. She held her breath and quickly put the bulbs in (something she'd done a few times before at her new apartment), then landed back at the doorway.

Cleaning herself up best she could, she cracked open one of the windows to let a bit of outside air into the office. Though it was a typical cold November Saturday in the Twin Cities, the air would refresh some of the dust that had been disturbed by her wings. She re-entered the room, and flipped on the light switch.

What the two new LED bulbs revealed... was yet another mystery.

The room was definitely NOT small by any means. It was actually two floors - one was, indeed, a 6x12 platform with a half-wall, but there was also a spiral staircase that led down... but where?

[Dave]

"Come with me, I know the way,
you know it's down, down, down
the dark ladder."

(Joni Mitchell, Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire)

[jwhouk]

---

Before she would descend the stairs, though, Ari wanted a look-see at what was up on the top platform area. It was two shelving units, which had various parts and markings on them. None of them looked like farming equipment. She didn't quite recognize any of the items - though she did recognize something marked "BOSCH" on one of the lower shelves.

There was a small black solid-body briefcase wedged on the side of one of the shelves. She pulled it out, careful not to have the sea of parts collapse over and onto it. Fortunately, there was a metal grill over the front of the shelves - something she hadn't seen right away until her eyes readjusted to the light.

She quickly put the briefcase in the doorway, partially to keep it from closing (and possibly locking) on her, and partially to keep the source of fresh air coming in from the office. Looking down, she saw that the stairs led down to the main floor of the factory - and to a room that was much larger below.

That's odd, she thought. That's where I thought the backup generator was located. She carefully stepped down the spiral staircase, noting that the metal stairs creaked a bit as she took each step. Probably haven't been used in years.

At the bottom of the stairwell, she realized she had descended below the main floor of the shop. This place had a basement? She thought. Sure enough, the light looked to be about 20, 24 feet up from the bottom of the stairs - and it made this lower area a bit dark. She squinted a bit, trying to adjust to the lower light again. This time, she saw another light switch - and turned it on.

There was a brief flicker, then a buzz, before a bank of fluorescent lights came on. A few flashed and flickered from the long time of disuse, but what they illuminated was astonishing.

She was in what appeared to be a long tunnel, one that extended off towards where she knew the parking lot of the plant now stood. She couldn't quite tell, but it appeared that the tunnel ended abruptly about 30 meters down - bricked over. It became obvious what this was - an underground supply tunnel that likely connected the building with the newer engine plants on the other side of the freeway. That was made clear when she saw the twin rails embedded into the concrete floor of the "room" surrounding the end of the tunnel. The endcap on the wall next to the stairs clinched it.

There was, apparently, an old supply cart sitting at the entrance to the tunnel, the back against the bricked wall of the tunnel - with some odd frame on it. She thought she recognized it as a tractor frame, but then she realized it wasn't shaped quite right. This was more of a double-wishbone frame.

Something glinted to her right, where the upper room area was open to the basement at a slight angle. She recognized the indention - it was the front stairs up to the offices. She looked down and saw what was reflecting the light - a large piece of steel, sitting inside a crate frame.

Several pieces of steel. Brushed steel, in fact. One was in a very strange shape - almost like...

...a car door.

She turned around. On the other side of the wall was more parts: these were larger parts, like an engine, what appeared to be a suspension, a strange black grill that was slightly smaller than the large steel piece. And, a long polygon-shaped frame with an indention in the back - that looked like the place where you'd put a license plate.

This was too strange, she thought to herself. She went back up the stairs to her office, taking the briefcase with her - and making sure that the door was unlocked.

She put the briefcase down on her desk, and went to close the window of her office. The breeze blew the dust off the briefcase, which made her curse a bit at her carelessness. But, the dust removal revealed that the case had no lock on it. Just two latches, both a bit rusty from age.

Curious, she opened the case. Inside, she found what appeared to be numerous technical manuals, a few wiring diagrams, and a leather portfolio with a strange imprint on the bottom:

DMC.

It took her a moment, after thumbing through the portfolio, to realize what she had found.

Disbelieving, she put the portfolio down and went back into the storage room, then down to the basement.

The large metal piece in a crate confirmed her suspicions when she saw the "DE LOREAN" stamped on the one corner. The crates were all stamped with "MADE IN DUNMURRY, NI", and the frame had a similar marking on it in pen.

She nearly flew back to her office, and got on the phone immediately to Al.

[lake_wrangler]

I have zero issues answering the door in a towel...as long as the idiots on the other side don't make me open my...knife.

I'm 42. 5'3". Not afraid to say my age, nor discuss with a "doctor" that doesn't know or care of my hybrid bloodlines, who says at 160lb I need to lose 65lb, how far he needs to stick "it".

Congratulations on both your candor, and your obvious peace of mind concerning your own body image. I don't think I ever was that comfortable with my own skin... Sure, I can readily say that when I was twenty, I weighed 185 lbs (at 6' tall), and that I currently weigh 341 lbs. But I am by no means comfortable with it, and am rather body-conscious (unless at the beach, you will never see me shirtless... I don't even wear form-fitting clothes, not even when bicycling...)

If I mention all this to you, unless you're being an exquisite arse and saying salacious horse plop, it'd be rather hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for telling someone else that information I just gave freely.

Reading and re-reading this, to make sure I get your meaning right, I gather that if Annie is, herself, comfortable with mentioning that information, then it's OK for Sarge to do so, as long as it's not done in a lewd manner. Is that what you meant?

[jwhouk]

If you'd like an idea of (partially) what she found, go here.

(No, she didn't find an entire warehouse underneath Building 2 - just some of the parts...)

[GlytchMeister]

If she finds a disassembled flux capacitor, and Glytch finds out, he is gonna panic. Some tech is just too dangerous. True AI and time-alteration are pretty high up on his list of "tech that must be blown up with extreme prejudice."

[DinkyInky]

I have zero issues answering the door in a towel...as long as the idiots on the other side don't make me open my...knife.

I'm 42. 5'3". Not afraid to say my age, nor discuss with a "doctor" that doesn't know or care of my hybrid bloodlines, who says at 160lb I need to lose 65lb, how far he needs to stick "it".

Congratulations on both your candor, and your obvious peace of mind concerning your own body image. I don't think I ever was that comfortable with my own skin... Sure, I can readily say that when I was twenty, I weighed 185 lbs (at 6' tall), and that I currently weigh 341 lbs. But I am by no means comfortable with it, and am rather body-conscious (unless at the beach, you will never see me shirtless... I don't even wear form-fitting clothes, not even when bicycling...)

If I mention all this to you, unless you're being an exquisite arse and saying salacious horse plop, it'd be rather hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for telling someone else that information I just gave freely.

Reading and re-reading this, to make sure I get your meaning right, I gather that if Annie is, herself, comfortable with mentioning that information, then it's OK for Sarge to do so, as long as it's not done in a lewd manner. Is that what you meant?

Sort of.

I believe he's discussing how much he loves her in all her glory. She's comfortable showing it. I know gals that can't even get in the shower if anyone is home, they're so low self esteemed.

If he were being rude, crude, and socially unacceptable, I bet she'd pistol whip him and drag him off to educate him on proper etiquette.

[jwhouk]

---

"Yes, I'm sure," she said again as she scanned the papers in the briefcase yet again. "It appears there is a completely unassembled De Lorean in this back room. I don't know how they got the main body into the basement, though... What? Well, the one end was bricked off, and I couldn't see beyond the... well, okay, lemme go down and check."

She took the cordless phone down the stairs with her, along with the LED flashlight she had in her desk. Descending the stairs - which, for some reason, weren't creaking as much as they were before - she landed on the basement floor.

"Can you still hear me? Good - yeah, the tunnel goes off for a few yards to the north. This looks like it was a receiving room of some sort... okay, I'm looking over there. Right now, all I see are the metal body parts - that's stainless steel? What was this guy thinking when he built these?... Well, yeah, whatever. I can't quite tell, but there does seem to be a ramp in the back..."

She shined the flashlight behind the door panels. The ramp was there, next to the stairwell.

"Wait a second," she said. She shined the flashlight behind the stairs. The ramp led up to what appeared to be a metal plate, about roughly three by three meters. There didn't appear to be any handle or opening to the plate, which appeared to be sitting on a ledge.

"There appears to be a metal door covering, but it doesn't have an opening on this side," she spoke into the phone. "I'm not sure exactly..."

She stopped.

"Hold on," she said - and she nearly flew back up the stairs and into her office. She opened the door and pitched herself off the railing at the top of the hallway to the offices, and with a FLOOMPF her wings spread out, allowing her to levitate in the air. She knew no one who was para-unaware would be in the plant without her knowing, so she had no fear of discovery.

Though she made a discovery of her own in very short order: the area directly under her office was the parts storeroom for Richer Engineering.

She glided down to the door, taking the phone back to her ear. "I really have to invest in a bluetooth headset," she said to herself. "Yeah, I think I found out where it comes out. Right into the parts room... Yeah, surprise, surprise, right? Lemme see if I have the code for it, hold on..." She pressed the "hold" button on her phone, then swiped it right to the main screen. She tapped a few icons, entered a code - and the door buzzed. She opened it up, and quickly switched on the lights.

Inside the parts room, the edges for the metal door were barely visible on the floor - covered by pallets of parts, apparently for a Land Rover. She looked back at the entrance - the parts room had a double door; the one was what she had entered, while the other was openable only by unlatching from the inside. The resulting opening was big enough for a forklift or other carrier to enter the room.

"Bingo," she said. "I'm gonna need to give Buck a call - I think this car might be his dad's..."

[jwhouk]

The rest of the story of the Stainless Steel Angel continues over here...

[lake_wrangler]

If I mention all this to you, unless you're being an exquisite arse and saying salacious horse plop, it'd be rather hypocritical of me to get pissed at you for telling someone else that information I just gave freely.

Reading and re-reading this, to make sure I get your meaning right, I gather that if Annie is, herself, comfortable with mentioning that information, then it's OK for Sarge to do so, as long as it's not done in a lewd manner. Is that what you meant?

Sort of.

I believe he's discussing how much he loves her in all her glory.

Oh, that much, I understood. It was obvious in that passage, just as it has always been obvious in all of his writings, whenever his wife is mentioned and the subject of his appreciation of her comes up.

She's comfortable showing it. I know gals that can't even get in the shower if anyone is home, they're so low self esteemed.

True. There is a whole spectrum of possibilities, when it comes to self-acceptance.

If he were being rude, crude, and socially unacceptable, I bet she'd pistol whip him and drag him off to educate him on proper etiquette.

I hope I didn't come across as implying he was being rude, or anything. I was merely commenting on my belief that the taboo about speaking of a lady's weight was universal and not to be trifled with. I didn't know there could be exceptions.

[DinkyInky]

AN:Thank you Al and Sarge for the nosebleed assistance.

Walking to another room in the spa, which most likely was normally used for dressing jittery bridal parties, Jet took the lead and sauntered to the doors, flinging them open.

"Surprise! What spa day is complete without a bit of fashion? Christine here, who I am sure you've seen sneaking around, was actually taking measurements. Daisy, Annie go with her for a fitting."

Annie was doubtful. "I doubt Victoria Secret has anything that will fit me. Yeah, I've seen her in pictures with you, Jet. She works for VS."

Daisy was not as uncertain, but did voice an opinion. “I’m a 38D, so I’m within their range – though it’s been a while since I tried anything in their range – not like I had anyone to show off to. I’m willing to try – but not sure you’ll be able to do it.”

Christine was in a take-charge mood, and listened with professional concern to their doubts. "That's my job – I get to find things that work and look fantastic. And while I do represent VS professionally, personally, Jet is a friend, and she looks out for us behind-the-scenes folk. So, I am a bit more friendly with competition behind-the-scenes if it means an overall positive result for you.
So, regardless if it's with Victoria Secret or Curvy Kate, or even Lane Bryant, my job today is to make you feel as hot as you look, and that means sexy lingerie, LBD's, shoes...the whole package."

Jet nodded – this was going quite well in her opinion. "Monica, go with Dottie. The rest of you, with me.

Christine's team rocks. Everyone, grab a consultant. Sterling, Cindy, Kathy, the ones holding your namecards actually have a whole rack full of pretties in your size. Have fun!"

Sterling was less certain, eyeing the collected clothing with a bit of concern. "So that's what you were up to. Looks like Daisy wasn't the only minx here. I'm still not getting..."

Jet stopped her befrore she could paint herself into a corner."Wait. Please. If we don't get some for us, it seems more suspicious.
I told them minimal sparkle, lots of lace, only colors that suit you...soft greys, black and tan, mid range blues, nothing playboy level crazy even though it would look insanely good on you. If you don't like it, move on. If nothing suits you, stop trying, and get me. Before you walk out of this, you're not getting a dress. I made sure of that. For you, they are all little black pantsuits, and I chose espadrilles instead of heels...for all of us."

Mollified, Sterling nodded. "Okay. I won't poof and get my formal gear then. Sorry. That last time was...unpleasant."

Jet frowned, the moue on her face looking adorable and annoyed at the same time. "I know, and that's why I very publicly fired Sheryl. She decided that she as a style goddess, knew what was best, and to hell with feelings, and body types, listening to who wrote her paycheck, and everything. That much fake I can do without."

Sterling turned to the lovely little brunette and smiled.

"Okay. So...'Mi-hal', right? Let's go shopping."

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

After an hour of testing, fitting, more testing, squealing, giggling and feminine mirth, the fitting was complete. Daisy and Annie, in their robes still but with a suggestion of old-school seamed silk stockings underneath wandered out. Soon followed by Cinnamon and Katherine, then the dorks, then Sterling.

“OK, I want to see how things worked out.” Jet knew exactly how things had worked, as she’d been wandering in and out of the fittings, but she wanted to see this for herself. If you’re going to dress your friends up in finery, well, by all rights you get to see it as well, right?

Off came the robes, quickly among the younger women, a bit more slowly and abashedly with the older.

The catcalls and appreciation among the group, and the applause from the fitting staff, were immediate and gratifying.

“”DAMN! You two look HIGH-Priced!” Cinnamon, alluring herself, stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly at her mother and Annie.

The fitter had outdone herself – both of them were elegant in bright red, and well-appointed in stockings, lingerie and bustiers suitable to their builds. Cinnamon was right – they looked spectacular, and would no doubt be receiving compliments from their lucky husbands.

The younger ladies were also well-appointed, with Katherine in muted green, Cinnamon in her namesake colour. Sterling, dignified and lacy in muted grey, and Jet and Monica in matching maroon completed the set.

[DinkyInky]

AN: Thanks Al and Sarge. When I said, P.S.--tart it up, you guys really deliver.

After a few minutes of mutual admiration and more ribaldry, Jet took over again.

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

"Okay, so here is Iris. She's going to fit you all into the most figure flattering little black dress, well, almost. I won't force anyone into it, and Iris can call in little black pantsuits for people like Sterling who prefer trousers to skirts. I suspect it was from jumping out of all those planes, but she's not saying.

Jerica, codename: Squeak here is my accessories guru, and will fit us in what I am promised are some very comfortable, very sexy Christian Louboutin espadrilles. We shall top it off with a very sexy sparkly black clutch. This is my gift to the Club Alexander spa day, as I love you all.”

With that, the dresses were chosen and donned. Staying with the concept of dressing alike, Daisy and Annie decided on a high-low, the high just above the knee, the low brushing mid-calf.

Cinnamon, ever daring, went short, as did Monica and Jet. Katherine was more conservative with her hem length, choosing long and elegant, while Sterling, surprising Jet, decided to get a short dress, worn Grecian style, covering one shoulder...the one with her scar, wrapping ribbon like up to her wrist, and wore it as a tunic, paired with the palazzo pants she found, tucking away the matching top for a later time. It flowed with her movements and heightened the exotic nature of her silver hair and eyes.

They next went for the shoes, Cinnamon and Monica squee-dancing when they looked at the rows of sparkly Christian Louboutins, long silky ribbons to lace up the leg, with Squeak...Jerica as Christine was trying to insist she be called, showing them how to customise the ribbons to match or complement their gowns.

As they were fitted, she handed each a sparkly black clutch, filled with a compact of powder foundation in their colour, and the red lipstick they were wearing, assured that a chunky "mom's" wallet, and a large cellphone would also fit.
Annie and Monica both asked how large a pistol would fit in there, which caused everyone to laugh, and Jet to get a thoughtful look on her face.

As they twirled and modeled the gowns, Jet showing then how to do a runway walk, a very attractive young man comes into the room.
Androgynously fair, with green eyes twinkling in a pale golden complexion, his black skater punk styled hair dusting his shoulders, freshly razor cut and shaved underneath, a white streak on the right the only thing marring the inky blackness of it.

Whirling at a sound only she could hear, Sterling announced,

"Ladies, this is my cousin, 'Flashburn'. He's got a name he uses with the norms, but as he's a pro shutterbug, I'm not outing him."

"I thank you kindly my dearest cousin," he said with a sweeping bow.

"I thank all of you for thinking me worthy to attempt the capture of your exquisite loveliness in film.
So my angelic muses, which shall this humble servant be blessed enough to work with first?" His voice, soft and melodic, but undeniably masculine, oozed confidence and unabashed adoration, with not a small undercurrent of the lovely beast.

“Momma, he’s pretty! Can I have two or three of those?”

Rather than the normal prim answer she would have given, Daisy paused dramatically, then said, “No. You never take care of your pets.” The women all laughed, and Flashburn’s eyes sparkled.

Sterling kicked him in the shins. Hard.

"Right. He's going to take portraits both single and groups.
My final gift of the night is a picture book to commemorate our very fun girl's day out. He will work with all of you to find the poses and lighting most flattering, then the group shots.
He works old school, but he has a digital rig, so you'll be able to see the approximates.
It's stupidly rare the film turns out worse than the digital, but he's keeping them until we're happy. He's also signed an NDA, so unless you all agree to let him discuss it or use them for publicity, these will be our secret."

"Flashburn," Sterling whispered dangerously, "These ladies are some of the most dangerous women in the Twin Cities, and other than me, only one is single, and her Mother is also in this room. Flirt at your own risk."

"Challenge accepted." he said, grinning roguishly.

"Do not make me teleport you into the lake again! At this time of year, I doubt even you could flame dry that much water."

"Spoilsport. I will behave. By the way, I thank you greatly for the stylist appointment. I was getting a bit untidy."

Sterling's eyes flashed icy blue as she walked away. Flashburn yelped, as a lump of ice slid down his back, then glowered at his cousin, who did her best innocent look.

[DinkyInky]

After a very few moments, Flashburn had the white sheers, covered boxes and lights set up.
A large fan was on standby, Sterling glowering at him as he shrugged with his trademark sheepish grin.

One by one, each stepped up to get their portrait taken, Flashburn shamelessly flirting as needed, bringing out the looks he was trying to achieve on film...one...two...three...four...five...

Despite the death glares, he did drag the fan out, asking Daisy if he could try for the iconic Marilyn pose, causing Cinnamon to giggle, and Daisy to sputter indignantly, until he said she was going to get to hold his SD card hostage until she got the proofs and negatives from him, and to "Please forgive his insolence."

Sterling rolled her eyes as Daisy agreed, but snickered as she then requested her cell phone to be summoned, and drew out a contract for him to sign, legally binding him to his formerly verbal agreement.

"Dangerous women..." Flashburn muttered as Sterling snickered, while Daisy stepped up for her portrait. One, two, three, done.

Lastly, Sterling stepped up.

As he went through his motions, joking at the difficulty of flirting with his 'ugly' cousin, Cinnamon and Monica started humming the 'strippers tune', catcalling and begging her to "show some leg", which caused her to blush.

Flashburn said, "You're hired! I'm borrowing you two for our next family reunion!"

He then yelped as another chunk of ice slithered down his back.

The group shots flowed into place quickly, and ranged from sedate to sexy, everyone enjoying the process. The final shot was of everyone's hands in a circle, showing the Club Alexander manicure.

"That's a wrap! If you ever need a photographer, look me up," Flashburn said with a wink and a smirk as business cards appeared in their hands.

[DinkyInky]

Paying for the spa day(and her cousins sneaky hair appointment), including a generous tip, Sterling thanked Sabine for arranging and accommodating her many requests, and all the stylists and staff for making it worry and stress free.

Gliding to the elevator, they made their way to Sterling's suite.

"Time for Bubbly, then bye-bye. I hope you had fun. Oh, and to make sure you remember to take time for yourself..."

Sterling drew from the energies present, silently thanking her cousin for giving her the idea, and murmured an incantation, a shower of green sparkles appeared, which swirled over their hands and feet.

"This will grant you two months worth of permanence, not even a shapeshifter could remove that. Every time you look at this, remember to take time for yourself, and remember also to ask for help, as you have friends willing and able."

Monica popped the cork off of the Champagne, while Sterling lined the bottoms of six glasses with the fragrant Raspberry liqueur, and then poured just enough into each glass, returning the magnum to the ice to keep it chilled, discreetly summoning her glass from the mini fridge. A promise is a promise, after all.

As each raised their glass, Sterling exclaimed, "To Club Alexander!"

"Club Alexander!" were six echoed responses.

Cinnamon soon drew Sterling aside, requesting assistance with acquiring a limo ride home, despite the fact that she knew her drink wasn't alcoholic. After looking up the limousine service, Cinnamon flipped through pages of cars, selecting...

Sterling quirked a brow. "Cinnamon darling, why do you want this lurid pink monstrosity again? It cannot be because it's cute and pink. If it were, I am certain if that were the case, you would have asked for that champagne pink Rolls Royce. It's gorgeous!"

"I really, really, really like Land and Range Rovers. They're like tanks. Last forever if you take care of them, practical for travel, decent on fuel, can haul fairly decent loads..."

"Really." Sterling was not convinced.

"Mom, she doesn't believe I absolutely love Land Rovers. They have a girly pink stretch limo one with a full bar! Pink chrome and pink wall tires!"

"Daisy, it looks like someone whitewashed it with Pepto Bismol. We'd get drunken frat boys licking the doors trying to 'purge the urge'. She can't be serious."

"She's been asking for one for graduation in bubblegum pink with a Chantilly Lace overlay for almost a year now. You tell me."

"I think she's trying to wind up the old gearhead." she muttered under her breath.

Snatching the phone away, Daisy quickly paid for the limousine, daring anyone to say a word.

[jwhouk]

She obviously didn't get a chance to see the Alexander livery.

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

[DinkyInky]

She obviously didn't get a chance to see the Alexander livery.

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

that is nothing like what Cinnamon ordered up.

[Warrl]

Cinnamon, ever daring, went short, as did Monica and Jet.

Well of course Monica went short. She'd have to.

(Ducking and running, and in passing I drop this in the pun jar.)

[jwhouk]

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...