Wapsi Square Forum

lake_wrangler wrote:Splendid bit of writing, as usual. However, I do have to ask:

Just Old Al wrote:

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???
(I had to use the "code" tag, just so the quoted text would not close the quote early... )
I'm thinking some leftover stuff from somewhere, which you missed...

oops...fixed.

"They're setting up a place to test the clothes in a kata?"
"Yeah, they said it's supposed to be a little area."
"They as in the Alexanders, right?"
"Yeah."
Glytch broke out in a wide grin. "See if they can't put in some walls and platforms. Let's take it up a notch to actual sparring."
"On it."
Glytch hung up and, still smiling, went to his closet and began picking out his favorite parkour clothes. I'm no good at actually fighting, but if they can keep up with me, the designs pass... If they can land a hit on me, that's an A+.

{Credit to Shneekey for Prroul's dialogue and mannerisms and stuff}

John was sitting in the lotus position on his rock when he heard the telltale *poit* of his senseis coming to visit. "I don't suppose I can leave this place now, can I?" John stood and turned to face them, narrowing his eyes shrewdly. "It's getting pretty close to the party, and I'm betting the repairs to the tower are probably almost done. I'm sure Al or Daisy could find a use for someone like me."
Brandi raised an eyebrow and put a hand on one hip. "I don't think they have much need for an over-powered salamander at the moment."
John smirked. "I'm not all fire and smoke, and you know that." John hopped off of his rock and picked up a boulder the size of his torso. "I'm also tall... And..." With a loud grunt, John hurled the rock. It landed with a heavy THUD ten meters away. "...strong. I'm sure a human forklift would come in handy."
"Humanoid." Tepoz corrected absently as he picked at one of his fingernails.
"What?"
"Humanoid. You aren't exactly human, you know."
John gave Tepoz a long, hard look before silently going into his shelter to pack. Brandi, however, continued the glare for John. Finally, Tepoz couldn't take it any more. "What? He isn't!"
"He's just as human as Monica, May, Jin, Bud, and I. And I don't think you have much room to talk."
Tepoz realized anything he said at this point would probably just dig his hole deeper. "I'm gonna go home."
"You do that."
*Poit!*

Brandi waited while John first changed into just his cloak, went off a short distance, and burnt away the day's dirt. Once he was clean, he returned to the pavilion and packed, taking care to shake as much of the damned sand out of everything before he folded and rolled it up and stuffed it into his pack. Once everything else was packed, John changed into a pair of dark carpenter's jeans, a white undershirt and a black button-up flannel, black work boots, and his cloak over top of it all to keep the sand out.
Once everything was out, he took down the tent, again shaking the sand out, before he and Brandi took down the pavilion. They tossed rocks every which way, making it appear natural again. Brandi, of course, did all of the long-distance throws. Finally, the tarps were folded, rolled, and tied securely to John's backpack.
"Let's stop at the storage unit so you can get rid of the tent and the tarps and stuff. That'll give you more room for clothes."
John hadn't even finished nodding his head when he suddenly found himself standing in front of a storage unit. Brandi poited a key into her hand and unlatched the lock. Once it was free, John raised the door and was greeted by a pile of boxes. He immediately set down his pack, offloaded everything, and set about replacing the bag with a mix of clothes ranging from heavy-duty work clothes to attire more suitable for a nice restaurant. Work clothes were tied to the outside, protected by John's cloak. Less utilitarian garb was carefully transferred from box to bag. John took care not to crumple anything, as he didn't think he knew how to operate a clothes iron. Finally, he picked his way to the back of the unit where a hanger with a large black bag over it hung in a wardrobe box. John retrieved the Prescott's suit and handed it to Brandi while he shouldered the pack again. "Ok, that's everything."
"All ready?"
"Y-"
*Poit!*
"-eah... Damnit, I wish you wouldn't do that." John grumbled, blinking and wobbling as he adjusted to the sudden change of locale. He looked up and saw the North Tower was complete. Looking around he noticed New Castle Alexander was also complete... And it actually kind of looked like a castle. It certainly looked like it was built to withstand anything from a small army to a minor natural disaster. "Damnit, they finished building. I guess I can move furniture."
Brandi snickered as she led John toward Old Castle Alexander.

They found Daisy surveying a massive pile of what could only be described as stuff that filled a room just beyond the boundary of the restoration. "Hi, Daisy!" Brandi said brightly.
"Oh! Hello, Brandi! Good to see you! And John! Welcome back!"
John inclined his head with a small, but genuine smile. "Good to be back."
"I told John about the party and he brought up an interesting point; you and Al could probably use a hand getting everything ready for the event. The way problems and things keep coming out of the woodwork, I figured he was on to something." There was a subtle hint of steel in her voice. John immediately recognized Brandi was not going to let him off easy, and groaned inwardly. I've outsmarted myself...
Daisy, obviously catching the hint, gave John an appraising look. "Oh, I can easily keep him very busy." John heard that dangerous note in Daisy's voice too and, again, groaned inwardly.
Brandi smiled wide, and there was a faint hint of malice in her eyes. "Great! How's Prroul doing, by the way?"
"He's doing well. I believe he and Emerauld have set up a semi-permanent camp back in the woods. It's nice having my stable back. I was just about to call him and the boys over to move the rest of the furniture back."
John was rather carefully arranging his features to hide his acute chagrin when Daisy turned her full attention oh him. "Why don't you get set up in your room then come back here while I have Prroul come up... You two will be working together quite a bit, might as well introduce you two."

Once John dropped his bag in the room he had used during the Nodaki ordeal, he navigated back to the edge of the restoration. Standing next to Daisy was a... A... Cat-man. He stood about as tall as John, although where John was wiry, the cat-man was well-built, almost bulky. His fur was black and his clothes were loose-fitting, and he went barefoot. His exposed areas were marred by dozens of furless scars, and John had no doubt many more were hidden beneath the cat-man's clothes. The moment they saw each other, both recognized the other was an extremely dangerous being. They kept their eyes fixed on each other, instinctively studying, calculating, evaluating, planning.
"John, this is Prroul. He is a friend of Emerauld and Safyr... I believe he is one of their instructors. He came to the States hunting Nodaki, and Emerauld got to him before he turned the city upside-down and shook it until Nodaki fell out." Daisy smiled faintly as she made the introductions. "Prroul, this is John. He helped imprison Nodaki by firing his clay."

Prroul takes in the introductions with all the aplomb one would expect of anything feline in nature, when John's part in the battle last year was mentioned, however, his gaze locked onto the unusually large human-looking figure, the tip of his tail twitching.

"Then it seems this is the one whom I owe a deep debt of honor to." One hand encloses a fist in a traditional oriental greeting as he bows "The golems... had their own reasons for punishing that one, and I won't dishonor them by implying otherwise, however you had no... how does modern culture use the phrase... 'had no skin in the game'. You had nothing for, or against, that honorless being. Yet you were instrumental in his... chastisement. Nodaki, you see, was the one who... cursed me... into what I am today. For some centuries I have hunted, in vain, for him. It is a great and terrible burden you have lifted from me by your actions, and I would honor the blow you struck on the field of battle against an enemy who needed to be so struck.

"Emerauld has informed me, without betraying any confidences, that you have had your abilities manifest only recently, and that you are still working on controlling them. You would not be the first I have assisted in gaining control over... powerful and potentially dangerous abilities recently manifested... over the years, should you choose to accept my assistance. Should you feel confident in your ability to control it on your own, then I would owe you a favor, on a matter of personal honor, which you would be able to call on at need. Be aware that my training does come with certain... as you would say... 'terms and conditions."

John blinked, amazed that among his many, many, all too-aware debts, that such a debt was owed to him. His eyes narrow as the cat-man finishes his short speech. "And what 'terms and conditions' would there be?" Suspicion overrode hope, he was all too aware of how little clauses could bite you on the arse.

"First, I would be instructor, you would be student. I would be teaching you, not just control, but the discipline and self-control as the foundation upon which such control must rest, if it is to last. It is not entirely dissimilar from certain Taoist or Buddhist teachings, nor entirely dissimilar from what you would likely call 'kung fu'. And while I am not quite as... severe... as my instructor, you will need to test your limits to know them, and to surpass them."

"Okay, I get that. You're the instructor, what you says, goes." Idly, he wondered if the term 'grasshopper' would be applied to him at any point. Well, if it kept him from burning down the twin cities, it was worth it. Probably.

"Second, and I make this explicit ahead of time so there can be no misunderstanding: should you become a greater danger to humanity, should you decide to use your power for personal gain without respect for your fellow being, I will kill you myself." Green kitty-slitted eyes bored down into his own "I will not replace Nodaki with an even more fearsome danger to be confronted. However, out of respect to blows already struck honorably, I would do so quickly and cleanly. I once had a student who used his training for... ill. Never again. Act with honor, and you will never need to fear me. Act without honor, and you will never have a chance to fear. Am I understood?"

John grinned and his eyes flashed. "Good. Knowing that actually makes me feel better. I'm pretty sure Brandi, Monica, and Safyr would do the same, but I'm always glad to have someone keep an eye on me." He held out his hand, and Prroul took it. The customary contest of grip strength briefly ensued as they shook. "You have a deal... Sensei."

Prroul beams a genuine smile, one without fangs exposed, as he takes John's hand. "Well, good. I believe there is a celebration of the defeat of the villain, and it simply 'would not do at all' to disrupt it or to keep you from it. We can travel to my abode after the celebration is over." He tips his head to Daisy, then adds "And after we assist in cleaning up after, of course. It would be a poor guest who did not help his hostess, after all."

Brandi smiled knowingly. "This meeting could have turned out very badly or very well... I'm glad it was the latter. Daisy, if you don't mind, I'll leave John here with you. I have to get back to work."
"Of course! Feel free to come by anytime, dear." Daisy turned to look up at the two towering men at her disposal when Brandi vanished. "Well! Let's get started, then. I'll need you two to get started on this furniture here while I get Buck and Rowdy to come over." She patted a particularly heavy-looking oaken chest of drawers as she tapped on her phone with the other hand. "I'll show you where everything goes." She looked away. "Hi Kath, is Buck nearby? I need a pack animal."

(Tense tense tense...)

Sign hanging on the wall in the tailoring area at the design school:

Camilla Dustin pulled off of US 12 and onto Alexander Parkway. As the junior member of the Star-Tribune's Business bloggers, she was the one who'd been sent out with a tip: there was a British Union Jack being flown next to the freeway on 494, just north of the I-394 interchange in Minnetonka.

She was a bit skeptical herself, until she drove out via 494 - and saw the huge flag, with some printing on the crossbar that she couldn't easily make out.

Whatever it was, it wasn't the AHI logo.

She had pinpointed that the flag was flying just north of Chesnut Lane - that lovely road that wound past AHI's engine plants on the east side of 494. The only thing her research had shown was that AHI had been trying to sell the building, with no luck. The building was on the National Register of Historic Places, listed as "Building Number 2, Alexander's Harvesters."

No one probably wanted to deal with the renovations, she thought. A little bit like the barracks over by Fort Snelling.

It had potential for a nice human interest story - if she could find out who actually purchased the building.

She turned onto Chesnut Lane, and saw the outline of the old building behind trees and a drainage pond. The entrance was just beyond the curve - and was gated shut. There was a sign next to the gate, but the print was a bit small to make out.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Medica Research Center on the south side of the road; AHI had leased that part of the property to the research center - though there was some intimation that the company set it up as a in-house "hospital," to avoid insurance issues.

There was a small logo and name on the sign:


"Richer Engineering?" She wondered. A quick Google search on her Galaxy Tab got a phone number, and - as a lark - she tried it.

---

The phone rang. Ari scanned the Caller ID - Minneapolis cell. She thought for a moment, shrugged, and decided to answer. She could always block it later.

"Hello, Richer Engineering, how may we help you?"

"Yes, my name is Camilla Dustin of the Star-Tribune? A few of our readers had noticed that your company was flying a large Union Jack, visible from the Interstate, and we were wondering if..."

CLICK.

"Crank callers," Ari said with an eye roll.

Oh boy . . .

That could be bad.

--FreeFlier

FreeFlier wrote:Oh boy . . .

That could be bad.

--FreeFlier

Yeah, especially if one remembers what happened to the last fool newsie that tried to scoop Club Alexander...

The Alexander Harvester International Headquarters Campus is set on the shore of a semi-man-made lake (Parkers Lake), with a conference center on an "island" in the middle of said lake.

The complex is roughly divided into three buildings, all located on the south shore of the lake: first is the main HQ of AHI - which is where Buck has his offices; next to that is the AHI Recreation and Events Center - a building with a large rotunda atrium, a fitness center, a shooting and archery range, and two theaters (these were where the MSP area "opening" of two films - SPECTRE and The Force Awakens - were held before their nationwide release, for AHI families only); and, finally, the AHI Historical Museum.

Though the world's third largest farming implement manufacturer has its main engine and body plants just on the other side of the freeway, this side of the AHI land is park-like in nature. In fact, the area just outside Building #2 is called Chesnut Park; it's got a bridle path, a couple of basketball courts, several picnic shelters, and a small triangular pond. At one time, there was a nine hole links-style course on these grounds, but a few truly bad winters during the late 1950's resulted in AHI selling off some of the land to the Carlson International people. Their complex is located in the north segment between I-494 and just south of Gleason Lake Drive.

All of the buildings on campus are LEED certified and eco-friendly... well, maybe with the small exception of Building #2.

Which is why the AHI Board of Directors was trying to get Buck to sell the place - despite its historic designation.

The flag - and Al's slightly twisted motto:

Al hated being late to work. Not even considering the effect seeing the boss show up late did to his employees’ punctuality (though with this lot it hardly mattered) it simply offended his own sense of work ethic.

This morning, however, had been different. The day had not started particularly well, and a run into the City for decent coffee had seemed in order, along with a quick chin-wag with Greg. Feeling better about the day after this break, he’d headed back for Minnetonka, sliding the Aston through the curves on the exits effortlessly.

Pulling onto Chesnut Lane, he noted the young woman standing in the cold by the front gate. He pulled up to the gate, and something told him to just keep going, much as that was unlike him. Pulling up to the gate and stopping, he thumbed the speaker alert button as the young woman came up to the window.

“Yes, miss – can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Camilla Dustin of the Star-Tribune. Can you tell me something about Richer Engineering? I tried calling their number and the young woman on the phone hung up on me.”

“Oh, dear. That was unfortunate. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything, personally – I have an appointment inside. Let me see if I can get the proprietor to come out and chat with you – he’s a rather private type, though, so it might take a few minutes.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Just a satisfied customer. They service this little baby for me.”

With that, he pulled through the now-open gate into a parking space, exited the vehicle, and walked to the door and entered the building.

Camilla, a bit nonplussed, finally focused on the vehicle – and realized that it was a very fancy sports car – and that there was a custom license plate.

GLDNEYE.

On a whim, she called her office getting one of her fellow reporters on the line.

“Look, Charlie – there is something a little weird going on out here in Minnetonka with this place with the English flag. I need you to run a plate for me – Minnesota vanity plate GLDNEYE. Yes, I’ll wait.”

Cooling her heels – literally, on the snowy terrain – she waited.

“Yeah, I’m still here. OK, so owner of record is Al Richer – that sneaky bastard!, car is an Aston-Martin Vanquish…WHAT!
OK, repeat that.

Functioning machine guns and shotguns…do not approach order…fascinating. How the hell did he get a Federal license for those?”

“Dig on this guy – now you have me interested. I’ll get back to you.”

Al walked into the shop and immediately headed for Ari’s desk. On his way, his phone rang - the mage.

Great - now what he thought.

"Oi, it's me. You've got newsies campin' by yer gates."

“Aye, lass, I know. I just got here and managed to get in the door. Unfortunately, my majordomo managed to insult her on the phone – so I’m going to have to deal with her in one way or another.”

"I could make her time out here unpleasant."

“No. You are NOT going to molest the reporter excessively. The more you wind her up overtly the more likely it is that she is going to cause me trouble – trouble that YOU, Miss Mage, do not want any more than I do.”

"Leaving it on speaker then."

Opening the window, she called out,

"Oi! Are ye lost? You ought t' be somewhere warm! Camping out by the gates is daft."

"Nope, I'm waiting to talk to someone from here, thanks. He's supposed to let me in in a few minutes."

"If yer sure, I still think yer mental fer waiting outside dressed in that."

Closing the window, she acted like she was just placing the call.

"Trying to get by with lying. What rag is she from? I'm so not talking to that paper. She's fishing for a walk in. I'm not biting. Is there an alternate? If not, I have a way, but I need permission from the caretakers of the land to do it first. Laws of sympathetic...yeah. You can? Okay. See you in a few."

Al hung up the phone, and turned his attention to his security officer.

“Ari, did you get a phone call this morning from a Camilla Dustin? Specifically, how did you handle it?”

Ari sensed that she had done something quite wrong – but true to her character she owned up to it. “Al, I thought it was a crank call - I hung up.”

“Crap. Bugger. DAMNIT. Ari, just for future reference, even crank calls need to be handled politely. We either don’t answer at all, or handle it politely. The result of this one is a problem – we have a reporter hanging around outside the gates.”

“Oh, Al, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

“Look, drop it. Let’s get this dealt with. We’re going to have to let her in – much as I hate reporters the best way to deal with them is bore ‘em to death. Get on the phone and warn the family to stay out until further notice – I’m going to have a quick look about the works out here and see what’s visible.”

“Will do. Anyone coming in this morning I should have headed off?”

“No one for the front shop…wait, Ms. Damhnait is coming in to look at the range…”

“Damnit.”

“No, Al, it’s pronounced…”

“I know how her name is pronounced. She's already here - working her way into the building."

With that, Al toured the front shop, looking for any items that he would not want to see emblazoned on the front cover of the local rag – or the “Paranormal Press” which was if anything worse. Satisfied that there was nothing visible and having instructed his mechanics to focus on their work and nothing else despite questioning (suggesting hearing protectors for plausible deniability), he headed outside to collect the annoyance at his gate.

Sterling had just made it to the door. With a muffled prayer to the gods Al entreated her to stay low, and headed outside.

The reporter was still there - defiantly staring down a cloud of the local feathered and furred vermin, but still there.

He had to give it to her – she was persistent. Despite the temperatures, snow and skunks she was still there, a truculent look to her posture.

“Ms. Dustin, If you’ll come with me…”

“Thank you, Mr. Richer. Nice to see that you were able to convince “the owner” to make time for me.” She made quote marks in the air around the words “the owner”, just to emphasize both her displeasure and the fact that she’d seen through his ruse.

“I do apologize, Ms, Dustin, but everything I said was quite true. I am very publicity shy and don’t terribly enjoy talking to strangers. I just run a simple engineering business, and none of our contacts come though cold phone calls. The lady you talked to was my security officer – she has been informed quite briskly that the way she handled your call was NOT right – and I personally apologize for it.”

Unsurprised and quite unmollified by his statements, the young reporter walked with him to his building, and in through the personnel door in the end facing the parking lot.

“Welcome to my domain”.

Despite herself, the young reporter was impressed. The grimy, old exterior of the building belied the interior space and the fresh paint on the walls. The light coming in the windows, combined with the overhead halogen lighting, provided bright, shadowless light for the work bays, material stores and machines. Cars in various states of disassembly were visible, as were complex old machines in similar states.

Al pointed the way to the stairs leading to an old overhead office, and they walked up the stairs. Halfway up, Al stopped on the landing and pointed outward.

“There you see Richer Engineering. Nothing fancy, just a good solid engineering works.”

She looked out. The view from the stairs was little different from the ground level – the inside of the old building, brightly lit, with machines, cars and as she could see now two mechanics working on project vehicles. She also noted that the back wall was not the back of the building, and there were no normal openings through it.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing outward and to the back wall of the shop. Al followed her gaze and finger and nodded.

“That’s an indoor firing range. One of the things we work on is firearms – custom work for private customers. As you can see..”

CRAP! Al had a moment of panic. The weapons display on the outside of the firing range wall had #5 – the fifth Maxi-14 - on it – Al thought he’d taken that and put it away.

Unfortunately the reporter had an inkling of weapons – and very good eyesight. “What is that HUGE rifle? It makes the other rifles look tiny…”
“Look, Ms. Dustin, pretend you didn’t see that. I was not at all prepared for visitors this morning and that is a prop that is covered under an NDA. It’s for one of Peter Jackson’s latest epics – and I just can’t talk about it. Please forget you saw that.”

There was much here that did not meet the eye, she thought to herself. The short wall across the facility, the slight oddities here and there, the basically closed nature of access for what was essentially a car repair shop…all most odd.

Even the proprietor…with that accent he was about as local as his car.

Settled in his office, Al smiled disarmingly and asked “So, what can I tell you?”

“Mr. Richer, what led me here was that large British flag with writing on it that is up outside your facility. Then, you are behind locked gates on the AHI campus, but you are not a part of AHI – or at least nominally not so. Third, your car has a do not approach order on it per the DMV records because of live weaponry? This whole thing is a bit puzzling, to say the least.”

Al smiled again, exuding the trustworthy nature of a doddering old uncle.

Ms. Dustin was not buying it for a moment.

“Ah – so you know all of my little secrets.” Al said, disarmingly. Not by half, and we’re going to keep it that way, he thought.

“The first is simple. As you can tell by my accent I am not from the United States originally – I retired here. Because of this, I still have an affection for my homeland – and my flag – which is one of my company logos – is part of it.

As far as this location - my business was originally in downtown Minneapolis – and an unfortunate explosion destroyed it a little over a year ago. Thankfully, I was not present at the time, so while I had lost my facility I was unharmed.

When that happened I was offered this facility on a long term lease by the Alexander family, who I had become acquainted with – and happily took them up on it. The building is ideal for my needs – spacious, good access to technology and transport, architecturally very interesting and ideal for my needs. You are, of course, aware of who my wife is?”

“No, please do tell.”

“Ms Rosalynd Alexander-Richer – we married a year ago this month.”

Oh – that answered it. Old boytoy given a playground by his very rich wife.

“What about the car?”

“The answer to that is simple enough. I am and always have been a fan of the James Bond series of movies“ Al lied with a straight face “as is my adopted family. The Vanquish is a copy of the one used in the later Bond movies, down to its gadgets – some of which are functional though kept unloaded for safety’s sake. As I am an ex-member of the British military and retired from there – and I do weapons work on a regular basis – the requisite licenses for its possession in that state were already in my possession.

As you can imagine, I don’t brag about the equipment that car contains – in the wrong hands it could be quite dangerous. I keep it disarmed – the guns are not functional – and of course unloaded.”

“So, what is it that Richer Engineering does, anyway?”

“We are a general engineering shop – not much we can’t do with the tools and facilities that we have. However, our focus is antique machinery, British and other car restoration and manufacturing of parts and supplies for such cars as needed and for resale to other restoration shops and individuals.

We also do a fair bit of custom weapons work – this as I am ex-military is a personal interest of mine. We don’t specialize in it but it’s mostly for me to keep my hand in to my previous trade.”

“Why don’t we go down and have a look around the floor. I’d love to show you some of what we’re doing.” And hopefully bore you silly enough to get you to go away… Al thought.

Oh, there's no way this can go wrong . . .

--FreeFlier

FreeFlier wrote:Oh, there's no way this can go wrong . . .

--FreeFlier

FreeFlier wrote:Oh, there's no way this can go wrong . . .

--FreeFlier

Of course not. Nothing bad ever came of snooping news people who weren't satisfied with what they were told...

Rewind!

AN: Thanks to Al for coordinating...everything.

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

Dressed in the red and black suede trousers she found on the shopping spree with the girls, she donned a Harley Quinn shirt, her Doc's and leather duster, shades, and grabbing her wallet, keys, phone and bluetooth, as well as her portable sketch kit, turned, and addressed her sleepy friends.

"Yanno Jet, Monica, this place has a killer whirlpool tub. Use it. I brought my BPAL Snake oil and Morocco, and the matching Trading Post bath oils, and all my Villainess skincare. I checked with housekeeping, and it's all safe with those tubs. I'll leave them a red envelope when I get back."

"Bee-Pal? What's that, some organic frou-frou junk? Pass." Monica said, wriggling her nose.

Pulling her shades down to the bridge of her nose, she stared at Monica, then Jet over the top of them.

"Are you...is she serious? You haven't shared your bathing ritual with her yet?"

Jet shrugged, and grinned, sheepishly.

“Quick run-down for the rookie.

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and its sister company Black Phoenix Trading Post are independent companies whose sole purpose is to make sinful smells, bath, and hair goodies.
Villainess, also makes decadent skincare that's as chemical free as they can make it. There's a few more I support, but I only packed my go-tos. Call it couture smells with a sort of secret fan club. BPAL ranges from nerdy and nostalgic, to heavy gothic.

I so know what I'm going to do for your birthday now, Monica."

"So yeah, cat's out of the bag. Um, yeah, those bath oils you like so much..." Jet replied sheepishly.

"Okay, so I'm driving back out to Al's shop to get the layouts of the range and to see if the indoor dojang they have is sufficient. I can set up a "firewall" to warm an outdoor ring if not...plus those colours you picked will look stunning with the wintry backdrop. Be back in no less than three hours...have fun!" Sterling said, winking.

Taking the back way shortcuts that Dale had mentioned meant she could avoid the urge to cast on 'Crisco kid', as Monica's pet name for the snake oil front desk clerk was by bypassing the front desk altogether. He explained that those guests hiding from paparazzi often used the back exits to wander out and be normal.

"Normal is just what I want," Sterling thought walking out to her car. Starting her up, she grinned at the satisfying purr her engine made.

"Alright Red, let's go out and cause some trouble!" she said to her car, imitating a certain clown prince's girlfriend.

Returning to the area, she got the same sense of deja vu she did the first time, and shook her head to clear the fog.

Turning onto the road to the gates, she saw a young woman talking furiously into her phone, and getting closer, doing a bit of lip-reading, she concluded reporter.

She clicked her bluetooth and said, "Ailean". A quick ring, and then, "Oi, it's me. You've got newsies campin' by yer gates."

“Aye, lass, I know. I just got here and managed to get in the door. Unfortunately, my majordomo managed to insult her on the phone – so I’m going to have to deal with her in one way or another.”

"I could make her time out here unpleasant."

“No. You are NOT going to molest the reporter excessively. The more you wind her up overtly the more likely it is that she is going to cause me trouble – trouble that YOU, Miss Mage, do not want any more than I do.”

"Leaving it on speaker then."

Opening the window, she called out,

"Oi! Are ye lost? You ought t' be somewhere warm! Camping out by the gates is daft."

"Nope, I'm waiting to talk to someone from here, thanks. He's supposed to let me in in a few minutes."

"If yer sure, I still think yer mental fer waiting outside dressed in that."

Closing the window, she acted like she was just placing the call.

"Trying to get by with lying. What rag is she from? I'm so not talking to that paper. She's fishing for a walk in. I'm not biting. Is there an alternate? If not, I have a way, but I need permission from the caretakers of the land to do it first. Laws of sympathetic...yeah. You can? Okay. See you in a few."

Meanwhile, the "newsie" noted the vanity license plate had a USMC seal and "AIRGEAD".

She called in, asked about the plate, and got, "What are you on, asking me to pull up a plate like that? I am not having any branches of this government watching my every move. Business tycoons, politicians, that I can handle. Ask someone else. Hell, call the police. Tell them she splashed you with mud peeling out of there for all I care."

“Oh, FINE. Let it go, then. Coward. What the hell ever happened to freedom of the press and stifling of free expression? … What do you mean “Audit your taxes back 20 years?”

*click*

Sterling gently backed out the car, making sure nothing was disturbed, going so far as to shield her from debris until she was far enough away.

She decided that since she quoted the law, she was not going to invoke wrath, and just summoned a few pigeons and furry rodents to keep the gal company, then pulled out into the road, and looked for traffic. Road clear, she stepped out and chanted a spell, first to obscure vision of strangers, then visualising the parking lot from earlier, and allowing for error, recalculated in case the spot was full, then cast.

Shimmering in the treeline, appeared an opening, and driving carefully through, she parked in the lot, then banished the spell.

Walking to the empty clearing, she grounded and centered herself, drawing and releasing until she felt balanced, making a mental note to ask for tea and biscuits. Walking into the building she met Al, on his way out to fetch the reporter.

“Oh, gods. Great. Do me a favor, go hide in the range for a few minutes – I need to deal with this pain in the arse. I’m going to tour her through the place – don’t eat her, please…”

“Oh, I will be nice as pie, Al. You know me – just a sainted soul…” Sterling said, smiling.

“Yes, I do know you – and that is why I’m concerned…PLEASE do not end me up on the cover of the local fish wrapper.”

“TRUST me…” she said, that sainted smile never leavng her face.

With a muttered curse, Al stalked out the door toward the reporter, wondering if getting blown up with his shop might have been less stressful in the long run. Sterling headed for the range stopping to greet John and Smokey on the way.

DinkyInky wrote:“TRUST me…” she said, that sainted smile never leaving her face.

No, there's clearly no way at all for this situation to go worng in any possible whey.

(Dave covers eyes, plugs ears, braces himself for the earth-shattering kaboom he expects in the next installment or two.)

Dave wrote:

DinkyInky wrote:“TRUST me…” she said, that sainted smile never leaving her face.

No, there's clearly no way at all for this situation to go worng in any possible whey.

(Dave covers eyes, plugs ears, braces himself for the earth-shattering kaboom he expects in the next installment or two.)

You forgot to slacken your jaw... Otherwise your teeth might shatter against themselves.