Yes, Top Gear's on the telly, so naturally I'm writing a blog. Am I mad? Top Gear's on! The best car-related entertainment show EVER!
Anyway, to business. Go to Raven's Nest for the rules and suchlike. Join in already!
This mini may be from a coupla weeks ago, can't remember and am too idle to check.
Challenge words: melody, crank, broken, space, chill
The melody repeats itself in my head over and over and over like a broken record. It was playing on the car radio as I drove into work and has attached itself to my every thought like some kind of musical limpet. The annoying part is that it was not the complete song that is lodged in there, just a chunk of the chorus – something about joy in space. Appropriate, I suppose. The night air is crisply chill, as I wind the crank. Above me, a segment of the domed roof slides creaking back, revealing my night’s work.
The stars.
Joy in space.
Oh, yeah.
And this week's dollop of Harold (catchup link top right)
“Well, I hate to say it, old button,” said Teatime, “But I did tell you so. These OGS types are putting up with you only for as long as takes to resolve the current situation. I must say I’m glad you’ve finally seen it for yourself. Mind you,” He paused for a wicked moment, “I’m surprised that Agent India waited this long before using her taser on you again.”
“Oh, ha, ha,” replied Harold sarcastically, “I might have known better than to expect sympathy from you, but I really thought we were finally getting somewhere here. She even agreed with my idea of getting Mr Box out of the hospital. I’m such an idiot.”
“For the record,” said the little monkey, “She was acting for the good of the mission, if what you have told me is true. I’m sure she took no pleasure whatsoever in it.” He could barely keep his little mouth from stretching into a grin as he said this, however.
Harold knew the little fellow was right of course – he usually was, the smartypants. That didn’t make it any easier to accept, though. He sighed to himself. Why, oh, why did he always have to crave everyone’s friendship and approval? You’d have thought that after all these years he’d have grown out of that particular weakness, especially since that was precisely the character defect that had got him banished to the Basement along with the rest of the rebels all those long desolate years ago – as his father never tired of pointing out.
Live and learn?
Apparently not.
“What are you two talking about?” asked India. Harold and Teatime had been talking in low tones in Infernal for privacy.
“Nothing,” replied Harold curtly.
India raised an eyebrow: clearly the demon was still ticked off. She didn't care. It wasn't like she needed its forgiveness anyway.
Harold, Teatime, Mr Teeth and India were travelling in the back of the Infinity Recycling van. Driving the van was a very morose member of unit four, whose cooperation was being encouraged, so to speak, by the gun that Box was pointing at him from the passenger seat. As an additional assurance of his good behaviour, the other members of the team were being held – after some rough but effective first aid - at Mr Teeth’s house by some of Pauli’s men. The rest of Pauli’s people were following on in their own vehicle.
Box was wearing a silver suit cobbled together from the least visibly damaged bits of the suits that the intruders had been wearing. That the ski mask-like headgear that went with the suits obscured his features was an added bonus.
Mr Teeth had not been happy to have one of the Infinity Recycling people drive the van but, as Box pointed out, they would need someone with valid credentials to get past the security guard at the gate. What happened after that… well, any battle plan was only any good until the first encounter and everyone had their part to play and all they needed was to get inside the compound.
“Ok, we’re getting close now,” said Box from the front, “Demon, you’ll need to switch on your suit.”
Harold did so. He had no idea whether the invisibility suit would prevent Infinity’s detectors from registering his presence – they only had India’s experience (and Box’s when they had tested it again to be sure) to go on.
Once again, the world seemed to switch to bizarre hues and all sounds became slightly muffled.
India, sitting opposite, relaxed slightly, the constant irritation of Harold’s presence having ceased the moment he had activated the suit. She took this as a cue and activated her own suit.
This had been the weirdest mission; working with demons instead of banishing them, fancy invisibility suits… They never covered any of this in training. Maybe she should request an extra module to be added in future… As things stood, she could not wait to get this strange mission over and done with, could not wait to get back to the everyday business of spotting the Fallen and despatching them back to their accursed home where they belonged. Well, the way things were turning out, one way or another, she would not have much longer to wait for that happy day.
The van bumped and swayed a little as it made a right turn onto the business park that housed the buildings belonging to Infinity Recycling.
“Get ready, people,” said Box, his voice tight with excitement. “We’re almost there.”
Showing posts with label Wordzzle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wordzzle. Show all posts
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Monday, 30 January 2012
Wordzzled!
Yes, it's jolly old Wordzzle time again. As I donated the words this week, it behooves me to take part at least.
The creator of Wordzzles lives here.
The mini - challenge words: mode, bread, blues, epic, tripod
And, of course.... Harold.
(Story so far can be read by following the link, top right)
Teatime was still some distance from the house when he heard the sound of Mr Teeth’s shotgun. He scampered a bit more quickly through the leafy darkness of the lower branches of the many ornamental trees surrounding the property. The scent of oranges hung distractingly in the air, but there was no time for such things now. He got to the edge of the trees at last and peered towards the house.
The security lights at the rear of the property had come on and in their fierce white glare, the little monkey could see two men sprawled on the ground near the open patio door. They appeared to be wearing silvery suits, whose metallic sheen was now being spoiled in places by trickles of blood from the men’s wounds. The men were still moving feebly, and Teatime could hear their faint cursing.
Abruptly, the sound of another shot rang out – a different weapon this time, by the sound of it. This was followed by the sound of something smashing and tinkling inside the house, but Teatime could not see who had fired. It certainly hadn’t been the two men on the ground, so that must mean there were more invisible types about. How jolly annoying! If it weren’t for the fact that the demon and India needed the invisibility suits that Harold had liberated, he was all for going back and advising that they drive away and leave Mr Jackson to sort things out himself. He seemed capable enough.
The suits were needed, though, and they were in the house. Teatime scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment. If Mr Jackson could see the intruders properly, he could probably deal with them: he’d probably faced worse odds in his time on the streets as a young man, and he clearly had no qualms about shooting people.
As he gazed around for possible solutions, Teatime’s eye was caught by something over at the base of the back wall of the house. An idea suddenly sprang into the little monkey’s head. It would be risky, as he would be in plain sight if he went over there. Still, he was confident the two wounded intruders were in no position to interfere with his plan, and he was willing to bet that any others would be intent on the doorway into the house.
There was no time to lose. He leapt from the tree, landing lightly upon the smooth green expanse of the lawn, and raced for all he was worth towards the thing he had seen.
“I should have gone with him,” Harold said, as the sound of the second shot came to their ears.
“No,” said Box, firmly, “Those people are bound to be looking for you, and we don’t know if they have any more of those freezing machines. You’re best staying away from them.”
“But what if he gets hurt?” protested Harold, “You humans seem to have no qualms about shooting each other for the slightest reason – a little animal isn’t going to be very safe, is he?”
“He’ll be OK,” said Box, “He’s a smart little creature; he won’t take any unnecessary risks. Just sit tight.”
Harold slumped unhappily back into his seat. Box was probably right, but if anything happened to the little fellow....
He drummed his fingers.
He tried to think calming thoughts; usually, a nice piece of music would pop into his head to do the job but, tonight, his mental orchestra seemed to be gigging elsewhere.
Nope.
It was no good.
Harold flung open the car door and jumped out.
“What in the name of Zeus are you doing? Get back here!” barked Box, opening his own door. He and India exited the car as Harold set off down the street towards the high wall encircling Mr Teeth’s garden.
The other two set off after him, India lugging out her taser as she ran.
Harold was already astride the top of the wall when they reached it.
“For pity’s sake, come down!” urged Box, his voice ragged from running.
India didn’t say anything, she simply whipped up her taser and fired.
Teatime covered the ground between the trees and the house in several nerve-wracking seconds. Banking on the idea that the intruders would be looking anywhere but into the garden, he ran in a straight line across the lawn, veering off as he reached the edge of the pool of radiance shed by the security lights. Here, he ran round the edge of the lighted area so as to remain invisible as long as possible.
A low stone balustrade ran round the edge of the patio, which was a stone-flagged area slightly higher than the lawn. Teatime kept this low barrier between himself and the area of the doors as he scrambled quickly round to the house’s rear wall.
Another shot roared from within in the house; the first weapon Teatime had heard had evidently been discharged again. Although the weapon made a terrific racket and shot peppered the area, it had no other effect. Teatime hoped fervently that this did not mean that the other intruders were inside the house already. If they were, his cunning plan would be to no avail.
Crouching as low as possible and thanking the universe for his grey colouring, he made his way to his objective. At the base of the wall, there was a hinged metal cover. Teatime flipped this up, glancing around nervously to check that he was not being observed. Idiot! He chided himself. They’re invisible. How in the name of all that’s unholy are you going to know if they’re watching you?
Having no means to prop the cover open, Teatime resorted to the undignified expedient of resting it on the top of his head. Behind the cover was a simple control panel, whose controls were labelled in Spanish. Teatime pressed the large green ‘Activar’ button and the ‘sistema de aspersión‘ sprang into life.
India skipped smartly out of the way as Harold hit the pavement with a crunch that made even the grizzled Box wince.
“Are you out of your mind, Agent?” Box whispered furiously. Somewhere over the wall, another shot rang out.
“Sorry, didn’t exactly have time to discuss it,” she replied, rolling Harold onto his back with her foot. She leant over him. “Listen, demon. Believe it or not, I did not want to have to do that, but I am not going to let you ruin everything by running off and getting yourself caught. I get that you’re concerned for your little monkey-thing, but he’s way smarter than you are and knows how to keep his head down, which is more than can be said for you.”
The effects of a taser are more severe and longer-lasting for demons’ vessels that they are on humans. This was just as well, because if Harold had been able to move right then, he would have liked very much to throttle Agent India on the spot. She was right, of course – at least in part – which was pretty annoying in itself. Teatime was smart and quick. The thing that really galled him, though, was that India had used her taser on him – again! He hadn’t been planning to just go running in willy-nilly; he had learned that much from recent events, at least. But the fact of the matter was, she clearly still didn’t trust him or respect him at all.
After all they’d been through. After all he’d done to convince her that he was on her side!
What did you expect? said a cynical little voice at the back of his mind. Did you really think they would ever see you as part of their cosy little team and all go running around having jolly adventures together? Wise up, dummy! They’re just using you, and when this is over, it’ll be back to the Basement like nothing ever happened.
“We don’t have time – “ India’s voice trailed off.
When she’d shot Harold that first time, his eyes had displayed shock and surprise more than anything else.
This time, however, they were absolutely ablaze with anger.
Mr Teeth’s expensive garden sprinkler system came to life. From many artfully concealed nozzles, jets of water gushed out and began to play over the garden, soaking everything in sight – including the patio.
The state-of-the-art Rainbow Industries camouflage suits were fantastic pieces of technology. Although they were sufficiently waterproof to keep on working perfectly well as the sprinkler water landed on them (they had been developed for the military, after all), they – and the men wearing them – still provided a physical obstruction to the water’s inexorable journey to the ground. At once, two intruders were outlined by the water, sparkling silver in the glow of the security lights, splashing off them. From inside the house, Mr Teeth’s deep bark of laughter came to Teatime’s ears, followed immediately by the roar of his shotgun. The blast caught the two men, who had been crouched close together by the doorway, obviously looking to creep into the house and take its owner by surprise.
As the buckshot tore into them, the hi-tech suits immediately stopped working, leaving two more sprawled silver-suited bodies on the patio. Teatime pushed a large red button on the control panel and the water shut off. He watched as Mr Teeth strode out through the ruined patio door and deftly disarmed all four intruders, before turning to where he was crouched.
Seeing that his saviour had been none other than the tiny monkey, the big man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Thanks, man, that was good thinking – and good timing.” he rumbled, “I owe you. Never would have thought of using the water like that." His voice turned thoughtrful, "Pity the fancy suits got wasted, though.” Setting his shot gun against the wall, he checked the four men’s injuries – the buckshot had left multiple wounds, but none appeared life-threatening.
He retrieved the gun again and leaned up against the wall where he could see all four downed men.
“What now, Mr Jackson?” asked Teatime.
“Now we wait for Pauli and his boys and then we’ll figure out what to do with these guys.” He waved the tip of the shotgun’s barrel at the erstwhile intruders. Where are the others, anyway?”
“They’re waiting in the next street,” Teatime replied, “I’d better go and fetch them I suppose.” He scampered off into the trees once more.
The creator of Wordzzles lives here.
The mini - challenge words: mode, bread, blues, epic, tripod
Arvind was going on and on about how epic he was sounding on his guitar lately. Apparently, his teacher had just taught him to play blues tunes in the Dorian mode and he was completely smitten with the idea of his own brilliance. I grunted now and then during his peroration, and adjusted the camera tripod for the umpteenth time, trying in vain to get a really good position from which to film the stage. Suddenly, I got the perfect placement and locked off the legs with a triumphant grin. ‘Awww, man!!’ groaned Arvind, suddenly. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ I looked to where he was pointing; the leg of the tripod had neatly impaled the little plastic baggie of bread and cheese that was to be Arvind’s lunch. The ratbag wouldn’t even let me leave it there until the show was over. Shame, because it gave the perfect angle.
The 10-worder - challenge words: nickel, banshee, render, foil, noodle, aggressive, smooth, hat stand, cat, treat
“He’s gone as mad as a hat stand,” said Gerry into the pretty young reporter’s out-thrust microphone. “Last night, he made himself a hat out of foil - to keep the government out of his noodle, so he said.” Gerry took a pull at his cigarette and blew out the smoke. The young reporter’s smile didn’t falter for a moment, even though most of the smoke went into her face.
“Has he been aggressive?” she asked, “Has he attacked anybody?” This was the kind of detail her viewers wanted: violence – that or sex. And today, Nigel Render, lead singer of Smooth Banshee, out on tour for the first time in seven years, had handed her the scoop of a lifetime by having a very public meltdown on stage.
“Nah, he’s a cool cat,” replied Gerry, the band’s drummer. “He wouldn’t hit anybody. He’s too laid back. He’s just sitting in his room, flipping a nickel over and over again, muttering to himself, saying we should all treat him with respect. He’ll come out of it in a bit-”
From somewhere behind him, there came the sound of a single gunshot.
“ – or maybe not.”
(Story so far can be read by following the link, top right)
Teatime was still some distance from the house when he heard the sound of Mr Teeth’s shotgun. He scampered a bit more quickly through the leafy darkness of the lower branches of the many ornamental trees surrounding the property. The scent of oranges hung distractingly in the air, but there was no time for such things now. He got to the edge of the trees at last and peered towards the house.
The security lights at the rear of the property had come on and in their fierce white glare, the little monkey could see two men sprawled on the ground near the open patio door. They appeared to be wearing silvery suits, whose metallic sheen was now being spoiled in places by trickles of blood from the men’s wounds. The men were still moving feebly, and Teatime could hear their faint cursing.
Abruptly, the sound of another shot rang out – a different weapon this time, by the sound of it. This was followed by the sound of something smashing and tinkling inside the house, but Teatime could not see who had fired. It certainly hadn’t been the two men on the ground, so that must mean there were more invisible types about. How jolly annoying! If it weren’t for the fact that the demon and India needed the invisibility suits that Harold had liberated, he was all for going back and advising that they drive away and leave Mr Jackson to sort things out himself. He seemed capable enough.
The suits were needed, though, and they were in the house. Teatime scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment. If Mr Jackson could see the intruders properly, he could probably deal with them: he’d probably faced worse odds in his time on the streets as a young man, and he clearly had no qualms about shooting people.
As he gazed around for possible solutions, Teatime’s eye was caught by something over at the base of the back wall of the house. An idea suddenly sprang into the little monkey’s head. It would be risky, as he would be in plain sight if he went over there. Still, he was confident the two wounded intruders were in no position to interfere with his plan, and he was willing to bet that any others would be intent on the doorway into the house.
There was no time to lose. He leapt from the tree, landing lightly upon the smooth green expanse of the lawn, and raced for all he was worth towards the thing he had seen.
-0-0-0-0-
“I should have gone with him,” Harold said, as the sound of the second shot came to their ears.
“No,” said Box, firmly, “Those people are bound to be looking for you, and we don’t know if they have any more of those freezing machines. You’re best staying away from them.”
“But what if he gets hurt?” protested Harold, “You humans seem to have no qualms about shooting each other for the slightest reason – a little animal isn’t going to be very safe, is he?”
“He’ll be OK,” said Box, “He’s a smart little creature; he won’t take any unnecessary risks. Just sit tight.”
Harold slumped unhappily back into his seat. Box was probably right, but if anything happened to the little fellow....
He drummed his fingers.
He tried to think calming thoughts; usually, a nice piece of music would pop into his head to do the job but, tonight, his mental orchestra seemed to be gigging elsewhere.
Nope.
It was no good.
Harold flung open the car door and jumped out.
“What in the name of Zeus are you doing? Get back here!” barked Box, opening his own door. He and India exited the car as Harold set off down the street towards the high wall encircling Mr Teeth’s garden.
The other two set off after him, India lugging out her taser as she ran.
Harold was already astride the top of the wall when they reached it.
“For pity’s sake, come down!” urged Box, his voice ragged from running.
India didn’t say anything, she simply whipped up her taser and fired.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Teatime covered the ground between the trees and the house in several nerve-wracking seconds. Banking on the idea that the intruders would be looking anywhere but into the garden, he ran in a straight line across the lawn, veering off as he reached the edge of the pool of radiance shed by the security lights. Here, he ran round the edge of the lighted area so as to remain invisible as long as possible.
A low stone balustrade ran round the edge of the patio, which was a stone-flagged area slightly higher than the lawn. Teatime kept this low barrier between himself and the area of the doors as he scrambled quickly round to the house’s rear wall.
Another shot roared from within in the house; the first weapon Teatime had heard had evidently been discharged again. Although the weapon made a terrific racket and shot peppered the area, it had no other effect. Teatime hoped fervently that this did not mean that the other intruders were inside the house already. If they were, his cunning plan would be to no avail.
Crouching as low as possible and thanking the universe for his grey colouring, he made his way to his objective. At the base of the wall, there was a hinged metal cover. Teatime flipped this up, glancing around nervously to check that he was not being observed. Idiot! He chided himself. They’re invisible. How in the name of all that’s unholy are you going to know if they’re watching you?
Having no means to prop the cover open, Teatime resorted to the undignified expedient of resting it on the top of his head. Behind the cover was a simple control panel, whose controls were labelled in Spanish. Teatime pressed the large green ‘Activar’ button and the ‘sistema de aspersión‘ sprang into life.
-0-0-0-0-0-
India skipped smartly out of the way as Harold hit the pavement with a crunch that made even the grizzled Box wince.
“Are you out of your mind, Agent?” Box whispered furiously. Somewhere over the wall, another shot rang out.
“Sorry, didn’t exactly have time to discuss it,” she replied, rolling Harold onto his back with her foot. She leant over him. “Listen, demon. Believe it or not, I did not want to have to do that, but I am not going to let you ruin everything by running off and getting yourself caught. I get that you’re concerned for your little monkey-thing, but he’s way smarter than you are and knows how to keep his head down, which is more than can be said for you.”
The effects of a taser are more severe and longer-lasting for demons’ vessels that they are on humans. This was just as well, because if Harold had been able to move right then, he would have liked very much to throttle Agent India on the spot. She was right, of course – at least in part – which was pretty annoying in itself. Teatime was smart and quick. The thing that really galled him, though, was that India had used her taser on him – again! He hadn’t been planning to just go running in willy-nilly; he had learned that much from recent events, at least. But the fact of the matter was, she clearly still didn’t trust him or respect him at all.
After all they’d been through. After all he’d done to convince her that he was on her side!
What did you expect? said a cynical little voice at the back of his mind. Did you really think they would ever see you as part of their cosy little team and all go running around having jolly adventures together? Wise up, dummy! They’re just using you, and when this is over, it’ll be back to the Basement like nothing ever happened.
“We don’t have time – “ India’s voice trailed off.
When she’d shot Harold that first time, his eyes had displayed shock and surprise more than anything else.
This time, however, they were absolutely ablaze with anger.
-0-0-0-0-0
Mr Teeth’s expensive garden sprinkler system came to life. From many artfully concealed nozzles, jets of water gushed out and began to play over the garden, soaking everything in sight – including the patio.
The state-of-the-art Rainbow Industries camouflage suits were fantastic pieces of technology. Although they were sufficiently waterproof to keep on working perfectly well as the sprinkler water landed on them (they had been developed for the military, after all), they – and the men wearing them – still provided a physical obstruction to the water’s inexorable journey to the ground. At once, two intruders were outlined by the water, sparkling silver in the glow of the security lights, splashing off them. From inside the house, Mr Teeth’s deep bark of laughter came to Teatime’s ears, followed immediately by the roar of his shotgun. The blast caught the two men, who had been crouched close together by the doorway, obviously looking to creep into the house and take its owner by surprise.
As the buckshot tore into them, the hi-tech suits immediately stopped working, leaving two more sprawled silver-suited bodies on the patio. Teatime pushed a large red button on the control panel and the water shut off. He watched as Mr Teeth strode out through the ruined patio door and deftly disarmed all four intruders, before turning to where he was crouched.
Seeing that his saviour had been none other than the tiny monkey, the big man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Thanks, man, that was good thinking – and good timing.” he rumbled, “I owe you. Never would have thought of using the water like that." His voice turned thoughtrful, "Pity the fancy suits got wasted, though.” Setting his shot gun against the wall, he checked the four men’s injuries – the buckshot had left multiple wounds, but none appeared life-threatening.
He retrieved the gun again and leaned up against the wall where he could see all four downed men.
“What now, Mr Jackson?” asked Teatime.
“Now we wait for Pauli and his boys and then we’ll figure out what to do with these guys.” He waved the tip of the shotgun’s barrel at the erstwhile intruders. Where are the others, anyway?”
“They’re waiting in the next street,” Teatime replied, “I’d better go and fetch them I suppose.” He scampered off into the trees once more.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
First Wordzzle of 2012
It's been ages, I know. For newbies around here, the idea is to use the random set of words you're given in a piece of writing. The inventor of Wordzzles is here.
A couple of left-over mini challenges. These are good little kickstarters for creativity.
Challenge words: sweet, whimper, orange glow, flute, dose
And, inevitably, more Harold (see the Story So Far link top right to get caught up)
“Drive on past and don’t slow down” barked Box from the passenger seat.
They had just turned into the road that led to the gates of Mr Teeth’s swiss-cheese-windowed mansion. A white van bearing an Infinity Recycling logo, its lights out, was parked so as to block the gateway. The gates themselves stood ajar. There was no sign of anybody around.
“How on Earth did they find us?” India wondered aloud.
“No idea, but they obviously did.” Box exhaled heavily. “This is not good. We’ll have to assume that Mr Jackson won’t be able to help us now, I think.”
“We can’t just leave him, surely?” said India.
“I’m not sure we have a choice,” replied Box, “We don’t have any weapons apart from your taser and we have no idea how many or how heavily armed the Infinity Recycling people are. Our best bet is to get ourselves away from here. I’m betting the Infinity goons aren’t looking for Mr Jackson anyway, so once they find out we’re not there, they might well just leave.”
“We have to get into the house, anyway, though.” Said India.
Box frowned. “Why’s that?”
“The invisibility suits are in there. We need them if we’re going to get into that building. Plus, if we just wait around for them to go, they might find the suits and take them back. We didn’t exactly hide them.”
Box rubbed his brow.
“OK, ok, drive slowly and let me think.” He sighed.
Harold, Teatime and India waited in tense silence as the little brown man cogitated.
“Alright,” Box said, at length. “The first thing we need is information. Mr Teatime,” he said, turning to the little monkey, “would you be willing to go on a information-gathering mission?”
Mr Teeth woke with a start. He’d been dozing at his desk, waiting for the OGS people to come back from the hospital with their colleague. He cast a bleary eye around for the source of the insistent beeping that had awoken him. On his computer screen, a message balloon had popped up, informing him that the front gate had been opened without authorisation.
Mr teeth had grown up on the streets and had a very keenly developed survival sense. He knew that the OGS people had the code to get in the gates legitimately, so whoever had triggered the alarm was no friend of his, that was for sure.
Silently blessing the foresight that had made him spend so much on his security system, he pulled up the feed from the gate camera.
The gates were ajar. A truck was parked across them, but of its occupants there was no sign.
He flicked through the feeds on all the other cameras around the house and grounds.
Nothing.
He stood up and operated the combination lock on the silver-grey metal cabinet behind his chair. The lock gave one final click and he swung the door open. From inside the cabinet, he took out a pump-action shotgun which he quickly loaded and cocked. He grabbed a handful of extra shells and stuffed them into his pocket – you could never have too much ammo as far as he was concerned.
He made his way out of the study into the unlit hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. He stopped to listen for a moment, at the same time allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
No unusual sounds came to him, but then it would take anybody a little while to reach the house from the gate – even running.
He fished his mobile out of his pocket, quickly thumbed through the contacts list and selected one.
“Pauli, this is Elroy,” he said quietly when the other person picked up the call. “Got some unwelcome visitors here, gonna need you and your boys sooner rather than later.”
“Be there in twenty.”
Mr teeth grunted, ended the call and dropped the phone back into his packet.
There were three ways into the house: the front door, the patio doors at the back, and the door from the garage. Mr Teeth didn’t think that the intruders would come in the front door. The garage would be problematic too, as the intruders would have to get it open, then skirt the car to get to the house door, which was an extra obstacle if locked – which it was. No, too much could go wrong with that, and it would take too much time for them.
That left the patio doors.
With the house empty but for himself, only Mr Teeth’s study had been lit.
Keeping out of direct line of sight of the living room doorway, he moved quietly along the dark hall until he could stand to one side of the door to the living room and look in.
A rectangle of pale moonlight marked the position of the patio doors. Through them, Mr teeth could see a smooth expanse of lawn running down to the trees and the ornamental pond. Nothing moved out there; not even the wind stirred the tree branches tonight.
After about a minute, Mr Teeth became aware of a soft sound, a kind of metallic clicking, coming from where the patio door lock was located. Someone was trying to pick the lock. So, whoever it was had elected to take a quiet approach.
Mr teeth steadied the barrel of the shotgun against the doorframe assumed a more balanced stance. He could still not see anyone out there – and his PIR-activated lights had not come on either, which they most certainly should have done by now. Clearly, whoever was out there had access to one of those invisibility suits that the OGS girl and the demon had been going on about.
This was a problem: there was no telling how many people were out there. The van he had seen on the camera feed looked like it could hold half-a-dozen people at most. Six to one were not great odds and when the six were invisible….
Part of Mr Teeth’s brain kept trying to tell him to exercise that particular type of discretion which is the better part of valour and beat feet out of there. A more stubborn part of it, however, put its fingers in its ears and hummed loudly; this was his home after all and he would not be driven out of it.
A soft click came from the lock area. Mr Teeth angled the barrel of the shotgun towards that spot.
The patio door began to slide open – all by itself, apparently.
Mr Teeth fired.
A couple of left-over mini challenges. These are good little kickstarters for creativity.
Challenge words: wonder, wing, flowers, drunk, purpose
Vroo was having the time of his life.
The sun was shining, food was plentiful and even the puddle water had tasted extra good today. He adjusted his wing feathers and began a lazy turn that would carry him across the garden and up onto the roof of The Joneses’ shed, from where he planned to spend the afternoon soaking up the warm rays.
BLAM!
He smashed into unyielding glass, knocking himself senseless. Luckily, the flowers under the window were there to break his fall.
He lay there for a short while in a state of semi-concussed wonder, one of his wings hurting like crazy. How had he managed to hit the window? He'd been banking in good time, he was sure, so he should have missed it.
The crows on the fence just about laughed themselves off their perches. Their wicked plan had borne fruit.
Earlier that day, they had - accidentally on purpose - knocked over a discarded can of beer, spilling its contents into the pigeon's favoured drinking puddle.
There really was no funnier sight than a drunk pigeon.
Challenge words: sweet, whimper, orange glow, flute, dose
The sweet, sad notes of a flute woke me. Through the window, the dawn sky was lit by an orange glow. Red sky in the morning, I thought, shepherd’s warning. The flute died away and was replaced by the tiniest whimper from Mattie, my old king Charles spaniel. He sat next to his bowl, brown eyes large and liquid with supplication. I looked at the clock: 18:45. Not sunrise then but sunset! Poor Mattie, I had slept the day through, missing his breakfast. The bottle of cold remedy sat on the dresser where I had left it and next to it lay the spoon I had used to dose myself. I must have been in a bad way last night – the directions had said 1 TEAspoon. I picked up the tablespoon and headed for the kitchen, waggy-tailed dog in tow.
And, inevitably, more Harold (see the Story So Far link top right to get caught up)
“Drive on past and don’t slow down” barked Box from the passenger seat.
They had just turned into the road that led to the gates of Mr Teeth’s swiss-cheese-windowed mansion. A white van bearing an Infinity Recycling logo, its lights out, was parked so as to block the gateway. The gates themselves stood ajar. There was no sign of anybody around.
“How on Earth did they find us?” India wondered aloud.
“No idea, but they obviously did.” Box exhaled heavily. “This is not good. We’ll have to assume that Mr Jackson won’t be able to help us now, I think.”
“We can’t just leave him, surely?” said India.
“I’m not sure we have a choice,” replied Box, “We don’t have any weapons apart from your taser and we have no idea how many or how heavily armed the Infinity Recycling people are. Our best bet is to get ourselves away from here. I’m betting the Infinity goons aren’t looking for Mr Jackson anyway, so once they find out we’re not there, they might well just leave.”
“We have to get into the house, anyway, though.” Said India.
Box frowned. “Why’s that?”
“The invisibility suits are in there. We need them if we’re going to get into that building. Plus, if we just wait around for them to go, they might find the suits and take them back. We didn’t exactly hide them.”
Box rubbed his brow.
“OK, ok, drive slowly and let me think.” He sighed.
Harold, Teatime and India waited in tense silence as the little brown man cogitated.
“Alright,” Box said, at length. “The first thing we need is information. Mr Teatime,” he said, turning to the little monkey, “would you be willing to go on a information-gathering mission?”
-0-0-0-0-0-
Mr Teeth woke with a start. He’d been dozing at his desk, waiting for the OGS people to come back from the hospital with their colleague. He cast a bleary eye around for the source of the insistent beeping that had awoken him. On his computer screen, a message balloon had popped up, informing him that the front gate had been opened without authorisation.
Mr teeth had grown up on the streets and had a very keenly developed survival sense. He knew that the OGS people had the code to get in the gates legitimately, so whoever had triggered the alarm was no friend of his, that was for sure.
Silently blessing the foresight that had made him spend so much on his security system, he pulled up the feed from the gate camera.
The gates were ajar. A truck was parked across them, but of its occupants there was no sign.
He flicked through the feeds on all the other cameras around the house and grounds.
Nothing.
He stood up and operated the combination lock on the silver-grey metal cabinet behind his chair. The lock gave one final click and he swung the door open. From inside the cabinet, he took out a pump-action shotgun which he quickly loaded and cocked. He grabbed a handful of extra shells and stuffed them into his pocket – you could never have too much ammo as far as he was concerned.
He made his way out of the study into the unlit hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. He stopped to listen for a moment, at the same time allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
No unusual sounds came to him, but then it would take anybody a little while to reach the house from the gate – even running.
He fished his mobile out of his pocket, quickly thumbed through the contacts list and selected one.
“Pauli, this is Elroy,” he said quietly when the other person picked up the call. “Got some unwelcome visitors here, gonna need you and your boys sooner rather than later.”
“Be there in twenty.”
Mr teeth grunted, ended the call and dropped the phone back into his packet.
There were three ways into the house: the front door, the patio doors at the back, and the door from the garage. Mr Teeth didn’t think that the intruders would come in the front door. The garage would be problematic too, as the intruders would have to get it open, then skirt the car to get to the house door, which was an extra obstacle if locked – which it was. No, too much could go wrong with that, and it would take too much time for them.
That left the patio doors.
With the house empty but for himself, only Mr Teeth’s study had been lit.
Keeping out of direct line of sight of the living room doorway, he moved quietly along the dark hall until he could stand to one side of the door to the living room and look in.
A rectangle of pale moonlight marked the position of the patio doors. Through them, Mr teeth could see a smooth expanse of lawn running down to the trees and the ornamental pond. Nothing moved out there; not even the wind stirred the tree branches tonight.
After about a minute, Mr Teeth became aware of a soft sound, a kind of metallic clicking, coming from where the patio door lock was located. Someone was trying to pick the lock. So, whoever it was had elected to take a quiet approach.
Mr teeth steadied the barrel of the shotgun against the doorframe assumed a more balanced stance. He could still not see anyone out there – and his PIR-activated lights had not come on either, which they most certainly should have done by now. Clearly, whoever was out there had access to one of those invisibility suits that the OGS girl and the demon had been going on about.
This was a problem: there was no telling how many people were out there. The van he had seen on the camera feed looked like it could hold half-a-dozen people at most. Six to one were not great odds and when the six were invisible….
Part of Mr Teeth’s brain kept trying to tell him to exercise that particular type of discretion which is the better part of valour and beat feet out of there. A more stubborn part of it, however, put its fingers in its ears and hummed loudly; this was his home after all and he would not be driven out of it.
A soft click came from the lock area. Mr Teeth angled the barrel of the shotgun towards that spot.
The patio door began to slide open – all by itself, apparently.
Mr Teeth fired.
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Wordzzle 178
Well, I've managed one. NaNoWriMo has really eaten up my time and brains - much more so than I anticipated.
Anyhoo, here's a mini chalenge and a chunk of Harold. For more Wordzzle-related fun go to Raven's Nest.
Words to include: historical, hysterical, purple, purist, gelding
With a sigh, I put down the book. To be honest, it hadn’t really been gripping me anyway. It was supposed to be a historical novel set in the medieval period, but they should have shelved it under ‘hysterical’ instead. Such tosh! Purple prose abounded and, underneath the ridiculously overblown verbiage was a plot so contrived and thin, you could see light through it. I mean, a pretty young woman whose only companion in the world, a bay gelding, wandering about the countryside unescorted – highly implausible for the day. I suppose I’m being too much of a purist, but they really should not send this kind of twaddle for review to yours truly of all people - a Professor of Medieval History at Trinity College Cambridge.
And Harold, of course.............. (catch up using the link top right)
“This is highly irregular!” The young nurse’s voice was stiff with disapproval. “Mr Box is sleeping and mustn’t be disturbed.”
“But this is really urgent,” said India, “Please, can we have just a few minutes. We’ll be very quiet, I promise.”
Standing behind her, Harold favoured the nurse with his friendliest smile and was pleased to see a little uncertainty creep into her frosty expression.
“Please,” he added, “We just need to give him some very important family news. We’ll be gone before you know it.”
The nurse glanced around to see if anybody else was watching and sighed.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll let you see him, but you get five minutes and that’s it.”
“Thanks,” said India. “That’s all we need, honestly.”
It had all started with India wishing out loud that Box could be there to offer his advice about the current situation. Mr Teeth had offered to loan his not inconsiderable resources to project Distraction, as Harold had insisted on dubbing the current phase of activity. India had been uncertain whether to accept more of his help – so far, his house and the use of a car had been the only things they’d had from hm. All along, India had been squeamish about collaborating with someone who was almost certainly involved in who knows what criminal ventures, but she was pragmatic enough to realise that beggars cannot always be choosers. Still she had sighed and wished for Box’s counsel.
Harold had suddenly had an idea and, well, here they were.
Box was sleeping like the proverbial baby when the nurse ushered them into the dimly-lit room. She went over to the bed and roused his gently.
“Mr Box,” she said softly, “There are a couple of people here to see you. I can send them away if you don’t want to be disturbed.”
Box blinked blearily around the room for a few moments and then his eyes settled on India and Harold.
“No, it’s fine, they can stay.” He pushed himself up the bed and fumbled for the controls to raise the end of it.
“Five minutes.” The nurse said sternly as she left the room.
India and Harold moved over to the bedside.
“I take it things have gone awry.” Said Box, “Pass me that water will you? Thanks.”
Harold handed him the glass from the nightstand while India quickly outlined what had happened.
“And you’ve not been able to contact Mercury and Co since.” He confirmed when she had finished.
“No.” she replied, “But we’re thinking of putting together some kind of a distraction and using the invisibility suits to get inside Infinity Recycling. You’re a much more experienced agent, though, and I wanted to get your take on it.”
“Well, it’s going to take more than a few hurried minutes for me to get my ideas together.” Box said, “Do you have layouts of the uilding, things like that? How many people can Mr Jackson provide?”
“We can go into that back at the house,” said India.
Box blinked.
“Are you fixing to break me out of the hospital?” He said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and just a little glee.
“You’ll be walking out on your own.” Said Harold.
Box frowned. “Say what now?”
“We don’t have a lot of time to explain.” Said India, “The demon here thinks he can fix your leg. I have pointed out that it’s a bit more complicated than a china mug, but he seems to think he can do it and, given the urgency of the situation, I think it’s worth a try.”
“OK, I’m here,” said Flowers, as she walked into the cramped security office containing Moon.
“Doctor, we’ve had some developments tonight. Some OGS Agents have discovered our little hideaway and, while we’ve rounded up some of them, there is at least one other, plus a Fallen running around loose. We need to know where they would most likely have gone. We’re so close now with this project, we simply can’t have things ruined by a couple of loose cannon.”
Flowers frowned.
“And you’ve called me in because – ?“
“I was thinking that you could maybe,” Moon was suddenly less sure of himself, “well, give one of them a shot of something that might, you know, loosen their inhibitions a bit, get them to tell us where they’ve been hiding out.”
“I see,” Flowers said, hesitantly. Her cabinets down in the lab did contain several drugs that would undoubtedly do the trick, but... She knew she was being a total hypocrite for being so precious all of a sudden about using her drugs in this way, especially when she had already done so once. Nevertheless, her conscience had been nagging away at her since then and she was not keen to feed it any further. Then she remembered something.
“I think I might have an idea where we can look for your loose cannons,” she said.
Box gingerly lowered his feet to the cool linoleum of his hospital room. The stab of pain he had been expected did not come and he breathed a sigh of relief. “So far so good,” he murmured.
Carefully, India and Harold helped him to transfer his full weight to his feet and stand. On the bed behind him lay a tangle of discarded bandage and broken chunks of plaster of Paris. Box had taken a bit of convincing to get him to allow a Fallen – even one he’d recently been working with – to touch him. In the end, though, he’d relented and Harold had set to work with, it now appeared, good results.
Box took a few test steps unaided and pronounced himself satisfied. He was just pulling on his leather trousers when the door opened. The nurse froze in the doorway when she took in what was going on.
“It’s OK,” Box said quickly, before she did anything rash. “I’m going to discharge myself. I’m a whole lot better and my cousin needs me. Can you get the paperwork ready please?”
“Mr Box,” she gasped, “It’s the middle of the night! I strongly advise you at least to wait until morning, I can’t in all conscience – “
“Please,” said Box, in a firm voice. “I’m leaving. Now. I’d rather not make any more fuss than I have to, so please get me whatever I need to sign and I’ll be on my way.”
And, twenty minutes later, with India at the wheel, they all headed back towards Mr Teeth’s.
Anyhoo, here's a mini chalenge and a chunk of Harold. For more Wordzzle-related fun go to Raven's Nest.
Words to include: historical, hysterical, purple, purist, gelding
With a sigh, I put down the book. To be honest, it hadn’t really been gripping me anyway. It was supposed to be a historical novel set in the medieval period, but they should have shelved it under ‘hysterical’ instead. Such tosh! Purple prose abounded and, underneath the ridiculously overblown verbiage was a plot so contrived and thin, you could see light through it. I mean, a pretty young woman whose only companion in the world, a bay gelding, wandering about the countryside unescorted – highly implausible for the day. I suppose I’m being too much of a purist, but they really should not send this kind of twaddle for review to yours truly of all people - a Professor of Medieval History at Trinity College Cambridge.
And Harold, of course.............. (catch up using the link top right)
“This is highly irregular!” The young nurse’s voice was stiff with disapproval. “Mr Box is sleeping and mustn’t be disturbed.”
“But this is really urgent,” said India, “Please, can we have just a few minutes. We’ll be very quiet, I promise.”
Standing behind her, Harold favoured the nurse with his friendliest smile and was pleased to see a little uncertainty creep into her frosty expression.
“Please,” he added, “We just need to give him some very important family news. We’ll be gone before you know it.”
The nurse glanced around to see if anybody else was watching and sighed.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll let you see him, but you get five minutes and that’s it.”
“Thanks,” said India. “That’s all we need, honestly.”
It had all started with India wishing out loud that Box could be there to offer his advice about the current situation. Mr Teeth had offered to loan his not inconsiderable resources to project Distraction, as Harold had insisted on dubbing the current phase of activity. India had been uncertain whether to accept more of his help – so far, his house and the use of a car had been the only things they’d had from hm. All along, India had been squeamish about collaborating with someone who was almost certainly involved in who knows what criminal ventures, but she was pragmatic enough to realise that beggars cannot always be choosers. Still she had sighed and wished for Box’s counsel.
Harold had suddenly had an idea and, well, here they were.
Box was sleeping like the proverbial baby when the nurse ushered them into the dimly-lit room. She went over to the bed and roused his gently.
“Mr Box,” she said softly, “There are a couple of people here to see you. I can send them away if you don’t want to be disturbed.”
Box blinked blearily around the room for a few moments and then his eyes settled on India and Harold.
“No, it’s fine, they can stay.” He pushed himself up the bed and fumbled for the controls to raise the end of it.
“Five minutes.” The nurse said sternly as she left the room.
India and Harold moved over to the bedside.
“I take it things have gone awry.” Said Box, “Pass me that water will you? Thanks.”
Harold handed him the glass from the nightstand while India quickly outlined what had happened.
“And you’ve not been able to contact Mercury and Co since.” He confirmed when she had finished.
“No.” she replied, “But we’re thinking of putting together some kind of a distraction and using the invisibility suits to get inside Infinity Recycling. You’re a much more experienced agent, though, and I wanted to get your take on it.”
“Well, it’s going to take more than a few hurried minutes for me to get my ideas together.” Box said, “Do you have layouts of the uilding, things like that? How many people can Mr Jackson provide?”
“We can go into that back at the house,” said India.
Box blinked.
“Are you fixing to break me out of the hospital?” He said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and just a little glee.
“You’ll be walking out on your own.” Said Harold.
Box frowned. “Say what now?”
“We don’t have a lot of time to explain.” Said India, “The demon here thinks he can fix your leg. I have pointed out that it’s a bit more complicated than a china mug, but he seems to think he can do it and, given the urgency of the situation, I think it’s worth a try.”
-0-0-0-0-
“OK, I’m here,” said Flowers, as she walked into the cramped security office containing Moon.
“Doctor, we’ve had some developments tonight. Some OGS Agents have discovered our little hideaway and, while we’ve rounded up some of them, there is at least one other, plus a Fallen running around loose. We need to know where they would most likely have gone. We’re so close now with this project, we simply can’t have things ruined by a couple of loose cannon.”
Flowers frowned.
“And you’ve called me in because – ?“
“I was thinking that you could maybe,” Moon was suddenly less sure of himself, “well, give one of them a shot of something that might, you know, loosen their inhibitions a bit, get them to tell us where they’ve been hiding out.”
“I see,” Flowers said, hesitantly. Her cabinets down in the lab did contain several drugs that would undoubtedly do the trick, but... She knew she was being a total hypocrite for being so precious all of a sudden about using her drugs in this way, especially when she had already done so once. Nevertheless, her conscience had been nagging away at her since then and she was not keen to feed it any further. Then she remembered something.
“I think I might have an idea where we can look for your loose cannons,” she said.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Box gingerly lowered his feet to the cool linoleum of his hospital room. The stab of pain he had been expected did not come and he breathed a sigh of relief. “So far so good,” he murmured.
Carefully, India and Harold helped him to transfer his full weight to his feet and stand. On the bed behind him lay a tangle of discarded bandage and broken chunks of plaster of Paris. Box had taken a bit of convincing to get him to allow a Fallen – even one he’d recently been working with – to touch him. In the end, though, he’d relented and Harold had set to work with, it now appeared, good results.
Box took a few test steps unaided and pronounced himself satisfied. He was just pulling on his leather trousers when the door opened. The nurse froze in the doorway when she took in what was going on.
“It’s OK,” Box said quickly, before she did anything rash. “I’m going to discharge myself. I’m a whole lot better and my cousin needs me. Can you get the paperwork ready please?”
“Mr Box,” she gasped, “It’s the middle of the night! I strongly advise you at least to wait until morning, I can’t in all conscience – “
“Please,” said Box, in a firm voice. “I’m leaving. Now. I’d rather not make any more fuss than I have to, so please get me whatever I need to sign and I’ll be on my way.”
And, twenty minutes later, with India at the wheel, they all headed back towards Mr Teeth’s.
Saturday, 29 October 2011
It's only Wordzzles, but Wordzzles are all I have...
I have been the very quintessence of laziness the last couple of weeks, so it's high time to make amends.
Raven, the creator of Wordzzles, is still bravely soldiering on with them and her blog can be found here, please pay her a visit or, better still, JOIN IN!
Here are a couple of minis I did earlier.
Challenge words: keen, swan, organ, champ, brush
“It’s never a good thing to champ at the bit too much where this job is concerned,” said Master Gottfried to his newest apprentice, a keen young fellow by the name of Otto. “A grand old lady like this one takes many months of careful patient work to restore her lest, like the fabled swan, she should sing just once and then die.” He chuckled at his own bon mot and then handed the brush to Otto. “Now, up you go, my lad.” Otto looked doubtfully at the rickety wooden ladder leading up to a narrow hatch, beyond which was dust, darkness and all the myriad organ pipes and actuators he was going to have to clean. He shuddered. There would be spiders up there the size of dinner-plates, he was sure of it. Master Gottfried smiled to himself The pipe loft with its dark, cramped spaces was always the acid test for any new apprentice. Otto took a deep shaky breath and began to climb.
Challenge words: flaw, filling, filter, flattery, fashionable
The décor was fashionable and the waiters kept the obsequious flattery to the barest minimum, what was not to like about Chez Dez, the newest bistro in town? Alex scribbled a few notes into his notebook and glanced at his pocketwatch. The deadline for copy was 4 o’clock. Plenty of time. His order arrived served in Chez Dez’s signature gleaming white crockery - a cup of filter coffee and a slice of Chez dez’s homemade apple pie. Alex took a mouthful of pie and chewed on it thoughfully, before frowning and scribbling a few more thoughts. He took a sip of coffee and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Next day, the local paper’s food section carried the headline: Tinned pie filling and instant coffee – the flaw in Chez Dez’s perfection.
And, of course, Harold...... Catch-up link is top right, if you need it.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than India could have kicked herself – really, really hard. Unbelievabley, she had just blurted out to one of the Fallen that it had hold of technology that could render it completely undetectable as it went about its wicked business. Brilliant work there India, she told herself severely, truly outstanding!
She half-expected Harold to pounce on her mistake with an evil cackle or something, but the stupid demon just tugged of the ski-mask and carried on drinking its coffee like nothing had happened. Maybe she’d got away with it after all.
One look at the suddenly thoughtful expression on Teatime’s face, however, instantly disabused her of that notion; the demon may have been too slow-witted to realise the strategic implications, but the monkey-thing clearly wasn’t.
When the little monkey spoke, however, it was not to gloat over her foolishness.
“That might well be jolly useful, actually,” he said.
“Oh?” said Harold.
“Well,” continued Teatime, “I was wondering how we were going to get around the fact that these wretched people seem to have a way of detecting your kind, and this just might be it. If Agent India’s gift doesn’t work when you’re in that ridiculous getup, then perhaps the Infinity Recycling people’s machines won’t either.”
Keen to keep the conversation going down this particular track, India said.
“We have two of these suits, so we could both sneak in, couldn’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Teatime, “But as I said earlier, we still have the problem of physical obstacles and guards to bypass. Magic suits aren’t going to get us through locked doors. We will need a diversion, as I said.”
“It would have to be something pretty big,” said Harold, “those guards seemed quite professional and well-organised.”
“Then it sounds like we’re going to need some help.” said India.
“No, we do not give him what he wants,” declared Prada, folding her arms firmly across her chest. “India and the demon are the only ones who know what’s going on and where we are. We cannot possibly allow Moon and his friends to get hold of them.”
“Assuming the demon hasn’t just run off somewhere, of course,” observed Othello, “If it was looking for a chance to get away from us, it’s just been handed the best one yet.”
“I don’t think it will do that, somehow.” Said Mercury. “It has been pretty helpful thus far, besides which, the Reckoner made it quite clear that he would take it personally if the demon betrayed our trust in any way. No I suspect it will follow the plan and go back to the -” He stopped himself and grinned ruefully. “Oooh, I nearly blew it then, didn’t I? Heh, I bet Moon’s got this place bugged in some way – I would if I were him.”
Moon did indeed have the place bugged, and could not help but smile at Mercury’s stopping himself from blabbing at the last moment. He leaned back in his chair, away from the security console. A small screen showed a grainy video feed from the conference room with the three OGS agents in it. It was clear they were not going to give anything away for free, but Moon had just that moment had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. He drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair as the call went though.
“Hello?” came a woman’s sleepy voice. It was, after all, the middle of the night.
“Dr Flowers? This is RolexBoy. Can you come down to Infinity Recycling right away please?”
Raven, the creator of Wordzzles, is still bravely soldiering on with them and her blog can be found here, please pay her a visit or, better still, JOIN IN!
Here are a couple of minis I did earlier.
Challenge words: keen, swan, organ, champ, brush
“It’s never a good thing to champ at the bit too much where this job is concerned,” said Master Gottfried to his newest apprentice, a keen young fellow by the name of Otto. “A grand old lady like this one takes many months of careful patient work to restore her lest, like the fabled swan, she should sing just once and then die.” He chuckled at his own bon mot and then handed the brush to Otto. “Now, up you go, my lad.” Otto looked doubtfully at the rickety wooden ladder leading up to a narrow hatch, beyond which was dust, darkness and all the myriad organ pipes and actuators he was going to have to clean. He shuddered. There would be spiders up there the size of dinner-plates, he was sure of it. Master Gottfried smiled to himself The pipe loft with its dark, cramped spaces was always the acid test for any new apprentice. Otto took a deep shaky breath and began to climb.
Challenge words: flaw, filling, filter, flattery, fashionable
The décor was fashionable and the waiters kept the obsequious flattery to the barest minimum, what was not to like about Chez Dez, the newest bistro in town? Alex scribbled a few notes into his notebook and glanced at his pocketwatch. The deadline for copy was 4 o’clock. Plenty of time. His order arrived served in Chez Dez’s signature gleaming white crockery - a cup of filter coffee and a slice of Chez dez’s homemade apple pie. Alex took a mouthful of pie and chewed on it thoughfully, before frowning and scribbling a few more thoughts. He took a sip of coffee and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Next day, the local paper’s food section carried the headline: Tinned pie filling and instant coffee – the flaw in Chez Dez’s perfection.
And, of course, Harold...... Catch-up link is top right, if you need it.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than India could have kicked herself – really, really hard. Unbelievabley, she had just blurted out to one of the Fallen that it had hold of technology that could render it completely undetectable as it went about its wicked business. Brilliant work there India, she told herself severely, truly outstanding!
She half-expected Harold to pounce on her mistake with an evil cackle or something, but the stupid demon just tugged of the ski-mask and carried on drinking its coffee like nothing had happened. Maybe she’d got away with it after all.
One look at the suddenly thoughtful expression on Teatime’s face, however, instantly disabused her of that notion; the demon may have been too slow-witted to realise the strategic implications, but the monkey-thing clearly wasn’t.
When the little monkey spoke, however, it was not to gloat over her foolishness.
“That might well be jolly useful, actually,” he said.
“Oh?” said Harold.
“Well,” continued Teatime, “I was wondering how we were going to get around the fact that these wretched people seem to have a way of detecting your kind, and this just might be it. If Agent India’s gift doesn’t work when you’re in that ridiculous getup, then perhaps the Infinity Recycling people’s machines won’t either.”
Keen to keep the conversation going down this particular track, India said.
“We have two of these suits, so we could both sneak in, couldn’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Teatime, “But as I said earlier, we still have the problem of physical obstacles and guards to bypass. Magic suits aren’t going to get us through locked doors. We will need a diversion, as I said.”
“It would have to be something pretty big,” said Harold, “those guards seemed quite professional and well-organised.”
“Then it sounds like we’re going to need some help.” said India.
-0-0-0-0-
“No, we do not give him what he wants,” declared Prada, folding her arms firmly across her chest. “India and the demon are the only ones who know what’s going on and where we are. We cannot possibly allow Moon and his friends to get hold of them.”
“Assuming the demon hasn’t just run off somewhere, of course,” observed Othello, “If it was looking for a chance to get away from us, it’s just been handed the best one yet.”
“I don’t think it will do that, somehow.” Said Mercury. “It has been pretty helpful thus far, besides which, the Reckoner made it quite clear that he would take it personally if the demon betrayed our trust in any way. No I suspect it will follow the plan and go back to the -” He stopped himself and grinned ruefully. “Oooh, I nearly blew it then, didn’t I? Heh, I bet Moon’s got this place bugged in some way – I would if I were him.”
Moon did indeed have the place bugged, and could not help but smile at Mercury’s stopping himself from blabbing at the last moment. He leaned back in his chair, away from the security console. A small screen showed a grainy video feed from the conference room with the three OGS agents in it. It was clear they were not going to give anything away for free, but Moon had just that moment had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. He drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair as the call went though.
“Hello?” came a woman’s sleepy voice. It was, after all, the middle of the night.
“Dr Flowers? This is RolexBoy. Can you come down to Infinity Recycling right away please?”
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
What's in a Wordzzle
Again with the Wordzzles! Created by Raven of Raven's Nest.
I reverted to a 5 word challenge this week, wuss that I am.
Challenge words are: bank, lotion, carpenter, slick, cheek
They were having some building work done at the bank and, as I approached, one of the builders – a carpenter of sorts by the look of him – appeared to nudge his fellow and whisper something. Now, I’m sick of this kind of thing happening. I mean, the cheek of people who think they can pass comment on others’ appearances in public like that! OK, I take good care of myself without being a slave to every new lotion or miracle cream that comes on the market, sure, but still… “Just who do you think you are!” I yelled, “keep you damn comments to yourself why don’t you?” His face was a picture of surprise. I guess he’d never been confronted before, ha! Just as I entered the building, my foot shot out from under me on the unexpectedly slick floor and down I went like a sack of mortified potatoes. “See?” The carpenter said to his mate. “Told you she wouldn’t see the ‘wet floor’ sign! Seriously, Stu, you need to reposition it before we get sued!”
And Harold (catchup link top right, folks)
India flung open the door before Harold even had a chance to ring the bell. He allowed his hand, with finger extended, to hang in the air for a moment for comic effect.
“Get in here, demon, and tell me everything that happened!” she barked.
“Pleased to see you too, Agent,” Harold replied, which earned him a Look.
Between them, and with many an irascible shouted instruction from Teatime, Harold and the little monkey had managed not only to get into the car (Mercury had the keys), but also to get it going and to pilot it back to Mr Teeth’s swiss-cheese house without crashing into anything or drawing unwanted attention from the police. Quite an achievement, Harold thought.
He recounted the night’s events in detail to India, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. He purposefully left out anything about the two silvery cases he had liberated from the crashed truck. He wanted her to ask about them. When he was finished, she obliged him. She pointed to the silvery cases.
“What are those things, then?”
“Well,” replied Harold, lifting one on to the table and opening it, “they might just be the answer to our prayers.” He lifted a bundle of sleek, silvery material out of the case and shook it out for India to see.
“OK” she said carefully, eyes narrowed, “I’m seeing a fancy-looking oversize romper suit. How is going to help us?”
“This is what the guards who captured us – or should I say Prada – were wearing that allowed them to sneak up on us.” Harold explained.
“Seriously? They were dressed in a thing like that and you didn’t see them coming?”
Harold set aside the clothing and reached into the case a second time, lifting out an object the size and shape of a small backpack – complete with straps. “I think this is the power unit or something. When it’s switched on, you can’t be seen or heard, it’s really spooky!”
“Leaving aside for a moment the ironic fact that one of the Fallen thinks something’s spooky, how can we make use of it?” India had reached out and was rubbing the cloth between her thumb and forefinger, like it was a blouse she was considering purchasing.
“Well, I thought we might wear them and sneak back into Infinity Recycling, rescue our people, put an end to whatever’s going on and every one lives happy ever after.” Harold said, brightly.
“If I might inject a much-needed note of reality,” said Teatime, who had been watching. “Even with your magic suits, you can’t just waltz in there. There are still physical obstacles to overcome – locked doors and suchlike.”
“But, I can deal with those,” said Harold, “I – “
“Yes, old stick, I’m sure you can, given time.” Said the monkey patiently, “But don’t you think someone will notice a door opening all by itself – they’ve clearly got cameras all over the wretched place and probably heaps of guards. No, we’re going to need a diversion.”
“Actually, before we all rush down the road making plans,” said India, “we should probably make sure the suits actually work. We might need a special code to operate them or something. If we can’t get them switched on, there’s no use wasting time planning to use them.”
“You make an excellent point, Agent,” said Teatime. He turned to Harold, “Well, off you go old shoe.”
“You sure you want me to do this?” asked Harold.
“Well, the suit’s too big for the monkey, and if it goes bang or something, I’m not indestructible,” retorted India, “so, yes, demon, you get to do it.”
Harold was secretly rather pleased. He’d been itching to try out this clever bit of human technology. Yes, ok, he was a demon and many demons could and did make themselves invisible at will, but he’d never had the time to work on that – and probably never would now. He slipped off his jacket and began to undress down to his underwear. India took one look, blushed and stalked out of the room.
Harold grinned. Teatime sighed and rolled his eyes.
Harold wriggled into the romper suit which was quite stretchy when it came to it, and fitted his six-foot frame quite well. In addition to the suit, there were bootie-like things with soft soles, gloves and a ski-mask. Harold donned all of these.
“It’s safe to come back in now,” he called out to India. “I’m decent.”
“That’s something you’ll never be,” she muttered as she came back into the room.
“Aww, I’m hurt!” said Harold, mockingly, placing a hand over where his heart would be.. “Just when I thought we were beginning to get along and all.”
“Hmph!” was India’s only response. She walked over to the empty case and looked inside. “Hmm, I guess it was too much to hope that they’d leave a handy instruction booklet lying about.”
Harold had picked up the backpack-like object and was examining it.
“There’s a cable here,” he said, “Maybe it connects to the suit somehow.” He ran his hands over the suit until he found a hard lump in the collar of the romper suit. He teased it out between finger and thumb and slid the jack on the end of the cable into it until a soft click told him it was seated correctly.
“Am I invisible yet?” he asked.
“No.” chorused India and Teatime.
“Hmm, obviously, there’s a switch somewhere that’s easy to get to – it would need to be. There’s not one on the backpack, so it must be around here on the suit somewhere.” He put his arms through the straps and shrugged the backpack into place, being careful not to pull the connection apart. He cast his mind back to when the guards had first magically appeared. They had drawn weapons, but before that they’d been apparently clasping one wrist with the opposite hand.
“Got it!” he cried in triumph, pressing the small stud located on the left hand cuff.
He felt a soft vibration start up in the backpack. The biggest change though was that the world had suddenly been re-rendered in weird colours – all purples and greys in lower definition than normal.
“How bout now?” He turned round to see a look of utmost surprise on India’s face, and Teatime bolt upright on the table, his tiny teeth bared – an instinctive monkey reaction to the strange, no doubt.
“Very well, turn it off, turn it off, old sock!” urged Teatime, “We don’t want to run the battery down, do we?” Harold pressed the stud again. The vibration stopped and the world returned to normal colours.
Now he could see her again properly, Harold could not but help notice that India had gone very pale and very quiet.
“Agent? Are you alright?” he asked. “Shall I get you some water?”
“Turn it on again.” She said faintly.
Harold shrugged and did as he was told. The purple-o-vision bloomed silently, filling he field of view once more.
“OK, off again.” India’s voice was firmer now.
Harold complied.
“That is so weird,” she said, shaking her head.
“What is?” asked Harold. “Didn’t the suit work properly? Was I still visible?”
India wiped a hand across her forehead.
“Not only were you not visible, demon,” she replied grimly, “but my teeth stopped itching. I couldn’t sense you at all.”
I reverted to a 5 word challenge this week, wuss that I am.
Challenge words are: bank, lotion, carpenter, slick, cheek
They were having some building work done at the bank and, as I approached, one of the builders – a carpenter of sorts by the look of him – appeared to nudge his fellow and whisper something. Now, I’m sick of this kind of thing happening. I mean, the cheek of people who think they can pass comment on others’ appearances in public like that! OK, I take good care of myself without being a slave to every new lotion or miracle cream that comes on the market, sure, but still… “Just who do you think you are!” I yelled, “keep you damn comments to yourself why don’t you?” His face was a picture of surprise. I guess he’d never been confronted before, ha! Just as I entered the building, my foot shot out from under me on the unexpectedly slick floor and down I went like a sack of mortified potatoes. “See?” The carpenter said to his mate. “Told you she wouldn’t see the ‘wet floor’ sign! Seriously, Stu, you need to reposition it before we get sued!”
And Harold (catchup link top right, folks)
India flung open the door before Harold even had a chance to ring the bell. He allowed his hand, with finger extended, to hang in the air for a moment for comic effect.
“Get in here, demon, and tell me everything that happened!” she barked.
“Pleased to see you too, Agent,” Harold replied, which earned him a Look.
Between them, and with many an irascible shouted instruction from Teatime, Harold and the little monkey had managed not only to get into the car (Mercury had the keys), but also to get it going and to pilot it back to Mr Teeth’s swiss-cheese house without crashing into anything or drawing unwanted attention from the police. Quite an achievement, Harold thought.
He recounted the night’s events in detail to India, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. He purposefully left out anything about the two silvery cases he had liberated from the crashed truck. He wanted her to ask about them. When he was finished, she obliged him. She pointed to the silvery cases.
“What are those things, then?”
“Well,” replied Harold, lifting one on to the table and opening it, “they might just be the answer to our prayers.” He lifted a bundle of sleek, silvery material out of the case and shook it out for India to see.
“OK” she said carefully, eyes narrowed, “I’m seeing a fancy-looking oversize romper suit. How is going to help us?”
“This is what the guards who captured us – or should I say Prada – were wearing that allowed them to sneak up on us.” Harold explained.
“Seriously? They were dressed in a thing like that and you didn’t see them coming?”
Harold set aside the clothing and reached into the case a second time, lifting out an object the size and shape of a small backpack – complete with straps. “I think this is the power unit or something. When it’s switched on, you can’t be seen or heard, it’s really spooky!”
“Leaving aside for a moment the ironic fact that one of the Fallen thinks something’s spooky, how can we make use of it?” India had reached out and was rubbing the cloth between her thumb and forefinger, like it was a blouse she was considering purchasing.
“Well, I thought we might wear them and sneak back into Infinity Recycling, rescue our people, put an end to whatever’s going on and every one lives happy ever after.” Harold said, brightly.
“If I might inject a much-needed note of reality,” said Teatime, who had been watching. “Even with your magic suits, you can’t just waltz in there. There are still physical obstacles to overcome – locked doors and suchlike.”
“But, I can deal with those,” said Harold, “I – “
“Yes, old stick, I’m sure you can, given time.” Said the monkey patiently, “But don’t you think someone will notice a door opening all by itself – they’ve clearly got cameras all over the wretched place and probably heaps of guards. No, we’re going to need a diversion.”
“Actually, before we all rush down the road making plans,” said India, “we should probably make sure the suits actually work. We might need a special code to operate them or something. If we can’t get them switched on, there’s no use wasting time planning to use them.”
“You make an excellent point, Agent,” said Teatime. He turned to Harold, “Well, off you go old shoe.”
“You sure you want me to do this?” asked Harold.
“Well, the suit’s too big for the monkey, and if it goes bang or something, I’m not indestructible,” retorted India, “so, yes, demon, you get to do it.”
Harold was secretly rather pleased. He’d been itching to try out this clever bit of human technology. Yes, ok, he was a demon and many demons could and did make themselves invisible at will, but he’d never had the time to work on that – and probably never would now. He slipped off his jacket and began to undress down to his underwear. India took one look, blushed and stalked out of the room.
Harold grinned. Teatime sighed and rolled his eyes.
Harold wriggled into the romper suit which was quite stretchy when it came to it, and fitted his six-foot frame quite well. In addition to the suit, there were bootie-like things with soft soles, gloves and a ski-mask. Harold donned all of these.
“It’s safe to come back in now,” he called out to India. “I’m decent.”
“That’s something you’ll never be,” she muttered as she came back into the room.
“Aww, I’m hurt!” said Harold, mockingly, placing a hand over where his heart would be.. “Just when I thought we were beginning to get along and all.”
“Hmph!” was India’s only response. She walked over to the empty case and looked inside. “Hmm, I guess it was too much to hope that they’d leave a handy instruction booklet lying about.”
Harold had picked up the backpack-like object and was examining it.
“There’s a cable here,” he said, “Maybe it connects to the suit somehow.” He ran his hands over the suit until he found a hard lump in the collar of the romper suit. He teased it out between finger and thumb and slid the jack on the end of the cable into it until a soft click told him it was seated correctly.
“Am I invisible yet?” he asked.
“No.” chorused India and Teatime.
“Hmm, obviously, there’s a switch somewhere that’s easy to get to – it would need to be. There’s not one on the backpack, so it must be around here on the suit somewhere.” He put his arms through the straps and shrugged the backpack into place, being careful not to pull the connection apart. He cast his mind back to when the guards had first magically appeared. They had drawn weapons, but before that they’d been apparently clasping one wrist with the opposite hand.
“Got it!” he cried in triumph, pressing the small stud located on the left hand cuff.
He felt a soft vibration start up in the backpack. The biggest change though was that the world had suddenly been re-rendered in weird colours – all purples and greys in lower definition than normal.
“How bout now?” He turned round to see a look of utmost surprise on India’s face, and Teatime bolt upright on the table, his tiny teeth bared – an instinctive monkey reaction to the strange, no doubt.
“Very well, turn it off, turn it off, old sock!” urged Teatime, “We don’t want to run the battery down, do we?” Harold pressed the stud again. The vibration stopped and the world returned to normal colours.
Now he could see her again properly, Harold could not but help notice that India had gone very pale and very quiet.
“Agent? Are you alright?” he asked. “Shall I get you some water?”
“Turn it on again.” She said faintly.
Harold shrugged and did as he was told. The purple-o-vision bloomed silently, filling he field of view once more.
“OK, off again.” India’s voice was firmer now.
Harold complied.
“That is so weird,” she said, shaking her head.
“What is?” asked Harold. “Didn’t the suit work properly? Was I still visible?”
India wiped a hand across her forehead.
“Not only were you not visible, demon,” she replied grimly, “but my teeth stopped itching. I couldn’t sense you at all.”
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Thursday Wordzzle
Boy, does work ever get in the way of blogging!
I thought I'd try my hand at a mega 15 word Wordzzle this week, just to see if I still can.
For rules and similar such poop, go to Raven's Nest
Challenge words: corn, chalice, perpendicular, what if, leaves, relief, teaching, healer, ramp, diamond ring, peek-a-boo, highest, shallow, willing, imagination
Normally, dealing with Galactic Emperor Phloxx XXII, Keeper of the Perpendicular Chalice, Guardian of the Sacred Teaching, Wielder of the Eternal Diamond Ring of Arcturus, Holder of the Highest something-or-other (truth to tell I’ve forgotten the whole rigmarole - it goes on for pages and pages) is about as much fun as playing peek-a-boo with a spitting cobra.
Today, however, I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but he seems more.... reasonable. More willing to listen to his advisors - which is a bit of a pity. The trouble with him is, you see, he’s basically a spoilt little boy. The trouble with him is, he is a spoilt little boy who wields immense power. When most little boys don’t get their own way, a toy might get broken. When Phloxx doesn’t get his own way, whole worlds burn.
Not that he’s a bad fellow, you understand, just a little shallow in the thinking department - centuries of inbreeding will do that to the best of us. Nobody’s ever stood up to him and so he just does as he pleases – often with deadly consequences for somebody.
I often ask myself, what if he’d had proper guidance from wise teachers as a youth. How different things might have been. What accomplishments he might have boasted of!
Such wishful thinking is pointless, though, and just leaves one more dissatisfied than ever.
He’s immensely fat these days. Despite my advice, he will keep on eating and eating – corn-fed chicken is his current favourite, and the palace chefs are working their fingers to the bone to ensure there’s always a fresh dish on hand whenever he should take it into his head to call for it. We’ve had to have a ramp installed so he can waddle up to his throne (his vanity will not allow him to use a powered chair or any other aid. Sign of weakness, he calls it).
Sad then that he was so affable just now, because today his chicken will contain an extra ingredient.
I know I will not long outlive him, his guards are nothing if not loyal and, even if he is congenitally stupid, the guard captain is not.
I know history will vilify me as a regicide and as the healer who betrayed his patient’s sacred trust.
I also know that the empire will breathe a collective sigh of relief.
And this week's Harold (there is a link top right to the story so far)
Agents Mercury, Othello and Prada looked up guiltily as the door opened. They had been going through the few drawers and cupboards in the conference room, looking for a plug-in telephone after Othello had spotted a socket for one on the wall.
Agent Moon walked in.
“Moon! Tell your goons to let us go!” Prada was on her feet and shouting before the door was even closed behind him.
“Agent Prada,” warned Mercury, “let’s just stay calm and see what Moon has to say for himself.” He looked enquiringly at the latter. “Well?”
Prada slumped grumpily into a seat and began to worry at a hangnail with her teeth. Moon perched himself on the corner of the long conference table and surveyed the three of them. He looked different somehow, more confident, more mature and self-assured.
“Look,” he began, “I realise that this looks really bad –“
“Ya think?” muttered Prada, which earned her a frown from Mercury.
“- but, please believe me when I say that what’s going on here, what I’m involved in, is one of the most important projects this world has ever seen.”
“That’s a bold statement,” said Othello, “Care to elucidate?”
Moon took a moment to scratch at his temple as he composed his thoughts.
“I’d be more than happy to, believe me, but first I need some information from you guys.”
“Oh?” said Mercury, guardedly.
“Yeah, it’s just a small thing really, but I really need to know where Agent India and your pet demon are right now.”
Mercury, Prada and Othello looked at each other briefly, then Mercury spoke.
“And why would you need to know that, Agent?”
“We’re at a very sensitive stage in our work here,” Moon replied, “We really can’t afford to have unpredictable elements running about the place, disturbing things. It’s just too important.’
”You don’t seriously expect us to tell you, just like that, surely.” Said Prada.
Moon sighed. “I suppose not, but I thought it was worth while to ask, anyway.”
“So what now?” said Prada, “You going to start threatening us? Get one of your goons to shoot one of us like you did to Emerald? Like you did to Box?”
Moon’s face reddened.
“Those things were never meant to happen like that, I swear.” He said fervently. “A few people misunderstood what they were supposed to be doing and …” he trailed off, and suddenly, for a moment, he was the Moon they recognised - young, uncertain.
“Did whoever it was who planted the bomb in the warehouse misunderstand as well?” asked Othello, “Only, it seems to me that setting up something like that would take a certain amount of premeditation. Firing a gun can be a spur of the moment thing, but not planting explosives, that takes planning. You’re going to have to do better than that, Moon.”
Moon showed his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “You’re right, of course. In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to have done and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that what we’re doing here is so very important.”
“Look, Fallen and Loyal alike have disappeared completely,” said Mercury, “Gone. Vanished. Not dismissed – which was always sufficient before now, but vanished. Are you destroying them somehow? And why target the Loyal when they’re on our side, for pity’s sake! Don’t you realise that you’re upsetting an ancient arrangement that has stood the test of time for centuries?”
“I understand that there are serious implications to what we’re doing here, believe me,” said Moon, “We appreciate that neither the Basement nor the Penthouse is going to be happy with what we’re doing here, but – “ he stood up and began pacing, as if about to deliver a speech.
“Humans have always been stuck in the middle between the two of them, at the mercy of either temptation from the Basement or whatever crumbs of bounty the Penthouse sees fit to bestow.”
“But that’s how it’s meant to be,” interrupted Prada. “If it – “
“Let me finish, please,” said Moon, cutting her off. “The Fallen and the Loyal have abilities that none of us humans can match and yet they hardly ever use them. There’s so much good they could do in the world but they don’t. Why? Because of some ancient agreement – to which we were not even party!”
“Moon, you know perfectly well why they can’t get involved in human affairs,” said Mercury, a not of irritation creeping into his voice. “Any one of them could rule this world without hardly lifting a finger if it so chose. The arrangement is for our protection, so that we are free to conduct our affairs as we see fit. They can try to influence us – that’s all. Our free will is what’s at stake here.”
“I know that!” Moon was beginning to sound angry himself now, “But is it an infringement of anybody’s free will if they get cured of cancer, or if a drought-stricken region suddenly get some rain for once? If a starving kid gets a bowl of rice? They see all this misery and they stand by and do nothing! If somebody saw an old lady fall down in the street and hurt herself, and yet just walked on by, we would be outraged at their lack of compassion. If we mortals can act altruistically, then why can’t they? It would be nothing to them.” He stopped, a little out of breath.
“I’m sure the Loyal at any rate would agree with you,” said Othello, “And I’m sure they very much want to help, but where do you draw the line? You can feed a single starving mouth easily enough, you might even feed a village or a town. Then you might just say to yourself, well, I can end starvation in this whole land altogether by getting the government to stop fighting internecine civil wars with their neighbours. Oh, and while I’m at it, I should get the neighbour governments to improve their human rights records. Pretty soon, if you go down that road, you’d be running the whole place. So it’s best not to even start down that road – hence the arrangement.”
“Well, I think it’s time things changed.” Declared Moon. “If they can’t – or won’t - help then –“
“- you’ll wipe then out.” Prada finished for him, flatly.
“No. That is not what’s happening here – the last thing we want is for any of them to be wiped out.”
“Then what?” asked Mercury.
For a moment, it looked as though Moon were actually going to tell them, but he obviously thought better of it. He shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said, “As I said, I’ll tell you gladly, but only when India and the demon are secured.”
He moved to the door. “Have a think about it and if you change your mind, just tell the guard. In the meantime, I’ll have some drinks and sandwiches sent in.”
The door closed. Mercury, Prada and Othello looked at one another.
“So,” said Mercury, “Do we give him what he wants?”
I thought I'd try my hand at a mega 15 word Wordzzle this week, just to see if I still can.
For rules and similar such poop, go to Raven's Nest
Challenge words: corn, chalice, perpendicular, what if, leaves, relief, teaching, healer, ramp, diamond ring, peek-a-boo, highest, shallow, willing, imagination
Normally, dealing with Galactic Emperor Phloxx XXII, Keeper of the Perpendicular Chalice, Guardian of the Sacred Teaching, Wielder of the Eternal Diamond Ring of Arcturus, Holder of the Highest something-or-other (truth to tell I’ve forgotten the whole rigmarole - it goes on for pages and pages) is about as much fun as playing peek-a-boo with a spitting cobra.
Today, however, I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but he seems more.... reasonable. More willing to listen to his advisors - which is a bit of a pity. The trouble with him is, you see, he’s basically a spoilt little boy. The trouble with him is, he is a spoilt little boy who wields immense power. When most little boys don’t get their own way, a toy might get broken. When Phloxx doesn’t get his own way, whole worlds burn.
Not that he’s a bad fellow, you understand, just a little shallow in the thinking department - centuries of inbreeding will do that to the best of us. Nobody’s ever stood up to him and so he just does as he pleases – often with deadly consequences for somebody.
I often ask myself, what if he’d had proper guidance from wise teachers as a youth. How different things might have been. What accomplishments he might have boasted of!
Such wishful thinking is pointless, though, and just leaves one more dissatisfied than ever.
He’s immensely fat these days. Despite my advice, he will keep on eating and eating – corn-fed chicken is his current favourite, and the palace chefs are working their fingers to the bone to ensure there’s always a fresh dish on hand whenever he should take it into his head to call for it. We’ve had to have a ramp installed so he can waddle up to his throne (his vanity will not allow him to use a powered chair or any other aid. Sign of weakness, he calls it).
Sad then that he was so affable just now, because today his chicken will contain an extra ingredient.
I know I will not long outlive him, his guards are nothing if not loyal and, even if he is congenitally stupid, the guard captain is not.
I know history will vilify me as a regicide and as the healer who betrayed his patient’s sacred trust.
I also know that the empire will breathe a collective sigh of relief.
And this week's Harold (there is a link top right to the story so far)
Agents Mercury, Othello and Prada looked up guiltily as the door opened. They had been going through the few drawers and cupboards in the conference room, looking for a plug-in telephone after Othello had spotted a socket for one on the wall.
Agent Moon walked in.
“Moon! Tell your goons to let us go!” Prada was on her feet and shouting before the door was even closed behind him.
“Agent Prada,” warned Mercury, “let’s just stay calm and see what Moon has to say for himself.” He looked enquiringly at the latter. “Well?”
Prada slumped grumpily into a seat and began to worry at a hangnail with her teeth. Moon perched himself on the corner of the long conference table and surveyed the three of them. He looked different somehow, more confident, more mature and self-assured.
“Look,” he began, “I realise that this looks really bad –“
“Ya think?” muttered Prada, which earned her a frown from Mercury.
“- but, please believe me when I say that what’s going on here, what I’m involved in, is one of the most important projects this world has ever seen.”
“That’s a bold statement,” said Othello, “Care to elucidate?”
Moon took a moment to scratch at his temple as he composed his thoughts.
“I’d be more than happy to, believe me, but first I need some information from you guys.”
“Oh?” said Mercury, guardedly.
“Yeah, it’s just a small thing really, but I really need to know where Agent India and your pet demon are right now.”
Mercury, Prada and Othello looked at each other briefly, then Mercury spoke.
“And why would you need to know that, Agent?”
“We’re at a very sensitive stage in our work here,” Moon replied, “We really can’t afford to have unpredictable elements running about the place, disturbing things. It’s just too important.’
”You don’t seriously expect us to tell you, just like that, surely.” Said Prada.
Moon sighed. “I suppose not, but I thought it was worth while to ask, anyway.”
“So what now?” said Prada, “You going to start threatening us? Get one of your goons to shoot one of us like you did to Emerald? Like you did to Box?”
Moon’s face reddened.
“Those things were never meant to happen like that, I swear.” He said fervently. “A few people misunderstood what they were supposed to be doing and …” he trailed off, and suddenly, for a moment, he was the Moon they recognised - young, uncertain.
“Did whoever it was who planted the bomb in the warehouse misunderstand as well?” asked Othello, “Only, it seems to me that setting up something like that would take a certain amount of premeditation. Firing a gun can be a spur of the moment thing, but not planting explosives, that takes planning. You’re going to have to do better than that, Moon.”
Moon showed his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “You’re right, of course. In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to have done and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that what we’re doing here is so very important.”
“Look, Fallen and Loyal alike have disappeared completely,” said Mercury, “Gone. Vanished. Not dismissed – which was always sufficient before now, but vanished. Are you destroying them somehow? And why target the Loyal when they’re on our side, for pity’s sake! Don’t you realise that you’re upsetting an ancient arrangement that has stood the test of time for centuries?”
“I understand that there are serious implications to what we’re doing here, believe me,” said Moon, “We appreciate that neither the Basement nor the Penthouse is going to be happy with what we’re doing here, but – “ he stood up and began pacing, as if about to deliver a speech.
“Humans have always been stuck in the middle between the two of them, at the mercy of either temptation from the Basement or whatever crumbs of bounty the Penthouse sees fit to bestow.”
“But that’s how it’s meant to be,” interrupted Prada. “If it – “
“Let me finish, please,” said Moon, cutting her off. “The Fallen and the Loyal have abilities that none of us humans can match and yet they hardly ever use them. There’s so much good they could do in the world but they don’t. Why? Because of some ancient agreement – to which we were not even party!”
“Moon, you know perfectly well why they can’t get involved in human affairs,” said Mercury, a not of irritation creeping into his voice. “Any one of them could rule this world without hardly lifting a finger if it so chose. The arrangement is for our protection, so that we are free to conduct our affairs as we see fit. They can try to influence us – that’s all. Our free will is what’s at stake here.”
“I know that!” Moon was beginning to sound angry himself now, “But is it an infringement of anybody’s free will if they get cured of cancer, or if a drought-stricken region suddenly get some rain for once? If a starving kid gets a bowl of rice? They see all this misery and they stand by and do nothing! If somebody saw an old lady fall down in the street and hurt herself, and yet just walked on by, we would be outraged at their lack of compassion. If we mortals can act altruistically, then why can’t they? It would be nothing to them.” He stopped, a little out of breath.
“I’m sure the Loyal at any rate would agree with you,” said Othello, “And I’m sure they very much want to help, but where do you draw the line? You can feed a single starving mouth easily enough, you might even feed a village or a town. Then you might just say to yourself, well, I can end starvation in this whole land altogether by getting the government to stop fighting internecine civil wars with their neighbours. Oh, and while I’m at it, I should get the neighbour governments to improve their human rights records. Pretty soon, if you go down that road, you’d be running the whole place. So it’s best not to even start down that road – hence the arrangement.”
“Well, I think it’s time things changed.” Declared Moon. “If they can’t – or won’t - help then –“
“- you’ll wipe then out.” Prada finished for him, flatly.
“No. That is not what’s happening here – the last thing we want is for any of them to be wiped out.”
“Then what?” asked Mercury.
For a moment, it looked as though Moon were actually going to tell them, but he obviously thought better of it. He shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said, “As I said, I’ll tell you gladly, but only when India and the demon are secured.”
He moved to the door. “Have a think about it and if you change your mind, just tell the guard. In the meantime, I’ll have some drinks and sandwiches sent in.”
The door closed. Mercury, Prada and Othello looked at one another.
“So,” said Mercury, “Do we give him what he wants?”
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Wordzzle-schmordzzle
Yep, we're talking word challenges here, people. Go to the home of their instigator at Raven's Nest.
I thought I've have a crack at a 10-word challenge this week. The words to include are: crane, argument, implement, fallacy, triumph, graph, giggle, twig, spigot, worry
In the centre of an old courtyard there lies a large wide-lipped stone basin. It once contained a pool of sparkling clear water, in the middle of which stood a marvellously wrought statue of a crane. A fountain had gushed and splashed out of a spigot cunningly hidden in the bird’s stone beak.
In the old days, the lip of the basin had served as a seat and the courtyard itself as a bustling informal meeting place; its walls echoing with the white noise of splashing water and the lively conversation of student and master alike.
Now, crossing the courtyard at a snail’s pace in his dusty black robe, old Master Ortiz pauses to rest a while on the basin’s accommodatingly wide lip, just as he does every day. The sunshine stored in the ancient, honey-coloured stone warms his old bones and for that he is grateful. His old eyes, dim and milky now, can almost see the fountain playing and splashing in the sunlight, his ears can almost catch the snatches of argument, the shouts of triumph, the whispered confidences, the odd giggle… It is a fallacy though, a bout of wishful thinking. There is no one here now but himself – hasn’t been for years.
He runs a gnarled hand over his face. The decades have drawn a graph of worry and care there, not that there’s anyone around to see it, of course. He had warned them, the other masters, but they hadn’t listened. They hadn’t listened and the magic had run out, just as he’d said it would. One by one they had all left this place; if there was no magic, there was no point in having a school for it.
Now, the fountain stands silent, its basin home to dried twig and creeping weed, dead leaf and dessicated moss. The water no longer pours from the beak of the cunningly-fashioned stone crane. This is not because the magic failed. No, simple time has broken the mechanism and Ortiz does not know how to fix it, nor does he possess any suitable implement to do so even if he did.
Having rested, Grand Master Ortiz, one time Advisor to Kings and wielder of powers most puissant and arcane, struggles to his feet and shuffles on his way. With any luck, the scrawny chickens he keeps in the old refectory will favour him with an egg or two today.
And, of course, HAROLD! Follow the Story So Far link top right to get all caught up.
“You have absolutely no right to keep us here! Let us go!” Prada’s pale face was flushed with anger.
“Please sit down, miss, and stay calm,” said Nugent, patiently. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but we have our orders. Someone will be along to speak to you soon.” He closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Prada, Othello and Mercury alone together for the first time since their capture.
Othello waited a few moments and then went over to the door. He eased it open a crack, glanced out and quickly closed it again.
“Two guards outside,” he said. “Armed.”
Mercury, meanwhile was checking the windows.
“These can’t be opened,” he sighed. “Looks like we’re here for the duration.”
“And since they have our phones, we can’t even let India know what’s happened.” Said Prada. The guards of units Three and Four had searched them quickly and professionally before ushering them into what looked like a perfectly ordinary conference room.
“She’ll know something’s up when we don’t make the check-in call.” Mercury looked at his watch, “in about ten minutes or so.”
“Were the guys that nabbed you wearing Predator-suits as well?” asked Prada.
“Predator suits?” Mercury inquired with raised eyebrow. “Oh! The fancy invisibility things? Yeah, they flat-footed us quite handily. What I wouldn’t give for a few of those things!”
“They’re some seriously advanced tech,” said Othello, “Military maybe. There’s a pile of money being spent here. I think we’re definitely on to something now.” He turned to Prada, “ So what happened to the demon? Did they capture it?”
Teatime crouched under a hedge, straining his tiny eyes and ears to the maximum to reassure himself that there were no perishing humans about. The car they had all arrived in earlier that evening sat, apparently undisturbed, just in the spot they had left it. During their earlier planning session at Mr Teeth’s, it had been decided that the car was the place to meet up if anything untoward happened. Well, untoward was certainly an understatement. A supposedly low-risk recce mission had turned into a complete shambles.
Teatime hoped Harold had a) got away safely and b) remembered this part of the plan. He was a good-hearted chap but, honestly, sometimes he could be such a complete duffer. Besides, it would be colossally inconvenient if the silly oaf had got himself captured. Not only would the investigation be severely hampered, but Teatime would have to explain things to Harold’s father. Not a pleasant prospect.
Harold had not forgotten the plan. It had taken a while, but he had eventually managed to find a service ladder and climb out of the culvert. As soon as he had emerged, he had tried calling Mercury’s phone to let him know what had happened. It had just rung and rung and then gone to voicemail. So had Othello’s. He even called Prada just in case, somehow, she had managed to escape herself, but the result was the same. This did not bode well. Maybe all the agents had been captured then. Well, all except one. India. His number one fan. With some trepidation, he dialled her number.
“All of them?” India cried, incredulous.
“It would seem so, I can’t raise any of them on their cells.”
“But you managed to escape. Just you.” Her voice had a hard, suspicious edge to it.
“Well, Teatime too, probably. We got split up in all the confusion.”
India rubbed her eyes. She needed to think. This was one scenario they had not rehearsed. She was effectively in charge now all of a sudden. This was only her first proper mission. She was the most junior member of the team, she couldn’t be expected to tackle this level of responsibility. It just wasn’t right. Get a grip, she told herself sternly. She took a big breath.
“OK, demon, try and find the monkey-thing and then both of you get back here, so we can figure out what to do next.“
“Will do.”
The line went dead. Well that went surprisingly well, Harold thought as he put the phone away. He had been expecting much more of a tongue-lashing than that. She must be softening.
Right then, back to the car and hopefully a reunion with Teatime.
I thought I've have a crack at a 10-word challenge this week. The words to include are: crane, argument, implement, fallacy, triumph, graph, giggle, twig, spigot, worry
In the centre of an old courtyard there lies a large wide-lipped stone basin. It once contained a pool of sparkling clear water, in the middle of which stood a marvellously wrought statue of a crane. A fountain had gushed and splashed out of a spigot cunningly hidden in the bird’s stone beak.
In the old days, the lip of the basin had served as a seat and the courtyard itself as a bustling informal meeting place; its walls echoing with the white noise of splashing water and the lively conversation of student and master alike.
Now, crossing the courtyard at a snail’s pace in his dusty black robe, old Master Ortiz pauses to rest a while on the basin’s accommodatingly wide lip, just as he does every day. The sunshine stored in the ancient, honey-coloured stone warms his old bones and for that he is grateful. His old eyes, dim and milky now, can almost see the fountain playing and splashing in the sunlight, his ears can almost catch the snatches of argument, the shouts of triumph, the whispered confidences, the odd giggle… It is a fallacy though, a bout of wishful thinking. There is no one here now but himself – hasn’t been for years.
He runs a gnarled hand over his face. The decades have drawn a graph of worry and care there, not that there’s anyone around to see it, of course. He had warned them, the other masters, but they hadn’t listened. They hadn’t listened and the magic had run out, just as he’d said it would. One by one they had all left this place; if there was no magic, there was no point in having a school for it.
Now, the fountain stands silent, its basin home to dried twig and creeping weed, dead leaf and dessicated moss. The water no longer pours from the beak of the cunningly-fashioned stone crane. This is not because the magic failed. No, simple time has broken the mechanism and Ortiz does not know how to fix it, nor does he possess any suitable implement to do so even if he did.
Having rested, Grand Master Ortiz, one time Advisor to Kings and wielder of powers most puissant and arcane, struggles to his feet and shuffles on his way. With any luck, the scrawny chickens he keeps in the old refectory will favour him with an egg or two today.
And, of course, HAROLD! Follow the Story So Far link top right to get all caught up.
“You have absolutely no right to keep us here! Let us go!” Prada’s pale face was flushed with anger.
“Please sit down, miss, and stay calm,” said Nugent, patiently. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but we have our orders. Someone will be along to speak to you soon.” He closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Prada, Othello and Mercury alone together for the first time since their capture.
Othello waited a few moments and then went over to the door. He eased it open a crack, glanced out and quickly closed it again.
“Two guards outside,” he said. “Armed.”
Mercury, meanwhile was checking the windows.
“These can’t be opened,” he sighed. “Looks like we’re here for the duration.”
“And since they have our phones, we can’t even let India know what’s happened.” Said Prada. The guards of units Three and Four had searched them quickly and professionally before ushering them into what looked like a perfectly ordinary conference room.
“She’ll know something’s up when we don’t make the check-in call.” Mercury looked at his watch, “in about ten minutes or so.”
“Were the guys that nabbed you wearing Predator-suits as well?” asked Prada.
“Predator suits?” Mercury inquired with raised eyebrow. “Oh! The fancy invisibility things? Yeah, they flat-footed us quite handily. What I wouldn’t give for a few of those things!”
“They’re some seriously advanced tech,” said Othello, “Military maybe. There’s a pile of money being spent here. I think we’re definitely on to something now.” He turned to Prada, “ So what happened to the demon? Did they capture it?”
Teatime crouched under a hedge, straining his tiny eyes and ears to the maximum to reassure himself that there were no perishing humans about. The car they had all arrived in earlier that evening sat, apparently undisturbed, just in the spot they had left it. During their earlier planning session at Mr Teeth’s, it had been decided that the car was the place to meet up if anything untoward happened. Well, untoward was certainly an understatement. A supposedly low-risk recce mission had turned into a complete shambles.
Teatime hoped Harold had a) got away safely and b) remembered this part of the plan. He was a good-hearted chap but, honestly, sometimes he could be such a complete duffer. Besides, it would be colossally inconvenient if the silly oaf had got himself captured. Not only would the investigation be severely hampered, but Teatime would have to explain things to Harold’s father. Not a pleasant prospect.
Harold had not forgotten the plan. It had taken a while, but he had eventually managed to find a service ladder and climb out of the culvert. As soon as he had emerged, he had tried calling Mercury’s phone to let him know what had happened. It had just rung and rung and then gone to voicemail. So had Othello’s. He even called Prada just in case, somehow, she had managed to escape herself, but the result was the same. This did not bode well. Maybe all the agents had been captured then. Well, all except one. India. His number one fan. With some trepidation, he dialled her number.
“All of them?” India cried, incredulous.
“It would seem so, I can’t raise any of them on their cells.”
“But you managed to escape. Just you.” Her voice had a hard, suspicious edge to it.
“Well, Teatime too, probably. We got split up in all the confusion.”
India rubbed her eyes. She needed to think. This was one scenario they had not rehearsed. She was effectively in charge now all of a sudden. This was only her first proper mission. She was the most junior member of the team, she couldn’t be expected to tackle this level of responsibility. It just wasn’t right. Get a grip, she told herself sternly. She took a big breath.
“OK, demon, try and find the monkey-thing and then both of you get back here, so we can figure out what to do next.“
“Will do.”
The line went dead. Well that went surprisingly well, Harold thought as he put the phone away. He had been expecting much more of a tongue-lashing than that. She must be softening.
Right then, back to the car and hopefully a reunion with Teatime.
Saturday, 10 September 2011
Dark Wordzzle
Not sure where in my head, this mini came from. Go to Raven's Nest for Wordzzle rules, etc.
The Mini (trembling, spacious, pendant, traffic, legal)
“Yeah, I’m a partner in a big legal firm, it’s a lot of stress.” the man brayed, his voice booming around the spacious hotel bedroom. “I’m the Wilkerson of Wilkerson, Maitland & Penopscott, but you won’t have heard of them. “ Marta smiled uncertainly at him, as he gently stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Can you even understand a word of what I’m saying, bitch?” He said tenderly, still smiling his perfect-toothed smile. Then he punched her in the face.
Marta had known the blow would be coming at some point, this was, after all, what men like this paid her pimp so handsomely for. Had known, but it still hurt like hell.
Wilkerson bent down, grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up. She could taste blood in her mouth where his blow had rammed the inside of her cheek against her teeth. Yuri had promised her a nice safe cleaning job in England, maybe some bar work if she was good. Bastard! All he had done was traffic her to a dingy flat somewhere in London where she was kept a virtual prisoner by a man called Alexei. She was only allowed out on occasions like tonight when she was driven to a hotel like this one and even then, Alexei waited outside while the paying customer did whatever he wanted to her. No escape.
Wilkerson threw her roughly onto the bed and began to undo his trousers.
Marta was trembling all over and was naked apart from the pendant she wore. It had mysteriously appeared in her room that morning with an unsigned note telling her to wear it always. It twinkled prettily as Wilkerson began brutally extracting his money’s worth.
Suddenly the door burst open and in rushed six police officers who quickly dragged Wilkerson away from the bed, handcuffing him none too gently. One of the officers, a woman, spoke to Marta softly in her own language.
“It’s OK, you’re safe now.” She handed Marta her clothes
“How did you find me?” Marta asked, hardly able to comprehend the sudden change in her fortunes.
“We have suspected Alexei Popov of being a pimp for some time, so we managed to slip the pendant you’re wearing into the flat for you to find. It contains a microphone and transmitter. Wordlessly, Marta took off the pendant and handed it to the other woman, who smiled. Through the open doorway, Marta could see a furious Alexei being dragged away in handcuffs.
... and this week's dollop of Harold.
(follow the link to the 'story so far' top right of this page to get caught up).
Harold dropped the twenty feet or so into the culvert, landing lightly. He trotted over to the crashed truck. Some kind of liquid was leaking from somewhere and spreading in a dark pool around it. Harold hoped it wasn’t fuel or anything else flammable: he’d seen lots of movies and TV programmes since coming to earth and vehicles inevitably seemed to go ka-boom shortly after crashing. If motor vehicles were so dangerous, why on earth did humans routinely trust their lives to them? Harold wasn’t afraid for himself; his clothes would be ruined, of course, if the truck blew up, but he would be basically unharmed – if a little weak and in need of pizza. The humans inside would not fare so well, however, so chop-chop, old bean, he told himself in his best mental imitation of Teatime.
The truck’s rear end was closest to him and one of the doors, having burst open in the crash, was lying invitingly open on the ground, providing a handy means for Harold to scramble in.
The inside of the truck was a shambles. There had clearly been a lot of complicated and delicate equipment in here, but most of it had been torn from its mountings in the crash and was smashed and scattered all over the place. Bits of broken glass glittered everywhere. Thankfully, there was no electrical sparking – indeed, all was eerily quiet. Harold’s night vision, demonically good as it was, soon allowed him to spot the rear compartment’s lone occupant.
The man was unconscious with a sizeable gash on his forehead which was bleeding freely. He was lying sprawled on top of a small heap of busted up equipment. Further examination, however, was hampered by two large silvery equipment cases which had tumbled onto the man’s body and legs. Harold grabbed the handle of the nearest one and unceremoniously slung it out through the door-hole, where it landed with a clatter on the concrete beyond. The second one followed suit shortly after.
Harold crouched next to the man. He was quite young by the looks of it, which was good as it meant that he would be strong and healthy. Humans’ bodies were so terrifically delicate, though. One wrong move from Harold and a bad situation might become much, much worse. Harold had seen fly-on-the-wall documentaries about hospital ERs and knew that broken necks and spines were bad news. If he moved the man… He wracked his brains for a moment, wrestling with the beginnings of an idea, then shrugged to himself: it was worth a try, surely?
He tentatively reached out his hand and, using the same facility that had allowed him to sense the locks on the various doors he had opened, he tried to ‘see’ if anything was broken in the man’s body. The rush of sensation he received in return was very odd indeed: humans, it transpired, were basically a big bag of warm squishy with a bony frame. Fortunately, the man seemed to be undamaged apart from the knock on the head he’d received.
Harold carefully manoeuvred the limp and distinctly uncooperative form out through the door hole and dragged it far enough away (he hoped) from any potential ka-boom. Not knowing anything about recovery positions or anything much else of First Aid (the Basement did not have this subject on its curriculum for some reason), he made the fellow as comfortable as he could, then headed back to the van.
As he trotted past them on his way to the front of the truck, Harold glanced at the two bulky cases he had ejected so carelessly. They bore the Rainbow Industries logo as well as some other black stencilled lettering: RI-180-A Smart Camouflage (Medium). Harold felt a stab of excitement: if those cases contained what he thought they did, then getting Prada back might be a tad easier.
There was no time for that now, however.
Harold scrambled up onto the passenger side of the vehicle, which was now effectively its roof, and made his way over to the driver’s compartment. Through the broken passenger side window, Harold could see that both airbags had gone off and then deflated, leaving their fabric draped in pale folds eerily reminiscent of a shroud, over the occupants, neither of whom was moving.
Harold stood up and tried to tug the passenger door open, but it was badly buckled and refused to budge. Favouring the universe with a gimme-a-break-already sigh, Harold crouched down again and used his abilities, just as he had done on Mr Peck’s cable-tie handcuffs, teasing the molecules of the twisted metal apart bit by bit, so as to avoid sparks and subsequent unwelcome ka-booms.
The door now open, Harold reached in and gently lifted the air-bag material out of the way, the better to see the two men. A hand-scan (as he suddenly decided to called it) revealed that the passenger had a broken arm and a couple of cracked ribs, as well as a large egg of a bump on the side of his head – no doubt the cause of his unconsciousness. He tried to reach down to the driver to check on him, but the bulk of the passenger’s body prevented it.
The passenger himself was probably not in too great a danger from his injuries, Harold thought (so, you’re a doctor all of a sudden, taunted his own inner voice), but clearly the man would benefit by not being in the truck any longer than was necessary.
But how to get him out safely?
The truck’s front windshield was a spider web of cracks, but was, miraculously, still more or less in one piece. If Harold could just remove it, there would be a nice big aperture through which rescue could be effected. He was just starting to congratulate himself on his own inventiveness when the sound of a passing siren drifted down from the highway above.
He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. You idiot! he told himself, you should have rung for an ambulance before getting stuck in!
He reached for his phone, but, as his fingers curled around its cool smooth plastic, he suddenly remembered all those NO MOBILE PHONE signs displayed so prominently in filling stations. Mouthing a silent phew at his lucky escape, he jumped down to the ground.
Once he got to work on it, the windscreen all but fell out of its own accord and, with the large gap it left, Harold was now able to check on the truck’s driver at last.
That corner of the truck had borne the full brunt of the vehicle’s high speed impact with the unyielding concrete of the culvert’s wall. There was nothing anyone could do for the driver now.
Shaking his head, Harold carefully eased the passenger out of the truck and dragged him as gently as he could over to where he had left the other man, laying him down beside his comrade. He then dialled 911 and gave brief details of the men’s injuries and the location.
That done, he suddenly felt quite drained. All the tearing about at high speed, followed by all the scanning and cutting of metal and glass had apparently taken its toll. What he wouldn’t give for some pizza right now! No rest for the wicked, though, he told himself.
Slinging the straps of the two cases over his shoulders, Harold started walking along the culvert and away from the crash site – it wouldn’t do to be around when the medics (and Police, probably) showed up. Now, there had to be a service ladder or something around here somewhere...
The Mini (trembling, spacious, pendant, traffic, legal)
“Yeah, I’m a partner in a big legal firm, it’s a lot of stress.” the man brayed, his voice booming around the spacious hotel bedroom. “I’m the Wilkerson of Wilkerson, Maitland & Penopscott, but you won’t have heard of them. “ Marta smiled uncertainly at him, as he gently stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Can you even understand a word of what I’m saying, bitch?” He said tenderly, still smiling his perfect-toothed smile. Then he punched her in the face.
Marta had known the blow would be coming at some point, this was, after all, what men like this paid her pimp so handsomely for. Had known, but it still hurt like hell.
Wilkerson bent down, grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up. She could taste blood in her mouth where his blow had rammed the inside of her cheek against her teeth. Yuri had promised her a nice safe cleaning job in England, maybe some bar work if she was good. Bastard! All he had done was traffic her to a dingy flat somewhere in London where she was kept a virtual prisoner by a man called Alexei. She was only allowed out on occasions like tonight when she was driven to a hotel like this one and even then, Alexei waited outside while the paying customer did whatever he wanted to her. No escape.
Wilkerson threw her roughly onto the bed and began to undo his trousers.
Marta was trembling all over and was naked apart from the pendant she wore. It had mysteriously appeared in her room that morning with an unsigned note telling her to wear it always. It twinkled prettily as Wilkerson began brutally extracting his money’s worth.
Suddenly the door burst open and in rushed six police officers who quickly dragged Wilkerson away from the bed, handcuffing him none too gently. One of the officers, a woman, spoke to Marta softly in her own language.
“It’s OK, you’re safe now.” She handed Marta her clothes
“How did you find me?” Marta asked, hardly able to comprehend the sudden change in her fortunes.
“We have suspected Alexei Popov of being a pimp for some time, so we managed to slip the pendant you’re wearing into the flat for you to find. It contains a microphone and transmitter. Wordlessly, Marta took off the pendant and handed it to the other woman, who smiled. Through the open doorway, Marta could see a furious Alexei being dragged away in handcuffs.
... and this week's dollop of Harold.
(follow the link to the 'story so far' top right of this page to get caught up).
Harold dropped the twenty feet or so into the culvert, landing lightly. He trotted over to the crashed truck. Some kind of liquid was leaking from somewhere and spreading in a dark pool around it. Harold hoped it wasn’t fuel or anything else flammable: he’d seen lots of movies and TV programmes since coming to earth and vehicles inevitably seemed to go ka-boom shortly after crashing. If motor vehicles were so dangerous, why on earth did humans routinely trust their lives to them? Harold wasn’t afraid for himself; his clothes would be ruined, of course, if the truck blew up, but he would be basically unharmed – if a little weak and in need of pizza. The humans inside would not fare so well, however, so chop-chop, old bean, he told himself in his best mental imitation of Teatime.
The truck’s rear end was closest to him and one of the doors, having burst open in the crash, was lying invitingly open on the ground, providing a handy means for Harold to scramble in.
The inside of the truck was a shambles. There had clearly been a lot of complicated and delicate equipment in here, but most of it had been torn from its mountings in the crash and was smashed and scattered all over the place. Bits of broken glass glittered everywhere. Thankfully, there was no electrical sparking – indeed, all was eerily quiet. Harold’s night vision, demonically good as it was, soon allowed him to spot the rear compartment’s lone occupant.
The man was unconscious with a sizeable gash on his forehead which was bleeding freely. He was lying sprawled on top of a small heap of busted up equipment. Further examination, however, was hampered by two large silvery equipment cases which had tumbled onto the man’s body and legs. Harold grabbed the handle of the nearest one and unceremoniously slung it out through the door-hole, where it landed with a clatter on the concrete beyond. The second one followed suit shortly after.
Harold crouched next to the man. He was quite young by the looks of it, which was good as it meant that he would be strong and healthy. Humans’ bodies were so terrifically delicate, though. One wrong move from Harold and a bad situation might become much, much worse. Harold had seen fly-on-the-wall documentaries about hospital ERs and knew that broken necks and spines were bad news. If he moved the man… He wracked his brains for a moment, wrestling with the beginnings of an idea, then shrugged to himself: it was worth a try, surely?
He tentatively reached out his hand and, using the same facility that had allowed him to sense the locks on the various doors he had opened, he tried to ‘see’ if anything was broken in the man’s body. The rush of sensation he received in return was very odd indeed: humans, it transpired, were basically a big bag of warm squishy with a bony frame. Fortunately, the man seemed to be undamaged apart from the knock on the head he’d received.
Harold carefully manoeuvred the limp and distinctly uncooperative form out through the door hole and dragged it far enough away (he hoped) from any potential ka-boom. Not knowing anything about recovery positions or anything much else of First Aid (the Basement did not have this subject on its curriculum for some reason), he made the fellow as comfortable as he could, then headed back to the van.
As he trotted past them on his way to the front of the truck, Harold glanced at the two bulky cases he had ejected so carelessly. They bore the Rainbow Industries logo as well as some other black stencilled lettering: RI-180-A Smart Camouflage (Medium). Harold felt a stab of excitement: if those cases contained what he thought they did, then getting Prada back might be a tad easier.
There was no time for that now, however.
Harold scrambled up onto the passenger side of the vehicle, which was now effectively its roof, and made his way over to the driver’s compartment. Through the broken passenger side window, Harold could see that both airbags had gone off and then deflated, leaving their fabric draped in pale folds eerily reminiscent of a shroud, over the occupants, neither of whom was moving.
Harold stood up and tried to tug the passenger door open, but it was badly buckled and refused to budge. Favouring the universe with a gimme-a-break-already sigh, Harold crouched down again and used his abilities, just as he had done on Mr Peck’s cable-tie handcuffs, teasing the molecules of the twisted metal apart bit by bit, so as to avoid sparks and subsequent unwelcome ka-booms.
The door now open, Harold reached in and gently lifted the air-bag material out of the way, the better to see the two men. A hand-scan (as he suddenly decided to called it) revealed that the passenger had a broken arm and a couple of cracked ribs, as well as a large egg of a bump on the side of his head – no doubt the cause of his unconsciousness. He tried to reach down to the driver to check on him, but the bulk of the passenger’s body prevented it.
The passenger himself was probably not in too great a danger from his injuries, Harold thought (so, you’re a doctor all of a sudden, taunted his own inner voice), but clearly the man would benefit by not being in the truck any longer than was necessary.
But how to get him out safely?
The truck’s front windshield was a spider web of cracks, but was, miraculously, still more or less in one piece. If Harold could just remove it, there would be a nice big aperture through which rescue could be effected. He was just starting to congratulate himself on his own inventiveness when the sound of a passing siren drifted down from the highway above.
He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. You idiot! he told himself, you should have rung for an ambulance before getting stuck in!
He reached for his phone, but, as his fingers curled around its cool smooth plastic, he suddenly remembered all those NO MOBILE PHONE signs displayed so prominently in filling stations. Mouthing a silent phew at his lucky escape, he jumped down to the ground.
Once he got to work on it, the windscreen all but fell out of its own accord and, with the large gap it left, Harold was now able to check on the truck’s driver at last.
That corner of the truck had borne the full brunt of the vehicle’s high speed impact with the unyielding concrete of the culvert’s wall. There was nothing anyone could do for the driver now.
Shaking his head, Harold carefully eased the passenger out of the truck and dragged him as gently as he could over to where he had left the other man, laying him down beside his comrade. He then dialled 911 and gave brief details of the men’s injuries and the location.
That done, he suddenly felt quite drained. All the tearing about at high speed, followed by all the scanning and cutting of metal and glass had apparently taken its toll. What he wouldn’t give for some pizza right now! No rest for the wicked, though, he told himself.
Slinging the straps of the two cases over his shoulders, Harold started walking along the culvert and away from the crash site – it wouldn’t do to be around when the medics (and Police, probably) showed up. Now, there had to be a service ladder or something around here somewhere...
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