Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker (Cornellverse)

[ShadowedFlames]

Glad to see you're back, and I hope everything is working out for you with the busy work schedule and that crazy off-line thing we call "life." I'm not a psychic, but somehow I don't see Lorna staying out of Triple-A for long. Maybe she comes back due to anger/jealousy of Karen Killer? Hmmm... In any event, glad to see this is back, and I'm already looking forward to the next episode!

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;297697]Glad to see you're back, and I hope everything is working out for you with the busy work schedule and that crazy off-line thing we call "life." I'm not a psychic, but somehow I don't see Lorna staying out of Triple-A for long. Maybe she comes back due to anger/jealousy of Karen Killer? Hmmm... In any event, glad to see this is back, and I'm already looking forward to the next episode![/QUOTE] Thanks, SF! It's good to be back. And yes, things are working out very well. My new job is just indescribably great, for me and to me. I'm actually really enjoying it, even as it keeps me very busy. And I'm finding time to write. Actually, I'm [I]making[/I] time to write. Like an author/newspaper columnist I've come to know once told me; "Write every day." So I do, even if it's just a few minutes to jot down some notes on something great that occured to me for the story/plot/shows/matches. As a result, my writing flows again, though slowly. But most importantly, I enjoy it so very much. And since you're looking forward to the next episode, here it is! [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] We ended up blasting out of Seattle on the I-90, east-bound. That stretch of freeway is also called the 'Mountains to Sound Greenway', on account of the scenic, winding rout it weaves westward from the Snoqualmie mountain pass down to Puget Sound at Seattle. I'd originally thought to tool down Interstate 5, or 'The 5' as locals call it, down to Tacoma and back, but that's a tame stretch of highway. Wouldn't give Missy the thrill I wanted, though it is a nice, even scenic, drive. So plan B was to tool up into the passes along I-90. But you got to remember, like I did, this was January. And while the 90 is carved into bends and windings through sharp hills and then scenic passes, winter snows can outright close those passes. Make no mistake. All around Seattle, just about, it climbs up into the mountains. Fast. Especially east, once it makes up it's mind to go vertical at and beyond North Bend. And while snow's a regular thing, and so Washington State's highway authority are prepared with equipment, well-tended roads, and emergency contingency plans, I didn't want to have to call home on my cell and let the girls know I was stuck in some highway rest-stop or trooper barracks, snowed in for a day or more. Besides, the trip up 90 all the way to the passes is more than a day trip, close as it is even at speed, and I only wanted to be gone a couple hours. So that left plan C. We rocketed along I-90 across the bridge to Mercer Island on Lake Washington. At Roanoke the road takes a turn, and even though it's an Interstate and the turn is easy, I shifted down a gear and threaded through traffic. Missy squealed, the Judge roared, and I secretly smiled. Then across the bridge on the other side of Mercer Island to Newport. I continued along the I-90, blowing through the towns of Eastgate, West Lake and Sammamish, barreling along like a late freight train that wanted to be on time. Granted, I usually was only a few miles-an-hour over the speed limit, but keeping her geared low instead of high and threading traffic even when I didn't really have to kept the adrenaline content high. And yeah, I kept it safe. Didn't cut anyone off, kept passing distances long, and generally only raising eyebrows as we roared past other motorists. But hell yeah. It was fun. Then we hit the stretch going past Sammamish State Park and into Issaquah. Missy suddenly grabbed the bar over her window. "Holy...!" she breathed, then looked at me. I answered her expectation and accelerated without gearing up, The Judge lustily growling at the road ahead. "Lorna..." Missy said, slack-jawed but with a hint of a grin. "Lorna, this is Club Country!" Missy didn't mean a radio station, biker club, nor even some racing club. No, this was a reference to a term coined by the Washington State Highway Patrol. You see, all around Washington's interstates they have these small coils of wire or magnets or something imbedded in the road. Their sole purpose is to track vehicle travel over them, and more importantly, each vehicle's speed. No, they don't generally have cameras to catch the specific speeders, but they do use that information to position patrols at areas known to have frequent, regular speeders on them. And the worst of these they dub the territories of the "90-Mile-An-Hour Club". "I know," I replied, grinning. And shifted. Still accelerating, drifting us over to the left-hand 'speed lane'. We hit Milepost 14 at Issaquah doing 95. Missy howled. We got lucky. Traffic was relatively light, so I didn't need to thread traffic so much. This kept us under the radar, so to speak, for a good long while. So we blasted, and blasted, and blasted. We picked up what looked like police lights in the rear distance at the 17 mile marker, on the Front Street Overpass. I commented on it, so Missy would know. Didn't want to surprise her. "Cops." She swiveled to look, didn't say anything. No sense pressing the issue, I decided, so I quickly relented, bringing The Judge down into the flow of traffic. We got off at the next exit mere moments later. East Sunset Way. Just as I'd originally planned. We weren't pursued. Maybe the cops thought we'd continued on the highway. so they did too. Or maybe they'd doused their lights, and when we turned right onto Sunset, they guessed left and so we lost them. Or maybe they'd been after someone else. Hell, I may have even been mistaken. Mirrors vibrate a little at those speeds. so I may have mistaken shaky tail lights from west-bound traffic at the curve in the interstate for police lights. Doesn't matter what exactly had happened. Masterson was thrilled. Later, she talked about us almost getting busted by the cops in a 'narrow escape' for a week. We followed West Sunset Way in a languorous jaunt to Newport Way NW, then along that north and west. That brought us over to State Route 900, where we headed south, then east. 900 is also known as the Renton-Issaquah Road. On the tail end of Issaquah, 900 gets twisty, following some rough countryside covered over with pockets of civilization. Gets into some interesting curves all the way to Renton, which is just south of Lake Washington. So I again left the Judge geared low and growled and roared my way through the curves. We were far enough from the Interstate for me not to be so worried about cops. In Renton I toned it down. Once you hit the outskirts of Renton you're once again in heavy civilization, though the road seems to get even twistier. And in true West Coast fashion, the road took the name of a more southerly and scenic, even infamous road; North-East Sunset Boulevard. So we took a rolling, easy slide through neighborhoods with ritzy sounding names, centered on actual parks. Kiwanis Park. North Highlands Park. Sunset Court Park. Highlands Park. North East Sunset Boulevard eventually becomes Sunset Boulevard NE. Confusing, sure, unless you're from around here. A lot of roads do that, and as long as you can get from point 'A' to point 'B' in a reasonable time, who cares? After that, Sunset Boulevard NE tangles with, then around Interstate 405. Eventually Sunset Boulevard falls apart entirely, blending to the right onto Bronson Way or straight into the 405 on-ramp. We took the 405. 405 heads north back to the I-90, or west to Tukwila where it dies. We went west. When I say 405 dies, I don't mean it suddenly peters out like Sunset Boulevard does. I mean it tears itself apart into highway fragments, like a pile of spaghetti tossed unceremoniously onto the landscape. From there it variously turns into 518 west, Interstate 5 North and South, and other tangled on- and off-ramps onto local roads. I'd intended to take I-5 North back to Seattle Center and had said as much earlier to Missy. Claire. Who-ever. But as the highway fragmented and Missy started rubbernecking, I knew she didn't know these particular roads. So I gunned it to get around a tractor-trailer on our left just as the sign for the I-5 North exit sign swooped low overhead. "No no nonono!" Missy crowed. "You missed it! The exit was on the [I]left![/I]" I only grinned and gunned it harder, drifting right through traffic as the opportunities presented themselves. Sure enough, I managed the right-most lane as we got to the next exit moments later. I took it. "Southcenter Boulevard?!" Missy exclaimed. "What, you want to strand us in Tukwila?!" "Relax, chicklette," I mock-groused. "I got it." "[I]What[/I] did you just say to me?!" Missy gaped. "I said I got it," I replied, trying to hide a grin. "When was the lest time I said I had something I didn't really have?" "Um..." Missy started, as if to make some sarcastic comment. Then she thought it over. "Never?" "Exactly," I said, as the ramp split and I took the left instead of the right. "Great!" Missy howled indignantly, flapping her arms expressively. "You missed Southcenter! We're gonna be stuck in this mess forever. We're gonna die here! They're gonna find our withered, dried out corpses in this car going 'round, and around, and around..." "Missy!" I barked. When she looked at me, startled, I growled, "Sign." I nodded my chin up as the sign swooped in on us from above. [QUOTE] [CENTER][SIZE="3"][B]Merging with I-5 North. Traffic Merging Left.[/B][/SIZE][/CENTER] [/QUOTE] "Oh..." Missy said, crestfallen. Then, more indignantly, "Ok, so I don't know these highways. Fine! Be that way..." I'd taken the ramp at speed, somewhat above the recommended speed limit, and as we approached the merger with I-5 I brought The Judge up to increased effort. Though for The Judge, going from 50 to 70 was no effort at all. She just liked to make it sound like that to impress her friends. "Whoa!" Missy exclaimed as we approached the ass end of a BMW indecently fast. The BMW was pulling onto the I-5 amid a tangle of trucks and a bus. I took the only chance I'd ever taken in a long time, let alone this evening, banking on my being past before the Beemer or bus drivers even knew I was there. I floored it without shifting up. The Judge roared like the Space Shuttle taking off or something, and Missy and I were pressed back in our seats. I twitched the wheel left which brought us into the I-5 traffic the instant the left-hand guardrail ended, drifting across two lanes. As we rocketed past the Beemer I twitched right and we inserted ourselves back into the right-most lane, squirting between the bus and the Beemer like a wet bar of soap. And into the clear. I'd seen that clearing early on and decided the timing would be good enough. Only later did I ponder what might have happened had my driving skills been rusty enough to miss-read that. But hind-sight is 20-20, and at the time I was in the moment. We ended up ok, and neither the Beemer or the bus even twitched from their trajectories, meaning the drivers in fact hadn't known I was there till I was well in front of them. Not that the clearances had been that tight. There'd been more than a car-length between us and the Beemer, and more than that between us and the bus. But as I reflected on it, I decided not to do that again. "Holy..." Missy breathed. She had a stiff-arm death grip on the dash, sitting sidewise facing me, looking back at the Beemer and bus. She then looked at me. "Tell me you never did that on your bike," I quipped. "Yeah, sure," Missy admitted, "all the time, but that's a high-performance bike!" "This is a high performance car." Missy thought that over a moment. "Yep!" she said finally. "Yeah, high performance car. The highest, even! Yep," she continued, patting the dash. "So high performance there's no doubt what she can do." Missy fixed me with a level gaze. "So you don't hafta do that again. Now I know. Yep. High-performance as they come." Missy relaxed her arm, turning to face front again, sighing with relief. "Yep," she said, patting the dash again. "Good girl." I took it easy the rest of the way back into Seattle. That stretch of I-5 is pretty mellow anyway, so we took it nice and easy, enjoying the ride. I kept her shifted high, making the ride quiet and smooth. After all, The Judge was based on a luxury car to start with, the rest being factory 'options' and a couple modifications Rick had made back in the day. "Hey, open the glove box!" I said suddenly. Missy, startled, complied. We fished around in it till I found what I wanted. I tucked the CD into it's tray, the player nested into the dash below the radio. Sure, so some things I had added to The Judge in the years since Rick had last worked on her. Sue me. It was an old 'Art of Noise' album. Their rendition of Peter Gun filled the car, and we rolled. It was a cool ride. As we motored into downtown and I took the turns to direct us home, Missy got chatty. She told me about her keys. "Betchur' wonderin' about all my keys, huh?" she started out of nowhere. "Sure," I drawled, concentrating on negotiating traffic, gently this time. "Well, those are all front door keys. No, really!" she exclaimed as if I'd made some doubtful comment. "I been bounced around no less than 20 foster homes." She said it with pride, like those keys were her badge of honor for some ordeal she'd been though and come out shining. And perhaps she had. "20," I said deadpan, slight smile in place. "Ok, so maybe not 20. More like a dozen. An even dozen. Ok, 10 maybe." She was going on as if I were objecting to the quantity of each revised figure. "Anyway, was more than one a year for a while at least, and sometimes two!" We glanced at each other, grinning. "Anyway," she went on, "I kept a key for each place. Not that I was gonna go back and rob them or anything!" she quickly added, as if that thought had occurred to me. She'd meant that more for comedic effect, since I knew Missy didn't steal. Wasn't like that. Missy was a gossip and eavesdropper in the worse way, but she was no thief or thug. "Anyway, enough about me. What about you?" she went on, then paused expectantly. I did something very uncharacteristic, then. I talked. "Well, you know the rough details from my story at Triple-A I told. I grew up in Seattle, mostly. Where mine deviates from Dad's story was, Mom and I'd stayed in Seattle after Dad left, though we moved to Vancouver when Mom thought she'd heard that Dad was there. We lived there for a couple years till Mom caught word there was a wrestling show pulling into Seattle and Dad was probably in it. But he wasn't. So we lived here some more, till Mom got sick and died. After that a friend of Dad's from way back took me in, and shortly after that brought me to Dad when he'd found out that Dad had really pulled into town with a show. The rest you know." Missy was quiet for a minute, till I glanced at her. "Geez," she said, shrugging. She looked to want to say something more but couldn't. "Hey," I said, "You were more the orphan than I ever was. You bragged to me about that when you first got to Angel, remember?" "Yeah," Missy drawled sadly, "but I always just got bounced around to foster homes. Never got close to nobody. Ever!" she finished, both proud of that and longingly sad about it. "But you..." She paused. "Well, that must have sucked." I knew what she meant. Loosing my Mom. Then my Dad. "Yeah," I droned, concentrating on traffic and speaking almost as an afterthought. But then I came back to the moment, the conversation. Don't blow Missy off. "Yeah, it did," I admitted. "But you don't think about the bad times. Don't concentrate on them. You think about the good times." "Good times, huh?" Missy said, asking for details without asking. "Sure," I said, and thought of one. "Like one winter, we were staying in this unheated flop-house. Now [I]that[/I] sucked! But there was this guy, would go every morning to the washbasin and without looking plunge his head into the ice cold water. If it had a shell of ice on it, he'd just head-butt the ice till it cracked and stick his head in anyway, just to prove how tough a wrestler he was. And he made a point of making it all showy for me, like he had ideas or something. "So, just to cool his jets, one morning Dad got up early, woke most of the other wrestlers, and proceeded to replace the water in that basin with maple syrup." "Oh my Gawd!" Missy crowed, laughing. "You're kidding...!" "Nope," I replied. "Seriously. Maple syrup. Sure enough, that guy woke up, got all muscle-flexing and stretching for show, winked at me, and without looking just plunged his head into that basin. Came up sputtering and spitting and howling, head covered with syrup. It was everywhere, dripping down his shoulders onto his shirt..." I stopped, smiling at the memory. Missy was giggling helplessly. When she got control of herself, she asked semi-serious, "That guy ever mess with you any more?" "Nah," I replied. "The other wrestler ribbed him so bad over it, and he never did figure out who'd done it. He was so embarrassed he never did even look at me much after that." I paused, half in mirth at the memory and half in grief over my Dad. "Dad could be a real kidder..." Missy noticed my change in mood and started to say something several times. Probably to try and comfort me or something, but she couldn't quite do it. Maybe didn't even feel she knew how. Our location saved her. "We're here," I said, pulling into a parking space in front of our building, not too far down from our door. We got out of the car, and Missy stared a moment, as if being brought to some national monument and wanting to take the enormity of it in before actually going inside. "The Midnight Residence," she breathed. "Oh stop!" I objected. "It's a friggin' apartment building for pity's sake. Come on already." We went in. Missy's first time over to our place.

[Gypsy]

Well, good morning, NordVolf! It is so nice to finally have the ability to post here (quite the validation process, huh?). That's ok, though. Keeps out the undesirables. ;) Now that you've got me completely hooked, I'm looking forward to the next chapter. And, like Shayla, [I][B]my[/B][/I] daughter can't believe that I'm all wrapped up in a story about .... [SIZE="1"]wrestling..shhh.[/SIZE] Remember... if the pressures of the real world interfere with your writing, I can fix that for you. :p Keep up the amazing work!

[VBigB]

Hey just got caught up on your last two entries. Thought I would have a look to relax a bit tonight since it looks like I'm forced to work the weekend. Anyway I was interested as always and keep up the good work. Glad your new job is working out and you actally have time to do some writing. :)

[Gypsy]

waiting... [COLOR="DarkOrchid"][B][FONT="Comic Sans MS"]Hmmmm.... you've had the entire weekend off, but no new post. That leads me to believe that the next installment will be amazing, for I am sure you've been spending endless hours preparing it. [/FONT][/B][/COLOR] [SIZE="1"]Of course, it also helps that I've had a sneak peek at what you're doing. bwahaha[/SIZE]

[Gypsy]

Ya know..... you worked really hard yesterday and I'd hate to see you lose your job, but if it's cutting into your writing time.... well....:p

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment)) ((And yes, this part is a true story...))[/CENTER] Hello everyone. Hmmm... Gypsy seems to keep posting these cryptic things, as if she knows me... [QUOTE=Gypsy;302181]Remember... if the pressures of the real world interfere with your writing, I can fix that for you.[/QUOTE] [QUOTE=Gypsy;308239]Hmmmm.... you've had the entire weekend off, but no new post...[/QUOTE] [QUOTE=Gypsy;315670]Ya know..... you worked really hard yesterday and I'd hate to see you lose your job, but if it's cutting into your writing time.... well....:p[/QUOTE] Well, Gypsy, you opened the door, so like an annoying salesman, I'm going to stick my foot in it. ;) And hopefully not stick my foot in my mouth while I'm at it. :rolleyes: As all, or some, or maybe even one of you may be wondering, what is going on? Well, I'm going to tell you. You see, I recently, a couple months ago, got this new job. I'd been working irregularly for almost a year, and things had not been going well financially. But this job changed everything. At this job, things are going great! I like the place, the customers, even the fellow workers from the bosses on down are great to work with. Good policies are in place, and everyone is interested in doing the right thing, backing me up and wanting me to back them up on it. Like the McDonnalds commercial sings, "I'm lovin' it!" And they seem to like me too. [I]And they're paying me to be there[/I]! How great is [B]that[/B]!?! Anyway. I found out that one of my bosses (though she giggles with an odd mix of mirth, irritation, and disgust when I call her that) seems to have some similar tastes and such as I. We seem to have a thing or three in common. Even occassionally seeing things in the same way. Or maybe it's just me. But it seems like it. We get along, anyway. So, thought I, since one of the things I decided to share with her (namely my love for the TV series Firefly, and the movie Serenity that stemmed from it) went swimmingly, heck, why not introduce her to my diary. :cool: So, I broached the subject. With the expected results. She looked at me like I was growing an extra set of ears at first. "Wrestling... *[I]insert sarcasm here[/I]*" But then she looked into it. And started reading. She eventually went on to actually join these forums and post. You guessed it. Under the name Gypsy. Gives my job a whole new context, that's for sure! Saturday, for example. As she was leaving work... [QUOTE] {NordVolf} "And don't worry. I'm going to post over the weekend." {Gypsy, looking at NordVolf deadpan in a way Lorna might} "If I don't see a post tonight, don't bother coming in Monday morning..." {NordVolf} "...!" [/QUOTE] Sure, I understood it was tongue in cheek. Sure, she wouldn't actually fire me just to give me more time to write, would she? Would she...?! :eek: And I got to tell you, when I changed some things in my profile here that put me back in Validation Saturday evening and I couldn't post even though I wanted to, believe me, I thought about it... I also heard about it Monday morning... [QUOTE] {Gypsy, glaring at NordVolf deadpan in a way Lorna might} "You lied to me..."[/QUOTE] Of course, I explained, and it's all good. She understands. She won't fire me. And I do understand she means it as a sincere compliment. She's even told me that. And she's helped me with it a good bit as well; letting me bounce ideas off her, getting little informational/research help with this and that. She seems to really like this story/diary. Anyway, my re-validation is now up, and I'm golden. So. Since I like TEW a lot, really enjoy writing and love my story ([SIZE="2"]and still want to go on enjoying my job[/SIZE]) here's the next installment! No, I'm posting this because I like writing and posting. Seriously. I'm not begging to keep my job or anything. No, really... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] When we got up to the house... Ok, so it's not a house. It's an apartment. In a very large apartment building with lots of other apartments in it. But to me and my girls, it's our [I]home[/I]. So we call it our house. Maybe wishful thinking on our part, but there it is. Anyway. When Missy and I got up to the house, the girls hadn't gotten home yet. Didn't take Missy very long at all to settle in. She went straight for the couch, which you can see since you get a straight shot look through the entry 'hall' and right into the living room. She almost tripped over the 'L' end of the sectional she moved in so fast, taking posession of the couch by flopping down in it like she'd been coming over for years. "I don't feel so good..." she grumped weakly. "What you get for mixing shots and beer, kiddo," I replied, peeling my jacket off and hanging it on the over-stuffed coat hook rack in the entryway. The 'coat closet' had long since been taken over by other things a few years back, and the volume had grown in the last year with suddenly added additional things. Not-coat things. Wrestling things. Yeah, sure. Like I was concerned with the contents of that closet any more... As I entered the living room and went to take my accustomed seat in my armchair, one of the matching pair that was a part of the matching sectional couch, armchairs, end-table and coffee table set, I noticed Missy gaping around. Oh yeah. I forgot. She'd never been in our home before. For that matter, neither have you. So here. Check it out. [CENTER][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightApt.jpg[/IMG] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightKitchenView00.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MKPVThumb.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightKitchenView01.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MKV1Thumb.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightKitchenView02.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MKV2Thumb.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightKitchenView03.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MKV3Thumb.jpg[/IMG][/URL] [URL="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MidnightKitchenView04.jpg"][IMG]http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f212/NordVolf/TEW%202007/AAA/FloorPlans/MKV4Thumb.jpg[/IMG][/URL][/CENTER] Missy's expression turned to one of wonder, then awe. I kid you not. She was gawking around our place like she'd hit Macy's during the Thanksgiving Day Sale with a no-limit credit card. Made me smile. Yeah. I like our place too. "Take your jacket off. Stay a while," I offered. She realized I was still in the room, so the gawky expression left her face as suddenly as it could, hiding instead behind an exasperated, "Whatever..." So Missy propped herself up far enough to peel her jacket off, dropped it over the end of the couch, and then dropping herself flat again. She grabbed one of the accent pillows into a hug. I didn't bother to remind her she still had her boots on. She actually looked tired, and the drinks, though long ago, took a slight yet persistant hold of her again. Evidenced by her reapeating, "I don't feel so good." So I left her alone over the boots. Besides, it's not like the girls didn't flump down with their boots on when they were beat. Hell, more than once I did it too. At that point I noticed Missy actually was getting a sour look. She really was turning ill. "Bathroom's behind me," I offered, thumb over my shoulder. "End of the hall, you can see the door from there," I pointed out with a half-hearted gesture in her direction. Half hearted because she suddenly was paying more attention to bounding off the couch on a mission than listening to me. She rushed past. I paid her little heed. Either she made it, or she didn't, and no amount of my rushing after her would help much. And it'd probably make it worse. I heard her hit a door behind me, stumble for a second, then close it again. Another door, and then she lost it. I hoped she'd made it. Sounded like it. After a couple minutes, a flush confirmed it. The door closed, and the water ran for a long time. I was kicked back, with the recliner folded out, almost asleep by the time she came out. Well, not really asleep. Just a sort of meditative doze I slip into without thinking about it. Something I learned a long time ago. Very relaxing. Missy stumbled past me back to the couch and flopped down on it, feet and legs hanging off. She sighed in that exasperated way she does when she wants attention but doesn't want to come out and say so. "Feel better?" I asked. "No," she stated flatly, and squirmed around in an exaggerated attempt to get comfortable. "Well, take your boots off. Stay a while." She sighed again, dragging herself to a sitting position and bending over to unbuckle her boots. It was an excruciating process full of grunts and groans. "Oh will you stop!" I said with a chuckle when I couldn't take it any more. "I told you I don't feel so good!" she complained, kicking off the last boot and flopping back down dramatically. "Well, you always make everything such a damn agonized production." I commented, straightening the chair back to a sitting position. To change the topic away from a criticism of her, she asked, "What's with the bunk bed?" "Ah," I said, sagely. "That would be Stephie's room." "Yeah, well, why does Stephie have a bunk bed?!" "Used to be both Jen and Stephie's room, before Jen moved to the third bedroom when the girls got old enough to have rooms of their own," I explained. "Stephie never did want to get rid of that bunk, though, so we left it." "Well," Missy said, pausing to think. "Well, why's it got curtains an' stuff all over it?" I chuckled. It was at that moment the girls got home. "Long story," I said, as Missy and I both sat up and the girls made their grand entrance. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] Jen and Stephie came bouncing in, closing the door and opening the 'coat closet' door, dropping bags and arranging things in there, then closing that door and finally coming into the living room. "Missy!" they both exclaimed, happily surprised. Jen looked happy, and Stephie was positively overjoyed, like I'd scored some major victory to get Missy over. Well, I guess I did, in a way. Missy'd never been over before, and in times past when the girls had invited her she'd always made some excuse or other. Thinking back on it, it was as if Missy were waiting on an invite from [I]me[/I], while I'd been thinking she'd not been wanting to come over due to her ducking the girls' invitations. So I never personally invited her. Huh. The girls came in, Stephie landing excitedly with an almost audible thump on the end of the couch, ready to chit-chat and have a grand old young-girls-at-our-house time. "BOSHNESS!" Stephie exclaimed, excited. "You finally came over! This is gonna be so bosh...!" That caused Missy to groan and get grumpy. "Stop, I don't feel good! Just jump on me, why don't ya..." That in turn killed the joy in the room. Jen frowned a little, and Stephie looked like Missy'd just kicked her favorite puppy. Me? It irritated me a bit, but I'd figured some things out fast, so I thought I knew where that was coming from. "Missy," I said, leaning forward, "why don't you let Jen make you a sandwich or something. You'll feel better with something to eat in your gut." "Great..." Missy grumped sourly, dragging herself up and heading toward Jen and to the kitchen. "Everyone always thinks they know what's best or something..." Jen frowned more, but dutifully took the slight nod from me and guided Missy into the kitchen to fix her something. Stephie almost objected about something, but no sound came out so she closed her mouth. She did that a couple times, almost getting up from the couch and then flumping down looking very disappointed. I sighed, got up, and crossed to Stephie, sitting next to her on the couch. "Come here, kiddo," I offered, and Stephie sat up and leaned against me, looking ready to cry. "Hey. None of that, now," I told her, hugging her shoulders. "Listen to me, ok?" Stephie looked at me, and it pained me to see that look. She'd thought this would be like a slumber party or something with someone she'd been wanting to have over ever since they'd met, and here Missy was being an ass. But Stephie gave me her attention, and while Jen busied Missy, casting occasional glances at me, I explained quietly. "Hey. You know how Missy grew up an orphan, right?" I asked, hushed so Missy wouldn't overhear. My girls knew all about it. Missy had, in fact, bragged that fact up every chance she got, though details were sparce. Stephie nodded. "Yeah, but she doesn't have to be like that...!" she objected, as quietly as I'd asked her the question. "That's just [I]mean[/I]." "Well, she feels she does," I explained. "See, she's been bounced around so much, foster homes and the like. So I bet that she does everything she can to keep from getting close to people, because she thinks they'll just leave her or throw her out or something." Stephie nodded, though it didn't do anything to appease her mood. I continued. "Now, I'm no shrink, but I just bet she uses that grumpiness to keep people at arms length." "So great," Stephie replied, sniffling, "so she's going to ruin tonight." She leaned her head against my shoulder, thoroughly dejected. I reached up to stroke her hair. "Ah," I said, as if suddenly having an idea. "But we shouldn't let her." At Stephie's puzzled look, I explained further. "She was grumpy to me at the bar too, but I took her for a ride. Made her feel good, made her forget all about having to defend herself against possible heartbreak later." Stephie looked at me, a light suddenly coming on. "You gonna talk to Jen like this too?" Stephie's no idiot. She can be damn insightful when she wants to be. I stroked her hair again, smiling. "Hun, I'm not sure I have to. Jen's tough, she can handle it..." As if emphasizing my point, Jen said in a loud stage whisper, "Hey! Knock it off!" Stephie and I looked. Jen was paused, butter knife over some bread, jars of peanut butter and jelly sitting close to hand by a loaf of thick-slice white bread, looking irritatedly at Missy. Missy in turn stood there looking like she'd just done or said something-or-other and was waiting for the confrontation from Jen. "You may be older'n me by a couple years," Jen said to her, "but that doesn't mean if you start up like that I won't knock you [I]right[/I] up side your head." "Oh you would, would you?" Missy said, getting ready to be offensively offended. "Yeah, I would," Jen replied, going back to spreading peanut butter on bread. "And then what, huh? We'd be rolling around on the kitchen floor like a couple of goon idiots, and Mom'd get all bent out of shape and come over and then we'd [I]both[/I] get our asses kicked." She cast another scathing glance at Missy. "So just chill, ok? I'm just trying to help." She irritatedly slathered peanut butter. Missy looked like she was about to challenge Jen over it, right up until the 'I'm just trying to help' part. That put the brakes on Missy. She may be a preemptive grouch, but she knew when she was crossing certain lines. And someone genuinely trying to help her with something was one of those lines. She was honestly feeling ill, and Jen was just doing as I'd asked and was trying to do something to help her feel better. So Missy just scowled, folded her arms, and stood there silently grumpy. "See?" I said quietly to Stephie. "Missy's not trying to [I]really[/I] be hurtful. I think it's more where, if things go bad, she can just go, 'oh well, things weren't going great anyway.' And leave feeling like she's not really losing anything good." "But that's just stupid!" Stephie whispered, gaping at me. "Oh, don't I know it!" I said quietly back. "But we have to show her we're better than that. Don't say anything, just go on and show her we're her friends anyway. Because it's what she needs." Stephie started to look as if she wanted to object about something, and I knew what it was. "Now now," I cut her off. "You have something that Jen doesn't. At least she doesn't have it as much as you." Stephie looked at me in wonder. Always did, when she thought I was implying that Jen was superior to her, being older and tougher, then surprising her with something she was better than Jen at. Comes from the fact she just about worship's Jen as her Big Sister, feeling safe and protected and inferior all at the same time. Because Jen is really the tougher of the two, physically and emotionally. "Yup," I said to Stephie. "Toughness doesn't equal strength. And you got so much love in you that it makes you just as strong as your sister, just in a different way." Same thing I said to Stephie many, many times in the past, but she always acts like she's never heard it before. Just like now. "So," I continued, "you just have to show Missy you love her anyway, and will be her friend no matter what." "Like Cat did to you when you got all bent when we joined Triple A!" Stephie stage-whispered excitedly. I sighed. "Yeah," I admitted. "Like that." Stephie nodded, gave me the thumbs up. She was on a mission now of her own. She got up and went to the kitchen. "Hey guys!" Stephie said cheerfully. "Makin' me one?" Jen smirked. "Nah," she said as if she meant it, but the smirk failing to hide. "I just thought I'd eat with Missy here and let you an' Mom starve..." "Oh!" Stephie exclaimed, remembering something. "I was gonna make dinner, but since you're not feeling well," she said, indicating Missy, "sammiches are just fine!" Missy snorted, derisively. "Yeah, don't cook on my account..." Before Missy could work up a proper grump over it, Stephie interrupted. "What I wanna know is, where'd Mom take you on a ride?" Oh crap. Here it comes... Missy snorted again, this time getting showy. The boastful gossip. "Took me out blasting on the 90, out to Issaquah, then down to Renton and back. It was [I]soooo[/I] cool." "Blasting?" Stephie said, incredulous. Jen was more believing. "You guys got all the way out to Issaquah, Renton, and back?" Implying that we'd only been gone a couple hours or three. She looked questioningly at Missy, then accusingly at me. "Hey," I said, defensively, "you girls were gone a while. Cat get you lost in traffic or something?" "Hey, we were at the gym the whole time, ok?" Jen objected. "We had to work some stuff out, you know... for Saturday..." Stephie wasn't so easily distracted from a subject when she latched onto it, unlike Jen. I think Stephie gets that from me. Damn. "Blasting?!" Stephie repeated. "In [I]The [B]Judge[/B][/I]!?!" "Oh, hell yeah!" Missy said, grinning. "Rocket sled on rails, baby! Should of seen us hit Club Country at Issaquah, must have been doing 120 or something..." "Mom?" Jen said, incredulous. Stephie looked at me, eyes widening. I sighed. "It wasn't 120, ok?! The speed limit on the Interstate is, what, 70, 75? We were just a bit over, wasn't any '120'." I got up, crossed to my chair and sat down. Which incidentally put my back to the girls. Missy didn't let me get off that hook. Oh no. She was just getting warmed up. "Hey, you think that's cool, you should've seen your mom ditch the cops..." "Mom..." That from Jen. I could feel Stephie's shocked gaze burning into the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my face. What can of worms did I open, mentioning that ride to Stephie? Then again, it was Missy I'd given that ride to. Would be all over the place in short order anyway. May as well get it over with. I put my hands down and glanced at the kitchen. Jen was scowling, Stephie gaped, and Missy was grinning. "Look, there weren't any cops, ok?" "Yeah, sure," Missy grunted in disgust. "Sure," she said, looking from Stephie to Jen. "So when your mom goes, 'Cops.', just as cool as that, that just means there's [B]no[/B] cops, huh? Oh, and let's not forget she then threads traffic," she narrated, making desperate, erratic driving gestures, "so they actually couldn't catch up, then she shoots us right off the highway before they can nick us!" Missy capped it off with a swooping gesture with one hand, like a plane taking off or something. "Mom!" "Look," I objected, getting up and proceeding both to the kitchen and to my defense, "if it even [I]was[/I] cops, they were a long ways back, so I just got back to normal speeds and pulled off the next exit. If the cops would have been close and obviously after me, I would have pulled over and taken my ticket or what-ever like a big girl. But it wasn't, they didn't and never were, ok?" Missy flapped a hand to either side to lightly smack Jen and Stephie in the belly. "Hey, you think [I]that[/I] was cool, you should have seen us slalom Sunset Boulevard into Renton!" She made boogie-woogie, skiing motions. The girls turned gapes my way. "Missy, stop..." I started. Missy looked at Jen and Stephie, and a light came on. "What, your mom never took [I]you[/I] guys on rides like that?" "No," Jen stated flatly, voice full of sarcasm. "Mom [I]knows[/I] you're not supposed to do stuff like that..." "Ok, look," I interrupted, "Missy was in the bar getting all liquired up and feeling bad, so I just wanted to cheer her up, ok? I've taken you girls on rides too when you were little..." "But not like [I]that[/I], Mom!" Stephie said, looking suddenly hopeful. "I was just trying to make her feel better, ok? And you guys know how she gets on her bike, so I just thought..." "Oh, Mom!" Stephie said in a mock swoon, back of one hand to her forehead, "I think I don't feel so good alla sudden. I'm so [I]depressed[/I], I don't know [I]what[/I] would make me feel any better..." Jen broke into a grin and Missy laughed. "All right, you," I told Stephie sternly, though I had to hide a smile as well. I looked at both my girls, and even Jen started looking hopeful. So I put on my sternest 'Mom's not happy' face. "Ok, maybe some day," I conceded, and both my girls lit up like the morning sun into our east-facing, sliding glass doors into the family room. "But not any time soon, you hear me?!" I concluded, finger-wag in each of Jen and Stephie's faces. They nodded, Jen turning sour and Stephie turning sullen. I turned to fetch a tall glass, partly because I was up to something and partly so the girls wouldn't see I was feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. All my scoldings, when the girls were getting their licenses, on proper driving, obeying the law, and absolutely, positively no 'fancy' driving under any circumstances... "Hey," Missy said, slapping bellies again, "you guys should have seen us when we hit the I-5 at the Tukwila Tangle! Felt like a hundred miles an hour, squirted right between this Beemer and a bus like a wet bar of soap!" Ok, so I admit it. When I told you about that earlier, I hadn't made that analogy up myself. So sue me. "MOM!!!" "All right, Claire," I scolded. "That's enough." That mellowed Missy right down, and got gapes from Jen and Stephie, but at Missy this time. While I turned to leave the kitchen for the bathroom, Missy shot me a dirty look. "Thanks a lot..." "Claire?!" I heard Stephie exclaim when I'd got to the bathroom. The rest was lost to unintelligible whispers, the girls excited and Missy all hush-hush and sullen. Her big secret was out, to my girls anyway. Turn of the tables. Served her right, too. I got back from the bathroom to the kitchen, poured some mild juice mix into the glass with the rest of the concoction, added a touch of coconut oil. By then Missy was most of the way through a PB&J, though she stopped to eye me suspiciously. "Oh, right," Jen said, nodding to Stephie when she saw what I was up to. Stephie nodded like a light came on, expounding on it with a sagely "Ohhh..." "What?" Missy asked, looking from me to Jen to Stephie. "Here," I said, holding the glass out to Missy. "Oh, right," Missy said sarcastically. "This'll make me puke, right? Get it over with? Sorry, been there, done that. And not too long ago, either!" Missy shot ugly looks all around. "No thanks." "Relax," I said, still holding the glass out. "Just a hang-over preventive." "Suuuuure," Missy drawled, eyeing the glass suspiciously. As if I'd put a snake in it or something. "Come on," I said, just about pushing the glass into Missy's hand. "Do you trust me that little, to think I'd intentionally make you sick?" Missy pouted. "No..." she said, hessitantly taking the glass. "What is it?" "Leigtner Family secret hang-over cure," Jen explained. "Mom had us make that for her when she used to come home bombed from a night out with Cat." "Jennifer Leigtner," I scolded. "You make me sound like some kind of drunk!" "Well," Stephie piped up, "you [I]did[/I] used to go out a whole lot more with Cat years ago..." I nodded. "Well, yeah. There is that." Turning back to Missy I gestured to the glass. "Drink up, kiddo." "I'm not a 'kiddo'," Missy grumped. "And you're not my mom..." She eyed the glass, though, and took the tinyest sip I've ever seen anyone take. Missy about choked, sputtering and wiping her mouth. "What are you, trying to poison me?!" "Oh, stop!" I scolded her, frowning. "It doesn't actually taste bad, does it? Honestly..." Missy looked from me, to Jen with her disgusted look at Missy's antics, to Stephie's 'Well Duh!' look. "Ok, fine," she said and took a propper sip. She screwed her face up. "It's wierd, ok? Fizzes like champaign or something. I hate champaign..." She was tasting the Nighttime Alka-Seltzer Cold Plus, but I didn't tell her that. "It's not champaign, ok? So drink up. You'll be fine in the morning." "Ok, ok, FINE...!" Missy groused, and proceeded to drink it down. In her Missy way. Not swilling it down to get it over with, but an agonized, dramatic process. Take a mouthful and make a face. Act like forcing a swallow and making an even more aweful face. Another mouthfull, another face, force another swallow, another face. Rinse and repeat. But she finished it. But she wasn't fooling any of us. We'd all had it. Me when I had, in fact, come home from an outing with Cat, Jen and Stephie when they'd been sick with the flue or something. Actually, I'd invented it for the girls. When they'd gotten old enough that a little Alka-Seltzer wouldn't kill them. Was the only way I could get them to take it. Dissolve it in water, add a juice mix and a bit of coconut oil for sweetness, and it turned out darn good. So I started using it, and sure enough it cures what ails you. "There. Not so bad, was it?" I asked. "That is the worst stuff!" Missy complained, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if someone had punched her. She cast me a look as if I'd betrayed her and set the glass on the counter. "Ok. Hit the couch and get some sleep. It's getting late," I instructed. I looked at Jen and Stephie. "You too. School night." Missy slouched her shoulders and headed for the couch, while Jen looked at her half-eaten sandwich and Stephie looked at the untouched PB&J on her plate, glancing at me pleadingly. I nodded with a barely audible, "Ok." to the girls and headed for my room. Stephie beamed and quietly started in, scrounging up a quick supper. We don't have a linen closet, but each of us have in our rooms, in one place or other, sheets and blankets and pillows. Which is what I was after. Especially since, when I'd gone to make Missy's 'drink' I'd turned the thermostat down. Even below what we turned it down to at night. Nothing to help feel better when you're ill than being snuggled in against the cold. At least you think more about the cold than feeling ill. I got back with an armload to hear Missy grumping. By then it was cooling off in the apartment, but the girls knew what was up by now. Jen had gotten a sweater from somewhere and Stephie was in a frumpy sweatshirt over her jeans. And it was warm from cooking in the kitchen, at any rate. "Hey," Stephie said, "we're just gonna make something quick is all. No big deal. If you wanna join us..." "Great," Missy huffed. "Let's make something propper to eat now that Missy's down for her nappy-nap." She made a show of flumping down and not being able to make herself comfortable. I lambasted her with an oversized pillow. "That's enough out of you," I said, grinning. "Roll over. On your tummy, young Missy." Missy sighed, stuck out her tongue at me, and rolled over. I tucked her in. "About time. It's frickin' freezing in here," she complained. I then did something I rarely had to do, though I'd done it often enough when the girls were sick. I knelt beside the couch and proceeded to rub Missy's back through the comforter. "What's up with that?!" Missy started to protest. "Hush, you," I said, kneeding her shoulders, easing out the knots I found there. "Just be still." Missy sighed exasperation but lay still. So I rubbed her down. Shoulders and back, unfocusing my eyes so I could feel the tight spots, both in muscles and on a much deeper level. Transfering through my fingers a portion of my well-being, and yes even love, into her. The way a little, wrinkled old Asian fisherman had taught Rick and I way back when. "There," I said when I'd finished. "All better?" "Sure," Missy replied, sleepy yet sarcastic. She yawned then, snuggling into the comforter. The Nighttime Alka-Seltzer as well as my ministrations had gotten to her. Then Missy pulled an eye blearily open. "You're not my mom, you know," she said with a sleepy grumpiness she didn't really feel, and yawned again, snuggling into the couch and pillow. "Good night, Claire," was my quiet reply. Then I got up and went to the kitchen, to join my daughters in a late, light meal before bed. Missy tried dramatic 'I can't get comfortable' rolling around but it didn't last long, nor was it very enthusiastic. By the time the food hit our plates Missy was asleep. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] OOC Notes: [QUOTE] I would like to send out a special thanks to all those who helped me plan out the Leigtner Apartment. Especially the management of our local Ace Hardware store. They took the time to help me with lay-out ideas and principles of design, even after I'd started by telling them it was a fictional place in a story I was writing! They were very generous with their time and design resources, for which I am greatly appreciative. Thanks also to '[I]The Learning Company[/I]', who made [B][I]3D Home Architect Deluxe[/I][/B]. Without that handy little program I would never have been able to flesh out the Leigtner's apartment, let alone put together a floor plan and create views of it for you all to see! Hope you like it... [/QUOTE]

[Gypsy]

Bravo! [FONT="Comic Sans MS"][B][COLOR="DarkOrchid"]Great job, Nordvolf! Well worth the wait!! Thank you! I'm gonna have to try that hangover cure sometime. And, yes... for those of you out there in TEWland, what he says is true. I AM his boss :rolleyes: he did get me hooked on this, and all quotes are accurate. Would I really release him from work (fire is such an ugly word) to satisfy my cravings? Well.....I'm just glad we don't have to find out..... yet. *smirk* Remember, Nordvolf, Shayla would be MORE than happy to step in and help out at work. *waves at Shayla as she peeks over Nordvolf's shoulder* Since I'm such a novice at this whole board-posting forums thing and have no CLUE how to get one of them avatar thingys, I'd appreciate it if you could find somethin' that might give these nice people an idea of what you face each day as I sit in my tower and call out orders to the common folk....bwahaha[/COLOR][/B][/FONT]

[NordVolf]

[CENTER] ((OOC post.)) [/CENTER] Oh boy! I get to choose my boss's Avatar! How often does [I][B]that[/B][/I] happen?!? [B]*[/B][I]NordVolf wrings his hands together like a typical mad scientist[/I][B]*[/B] Bwahaha....! :cool: P.S. - Shayla says, "Hey, la!" back atcha.

[ShadowedFlames]

I was wondering when you'd get back around to adding your latest chapter...I'm glad it was worth the wait. You still have a reader here (even with all of the delays, writer's blocks, and mid-life crises). Looking forward to your next chapter. And if I may make a suggestion...why not give Gypsi an avatar of Missy in one of her numerous costumes? There's more than enough to choose from...she's bound to find something that works! ;)

[shamelessposer]

I have one criticism of your writing style, but I personally think it's a big one: You're saidphobic, which is to say that if you have a chance to omit the word "said" from your dialogue you're going to take it. Don't do that. "Said" is one of the only invisible words in the English language, and refusing to do it has a way of slowing down your work from a writer's and a reader's perspective. Love said. Embrace said. Hid said up doggy style in the restroom. But don't be afraid of said. I'm not trying to pick on you, but it's a very common mistake among writers and it's one that drives me up a wall.

[Gypsy]

I disagree [FONT="Comic Sans MS"][B][COLOR="DarkOrchid"]Shamelessposer - Personally, I disagree with your comments about the word "said". One of the reasons I enjoy Nordvolf's writing is BECAUSE he doesn't overuse that word. Of course, differences in opinion and taste are what make life interesting. Wouldn't it be boring if we all liked the same things. :cool: [/COLOR][/B][/FONT]

[Gypsy]

[QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;317166]And if I may make a suggestion...why not give Gypsi an avatar of Missy in one of her numerous costumes? ;)[/QUOTE] [COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Comic Sans MS"][B]Only if I can wear the costume in real life as well.... :cool: [/B][/FONT][/COLOR]

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Hello again, everyone. Work, life, and illness not withstanding, I've managed my next installment. Long in the tooth though it is, I know. But first, I want to answer Shamelessposer. He raises a good point. And since it's so important, it made me think about what it is I actually do, and why. A lot of thought. And I came up with some answers. [QUOTE=shamelessposer;317170]I have one criticism of your writing style, but I personally think it's a big one: You're saidphobic, which is to say that if you have a chance to omit the word "said" from your dialogue you're going to take it. Don't do that. "Said" is one of the only invisible words in the English language, and refusing to do it has a way of slowing down your work from a writer's and a reader's perspective. Love said. Embrace said. Hid said up doggy style in the restroom. But don't be afraid of said. I'm not trying to pick on you, but it's a very common mistake among writers and it's one that drives me up a wall.[/QUOTE] Thanks, man. I don't consider it picking, and thanks for bringing this up. Seriously. You guys opinions are important to me, and I look to use them to help me become a good, or better, writer. As for my said-a-phobia... I have none. I don't consider myself afraid of 'said'. Rather, it's more a dislike of 'said'. An aversion, if you will. I'm said-averse. And no, I'm not trying to quibble or make you feel small. I just want to explain, and even though it's a fine point, it's an important one for me. I really don't like to use 'said' a lot. And yes, if there's a chance to not use 'said' I'll jump at it. And here's why. Two things, really. First is the redundancy/repetitive factor. I learned a long time ago from some writers and others I highly respect that if you say the same thing over and over again, it gets tedious and detracts from the writing. For instance, I had to re-write the following after I wrote it and read it. You know. The part where Missy gets sick and rushes for the bathroom. [QUOTE]She rushed past, not paying me much attention. I didn't pay much attention to her in turn. Either she'd make it or she wouldn't, and my rushing after her probably wouldn't help very much anyway. And would probably make it much worse.[/QUOTE] Which, after reading it, I decided was much too much much. *smirk* But seriously, the same can be said for 'said'. He said, she said, I said, we said. They said. To my ear it sounds redundant, as well as overly repetitive. Repetitive being easy to see, but redundant? Sure. Because 'said' conveys that something has been, well, said. Which the quote marks around a spoken sentence cover, to my mind. Sure, you can use it, but over using it just drags it through the mud. Repetitive [I]and[/I] redundant. I like to think I can be a little more creative than that. Which leads to the second part. Communication. To me a story is all about communication. I love a great story, because it communicates feeling to me. Now, all great stories give you feelings. Happy, sad, angry about some characters, love for others. And for the most part, every story that I love is about people. Because they are well written and have feeling. We can identify with them, and thus come to feel something ourselves over it. Karen Killer is just sick! We've met people like that, so can relate! Raven is angst driven and has a sour spot of resentment for Lorna because Lorna broke her nose last year. We can identify, and while Raven may become a heel, there's a basis for it we can understand, and some of us may even have a soft spot for her because of it. And Jen and Stephie are such sweet and wonderful girls, we love them for it, and yes, come to despise Lorna in many ways for her trying to keep her girls out of wrestling and keeping them down. In short, we feel for them, because they feel and we know what those feelings are like. Now, you get a good idea about how a character feels in how they act, and in what they say. And the author even sometimes goes to great lengths to spell out how a character is feeling in narrative, so we get it. But in their spoken word, it's not so clear. We all know about that, right? How on the internet, you can 'say' something you think is funny, but because the recipient can't see your face, body language, or hear how you inflect the words, they may become insulted. They just don't get the feeling you were trying to portray. That's where the 'invention' of emotes came in. But the underlying reason for them is still there. And lets not forget the continuous point of internet etiquette, especially as it comes up in these forums from time to time. "Be careful how you word what you say, because the reader can't know how you're feeling or thinking because they're not there in person." Now, in literature, granted one can spell out before and/or after the 'spoken' word exactly how the person is saying it, and how they feel. [QUOTE]"You're not my mom!" Missy said, sour and grumpy with her arms folded across her chest..[/QUOTE] And it works. Very well, in fact. But to me, it misses a little bit. And that little bit is power of emotion. [QUOTE]"You're not my mom!" Missy grumped sourly, arms folded across her chest.[/QUOTE] That sounds better to me for two reasons. First, because I'm not using 'said' so much. Which, since I'm explaining that point is a rather soft point to make. Second, in the first example 'said' seems almost like an interruption of the flow of thought, and thus feeling. Whereas in the second example, the text flows from her spoken words straight into her grumpiness, her emotion. So to me, it lends it more power. So I, as a reader, [I]feel[/I] it more myself. And so, since 'said' just communicates communication, and since we're used to looking for the textual clues as to what is going on elsewhere, 'said' can truly be said to be one of the great invisible words in literature. Which leads up to a little rhyme I once heard on it. [QUOTE]He said, She said I said, We said. They said, all dead Nothing in your head.[/QUOTE] But instead of the way that rhyme shows it (in an admittedly exaggerated fashion), why not... [QUOTE]"How about it?!" He exclaimed lustilly. "No way," She denied in disgusted tones. "Good lord..." I replied, shocked. "Hurrah!" We cheered, having realized he was only joking. "After 'im!" They screamed angrilly, a mob ready with pitchforks and shovels because NordVolf showed his aversion to 'said'![/QUOTE] Which is an overly dramatic way of expressing the point, and tongue-in-cheek to boot! But I think you see what I'm getting at. And something else comes to mind, even as I write this: Since we're so used to overlooking 'said' in literature in order to get to the meat-and-potatoes of things, perhaps 'said's absence is what's causing you a bit of a stumble in reading writing such as mine. The subconscious looks for it in order to ignore it. It's like something subtle in the environment we learn to ignore for years, and yet instantly become aware of it's absence and feel something is amiss when it's gone. I do understand how you feel, though, and don't begrudge you that. Especially since you feel so strongly about it. It's actually important to me. As I wrote this next part, for example, I found myself looking closely and not only thinking, "Am I using 'said' too much?" but also, "Am I avoiding 'said' too much?" And I actually hope that my scrutinizing what I write and how I write it makes me a better writer for it. Of course, literature is a very personal thing. And because it evokes emotion, it can cause a reader to either like or dislike the work. Some may think NordVolf is a great writer, others may think NordVolf is a hack. Some may think my prose is emotional and inciteful, while others think it's just so much drivel interspersed with meaningless hyperbole. Heck, some people think I use too many big words. Even when I talk. I've had people gape at me in conversation and exclaim, "Who [I]talks[/I] like that?! Really!?!" But that's a whole other story. *smirk* Anyway, that's why I am said-averse. I truely hope it doesn't kill your enjoyment of my story. And Gypsy, yes. I'm still seeking a suitable avatar for you... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] "Here you go, mom." That was Jen as she handed me the steaming cup of coffee. That was also when I first saw Masterson's eyes flutter, and then she looked at me in a squinty manner. I saw that because I was seated in my chair directly across from her. "Thanks, Hun," I replied to Jen, taking the coffee and taking a sip. It was, as usual, good. As Jen retreated to the kitchen, Missy's squint became irritated. "You been sittin' there all night lookin' at me or something weird like that?" I chuckled. "Relax. I didn't. We're just up, and this is my chair." Of course, I didn't tell her that this was my chair because of all the times when Jen or Stephie had been ill and I'd sat up to watch over them all night. But I hadn't lied, either. I'd gone to bed and gotten some good sleep. So it's all good, right? Right. "Whew," Missy breathed profound relief, sitting up. "Hey, what time is it, anyway?" she added, casting a glance at the living room window. "Looks dark out yet..." I glanced at the wall clock over Missy's head, a simple round timepiece crafted of Japanese oak with Kanji numerals around it's face in the usual Western positions. "A little after six," I informed her. "Six?!" Missy exploded. "Six? In the evening?! You guys let me sleep all day?! You let me sleep the day away like some drunk can't hold her liquor or something?! You guys let me miss a whole freakin' day!?!" "Relax," I told her softly, soothingly. "Six in the morning. We wouldn't let you miss a day." "SIX?!" Missy gaped. "Six, as in AM?! You guys get up that early?! It's still freakin' dark out!" "Hey, it's [I]WINTER[/I]," Stephie called out from the kitchen, voice rich with sarcasm. "Doesn't get light till 9 or so, muffin-head." "Muffin Head?!" Missy gaped at Stephie in turn. She then swiveled on me. "Did your daughter just call me a [I]muffin head[/I]!?!" "Sounds like it," I replied, adjusting the morning newspaper and going back to the help wanted section. "She can get like that when she's baking." "Baking." Missy's flat pronouncement held all the sarcastic derision she could muster. "You bake at oh-dark-thirty in the morning..." It's just muffins, ok?!" Stephie exclaimed in defense. Then she got a mean grin. "Muffin-head." "Hey," Missy rounded on her in defense, "if that's supposed to be, like, 'sleepy-head' or something, I get up plenty early in the morning, thank you very much. I'm up with the sun an' rarin' to go, when I'm in [I]my[/I] apartment." Missy folded her arms as if the very thought she ever slept in was detestable. "Hey!" Missy said then, brightening. "That coffee I smell?!" "Yeah. Go ahead and get some." I indicated the kitchen with my mug. Missy looked at me through disheveled bangs as if I'd just announced I'd slept on the moon. "Get some myself?!" "Yeah," I replied, deadpan. "Last night you were a guest. This morning you're part of the household. So if you want some coffee, there's nothing stopping you from making yourself at home and getting some." I smiled a kind smile. Missy didn't see it so kindly. "Suuuure," Missy grumped, getting up as if waking from the dead. "You get your girls to slave over you, but [I]I[/I] got to get up and get my own..." She stumbled a step as if still half asleep. "So what you want?" Stephie offered. "Coffee? Cappuccino? A latte maybe? I'll bring it to you." Missy snorted, coming to a stop after that first step.. "You guys going out for breakfast? Then what are you making [I]muffins[/I] for then, huh?" That directed at Stephie in triumph. As if Missy'd caught her at something. "Never said we were going out," Stephie replied. "We can do that right here. So what you want?" "Heh," Missy laughed half-heartedly. "You can make cappuccino an' stuff right here..." I smiled my sly smile when Missy looked at me. "Girls, show her the Coffee Nook." Missy snorted and proceeded to the kitchen, to Jen and Stephie who moved to comply. "Coffee nook? Like, I've heard of a breakfast nook, but not a coffee noo... Holy Crap!" Missy gaped at the counter and cupboard just off the main freezer. "What the heck [I]is[/I] all this?!" "This," Stephie said proudly, "is our Coffee Nook. Has all the necessities for making anything you want, any [I]way[/I] you want!" "Yeah," Jen said, picking up the monologue, "For example. Our La Pavoni 'Espresso Si' is a semi-auto espresso machine. Can make up to 16 espresso or cappuccinos. Complete with milk frother. And it's easy to use, too. Mom and Stephie are the Baristas around here, but even [I]I[/I] can make a good cup of espresso with this baby." "Baristas?" Missy was sceptical. "Sure," Jen explained. "Baristas is plural. A Barista is the expert at making espresso and espresso drinks." "Yeah, well," Stephie butted in, "I'm the chef du jour, an' a perty good espresso maker, but [I]nobody[/I] beats Mom in the Coffee Nook." "Riiight," Missy drawled, casting a glance my way. I directed my attention back to the want ads. "Yep," Stephie added, "an' our [I]Bunn MCP My Cafe'[/I] pod brewer can make perfect cups of coffee in 30 seconds, if that's all you want is plain coffee." "Pod brewer?" Missy asked, gaping as if Stephie were talking a foreign language. "Yep!" Stephie said, excited. "Check it out. You hit this button on top an' pop the top like so, and drop in one of these pods, it's a single serving coffee packet, all set to go. Button her up, hit the coffee button an' y're off to the races!" Which is what she did. "An' the boiler tank holds 46 ounces of water for several cups, so it's not like we'd go dry or anything either! An' when you're done, just dump the pod out. There's perty much no waste, and the things are [I]biodegradable[/I] to boot!" Ah. That's my save-the-planet girl. And sure, I say that with a bit of sarcasm, but she's dead serious about it. Makes me kind of proud, actually. "Yeah," Jen added, "and the thing makes tea too, or hot water for soup or oatmeal or anything else you need a single serving of near-boiling hot water for." Huh," Missy said, sounding at least partially impressed. Which meant a lot. Missy didn't like to let on she was impressed by anything. "So what's this?" she continued. "Your mom like to work out or something while she makes coffee? Wouldn't surprise me..." she finished, tapering off for effect. Jen chuckled, Stephie giggled. "No, silly!" Stephie exclaimed. "Ok, check it out," Jen continued. "To make espresso, you need hot water at a specific temperature and under a very specific pressure. Now, the Espresso Si has a pump in it for the pressure, but this," and even I could hear the pride in Jen's voice, "is a lever machine, the way they used to do it in the [I]way[/I] old days. You build up the pressure by [I]hand[/I]. You got to do it by feel, or it comes out all wrong. Makes it an art, really!" Missy laughed. "Yeah. Sure. Coffee art..." The derision was thick in Missy's voice. "Heeey," Stephie said, in tones as if a light had come on in her head. "You ever have an espresso before, Missy?" "Duh!" Missy shot back. "This is Seattle, right?" "But," Jen asked in return, "have you ever had an espresso made for you?" "Double-duh," Missy snorted. "Like, you walk into Starbucks, go, 'Can I have an espresso please?', an' they make you one." "Nooo," Jen drawled, full of deep, hidden meaning, "have you ever [I]had[/I] an espresso [I]made[/I] for you?" Ok. At that I had to look. I mean, come on. First off, I know my girls. When they get tones like that they're up to something. Add to that, I know Missy Masterson. And she's in the same room as my girls. Put them all together and you had better well keep an ear to the ground, because you never know what they'll come up with. I caught Jen giving Missy the low sign. No. "Um... No?" Missy offered. "Look, girls," I said, "I'm not really in the mood, ok? Another time. Just make her a good espresso or something if she wants, ok?" I went back to my want ads, sure of another 'up to something' successfully headed off. Boy, was I mistaken. "Oooooh kay," Stephie said, sounding irritated. "So. Missy, you want to try an espresso?" I peeked. I saw Jen giving Missy the high sign. "Um... Sure!" Missy said, shrugging semi-committally. "Bosh!" Stephie exclaimed. "So, check this out. With the Espresso Si, even an idiot can make a [I]great[/I] espresso. I mean, what's to know, right? By the way, what temperature again, Jen?" "Oh, I dunno," Jen drawled. "Temp isn't that important anyway, is it? Should be already set anyway." "Right!" Missy replied. "Oh, and this thing even takes [I]coffee pods[/I]...!" I couldn't take it any more. "All right, THAT'S IT!" I exploded, surging to my feet, tossing the paper aside. I strode to the kitchen like a goddess on fire. Missy was stunned, and the girls sheepishly contrite. "Step away from the Coffee Nook," I scolded. Everybody moved. By the time I hit the kitchen Missy realized I wasn't really pissed, though I'd given her a bad moment. "Hey, what are you so bent about?!" She asked. I shot Missy a level gaze. "You've never had a proper espresso before. I can tell." I turned a scathing glance at my girls, who were hiding grins. "But there'll be a cool breeze blowing over my cold, dead body in Hell before I let my girls make you your first [I]real[/I] espresso with a [B]coffee pod[/B]!" I turned to Missy with a sly grin. "So," I continued, calmly now. "You want to try an espresso?" Missy hesitated a moment. She got that look that she gets at Triple-A when, with the same tone I was using now, I'd asked if she'd wanted to see something cool, or to that effect. It let on I was really going to show her something. She held that deer-in-the-headlights look for a second more, then nodded. "Sure." "Ok," I said, and went about checking the machine. Sure enough. The girls had it set, primed, and ready to go. Almost up to temperature, too. So I fiddled with things, pulled a 'blank shot' to get non-boiler parts warmed up, and started in. "You know, coffee's not really from beans." "It's not?" Missy asked, surprised and doubtful at the same time. "Nah," I affirmed. "It's actually from a plant, pretty much like a bush but can get big as a tree. That plant flowers, then gets these little cherries." Missy snort-giggled. "Like maraschinos?" "Kind of," I allowed. "Anyway, inside each cherry are two pits. Mostly. Some rare cases there's only one, but usually two. They're shaped a bit like beans, which is where the idea to call them that probably comes from. But it also sounds better." "Huh," Missy said, pondering thoughtfully. "Coffee pits. Coffee beans. Ok. I get that." She nodded proudly. "Good," I said. "Now, this is a La Pavoni Europiccola 8-cup Lever Espresso Machine. Sure, there's other brands, but this one is made in Italy. Since Italy's pretty much the founding place of espresso, let alone the whole coffee industry thing, and Pavoni is the person who pretty much invented the first espresso machine, none make better espresso and espresso machines, right? Right. So. Boiler in back to heat the water to..." I trailed off, looking at Stephie. "90 degrees centigrade," Stephie said, showing she knew, in fact, exactly what the temperature was supposed to be." "Right," I replied, turning again to Missy. "Now, I won't go into the whole coffee-plant-to-the-roast thing. Suffice it to say, the cherries are picked, by hand preferably..." "Right," Missy interrupted. "The whole 'fair trade' thing." "No," I replied. "The coffee plant is tropical, and high mountains. Depending on how much it rains, the plant can flower and fruit many times a year, so on each plant you can have flowers, under-ripe, ripe, and over-ripe cherries. Only the ripe ones make good coffee. Hand picking gets you the perfect ripe cherries. A machine just strips the plant, so you get what you get, ripe or not. Which in some coffee houses of ill repute is called a 'blend'. Like what you get when you buy Maxwell House or Folgers. Not to be confused with an actual good blend of different kinds of ripe beans from different areas." "Oh, right," Missy said, nodding. "The whole beans blend thing..." I smirked, and continued, taking our sealed glass jar of coffee from the cupboard part of the Nook. "There's two kinds of beans, really. Arabica and Robusta. Robusta has more caffeine and the plant is hardier, but Arabica has more flavor and gives better coffee. We use an Arabica blend." At that point I took the handle of the portafilter in hand, twisted, and it came loose. "Now, after the beans are processed they're shipped out. At the best coffee houses they're then roasted and ground to order, which is where we get our coffee from." I opened the jar, pulling the lid off. It let go with a slight pop. I then filled the portafilter to the top with coffee, leveled it with a finger, and got out the tamp. "Right!' Missy chimed in. "The Starbucks down the street, right?!" I rolled my eyes. "Claire, please. Not even close." Missy got a contrite look, since I'd used her name. Good. I continued. "We go to Samir's Market. Couple blocks further away, but you got to go the extra mile for good coffee, right? Right. Now, Samir is a great barista in his own right, and serves up an excellent espresso to his shoppers if they like, while they wait for whatever. Something from the deli, or this or that to be wrapped or packed up. And that man has a love for coffee, so he does it right. Perfectly roasted for flavor without under or over doing it. And grinds it with only the finest burr grinder, so the grind is fine and even. Actually grinds it on the spot when you ask for it so you know it's fresh." I held out the jar to her. "Check it out." "Huh," Missy said, taking a pinch. "Smells like great coffee! But... well, it's... kinda powdery." "Yeah," I said. "About like sugar. Which is perfect. Only a burr grinder can get you that kind of even, fine grind." "Huh," Missy said thoughtfully, dropping the pinch back in. "Why the jar like that? And with a wooden lid?!" "The jar seals air tight with this gasket on the lid, see? Coffee deteriorates fast when in contact with air, so we keep it sealed air tight and only keep a small jar like this for a couple days at a time. We get fresh coffee two or three times a week. Now, the glass picks up or leaves nothing from the coffee, and the wood lid is au natural." "Oh, right," Missy said slowly. "Your Asian thing..." I nodded. "Right." I closed the jar, put it away, and proceeded to tamp the coffee. "Now. You tamp the coffee evenly, so it's snug but not too tight. In forcing the water though the grounds under pressure, you want a nice snug pack or the water just shoots right through and you get nothing out of it. It's got to be even, or you get holes the water goes through and you get an uneven, lesser quality shot. So you want a nice, even tamp, and give the tamper a little spin to polish it off. See?" "Huh," Missy said. She gets real expressive like that when she's pondering and learning. "Kinda shiny." "Yeah. Perfect," I affirmed. I buckled the portafilter back in place. "Now comes the fun part. Once the boiler is warmed up to temp, you pull a blank shot like I did, water only, to warm up the 'group'. That's the filter/basket/spout unit. And then, you can pull a real shot." I turned to the girls. "I take it you got cups handy..." Stephie jumped with a grin. "Yup yup!" she gleefully informed us, taking a 3-ounce ceramic [I]demitasse[/I] cup from the little warming oven we have, set into the upper shelves over the Nook like a microwave, for just that purpose. "Yes, you warm the cups," I said as Missy ginned unbelievingly. "Gently, but as the espresso cools and air hits it, it breaks down and looses a lot of it's flavor and character. So you got around 2 minutes to drink it. Warm cups extend that time because the espresso doesn't loose heat so fast." "Gotcha," Missy nodded. "So that's why they serve it in teeny cups!" I put the cup in place and proceeded to pull a shot with the lever. "Not quite. I'll explain the teeny cups later. Now, when you pull the shot, you have to have..." I trailed off. "Point-9 bars of pressure!" Stephie chimed in. "That's around 13 PSI," Jen added. There's my analytical girl. "Exactly," I said, concentrating more on getting the right pressure by feel than conversation. So I droned on. "A shot of espresso is one ounce only. That's about the most you can manually pull at one time, even with these new-fangled gear-driven presses. Sure I work out but... At .9 bars it should take 20 seconds through a good tamp to finish a shot. That's extracting the best and most from the coffee without hitting the end-of-the-grounds bitters." "Mouse tails!" Stephie squealed, giggling. I chuckled as Missy grinned. "Stephie never gets over that. It's what the pour is called, on account of how it looks as it pours out." "Ew," Missy said. "Looks thick and... brown... ish. And what is that, [I]foam[/I]?!" "No," I said, letting the lever of the machine return to the rest position. "That's Crema. The best and most flavorful and aromatic part. Here," I added, handing Missy the cup. "What, no sugar or nothing?!" "Don't be such a baby. Just try it. And just before you sip, take a whiff." As Missy sniffed I explained. "[I]That[/I] is the reason for the 'teeny cup'. Directs the aroma to your nose as you drink, so you can get the maximum experience. How is it?" I could feel Jen and Stephie next to me, waiting like coiled springs for the verdict. "Um..." she said, thinking about it. "Huh. It's actually nice! Like really strong coffee, but... well..." She hesitated. "Go ahead," I prompted, smiling. "Well," Missy replied, hesitating again. "Ok, this is just stupid. It's kinda... Ok, look, did you put dried fruit or something ground up in the blend? Smells kinda nutty-fruity." My girls were just about jumping up and down with giddiness. "Mom hasn't pulled a shot in, what, a week?!" Stephie exclaimed excitedly to Jen, who nodded proud affirmation. "And her first one is boshness on!" I smiled at Missy's bewilderment. "That's how it's supposed to smell. In coffee there's hundreds of chemical compounds that undergo thousands of changes due to temperature and pressure, so there's literally all kinds of things in there. Even though it's 'just coffee'. That's real espresso. Now," I continued, "give it a taste." "No sugar," Missy grumped. "Gonna be bitter as all get-out..." As she sipped and thought, I explained. "Actually, sour at the beginning of the pour, sweet in the middle, and bitter at the end. Makes it full, rich, and varied, so yeah, a little bitter. How is it?" Missy's face filled with wonder. "Wow... It's actually pretty good. How's it do that? The sweet-ish part?" "Under heat and pressure some of the proteins turn to glucose compounds. To a non-chemist, sugars. Normal coffee makers have no pressure, and are often over brewed. Bitter at the end, remember?" "Huh..." was Missy's only reply. She sipped again. We all knew she was impressed, and seemed to like it. My girls about jumped up and down, and Stephie actually squealed delight, hugging me. "That's my Mom!" Missy looked at the three of us, my girls giddy and, ok I admit it. Me smirking proudly. "Cripes," Missy said, eying us dubiously, "it's not art. For you guys it's like, religion or something." "Not art, huh?" Stephie quipped with an impish grin, at which Missy squinted an unsure look. Jen took it from there. "Mom, can you make me a cappuccino?" I sighed. "Sure, Hun. But you have to pull your own shot, ok?" "Sure thing!" Jen agreed, and stepped in to fetch the coffee jar. I shooed Jen from the Espresso Si, which I knew she'd use since she didn't have the lever machine knack, and which makes pretty fine espresso anyway. Consistent, too. I opened the bottom cupboard and got out one of several small, stainless steel pitchers kept in there for just such things as frothing milk, and surrendered the spot back to Jen so she could pull her shot. 'Pull' being more a figurative term for a semi-auto machine like the Espresso Si, but that's what it's called. I swung out the frothing arm of the Europiccola, and yes, I know with all these terms and names it sounds like something out of one of the Star Wars Movies, but there it is. Then, as I fetched the 2% milk from the fridge, I proceeded to explain the fine art of frothing milk while Jen prepped her espresso. "Now, for coffee drinks you need espresso and frothed milk. Cappuccino is a shot of espresso with steamed milk poured in, and yes when you steam milk you also froth milk. But it's not just any foam you're making. You're after microfoam." "Riiiight..." Missy droned, her tone showing she had no idea what I was talking about. I got back to my Europiccola and poured a measure of milk into the pitcher, continuing the tutorial while Missy looked on intently. "Milk when frothed will expand to around three times it's size, so you don't need much. You use 1 or 2% because the lower the fat content, the more volume you get. You can use heavier milk or even heavy cream if you want a really rich taste, but you get a lot less volume." I dipped the pitcher under and onto the frothing arm and spoke more loudly as I fired up the steamer. "But you don't want foam, per se. That's big bubbles, and they don't hold up, among other things. You set it at an angle like so, drop the pitcher to let in just a touch of air, and then hold the tip just under the surface to get it going. See the swirl?" Missy nodded, her look turning to wonder. "Wow, lookit it go! It's, like, growing!" "Yeah," I said in agreement, nodding. "Once you get that little bit of air in, you only add more when you need it. You're going for tiny, micro-sized bubbles. They hold up, the milk doesn't just roll off them leaving them tasteless, and gives the whole thing a light and airy texture better than any cream you ever tasted. Just heaven." Missy sniffed a deep sigh. "Wow, starting to smell great!" I nodded. "Yeah, doesn't take long. You use cold milk because you want to build up a lot of microfoam before it starts to cook on you, so cold milk gives you more time. Once you got volume and it gets good and warm..." "Around 145 degrees Fahrenheit," Jen interrupted, "but mom's good enough she doesn't need a thermometer any more." "Right," I said, smiling. "I can tell by the feel of the pitcher. When it's good and warm... honey, you about ready?" "Almost!" Jen said. A glance confirmed her shot was just about done, [I]just[/I] starting to 'go blonde', meaning the coffee was about tapped out of the puck in the portafilter. "Jen's making a shot of Espresso," I explained to Missy. "Since milk goes in, she's using a bigger cup. Now, this milk is about all microfoam, but some of it is milky, and some of it a foamy. I'm letting it do that because for a cappuccino the milky is supposed to go into the espresso, but we'll use a little foam on top." Jen put her cup down on a saucer, and I took it by the handle, tipping it towards me and pouring microfoam into the cup. Missy looked on intently, leaning closely in. I explained. "Now, people generally use a spoon to hold the foam back while the froth pours. Unless you're good..." I trailed off as the cup filled, the froth disappearing into the espresso. I then shook the pitcher slightly as the foam hit, pouring a jiggling mass towards me, followed by a quick straight pour away from me. That last pulled a dark line of crema part way into the foamy mass. The cup was topped off perfectly. "Now," I said with a verbal flourish, "since I used foam on top to do this, Jen has a cappuccino on the latte side." Ok, fine. Yeah, I smirked at my own pun. Hey, someone's got to, right? Missy blinked. "Hey! That looks like a heart!" "Yes, it does, doesn't it. I do that to remind my girls how much I love them, and myself how much they love me." I smiled as I handed the cup and saucer to Jen. "Awww..." Missy said, despite herself. Then she caught herself. "Well, that sure is sappy. But the heart's neat!" "Mom," Jen said thoughtfully, pushing the cup back at me, "can I trade you for an Apple-cinnamon latte?" Jen gave me a knowing look. I gave her an irritated stare back. She gave me a pleading look. I sighed. "Ok, fine. But you got to pull another shot." "On it," Jen stated and proceeded to do just that. She opened the drawer of the coffee nook, pulled the portafilter from the machine and *BANG*, into the half that had what we affectionately call the slap bar, over the stainless steel tray. Dumped the grounds and proceeded to tamp a new puck of coffee. "Hey, that's it?" Missy said, half in disbelief and half in outrage. "You dump it after just one pour? Isn't that a waste?!" "Nope," Jen replied. "One good shot and about 20 percent of the coffee grounds goes into the water, which is exactly what you want. The rest is dead bitters, so it's spent. Temp and high pressure, remember?" "Yep!" Stephie added. "And since we got a neighbor who got a bit of a greenhouse so she gardens all winter, we give the spent grounds to her an' it goes in her potting soil. And vwalah! Recycled!" "Uh huh..." Missy droned, mulling that thought over with a nod. "Here," I told Missy, getting a cup from the warming oven. "Try it." I poured the remains of the milk froth from the pitcher, handed it to her, and she sipped at it. "Oh my gawd...!" Missy said, wide-eyed. The look on her face was as if I'd given her milk for the first time after a lifetime of lemon juice. Then she grinned "This is fab! Hey, you should do this for us at..." She trailed off, her look turning glum. No one needed to say it, as we were all thinking it. I wasn't at Triple-A any more. I sighed, but then cheered myself. "Drink up, kiddo. There's more where that came from." Missy sipped. "Man, if you would'a given me this last night, I would'a slept like a baby!" "Oh yeah, you were so uncomfortable," I quipped. That brought a giggle from Stephie, who was standing by like a kid at the fair watching a cotton candy vendor create magic. "Breakfast making itself, honey?" I asked loudly to no one in particular. Stephie jumped. "Nope nope! I'm on it!" Cast iron pans hit the stove top and the utensil drawer jangled as she dove into it. "That's my girl," I said absently as I rinsed out the pitcher and once again began brewing microfoam goodness. This time Jen did some explaining of her own, and Missy moved to obediently watch. "Since this is gonna be apple-cinnamon, I'm putting some apple syrup, just a bit, into the cup just as the shot starts. That mixes it up nice as it pours." By then she'd got the syrup from the fridge and proceeded to do just that. By then [I]I[/I] was well into frothing. As Jen put her cup on the counter I didn't even have to ask. I shut off the steam as Jen put the jar of ground cinnamon next to me, going for another saucer. I got to admit it. This is fun. I once again tipped the cup and poured. "Now, we're using an even bigger cup because a latte is one third espresso, one third froth, and one third foam. A lot of milk, anyway. So. Apple-cinnamon it is..." I started with two tiny dollops near me, then a jiggled mass in the center of the cup finished by a line dead away from me and stopped. This time my last move dragged one of the starting dollops into a line. Missy gaped. "That... that looks like an apple!" I smirked, having switched from pitcher to cinnamon jar. "Sure," I replied, sprinkling cinnamon in the crema around the foam apple. "It is, after all, an apple-cinnamon latte, right?" Missy grinned. "How'd you DO that?!? It looks like a frickin' apple, complete with stem and leaf and stuff!" I smiled and didn't reply. "AWESOME!" Missy yelled, gaping at me with a huge grin. "Do another one!" Stephie picked up on it from there. "Mom, can you make me a latte?" I sighed. "Honey, I don't want you all jazzed up for school, ok?" In reply Stephie opened the drawer of the coffee nook and dug an implement out. She held out the pin-awl to me, knob end first. "Mom, do me a bunny-mocha latte...? Pleeeeease?!" "A what?!" Missy asked, quirky-eyed. None of us answered her I sighed again. And took the awl. "Ok, fine. But you have to pull your own shot, ok?" "Yesss!" Stephie hissed, pumping a victory fist and grinning at Missy. Missy was still in doubtful wonderment but by now she'd got the idea that there was more then meets the eye in what was going on. So she was inclined to wait. Sipping more milk froth, of course. as I'd poured it into her cup and once again rinsed. And she watched intently. After all, the pin-awl was a new development. Jen took over for Stephie at the stove. She'd seen this before. Stephie's tried the lever action machine a few times in the past, with passable results. But for this she wanted perfection, so she too went straight for the semi-auto. Can't say as I blame her. Huh. Lever action. Semi-auto. Great. I've went from Star Wars terminology to a hunting expedition, haven't I? Ah well. Anyway. Again with the frothing while the espresso brewed. Stephie explained how she was starting with some chocolate syrup this time. Hence the Mocha part. Of course, she didn't explain the bunny part, even when Missy quipped whether we were doing some chocolate Easter-egg thing or something. As a result, Missy watched, engrossed, as I poured when Stephie surrendered ownership of the cup. I started with a jiggled, off-center mass, followed by a straight pour into another mass. That split the first mass. I set the cup down and Stephie handed me a towel with a grin to Missy. "Thanks," I said absently as I began to draw. I used the awl-pin like you'd use an old quill to write with back in the old days, using crema as my ink as I quickly drew in the froth. I wiped the awl with the towel after each stroke. I finished in short order and turned the cup to Missy. She was speechless for a minute. Then she looked at me, grinning huge with disbelief. "I don't believe it. A freakin' bunny. You drew a freakin' bunny!" She laughed in delight. "An honest-to-freakin' lordy [I][B]bunny[/B][/I] mocha latte. I'll be damned..." Stephie giggled. "Yep yep! That's me, all with the cutesy stuff! But," Stephie said, growing mischievous, "since Missy's not all cutesy, I bet she wants a Star Swirl mocha latte. You like mocha, right Missy?" "Sure!" Missy replied. "You got the best mocha you make in the kitchen at..." She trailed off, eyeing me. I smirked, though got a wry, tight feeling in my gut. "You can say it. She makes a mean mocha coffee at Triple-A, even I can admit that." "But that's not a [I]real[/I] mocha latte," Stephie countered as she headed to help Jen finish with breakfast. "You ain't had [I]nothin'[/I] yet..." Stephie took the daintiest sip, preserving her little bunny for as long as possible, then put it down to start in with Jen in earnest. "I have so had a mocha latte! I had one just the other week... at... Starbucks..." She faltered. "Ok, so I never had a mocha latte like you guys do it or nothin'. So shoot me or something!" She got herself good and grumpy with that last, folding her arms with a scowled 'harumph' and everything. I had to laugh. "Well," I told her, "you're going to have one now." And I started in. It takes some planning, a good sense of timing and some agility to brew up a shot of espresso while frothing milk at the same time without screwing up either, but I pulled it off. Been there, done that. "How do you do that like that?" Missy asked, amazed. I explained while the last of the espresso dribbled into the cup, the frothing proceeding apace and almost done. "We go through a sort of Coffee Weekend here, either Saturday or Sunday mornings, sometimes both. Sort of a Ladies Morning In, since the girls are too young to do the Ladies Night Out thing. So I do this once a week or so." "Huh," Missy said, nodding appreciatively and watching. I cast a glance at her. "You should come over for those. You're more than welcome." Missy smirked at me. "I might have to, yeah." She went back to watching, and I went back to her latte. This time I kept out the chocolate syrup. Our coffee syrup containers are small, and have a very small nipple on them for doling out tiny amounts of syrup. Or very thin lines. Just what I needed here. I mostly filled the cup and poured a thick dollop in the center, topping the cup off. I then drew a thin ring of chocolate around the dollop and a larger thin circle in the crema around that. With the pin-awl I then quickly drew out points, drew in points, dipped in the center to define it, and then swirled a circle in the outer ring. That left a center star-flower surrounded by a pattern of chocolate mini-swirls around it. "Awesome..." Missy breathed, and grinned at me when I put the cup gently on a saucer and slid it to her. "I almost don't want to drink it..." "What?" I asked in mock amazement. "and miss out on my great mocha latte?" Missy took as dainty a sip as she could, though she took more then she planned and 'ruined' the outer swirl ring. She sighed, looking into the large, bowl-shaped latte cup. She glanced at me. "Well worth ruining a perty picture for..." We grinned at one another. "Breakfast is up!" Stephie called, the smell of cooked eggs and bacon and sausage and fresh-baked blueberry muffins becoming an overpowering and irresistible lure to the dining bar. So we went. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] OOC Notes: [QUOTE] Before now, I loved coffee, but knew nothing about Espresso let alone any other coffee drink. Before, I used to walk into even our Dunkin' Donuts, look at the menu, and wonder what the heck I was looking at. But after having Lorna and her brood take me on such a wide and varried, caffeine-fueled journey, I am more educated now. Just like the research for my story is leading me to intimately know a city I've never even visited before, as well as greater knowledge on a wider variety of topics than I dare go into at length. At least not if I want to keep my readership! *smirk* As for my education in coffee, in large part I have the Barista at our local cafe' to thank. He was more than happy to spend some serious time telling me all I wanted to know, answering questions, and even letting me borrow and read an excellent little book he had on the wonders of espresso, from the plant to the roast to the cup, coffee's ancient history replete with wonderful little anecdotes, and even to professional coffee tasting and all it entails and requires. All read while I became personally familiar with his own wonderful blend of espresso. Thanks also to many websites too numerous to count, but from which some stand out to me: [CENTER]cafemoto.com coffeegeek.com home-barista.com 2basnob.com, especially his Coffee Home[/CENTER] My profound thanks to these and the myriad other websites for aiding in my researches. They have enriched the cup of my life, overflowing it with caffeinated goodness, a wonderful blend of... All right, enough with the metaphors already. *smirk* [/QUOTE]

[Gypsy]

Uber Spiffy Avatar Well, Nordvolf, there it is... the avatar created by my little animator. Thanks! (For those of you that don't know, Ubah Speefy is what my daughter calls me... I'm UberSpiffy [spoken with an accent])

[ShadowedFlames]

OK...finally managed to get on and read the most recent post (sometimes I hate my job keeping me shut away from civilization...), and as usual I'm blown away by the sheer amount of thought that goes into the story that is being crafted here. I'm just idly curious as to what Lorna's going to do when AAA has their next show...:D

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] [QUOTE=ShadowedFlames;344085]OK...finally managed to get on and read the most recent post (sometimes I hate my job keeping me shut away from civilization...), and as usual I'm blown away by the sheer amount of thought that goes into the story that is being crafted here.[/QUOTE] Thanks, SF! It's a fun ride for me in my mind. Glad it's proving fun for you too. [QUOTE]I'm just idly curious as to what Lorna's going to do when AAA has their next show...:D[/QUOTE] *chuckles* Well, you never know. But I feel in a kind mood, so I'll give you a hint... Something happens... ;) [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] Breakfast was wonderful. Oh, it's usually pretty good; the girls are good cooks. Stephie of course does the occasional gourmet flair thing, and we have our coffee thing going on the weekends. But that morning was special. It was, of course, due to Missy being there. Nothing overt, mind you. Maybe it was due to my taking extra time just to enjoy it. Maybe it was due to the girls being so stoked that Missy was there. Maybe it was even because Missy relaxed and, for a brief time, was like a member of our family. Oh sure, at first Missy stole glances at me, a little uneasy or unsure. But the Coffee Event, as we now call it, had lightened the mood considerably, so she eventually relaxed with us and had a great time. She got into it, enjoying the food and even complimenting the girls on it, and the coffee was very over with her. 'Over' meaning popular, of course. Wrestling term. And while the breakfast conversation was light and all about nothing, Missy took an active part, mostly her and the girls doing the talking. Hell, Missy didn't even get grumpy. Of course, we normally have three stools at the dining bar. Jen, Stephie, and me. But Stephie'd hauled out a fourth stool from her room for Missy. See, ever since the girls had dreamed up having Missy over when they'd started really getting to know one another a couple three years ago or so, Stephie'd spent her own hard earned and meagerly saved money for a stool and kept it in her room. And even when time dragged on and it seemed like Missy would never come over, Stephie'd insisted on keeping it rather than selling it, and in her room to boot. Just in case. And now, here we all were. So all in all it was very nice. But like all good things, it eventually had to end. "Time." I called out, and the girls jumped to obey. Well, they hopped to, anyway. Jen with her stoic 'Ok, here's something we have to do' attitude and Stephie slouching into an "Awe, mom!" But we did this every weekday morning. At first Missy was taken aback. "Um... What...?" Ah. I forgot. She didn't know. "Time for school," I explained, nodding sagely toward Stephie. "Come on, kiddo," Jen said to Stephie. Jen was adopting my calling the girls 'Kiddo' sometimes and using it with Stephie, even though she was only two years Stephie's senior. And Stephie sighed and got up to comply, then bounced up cheerfully. "Bosh!" she exclaimed with a grin. "School..." And off she went to collect her school bag from her room, Jen in tow. Missy blinked at that. "Um... Steph likes school, huh?" she asked, very disbelieving. Missy and I had stayed sitting at the Dining Bar to await the girls, sipping the remains of our coffee like grizzled old breakfast veterans. "Yeah," I replied, chuckling. "She and Jen go to the same school. Well, went," I ammended. "Jen's graduated. But Jen still tags along and makes use of the library or some such every now and again and helps her sister out a lot, so I guess they still go together, in a way." "Well," Missy said, starting to frown, "I still don't get it. I mean, it's just [I]school[/I]. What's to like about it so much?!" she grumped. By then the girls had returned. "What's to like about school?!?" Stephie exclaimed, rushing by to grab her coat. She cast Missy a look as if she couldn't believe Missy had even asked such a question. As she passed she gave Missy a pinch on the shoulder. "It's the Center School, that's what!" "Ow!" Missy exclaimed, mocking huge hurt at the pinch. As Jen and Stephie disappeared around the corner to the coat rack, Missy added, "Center School. Big deal. It's still just [I]school[/I]..." I heard Stephie's bag hit the floor, Jen right there with a bag of her own, apparently to actually go to school with Stephie today. The two of them were probably up to something again I figured, but such goings-on were frequent and usually amounted to something that wasn't really a big deal after all was said and done. So I didn't pay it any attention. Stephie reappeared, shrugging on her coat. "Helloooo?!" she said in that mock way kids have. "Center School? It's in the Center House? [I]Seattle Center[/I]!?" She ducked back to get her boots on and retrieve the bag. "Come on," I told Missy as I too got up to go. "I'll give you a lift." Missy got up, nodding to me. But she still had to stick with her point. "Big deal. It's still just [I]school[/I]." School was a touchy subject for Missy. When they'd just started getting to know one another, Jen and Stephie had talked about their school experiences and such in conversation with Missy. You know, the sort of sharing-life-details kids do. Hell, us oldsters do it too. But Missy had always grumped her way through such conversations. Which of course had led my girls to ask her about [I]her[/I] school experiences. Which Missy had vigorously denied wanting to talk about. It was the whole Missy being bounced around from school to school thing, just like her foster homes. It came to a head once when Jen had asked, "Well, you graduated, right?" To which Missy had replied scathingly that yes, she knew how to read and write thank-you-very-much, and at a college level, actually. And yes, she knew math and such, and in fact even knew some geometry and algebra. But that had got the girls to glumly thinking, and made me think as well since I'd overheard the exchange. Missy was full of gruffly not wanting to discuss a topic as boring and irritating as school and all the rest, but she never came out and said it. She never actually said, "Yes, I graduated." Which led us to believe, along with her touchiness on the topic, that she in fact had not. Which of course Missy had never come out and said either. But the girls and I had talked about it, and we'd come to that conclusion, which made Jen and Stephie feel bad for her. But to their credit, especially Stephie since she'd said we should do something about that, you know, to help Missy out, the girls gave her a break on the topic. With some few exceptions of course. That morning being one of them. As we rounded the corner of the wall separating the kitchen from the entry hall and the coat rack, Stephie rounded in turn on Missy, but with a smile. "Hey, you can grump all you want about school, but don't try and make it a downer for me, ok? I [I]like[/I] school, and I love me some Center School!" She grinned, Missy rolled her eyes, and we retrieved coats. Ours from the rack and Missy going to the couch. And then we headed out. Almost. We were in the entry hall and I'd even reached for the door, unlocking the upper lock set, when Missy brought us all to a screeching halt with a "Hey...!" She was glancing from the coat rack to the bi-fold closet doors. Oh Crap. Here we go... Jen and Stephie replied with "What?"s, not realizing the significance of where Missy was looking back and forth from, only that she'd brought us all up short with some observation or something. Missy, noting this, explained. "You guys got a coat closet, big one too from the look of it, but you keep your coats on a rack out here..." Then her eyes got big, the beginnings of a smile appeared on her lips... and she lunged for the second set of closet bi-fold doors, the set closest to the living room, suddenly yanking them open. As if someone would stop her. Well, I'd thought about it. Move to block her, or saying something to defuse her interest. But thinking about it was all I'd had time for. Missy'd been too quick and I hadn't reacted quickly enough. "Whoah..." Missy breathed, then started to grin at what she beheld. "It's a freakin' shrine!" I rolled my eyes and sighed. "It's not a shrine," I replied and moved to close the doors. Missy arm-barred the doors open with a *clack*, keeping me from closing them. She was smiling openly now. "Is so! Check... this... OUT!" she said, taking it all in. "You got a mini-bureau probably for, like, your spare stuff or something, with a big dressing mirror on it. Your Midnight Suit's hung up like this, may as well be on a manikin or something! Your boots are even under it and the coat draped over the top, as if someone's wearin' it! And your bags on the floor, probably packed with your stuff... All set and ready to go..." She was grinning like a kid who'd discovered the stash of Christmas presents on you. "Look, it's not a shrine, ok?" I tried to explain. "It's just... the place I tossed it all when I got home last. And it's not 'all ready to go', ok?" I added with indignation. "I quit, remember?" Missy just grinned at me, then got a sly look. She just about dove around me then, lunging the other set of doors open. I didn't even think about trying to stop her. I just stood there and sighed while Missy's grin got impossibly huge. "What'cha think?" Stephie asked, she and Jen looking on eagerly. "Just... too... cool...!" Missy breathed. She was looking at the girls' stuff. "You guys are [I]so[/I] like your mom..." Jen and Stephie got real proud looks, Stephie even squealing with delight and nearly jumping up and down. Cripes. Give me a break. "It's not a damn shrine!" I protested quietly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I could feel a headache coming on. Look, it's not like we do anything special. No, really. Ok, so the girls have even smaller mini-bureaus of their own, but they insisted. Even got mirrors on theirs as well. And yes, their outfits are hung up too. But hey, it's practical, ok? I mean, how else can you tell at a glance if your outfit is set and looking good if it's not hung out? It's not like we're displaying them. But comparing that to manikins? I mean, really. Can you imagine the pain in the ass it'd be to get your outfit off an actual manikin to wear it? Hanging is convenient, and who doesn't hang their clothes or coats or such in a closet anyway? Sure, mine is a full body suit, so of course it's going to hang down, and so are the girls' suits... well, Stephie's is more a swim-suit style, and she even got her... argh! Those damn fishnets she's got, ok, so she hung them below her suit with some creative use of clips... And yes, our coats are draped over the top, but it's just less hangers, ok?! And our boots below? Well, boots on the floor is a huge stretch, right? Sure it is. And yes, I'm being sarcastic. It's not like we purposely position them right below our outfits, just happens to be where they land when we throw them in, ok? And everything positioned like that just makes it easier to get dressed when it's time to get ready for a show or something. It's a practicality thing. You get that, I'm sure. But Missy wasn't having any of it. "Right. Not a shrine..." she breathed, then started looking around, grinning again. "What?" I asked, irritated. "Where's the pole?!" Missy asked, cheerily at me. "What pole!?" I asked, and yes, I gaped at her. I had no idea what she was... "The frickin' pole you guys use to ix-nay down the ole-pay when you want to get out of here!" Missy explained, almost giddy now. "I mean, you got your clothes set-ups here, you guys are the Midnight Family, you even got the Judge. May as well call it the Midnight Mobile. This is like the freakin' Bat Cave...!" I growled. "This is not the Bat Cave. I am [I]not[/I] Bat Woman. And these," I said, indicating my girls, "are [I][B]not[/B][/I] Bat Girls!" Missy only beamed at me, then got a look of revelation. "Hey!" she said suddenly. "Can I be your sidekick?!" "What?!?" I exploded. "Yeah. Lorna Midnight's just [I]got[/I] to have a sidekick, you know?!" Missy then turned to the closet. "I could hang my Midnight Masterson suit right here next to yours..." "All right, you," I growled, pushing past Missy and opening the door. "I quit, remember?! Now out, or Stephie will be late for school." Hey!" Missy continued as she started past me, pausing in front of me. "I could [I]so[/I] be your sidekick! I mean, I got all those costumes anyway, right? Putting together a Midnight outfit would be just [I]too[/I] easy. And don't forget, even Batman had a girl sidekick. No really!" she added when I looked at her sceptically. "I forget what issues they were, but Robyn was a girl for a while. Robyn spelled with a 'Y'..." "OUT!" I bellowed. The girls scooted out. But Missy couldn't stop. We must have been a sight that morning for the neighbors. The four of us spilling out into the hall that early in the AM. Me irritably shepherding three girls, like herding cats, the girls all laughs and giggles, goading Missy to continue carrying on. "No, really, I would [I]so[/I] be a great sidekick! Hey! I even got a motorcycle!!!" "CLAIRE!" [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] The trip to school was by no means quiet. Sure, by the time we'd got to the car Missy had worn herself out on the whole Batman thing. So talk shifted to Jen and Stephie filling Missy in on the whole 'what's to like about school' thing. Missy wasn't buying it, though not for my girls' lack of trying. So the conversation ebbed and flowed, occasional enthusiasm punctuated by lapses into silence. A bit of that changed by the time we got downtown. We were passing the monorail station. Normally I dropped the girls there, and I was slowing down to do so, looking for a parking space to stop in. "Um... mom?" Jen started in, looking hesitant as I glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah, Mom," Stephie chimed in. Showing off her may-as-well-be-ESP-with-her-sister. "It's getting a little late. Can't you please just drive us there?" I sighed. I knew what the girls were up to by then. They wanted Missy to see for herself. But I don't allow myself to be manipulated. "Honey, I pay 80 dollars a month so you two can have unlimited fare passes for the monorail." I shifted so I could see Stephie in the mirror. "Besides which, isn't it a lot more save-the-planet safe than my burning all that gas in the car?" "Mooooom!" The two of them wailed, just about in unison. "All right, all right," I conceded with a sigh. "I'll drive you..." I added, tapering off into resigned silence. Ok. So I don't allow myself to be manipulated [I]easily[/I]. "Eighty freakin' wasted dollars, I say," Missy breathed, looking up at the elevated monorail track. A train was just pulling out of the station, and Missy began gazing at it. As if not able to pull her eyes away. "Lot of over-rated fancy... crap..." She too tapered off into silence as she watched the tram. I glanced in the mirror at my girls. Yep. They were grinning right along with me, though none of us said anything to break Missy out of her revery. That tram isn't like a train. It's sleek, smooth, ultra-modern in design and outward appearance. Bigger than a bus by far, due to it's being able to accommodate up to 200 passengers. And it's damn near silent. It glides along smoothly, above traffic pretty much at the third-floor level of the buildings it glides past, stately and serene in it's constant, uninterrupted speed. It cruises at only about 30 miles an hour or so, but without having to deal with traffic stops, it makes the 1 mile trip from the terminus at the Westlake Center Mall to Seattle Center in just two minutes. The tram leaves for it's round trip every 10 minutes. The entire way to the Seattle Center, Missy watched that tram. Sometimes openly, sometimes out of the corner of her eye when she realized we were watching her and grinning about it. She even grumped it up a couple times. But she couldn't help but be fascinated. "Hey!" Stephie exclaimed to take the edge off one of Missy's grumps at being grinned at. "We ever tell you how Mom got us into the Center School to begin with?!" Missy blinked. "No..." "Boshness!" Stephie exclaimed. "Ok, so, like, ever since we could rememberer we wanned to get into Center School for high school. But it's kinda exclusive..." "Yeah," Jen picked up, "but not like rich or anything, just small classes." "Yeah," Stephie continued, "like my graduating class is only 386." "Right," Jen interjected. "Now, you know how Seattle's got this weighted lottery thing for schools, right?" "Dunno," Missy shrugged irritably. "I didn't go to high school in Seattle." Of course not. Seattle isn't Missy's first home, after all. Or second. Or even third. In fact, even after she got out of foster care and on her own she moved around a lot. Come to think of it, she never did say where she went to high school... "Well, it's not like you just go to the nearest school," Stephie explained. "Right," Jen said. "So your parents put in for what school you want to go to, and they do this, I don't know, sort of weighted lottery pick thing to decide where you go." "Right!" Stephie agreed. "And if you don't get your first school of choice, then you go to your second, or maybe even third school of choice, but you get put on a waiting list for the first." "Right," Jen verified. "So you get put on this waiting list, and when a position opens up then you get to either try and transfer to the school you want, or you have the school pick again the next semester to try and get you there." "Oh," Stephie added, "and if you're on this waiting list, the longer you're on it, the more points or what-ever you get come time for the school pick!" "Right. The longer you're on that waiting list, the better your chances of landing in the school of your choice," Jen clarified. The girls fell into baited silence. "Ooooh kay..." Missy drawled, unsure where this was going. Jen grinned proudly. "Mom knew how bad we wanted to go to Center School. So she signed me up for there as my first choice." The silence stretched again for a moment. Missy eyed me with quirky eyebrows while I sighed and put my fingers to the bridge of my nose. Time for another headache... "A whole year before I was to graduate to high school." Jen beamed. "What!" Missy exclaimed, shocked. "Aren't you supposed to do that during summer break or something, just before you go or something? Isn't that, like, a rule or something?!" "Well," Stephie said, smarmy and proud, "there is a rule that you got to have your application in by such-and-such a date at the latest. But there's not really any rule on how [B][I]early[/I][/B] you can apply." Missy gaped at me. "So check it out!" Stephie continued. "Of course Jen got refused. On account of being picked out of from 250 to 400 students to go to Center School out of the whole Seattle school kids population makes it pretty remote. And so she got on that waiting list. "Of course," Jen went on, "mom got this letter with all kinds of dire upset when the school system figured out she wasted their time signing up when I wasn't even ready to go to high school yet, and would she please wait till my appropriate year." "Yeah," Stephie gleefully went on, "but like it turns out mom figured, any huge government or anything has little stuff slip through the cracks. And seems that, also like mom guessed, they forgot to take Jen off that waiting list." "Yeah," Jen said proudly. "So I accumulated a wicked amount of time credit on that waiting list. Not just a semester, but a whole year! Come time for me to [I]really[/I] sign up, all that time added up and weighted my pick, and I got in like slickness." Jen snapped her fingers. "First shot." Missy turned amazed eyes at me. Then she grinned. "You cheated." "I did not cheat!" I protested. "I just... bent the rules a little, ok? I mean, hey, how often do you get to really do something meaningful for your girls, something they want so bad they talked about it all through middle school?" I breathed deeply, concentrating on driving smooth and steady despite my irritation. "So I just... tried something out, is all." Missy howled with laughter for a moment. When it subsided, she breathed in gleeful wonder, "You cheated. To get your girls into the school they wanted so bad, you cheated." Missy couldn't stop grinning. I sighed, resigned. "Sure." I let it drop. Ok, fine. So if you want to put that fine of a point on it, Missy was right. By then we'd just about arrived. Of course, the monorail being elevated, we could see it and continue to watch it, even when we'd had to stop for traffic. And of course, being above traffic, it beat us there. But not so far we couldn't watch it 'land'. It slid into the tunnel right through the Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum building, hung a 90° left in there and slid out the other side without missing a beat, to slip gracefully into the terminus building. "Now that's just stupid," Missy grumped. "I mean, who would design a train to go through a [I]hole[/I] right smack in the middle of some build..." At that point, Missy almost gagged on the word 'building'. Some things you just never get used to. You can see them every day your whole life. You can live right there, with it a part of the scenery like it's old hat. With it constantly in view like a frumpled old coat on a rack by the door that you never use, and realistically you should 'learn' to at least subconsciously ignore it. But some things just don't work that way. They won't [I]let[/I] you ignore them. They reach in through your eyeballs or some other of your senses, grab you by some part of your soul, and pull your heart up into your throat. So that no matter how hard hearted you are, no matter how good you are at hiding it, it affects you anyway. Like it or not. And sometimes, it makes you want to cry. For pride, for joy, or simply for the sheer awe in invokes in you. The Seattle Space Needle is one of those things. Sure, it's just a stick of concrete and steel with a bubble on it's top. It can be explained away in cold engineering terms, in theories of design aesthetic, viewed as just another building. But something about the way it's built. About that very design, where it sits even. Perhaps even due to the sheer seeming improbability of the thing, just standing there. Just does something to you. Well, it does to me, anyway. And to my girls. And apparently to Missy as well, whether she'd admit it or not. Hell, I don't know anyone in Seattle that doesn't have some sort of reaction to it. Sure, to the locals, it's subtle, and you really have to look for it. After all, when an experience like that becomes old hat, it's not a gawky thing like with tourists. But it's there. And I don't think Missy'd ever been exactly right [I]under[/I] it before. Not many times, anyway. I turned down Broad Street, headed for the Valet Turn-around, where busses and cabs and private vehicles pulled in to pick up and drop off. Right under the Needle. But it was packed, even this early, so we had to pause in traffic to wait for an opening. Missy was breathing a bit heavily. The Needle this close really affected her. We were only yards away from it's base, literally. Missy plastered her face against the side window to try and see it, but then leaned forward to look through the slope of the windshield. And looked [B][I]up[/I][/B]. She caught her breath for a moment. Hell, I've done that myself more than once in the past, though I hide it well. The improbable, ungainly thing is [I]huge[/I]. But no matter how awe inspiring something is, anyone will eventually snap out of it. Some sooner than later. Seattlites sooner then most when it comes to the needle. And Missy proved no exception, adopted though this city was to her. "You know, one of these days that thing is gonna fall over and crush stuff, and then some city founder or engineer or somebody's gonna get their butt hoisted up some pole someplace..." That made the three of us laugh, my girls and I. "Check it out," Jen said suddenly, pointing off to the ahead right. "There it is." She scooched forward to lean on the back of my seat. She was just about sitting on the drive shaft hump of the car's floor, and the only thing keeping her from sitting between Missy and me in the front was Stephie squeezed in to lean against the back of Missy's seat. As if they both wanted to be up front with us. And they damn near were. Close enough to say so, actually. "What?" Missy asked, sceptical already. "See that building over there? The big one. Past the Needle, and then the Monorail station, then that one. That's the Center House." Missy blinked, then pointed at the building the corner of which was not but a couple hundred yards away from the Needle's base. "So..." "Yeah," Jen acknowledged. "In that building is the Center School," Jen said in a stage whisper. "Yeah," Stephie drawled quietly in Missy's ear. "We go to school, [I]right[/I] under the Seattle Space Needle!" Missy swallowed, then folded her arms, looking angry while my girls beamed. She was both awed, and obviously jealous. Ok, so maybe Missy didn't get that this area was the center of culture for Seattle, let alone the north-west. Literally hundreds of festivals and cultural events were set up and performed right here in the various Seattle Center venues: The Center House, with not only it's Center School but it's Center House Theatre and Shakespeare Company; The Memorial Stadium, and the nearby Key Arena, the epitome of sports in the North-west if there ever was one, not in size but in prestige; The Pacific Science Center; Intiman Theatre, and across the way the Pacific Northwest Ballet; McCaw Hall; The Mural Amphitheater; The Children's Garden and accompanying Seattle Children's Theatre; The Seattle Repertory; The Founder's Court and accompanying International Fountain Park; the Experience Music Project, a museum and exhibition hall really, and the attached Science Fiction Museum. The list goes on and on. And my girls go to school, every day, right smack in the middle of it. And yeah, I took part with my girls. Oh hell yeah! Festivals, plays, yes even some opera, museums, concerts, lunches in the park people-watching. Sure, I may be all proud and professional and driven at Triple-A, but I live in Seattle for pity's sake! Well... I [I]was[/I] with Triple-A... But Missy wasn't into that whole culture thing at all. No, what Missy got was that at any time, the girls could look out a window or walk out a door, and the Space Needle would be literally [I]right[/I] there. It stunned her to irritable silence, that feeling of awe and being impressed with my girls, and I could see not just a little bit of jealousy. But she bore it up in good grace and quiet while my girls preened and grinned. Not that my girls were trying to rub Missy's nose in anything. But they were so proud, and wanted to share that with Missy, to really give her the impact. Of course, they had the sense to see that it irritated Missy, so they didn't push it. At that point I realized I wouldn't actually get to drop the girls off in the cul-de-sack off-the-street Valet Turn-Around, so I took advantage of a spot that opened up, two car lengths long. A tour bus pulled out right in front of us, just before the entrance of the turn-around. As I headed for it, the girls quietly went nuts. "Mom, mom!" Stephie stage-whispered urgently, pointing toward the dash. The spot where, underneath, lay a certain knob. "Mom, please!" Jen chimed in with an almost hiss. The two of them were so anxious and earnest. It actually filled me with pride, as well as irritating me. "Look honeys, this isn't a show car, and this isn't a car show, ok?" For Missy's part, she just silently looked at the three of us, trying to figure out what was going on. But the girls continued to almost silently and no less urgently plead. Ok, fine. I reached down, and as I hit the turn signal to pull into that spot the bus had just vacated, I opened the hood air. The Judge grumped and growled suddenly, and Missy got this, "Ooooh!" look. Now she understood. And yes, since I don't believe in doing anything half-ass, I did it up right. I used a bit more gas than I had to, though to keep from doing anything stupid or dangerous I just feathered the clutch. The result was the Judge almost angrily rumbling and barking and coughing her way smoothly into the spot, as if to say, "Hey, watch it. Coming through!" Heads turned. A lot of heads. Something about Seattle Center brings out the wanna-be cool in people. Maybe it's the fact it's such a cultural center and icon for Seattle, or the fact that Seattle itself is the hub of counter-culture, with the Center at it's core. But it seems to bring out a sort of high and fancy competition from people. Not that everyone here is overly cool. But it's the same sort of idea. Hell, it's probably the reason 'grunge' was invented. Anything unusual and eye-catching and cool that turns heads turns you into [I]somebody[/I]. And no one brings out that kind of competition like kids. Particularly high schoolers. Not that all the families that send their kids to school here are rich and fancy and high society. But hell, this is Seattle Center. So kids do everything they can think of to be [I]it[/I]. And my girls are no exception. Ok, sure. So it's childish of me to oblige my kids. Might even be the wrong kind of example to set, showing off for my girls' sakes. But you don't own a car like The Judge and want to stay meek and quiet. And I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that, if you had some monster muscle car, [I]you[/I] wouldn't want to show off at some point, at least a little. Just once. For your kids. That's what I thought. Missy herself was spot on. Didn't miss a beat. Hell, she isn't in Triple-A for nothing. She knows all about show. So after I'd slid into that spot with our bad-ass car, Missy got out. Opened the door wide as it would go, pulled the seat forward so the girls could get out, and stood behind the door like some valet, holding the door for her clients. And what seemed like everyone was looking. Even some of Jen and Stephie's classmates who had actually been able to be dropped off in the turn-around. The usual 'prestige spot', now put in a lesser light with our entrance, despite our just being 'in the street'. My girls were poised and cool about it, thanking Missy and shouldering their bags, and waving bye to me with a "Bye, mom!" Taking it in stride. But I know my daughters well. Inside, they were beside themselves at the attention. "Be Good. Study Hard," I replied, waving. Missy got in, the girls turned to head for school, and I brought The Judge into a slow, smooth yet angry rumble back out into traffic. It was probably all Jen and Stephie could do to keep from jumping up and down and screaming how cool that was. But they're in Triple-A after all, too. And they, too, know all about show. So they let Cool speak for itself. But in quiet times when they didn't think Mom could overhear, they whispered excitedly about it between each other for a week. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] "That was pretty cool of you," Missy said, smiling at me as we drove off. Headed back into Downtown Seattle after her Audi. I nodded and smiled. "Thanks." I then turned introspective. "You ever go to anything at The Center? I don't mean the school. Plays, or festivals or anything?" "Nope," Missy said, almost sounding proud of that fact. "Never had a reason to. Besides," she continued, "Triple-A's H.Q. is, what, 6 blocks or so from here?" "Something like that, yeah," I replied. "So I'm not missing much, right?" "Well," I responded. "You don't necessarily have to make in the Theatre, you know. There's the parks, and the Needle Restaurant..." "Probably over-priced, lame food," Missy grumped. "Y'r payin' for the view." "Well, there's always the sporting venues," I offered. "Yeah..." Missy breathed. "The Key..." She brightened considerably at that. "You know, Sorely wants us to be able to play the Key some day." "Key Arena?!" I said, smiling and nodding. "What a coupe that would be, huh?" Missy grinned at me in turn, and proceeded to look in vain down the cross-streets in an attempt to see The Key. But by then we were a couple blocks from The Center, and it's not like the Needle that you can see over the rest of the block-large buildings in town. But that didn't stop her from looking to catch a glimpse. But then I recalled something. "Well," I said quietly, "I wish you guys luck with that." That brought Missy's mood crashing down, and she sat for the next several blocks with arms angrily folded, hunkered into the seat. The silence stretched for another few blocks. Then Missy broke it. "She killed me, you know." I blinked. "Where the hell did that come from?" I asked. "She frickin' killed me, you know that?!" Missy said with increased vehemence. "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Who killed you?" "Karen. She killed me, dead in my tracks. Just put the boot right to me." "Who?" I asked again. "Killer?" "No!" Missy replied, casting a 'you nitwit' glance my way. "Sorely. She killed me freakin dead. Just cut me off at the knees." "What the heck are you talking about?!" I was about beside myself. "My story," Missy replied. "The feud?" she prompted when I gave her a befuddled glance. "You know! Harper?" "Oh," I said, nodding. I was starting to get it. "This about that fight you won from her?" "Hey, that 'fight I won' was just the start of it!" Missy scolded. "We were all set up an' ready to go. There was gonna be a huge, blow-out feud and we were gonna run it for all it was worth!" I sighed. "Missy, really. Grace didn't seem that hot over the whole thing." I was trying to be diplomatic. Missy was generally regarded in low esteem in Angel, and Grace wanted to make a better wrestler of herself, not 'hang with the rookies'. Not that Grace disliked Missy personally. Quite the opposite... "That was gonna be my first feud! Ever!" Missy went on, growing wistful and even excited. "All set up for a great story line. And don't give me any 'Grace didn't like it' crap. I mean, what wasn't to like?! Sure, I beat her in that first match, but she would just go on this hot revenge streak, chase me all over for her heel beatdowns, an' me trying my babyface get-aways. And our in-ring matches... It was gonna be [B]epic[/B]!" "Well," I countered, "Karen probably didn't kill the feud. Just postponed it. What with the title fights and all, I be she just..." Missy didn't give me a chance to finish. "No, she killed it! She officially killed the feud before it even got off the ground. Not only did she talk to Grace and I about it, she press-released it." At my incredulous look, Missy explained. "The releases? On the web site? May as well have been a press conference" Missy then mimed reading a headline from a paper. "Masterson and Harper Settle Differences." She then went on normally, as if reading the paper or an announcement. "Today in a joint statement, Grace Harper and Missy Masterson have stated that any differences or disagreements brought on by their bout last Saturday have been resolved. In discussions both mature and thoughtful, both parties have acknowledged a peaceful and amicable resolution, heading off any future conflict. There is not expected to be any feud between the two of them as a result." Missy was terribly disappointed, her narrative turning dour and depressed as it went. It was clear that she had been looking forward to not only her first big story line, but a feud actually showcasing her. "Oh Missy..." I started. I didn't know what to say. " 'Oh Missy', my ass!" She exploded. "It's all your fault!" That brought the conversation to a screeching halt. And I brought The Judge to a screeching halt, right there in traffic as I rammed on the breaks. Luckily the driver behind us was at least partially attentive. We didn't get rear-ended. As it was I would have put Missy through the windshield if it weren't for her seat belt. "Where do you get off saying that's my fault?!" I groused. The sudden stop and my denial only fed Missy's anger. "It is so all your fault! You weren't there!" She started counting on her fingers. "Right from your first meeting with Sorely and the booking team, you went to bat for everybody. Everyone Sorely wanted to sack you fought for. And when you thought Suzue was let go you went [I]right[/I] up and gave Sorely hell. Not to mention that you're always there telling everyone to give Mexy a break." "Claire, that's not my responsibility!" "Don't you 'Claire' me!" she shot back. "It's anyone's responsibility to stand for what's right. And making a promise like a feud and then [I]cutting[/I] it out from under a body is just [B]wrong[/B]!" I kept my temper in check. "Claire, that's Sorely's call as head booker." "Great," she grumped. "Well, since [I]you're[/I] not there any more, then I guess I'll just have to live with it, huh." Missy then went into a parody of things I didn't feel or say. "I'm not there any more, remember? I quit. Like, deal with it [I]Claire[/I]. Alone!" That got a firm scowl out of me. "Claire, do you want to [I]walk[/I] to your car from here?!" "Yeah, sure!" Missy said, growing angrily enthusiastic. She unbuckled her seat belt and started to open the door. "Yeah, I like that idea! A nice walk, all by myself...!" I romped the gas, letting out the clutch. It threw Missy back in the seat, and didn't allow the door to swing open. I sighed. "Look, just close the damn door." The fact we were moving again probably pleased the drivers behind us. They'd begun to lay on their horns. "No, no, just let me out," Missy continued, yanking on the door latch again. "Look, Claire... I'm sorry ok?!" She looked at me dubiously, door ajar despite our heading down the road. I sighed. "Just close the door, ok? I'm sorry." Missy closed the door and settled angrily into the seat, arms folded tight. We drove the rest of the way to her car in silence. When we got there, Missy broke the silence with a vengeance. "Know what pisses me off most?!" "No, Claire, I don't," I replied as patiently as possible. "You're just gonna deny who and what you are, and throw it all away over something [I]stupid[/I]!" "Excuse me?" I exploded, incredulous. That got me torqued all over again. "Just who the hell do you think you are?!" "Oh, I got no frickin' idea!" Missy howled back. "I'm Little Miss Been Shoveled Around All My Life, remember? I got no frickin' idea who I am. Hell, I can't even decide on the same ring outfit from one week to the next." She held out her arms, as if weighing scales, turning sarcastic. "Hmmm. Goth, or School Girl? French Maid or Girl Scout? Or maybe a Native American Princes?" Missy returned to indignation. "But you! You know exactly who you are, and you're gonna just toss it out like so much trash, over some stupid argument you're having with your stupid daughters!" "Now listen here, you!" I groused, turning in my seat to face her. "No, you listen to me!" Missy shot back, which surprised me. Missy rarely stood up, let alone to me when I got angry. She was that pissed. "Let's just forget about your girls, or what you do or don't want for them, because that's not the point. And ok, you not being there to help isn't the point either." "So what's the point?!" Missy actually got excited in her anger. Here was the point she'd been working up to, the point she'd been dying to come up with for a while. "See, I can only [I]wish[/I] I knew who I was. But you, you know [B]exactly[/B] who you are. What you're supposed to be doing. What you're supposed to be [B]living[/B]! And if you're gonna try and give me any of this 'what are you talking about' crap, here's a little quiz for ya. What time is it?!" she interruped herself, scrabbling at her watch as if she couldn't tell what time it was fast enough. "Ok, so it's 9:00. AM. On a Wednesday morning. Where the hell are you, huh? Now, all other things aside, if [I]anything[/I] last Saturday would have gone any different, even just the littlest bit. Where would you normally be? At nine frickin' o'clock on a Wednesday frickin' Morning? Huh?! WHERE WOULD YOU BE!?!" Missy was about in tears at that point, she was so mad. Which embarrassed her. Which made her even madder. She yanked the door release and literally kicked the door open. Getting out, she slammed the door so hard it actually rocked the car. I then watched in the mirrors as she rounded the back of the car, storming kitty-corner across the street to her car. She didn't look and just about got nailed by a cab, the driver stopping just in time. At the screeching tires and the horn, Missy screamed and pounded the hood of the cab. For a second I thought she'd round the cab, drag the driver out and proceed to pound him, but instead she stomped the rest of the way to her car, getting in and slamming the door so hard I heard it from where I sat in mine. After a minute to turn her car over she romped on it and sent it screeching into traffic, to roar off down the road. Well, as much as a beat-up, ill-tended Audi can screech and roar. But the intent was there, and I got it. Saw it from the way she drove. I got it. I sat there for a few minutes. Not sure how long. I don't even recall when people started in on their car horns. All I could think of was three things. Missy had kicked my door open and slammed it, but I wasn't mad at her for it. Missy'd been so mad that she'd almost got herself hurt over it, but I couldn't be mad about that either. And Missy hadn't given me the chance to answer her question. Because she, and I, and probably even you know the answer to that question. All other things aside. On any other day, on any other week. At nine in the morning. Where would I be?

[Wallbanger]

Wow. Just, wow.

[Blackman]

Wow indeed. You clearly are a strong writer with a real creative touch to it. I couldn't read all of your notes but I will in the future if I can spare the time. Awesome stuff. It's great to see in what diverse and creative ways people can use the game for. All i can say is Kudos to you sir. :D

[ShadowedFlames]

[QUOTE=Wallbanger;357027]Wow. Just, wow.[/QUOTE] Indeed. I cannot add any more to that. Oh, and :p to your comment about something happening next event. I had that much figured out.... *laughs* All kidding aside, though, looking forward to it. Perhaps that's what Lorna needed--the yelling from Claire--to come back to Triple-A? Hmmm....

[Remianen]

[QUOTE=shamelessposer;317170]Love said. Embrace said. Hid said up doggy style in the restroom.[/QUOTE] I LOL'd! [QUOTE=NordVolf;336652](...stuff....)[/QUOTE] I have to agree with NordVolf here. While poser is right in the classical sense, none of the major fiction writers go overboard with 'said'. 'Said' makes me sick with its neediness ("I have to be in every line of dialogue!"). In passages heavy on dialogue (sci-fi/fantasy, horror, thriller/suspense fiction), that can be a real turnoff and kill the flow of action. Read a Grisham thriller novel (NOT Bleachers or Playing for Pizza) and see how he ditches 'said' and replaces it (much like Bon does here) when the action picks up. Read a Salvatore novel and you'll see the same thing. Popular fiction writers reduce their reliance on 'said' as the plot thickens. The only one I can think of who stays true to 'said' is Stephen King (maybe Dean Koontz as well, depending on the subject matter). Then again, most of my writing instructors (several of whom are accomplished authors) despise popular fiction. I'd despise it too....if it wasn't so overwhelmingly popular and didn't make most of my lessons largely obsolete. Funny how Mary Higgins Clark doesn't move as many books as James Patterson, even though Clark is the better writer, mechanically speaking. For this medium, the popular fiction manner of writing is far superior to the "classical", mechanically sound style, in my view.

[Gypsy]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][B]Another fabulous chapter, Nordvolf! Thank you! (and it looks like the "surgery" was a success!) Now that I'm back online, please write more![/B][/COLOR]

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Hello, everyone. Yes, I'm back after a protracted absence. First and foremost, I apologize if this is Necro-Posting, or otherwise against the forum rules. I want to continue this story, and I thought there's no better place for it than right here. I'm actually surprised, as well as quite pleased, that the forum administrators and moderators hadn't locked this thread or otherwise limited my subsequent posting, even after all this time and after an apparent forums move! Thank you so very, very much! As for my return; I won't go into the by-now typical and expected reasons or excuses for an absence. We all know about real life this-and-that which can keep a poster at bay for extended periods, as well as flagging, and even resurgent, interest. We've all been there, done that. What I [I]will[/I] do is go into a few reasons for my return. First and foremost, this is for me. In the past I've enjoyed playing the game and writing what it inspired in me very much. And now, as I continue this, I find I still enjoy it. Not to say that everything else is a minor concern, but if you're going to do something you enjoy, it should be for [I]you[/I]. If you do it for anyone else, then it becomes a duty, and even a chore. And you find yourself wandering away from it to do other things, thus costing you something you enjoy. And, of course, there's the readership. You guys have been, and even continue to be, one of the big reasons I enjoy writing so much. Your feedback has been both a support and inspiration. And as a result, I owe it to you to continue the story, and not leave it hang like that, at that point. To at least bring it to it's reasonable and inevitable conclusion. And lastly, I owe it to those who live inside my head. Yes, it's true. The characters and places, though imaginary, are alive and well in my head, in my imagination. And it's also said that it's not just what you do, but what's in your intention, in your heart, that makes you a good or bad person. It's what you think of doing, what you can actually see yourself doing. And how you respond to that. And so it is as much to them, those imaginary people, living and going on with their lives in my head, that I owe this story's continuation. Because they deserve to have their story told. Their voices heard. Because when all is said and done, it's just the right thing to do. After all; Lorna Midnight wouldn't leave [B][I]me[/I][/B] hanging like that... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] So what can I say about the rest of that Wednesday morning? After I'd brought the girls to school and Missy to her car. After Missy had bawled me out. Not too much [I]can[/I] be said. Went about as expected, really. It sucked. Oh sure, after dropping Missy off I'd collected my wits, went home, and grabbed up my new job. Applications, copies of my resume'. Yeah. You got it. My job was looking for work. Let the suckness begin. And all I had to show for it that morning was a bunch of 'no's. Not that everyone said no. Just most. Some others gave the classic "we'll get back to you," things like that. But no 'yes's. Which is about as good as a 'no' when you're looking for work. What made it especially sucky was some of the things I had to deal with. No, not the rejection. I take that in stride. No way was I expecting to be hired Jane-on-the-spot right after leaving Triple-A. But I was at least hoping for some progress. Some hint of things to come. Some good prospects. Instead, some of the ways it went left a bitter taste in my mouth. I got a few "No way are you qualified for this" kind of things. Oh, no one actually [I]said[/I] it like that. But it was there. Things that really interested me, jobs I thought I could really bite off and chew, things that I thought I was going to try for... there was just no way. But who was I kidding? Deep down I knew that going in. A couple para-legal jobs, looking to get in on the ground floor. An Administrative Assistant or three. A few Operations Manager positions. Project and Program Supervisors. But the follow-up questions were always the same, as were the answers. What qualifying, educational degrees do you have? None. What experience do you have? Little, if any, and usually none. Then what makes you think you can even be considered for this job? That last was never spoken, but always implied, sometimes subtly, sometimes blatantly. And I got to agree, it was a valid question with only one answer. After, there was never a "We'll keep you in mind", nor did I expect or even hope for that. So all that was left was to just walk away. So much for that. I'd even applied at a security firm, as well as for a protective services job. Those were dubious choices at best, though, and I knew that going in. Sure. Leave Triple-A, where I fight, to take a job where I would be expected to possibly fight for real stakes, maybe even life and death. But I was curious. Very intrigued. I just wanted to see. Of course, the degree questions went as above. And the experience? I got one raised eyebrow, the other an intrigued look. So I knew how to fight, eh? The questions continued. Some of the answers had been satisfying to be able to give. Had I any martial arts training? Yes. Not only did the story of being trained on the beaches of Okinawa by a little old fisherman entertain the listeners, but it seemed plausible (even if martial-arts B-movie quaint), and the fact I was officially registered with Triple-A as an MMA crossover worker cemented my credentials on that score. Had I ever been to jail, or otherwise convicted of an offense? Or even charged, since a security and protective services job requires a high degree of integrity? No. And while I wasn't as lily-white as the new-fallen snow, (and I was honest about that, as who hasn't done a silly thing or three when they were young and foolish?) my record was. No arrests, no prosecutions, no convictions. Had I been trained in advanced driving techniques? Yes. My late husband (yes, I used that term but only because it was expected, and arguing with a potential employer is always a bad idea) had gotten into that back when, he'd insisted that I join him, and I'd come to really like it. And yes, that bad-ass car in the parking lot was mine, and yes, I knew how to use it. Extremely well. Did they want to go for a drive and see? Maybe later, came the reply. Though in both interviews there was respect, and more than a little approval, in their eyes. But the way the interviews went from there, I felt sure I'd walked into the wrong offices and had applied for mercenary work in some war zone. Did I have any law enforcement training or experience? Was I licensed with a firearm? Did I own, and have any marksmanship badges with, a firearm? Had I ever been in a firefight? Was I knowledgable and experienced with a variety of weapons? Was I familiar with security and counter security? Had I ever worked in a place, other than wrestling, where violence was anticipated, such as in a bar as a bouncer or some such? Sure, the questions as I present them to you here sound a bit tame. But actually talking with someone about them proved disconcerting. And it got me thinking of the men and women Triple-A hired for security. Sure, wrestling is real. And it can get very, very real when the instruction comes down to call it in the ring. Improvise. [I]You[/I] two figure out who wins. And in the ring, you train and fight with the same people, pretty much, and you all are fairly well on the same page. But with security, it's a different kind of real. Because you never know what another person, someone you have no idea about, is going to do. All it would really take is the right kind of crazed fan, or someone determined to break in, or who gets busted after breaking in, and you're suddenly in a fight. The kind of fight that, due to the other person's unreadable intention, can result in someone's injury. On purpose. Or even death. Maybe even your own. So when I walked, it was pretty much a mutual decision that I wasn't what they were looking for. Other times, other interviews, my past bit me in the rear. Oh, it was never blatant, but sure seems quite coincidental, to say the least. And sometimes down-right insulting. Especially the third time. "Say, don't I know you from somewhere? Yeah, you look really familiar!" Ok, I admitted, I'd wrestled with Triple-A as Lorna Midnight. And I watched the recognition play across his face. But that was fast replaced by a neutral look, like blinds being pulled. "Sorry, we don't have any positions open right now." He even handed my resume' back. That told me right there that he was probably a fan, disliked the fact I'd quit, and was taking his displeasure out on my job prospect. Made me want to bust him up right there on the spot. But when you're looking for work it's a bad idea to beat up potential employers, and jail definitely isn't a job, unless you count making license plates or something. So I let it go. Well, third time is charm as they say. After that, I played it dumb. "Say, don't I know you from somewhere?" My answers varied, but the jist was the same. "I don't think so." "I'm not sure. You tell me and we'll both know." "Maybe, but I'm sorry, [I]I[/I] don't recall [I]you[/I]." It was actually kind of surprising the number of times I was asked. I'd never imagined Triple-A was that well known. Then again, since it always ended in nothing, for all I could know it may have been that who ever I was talking to had seen me across an intersection that morning, or in some store someplace. Of course, playing it like that felt like hiding it. Sure, the person in question could later look at my resume' in detail, see I worked for Triple-A, and probably put two and two together. But at the time they'd glanced at it, not seen anything stand out, and asked. And even though I wasn't actively hiding my past, it left a sour taste in my mouth. Every time. Made me feel like a real heel. How's that for irony? Of course, I hadn't been through [I]all[/I] that in one morning. The above was a taste of what had been going on all week. But that morning, in three hours it'd been pretty much the same old thing. Sorry, but we've got no openings right now. We'll keep your resume'/application on hand. We'll keep you in mind. We'll let you know. No. And after each one I'd sigh inwardly, and outwardly thank them for their time. And then walk. And outside, I'd sigh out loud, both because it was getting frustrating, and to take a deep breath and mentally start over again for the next interview. Better next time, right? And yes, I realized I'd only been looking for work actively since Monday. What, two and a half days now? Can't expect to put together a space program and fly to the moon over night. Rome wasn't built in a day. But it still irked me. Professional and driven, remember? And even my last stop of that morning didn't end up any better. Even though it'd been a breath of fresh air. I knew it would be, after all. I'd needed it. So just before lunch I found myself haunting old grounds, like a wounded animal looking for a kind, friendly, familiar face. And didn't I find one, too.

[ShadowedFlames]

This comes as a very welcome sight, indeed. Glad to have you back, Nord, and I hope everything went well for you in your extended hiatus.

[NordVolf]

[CENTER]((OOC Segment))[/CENTER] Thank you, SF. Some things in fact did go very well. Some things not so much. You know how life is. But by and large it went pretty swimmingly. Thanks. Of course, there's the bad part of my brain. What bad part, you ask? Oh, you know. Everyone's got one. The part that whispers pessimism and things of that nature. Things like, "Oh, come on! After all this time? No one's going to notice you're back. Get real." And then, someone posted in a little over an hour after me. Sorry, but I have to paraphrase you, Wallbanger. Wow. Just... wow. Thanks. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [U]Days in the Life - Confessions of a Triple 'A' Worker[/U] [/CENTER] Seattle School for Girls. The halls were as familiar to me as the hall in my own home. I was in the lobby entryway, that grand foyer from which branched the halls into the school itself, and off which were the main administrative offices. I was outside those very offices, in fact, looking through the indoor window to read the bulletins and what-not there, while the secretaries and admin staff beyond did their thing. The general school schedule; the list of special goings-on for the week; the extra-curricular events and activities schedule; Students-In-The-News; and a host of other things. And also the post of school policies, rules, announcements of changes and such. Everyday things that students need to know. And standing there reading, it made me long for those days I'd walked these halls, seen these things. Now, before you get the wrong idea, no, I was never a student here myself. To be perfectly honest, my mom had been a bit of a ditz in her own way. In moving around, chasing dad from time to time as it were, mom never really thought it possible to have me in the best schools. But I'm a bit different in that respect, so... "Well, as I live and breathe! Is that really [I]Lorna Leigtner[/I] I see there?!" That from the older woman who had come up behind me, whom I'd seen in the reflection of the glass but hadn't reacted because it hadn't registered quickly enough. I was that lost in thought and remembrances. I turned to face her, a smile I was helpless to prevent creeping across my lips. "Principle Evelyn Scofield, I presume?" She laughed then, that happy laugh that is so infectious because it's so very genuine. "Well! Doctor Livingstone I'm sure not, and this ain't deepest, darkest Africa neither!" Her smile turned gentle then, though no less genuine, and she took me by the shoulders. "Now just let me have a look at you. Has it really been so long?" I thought for a moment while she appraised me, and I did some appraising of my own, looking her up and down in turn. Time had been very kind to her, changing her not at all. Or rather, she hadn't allowed it. Her skin was just as lightly brown as I'd remembered, her short, dark chocolate-colored hair neatly trimmed and coifed. An older woman of advancing age but timeless appeal, her somewhat matronly figure dressed in the typical skirt-suit of deep, almost-black gray, underscored by ever-present dress heels. A glimpse of a low cut, white dress blouse with a center frill like an extravagant tie was all you were going to get, as the suit jacket remained, and always would remain, conservatively buttoned closed. Conservative, small gold hoop earrings rounded out the ensemble, jewelry embellished only slightly by the light, coppery chain around her neck keeping her half-circle reading glasses handly at her bosom. "How long has it been, Lorna?" she asked in that smooth, gentle way of hers, while looking at me with those eyes that slyly peered deep into my soul. I instantly felt 20 years younger. "Nearly four years, ma'am," I replied, unable to keep from smiling. "My, my!" she said with that old motherly tone she so often gets. "Has it really been so long?!" I chuckled. "Four years isn't that long," I countered, giving her my best older-woman 'so there' look. Didn't work. "Honey-child, when you get as old as me, you'll take every year you can get and like it!" she teased. "Now tell me. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Just like Principle Scofield. Always straight to the point. She folded her hands before her, patiently waiting for my reply even though I gave it almost immediately. "Actually, I came here to see you." She laughed then, in genuine delight. "Well, then! See me you do, and see me you will. Now lets just get out of these halls and into my office, shall we?" she continued as she ushered me into the offices. "It's just not the right impression for these young girls to see us gabbin' uselessly in these halls, now is it?" I chuckled. "No, ma'am, it's not," and allowed myself to be ushered. Not that I was humoring her, mind you. It's just that, well, you have to understand that being in Principle Scofield's presence is like being in the presence of a hurricane, or an earthquake. She is a force of nature, and when she directs there's nothing for it but to go along. When we'd passed through the offices and into her back office she closed the door, then went around me to retire to her chair behind her desk, offering me with a gesture the comfortable, high-backed upholstered arm chair before her desk. "Thank you, ma'am," I said, sitting with as much respect and dignity as such an offer demanded. "Why, Lorna Leigtner!" she said, as genuinely offended as her secret smile let on she wasn't. "How many times must I ask you to simply call me Evelyn?" She let that soak in for a moment as she and I appraised each other. She and I both knew the answer to that one. Because as I sat there in that large, plush chair in the principle's office, I felt 12 years old again. "So!" she said suddenly, brightening noticeably. "Tell me how things are going with those little babies of yours! How are Jennifer and Stephanie doing? Jennifer should be graduated by now." I chuckled. Like me, Jen and Stephie would always be 'little babies' to Mrs. Scofield. And yes, by now you've figured it out. I'd sent Jen and Stephie here. Unlike my mom, I had no illusions about whether or not my daughters deserved the best schools I could get them into. There'd simply been no question. But 'Best School' doesn't necessarily equal 'High Cost and Fancy School'. Looking for schools for my girls, I found SSG's 'mission statement', if you will. [QUOTE]"The mission of the Seattle School for Girls is to empower middle school girls to think critically and seek creative solutions to real world problems in a challenging academic environment that highlights science, math, and technology, embraces diversity and promotes collaboration, integrated learning and respect for all."[/QUOTE] That grabbed me. So I looked into it in typical Lorna Leigtner fashion. And the more I saw, the more I liked. They have an integrated curriculum rather then a discrete, one-hour-per-class schedule, meaning the girls learn things as a whole, rather then separately compartmentalized. They emphasize not only learning, but creative and critical thinking, as well as self-confidence and a 'strength of voice', as well as teaching respect for all no matter what race, creed, economic status or family configuration. An altogether progressive view not only for themselves and each other, but for the greater community as a whole, and even the world. Needless to say, this is where my girls went. "They're doing real well," I replied. "Stephie's loving school, just like you taught her, and Jen's graduated with honors, though not Valedictorian as she would have liked." "Well, it's no doubt young Stephanie is loving school, you having worked so tirelessly to get your babies into Center School like you did. Just like they wanted, too!" I smiled in embarrassment. Mrs Scofield was in the know on my little 'trick' to get them into Center School. "And Jennifer graduating with honors... My, my! I should like to congratulate her on such a fine accomplishment. Though I do hope that her not being Valedictorian hasn't made her think I'm disappointed in her, and that being the reason she hasn't come to see me in all this time!" She over-emphasized the words 'all this time', as if it'd been 20 years instead of just 4. But it still was a long time, and that inner admittance embarrassed me further. "Well," I started, "The girls have been meaning to come see you..." She didn't let me finish. "Now, now! Meaning to and actually coming to see me are two different things. And to think that the Leigtner household is only but two blocks away!" That did it. I [I]was[/I] 12 again. I had the need to defend and justify. "Well, during the day you're busy with school..." "That didn't stop [I]you[/I] from coming to see me just now," she interrupted, sly smile on. "Well... and after school, you need that time to yourself and your husband..." "Oh, now stop right there, Lorna! You know as well as I the hours and [I]hours[/I] I spend here after school making sure this place is ready and waiting for all my girls the next morning. There's plenty of time to come see me." And even before I could continue, she set me straight. "Now, there's no need to keep making excuses. What's done is done, and gone forever into history!" she said, emphasizing 'history' with a head shake at the inarguable finality of it. "So just tell me that you'll go straight home and teach those babies of yours that it's high time they came and visited someone they once called their favorite principle!" She smiled, as if she knew beyond doubt I'd do just that. "I will," I promised, and smiled. But it was somewhat of a forced smile. I was troubled. And she saw it. She smiled at me then, both with warmth and a sly knowing. "Now. I am so very happy you came to see me! And I get the feeling there's a [I]real[/I] reason you came to see me. Isn't there?" I sighed. Didn't know where to start. So I blurted out the first thing I could think of. "My girls are wrestling." "Oh, my yes!" she replied, suddenly delighted. She hurriedly got up and made for a file cabinet, beginning to eagerly rummage through it. "Oh my, yes! Now where did I put that...?" Then she found what she was looking for, and pulled out a scrap of newspaper. A sizable clipping, actually. "Here we go!" she exclaimed, turning it so I could see the Triple-A press release of Miss and Missy Midnight's debut announcement. Complete with photos of them in costume. "There are my sweeties, all dressed up and ready to go, too!" she exclaimed as she turned it to look at it proudly, easing back into her chair. "You know, I thought to hang this on my wall in a frame, as it should be. But then it occurred to me; if they're anything like their mother then it's only a matter of time before they get popular. So," she said, looking at me and smiling. "I'll just wait to get a poster. Autographed, mind you!" she said, teasingly pointing at me as if it were my responsibility to see to it. "I'll make sure you get the first one." I promised sternly. She smiled, delighted. "There's my girl," she crooned, and went back to looking at the clipping. But only for a moment. "But there's something else. Isn't there?" She fixed me with that level gaze of hers, and in the following silence she settled in to wait me out. "I quit." I said. Then added, "I quit Triple-A." As if she'd needed to be corrected in some misapprehension. "Oh, My...!" She said, smiling. "Well, I guess maybe you did." she continued, getting up to head for the filing cabinet again. Oh God... But it was only just this past Saturday... Did she really have...? Yeah. She did. She held out the newspaper clipping she rummaged out of the drawer's depths, donning her glasses to read as she returned to her desk. "In apparent contention with her daughters over wrestling, Lorna Midnight has officially tendered her resignation from working with Angel Athletic Association." She glanced at me over her glasses with a smirk as she settled into her chair. That didn't help me feel any older than 12, but I sat straight and tall, if not proud. No, no pride there. She continued on after that, slight smile on her face, though also looking troubled. "Though it had been rumored that the Midnight Sisterz didn't meet the full approval of their mother, the wrestling community was taken by complete surprise. No officials of Angel Athletic were available for comment, yet un-named sources were able to confirm that Lorna Midnight's resignation was not pre-planned, nor was she forced to leave. It was also confirmed that Midnight left due to an undisclosed disagreement with the Midnight Sisterz. "Lorna Midnight's sudden resignation leaves a gap in Angel Athletic's roster," she continued reading, "and speculation is running rampant over whether or not she will be replaced. In a brief statement after Triple-A's [I]Saturday Spectacular[/I] event, Karen Sørrenson, head booker for Angel Athletic, said only that she was completely surprised by Lorna's resignation. Local sports writers also quote Sørrenson as saying "[I]Midnight's professionalism and drive were renowned and widely respected, and her resignation was uncharacteristic and unexpected. Never-the-less, it was Midnight's own decision, and she should be allowed that with regards to her family and career. Midnight's sterling wrestling record speaks for itself, and her generous contributions to women's wrestling in America's Northwest will be sorely missed.[/I]" She gently laid the clipping on her desk, removing her glasses. "It's all about examples with you, I imagine," she said tersely. Leave it to Principle Scofield to get right to the point, and be spot on too. "I'm their mother," I replied. "It's my [I]job[/I] to set examples." "Mmmmm... that's true," she replied thoughtfully. She then fixed a knowing, stern gaze at me. "But is it such a [I]propper[/I] example?" That got me going. "As I recall," I started in, "five years ago when I entered wrestling I came into this office and voiced that very concern. And as I recall, you agreed with me that my wrestling wasn't the best example to set in the first place..." "Lorna Leigtner!" she scolded quietly, and somehow gently, cutting me off. "Don't you go [I]puttin'[/I] words in my mouth that weren't there!" She then settled down into scholarly lecture, smiling slightly. "Now I [I]do[/I] recall when you came into my office all those years ago, filled with concern and righteous angst about how your wrestling would look to your daughters, that's true. And as [I]I[/I] recall, I did in fact agree that [I]perhaps[/I] wrestling might not be the finest example to set. But you were looking for honest, long-term work to support your babies, and there ain't [I]nothin'[/I] wrong with that. Wrestling is just what kind of work it happened to turn out to be. And what did I council you then?" She smiled warmly and said gently, when I didn't reply, "And what did I council you then?" I sighed unable to resist her. "You said I'd do what was best." She grinned. "Now that's exactly right," she said proudly. "That's what I said then, and that's what I'm sayin' now." Then as an asside, she smirked and added, "You always were a mover and shaker when it came to your babies." I snorted derisively. "Yeah. Me, a mover and shaker in the world..." That made her laugh. "Lorna Leigtner, don't you lay out all that self deprication masked as humility to [I]me[/I]! You're a mover and shaker in the world, all right. [I]Especially[/I] when it comes to your babies. Which is as it should be," she added with a wry grin, and I had to grin back. "Why, I remember when you first came into my office. The [I]very[/I] first time we met." I smirked and fidgeted a little in my seat. She was "fixin' to reminisce", as she'd say. "That interview for my girls to enter this school was hardly a moving and shaking experience..." I quipped. "Oh, we'd talked then to be sure," she said with a grin. "And I was so impressed I had no reservations about your girls coming here. And I expect you were impressed with us just the same, because here they came. But that wasn't the first time we [I]met[/I]. To first meet someone is to first get to know them, you know." I sighed. Yeah. She was going to go where I was hoping she wouldn't. Figures... [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] "Why, I remember you coming into this office, and there was no troubledness about you that time. You weren't Lorna the Angst-Ridden, but Lorna the Wrathful!" Principle Scofield chuckled then, genuinely amused. It embarrassed me. "You make it sound like The Ten Commandments, or Ben Hur or something," I groused. She laughed, then. "Well didn't it just feel that way, sitting here across from you! So full of wrath and righteous indignation. How dare we send a letter to you like that? You could understand a general letter asking for contributions from parents, but how dare we send a letter specifically to you saying that you as much as didn't care about your babies welfare in this school. How dare we feel that someone as limited income as you were, and who paid the tuition without assistance to boot, mind us, should have to contribute. And be made to feel small and made out to be a neglectful parent if you couldn't." I took a deep breath, though in embarrassment. "I didn't put it like that. Exactly..." I faltered. She laughed. "No, but didn't you give that impression just the same! Now, I may not recall the exact wording you used, but that's the intention, is it not?" I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. But you got to admit it's what that letter sounded like. How my girls had been in this school two months and I had yet to contribute. You hear that word, [I]contribute[/I], anywhere else and what would you think of but money?" "Well, yes," she admitted with a smirk, "I have to admit that may have been what it sounded like, but that's the way of it. Because when you hear '[I]contribute[/I]' anywhere else you [I]do[/I] think of money, but that's not the definition of the word. Anything you give is a contribution, be it time, or effort, or any such thing. After all, we're here primarily to teach girls, not just make money. And for that, we demand the parents' contribution." "Yeah," I replied, doing some reminiscing of my own. "And you sat there and listened. And I think I genuinely amused you, while you sat there and let me spend myself." "Now, honey-child, that's because I know exactly where that kind of thing comes from!" she replied. "I knew two things from the first moment you opened your mouth. One, that you did in fact love your daughters [I]dearly[/I] and, contrary to being a neglectful parent, you would move heaven and earth for them. And two, had it [I]actually[/I] been our intention to demand money, then we deserved all the fiery wrath that you could bring to bear. Especially since we knew your exact financial situation, because it'd been spelled out in that part of the application for your girls to come here in the first place." She paused then, and smiled fondly at me. "Now," she continued, "while many people would stop right there and gauge you based on that, and come to a dislike for you right then and there, I could see there was more to Lorna Leigtner than met the eye. So I just went and let you go on and get it all out of your system." "You didn't just let me get it out of my system," I admonished. "You listened. Intently, too. I could tell. You were genuinely interested in what I had to say and how I felt. Which surprised me." "Well, you [I]impressed[/I] me!" she said. "Most folk would have stormed out after, or been so riled up they would have been in need of calming before we could have anything meaningful to say to one another. But not you. Why, after you'd got it all out, you calmed yourself, took the seat I'd offered, and sat there to listen to what [I]I[/I] had to say for myself." She chuckled then. "In all my years, it'd been some time since I'd actually been taken aback like that." And she had been, too. "Well, didn't surprise you for long. It didn't take long at all for you to set me straight." "No it didn't," she agreed with a smile. "And for all that, you listened just as intently as I had to you, and you took it all in, too. And I could see it in you, Lorna. I could see it change your mind." She sat back, smiling. "And that's when I learned about you. You listened to how we defined contribution around here, how we expected parents to give something to the school, and by extension their girls, to become a part of things here. Because that's one of the only ways a parent can know what's truly going on, is to become a part of it." Her smile broadened. "And you listened patiently, and got a certain look in your eye when I got specific, too. Examples I gave of what you could do. I knew right then you weren't the bake-sale-and-cookies kind of mother," she said, a comment that threatened to make us both laugh, "so I'd gone into the various things we had going. Or hoped to have going on. Chaperons needed for various events and outings. Event organizers... why, you even appeared quite interested when I'd commented in an aside how we were so hard put to get permission from the Seattle Aquarium for a guided tour there. That on account of their schedule being so very full, we'd wanted to bring not just a class or two but as much of the school body as we could manage, and the fees, while reasonable, were quite a bit due to the amount of girls we wanted to bring." "Well..." I couldn't manage any more. I knew where she as going. I also knew that she'd told it a time or two before, and liked telling it in her way, so I let her. Still, it was more than a little embarrassing. As if I'd been Moses himself coming down from the mountain with the tablets... "Well, indeed!" she exclaimed. "You left then, and it was almost a month and we didn't hear hide nor hair of you again. So come that parent-teacher meeting -- you recall the ones we have at least once a month? -- some of the teachers, and one parent in particular, had no few disparaging things to say about Missus Lorna Leigtner, and how she aught to do such-and-so." Mrs Scofield chuckled then. "Of course, no one noticed that woman sitting all quiet in the back. She'd arrived early, too, so got there and just quietly sat down before most everyone else had arrived. And she sat there and just listened quietly while old business was discussed, and come time for new business, well, didn't she just sit and listen while others piped up on the lack of participation from certain families, 'that Leigtner woman' in particular. How Missus Leigtner had gone through all the trouble of getting her daughter into this school, and with no small fuss in certain circles I might add..." She trailed off then, and smiled. There had been some people who had objected. I'd objected to the objections in my own fashion. It was a topic neither Mrs Scofield nor I chose to relive, partly because I'd reacted heatedly and a little foolishly, and because it had embarrassed certain higher-ups in the school community. But we both had been there, so we knew. No commentary needed. "And those people, and one parent in particular, had then gone on a list, counting it out, of the things Lorna Leigtner had subsequently missed, not attended, not contributed to." I smirked. Couldn't help it. "I can still see," she went on, "the startlement of all those people when that woman seated quietly in the back, whom everyone had ignored as someone no one knew, in the height of that storm, stood up and shushed everyone when she uttered just three words." She grinned broadly, pausing then. For me. "Is that so?!" I offered. Since that's what I'd said. She laughed. "Exactly right. '[I]Is that so?![/I]'" she repeated, in a quiet, stern and irritated fashion. Her interpretation of how I'd said it. "And I can still see the dawning shock on certain faces when I'd then replied, '[I]Why Mrs. Lorna Leigtner. What a pleasant surprise to see you here this evening.[/I]'" We both giggled like school girls. "You did that on purpose," I scolded when we'd caught our breath. "You were one of the only ones there who'd met me by then, and you just let them go on and on. Were you trying to get a rise out of me?" "More then that, I was trying to teach certain folks a lesson," she corrected, still smiling. "People aughtn't to go on talking about other people like that, especially when it's supposedly behind someone's back! As if they were next going to suggest your daughters be asked to leave the school!" she scoffed, the very notion repugnant to her. "Or at least raise some ire over it." "And I can remember too," she went on, "you getting up from your seat and taking that walk down the center isle between those seats in that room, right up to the School Board's table and my Speaker's Podium, too. Even then you were no skirt-and-heels type, but more a slacks and boots kind of girl. And your walk was tall, and proud, regal in your indignation. The walk of a woman who was queen of all she surveyed, casting silent, and I imagine even challenging glances at those who'd spoken out against you mere moments before, daring them to say something [I]now[/I]." I sighed, smiling despite myself. "I do recall it got rather quiet." Even back then, I'd cut the figure of a bad-ass, especially when I was 'irritated'. No, not in my wrestling outfit, but in my dress and bearing, I guess. It's just that Rick was gone, I was raising the girls by myself, work had been sparse, and life had just been so damn [I]hard[/I]. Rick's military death benefit was all we really had going for us. And I just wasn't about to take any guff from anyone. No matter who or where they were. "Rather quiet?! Honey-child, as I recall, it got silent as a church during a funeral! And without all the creepy music to boot," she teased. "And the surprises continued," she went on. "You had in your hand an envelope that you handed me, and all you said was, '[I]Evening, Principal Scofield. I understand you've been having a hard time getting a school tour of the Seattle Aquarium.[/I]' " "And then you read that damn letter," I said, all but putting my hands over my face. At the time I'd stayed straight and 'regal', as Mrs Scofield had put it, pissed as I'd been. Quietly standing there listening to Evelyn read. I'm both embarrassed and proud of the show I'd put on that night. I guess even then I'd been destined for show business. Of a sort. "I did indeed, and rightly so!" Mrs. Scofield pointed out in a scolding tone. "It was none other than a formal letter from the Seattle Aquarium, which everyone should have heard, and did. Of how they apologized for taking so long to fit us into their busy schedule. That it had been an administrative oversight, and they were so very sorry if it adversely affected the continuing education of our girls. And how not only were they going to allow us a class-by-class tour over successive days for our entire school, but they were going to make staff, and even biologists, exclusively available in order to help teach our girls all they might want to know about the Aquarium. From the exhibits to the building and even administration! All in a show not only of support for the continued education of our girls, but also in view of the fact some of those very girls might one day come to work or study at the Aquarium itself, and so should really get to know it." She paused then, and settled back to gaze at me in admiration. And [I]that's[/I] what embarrasses me to this day. As if I were someone whom Principal Evelyn Scofield could look up to. The very woman who not only ran the school, but 'back in the day' was the veritable founder of many of the projects and curricula in that school today. And there she sat, that pleased look on her face, as if I'd done something wonderful that night which she'd loved and respected. "Oh, but it didn't end there," Mrs. Scofield continued. "Oh no. As though class tours for our entire school, little though it is compared to other schools in Seattle, weren't enough. Oh no! You then proceeded to reach into your jacket pocket and produce several other envelopes, which I also opened and went through. And lo and behold, but what did I find? Checks! Enough to cover the [I]entire[/I] cost of the Seattle Aquarium's fees for our school tours, each and every one of them made out to the Aquarium on behalf of our school. And a few from some surprising quarters, I might add! The local Rotary, of course, but then the Elks and Moose, three gyms, which I later learned were haunts where you worked out, even back then." She smiled at me. As if by pointing those out she were hinting that physical things were my destiny. "And, last and most surprisingly, the most sizable donation from the Vets Club, of all places!" I chuckled. "Well, Rick had been in the military..." "Oh don't I know that now!" She said, all smiles. "And likely as not he'd had some close friends that were since honored veterans of this great country's military service. Who'd been close to him, and so close to you, and on who's ears your appeals fell gladly!" That right there threatened to make me cry. Because Rick and I [I]had[/I] gotten close to many, many others, both of Rick's military buddies and their families. Some of whom were now prominent members of various veterans' organizations, and who personally saw to that donation on my behalf. People who were friends, and whom I hadn't seen in so very, very long. I resolved silently, right then and there, to correct that. "But that was just the first in a long line of things you did for this school. Oh, you never did become one of the PTA meetings types, and not the milk-and-cookies bake sale mothers, either," she added with a grin that I answered with my own. "But when it came right down to it, if there was anything important that this school needed, Lorna Leigtner could be counted on to make it happen." The silence then stretched for a moment, as I had no reply to that. I chalk that up to embarrassment, but also to the fact that everything Principle Scofield had said had been true. And fairly exactly accurate, if not 100% verbatim. Which gave me a moment's pause to think. Mrs. Scofield gave me an out, then. "I never did find out exactly what it was you said to those people at the Seattle Aquarium," she said in an aside, as if commenting to a third party observer as she was doing something administrative. In fact, she rose and carefully replaced the newspaper clippings in the filing cabinet. I chuckled. "I was nice about it! I guess even back then I could be persuasive, but I was nice..." She looked at me over her reading glasses, having donned them in order to properly file the clippings. "Oh, of that I have no doubt," she replied with a playful smile, resuming her seat. "Still... would have been nice to have been a fly on that wall..." We both chuckled over it, briefly. She then startled me with an outburst. Quiet, but still an outburst. "Which is exactly my point all along!" At my dubious gaze she continued. "Lorna, as long as I've known you, you [I]have[/I] been a mover and shaker. Anything you view as important, you get done, and in as decent and best a way as you know how. And when it comes to your babies, you will move heaven and earth to see to their welfare. And not only that," she added as an after thought, as if she were just now realizing it, "you always do what you feel is [I]right[/I]! It may not be what other people think, and heaven forbid they should tell you so!" she added with a smirk. "But you do your very absolute, moral best with your babies. Of that I have no doubt. Even if that means quitting wrestling," she said, taking her glasses off and gazing intently at me for emphasis. "And if you feel that is the very best thing, the [I]right[/I] thing to do, well then there is absolutely nothing wrong with that." And that was that. Providence had spoken. She had such faith and confidence in me... It's no wonder that when first Jen, and then Stephie had graduated, they had both cried their eyes out. At the prospect of not only leaving the school, but of leaving Principle Scofield. Just as many, many girls before them, and many girls after, had also cried. Hell, in one quiet time when no one else could see, I even cried myself. The silence stretched again, and I figure I grew sullen and moody, though I like to think in a barely perceptible way. Still, she saw it, and Principle Scofield sighed then, straightening in her chair. "And now I think you have one last question to ask of me." She said it with the finality of one who knows a conversation is drawing to a close. Don't get the wrong impression. It wasn't because she [I]wanted[/I] it to be over. Nothing was further from the truth. It's just that she knows people so well. She can tell. And isn't one to hide behind things. And so, though neither she nor I wanted it to be over, it simply was. So I took a deep breath, straightened myself as well, and put my business face on. I picked up the satchel I use as a briefcase and pulled out papers. Placing them on her desk, I said simply, "Principle Scofield, now that I'm out of a job, I've been looking for work. I'd like to present my resume for consideration. For anything at all." She surprised me then. Because she reached over, and as she took my resume and looked at it, for a brief fraction of a second I thought she would cry. But it ended so suddenly that after, I wondered whether I had actually seen what I thought I had. [I]Now[/I] I know I'd seen true. Because looking back on it, even though she'd immediately snapped her business face on like I had, her words were as gentle and kind as a loving mother could be. "Thank you, Lorna. Nothing would please me more than to take your resume. And we'll keep it here," she added, patting it gently, "because there is very real value in it. And should something come up, we would be happy to have you with us. But for now, unfortunately, there is nothing for you here. I'm sorry." I nodded, muttered thank you, trying for some reason not to cry and succeeding, but only just. I had so not wanted to ask that question. Maybe because deep down I knew the answer. Later, I found out that there were a couple part time positions that had opened up. So why Mrs. Scofield had told me what she had was a bit of a mystery, in later times. Was she second guessing me, feeling I'd be dissatisfied with part time? Did she honestly think I wouldn't fit into the school's staff, a personality conflict waiting to happen? Or was she, some how, for some reason, just giving me some tough love? I guess deep down I know the answer to that, but even now I maybe don't want to admit it. I don't like thinking I'm that transparent, even to people who know me so well. So we both rose, me to leave and her to watch me leave. Or so I thought. "Was great to see you again," I offered, a weak smile plastered on my face. I was actually disappointed. I'd actually wanted a job at the Seattle School for Girls. And something else. Something not right. Something... Evelyn Scofield got a look of profound irritation on her face. "Is that all I get?!" she demanded, hurrying around her desk toward me. She walked right over, arms outstretched. "You come over here and give an ol' nanny goat a hug!" Ok. Fine. That's where I get calling myself that from. Sue me and call me a plagiarist. I buried myself in that hug. And just like that, all was right with the world. I like to tell people that I tried not to cry, and that I succeeded, but only just. What I'll tell [I]you[/I], is that there was a hard-bitten, tough-as-nails woman who left that office early that afternoon. And more than one secretary saw that tough, not quite so old nanny goat wiping her eyes, before collecting herself and striding out regally into the world. But it had been a good cry. There's nothing to pull that out of you like having it reaffirmed that, outside your immediate family, you are very much loved. [CENTER] [SIZE="4"]__________________________________________________[/SIZE] [/CENTER] Credits: [QUOTE]Seattle School for Girls' 'Mission Statement' is actually from the mission statement I read at the time from an actual school; the Seattle Girls School. [url]https://www.seattlegirlsschool.org/[/url] The remainder of the description of the school's intent and mission I paraphrased from various things the Seattle Girls School really stands for, within the body of their website. Funny story about that... I had been placing the Leigtner apartment in Seattle using Google Earth, and was happy with the choice. Mostly, I was looking for a building in Seattle's 'burbs' that had a shape that would fit their appartment, as well as be in a neighborhood that had terrain that I am going to describe in a later scene. I know. Shallow guy, me. Anyway, after that I had Google Earth load a lot of other side things like Points of Interest and such. It was then that I noticed the SGS just two blocks from where I'd plunked the Leigtner household down. Huh. What's this? Upon reading the brief blurb in Google Earth, it grabbed me, much like I imagine Lorna would have been grabbed. After going to their web site, I [I]knew[/I] this was the school where Jen and Stephie would have went. And now I know why Lorna, from way back when she and Rick had chosen the apartment even before the girls were born, was living there still. I've never been to Seattle. And never visited the school. But it seems to be a nice neighborhood. And a [I]great[/I] school. Serendipity is a wonderful thing... [/QUOTE]