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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 3, 2016 15:42:23 GMT -5
As would happen from time to time, she finds herself in a familiar neighbourhood, and indeed spies the door she's been wondering about. A spell has passed since her last forey into the Sitting Room. Times being what they are, completing ever more interesting tasks for her employer, have removed what little time she once had. "A tea and a book today", she thinks, as she enters the Sitting Room. Removing her signature blue/grey overcoat, she reveals a smart black power suit, accented with a jaunty red throat scarf, matching her handbag and mile-high red pumps. The ensemble is well put together, though if you look closely, her blue/grey eyes reveal the ware the heels are taking on her feet, and the tasks of the past week on her soul. "A tea and a book", she says out loud to herself. Entering the Sitting Room, she saunters over to Bernard at the bar, gives a subtle nod of her head, and a coy smile to the friendly barkeep, and asks for chamomile tea, a chocolate and pear tart and then turns to the room. The last time she was here, there was a lovely, tall wing-backed chair in a most alluring blue and gold pattern with matching ottoman. Spying it, blessedly vacant, and thanking her good fortune that a lovely afghan throw was left draped haphazardly over an arm, she purposefully walks to the chair, grabs the afghan and flounces down, placing her overcoat of the arm once occupied by the afghan. Closing her eyes at the pure joy of a comfortable chair, she rests her head on the left wing, lifting her shapely legs onto the ottoman, careful not to remove her shoes. For those 4-inch Lady Killer Red heels of hers, once removed, will not return to the weary feet within. Tossing the throw over her legs to cut the chill from a lovely, yet weathered window nearby. Bernard, after properly warming the tea pot, and cup, bring over her order and set it on a mahogany side table positioned for just such a purpose to the right of the chair. She sighs a little, as she simply allows herself to indulge in the comfort of the chair, perilously oblivious (for the moment) to any other patron in the room. A rare moment of relaxation for her.
The Fixer
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 3, 2016 15:42:47 GMT -5
A weary sigh escaped his parched lips as he pressed forward down the cobblestone street. His rucksack was blanketed in sand which fell from the cracks and crevices of the old canvas bag as he turned down an alleyway. He had left Cairo nearly two weeks before and yet he could not shake the desert out of it. Pausing at a well worn doorway he noticed a faded coat of arms. Checking the scrap of paper Allenby had given him he confirmed his suspicions and pushed the old oak door open. Upon entering he drew little notice from the room’s occupants. Though if you looked closely you could see how out of place he was. He was dressed more for a trek across Trans-Jordan and Mesopotamia than a winter in the Northern Hemisphere. His green and khaki uniform was sun bleached and sweat stained. The faded leather belt on his waist carried a well worn Webley revolver. He leaned lightly on a cane of Afghan snakewood and his blue/grey eyes,narrowed by months in the desert sun swept the room. After surveying the characters gathered within he makes his way to the bar. “Bernard isn’t it?” he says to the barkeep. “I’ll have a round of The Macallan 25, straight up.” While he waits he again surveys the room and among the various characters he notices a woman dressed in a black suit with a red throat scarf drinking what appears to be Irish whiskey sitting nearby. He isn't sure why his gaze stopped on her but even while reading she seems to resonate a strength and a dedication to something, rarely seen in this day and age. "Interesting" he thinks. Bernard interrupts his train of thought when he returns with the glass. “Ah, saved by the bell indeed.” he thinks to himself. “Nearly gazed too long.” he chides himself. His social skills these days are more in tune with the Bedo tribes he had led and lived alongside and notes that he has to remember what proper social decorum is. Seeing an open spot near the fireplace he makes his way through the room, carefully placing his rucksack against the wall next to a large chair. He settles into the chair with a slight wince, the still healing shrapnel wounds of his previous exploit being quite sore from the cold, damp air. Opening the sack carefully he retrieves a small leather bound book with an inscription on the inside cover that reads: "The Journal of W.R. Lawrence." Taking a draw from his scotch he uncaps his pen and begins to write.
W.R. Lawrence
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 3, 2016 15:43:12 GMT -5
As it happens, she sniffs the air, for some reason, being draw to an oddly familiar, and pleasant aroma and a drink wafting in her direction. She looks up form her newspaper to notice a new-comer dressed in green and khaki sitting near the fire. Curiously, she sneaks sly look over the top of her paper, barely perceptible even to the trained eye to determine what else of this new-comer she can discern. He sits a little awkwardly, and though his face doesn't reveal much, she can see the slight pain he's in. From some wound, she thinks. A well traveled, sun-worn gentleman he appears to be. A smile playing at her lips, she lifts her glass of whiskey in a silent "Sláinte" to the stranger. Amused by the fact that they appear to be drinking variations of the same, she wonders about his apparel and the story there...
The Fixer
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 3, 2016 19:54:39 GMT -5
Sitting in the wing back chair Lawrence writes furiously in his journal. The pen strokes are nearly audible as he spills his soul onto the blank pages. Then in mid sentence he gets the feeling he is being watched. Looking over the edge of the cover he sees the mysterious woman with the red throat scarf smiling at him from across the way. His face face immediately turns red. "Oh dear, I did gaze a bit too long." he thinks to himself. The woman possibly noting his unease raises her glass in his direction and nods. He raises his in return. "Cheers!" he says. Even after taking a drink he sees her gaze is still upon him. He realizes that she appears curious as to his current condition, especially since he appears quite out of place here. The scotch having eased his nerves a bit he closes the book, stands and walks over to the woman. "Good day, my name is W.R. Lawrence but most just call me Lawrence. Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 4, 2016 10:45:33 GMT -5
In a brief moment before answering she has time to think "Drat! I've been caught with my curious nature!". She quickly steels herself to the slight red colour creeping into her cheeks and says, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Lawrence, I am Clue-Lace Maple-omma. Most call me simply, The Fixer."
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 4, 2016 10:58:30 GMT -5
Taken aback for a moment he chooses his next words carefully. "My that is a curious name, I believe I will stick with The Fixer." He says with a wry grin. "Judging by the rosey color of your cheeks I believe I might have caught you trying to figure out why I am dressed in this manner. Is this so?"
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 4, 2016 13:42:50 GMT -5
"I admit the rose in my cheeks is from being caught, however, it wasn't so much the garb you are wearing, but the mysterious yet somehow familiar choice of your drink that caught my eye...that and the slight pain you seem to be in." "As to my name, I have very forward thinking parents, I am afraid." She is careful not to say too much on this topic, having only just been introduced to the mysterious gentleman. Being that they are both in a curious little place, with all manner of interesting patrons, some near, some enthralled in their own happenings, she is careful to keep her voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder how it is that you came to rest in this place."
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 4, 2016 18:59:15 GMT -5
"My drink is not too mysterious m'lady. It is one of my favorite single malt scotches called The Mcallan. Aged a perfect 25 years." He said holding up his glass. "It appears you are a whiskey drinker yourself. Though judging by its lovely sharp tone it is not quite as aged as mine. Speaking of sharpness you are correct about me being a bit pained. I was struck by fragments from a mortar shell during my service in Mesopotamia. Weather like this seems to make it ache more. Before I answer your final question tell me, what is it you are seeking here?"
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 4, 2016 22:20:00 GMT -5
"A Fine drink indeed, sir, as far as single malts go. You are correct in that mine is a might bit sharper and not as aged, though smooth and spicy, with just the right warmth for the weather and the continence." She replies. "As to your last question, I do not mean to seem elusive but I will answer it with a question of my own: What lies beneath the lantern's light?" "You see, good sir, an air of mystery swirls thickly in this place and I need to be sure you do not have ill intentions hidden in good manners."
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 5, 2016 0:29:20 GMT -5
...
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 5, 2016 6:20:59 GMT -5
"Indeed." He said leaning back into the chair. Thinking quickly he recalled his last day in Cairo before boarding the ship home. General Allenby had thanked him for his dedication and service etc. but before releasing him to return home he asked, "What's next for you?" During the previous years though he had given thought to home but had never gave any thought as to what he would do when he got there. "I don't know. Truthfully I hadn't given it much thought." Lawrence admitted. Allenby nodded and said "If you fancy an adventure of a different sort, go to this address when you return home.", handing Lawrence a slip of paper. Lawrence pocketed the paper, the two men shook hands and Allenby whispered quietly into his ear. Returning to the present Lawrence motioned for The Fixer to lean in closely. With the rest of the room in full swing around them he leans in close "The countersign is "The keyhole" he whispers.
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 5, 2016 10:03:12 GMT -5
She leans in at the motion from Lawrence, hoping to hear the only answer she needs. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, and a smile playing at her lips, she sits back to take a slow sip from her drink. "Now that we've established ourselves, Lawrence, I'm happy to answer your question." "I came to this place on the recommend of a family member, to seek out a different type of work. One with far more fulfillment on a personal level than is oft found during the doldrums of employed life and to improve a skill set that is under appreciated by my employer. I was told that being in this space would reveal to me, if I chose to really see, all manner of intrigue. So far I've observed quite a motley crew of patrons, each clearly hiding some sort of interesting secret. I was told if I was patient, that one would reveal himself to be of a similar mind, who would perhaps be a worthy asset and partner to the more clandestine of mysteries entrusted to me." She pauses to think back to a chance meeting with a family friend one dark, late night several years ago. How interesting the conversation was after several after dinner drinks that lead to this person revealing quite a double life they were leading. The true nature of that conversation came to light a year later when a meeting of government officials was arranged, quite out of the blue. She being called into said meeting under what later revealed itself to be a rouse to ensure her loyalty and cooperation would be given. At the end of said meeting a dossier was provided with instruction to report to DoD post C. F. B. Meaford as civilian liaise. How strange her life has been since then. And now, she sits speaking to Lawrence. "Shrapnel, you said. It appears you are not new to danger then. What is it you are seeking here?"
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 5, 2016 11:37:06 GMT -5
Leaning back in his chair Lawrence nodded as The Fixer laid out her tale. As she spoke a thought occurred that made him stifle a small laugh. "Bloody Allenby" he chuckled to himself. "Even in the journey home he's set me up for another task." Taking a moment to gather his thoughts he looks across to her looking for any sign of deception. He saw none. What he did see was a firm intent, and dedication to this mysterious task. Traits he himself could appreciate. Still making up his mind about her he decided to answer her question. "That is a remarkable story. A very intriguing one. Mine is far less interesting I'm afraid." He says sipping on his scotch. " I was a civilian hired by the government to assist the Bedouin tribes in Mesopotamia in their revolt against the Turks. I was chosen due to my foreknowledge of the region and my lengthy experience with chemicals. I ended doing much more than I was initially brought to do and now after two years my service is at an end. Upon my departure from Cairo two weeks ago the General I reported to informed me of this place and said I should give it a look. I'm starting to believe he set me up giving me just enough information to make me curious and as it were end up meeting you here. Funny how that's works isn't it?" Laughing he leans forward " Not to sound like the title of a dime novel but I guess I could sum all of this up with Fate thy name is Allenby."
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Post by The Fixer on Mar 5, 2016 12:57:32 GMT -5
A laugh escapes her lips, even before she realizes it is coming. "It appears we two are but two moving pieces of a grand scheme." She says to Lawrence. "I am not aware of this Allenby you reference, though I suspect he is a part of this as well." She relaxes into the chair a little, taking a last sip of her whiskey. She takes a long look at Lawrence, to make sure the gut check of trust he has earned is not being mislead by the polite conversation. A moment to check that there isn't a hint of deception hidden in his eyes, or betrayed in the rate of his breathing or colouring in his face. Feeling she is not being mislead, she sits up straighter, leaning slightly toward him, resting her arms over her now crossed legs. She says to Lawrence, "It appears that you and I have some work to do."
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 5, 2016 13:42:38 GMT -5
Downing the final swig of scotch in his glass Lawrence nodded approvingly. "Indeed we do." He says setting his glass on the table. "However if this is of a clandestine nature I would suggest we find another location to talk and discuss specifics as it seems these walls have ears."
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