Tables, Dances, and Poles, oh my!

[Alexxia]

SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!++stop++

[scrape_medic]

Leeeeexxxxxxxx.....thanks for the kleenex.........

[BrowderChick]

So what did you think?

[scrape_medic]

Loved it.....yey!

*squeeling like a teenager

[BrowderChick]

[Frunium Slip]

We interrupt this inane babbling to bring you a late breaking alert... thanks to some quiet persistance, and a bit of strong arming, we are quite pleased to announce the continuing adventures of a boy and his dog... no wait, that's not right, it was dogs... er... puppies, no not puppies... somethings... oh whatever... anyrate, let's cut to our overblown self-important voice-over already in progress...

Previously on Tables...

Our erstwhile government agent is starting to have a crisis of conscience for placing an innocent in the Scrying Room chair, well basically innocent, basically, as well as quite possibly destroying the only means of escape for three illustrious comrades in arms, although he will undoubtedly be looking at a commendation for saving half an American county from nuclear devastation, as well as the incumbent presidential staff from having to explain how such a calamity could have possibly occurred, with all the usual fallout from a foreign nuclear weapon activation on U.S. soil, always a hard thing to explain away, especially in an election year...

Meanwhile, our favorite SAS commando is having her own crisis, one of the heart, as she believes her new found friend is lost on the wrong side of the nuclear devastation, and the portal to the abyss, or whatever it was, is now closed to her forever, and the inevitable consequences on her future role with the Special Ambulance Service...

grinner, after many attempts, has closed the final portal, sacrificing himself to save the world, sending his comrades to safety, and managing to do all of it, with not only a certain flair, but without a hair out of place...

Abb and Who, while caught on the wrong side of the portal, are transported to safety, although not exactly where they had intended, or when for that matter. Who, back at the hideout, just in time to deliver some much needed ammo for BC's big gun, and with the sudden realization that grinner just might be alive, and wearing a very stylish set of black leather boots, although one of the zippers is in need of a bit of attention...

Abb, apparently, has been sent even farther back in time, to ancient Egypt, where not only can he practice his ancient scroll reading, but also using his practiced architectural and engineering skills help design out the fundamental flaws of the Giza Pyramids that had been haunting him since his studies a child... oh yeah, and there is that dead father thing too...

Kat, LL, and Ol' Humphrey are missing, possibly deceased, or worse, and undoubtedly familiar fixtures on the tables of breakfast aficionados everywhere...

While our nearly infamous BC, while temporarily out of it, again I might add, is presumably going to play an important role soon, as we have been informed by her agent who keeps flashing her contract papers at us, like we ever read the fine print...

Will the agent retain his license to kill?
Will Scrape continue to perform her duties as a valuable member of the SAS?
Could grinner still be alive?
Where will Who end up? And just as importantly, will she fix that zipper?
Is Abb really ready to meet his deceased father, and what will the modern world think about his addition of skylights in the esteemed pyramids?
Can Kat, LL, and Ol' Humphrey be rescued?
What future important role is BC up to?
All these questions and more to be answered on Tables... starting right now...

[scrape_medic]

excellent frun, great one

[Frunium Slip]

The quiet seemed a bit leery, the inaction tedious, after hours of tumultuous bedlam, things were finally beginning to settle down, thanks to the timely arrival of 6th Platoon, B Company, 3rd Para Battalion. The Guardsmen had quickly formed up, established a communication link, and secured the perimeter. Teams were now patrolling the outlying areas, mopping up what seemed the remnants of the dreaded demon hordes, lulls of silence occasionally interrupted by the sound of automatic weapons fire. The Guardsmen were quick, efficient, and ruthless. And their highly decorated commander, Lt. Percival Wellington Smythe, felt sufficiently in control to suggest a dinner break with what remained of the original portal party, now wittled down to a third, and feeling the pangs of the battle's worth. The remorse of the survivors, with so many gone, seemed to drain the life out of everyone.

Taking command of the situation, it was what Percival was trained for, what he strived for, what he was bred for. The latest in a colorful line of infantry officers, he had taken pride in being the commander of the first Guards unit in the elite 16th Airborne Assault Brigade. The best of the best. The demons were but another enemy to be dealt with, but the party's ill spirits might infect the platoons' men, Guardsmen, his men, and he was not gonna let that happen.

Sergeant!

Sir! Staff Sergeant Ian Roberts snapped crisply to attention.

Have the staff at that mansion prepare an evening meal, with all the accoutrements, we'll be dining in style tonight.

Yes sir!

And Sergeant, invite those civilians as our guests, with all courtesies.

Yes sir! I'll have Paddy attend to it. The sargeant trots off a bit, and with his best company sargeant major impression, Paddy! Get your blooming backside over here quicktime!

Sometime later...

The smell attracts the agent's attention, he follows it down the steps, takes the first right, and then notices it. The mass of demon dead, seems the soldier boys had been quite busy, aside from an untold number of stains, the corridors were nearly cleared. But that aroma, that wasn't any demon smell, that was fine cooking, and he wondered when was the last time any of them had eaten? Hell, what day was it for that matter? But the stomach would not be denied, food was suddenly pushing aside all other matters. No need to cause any friction in British-American relations, they could all probably eat a horse by now, and what was cooking was definitely not smelling like horse. A glance in a hall mirror stops him in his tracks. Jesus, I look like a mess, better get cleaned up a bit, look presentable to the Queen's rep, so as not to antagonize a certain commando any further. He bounds up the stairs, taking two at a time, heading for the nearest quarters. A shower, a clean shirt, it was bound to do him wonders.

The water felt good, good hell, great! It was incredible the difference in attitude being clean felt. And with all the soldiers running about, there didn't seem to be any immediate concern over safety. Putting on a commandeered shirt, he checks the room mirror. Better, not great, the eyes still look like hell, but better. Now to gather up BC, might need her help to persuade Scrapes to join. Frun doesn't get three feet down the hall, the special phone rings, an unmistaken sound. It could only be one person. No one, not even the jerk selling the 'free' vacation just for buying three years worth of magazines you would never read, could possibly get that number. Nope. Just the one man, the Boss, head of America's most secret organization, the Big O, so secret most people who had even heard rumors of it considered it a myth.

See you're still up and about, no lingering ill effects from portals, demon hordes, angry commandos, glow in the dark silverware, or pretentious officers I presume? the voice chuckles and then the cough, the man undoubtedly behind the same desk, wearing the same suit, in a darkened room, with a lighted window behind him. Always, even at night, you never really see his face, ever, but one always recognizes the voice, the chuckle, and the cough. Definitely the cough, it designated the change in conversation, any further word on the Demon Knight?

No sir, not a thing, nothing since the closure of the portal.

No problems with the mini-nuke?

No, it was sent through the portal, right before it closed. the memory causing me to clench my teeth.

Had to be done. We had to be sure.

About the portal, or the man? the agent asked the pertinent question.

A pause, was he thinking, or just feeling the agent out on the matter, Frun realizes clenching the teeth was a mistake.

Are your loyalties clear on this matter? the voice on the line sounding exactly the same, no change in tone or inflection.

Sir, my loyalties are always clear.

Indeed they always have been. Let me make this absolutely clear. This agency, this government, is concerned over the abilites of a certain individual. These abilities could cause certain destabilizations in the current status quo. This agency will not allow that. Am I clear?

Damn, first Abb and now this, even though the thought was always there, agencies like his would never allow a loose cannon run around and muck up their plans, nope, that was not gonna happen, it would have to be dealt with, and the mini-nuke was allowed into the country for just that purpose, everything was clear now, Scrape may have thought they were closing the portal for good, and they were, but they were ensuring that there was gonna be one casualty. No matter what. And now they wanted to be sure. They wanted their pound of flesh, on a platter. And they wanted to be sure…

[BrowderChick]

[scrape_medic]

Excellent I like.....

[who45]

Originally Posted by Frunium Slip

Who, back at the hideout, just in time to deliver some much needed ammo for BC's big gun, and with the sudden realization that grinner just might be alive, and wearing a very stylish set of black leather boots, although one of the zippers is in need of a bit of attention...

[/size]

...Oh wait...guess I need to fix that little problem...*zip*

[Alexxia]

[Frunium Slip]

Originally Posted by who45

...Oh wait...guess I need to fix that little problem...*zip*

[scrape_medic]

Scrape had managed to find some clothes to put on; being clean and dry helped somewhat, not much but some. She had sat down in the semi-darkness of the room, the single lit candle flickering in the draughts that had resulted from half the windows of the mansion blown out by the BIG GUN and its resulting pressure blasts. She had been there for a while, looking round at the artifacts that Abb had collected; some she had trouble relating to him but others seemed 'just him'. The figurine with the head wrenched round, the story of it that Abb had related to her seemed so him; it seemed appropriate to her state of mind too, and she wondered whether anyone would notice if it disappeared.

"What the hell......half the house has disappeared, along with a few of its residents!" she muttered to herself, thinking of the old gentlemen of the mansion and wondering where many of them had gone. Seems the agent and her comrades had been brought there to fight and when the battle began, the residents had bolted; well at least some of them had stayed, and some had paid too.

And there were others missing, LL, Kat and Ol'Humphrey; Scrape could only hope that they were alive somewhere, but it looked bleak. She dropped her head and closed her eyes. She knew there could and probably would be casualties in this mission, she wondered whether they had achieved all they were sent here for, that it was over. If they lost personel at the same rate as they seemed to be at the moment, if it was not yet over, they would be no one left by this time tomorrow!

The knock at the door broke that rather unhappy train of thought, and Scrape was almost grateful to answer it. Opening the door she saw Frun and BC waiting for her. Frun look strangley ill at ease and she gave him the look, the one which asked what it was that was bothering him. He just shook his head, brushing the question off. BC looked remarkably perky, considering all that they had gone through, and it would seem that Scrape was not the only one to have washed and found clean clothes to wear.

"What can you smell Scrapes?" Frun asked.

She looked at him, startled "What?"

BC just beamed a big smile; whatever it was that had got into these two was obviously making her happy. Tentatively and just in case the pair had been sniffing some happy gas, Scrape inhaled.

Visions of a country pub on a sunday afternoon hit her in waves. Crowded in round dark stained wooden tables, begging for elbow space, the constant hum of conversation, the clink of glasses being collected to be cleaned and refilled. The open fires keeping the winter chill at bay, the snap of splinters exploding in the heat. Every now and then the front door to the lounge bar would open and a rush of winter would find its way through the legs of the drinkers and diners, settling on the grey slate floor. The smell of hops and barley ingrained into the fabric of the building for one small moment in the week becomes overwhelmed by the smell of something hot and inviting, Sunday roast. Slices of beef buried under a veil of gravy, perfectly roasted potatoes, an assortment of vegetables and horseraddish sauce. Not forgeting Yorkshire puddings, can't have a roast beef dinner without yorkshires, oh no!

Scrape had not realised how hungry she was, "When was the last time we ate?"

BC and Frun just shrugged, "Must be the elixer wearing off, but I am as hungry as a horse!" was all that BC could offer.

The three made their way down to the dining room, and Scrape noticed the antique candelabra had made its way back out of the cupboard and back into the centre of the table. What was left of the curtains had been pulled back across the holes where the windows had been and apart from the odd damage to the walls and floors it looked almost 'normal' in there.

"See you're keeping up the British end there Leuitenant!" Scrape commented.

"Of course, no point letting ones standards down when it comes to good fare" he replied heartily, rising up from his chair to welcome the women in to the room.

From the other side of the table Sergeant Roberts cleared his throat as he stood. Scrape looked round at him and noticed him looking at her legs. She looked down at herself, checking to make sure in all her reveries upstairs she had not forgotten to don something on her lower half. 'Nope, I got trousers on.' she thought.

"Oh.......Sir, apologies, I am not exactly dressed for a formal dinner am I sir?" The old mess room protocol flooding back to her and the old feeling of a sudden need to apoogise for a lack of maintaining standards. Scrape remembered the rule about women in the mess room had to wear skirts, but she did not even think she had one with her. And dammit all, why was she worrying about that now.

"I think we can forego one or two breaches in protocols Sergeant, considering the circumstances," he turned to Scrape and offered her a seat at the table.

"Damn right we can!" muttered Frun under his breath, as he pulled out a chair for BC to sit on, though it would seem that he had not forgotten the protocols regarding seating your female companion at the table.

Scrape flashed the look at him again, "I hope we are not going to keep this up all evening Frun, I just want to sit and eat in a bit of peace and calm." Frun grunted, but dropped it. Too exhausted to argue, they all just wanted to fill their bellies and replenish their energy stores .

With the women seated the men took to their chairs. A representative number of the paras had joined them at the table for this formal meal, but Scrape could hear the others already tucking into theirs in the other room.

Paddy entered the room and with a bit of uncommon pazzaz began to serve the food. It looked good and when they began to tuck in Scrape knew it would not take long for her to clean her plate. But before she had gotten to her second roast potato, Mac entered the room and said, "There is a call for you." It took her a while for her to realise he was speaking to her. Scrape looked longingly at her unfinished meal, seems whe woud not even get to eat before it all kicked off again.

Grabbing her glass of Bordeaux, she excused herself from the table and followed Mac to the communcations centre. Taking a huge slurp of the wine before seating herself down in fromt of the laptop, she kept the glass out of sight of the webcam. Not surprisingly see saw the figure of Major Albright on the screen.

"Sir" she began.

"Ah, Scrape, good to see you made it thus far."

'Thus far?' she thought.

"I need confirmation from you that the gate was closed."

'Oh, straight to business, don't mind me'

"As far as I can be sure Sir. The numbers of demons exiting the portal just before it closed was reducing, I can assume that it was because the gate had closed at that point in time Sir."

"And the package was delivered?"

"I can confirm that sir." She knew that he would already have intelligence on that particular subject but would want to hear it from his own operative in the field.

"Good." he seemed satisfied. "Hmm...I need you to confirm something else Scrape. The professor.......the rumours are he is no longer with you at the mansion."

Like she needed reminding. Seems everywhere she turned his absence was being pointed out to her. "Sir, Professor Abbadon is MIA, presumed dead."

"Dammit all to hell Scrape!"

Surprised by his sudden and uncharacteristic outburst all she could muster was "Sir?"

"Hoping your presence would protect him this time." and then seemed to check himself, as if he had said too much already.

"Sir?" What did he mean this time, how would he know about other timelines?

"We needed his expertice Scrape; its not over yet, not until all hostile targets have been eliminted and accounted for."

Scrape's head was realing; her presence? Was he suggesting that she had been put in this situation only to protect the Professor, and why her. She knew of other SAS commandos who had much more experience in the field than she did.

"I don't understand sir, how could you know about the other timelines?"

She could see the Major fighting with himself, should he tell her nothing and keep it on a need to know basis, of which she did not need to know, or should he let her in on the secrets give her a bone to chew on, motivate her.

He settled for one statement, "Your father knew.....his work....."

Scrape stared at the screen speachless. She knew her father had been involved in the research team, well she knew that now, but she had never known exactly what his role was. He had been part of the senior staff dealing in the more unusual cases that she had worked on, the ones that she had worked on with Abb. She had questioned this before, in the armory at the hideout, when she had learned that the man who had appeared at ther home that christmas was this elusive Doctor, this man who seemed to have all the knowledge of the various timelines.

But why her, how had she gotten herself dragged into all this. If it was just because she was her fathers little 'Button', someone he had felt he could trust because she was family then hell, she has had to go through all this just because!

She has been allowed to develop feelings for Abb, to be hurt by his disappearance because she had been born into the wrong family. Here was Major Albright berating her for losing the Professor with no account of her feelings. Not that he would know how she felt, but bloody hell she felt that she had been set up all along.

'Well screw them!' she screamed in her head, 'I ain't playing anymore, they can screw with someone else's head from now on'

"Sir"

"Yes Scrape." dissapointment still resounding in his voice.

"I would like to tender my commis........" Scrapes head snapped round to the left.

"Scrape? What was that.......did you say your resigning?!"

Scrape was not paying attention to him anymore, something familiar, some noise was gaining attention.

"Scrape?!"

"Sir" she snapped, still looking in the direction the noise had come from.

"Scrape!!"

Mac, who had remained a decent distance away, moved forward to the satellite transponder and wiggled it. "Seems we are having a communications breakdown."

Scrape stood up, took another slug from her glass of wine, and slowley moved to the door. Mac stopped her breifly, gently holding her back at the shoulder. "You didnae wanna resign now did yae."

She looked at the paratrooper, "Maybe not." Seems there was still work to be done.

[BrowderChick]

Great Post!!!!!!