No four-lines pieces this week? That's good, in that this little tale of Red and Emma can keep going, and... it means it's going to take a little longer to get all caught up on comments :-D I'm hoping for a status report on your first week back on the job, by the way, Marc! And no, I haven't thought to look ahead at the prompts, so you're still seeing me reacting to each one and adjusting the story as I go. I'm not sure if I should be all apologies for that or not....
All Apologies "Young lady, if you tell me you're not wearing any knickers either then I'm going to have to seriously reconsider my estimation of you," said Red. He didn't need to shout any more, every time his elderly lady disguise opened her mouth everyone fell silent, waiting for his next announcement. Waves of laughter were breaking around the pub as though this were the happiest beach in the world, and the woman who was bearing the brunt of his attention looked like a mouse trying to hide from a cat. "I haven't got all day," said Emma. The man who'd asked her into the pub looked like he wanted to die more acutely that the woman Red was verbally beating into submission. "I have a discreet but influential little publication to run." The man looked at her, his eyes actually focusing on her for the first time since she'd sat down. She noticed that he had pale blue eyes and his hair had blonde roots even though it was black. His skin was pale, made paler by the contrast with his dark business dress, but up close she could see that the suit was cheap, probably bought from a high-street retailer, the kind you wore to your first job interview. His drink was -- she reached across and picked it up, sipping it thoughtfully. He said nothing. "Lime cordial," she said. "I thought you'd have at least had a Spritzer."
[Blogger said this was too long for one post -- I'm guessing I must have just sneaked over the character limit as it doesn't look like it.] "I'm working," he said. "You don't even have a drink." "I'm a lady," said Emma, exactly at the moment that Red said, but with much more impressiveness, "I'm a lady! I wear clean underwear underneath my clean underwear and change both sets twice a day. Well, I say I, but actually my maids do. I wouldn't touch undergarments myself." "You're supposed to have my drink waiting for me. But still, I'm not here for the atmosphere and conviviality. You have something to say to me, and I'm waiting to hear it." "There's a painting in the gallery back there," said the young man, his eyes hunting for the gallery through the window. "It looks like a Tanguy but it's a forgery. The owner of the gallery is pretending to fence real stolen art, but he's passing off forgeries instead. If The Rebel Voice tells people about it the world will listen." "How do you know it's a forgery?" Emma kept the interest out of her voice, and sipped the young man's drink again. The lime was a little too strong. "You didn't even look at it earlier." "I know the woman who painted it." "Really?" Emma yawned and put his drink down. "The Voice might not be the Washington Post but we do have journalistic standards. I need evidence, not hearsay." "I know, I know." He pulled a bit of paper from his pocket: much folded, soft with age, something in blue ink written on it. "This is her studio. I'll... I'll be here in a week; same time." "Fine." Emma stood up. "One week then." "Well, it's wonderful that you're all apologies now," said Red. He was still addressing the unfortunate woman who was now shivering in a borrowed jacket and barefoot while the barstaff tried to wash her blouse off with soda-water. "If only you'd been a decent human being when you came in here." He saw Emma as she sauntered by. "Oh good lord, don't you dare try and seduce my limousine driver! I'd know your type anywhere. Come back here!" Round the corner from the pub they stopped hurrying, and burst into laughter.
Jenny bent her head submissively to the head faun. "I'm so sorry, leader. I never thought she'd run."
He glared at her. "Never make assumptions."
She cowered as the patrol leader paced in front of her. "She was the picture of submission the whole week. You're left alone with her for five minutes in front of the whole village and you manage to lose her!"
Jenny swallowed hard. "I'll get her back, I promise."
4 comments:
No four-lines pieces this week? That's good, in that this little tale of Red and Emma can keep going, and... it means it's going to take a little longer to get all caught up on comments :-D I'm hoping for a status report on your first week back on the job, by the way, Marc!
And no, I haven't thought to look ahead at the prompts, so you're still seeing me reacting to each one and adjusting the story as I go. I'm not sure if I should be all apologies for that or not....
All Apologies
"Young lady, if you tell me you're not wearing any knickers either then I'm going to have to seriously reconsider my estimation of you," said Red. He didn't need to shout any more, every time his elderly lady disguise opened her mouth everyone fell silent, waiting for his next announcement. Waves of laughter were breaking around the pub as though this were the happiest beach in the world, and the woman who was bearing the brunt of his attention looked like a mouse trying to hide from a cat.
"I haven't got all day," said Emma. The man who'd asked her into the pub looked like he wanted to die more acutely that the woman Red was verbally beating into submission. "I have a discreet but influential little publication to run."
The man looked at her, his eyes actually focusing on her for the first time since she'd sat down. She noticed that he had pale blue eyes and his hair had blonde roots even though it was black. His skin was pale, made paler by the contrast with his dark business dress, but up close she could see that the suit was cheap, probably bought from a high-street retailer, the kind you wore to your first job interview. His drink was -- she reached across and picked it up, sipping it thoughtfully. He said nothing.
"Lime cordial," she said. "I thought you'd have at least had a Spritzer."
[Blogger said this was too long for one post -- I'm guessing I must have just sneaked over the character limit as it doesn't look like it.]
"I'm working," he said. "You don't even have a drink."
"I'm a lady," said Emma, exactly at the moment that Red said, but with much more impressiveness, "I'm a lady! I wear clean underwear underneath my clean underwear and change both sets twice a day. Well, I say I, but actually my maids do. I wouldn't touch undergarments myself."
"You're supposed to have my drink waiting for me. But still, I'm not here for the atmosphere and conviviality. You have something to say to me, and I'm waiting to hear it."
"There's a painting in the gallery back there," said the young man, his eyes hunting for the gallery through the window. "It looks like a Tanguy but it's a forgery. The owner of the gallery is pretending to fence real stolen art, but he's passing off forgeries instead. If The Rebel Voice tells people about it the world will listen."
"How do you know it's a forgery?" Emma kept the interest out of her voice, and sipped the young man's drink again. The lime was a little too strong. "You didn't even look at it earlier."
"I know the woman who painted it."
"Really?" Emma yawned and put his drink down. "The Voice might not be the Washington Post but we do have journalistic standards. I need evidence, not hearsay."
"I know, I know." He pulled a bit of paper from his pocket: much folded, soft with age, something in blue ink written on it. "This is her studio. I'll... I'll be here in a week; same time."
"Fine." Emma stood up. "One week then."
"Well, it's wonderful that you're all apologies now," said Red. He was still addressing the unfortunate woman who was now shivering in a borrowed jacket and barefoot while the barstaff tried to wash her blouse off with soda-water. "If only you'd been a decent human being when you came in here." He saw Emma as she sauntered by. "Oh good lord, don't you dare try and seduce my limousine driver! I'd know your type anywhere. Come back here!"
Round the corner from the pub they stopped hurrying, and burst into laughter.
Jenny bent her head submissively to the head faun. "I'm so sorry, leader. I never thought she'd run."
He glared at her. "Never make assumptions."
She cowered as the patrol leader paced in front of her. "She was the picture of submission the whole week. You're left alone with her for five minutes in front of the whole village and you manage to lose her!"
Jenny swallowed hard. "I'll get her back, I promise."
Greg - first week was fine. It's fairly quiet this time of year, but warmer weather is bringing more people to the parks, slowly but surely.
Another delightful entry into Red and Emma's tale. I get the feeling that business is about to pick up though...
Morganna - curious to see where this is headed. So... I shall read on!
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