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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 3213652" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><strong>Session Thirteen, Part Six</strong></p><p></p><p>Scarpedin chugs his Dr. Pepper, then sets it down next to the Scrabble board. He glances at Robert, and again feels a tinge of nervousness. Robert has been like a brother to him these past few days, a firm ally when the sh*t hit the fan. And the fan has been pretty well coated ever since he met Robert.</p><p></p><p>"123 pointsu," Wiji-wiji says.</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin, glad for the distraction, looks at the Scrabble board. </p><p></p><p>"That's your total?" he asks.</p><p></p><p>Wiji-wiji shakes his head and points at the board. "One word. Taking <em>rong</em> time to carcurate. <em>Gomenasai</em>."</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin waves off the man's apology. The guy's got the game pretty sealed, it looks like.</p><p></p><p>Over the quiet hum of the medical equipment tracking Robert's health, Wiji-wiji quietly clears his throat.</p><p></p><p>"You appear . . . <em>ano</em> . . . werry worried. Za game is no fun?"</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin shrugs. "I dunno. I figured you had, like, magic powers and sh*t. Y'know, like this game was supposed to heal him or something."</p><p></p><p>The board is covered with medical terminology: Scarpedin's attempt to invoke magic to cure whatever is wrong with Robert. Words like 'bandaid,' 'HMO,' and 'cocaine.'</p><p></p><p>"No," Wiji-wiji laughs. "Robato-<em>san</em> just has concussion. <em>Anata no atama ga itai, yo</em>. We pray gamu to keep him company, <em>ne</em>?"</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, I suppose." Scarpedin grunts. "Waste of time. This is not what knights do. This is what modern Americans on soap operas do."</p><p></p><p>"You modan <em>Americajin</em>?"</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin shakes his head. He does it, and he expects something dramatic to happen, because he feels like he's reached a turning point. The closest he gets is Wiji-wiji turning over a Scrabble piece on the board, then sighing and putting it back.</p><p></p><p>"Game much easier if you cheato."</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin leans back in his chair, bored. He looks at Robert, then Wiji-wiji.</p><p></p><p>"So, Weej, you got anything to do?"</p><p></p><p>Wiji-wiji adjusts his suit. "Wanna go getto Excaribur? Werry powafaru <em>katana</em>."</p><p></p><p>"Sure," Scarpedin says.</p><p></p><p>They stand up, and Wiji-wiji nods for the door. "Forrow me."</p><p></p><p>As they walk out, leaving the Scrabble board behind, Scarpedin asks, "This gonna take a long time?"</p><p></p><p>"<em>Hai</em>."</p><p></p><p>"You know, Excalibur's not really a katana. It's more like a light saber."</p><p></p><p>"Crose enough."</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>A few hours later, Robert is awake, looking at the completed Scrabble game lying inexplicably beside his bed. His head throbs a little still, but nothing seems too bad. John had been in a moment before, filling him on what had happened, and Robert knows he should be back in a minute with the rest of the gang. </p><p></p><p>The rest of the gang. Robert frowns at the thought. He doesn't like considering any of these people friends. Scarpedin and Wiji-wiji have apparently left for good; some agents Jenny sent reported that they'd been seen boarding a ship that set sail for England. John claims that Ian and Bonnie plan to come with them, Bonnie because she and Terry are starting to get along, and Ian because he claims to like their style.</p><p></p><p>He's pretty sure he could get them to leave him alone, but he's not sure he wants to. Keeping them around might help him figure out what's going on. Some jackass is behind all this, and while Robert couldn't give a damn about helping the Bureau, he's never been one to let an *sshole get away if he could do anything about it.</p><p></p><p>But first, there's the puzzle Wiji-wiji has left. </p><p></p><p>Robert hears someone approaching and slides a smile on with seconds to spare before they walk through the door.</p><p></p><p>"Hey Jenny," he says. "And John. And Terry. Bonnie. Um . . . Ian?"</p><p></p><p>The group each nod a reply. John, Terry's ghost at his side, gestures for Jenny to take a look. Jenny gives Robert a brief concerned smile as she walks up and looks down at the board. Amid an array of medical terms who, according to the score sheet, were placed by Scarpedin, there are seven words placed by Wiji-wiji. Jenny says them out loud.</p><p></p><p>"Chicago. Paris. Nagasaki. Wellington. Machu Picchu. Qantir. Leng. What are these?"</p><p></p><p>"They're illegal plays," Bonnie says with a grin. "Ye can't use proper nouns in Scrabble."</p><p></p><p>"They're seven cities," John says, "like the 'vision' Nathan had yesterday."</p><p></p><p>Ian grumbles, "And let me guess. We're going to have to find out what they mean?"</p><p></p><p>Giovanni, Ian's aged Spanish inquisitor ghost, sneers and says, "We have no need of pagan fortune-telling."</p><p></p><p>Robert sits up, slides his legs off the bed, and stands, only showing his wooziness for a moment. He takes the Scrabble board and folds it, ruining the tiles.</p><p></p><p>"Creepy dead guy knows what he's talking about for once," he says. "I'm through with playing games. We're not doing this. We all decided, this isn't our business, right?"</p><p></p><p>There's a ring of nods, Bonnie and Terry grinning a little, Ian looking relieved.</p><p></p><p>"Jenny," Robert continues, "if you'd like we can drop you off back with your boss on Terra, but we're . . . we're going to leave."</p><p></p><p>"Can I come?" Ian asks.</p><p></p><p>Robert actually has trouble faking enthusiasm for his. "<em>Sure</em>, why not?"</p><p></p><p>He realizes that Jenny hasn't been paying perfect attention. Her eyes are half closed, and she glances at him. "I really hope I remember how all those city names were spelled. And Robert, I'm not leaving."</p><p></p><p>Robert leans forward, surprised.</p><p></p><p>"I'm going with you," Jenny says. "Wherever you go. I won't even tell the Chief."</p><p></p><p>John scoffs. "I don't believe it."</p><p></p><p>Jenny smiles disarmingly. "I might still want to do something about what's going on, but if anything, you all have shown that the Bureau aren't the ones who are going to fix this. I can help you get away from the Chief safely, and if Terry doesn't object, I'd like to try to convince him to eventually come back and help. But it's not too urgent. Sound good Terry?"</p><p></p><p>Terry's ghost shakes his head in amusement. "Hell, I'm bringing you along even if they don't want you. I need somebody else who wants to find out what's going on."</p><p></p><p>Robert isn't sure how to feel. He won't deny that Jenny will be useful, but he expects she might be an impediment in the long run. And he does not believe her change of heart at all.</p><p></p><p>So he smiles, and says, "This is great. I'll tell you guys all about my harrowing," he chuckles, "Go-playing experience, and we can get some supplies for our little fugitive flight."</p><p></p><p>And so over the next hour, the group talks about what they would need and what Jenny can get them. Jenny leaves detailed information for Michael, prepares a package to be delivered to the Bureau offices on Terra so that they don't have to set foot there again, and then gets a laptop with thousands of files on magic, to keep them informed on their trip, wherever they decide to go. The current plan is to stay as far away as possible from the seven cities from the Scrabble game.</p><p></p><p>Michael tries to convince Jenny what she's doing is a bad idea, but he doesn't try to stop them. Robert is glad he was smart enough to know better.</p><p></p><p>Around noon, Terry plane shifts them to Terra, and while they walk with Jenny to deliver her package, Robert feels a buzz from his phone, telling him he has voicemail. He dials and listens to a message.</p><p></p><p>Nathan's voice says, "Robert old chap, if I'm right, you'll be getting this when you're not sure quite where to go, so I took the liberty of arranging an appointment you might be interested in. Swing by the Virgin Mobile store on Lynn Boulevard at 1pm on November 3rd. Have a safe trip. If you need to reach me, I'll be in New York, fighting vampires I think. Otherwise, I'll see you soon enough, I feel. Oh, and tell Ian he'll get the compensation he deserves."</p><p></p><p>"What was that?" Jenny asks, coming out of the post office.</p><p></p><p>"Nathan," Robert laughs. "He wants us to go to a Virgin Mobile store in . . . half an hour."</p><p></p><p>"Why not?" John says. "It wouldn't be the craziest thing we've done."</p><p></p><p>Bonnie taps her hip flask, which sounds hollow. With mild disappointment she says, "If Nathan said to do it, then I owe the English pig. He did tell me to keep ye safe, after all."</p><p></p><p>Ian sounds nervous. "I don't want to stay in this city any longer than I have to unless there's money involved."</p><p></p><p>With a smile, Robert says, "And Nathan said I should tell you you'll get the compensation you deserve."</p><p></p><p>Ian's eyes light up. "I suppose I can afford to take a look."</p><p></p><p>Robert turns to Jenny. "Do you know where Lynn Boulevard is?"</p><p></p><p>"Of course I do," she says. </p><p></p><p>She pulls out her phone. It's a Virgin product.</p><p></p><p>Less than half an hour later, the group is greeted by a frantic Virgin Mobile clerk who looks like Keenan Ivory Wayans. He claims they are expected, that everything is ready, and that he can get them coffee if they'd like, all while ushering them into a teleconference room. The feed is already live, and in the background of wherever it is are people in casual business attire.</p><p></p><p>Robert is wondering what the hell is going when the clock quietly chimes 1 o'clock, and a man steps into frame of the camera. He's middle-aged, with white hair that looks a little uncontrollable, and a confident gleam in his eyes. Robert shakes his head in frustration, because Scarpedin's little game is starting to irritate him. He knows the man looks like someone famous, but he can't place who.</p><p></p><p>"Hello there," says the man with an educated British accent. "You might not know me. My name is Richard Branson, president of Virgin Enterprises. I understand that you've recently gotten involved with . . . well, magic, and I wanted to offer you a business proposal."</p><p></p><p>The group exchange glances, and then Robert gestures for him to go on.</p><p></p><p>"I'd like you to be heroes, if that's not too much trouble. And I'm willing to pay you."</p><p></p><p>Robert chuckles. "Mr. . . . Branson, is it? Your offer is nice, really. But honestly, we're not the 'heroes' type."</p><p></p><p>"Oh, obviously," says the Rebel Billionaire with a sarcastic grin. "I know what happened in New Orleans, at least vaguely. That's how you came to my attention. I just thought it would be nice, you being so new to this and all, to have a . . . a documentary, of sorts. Consider it endorsing the arts, like the rich used to do in the Renaissance."</p><p></p><p>"Look, Rich," Robert says, "we've got this other whole gig lined up. You know, some thing about saving the world. I'm not too clear on the specifics. Like you said," he chuckles, "we're new at this."</p><p></p><p>"Save the world?" Branson smiles broadly. "That would make an excellent sales pitch, don't you think? This really would be a hands-off deal for you. I would endorse you, be a backer, and in exchange all I would like is rights to movies and such based on heroic exploits. Which, given your recent history, I imagine should be rather spectacular. You're ethnically diverse. I'm not sure quite <em>how</em> we would produce it, but I'm confident it will be a hit."</p><p></p><p>"This is surreal," John says quietly.</p><p></p><p>"Um, Mr. Branson?" interrupts Ian, voice gruff. "You mentioned payment? Just hypothetically, you know, how much would that be?"</p><p></p><p>Branson nods. "I was thinking about twenty thousand dollars a week. To a minimum of a million dollars total. I assume saving the world should take <em>at least</em> a year, of course."</p><p></p><p>While everyone else's mouths hang open, Robert replies.</p><p></p><p>"Of course."</p><p></p><p><em>End of thirteenth session.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 3213652, member: 63"] [b]Session Thirteen, Part Six[/b] Scarpedin chugs his Dr. Pepper, then sets it down next to the Scrabble board. He glances at Robert, and again feels a tinge of nervousness. Robert has been like a brother to him these past few days, a firm ally when the sh*t hit the fan. And the fan has been pretty well coated ever since he met Robert. "123 pointsu," Wiji-wiji says. Scarpedin, glad for the distraction, looks at the Scrabble board. "That's your total?" he asks. Wiji-wiji shakes his head and points at the board. "One word. Taking [i]rong[/i] time to carcurate. [i]Gomenasai[/i]." Scarpedin waves off the man's apology. The guy's got the game pretty sealed, it looks like. Over the quiet hum of the medical equipment tracking Robert's health, Wiji-wiji quietly clears his throat. "You appear . . . [i]ano[/i] . . . werry worried. Za game is no fun?" Scarpedin shrugs. "I dunno. I figured you had, like, magic powers and sh*t. Y'know, like this game was supposed to heal him or something." The board is covered with medical terminology: Scarpedin's attempt to invoke magic to cure whatever is wrong with Robert. Words like 'bandaid,' 'HMO,' and 'cocaine.' "No," Wiji-wiji laughs. "Robato-[i]san[/i] just has concussion. [i]Anata no atama ga itai, yo[/i]. We pray gamu to keep him company, [i]ne[/i]?" "Yeah, I suppose." Scarpedin grunts. "Waste of time. This is not what knights do. This is what modern Americans on soap operas do." "You modan [i]Americajin[/i]?" Scarpedin shakes his head. He does it, and he expects something dramatic to happen, because he feels like he's reached a turning point. The closest he gets is Wiji-wiji turning over a Scrabble piece on the board, then sighing and putting it back. "Game much easier if you cheato." Scarpedin leans back in his chair, bored. He looks at Robert, then Wiji-wiji. "So, Weej, you got anything to do?" Wiji-wiji adjusts his suit. "Wanna go getto Excaribur? Werry powafaru [i]katana[/i]." "Sure," Scarpedin says. They stand up, and Wiji-wiji nods for the door. "Forrow me." As they walk out, leaving the Scrabble board behind, Scarpedin asks, "This gonna take a long time?" "[i]Hai[/i]." "You know, Excalibur's not really a katana. It's more like a light saber." "Crose enough." [center]* * *[/center] A few hours later, Robert is awake, looking at the completed Scrabble game lying inexplicably beside his bed. His head throbs a little still, but nothing seems too bad. John had been in a moment before, filling him on what had happened, and Robert knows he should be back in a minute with the rest of the gang. The rest of the gang. Robert frowns at the thought. He doesn't like considering any of these people friends. Scarpedin and Wiji-wiji have apparently left for good; some agents Jenny sent reported that they'd been seen boarding a ship that set sail for England. John claims that Ian and Bonnie plan to come with them, Bonnie because she and Terry are starting to get along, and Ian because he claims to like their style. He's pretty sure he could get them to leave him alone, but he's not sure he wants to. Keeping them around might help him figure out what's going on. Some jackass is behind all this, and while Robert couldn't give a damn about helping the Bureau, he's never been one to let an *sshole get away if he could do anything about it. But first, there's the puzzle Wiji-wiji has left. Robert hears someone approaching and slides a smile on with seconds to spare before they walk through the door. "Hey Jenny," he says. "And John. And Terry. Bonnie. Um . . . Ian?" The group each nod a reply. John, Terry's ghost at his side, gestures for Jenny to take a look. Jenny gives Robert a brief concerned smile as she walks up and looks down at the board. Amid an array of medical terms who, according to the score sheet, were placed by Scarpedin, there are seven words placed by Wiji-wiji. Jenny says them out loud. "Chicago. Paris. Nagasaki. Wellington. Machu Picchu. Qantir. Leng. What are these?" "They're illegal plays," Bonnie says with a grin. "Ye can't use proper nouns in Scrabble." "They're seven cities," John says, "like the 'vision' Nathan had yesterday." Ian grumbles, "And let me guess. We're going to have to find out what they mean?" Giovanni, Ian's aged Spanish inquisitor ghost, sneers and says, "We have no need of pagan fortune-telling." Robert sits up, slides his legs off the bed, and stands, only showing his wooziness for a moment. He takes the Scrabble board and folds it, ruining the tiles. "Creepy dead guy knows what he's talking about for once," he says. "I'm through with playing games. We're not doing this. We all decided, this isn't our business, right?" There's a ring of nods, Bonnie and Terry grinning a little, Ian looking relieved. "Jenny," Robert continues, "if you'd like we can drop you off back with your boss on Terra, but we're . . . we're going to leave." "Can I come?" Ian asks. Robert actually has trouble faking enthusiasm for his. "[i]Sure[/i], why not?" He realizes that Jenny hasn't been paying perfect attention. Her eyes are half closed, and she glances at him. "I really hope I remember how all those city names were spelled. And Robert, I'm not leaving." Robert leans forward, surprised. "I'm going with you," Jenny says. "Wherever you go. I won't even tell the Chief." John scoffs. "I don't believe it." Jenny smiles disarmingly. "I might still want to do something about what's going on, but if anything, you all have shown that the Bureau aren't the ones who are going to fix this. I can help you get away from the Chief safely, and if Terry doesn't object, I'd like to try to convince him to eventually come back and help. But it's not too urgent. Sound good Terry?" Terry's ghost shakes his head in amusement. "Hell, I'm bringing you along even if they don't want you. I need somebody else who wants to find out what's going on." Robert isn't sure how to feel. He won't deny that Jenny will be useful, but he expects she might be an impediment in the long run. And he does not believe her change of heart at all. So he smiles, and says, "This is great. I'll tell you guys all about my harrowing," he chuckles, "Go-playing experience, and we can get some supplies for our little fugitive flight." And so over the next hour, the group talks about what they would need and what Jenny can get them. Jenny leaves detailed information for Michael, prepares a package to be delivered to the Bureau offices on Terra so that they don't have to set foot there again, and then gets a laptop with thousands of files on magic, to keep them informed on their trip, wherever they decide to go. The current plan is to stay as far away as possible from the seven cities from the Scrabble game. Michael tries to convince Jenny what she's doing is a bad idea, but he doesn't try to stop them. Robert is glad he was smart enough to know better. Around noon, Terry plane shifts them to Terra, and while they walk with Jenny to deliver her package, Robert feels a buzz from his phone, telling him he has voicemail. He dials and listens to a message. Nathan's voice says, "Robert old chap, if I'm right, you'll be getting this when you're not sure quite where to go, so I took the liberty of arranging an appointment you might be interested in. Swing by the Virgin Mobile store on Lynn Boulevard at 1pm on November 3rd. Have a safe trip. If you need to reach me, I'll be in New York, fighting vampires I think. Otherwise, I'll see you soon enough, I feel. Oh, and tell Ian he'll get the compensation he deserves." "What was that?" Jenny asks, coming out of the post office. "Nathan," Robert laughs. "He wants us to go to a Virgin Mobile store in . . . half an hour." "Why not?" John says. "It wouldn't be the craziest thing we've done." Bonnie taps her hip flask, which sounds hollow. With mild disappointment she says, "If Nathan said to do it, then I owe the English pig. He did tell me to keep ye safe, after all." Ian sounds nervous. "I don't want to stay in this city any longer than I have to unless there's money involved." With a smile, Robert says, "And Nathan said I should tell you you'll get the compensation you deserve." Ian's eyes light up. "I suppose I can afford to take a look." Robert turns to Jenny. "Do you know where Lynn Boulevard is?" "Of course I do," she says. She pulls out her phone. It's a Virgin product. Less than half an hour later, the group is greeted by a frantic Virgin Mobile clerk who looks like Keenan Ivory Wayans. He claims they are expected, that everything is ready, and that he can get them coffee if they'd like, all while ushering them into a teleconference room. The feed is already live, and in the background of wherever it is are people in casual business attire. Robert is wondering what the hell is going when the clock quietly chimes 1 o'clock, and a man steps into frame of the camera. He's middle-aged, with white hair that looks a little uncontrollable, and a confident gleam in his eyes. Robert shakes his head in frustration, because Scarpedin's little game is starting to irritate him. He knows the man looks like someone famous, but he can't place who. "Hello there," says the man with an educated British accent. "You might not know me. My name is Richard Branson, president of Virgin Enterprises. I understand that you've recently gotten involved with . . . well, magic, and I wanted to offer you a business proposal." The group exchange glances, and then Robert gestures for him to go on. "I'd like you to be heroes, if that's not too much trouble. And I'm willing to pay you." Robert chuckles. "Mr. . . . Branson, is it? Your offer is nice, really. But honestly, we're not the 'heroes' type." "Oh, obviously," says the Rebel Billionaire with a sarcastic grin. "I know what happened in New Orleans, at least vaguely. That's how you came to my attention. I just thought it would be nice, you being so new to this and all, to have a . . . a documentary, of sorts. Consider it endorsing the arts, like the rich used to do in the Renaissance." "Look, Rich," Robert says, "we've got this other whole gig lined up. You know, some thing about saving the world. I'm not too clear on the specifics. Like you said," he chuckles, "we're new at this." "Save the world?" Branson smiles broadly. "That would make an excellent sales pitch, don't you think? This really would be a hands-off deal for you. I would endorse you, be a backer, and in exchange all I would like is rights to movies and such based on heroic exploits. Which, given your recent history, I imagine should be rather spectacular. You're ethnically diverse. I'm not sure quite [i]how[/i] we would produce it, but I'm confident it will be a hit." "This is surreal," John says quietly. "Um, Mr. Branson?" interrupts Ian, voice gruff. "You mentioned payment? Just hypothetically, you know, how much would that be?" Branson nods. "I was thinking about twenty thousand dollars a week. To a minimum of a million dollars total. I assume saving the world should take [i]at least[/i] a year, of course." While everyone else's mouths hang open, Robert replies. "Of course." [i]End of thirteenth session.[/i] [/QUOTE]
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