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[Story Hour] Daring Tales of Adventure
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<blockquote data-quote="mikeawmids" data-source="post: 6422673" data-attributes="member: 6776411"><p><u>Daring Tales of Adventure / To End All Wars / Part 3</u></p><p></p><p>Using Miss Braveheart’s business card as a psychic focus, Nicolas directed Emilio through the steady flow of noontime traffic.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Straight ahead…. Left at the next junction, then right…. We’re getting closer, I can sense it…. Stop!”</strong></p><p></p><p>Emilio slammed his foot on the brake and the roadster screeched to a halt outside the glass-fronted façade of the Boston Herald. A frazzled receptionist attended the front desk, telephone receiver cradled against her shoulder as she used her hands to apply lipstick to her face.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Ahem,”</strong> Emilio cleared his throat to catch the woman’s attention and flashed her his most disarming, pearly-white Tom Cruise smile, <strong>“Good day senorita, my name is Senor Emilio Valentine and we would request an audience with Miss Val - “</strong></p><p></p><p>The receptionist turned away without even acknowledging the Italian’s existence. She rudely continued her own conversation with whoever it was on the other end of the phone. Evidently they were much more interesting than the handsome European aristocrat on the other side of her desk. Emilio was crestfallen. Why wasn’t she swooning? Could this drab creature somehow be immune to his charm? Inconceivable!</p><p></p><p>Having grown up in Boston, Brett was better prepared to deal with the woman’s blunt dismissal. Hooking his foot around the cable connecting her phone to the wall, Brent pulled the plug from its socket. Cut off, the woman blinked owlishly at the silent receiver. Brett leaned over and waved the crumpled business card in her face.</p><p></p><p><strong>“As my friend was just saying, we’re here to see Miss Braveheart.”</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>“Yes, yes,”</strong> the receptionist snapped, <strong>“Head up to the first floor, her office is at the end of the hall.”</strong></p><p></p><p>Brent draped his arm around Emilio’s shoulders and herded the despondent nobleman towards the stairs. Doctor Gizmo shuffled after them, muttering to himself quietly. Nicolas lingered a moment to bid farewell to the waspish woman at the front desk. Tapping one finger to his temple, the mesmerist caused the lipstick in her hand to lurch sideways of its own accord, smearing an ugly, red line across one side of her face.</p><p></p><p>---</p><p></p><p><em>‘MISS V. BRAVEHEART’</em> read the stylised letters on the door. Brett rapped on the glass and waited to be invited inside. A few awkward moments ticked by, yet nobody answered. Brett tentatively tried the handle and found the door to be locked.</p><p></p><p>A barrel-chested man chomping on a fat cigar turned the corner and stopped abruptly, eyebrow arching at the curious group lurking outside the office.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Help you gentleman?”</strong> he asked.</p><p></p><p><strong>“We’re looking for Miss Braveheart, we - “</strong> Brett began to explain, but the cigar chomping man cut him off.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Join the queue! She was due back an hour ago! Does she think I can wait all day for my headline? If you do see her, tell her that if the Starkweather story isn’t on my desk by 17:00 sharp, I’ll have to run with something else!”</strong></p><p></p><p>Brushing passed, the editor moved on, a miasma of acrid smoke wafting in his wake.</p><p></p><p><strong>“If Miss Braveheart went alone to Starkweather Labs, she might be in serious trouble.”</strong> Brett said, once the man was out of earshot, <strong>“Those men killed Jim to protect their secret, they’ll kill her too if they’ve caught her snooping around. We’d better hurry. Emilio, can you drive?”</strong></p><p></p><p>The Italian did not respond. He was still thinking about the woman downstairs and how she had rebuffed his irresistible advance. Was he losing his touch? One sensuous glance was all it should have taken to have her tearing at his clothes. Maybe he was - </p><p></p><p>Brett slapped him. In the face.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Snap out of it, man!”</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>“You slapped me! In the face!”</strong> Emilio spluttered with indignation, <strong>“How dare you?!”</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>“There’s a woman in peril, Emilio.”</strong> Brett replied, <strong>“We don’t have time for your moping.”</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>“A woman? In peril?”</strong> the Italian asked, mood brightening, <strong>“Why didn’t you say so? Of course I’ll drive! Follow me!”</strong></p><p></p><p><em>To be continued….</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="mikeawmids, post: 6422673, member: 6776411"] [U]Daring Tales of Adventure / To End All Wars / Part 3[/U] Using Miss Braveheart’s business card as a psychic focus, Nicolas directed Emilio through the steady flow of noontime traffic. [B]“Straight ahead…. Left at the next junction, then right…. We’re getting closer, I can sense it…. Stop!”[/B] Emilio slammed his foot on the brake and the roadster screeched to a halt outside the glass-fronted façade of the Boston Herald. A frazzled receptionist attended the front desk, telephone receiver cradled against her shoulder as she used her hands to apply lipstick to her face. [B]“Ahem,”[/B] Emilio cleared his throat to catch the woman’s attention and flashed her his most disarming, pearly-white Tom Cruise smile, [B]“Good day senorita, my name is Senor Emilio Valentine and we would request an audience with Miss Val - “[/B] The receptionist turned away without even acknowledging the Italian’s existence. She rudely continued her own conversation with whoever it was on the other end of the phone. Evidently they were much more interesting than the handsome European aristocrat on the other side of her desk. Emilio was crestfallen. Why wasn’t she swooning? Could this drab creature somehow be immune to his charm? Inconceivable! Having grown up in Boston, Brett was better prepared to deal with the woman’s blunt dismissal. Hooking his foot around the cable connecting her phone to the wall, Brent pulled the plug from its socket. Cut off, the woman blinked owlishly at the silent receiver. Brett leaned over and waved the crumpled business card in her face. [B]“As my friend was just saying, we’re here to see Miss Braveheart.”[/B] [B]“Yes, yes,”[/B] the receptionist snapped, [B]“Head up to the first floor, her office is at the end of the hall.”[/B] Brent draped his arm around Emilio’s shoulders and herded the despondent nobleman towards the stairs. Doctor Gizmo shuffled after them, muttering to himself quietly. Nicolas lingered a moment to bid farewell to the waspish woman at the front desk. Tapping one finger to his temple, the mesmerist caused the lipstick in her hand to lurch sideways of its own accord, smearing an ugly, red line across one side of her face. --- [I]‘MISS V. BRAVEHEART’[/I] read the stylised letters on the door. Brett rapped on the glass and waited to be invited inside. A few awkward moments ticked by, yet nobody answered. Brett tentatively tried the handle and found the door to be locked. A barrel-chested man chomping on a fat cigar turned the corner and stopped abruptly, eyebrow arching at the curious group lurking outside the office. [B]“Help you gentleman?”[/B] he asked. [B]“We’re looking for Miss Braveheart, we - “[/B] Brett began to explain, but the cigar chomping man cut him off. [B]“Join the queue! She was due back an hour ago! Does she think I can wait all day for my headline? If you do see her, tell her that if the Starkweather story isn’t on my desk by 17:00 sharp, I’ll have to run with something else!”[/B] Brushing passed, the editor moved on, a miasma of acrid smoke wafting in his wake. [B]“If Miss Braveheart went alone to Starkweather Labs, she might be in serious trouble.”[/B] Brett said, once the man was out of earshot, [B]“Those men killed Jim to protect their secret, they’ll kill her too if they’ve caught her snooping around. We’d better hurry. Emilio, can you drive?”[/B] The Italian did not respond. He was still thinking about the woman downstairs and how she had rebuffed his irresistible advance. Was he losing his touch? One sensuous glance was all it should have taken to have her tearing at his clothes. Maybe he was - Brett slapped him. In the face. [B]“Snap out of it, man!”[/B] [B]“You slapped me! In the face!”[/B] Emilio spluttered with indignation, [B]“How dare you?!”[/B] [B]“There’s a woman in peril, Emilio.”[/B] Brett replied, [B]“We don’t have time for your moping.”[/B] [B]“A woman? In peril?”[/B] the Italian asked, mood brightening, [B]“Why didn’t you say so? Of course I’ll drive! Follow me!”[/B] [I]To be continued….[/I] [/QUOTE]
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