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Tears in Hell (UPDATED OCTOBER 11th)
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<blockquote data-quote="Puppy Kicker" data-source="post: 1649938" data-attributes="member: 20284"><p><strong>Introduction: Rebecca Michaels</strong></p><p></p><p><img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~abramdress/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/rebeccamichaels.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /> </p><p></p><p><strong>Introduction: Rebecca Michaels</strong></p><p>11:00 PM July 12th, 2004</p><p> </p><p>You apply the final finishing touches to your face – perfect. Your hair is brown today, and it goes well with today’s face. Martin, er, Professor Gallivan, will probably pretend not to notice again, but you know he’ll fall for you eventually. He’s still hurting from his daughter’s death and you understand that you need to give him time.</p><p></p><p>You are especially careful as you run out to your car (shiny and red and new, the Mary Kay logo prominently displayed) to avoid the rain. It would just NOT DO to have your face ruined right before you see Martin. </p><p></p><p>Your phone beeps at you as you drive out of the campus parking lot. You pull over to check your messages. You’ll be a bit late to the “study group” but that’s all right. You know it’s best to keep the customer’s appetite wetted by letting them wait just a bit, and Martin is just a customer – a cute and bookish customer. Beepbeepboopbeepboopbeepboop… your answering service tells you that you have one message.</p><p></p><p>"Uh, hi. This is Tom again. Didn’t get an answer on my last call. Uh. Anyway, they said they’d buy it. Five hundred alright for you? Just let me know. They said it’s time… uh, a time issue. You know? So call me back soon. Beeeeep."</p><p></p><p>Whatever that means. “Tom”, whoever he is, left a message earlier this week too. You DO NOT give your cell phone number out, even to customers, so who knows how this L-O-S-E-R got it, but he had best stop bugging you or you’ll get a restraining order. You <strong>are </strong> mildly curious as to what he’s selling though.</p><p></p><p>You delete the message and pull onto the road. Someone honks at you as you cut them off. You flip a very well manicured finger his way and continue on your journey. Yorktown is a long drive, especially on a night like this.</p><p></p><p>It’s almost 11:30 when you get to the McDonalds. Martin’s Subaru Impreza is parked out front, and you recognize that sports car that Quin is so fond of. You rush through the rain, carefully positioning the umbrella, and push the door open. The rush ends there – you enter the McDonalds like a lady. </p><p></p><p>Martin is there, so is Quin (spoiled rich kid, but very cute) and Meadow (good skin, potentially good hair, could use some help to find that “inner beauty”). You nonchalantly walk over to their table.</p><p></p><p>“Hi Professor Gallivan.”</p><p></p><p>“Have a seat, Ms. Michaels.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Martin, I will.” You squeeze into the seat closest to him, slightly pushing Meadow out of the way. You set your daypack on the floor near Martin’s satchel and your purse near his cheeseburger.</p><p></p><p>“Yorktown’s a bit out of the way, isn’t it, Prof?”</p><p></p><p>“A bit, Mr. Stark, but I wanted some privacy.”</p><p></p><p>“Privacy then, great. Well let’s get down to it.”</p><p></p><p>You nudge a little closer to Martin. “Yes, let’s get down to it.”</p><p></p><p>The door opens and some guy with a briefcase comes in. Cute, in a rugged, blue collar sort of way. You could help him with his hair, and he could probably use some skin conditioning. He orders some food.</p><p></p><p>Your attention returns to Martin. “So you all want some extra credit.” You nod, not entirely honestly, but whatever. Your grades are fine - that’s not the sort of extra credit you’re looking for. Martin reaches under the table and rummages around in his satchel. He sets a small stone figurine on the table, shaped like a bear. Suddenly, Meadow spits out a mouthful of salad and keels over. </p><p></p><p>“Are you alright, Meadow?” Martin asks. He’s always so thoughtful.</p><p></p><p>She nods at the professor. “Just a little bad salad, thanks.”</p><p></p><p>Martin nods and continues. “I found this on my dig in Mexico last year.”</p><p></p><p>“Mexico? They have a lot of bears down there?”</p><p></p><p>“Not really, Quin. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re all going to find out a little something about this artifact. I’ve…. done…” Martin rummages through his satchel – he’s adorable when he’s concentrating – and pulls some papers out. “…some research already…”</p><p></p><p>Another customer comes in. This guy could really use your services. Horrible hair, facial sun damage, a couple cuts and bruises, the outfit is <strong>atrocious</strong>. He has a dufflebag and briefcase, looks like a vagrant. Probably can’t afford your makeover services. </p><p></p><p>You ignore him and get down to researching.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Puppy Kicker, post: 1649938, member: 20284"] [b]Introduction: Rebecca Michaels[/b] [IMG]http://home.earthlink.net/~abramdress/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/rebeccamichaels.jpg[/IMG] [B]Introduction: Rebecca Michaels[/B] 11:00 PM July 12th, 2004 You apply the final finishing touches to your face – perfect. Your hair is brown today, and it goes well with today’s face. Martin, er, Professor Gallivan, will probably pretend not to notice again, but you know he’ll fall for you eventually. He’s still hurting from his daughter’s death and you understand that you need to give him time. You are especially careful as you run out to your car (shiny and red and new, the Mary Kay logo prominently displayed) to avoid the rain. It would just NOT DO to have your face ruined right before you see Martin. Your phone beeps at you as you drive out of the campus parking lot. You pull over to check your messages. You’ll be a bit late to the “study group” but that’s all right. You know it’s best to keep the customer’s appetite wetted by letting them wait just a bit, and Martin is just a customer – a cute and bookish customer. Beepbeepboopbeepboopbeepboop… your answering service tells you that you have one message. "Uh, hi. This is Tom again. Didn’t get an answer on my last call. Uh. Anyway, they said they’d buy it. Five hundred alright for you? Just let me know. They said it’s time… uh, a time issue. You know? So call me back soon. Beeeeep." Whatever that means. “Tom”, whoever he is, left a message earlier this week too. You DO NOT give your cell phone number out, even to customers, so who knows how this L-O-S-E-R got it, but he had best stop bugging you or you’ll get a restraining order. You [B]are [/B] mildly curious as to what he’s selling though. You delete the message and pull onto the road. Someone honks at you as you cut them off. You flip a very well manicured finger his way and continue on your journey. Yorktown is a long drive, especially on a night like this. It’s almost 11:30 when you get to the McDonalds. Martin’s Subaru Impreza is parked out front, and you recognize that sports car that Quin is so fond of. You rush through the rain, carefully positioning the umbrella, and push the door open. The rush ends there – you enter the McDonalds like a lady. Martin is there, so is Quin (spoiled rich kid, but very cute) and Meadow (good skin, potentially good hair, could use some help to find that “inner beauty”). You nonchalantly walk over to their table. “Hi Professor Gallivan.” “Have a seat, Ms. Michaels.” “Thank you, Martin, I will.” You squeeze into the seat closest to him, slightly pushing Meadow out of the way. You set your daypack on the floor near Martin’s satchel and your purse near his cheeseburger. “Yorktown’s a bit out of the way, isn’t it, Prof?” “A bit, Mr. Stark, but I wanted some privacy.” “Privacy then, great. Well let’s get down to it.” You nudge a little closer to Martin. “Yes, let’s get down to it.” The door opens and some guy with a briefcase comes in. Cute, in a rugged, blue collar sort of way. You could help him with his hair, and he could probably use some skin conditioning. He orders some food. Your attention returns to Martin. “So you all want some extra credit.” You nod, not entirely honestly, but whatever. Your grades are fine - that’s not the sort of extra credit you’re looking for. Martin reaches under the table and rummages around in his satchel. He sets a small stone figurine on the table, shaped like a bear. Suddenly, Meadow spits out a mouthful of salad and keels over. “Are you alright, Meadow?” Martin asks. He’s always so thoughtful. She nods at the professor. “Just a little bad salad, thanks.” Martin nods and continues. “I found this on my dig in Mexico last year.” “Mexico? They have a lot of bears down there?” “Not really, Quin. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re all going to find out a little something about this artifact. I’ve…. done…” Martin rummages through his satchel – he’s adorable when he’s concentrating – and pulls some papers out. “…some research already…” Another customer comes in. This guy could really use your services. Horrible hair, facial sun damage, a couple cuts and bruises, the outfit is [B]atrocious[/B]. He has a dufflebag and briefcase, looks like a vagrant. Probably can’t afford your makeover services. You ignore him and get down to researching. [/QUOTE]
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