League Preludes

It is a quiet morning at the rest home. The nuns have sung Matins in the small chapel, and breakfast has come and gone. It's mid-morning.

<> Demiurge says "What's Raquel doing?"

<> Jo says "BTW, time of year is roughly the same as in real life. So it's June."

<> Raquel says "What's my usual routine?"

<> Demiurge says "Probably spend the morning sketching or working at your art. Then lunch. A walk in the afternoon, perhaps do a little quiet shopping. Evensong and supper. Quiet reading in the evening."

<> Raquel was thinking of the art already. :)

<> Raquel goes in search of her paper and pencils. Perhaps something outside...

<> Demiurge says "There are several nice gardens you can sit in to work/sketch."

Raquel goes for her supplies, and then to a garden. Something with a tree to rest one's back against, and flowers about.

There is such a garden, with several old birch trees, and the flowerbeds are full of lavender, peonies, geraniums, pinks, and dahlias.

<> Demiurge says "Though not all in the same bed."

In the distance, the purr of the van bringing the morning post echoes.

Raquel sets up where she's near to the lavender. It smells nice. Nice to draw, too.

There is a brief pause, then the van's noise fades into the distance. Birds sing somewhere, sweetly. The sun is not too hot, and the air is still cool and mild. The drawing of the lavender begins to take form.

A rustle of robes, and one of the nuns comes into view at the top of the garden. She adjusts her glasses as she peers down it. "Raquel? Are you there, child?"

<> Demiurge says "It's Sister Agnes, you recognise."

Raquel works on the delicate shading. On losing herself in the pencil and paper, in that moment of Now when being uncertain doesn't matter. The voice breaks this, but Raquel looks up peaceably. "Yes, Sister, I'm right here."

Sister Agnes says, "Ah, dear. There is some mail for you." Indeed, she is holding a white envelope in one hand. She approaches, offering it.

Raquel stands up, leaving her drawing on the grass beside her, and curiously takes the envelope.

<> Raquel | 'look envelope'

The envelope is of expensive thick paper, and has Raquel's name on it in copperplate handwriting, together with the nursing home's address.

Raquel says, as she examines it, "Thank you, Sister."

<> Raquel says "No return-address on the envelope?"

<> Demiurge says "Not on the outside."

Raquel opens it carefully, trying not to tear the top of it too raggedly.

Inside, there is a letter on thick, expensive paper -- typed, but with a handwritten signature. There is also a cheque.

Raquel takes the cheque out first and blinks at it, startled.

The cheque is in Raquel's name, and is for five thousand pounds.

Raquel gapes at it.

Sister Agnes says, "What does the letter say, dear?"

Raquel tucks the cheque back into the envelope and pulls out the letter. She begins reading it out loud.

*****

Dear Madam,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your distant relative, Mr Miles Christian, recently passed away. In accordance with his last wishes, I am writing to request that you attend the reading of his Will, at midday on the 14th July, at the Regency Hotel, Green Park, London.

I enclose, as per his wishes, a cheque for five thousand pounds sterling to assist with travelling expenses. Your other legacies are described in the Will, and will hopefully be of interest to you.

Yours faithfully,

(illegible scribble)

Jerome Guerson, F.F.

*****

Raquel reads the whole thing out loud to Sister Agnes.

Sister Agnes blinks. "How extraordinary."

Raquel says, quietly and almost to herself, "I didn't know I had a distant relative."

Sister Agnes says, "Perhaps he's on the other side of your family from your uncle, dear."

Raquel nods thoughtfully. That makes sense. "Do you think I could take the time to go, Sister?"

Sister Agnes says, "If you feel well enough, dear."

Raquel thinks this over, studying the letter again. "I... think so. For a short trip, at least." She looks up. "Do you think it would please Sister Mary? To see if I could manage it?"

Sister Agnes nods encouragingly. "It sounds like a quiet, safe trip. And remember, my child, the Lord moves in mysterious ways. This may be a sign that the time has come to take an interest in matters outside our home."

Raquel pages to Jo and Demiurge: Is Sister Agnes the huggable sort?

You paged Jo and Raquel with 'As long as you don't do it too often.'.

Jo pages to Demiurge and Raquel: I think so. You'd never in a million years expect her to hug you.. but...

Raquel smiles, perhaps a touch sheepishly at her own timidity, and gives Sister Agnes an excited hug. "You're right, Sister. I should start preparing!"

Sister Agnes pats her on the shoulder. "I'm very proud of you, child. I'm sure it'll go well."

Raquel smiles, genuinely happy, and stoops to gather up her art supplies. Then she politely takes her leave to go back into the house and talk to Sister Mary Patience about the trip.

<> Demiurge says "And let's close there."

<> Raquel says "Since the most senior manager would probably want to know..."

<> Raquel nods.

It's a warm, sunny Friday afternoon. The sort of afternoon which is made of lounging around on a tropical beach, surrounded by scantily dressed members of the appropriate sex, and sipping brightly colored cocktails just because you can. (Can get drunk so much more quickly in the sun, experience tells you). Unfortunately, there is no beach in the vicinity. Gabriel has just wrapped up an assignment, and not even a very interesting one. The most exciting thing that happened here, at the trial, was one of the witnesses tripping on the steps...

<> Jo says "And (since I forgot to mention it), you are in an American city of your choice. Quite possibly NYC."

<> Gabriel says "Okay, hmmm."

<> Jo says "So, he has a bit of time to himself, or could maybe drop back to the office to check on stuff, or drop by his apartment."

Gabriel heads back to the office of the newspaper he's currently on assignment for. He can get rid of this damn useless roll of film, and maybe pick up a new assignment that is... maybe... on the outside... interesting. He really could use something with some flaming carnage and death. None of this who boinked who nonsense.

Gabriel walks back to the office, instead of taking a cab.

Outside, the heat is baking. Unusually hot for the time of year, and you can tell that it is affecting people's driving (and not for the better). You take a short cut to avoid the worst of the tourist spots, when your mobile rings.

Gabriel answers his cellphone. "Hey, this is Gabe."

"Heeeeey! Gabe, my man! This is Bruno..." (you do recognise the voice. He's just this jerk. Who unfortunately works at Reuters.)

Gabriel says "Yeah, hey baby, how's it hanging?"

On the phone, Bruno chuckles, "So hot you wouldn't believe, chico. Wanna take a wild guess at who just got back from Kosovo with the low-down on Milo's one-in-a-bed sex scandals?"

Gabriel says "Yeah, no shit?"

"Kind of," he admits. "But some of the stuff in those death camps made good camera like you wouldn't believe."

Bruno adds, switching tacks, "And how about you?"

Gabriel's hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Death camps. Mmmm. "Not too shabby. I'm just coming off a job. We had the coach of one of the local high school football teams paw a few boys, and they just closed on the verdict. It's very hot local news here, if you know what I mean, baby. Front page for the last three weeks. The public likes to chew on human misery." He tries to make it sound more exciting than it was. It wasn't, truth be told, all that exciting.

"Mmm.. that human misery angle, editors love it." You can hear a cigarette lighter in the background. "So, front-page boy, you been in any kind of woman trouble lately I should know about. You can tell your old pal... Divorce going badly?"

Gabriel says "I'm not married, Bruno."

Bruno says, on the far end, "No kidding? marriage is such a .. yeah, well, anyway. So what's the deal with your lawyer's letters getting sent on here? Been at least six months since we did that story on Kashmir.. and much as I love you, I'm not paying your libel fees!"

Gabriel starts patting himself down for his own smokes. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta pay 'em, man. And I'm a starving artist out here."

"So.. you might be looking for work, huh? Could be your lucky night..."

Gabriel says "Yeah, well, maybe, man. I'm always looking for a little action, baby."

Bruno says more enthusiastically, "Hey, we gotta talk. I can't promise anything right away, but there might be some serious in-depth Far Eastern shit coming up. And you gotta deal with this letter, I'm not having it on my conscience."

<> Jo says "OK, after all the necessary BS, you can arrange to drop by at Reuters to look into this -- it's obvious Bruno et al are keen to have you on board (the far eastern shit sounds suspiciously like Indonesia -- hmm.. time to check where that is on a map again). They do also fish out something that looks suspiciously like a lawyer's lettter, addressed to you with the note (freelance photographer c/o Reuters) Which reads as follows..."

*****

Dear Sir,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your distant relative, Mr Miles Christian, recently passed away. In accordance with his last wishes, I am writing to request that you attend the reading of his Will, at midday on the 14th July, at the Regency Hotel, Green Park, London.

I enclose, as per his wishes, a cheque for five thousand pounds sterling to assist with travelling expenses. Your other legacies are described in the Will, and will hopefully be of interest to you.

Yours faithfully,

(illegible scribble)

Jerome Guerson, F.F.

*****

<> Jo says "(And the rest, as they say, is down to you to draw your own conclusions)"

<> Demiurge says "And there's a five-thousand-pound cheque."

<> Jo says "Oh yes :) About 7,500 dollars worth of cheque."

<> Demiurge says "So. It's a morning. Where is Kate-Lynn?"

<> Kate-Lynn says "Eating breakfast in a hotel dining room overlooking a beach in California?"

<> Demiurge says "Does anybody know if you're "supposed" to be there? Or is this just a random hotel room?"

<> Kate-Lynn says "I have an antisecretary in Colorado who knows where I am and what I'm doing (rather than figuring it out for me, like a positive secretary.)"

Kate-Lynn stabs through crunchy hash browns with her fork. Her sunglasses sit conveniently to hand, just waiting for that wonderful moment when the sun creeps through the window onto her face and she can put them on.

Next to her, her celphone rings.

Kate-Lynn flips the celphone open with her left hand, brings it to her ear. "'stello."

Kate-Lynn brings the crunchy hash browns to her mouth and consumes them, then puts down the fork.

Her antisecretary's voice filters through. "Good morning, Ms Costello. I'm sorry to bother you, but we have a letter for you."

Kate-Lynn says, "Send 'em a signed picture? 'To my unknown acquaintance, X?'"

The antisecretary says, "It's legal, Ms Costello. And there's a cheque enclosed."

The antisecretary says, "Would you like me to read it?"

Kate-Lynn says, "Damn. It'll be a fan letter one of these days, I tell you."

Kate-Lynn says, "Please."

The antisecretary reads as follows:

*****

Dear Madam,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your distant relative, Mr Miles Christian, recently passed away. In accordance with his last wishes, I am writing to request that you attend the reading of his Will, at midday on the 14th July, at the Regency Hotel, Green Park, London.

I enclose, as per his wishes, a cheque for five thousand pounds sterling to assist with travelling expenses. Your other legacies are described in the Will, and will hopefully be of interest to you.

Yours faithfully,

(illegible scribble)

Jerome Guerson, F.F.

*****

Kate-Lynn takes another bite and chews as she considers this.

Kate-Lynn says, "I didn't know I had any Christian relatives."

Kate-Lynn says, "Stick it in my account. Get me a plane ticket. Never does any harm to honor the dead."

The antisecretary says, "Certainly, Ms Costello. Where would you like to fly from?"

Kate-Lynn says, "LAX." She thinks a moment. "Notify the Board that I'll be in London. Explain why and tell them not to get their britches in a bunch."

The antisecretary says, "Yes, Ms Costello. Will you be wanting me to book a hotel room or transport in London?"

Kate-Lynn says, "Yes. Use your judgment on location. If there's no point in a car with the traffic in that part of town, find something that'll work."

The antisecretary says, "Yes, Ms Costello. Will there be anything else?"

Kate-Lynn says, "I'll need a black suit. Pants, not skirt. Silver as the secondary color. Make that two. Some ordinary clothes. I'll be traveling light."

Kate-Lynn says, "Have it waiting at the hotel? And that's all."

Kate-Lynn waits for acknowledgment, and then flips the phone closed. Time to head for LA.

Kate-Lynn signals a waiter. "I need this boxed."

<> Demiurge says "Sorry, lag. The antisecretary said yes, and all that."

The waiter nods and complies.

Kate-Lynn grabs the box and her traveling bag and motors.

Elsewhere, it is a quiet Scottish morning. The sky has a peculiar grey clarity to it.

<> Demiurge says "What's Justin up to? Asleep at 9am? Working in the garage? Chatting with friends?"

<> Jo says "Hung over?"

Justin groans blearily into his pillow, cracks one bleary eye at the grey curtain.

<> Justin says "Hung over."

From the letterbox at the door comes the cheerful rattle of mail. Wait. There's something odd. This isn't the right time of the month for the unemployment cheque.

Justin debates getting up for the post.

Of course, the post isn't going to go *away*...

Justin rolls over to look up at the cracked ceiling, "To pee or not to pee, whatta stupid question..." and rolls out of bed slowly, testing his balance a bit before actually standing up.

The room doesn't fall over.

Justin sways mildly, decides that's good enough.

Memory points out that there is cold water to be obtained from taps, which can be splashed on one's head.

Justin rubs his eyes and goes to use the WC, first, washes his hands, head, and face, the cold water feeling good against heated skin. He drinks a good cup or two of water as well, to get that fuzzy feeling off his tongue, and then goes over to see what's rattled the door.

Sitting on the mat is what looks like an *expensive* letter. Stiff paper. First class. Addressed to him personally.

Justin blinks, puts one hand on the door for an extra balance point before leaning down to pick it up, runs fingertips over the smooth paper.

Justin opens it.

The letter reads:

*****

Dear Sir,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your distant relative, Mr Miles Christian, recently passed away. In accordance with his last wishes, I am writing to request that you attend the reading of his Will, at midday on the 14th July, at the Regency Hotel, Green Park, London.

I enclose, as per his wishes, a cheque for five thousand pounds sterling to assist with travelling expenses. Your other legacies are described in the Will, and will hopefully be of interest to you.

Yours faithfully,

(illegible scribble)

Jerome Guerson, F.F.

*****

A cheque flutters out from the folds of the letter.

Justin watches the cheque fall.

The cheque lands on his toes.

Justin reads the letter again, and it starts to sink in. He sits down carefully, not picking the cheque up, yet.

The cheque doesn't vanish. Nor does the letter.

Justin sits on the floor back to a wall, "No way. This has gotta be..."

Justin picks up the cheque, turns it face up to look at it.

It has his name on it. And the sum of five thousand pounds. And it looks legal.

Justin just starts swearing softly, running through his head which friends might have access to legal papers, to this quality of forging skills, but none of them quite connect right. Not like this...

It looks real. It feels real. It even *smells* real.

Justin does, indeed smell it thoughtfully. No odd ink scents, no strange glues. Nothing to do.

Justin gets up, still holding both letter and cheque and rummages about his part of the apartment for clothing, coming up with an almost-whit t-shirt, black jeans, the usual boots and jacket and stuffs the cheque in the inside pocket of the jacket.

The cheque crinkles reassuringly and fails to vanish.

Justin doesn't let go of the cheque through all of this, occassionally looking at it again, and then strides out of the apartment to a bank.

<> Justin is assuming he doesn't keep a regular account. Lives by cash on the most part, cashing pay cheques as they come and so on...

<> Demiurge says "Yup, I figure so."

<> Justin says "Or dole checks, but he has a place to cash 'em, Would it be a bank or do you have check cashing businesses there?"

A bank is easily findable. Big, old, stone. The cashier looks a touch traumatised, but gives the usual sweet can-I-help-you-sir?

<> Demiurge says "Banks are more usual, I think."

<> Jo says "There are cheque cashing places, but yeah ;)"

Justin gives her his big grin, "Hyeah, lass, I needa cheque cashed." He hands it over nonchalantly.

Justin tries to, at least.

She takes it, and blinks at the size. "Certainly, sir. Can you provide some proof of identification, please?"

<> Demiurge says "Justin should have a National Insurance card, if he's on the dole. ;)"

<> Justin says "Perfect."

Justin pulls out his National Insurance card.

<> Justin was wondering the equivalent of drivers liscenses or social security cards..

The woman checks it, and nods. "Will you excuse me a moment, sir, while I check? Standard procedure for this amount of cash, you understand."

Justin nods, "Certainly."

The woman passes the National Insurance card back. She leaves her station a moment, to go to the back of the area and make a quiet phone call. Nodding is visible.

Justin grins a bit more sharply than he probably ought to, nervous thoughts of this all being a hoax chasing themselves through his head.

The woman returns. "The money is just being brought up, sir."

A few minutes later, a minion-type guy brings a small packet of notes across to the woman. She finishes stamping the cheque, then passes the packet of notes over the counter to Justin.

Justin nigh snatches the packet, but then just shoves it into his inside pocket and gives the lady a nod and a another grin before walking quickly out the door, half expecting to hear disruption behind him.

No undue noise comes from behind him. Nobody chases him.

Justin breaths slow and deeply once he's out, suddenly aware that he was breathing pretty sharp and shallow. He finds a doorway a little off from the main road, and in the doorway he checks out his packet, to see what's actually in it.

The packet contains notes of various denominations, between ten and one hundred pounds, and -- in total -- comes to five thousand pounds.

Justin says reverently, "Holy Mother of Fuckin' God, it's real." and breaths another slow sigh.

He is not struck by lightning.

Justin laughs, suddenly, sticks it all back into his pocket and half races towards his mothers house.

<> Justin 's intention is to probably give 3 thousand of that money to his mother, then take the other 2 with him to London, as the letter's now proved itself.

His mother is up, verily, and doing the housework. The chirrr of the vacuum cleaner comes through the door.

<> Demiurge says "His mother will mention that she doesn't _remember_ any relatives/family with that name, but hey. It's possible."

<> Demiurge says "It's morning. 9am. Where is Carlotta?"

<> Carlotta says "Weekday or weekend?"

<> Demiurge says "Weekday."

<> Carlotta says "Class, if there's class. Otherwise working."

<> Demiurge says "No class this morning."

<> Carlotta says "Working then. Doing the courier thing."

<> Demiurge says "Okay. Does she live at home with family, or in her own apartment, or what?"

<> Carlotta says "Small apartment in Manhattan for the week. On weekends, she goes home to the family in Queens."

The morning's deliveries pass without incident. But there's a class in the afternoon, so it's back to her apartment to change.

<> Demiurge says "There are half a dozen letters in your mailbox."

Carlotta plucks her mail out, putting it in the 'personal' part of her satchel, and takes the stairs up to her apartment. It's good for the legs.

Her apartment is just the same as normal.

Carlotta plunks the satchel down on the table, pulls together her books for the afternoon, and then reads through mail.

Two circulars. One prize draw offer. One letter from a school friend. One letter postmarked from Great Britain, of expensive stiff paper.

Carlotta blinks.

Carlotta mutters to herself, in Spanish, "I don't know anyone in Britain."

Carlotta pulls out the knife she always carries, flicks it open with a practiced movement of the wrist, and slices open the envelope.

A letter on similarly expensive paper slides out, with a cheque showing inside its folds.

Carlotta blinks. "What is this? She looks at the check, then reads the letter, her english slightly accented (more with a Queens accent than a spanish one, although that's slightly there too).

*****

Dear Madam,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your distant relative, Mr Miles Christian, recently passed away. In accordance with his last wishes, I am writing to request that you attend the reading of his Will, at midday on the 14th July, at the Regency Hotel, Green Park, London.

I enclose, as per his wishes, a cheque for five thousand pounds sterling to assist with travelling expenses. Your other legacies are described in the Will, and will hopefully be of interest to you.

Yours faithfully,

(illegible scribble)

Jerome Guerson, F.F.

*****

<> Henrik idly wonders what F.F. stands for. Is it the English equivalent of the U.S. 'Esquire', meaning a practicing bar member?

<> Jo says "It's not a common abbreviation"

Carlotta is on the phone thirty seconds later with her mother.

Her mother is, of course, happy to chatter.

<> Henrik senses a Plot. ;)

<> Demiurge looks bland.

Carlotta says "Hola, Mamma. It's 'lotta. Aiee I just got a check for five thousand pounds however much that is in real dollars! Who is Miles Christian and why am I in this anglo's will?!"

Her mother says, "Carlotta! It is seven thousand five hundred. But what have you been doing to make rich anglos send you money?"

Carlotta says "I don't know! It claims I'm some distant relative or something."

Carlotta says "I don't understand. I thought we were all from Puerto Rico."

Her mother says, "Of course we are, querida. Though I was told by my own mama that part of the family came from French, years ago, so maybe we have some anglo blood from there. Or maybe there was an anglo in Puerto Rico."

Carlotta double takes, "Seven thousand five hundred dollars? Eeeek!"

Her mother says, "Is the cheque genuine, 'lotta? Have you paid it into an account to find this thing out?"

Carlotta says "I just got it today in the mail! It says I'm supposed to go to England and find out."

Carlotta looks over the check. "It looks real. I could go to the bank and find out."

<> Demiurge says "I note that it's now the 1st July, so Carlotta has a fortnight or so to prepare in."

Her mother says, "Where are you supposed to go in England?" Her voice has all the dubiousness of mothers who foresee their children being lured into Bad Places.

Carlotta says "In two weeks, during the break."

Her mother says, "Yes, but where, querida? To one of their big cities?"

Carlotta says "It's London, Mama, and New York is much bigger than London."

Carlotta doesn't exactly know this for a fact, but.

Her mother sounds reassured. "Ah well, then. At least you should be able to find your way round easily. I hear they even have their own Subway."

Carlotta says "With this much money I can even take a bike. I wonder if there are any competitions in Britain..."

Carlotta says "So I can go?"

Her mother says, "Perhaps this anglo has made an odd will, querida, and said that his money is to go to his youngest descendants, or something like that." She pauses. "Of course, we need to talk it over, querida..." Her tone of voice suggests that there's a good chance she'll eventually say yes, however.

Carlotta fires up a stream of spanish that says it's on break, that it'll pay more than her regular job, that if the check clears and she goes and comes back she'll *still* make more than she would otherwise, and hey look! there's an open competition in france and that's right across the channel so maybe she could get some competition in.

Her mother eventually caves in, after demanding multiple phone calls and letters so that she can keep track of where her beloved daughter is.

Carlotta says "Mamma I'll probably be back before the letters get there."

Carlotta says "But I promise, yes."

Her mother tells her that she's a good girl. And suggests that they go shopping for some nice clothes for her to take to England with her.

Carlotta happily agrees, but only once the check clears, so she'll go deposit it right now.

Carlotta spends another five minutes saying good bye, and promises to be on time for family brunch on Saturday.

Her mother eventually agrees to look through the family trees for anglo relatives, before finally getting off the phone.

Carlotta gives another little squeal of happiness, grabs a quick shower, and dresses in some of her nicer clothing to go to the bank.

The cashier who she eventually finds herself in front of certainly smiles nicely. Then she blinks at the cheque. "Might I have some identification, Ms de Gama?"

Carlotta says "Uh, sure."

Carlotta pulls out a New York State ID.

<> Demiurge says "Is Carlotta trying to withdraw it, or pay it into her account?"

The cashier checks the ID, and nods.

<> Carlotta says "Into her account. If it's a cashier's check, it should clear almost immediately."

The cashier goes through the normal formalities, and presents Carlotta with a receipt for seven thousand four hundred and eighty-six dollars (at today's exchange rate).

Carlotta's eyes get big for a minute, and she clutches the receipt close. New bike!

Carlotta says "Thank you very much."

The cashier smiles brightly. "Have a nice day, Ms de Gama."

Carlotta almost dances back to her room, and calls Mamma to say the check cleared! Oh and who should she talk to about a ticket to London. And more stuff like that.

Her mother rapidly provides information about travel agencies and so on. Mingled with due astonishment.

<> Demiurge says "Actually, I think we close there, unless you have any particular things you want to do."

<> Carlotta says "New clothing of course. Register for bike race in france, various other things."

<> Demiurge nods.

<> Demiurge says "Hm. _Can_ you register for the Tour de France like that?"

<> Carlotta says "Oh not the tour de france. A smaller competition."

<> Demiurge says "Ah. Right, there's probably something you can go in for, then."

<> Carlotta says "Besides which I think women's races don't run at the same time."

<> Carlotta is, by the way, exceedingly thin. To the point of emaciation. She's got a body fat level that most models would consider low.

<> Demiurge says "Right."

---

The League