Post by Alexander Hope on May 9, 2020 11:57:50 GMT -6
"San'ache didn't hold up the deal?! Make sure he doesn't eat for the rest of the damn week, then!"
"Lala brought in an entire rat colony?! WHO THE FUCK LET THAT IN?!!"
"Pasley struck oil? ...In the gym? The PAPAYA ISLAND gym??"
"Who the FUCK decided to eat Wryce's sandwich!? Bett, I bet it was you!"
"Empy, the fortunes never change if you keep EATING THE PAPER!"
"Why did you fuckin' buy... lessee... hOW MANY WHORES?! Damn Ise, its like you can breed or something! Fuck!"
"This is your daily reminder, Pocus -- and everyone else -- to refrain from eating the ceramic mugs in the west wing Panic Room. Thank you."
"I can't believe you smuggled Animorphaline into the mayor's estate just so you could transform his daughter's best friend into a cat girl. Huh? ...She didn't even turn into a cat-type? HAH! GET FUCKED, JUJU! HAHAHAA! Aaaah, don't worry, the airship will bust y' outta the station in, like, six minutes."
"Peelo, you're taking Naife's shift on babysitting the youngest. Naife got himself a real nasty paper cut yesterday. Yes, a paper cut. He's still in shock after it happened! What, never seen a guy cut his whole damn arm off from a slice of paper?"
"God damn stinky piss in a bucket -- for the last time, if you wanted to cash in favors from me, you should've gone and earned 'em after I was born."
The day was laden with phone calls, telepathic reports, intercom messages, vocal relays, and all sorts of other, miscellaneous drivel. The Hope House had gotten chaotic in recent years, what with the obliterated record of collective recruits. Stuck squarely within his primary office-esque area, Alexander Hope, the Father of the Hope House, was overcame with the sensation of being "absolutely knackered". Days such as today weren't anything new, nor particularly overwhelming; the fatigue adds up eventually, though. Albeit, it did wonders for Alexander's sleep cycle. Regardless, slumping back in his moderate, navy office chair, the Father rung up his pseudo-secretary in regards to any further activity.
'Vinny. This is Alexander. Anything else on the menu today?'
'Well, besides Northern Neatballs, Revolving Rigatoni, and Cereal Spillers, there's nothing exactly "new", sir.'
Alexander groaned. Responding as evenly as he could, the leader began to rub at the edges of his eyelids as he did so.
'Not what I meant, Vinny. Is there any leftover cliffnotes on the schedule for me? Its just about evening, already.'
'Oh! Well, nothing just yet. Ellbran, and... Sofai still need to check in, but everyone else should be settling for the day.'
'Any meetings?'
'No, sir.'
'Fantastic. That's all from me for now then, Vinny. Good job today.'
'Oh, but Father Alexander, I noticed something just recently. There was a note buried under a few of the reports from late April. It mentioned someone correlated to our most recent Associate individual: Sam. I believe it was a woman. Name, Naomi; surname, Sodorus.'
'...'
'...Sir?'
'FuuuUUUUCK!'
While the telepathic coupling persisted, it damn near shot out. Leaving Giovinni to the rupturing echo of his employer's voice, Alexander catapulted himself from his seat! Tossing himself leg-first, lunging towards the frontal exit door, an audible CLAC-BAM erupted into the immediate hallway. Somersaulting into reassuring his balance, Alexander sprung to his feet once again, reaffirming his communication with his telepathic operator.
'What's the last known point of contact? This is urgent -- be snappy about it!'
'The only method we're aware of is via a far-out junkyard. Its one by the name "Rusty's Crap Shack". Current telephone number is -- as follows -- 020 9475 6675309.'
"Oh two oh nine four..."
Already brandishing a cellular phone from last year's end, the leader hastily thumbed up the provided number.
"...Three oh nine -- hurry up hurry up hurry up --!"
A dull droning din invaded Alexander's ears without delay. Lightly gritting his teeth, bearing the nigh caustic racket at his eardrum, Lex soon took to glancing at his left wrist. Every other ring of the dial brought a glance downwards. Oddly enough, Alexander didn't even own a wristwatch. Despite the eternity, however, the ringing tone ceased. Earnest in his endeavor to rectify his error -- of which failing to meet a cooperator to his Associate -- Alexander left no time for those at the other end of the line to respond foremost.
"Excuse my haste, but is there a... Naomi Sono --"
'Vinny, the fuck was this Naomi's given name again?'
'Ahem, er, "Sodorus", Father Alexander.'
"Aherm -- a Naomi Sodorus. Is a Naomi Sodorus available?"
And so it begins, Naomi - Biker Queen - . Let's see where this takes us!
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