287: A burning Rose – Chapter Six or NinePosted: July 6, 2012
Everybody do the last chapter dance! Woo-hoo!
:flails around wildly like Kermit the Frog:
I was considering dividing this chapter up since I thought it was too long for a single riff, so imagine my surprise when I checked the word count and discovered that the chapter is less than twenty-five hundred words long. It just feels like it goes on forever.
In the last chapter, after building up the temple robbery over multiple chapters and forcing the audience to endure a monotonous dinner with Munchkin where he did everything but hand the treasure over to AbR, the actual robbery takes maybe a minute and is only made possible by a convoluted series of coincidences that would be nearly impossible to plan for. After rushing through the flight back to what I assume is America in a few sentences, the chapter ends with AbR getting a phone call from Alice/Michelle and then falling alseep in bed.
There is a brief Author’s Note where the author begs for more reviews, but there’s nothing really interesting about it so I’m not going to include it here.
And now we continue on with Chapter 6 (or 9), which is titled The Gift.
When I woke up the next time, I took a shower, fed Mr. Fluffypants and relaxed back into the couch cushions. My thoughts were swirling around the robbery.
Mr. Fluffypants is back! I missed that giant mutant kitty.
I’m going to assume that the thoughts fluttering around inside AbR’s brainpan are something along the lines of “Holy shit, I can’t believe I got away with that!”
’I need that comb, because some day I was going to need the help of the law, and if I was on good terms with the FBI-Agent handling my very own case I had a teeny-tiny chance to get that needed help.
The comb in question is a silver comb that AbR stole ten years ago from Munchkin’s family, for some reason her buddy/employee Jack has been able to keep track of every item she has ever stolen for reasons that aren’t really clear to me. It’s also not clear why she thinks returning a small personal keepsake to one agent will give her any influence with other law enforcement officials; given the severity of her many crimes I would think the only way she could get preferential treatment would be if she provided information on other criminals and AbR doesn’t seem to play well with others.
My eyes darted to the clock. 10 o’ clock. I got up, stretched a little and moved to my basement gym to work out for a little while.
Let’s play everyone’s favorite clock-based game, What Time Of Day Is It? That’s where an author gives you a time of day and you have to guess if they mean AM or PM. The best part is that nobody wins or loses since there’s no way to know what the right answer is!
An hour later I was breathing heavily, thinking about what to do. I decided to do some studies I’d forgotten over the past few weeks. When I put my books away it was eight in the morning. I groaned when I went to work out again, with aching muscles. It was round ten when I again finished and flopped down in front of the TV.I turned on the news channel.
Okay, let’s break this down. If she works out for an hour, that would make it eleven o’clock. Depending on whether it’s evening or morning, she then studies non-stop for either nine or twenty-one hours before going back to exercising for another two to fourteen hours. After up to a day and a half of doing nothing but working out and studying, AbR decides to kick back and watch TV. I know the author said English wasn’t her first language, but I’m sure time still works the same way in Germany.
Let’s see what’s on the Exposition News Network that is so fascinating it managed to interrupt AbR’s rigorous study/exercise cycle.
“‘The burning Rose’-thief struck again! This time the uncatchable thief chose an exotic country to rob of its fortunes: India. India’s police worked closely together with the new FBI-Agent handling The burning Rose’s Case.Edward A. Cullen.
And it worked out wonderfully, assuming the idea was to make the valuables easier for her to steal. It’s odd that the news is now giving out Munchkin’s full name, since he was only refered to by his intials before. I guess since AbR knows who he is there’s no point hiding his identity anymore; it’s not like any other criminals will be watching the news.
Even tough he could not catch the thief on his first case, he is pretty confident that he will be the one to put ‘The burning Rose’ behind bars…..” I turned off the TV seething with anger.
Why is she so angry? He used almost those exact words when he was talking about the case on the plane.
The way the news report is worded makes it sound like since AbR got away, the case is over. That’s not how criminal cases work since most investigations don’t even start until after the crime is committed; until the statue of limitations for the crime runs out, law enforcement will still actively investigate the case. It’s not like it’s a game of Capture the Flag.
‘So, Agent Cullen was confident he’d catch me, huh?’ I picked up another throw-away phone and turned on a very useful little device my Uncle invented. It made my mobile untraceable to the police, or even the CSI.
AbR repeatedly stated in the first couple of chapters (before he vanished into the SDQF) that Uncle The Prof never finished any of his inventions so they never worked properly until AbR got her Sue hands on them. If this device is one of his, then it will probably cause the phone to shit marshmallows or something equally unexpected. Also;
A crime scene investigation unit is just that; an internal unit of law enforcement at either the local, state, or federal level that investigates crime scenes. Turn off your TV and pick up a book once in a while.
“Hello?” Agent Cullen’s voice greeted me. “Hello.” I said with a new voice, this time.
He knows who you are, stupid. There is really no point in disguising your voice now.
”Who’s there?” He asked. “Who do you think I am, Agent Cullen?” I asked. “Rose.” He said simply. “Never! Never, call me ‘Rose’, again, Agent! It’s ‘The burning Rose’ for you as well as for all the others. ” I said angrily. ‘What’s it with people calling me “Rose”?’
What is with this sudden over-reaction to people calling her Rose? Is it considered an insult in Germany to call someone a fragrant ornamental flower?
”What do you want?” He asked with a sigh. “For you to stop spouting crap on the news, alright? It’s not like I go around posting naked picks of you on the internet, is it?”
That went to a weird place pretty quickly. Is AbR trying to imply that Munchkin posted nude photos of her in the Internet? I don’t recall him ever having an opportunity to take such photos since all of their interactions (thankfully) occured when both were fully clothed.
”Well, for a first, I don’t have any naked pictures for you to post anywhere, Rose oh pardon me ‘The burning Rose’ and for a second, I’m not spouting any ‘crap’ on the news.
So he doesn’t have naked photos of her, but it’s still possible that she has naked photos of him? Why are they spending so much time talking about nude pictures of each other?
It’s just the truth I’m telling people.” He said.
It’s pretty much the same thing every media liaison tells reporters regarding an important case, it’s not like a law enforcement official is going to go on the news and say “Well, we’re boned.”
”For a twenty five year old you sure are very immature.” I said.
You’re one to talk, Methuselah. By my math you’re only twenty-two and behave like someone half that age.
“How do you know my age?”
Because you told her how old you are when she interviewed you for her fake thesis, although you gave her a different age. This is actually the fourth age we have for Munchkin; his personnel file lists his age as twenty-six, he told AbR he was twenty-one, according to the timeline given for the comb’s theft he’s twenty-three, and now he’s been timesquiggled up to twenty-five.
–Oh, right I suppose Mary’s not your real name, then?” He asked.
Not exactly the brightest bulb on the marquee, are you?
I laughed. “Are you still trying to trace this call? Stop, it’s not possible.
Well, if the criminal says it’s not going to work then you should trust her completely. It’s not like it would be to her benefit to lie about something like that.
And of course Mary is not real name.
It’s Major-General Stanley; she has information (vegetable, animal, and mineral) she knows the kings of England and can quote the fights historical – from Marathon to Waterloo - in order categorical.
I’m the burning Rose-thief, for you and for everyone.” “So, The burning Rose,….can’t I say Rose, cuz this just sounds too awkward!” He asked.
You’re a grown man who carries a gun and can legally shoot people, you can call her whatever the hell you want. For gods’ sake, grow a pair.
”No, you can’t. Only my friends can call me that, that’s why.” I said. ”So, you indeed have friends?” He asked. “Yes, I do. Do you know someone who hasn’t got any?” I deadpanned. “If your trying to refer to me, then your sadly mistaken Rose, because I also have friends..” He said.
Hell, it’s more ”witty” banter. And they appear to be arguing over who has more friends like a couple of little kids on the playground. Can we just go back to taking about the nude photos that may or may not exist?
“Sure you do. Anyways. It’s your birthday, this weekend, isn’t it?” I asked.
If she keeps changing gears like that, she’s going to ruin her transmission. Also, what the hell is she talking about?
“Äh, yes. How do you know that?” He asked.
The author really needs to work on keeping her characters consistent. During the fake interview AbR just hinted that she knew Munchkin’s full name and he reacted like she had just pulled out the results of his latest colonoscopy and he seems shocked that she knows his age even though he told her, but the fact that she also knows his birthdate barely causes a reaction.
”I know everything Agent Cullen, just accept that as a fact.” I said.
Because she’s a Sue.
“Well, I was thinking of giving you a present, What do you want beside the comb?” I asked. “You, on a silver platter handcuffed.” The answer came like a shot.
I know someone I’d like to see shot. Out of a cannon.
I’ve mentioned several times that AbR has done everything but hand herself over on a silver platter, but you don’t think … No, that’s crazy.
I laughed “Nah, what about a new car? A Volvo’s so last century. I said. “What the hell am I doing having a conversation with a wanted thief?” He sighed.
More importantly, why does the wanted criminal know things like what kind of car you drive? There’s also the little matter of the naked photos she may or may not have of you. There is all kinds of obsessive stalker behavior going on in this fic, which is the closest the fic has come to being true to the source materials.
”That’s what we’re doing, Agent. Having a conversation, seeing as there’s nothing even remotely interesting on the TV, and I’m not in the mood to go steal something I figured I’d have a conversation.
There are other ways for wanted criminals to pass the time; go walk around the mall, enjoy some frozen yogurt, maybe do some light vandalism if that’s your thing, but don’t call the damned cops and get all buddy-buddy with them.
Even super-smart thieves like me need a little breather from time to time.”
Modest little thing, isn’t she?
It was fun annoying him. “Do you not have friends to have such conversations with, burning Rose?” He asked. “Of course I have friends to have such conversations with. I just figured I’d annoy you a little bit and of course ask you what you want for your birthday.” I asked.
Because nothing screams “I have tons of friends!” like having a pointless conversation in the middle of the day/night with the guy in charge of putting you in jail.
“Are you seriously asking me that? No; forget that, are you seriously planning on giving me a gift?” He asked.
:collects stray semi-colon for Spare Punctuation Box:
Of course she isn’t, that would be kinda foolish.
”Yes, how about a new car. A cabriolet, since that old beat up Volvo you drive is too darn slow to hold up with me, if we ever get down to the whole car-chase-thief thingy?” I asked.
She’s buying him a car in case they get into a car chase - sorry, a “car-chase-thingy” - later. I’d be tempted to say that she really does want to get caught, but it’s not like a Smart car has a lot of muscle under the hood.
“A smart, in dark blue and black, the smart car, not the mini.” He added.
No, you idiot! Ask for a pony – a black one with a white star and fetlocks and a pretty white mane all braided up fancy with blue ribbons and wearing one of those feathery things on its head! Ooh, and a little blue pony cart with gold trim and gold bells on the harness that go jingle-jingle …
Why is everyone looking at me like that?
”Your wish is my command. See, I’m not a soulless thief. Half of the money I stole in India went to an Indian charity organization, the other half to the thieves helping me.” I said.
:checks previous chapter:
The loot was divided into two bags; AbR left one for Godbole behind her hotel and almost immediately boarded a plane with the other bag. When did she have time to make a donation to a charity?
”You took nothing for yourself?” He asked. “Sure I did, the thieves helping only got a third of the loot.” I said. “Oh.” He said.
:tosses calculator out the window:
Clearly I won’t be needed this anymore.
”What happened to Inspector Chárdéi? And why was my case given to the FBI?” I asked. “He retired; he said he had enough of chasing you, so the law deemed lone Inspectors unworthy of handling a case of such a high-profile thief like you.
As I’ve covered in previous chapters, a case like AbR’s which contains multiple crimes committed in several jurisdictions over a length of time would likely be investigated by a multi-departmental task force and not a single person. This is probably the closest the author has gotten to something resembling realism in the entire fic.
That’s why FBI took over and I’m the poor idiot who got your case.” Agent Cullen answered.
And we’re back in Nonsense World again.
That’s not how law enforcement works; the FBI cannot “take over” a case unless specific crimes (such as kidnapping or bank robbery) have been committed or if local law enforcement invites them in to help out. Munchkin has repeatedly said that he wanted the case for personal reasons, but this is the second time that he implies that he was assigned this prestigious and career-making case because he’s a pathetic moron. I’m not disagreeing, it’s just not very consistent.
”I just remembered that he told me to tell you something.
“I am the walrus. Koo-koo gajoob.”
I think the old man knew you’d get in touch with me sooner or later. He said I should thank you for something, said you knew what he meant.” Agent Cullen said, curiosity evident in his voice.
If it’s about that one time in Vegas when he did things with an ice cube that would make Mickey Rourke blush, I thought we all agreed to never speak of that night again.
“Inspector Chárdéi was a good man, much unlike me, but he reminded me of… someone.” I said vaguely.
Please, stop! There are just too many details to absorb all at once!
“So, you are planning something, I can sense that.” Agent Cullen said.
If you say your spidey-sense is tingling I will straight-up murder your ass, so help me Jeebus.
”I’m going to give you an opportunity.” I answered. “Really, your gonna present yourself to me, handcuffed on a silver platter?” Agent Cullen asked.
She wouldn’t … would she?
”You will see…” I said cryptically before hanging up and grabbing something to eat.
Oh, hell; she is, she really is.
’I'm gonna show him that I cant be caught.’
By presenting herself to him on a silver platter. That’ll show the smug bastard.
I called Seth, a technician and a mechanic friend of mine.
Finally, another character! That makes Seth the fourth (or fifth if “Jack” is really Jacob) canon character to show up. If the author stays true to form, then the audience will learn absolutely nothing about him beyond his name.
”Hello, Seth, I need your help.” I said with a smirk.
:tears hair out:
I can’t take another smirk. Does every single fic author use the smirk as a default expression?!?
“Okay, when, how and most importantly, what do you need me for, Rose?” He asked.
AbR sure has a lot of dedicated friends (even though she treats them more like employees) who just blindly agree to do whatever she wants before finding out what it is they have to do.
”You’ll see. I just have to plan this thing out.” I said, hanging up still smirking, while the gears in my mind turned at high-speed.
She calls up her friend to ask for his help, and then tells him she still needs to plan things out and hangs up on him.
Not only is she the worst criminal ever, she is also the worst friend ever.
A few days later
Oh, good; we’re going to skip over all the tedious planning stuff and just jump directly to the action.
I stood on top of the FBI-Headquarters , where Agent Edward Cullen had his office. Today was a big day for him, his birthday.
The FBI’s head office is located in the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, DC; unless all of AbR’s crimes were committed in the District, Munchkin would probably be at the regional office closest to where her last crime occurred. It’s also much more likely that his office would be inside the building, not on top of it.
Seth had helped me, even tough he was very skeptical of my plan. “You’re digging your own grave, Rose. Don’t do this.” He’d said. But still, he’d helped me.
If the one-dimensional lackey thinks it’s a bad idea, then it is probably a really bad idea.
I sat handcuffed on a huge silver platter beside the car Agent Cullen had wished for.
:fist-pump: I totally called it!
‘ Don’t ask me how I got the car on the roof, it was pretty hard work, but I’m not one of the most wanted thieves of the whole world for nothing!’
Is this supposed to be an Author’s Note or is AbR thinking to herself that she isn’t going to tell herself how she got the car on the roof? The first is just shitty writing, but the second infers some deep psychological issues for this character (as well as being shitty writing.)
Getting a car up onto a building’s roof isn’t impossible, in fact it’s a classic college prank. I don’t know why being a thief, someone who traditionally takes things out of a building, would make AbR any better at this than a handful of drunk engineering students, but I’m not the one writing this thing. Besides, it’s a Smart car; on the “hard-to-transport” scale, they rank somewhere between a box of Tic-Tacs and a chihuahua puppy with bladder control issues.
Suddenly sirens blared loudly and I smirked again, satisfied.
AHHH! It’s the DRD!
:dives under desk:
Oh, that was the fic. Sorry, we just finished doing some DRD drills and I’m a little jumpy.
Do the sirens mean that someone just noticed that there was a tiny car and a woman on a giant platter on the roof? Man, security systems in this world suck ogre toenails.
The building was evacuated; right this instant a helicopter with a banner flew over the building.
Congratulations, AbR; you’ve just graduated from “over-confident thief” to “terrorist attacking a federal building”! I hope you enjoy your stay at Guantanamo Bay.
The FBI must have installed transdimensional portals or something if they are able to evacuate a building instantly.
”Happy birthday Agent Cullen!” was printed on the front. The back said “A burning Rose“. Another banner was let down on the side of the building. “Your wish is my command. I’m sitting on the roof. A one-on-one.“
She has his phone number, she could have just sent him a text telling him to meet her on the roof instead of making him go through all of this. In order to read this invitation Munchkin will have to exit the building on the side where it is displayed, wait for the helicopter to make a pass or get far enough away from the building so he can read it, reenter the building, and then take the stairs all the way up to the top of the building.
And of course once he saunters up to the roof he will just have a nice polite chat with the showboating idiot over tea and scones, shake hands, and bid her a fond farewell.
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and I leaned back on my hands.
I hope AbR’s hands were handcuffed behind her, otherwise she just dislocated both of her shoulders to make herself more comfortable.
The door to the roof was kicked off its hinges.
Roof access doors are usually of the heavy, reinforced-steel, fire door type; it’s far more likely that if someone kicked it that hard they would fracture their leg rather than knocking the door off its hinges.
”HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” I shouted, still sitting on the silver platter cross-legged.
That has got to be one big-ass silver platter. I wonder if she stole it from Williams-Sonoma?
Sitting like that – legs tailor-fashion and supporting her upper body with her cuffed hands behind her - sounds less like a comfortable sitting position and more like something you’d find in a bondage handbook.
Agent Cullen’s eyes quickly scanned the roof before coming to a halt on me. “What is this?” He asked.
It’s a very small car and a contorted woman on a platter sitting on the roof of your office building. Haven’t you been paying attention?
”Your birthday present.” I answered, half of my face hidden by a mask.
Even if the audience doesn’t know what your face looks like, Munchkin does. He just spent over twenty hours sitting beside you on a plane and then had the longest dinner in the world with you, so he could probably describe you to a sketch artist with his eyes closed.
That means there is no reason for you to wear a mask, jackass.
”Well, then, The burning Rose your under….” Before he could even finish his sentence tough, fireworks went off and I broke out from my bonds.
She broke her handcuffs? Damn, she must be strong. But what was the point of even wearing them? Her hands were behind her so Munchkin wouldn’t have even seen them.
I threw a bouquet of yellow-white roses at him alongside an envelope before I jumped high in the air spreading black wings.
Ah, the Wheat Thin wings are back. The last time they were used AbR described them as “angelswings” so I assumed they were white, yet this pair appear to be black. Either AbR has two sets or these are magical color-changing wings. If she does in fact have two pairs, then why use the black ones during the day and the white ones at night – times when those colors would be the most visible. It should be the other way around.
”ROSE!” He yelled while I flew away, laughing.
She’s a great big target in the middle of the sky and you have a gun, Munchkin - just shoot her already! Or get one of the other agents to do it, I’m not picky.
Mr. Crowbar doesn’t like POV Tags, but I’m sure a change of perspective would be nice right about now.
I was sitting in my office, trying to think of a new tactic to get this thief, when the Sirens went off.
Watch out for the sharp rocks and be sure to plug your ears so you are not driven mad!
Oh, I see – wrong Sirens. It also seems that we’ve either timesquiggled our way backwards a bit in the timeline or the evacuation sirens are going off again for an unrelated reason.
I ran outside and saw the banners.
Which he’s not going to describe in the slightest because who needs another perspective of events that have already occurred? It’s not like anyone in the audience would ever be interested in such a thing.
So this thief really is a woman of her word.
Yes, she is a refreshingly honest criminal. I told you that you should have asked for that pony.
I can’t believe she sat handcuffed on a silver platter right in front of my nose and I wasn’t able to catch , I’m such a failure.
Is … Is that the end of the flashback? That’s all we get?!? What a rip! That wasn’t even worth changing perspectives!
Far be it from me to add fuel to Munchkin’s pity party, but given his performance thus far, he does kinda suck as a federal agent.
I groaned as I made my way to my boss. He wanted her behind bars about as much as I did.
I’d love to know where we are right now; I’m assuming it’s Munchkin’s office but it’s hard to tell with all of the Formless Void in here.
I groaned once again, when my attention went to the envelope Rose had thrown at me. The keys to the car fell out from it, there was a card too.
Did the envelope just disintegrate? Munchkin never opened it, but stuff is just falling out of it like sand from an hourglass. He should really keep stuff like that in an evidence bag to prevent cross-contamination.
Dear Agent C.,
I wish you a very happy birthday and good luck with all of your other cases. Sparring with you is fun. P.S I toldyou, you won’t catch me. We’ll talk soon.
Love, A burning Rose
Well, at least it’s not another one of those free-form poetry pieces. It looks oddly formal compared to their verbal exchanges, like something a distant relative would send you with a five dollar bill tucked inside.
I groaned again. Jasper one of the IT-guys came in.
Munchkin sure does groan a lot. Maybe he needs more roughage in his diet. And hey, it’s another sparklepire – and he works in IT! That brings the total to five (or six) canon characters.
”Yes?” I asked. “I need the keys to the car. It has to be checked for bugs and tracking devices.” He said.
I don’t know what the author thinks IT stands for, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve searching a car for bugs. You’d want a few crime scene analysts, preferably ones with knowledge of automotive mechanics and covert electronic devices, to do that.
Why do they even need the keys? It’s not like the techs are going to drive it down the stairs. If the crime shows I’ve seen are any indication, wiring a bomb to a car’s ignition or door locks is standard practice for criminal types so it would make sense to let the bomb squad take a look-see before the computer nerd starts poking around in the car’s innards.
I nodded, throwing the keys at him.
Yes, let’s add someone else’s fingerprints to the vital evidence while we’re at it.
My mind was still marveling at this thief. She had pulled her most dangerous game, right on top of our building’s roof. Damn it! She was bound to leave traces somewhere!
She has; quite a lot of evidence, in fact. Even with the lack of descriptive narration, I can think of several instances when she should have been caught.
I groaned holding my head in my hands.
Yet more groaning. Munchkin needs to find a new way to express himself. Maybe he should try interpretive dance.
And thus concludes our brief sojourn in Munchkin’s head. I don’t know about you, but I feel enriched.
When I landed on my home’s roof again, I let out a laugh.
Wait, she was able to fly home from the FBI office? Not only is that a stupid idea, since anyone following her would be led directly to her home, but she’d have to live within gliding distance of the J. Edgar Hoover Building – which is, as I’ve mentioned, in Washington, DC and not the state of Washington where the canon characters are located. If there was such a drastic change in setting, that’s probably something the author should have mentioned eight chapters ago.
I went inside still laughing until Mr. Fluffypants seemed to decide he’d had enough of my insane laughing and jumped at me, making us both fall to the floor.
Yay, Mr. Fluffypants! Now maul her a little and make it look like she fell down the stairs!
He began liking my face.
At least someone likes you.
I quickly got up and hauled myself into my room. I stripped the bed sheets, changing them into something more comfortable before going into the shower, turning the volume of the News channel up high enough to hear.
… Okay, that’s an odd thing to do. I feel sort of bad, though; I’ve never considered my mattress’ comfort before. I’m going straight home and wrapping my bed in a Snuggie.
“So, this were the political news of Today. Let’s get to more interesting things, such as: The burning Rose thief.” (A sense of pride rushed over me, the News channel reporter had said my name correctly.)
Some stuff happened, but it wasn’t important to the author so she will just skip over it.
AbR is really hung up on the public’s perception of herself. You would think that a sucessful criminal would avoid publicity like the plague.
I had been under the impression that AbR’s obsession with flammable flowers was one of those details that law enforcement would hold back from the press, since it would lead to a lot of copycats setting roses on fire and make it more difficult to identify which crimes were committed by AbR, but it would appear that this is not the case. Who cares about realism when the Sue’s ego needs a litte stroking, right?
” This incredibly smart thief
presented herself today, handcuffed on the roof of the FBI-Headquarters of New York.
:brain screeches to a halt:
They are in New York?
How … That doesn’t even …
I could almost forgive a Washington, DC/Washington state mix-up since the author may not be all that familiar with US geography, but New frickin’ York? If she was going to go that far off-canon, why didn’t she bother bringing it up eight chapters ago? What the hell, author?
We still don’t know the identity of this thief, but like the press-agent of the New Yorker FBI confirmed, The burning Rose-thief really is a woman.Like many people have been suspecting for years.
Like, it would seem that in this world, like, teenagers can totally get jobs writing news copy for national networks.
I could see the FBI releasing a statement confirming the gender and general description of AbR based on Munchkin’s and others’ eyewitness accounts, but to actually admit that she was on their roof – in handcuffs - and managed to escape? I don’t think so.
But even getting to know the gender of this thief is a huge improvement on this case and helps to motivate the FBI. That’s it for Today’s news. Mary Spears-Sky news.”
“We’re done with the exposition, so the station is shutting down forever. Good-bye.”
I meanwhile let the spray of hot water relax my muscles and sooth my nerves. After getting out of the shower and taking on some clothes, I dried and curled my hair. Then I relaxed back into my couch cushions and got ready to watch Tom Cruise save the day.
The pacing of this fic makes no damned sense to me. AbR’s daring escape from federal agents rates only a sentence or two, but we get a play-by-play of movie night? (And don’t even get me started on the two-chapter flight.)
‘Ahh, the joys of a relaxing day…’ I thought while logging onto my laptop. When I found no new IM, or PM. I logged off and turned my attention back to Tom Cruise. Just as the movie was getting to the good parts, Alice barged in.
If it’s a recent Tom Cruise movie, then it most likely doesn’t have any good parts.
How she managed to get into my house not letting off any of the alarms, only god knows.
Well, “god” and the audience. AbR has a fairly elaborate security system; I remember something about security monitors from a previous chapter, and there are probably other goodies hidden in the Formless Void. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to enter unannounced - unless that person has the access codes to the system so she can come take care of AbR’s pet mutant kitty while she’s out of the country, which is something AbR asked Michelle/Alice to do.
”Ali?” I asked looking at her. “Oh, your watching Mission Impossible? Great, scoot over.” She said sitting down.
I’m guessing AbR considers this “research”.
I paused the movie. “Alice what are you doing here?” I asked. “Well, I thought you were lonely.” She said, her eyes never leaving the screen. “I was.” I smiled at her and Alice leaned against Mr. Fluffypants’s side.
What a touching scene, it truly warms the cockles of my heart.
No, wait; that’s my acid reflux. :takes a swig of Pepto: Never mind.
We both watched the movie, squealing at the right times.
I haven’t seen that particular movie in years, but I don’t recall any squeal-worthy moments in it.
It was close to midnight when the ringing of my phone and the growling of my stomach woke me up.
I don’t think that’s possible, but I have no way to test it. I can only say I’ve never been awakened by two things simutaneously; usually the most urgent claims my attention first and I don’t really notice anything else until I deal with it, like when I wake up to use the bathroom and don’t find out that my leg has fallen asleep until it buckles under me and I end up on the bedroom floor. (And then the cat jumps off the bed to offer moral support, and to see if I happen to have food hidden in my nightgown, even though it’s her fault I’m down there in the first place because she’s so fat and likes to sleep on my feet. That happens to people all the time, right?)
”Hello?” I asked groggily. “Hello Rose. I have a preposition for you. A preposition I know you will show interest in.”
I hope it’s “notwithstanding”, that’s my favorite preposition.
A mysterious voice said. “Who are you, and who gave you this number?” I asked.
I’ve seen this one, the call is coming from inside the house!
”Who I am? –Let’s just say I’m your well-wisher. I have found a way, how you can find out whom it was that killed your family.” The voice continued.
According to a previous chapter, AbR’s parents died in a car crash. I would think the police report would list the driver(s) of the other vehicle(s) if there were any others involved.
”What preposition and how do you know about my family?” I asked. ”Everything you need to know is in that envelope on your front-porch.” This was the last thing the mysterious voice said before all I could hear was the dial-tune. I opened the front foor and got the envelope the voice was talking about.
AbR lives in the only high-rise building where the apartments have front porches.
I looked at it, turned it over and made sure there was no bomb or anything inside it before taking it inside and opening it.
Check for bombs first then pick it up, doing it the other way around could result in a loss of fingers or life. Also, she checked to make sure there was nothing inside the envelope before bringing it inside and opening it? I don’t even think that’s physically possible.
To: Isabella Swan aka. The burning Rose
About: Charlie and Renée Swan (couple) and Daniel Swan (Child)
Charlie, Renée and Daniel Swan († 20th September) Isabella Swan (sent to live with uncle)
Who the hell is Daniel Swan?
Swan Family was crossing Highway Norfolk when on their way home from a doctor’s appointment when a Police cruiser on the chase after a wanted thief collided with them.
When Bruce Wayne’s family was tragically killed, he became a badass superhero who gets to hang out with Superman, Flash, and Green Lantern in his spare time; when her family bit a dirt sandwich, AbR decided to walk the far-less-awesome path of becoming a whiny and incompetent serial arsonist/magpie. I can’t help but feel that AbR made a poor choice.
I’m sure you are aware of this fact Miss Swan? Absentmindedly I nodded, then continued reading.
Why is she nodding? The only person who can possibly see her is Michelle/Alice, who seems to have vanished into the SDQF.
I have made a plan how you can find out who these officers were were and whom they were chasing.
Does this plan involve requesting the police report of the accident or going through old newspapers from the days after it occurred? Because that’s what I would do.
All you need to do is get inside the FBI-Headquarters of New York.
I don’t really see how that would help anything, unless a bank robber or a federal agent rammed the Swans’ car.
Of course I need something from there too. Casefile #18954321 and all evidence to this case you can find.
I hope the “evidence” in question is something like the mine from Hot Fuzz.
Let yourself get caught Isabella and then tell the Chief of FBI that you want to help.
And that you also need help; lots and lots of professional help.
Choose whichever officer you want to work with and get me that file.
Gee, I wonder which officer she will pick?
I don’t care how long it takes, as long as I get my file in the end.
I wonder if Mysterious Stranger realizes that AbR will know who he/she/it is when she sees the file, since he/she/it just told her it was his/her/its file. It kind of ruins the mystery.
And that’s the end, like many fics it just cuts off abruptly. I can sort of see where the author was going – AbR teams up with Munchkin to find out who killed her folks (and some kid I’m assuming is her brother) and good times are had by none – but I don’t see why she would veer off into this particular briar patch. With the exception of a throwaway line in an early chapter, there has been no mention of AbR’s deceased family or any indication that she desires justice or vengence or any of that stuff you see in Charles Bronson movies. Until the last few paragraphs the audience isn’t even aware that this Daniel kid existed! It’s like the author is just flinging stuff at the wall to see what will stick.