Welcome to Fan Tessie: Airport 2010. This chapter opens with our questing band arriving at a large international airport, somewhere in the continental U.S. of A., and describes their tribulations as they attempt to secure passage to the Middle East to continue their search for a secret UFO base hidden in the desert sands.
Anyone is welcome to contribute to this thread, providing only that you have read Fan Tessie and Zion's Friction first, to familiarize yourself with the characters. Don't be shy - a contribution as short as a sentence or two is welcome if it moves the plot along. Stationaryness is unproductiveness, as they say in the secret agenting game.
Celebrity name-drops are encouraged (it is not Google-spamming if they are worked into the plot in a plausible manner). Please do not kill off Tessie, Jon, Clarion or Cr'ar'aloft. Anyone else is fair game. Product placement opportunities should be marked [BRANDPLACE].
February 13th, 2005, 04:44 AM
Cr'ar'aloft stepped a short, petite, yet still trim and shapely leg out of the car right onto the painted line that told her the car was parked too close to the car next door for her to open the door safely. Luckily, there was no car in the adjacent bay, or she couldn't have done that. She'd known Clarion his whole adult life and she had never once seen him park a car properly, she reflected. Sometimes she thought he did it on purpose.
The airport was bathed in sunlight from the sodium vapour lamps that lit up the pre-dawn twilight in an odd yellow hue like real sunlight during a partial solar eclipse but nothing like real sunlight at any other time. The cool morning breeze caressed her skin, particularly the exposed parts that weren't covered by her clothes. It felt good to be alive. Particularly in light of their recent near-death experiences. She yawned and stretched. Her petite yet stunning body, she stretched to show off her feline curves to maximum advantage. She stopped when she realized neither of the men were watching her.
They were doing that bickering thing again.
"Oh Clarion," she called, slinking cat-like towards the boot of the car, "A girl feels naked."
Well she didn't look naked (unfortunately), but being a secret agent, he knew what she meant. She meant she felt naked without a gun, or two, or more, in her pocket or perhaps she was just pleased to see him and she really did feel naked his mind wandered.
"Well, never let it be said that Clarion Spruce leaves a naked girl unserviced," he flirted with her, with her tiny teeny petite little body. She didn't fool him for a minute with her petite ways; he knew how dangerous she could be. He wouldn't trust her as far as he could throw her, although to be fair, he could throw her a fair way seeing as he was a big, strong man and she was just a slip of a girl.
He ignored Jon, gaining a certain satisfaction in the process, although it was really all too easy to do, and threw open the boot of his car revealing a veritable small arms manufacturers' international trade fair of weaponry within.
"Take your pick, my darling."
Tessie looked at the large selection of killing efficiency and European design elegance visually. All the large European manufacturers of death, mayhem, and destruction were represented by themselves and several of the smaller ones too. Not a single patriotic American manufacturer of death, mayhem, and destruction was to be seen or their products. She wondered if the choice of selection was indicative of some kind of anti-American prejudice on Clarion's part - she never had got a straight answer as to where he was from and whom he was working for. Tessie didn't care - she was originally Canadian, anyway. But if Jon, who was taking his new found citizenship altogether too seriously, saw it, he'd probably go postal. Which wouldn't be a good example of discretion being the better part of valour, seeing as how Clarion and Cr'ar'aloft were apparently trained killers and all. And obviously too, armed.
Bored by all this talk of guns, and dazzled by the sodium glare, Tessie went to retrieve her sunglasses from where she had inconveniently neglected to retrieve them from earlier in the front of Clarion's car.
"Silly Clarion," she thought to herself, "he's forgotten to switch his car-alarm on."
She flipped a few switches on the panel cunningly concealed in the car's centre console where no burglar would be able to find it. The lack of a re-assuring chirp from the car concerned her, so she flipped a few more switches. Eventually she decided the best course of action would just be to switch them all on. She prided herself on being helpful and not making a fuss, so she didn't tell anyone what she'd done. No need to mention that Clarion was such a ditz he'd forgotten to switch the alarm on. That would only embarrass him in front of Jon and start them bickering again.
At the rear of the car, Cr'ar'aloft had finally made her selection of the available weaponry. Clarion closed the boot decisively.
"Come on Jon, old chap. Be a gentleman and bring Tessie's luggage," Clarion trumpeted as he headed for the terminal.
February 16th, 2005, 02:16 AM
"A journey of a million miles ends with but a single step."
:rolleyes: Have a nice trip.
Jon, Tessie, Clarion and Cr'ar'aloft walked the short distance to the moving stairs that would lift them to the lower levels of the metropolis like airport, a shining example of architecture and art, a fine example for other airports everywhere which was unfortuantely universally panned by airport critics nationwide, but that was only because of jealousy. If someone had made a TV show about this particular airport, it would still be on the air.
"Let me reiterate again," Clarion Spruce said once more. "We can not be too careful, nor can we be careful enough. Trust no one, believe me, I know what I'm talking about. If your own mother walks up to you here and tries to tell you something, you should shoot her down where she stands. Keep a close eye out, and be ready to take your shoes off at the security checkpoint."
Meanwhile in the taxi, lemo and drop off and pick up area which was crowded, and watched by numerous newly trained guards who weren't obviously wearing weapons, a misterious ranger stepped up onto the curb, looked around in a non-suspicious manner, and then quickly turned into a door.
February 16th, 2005, 08:24 AM
The sign on the door was as brightly red as it was unambiguous: "Security Area - Authorized Personnel Only."
On the floor above, Clarion Spruce's hawk-like vision was spying an equally red, but rather larger sign. Huge, in fact. One of those big, canvas banner sign things. It offered the promise of mischief to be made while their flight they waited the hours for.
International Global World Newsreaders Convention
He nudged Cr'ar'aloft in the ribs. The intercostal region of her body, as he always habitually referred to it as.
"Sorry. Was I poking your intercostal region again?"
"What, Clarion?" she bespoke impatiently, tiring quickly of his childish schoolboy-ism he always displayed in the afterglow of a long night of slaughtering enemies and so on.
"Check the sign," he advised enthusiastically. "I might get to score Katie Couric's autograph, yet?"
"Ugh!" she dismissively grunted.
"Hey!" Tessie rudely interrupted, gazing out of through the towering windows that soared like frozen waterfalls along the concourse's waterfall window wall. "Look at that funny looking cloud."
They all looked.
"Looks like a giant X," Jon explained, just in case Clarion or Cr'ar'aloft hadn't guessed which cloud Tessie meant amongst the myriad plethora of abundant clouds to choose to look at from, "I bet you don't see one that shape often."
"No, it does seem improbable, though certainly not impossible, whenever a natural, inherently chaotic, process produces such an apparently regular and ordered outcome." Cr'ar'aloft answered agreeably.
"Yeah, that's what I meant," Jon unconvincingly lied.
They should have recognized it as a sign. But they did not.
February 17th, 2005, 10:57 PM
International Global World Newsreaders Convention
It's a sine of the thymes
As they were glided up yet another round of escalator steps, Clarion was chuckling at Jon on the steps ahead of him.
"You know," He said, "If clothes make the man, then you're getting a baggy . . .Ooof."
Tessie had elbowed Clarion in the stomach, his infernal back stabbing and sniping was getting redundant and rupugnant.
"I wish you'd cut that out," Tessie said.
"Do you have a knife?" Clarion asked.
February 17th, 2005, 11:31 PM
"No," Tessie informatively responded.
"Here, have one of mine," he elaborated at length. "People have been trying to kill us all all night. There's no reason to think they'll stop now."
"I'm already dead on my feet, I need to sit down," Jon whinged, throwing himself onto a nearby lounge, as they reached the top of the ecalator. Being a writerly type, he knew he had just made a clever pun that the others had failed to notice.
Cr'ar'aloft glanced back at the huge banner advertising the presence of minor celebrities, and wondered, if Jon was a writer, why hadn't he noticed the missing apostrophe?
Clarion was tiring, too. Tiring of Jon's incessant complaining. He was beginnig to really look forward to getting him alone in the desert and blowing his brains out.
Tessie wasn't thinking about much at all, really. Although, she had noticed the apostrophe thing too also.
February 21st, 2005, 06:05 PM
Clarion Spruce was droning in Cr'ar'aloft's ear.
When your hair has turned to silver,
I'll tell you this my honey,
I'll still be by your side,
'Cause you'll be worth a lot of money. (Tom Batiuk)
Jon could not wait to get off of the escalator, he was going to throw himself down on a nearby lounge, he was thinking of a particularly pungent pun having to do with . . .
He stopped and thought to himself, the stairs of course were still moving, as was he, but his mind wasn't, it was stuck on something which had just happened, or, wait, something which was about to happen. Jon had a sinking feeling that something untoward was happening, and it was taking him and his intrepid band along with it.
It is very unsettling for a writer to loose his sense of tense. It was like he'd going from a writer type to a writer typo. He could still picture Ms. Rodarte, his English teacher in High School, slapping her head with the back of her hand and muttering something in yiddish.
"Wait a minute," Tessie said. "Just how long is this escalator?"
"Seems our little jaunt has a few side trips," Cr'ar'aloft said.
When they reached to the top and stepped off again, Ms Rodarte, looking like she hadn't aged a bit, elbowed past them and rode the same escalator back down.
"Wait just a minute," Jon started to say, but he never had the chance to even open his mouth. What he saw made his mouth drop open.
Suddenly Cr'ar'aloft had platinum hair. . .
February 26th, 2005, 02:54 AM
Cr'ar'aloft was used to being stared at - the burden of beauty and all that. But Jon's slack-jawed gaping was going too far.
"You right, Jon?"
"What about it?" she asked as she examined her unnaturally fair, but not so unnatural or fair as to look cheap, hair.
Jon blinked. "I thought it had changed colour."
Cr'ar'aloft worried aloud: "Are you hallucinating things again, Jon?"
His reply was a simple, yet defensive, "No!"
They reached the top of the escalator and stepped off. A woman that seemed vaguely familiar to Jon passed them and headed down the nearby down escalator. She was far less unsettling than the version that had gone down the up escalator a moment before, but she reminded him of someone from his school days.
"Deja-vu," Jon muttered.
"A mild form of dissociative episode, commonly associated with lack of sleep," Clarion expounded.
"Whatever," Jon retorted as he collapsed into the first lounge he encountered, letting Tessie's luggage fall in an unruly pile around him.