Double D not a Guarantee
Originally published: Rooms and Recreation. Hotel industry magazine. Summer 1988

Hotel award season is hotting up, the expected winner of hotel of year now faces potential competition as the old Tropico reopened glory restored under new ownership. The Arlington, Caesars and the oldest big city name the Railroad Continental have all upped their game to name but a few in challenge to Diamond hotels group.

It's going to be an interesting summer.

Shogun Shines!
~Florida Food and Wine Magazine

...How did we get this lucky? Michelin Stars in Delta City? They don't even have that in Miami. Top shelf foreign cuisine and a price that's just as attractive. Did I mention the ambience? Somehow Jiro has made it both Florida and Japan in one place. The whole presentation just leads to a sense of indulgence, even if you are just stopping in for lunch. Did I mention the sake collection is to die for? Eat your heart out Los Angeles...

Enter the Gator
~from the Delta Times

Eastern Shore: A Florida Man was arrested after spraying his neighbors with bug spray and swinging nunchucks at them before accidentally hitting himself in the head with the weapon.

According to police, 61-year-old Larry Adams was complaining about his neighbor’s loud music in their apartment complex.

Adams sprayed four of the neighbors with bug spray, swung his nunchucks at them, and hit himself.

Note from the Gabber in Chief:
Neptune Festival coming up... Wonder if the Blue Angels will be too drunk out of their minds to perform this year? Remember what happened last time? Trader Jon's just about ran out of alcohol (I didn't think it was possible). They had to cancel the flyover at Annapolis! Should be a hoot!

No, I don't know whose been setting the fires recently. Probably if the Times spent as much time doing investigative journalism as they do trying to figure out my identity, they might actually sell some more of that rag. This morning I used a fresh copy to clean my windshield, which is about all it's good for. They should probably team up with whoever is pushing those fake paintings, bullshit on bullshit, yeah... more on that later Delta City!

Oh and by the way, if you think that little Princess from Miami and her band of delinquents are ever going to let this town get some sleep again, you are mistaken. She basically has no competition here. I'm sure Marcus is proud. I'll pay double what the Times pays for any photographer that can catch her insane followers behaving badly- big bonus if it's a band member.
~GIC

Morning
“Hey Carlos, won’t you clean this place up, man. It stinks in here,” Philip Mason yelled at his younger brother. “You working tonight?” PJ, as his friends called him had dressed in a pair of light grey Calvin Klein dress slacks over his black spit polished Allen Edmonds Park Avenue Oxfords. The black belt matched the shoes. He wore a light pink short sleeve button down dress shirt and to cap off this fashion statement, a navy blue necktie with a tiger lily print pattern with oranges, greens and lighter blues.

“Yea, dog,” Carlos responded. “I’m on the night shift. Trying to get some sleep. So, why don’t you quit hasslin’ me.”

“Yea, yea, yea. I got to go to work. Take care of yourself, bro. See you later.” Philip left through the front door, took the elevator to the first floor then to the parking garage at the rear of the building. He parked his fire engine red 1984 Chevy Camaro Z28 on the 2nd deck of the garage. It was his pride and joy. He traded the Ford in for the Camaro two years ago and he loved it. The 5-litre 8-cylinder engine hummed under the hood.

The parking sticker for the apartment building allowed him access to the garage, he was able to get in and out without a problem. He drove the car downtown; traffic this time of the morning was just picking up. But he didn’t have far to go, less than two miles. The radio played Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson for the brief drive. When he arrived at the Times, he eased the Camaro into the parking garage, another place requiring a parking sticker. He found a parking spot on the 4th level. After locking the doors, he headed to the first floor.

Instead of walking into the Times, he frequented a nearby diner to get a cup of coffee. As he traveled the three hundred yards to the diner, he passed Jerome Knight, someone he graduated High School with who was now employed by the Delta City Police Department. “Hey Jerome, how’s it hangin’ dog?”

Jerome recognized his friend. “PJ, I’m good, how you, bro?” The two clasped hands, pulling each other in for a slight chest bump.

“I’m good. How about them Corsairs?” PJ remarked as he took a few steps toward the diner.

“They are cracklin’ PJ!” Officer Knight responded, obviously a fan of the local ball team.

“Catch you later, J,” PJ finished his walk to the dinner. He picked up a copy of the Gulf Gabs on his way inside. He sat at the counter and ordered a coffee with one cream and two sugars. In no time at all the coffee arrived and he began to sip as he read the piece of trash he picked up for just a few cents outside. When he read the bit about the arson investigation, he could only shake his head in disgust. ‘This is fucking crap, whoever wrote this. They don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground,’ PJ thought to himself.

After he finished his coffee, glanced at his watch, and figured it was time to head to the news bureau at the Times.

Time: Early Morning
Location: Latte Da Cafe (located a few blocks from Delta International Airport)

At this hour only a handful of weary businessmen and departing tourists were enjoying what constituted breakfast at the Latte Da Cafe, despite not belonging to either group Dorian LaValle was indeed amongst those seated in the outdoor portion of the eatery. Even among a diverse crowd of people this early in the morning, Dorian’s curly auburn hair, custom Ermenegildo Zegna ice blue two piece suit, and visible eyepatch manage to set him apart from the crowd. He has long accepted his days of being subtle and engaging in subterfuge were dashed around the same time he lost his right eye; if he was to be leered at regardless why not embrace it? He prides himself on becoming better acquainted with the plethora of elegant fashion choices that came with associating with those with ne’er-do-well reputations. He liked the feel of envious eyes upon him, rather than those of pity.

Between sips of a fresh, but not very well made cappuccino Dorian idly thumbed through the local dirt-sheet. He suspected that reading this tripe was a breakfast adjacent tradition that most practiced throughout the city whether they wanted to openly admit it or not; as it seemed that even the most vocal of moralists within the confines of the city found the juxtaposition of cheap gossip and an air of mystery surrounding authorship of the aforementioned rumors to be too tantalizing to dismiss outright. One the few occasions he bothered to peruse a copy Dorian often found the assorted content that populated the pages of the Gulf Gabs to be rather indulgent drivel at the best of times and the self-congratulatory nature of the entire venture always came off as an attempt by the never-beens to capture the proverbial spotlight reserved for truly deserving people like himself. He could not help scoffing as his eyes glazed over the brief addendum that the self-proclaimed "gabber-in-chief" added to the issue, which was nothing more than a thinly veiled jab at himself and his chosen profession. If that shameless provocateur knew how many of his forgeries currently sit undiscovered in prestigious collections across the country he would write about his alleged crimes with the appropriate amount of reverence; he was after all an artist of great renown and deserved to be treated as such. Though he was not going to sacrifice his current anonymity to correct this lackluster reporting.

Before the art forger could finish reading the gossip rag a brawny, barrel-chested uniformed police officer loudly made his presence known as he adjusted the position of the unoccupied chair across from Dorian in order to accommodate his massive frame. The sound of the metal chair made when it was being dragged across the concrete patio was grating to everyone who was unlucky enough to be within earshot, it was clear that this large cop could have lifted the chair in order to position it quietly he just chose not to. Lucas Dunn was just abrasive on purpose, he was what people would call a bit of an asshole. He prefaced his forthcoming remark by spitting a wad of tobacco-laden saliva on the ground narrowly missing Dorian’s expensive alligator leather shoes.

“Well, if it isn’t my old pal Rory. I see you got your debut issue so to speak, a right of passage in our little tight knit community. Eh. They’ll print anything nowadays, so I would not worry about it. Nobody takes a bunch of nutjob nerds like them seriously. I mean they suggested I, an upstanding officer of the DCPD for twelve years, might be on the take. Let me tell you somethin’ bruda, these dorks, whomever they may be, read shit written on bathroom stalls and think they're the next Walter Cronkite or somethin’. The nerve of those geeks, once I find them I…”

Without looking up from the paper Dorian cuts off Lucas before he continues his tirade, ”Oh, so you are close to uncovering the identities of those behind the Gab? Hmm? And here I thought the department was keeping you chained to your desk out of embarrassment. With the current circumstance being as they may, do you really find it wise to be paying me a social visit?”

“Nothing social about this,” Lucas says mirthlessly as he slides a manilla folder across the table. “You are not going to want to hear this, but our mutual friends in high places need a little favor. Not in your wheelhouse, but they insist. You wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful for the opportunities they set up for you here in Delta.”

Dorian reluctantly puts the paper down and takes an extended look at the instructions inside the folder. He grimaces as he meticulously scans the document for a few minutes before wordlessly pushing the folder back towards Lucas. He knows he has to follow through on what was outlined in the folder as nobody crosses the Silverback Syndicate and lives.

---

Henry didn't have class today, but he was going to Delta University anyway. The assembly language assignment that would be due next class proved a bit too difficult for Henry to untangle. He could understand the basics like registers or bits, but how they operate in practice was hard to grasp. Luckily, his classmate introduced him to this guy, Mark, who apparently was studying PhD in Computer Science, who was willing to give Henry some tutelage; for a fee because of course. Nothing really comes for free. However, to his surprise, guy also realized the name Henry Koning. It turned out that the guy also played chess, though with mostly chess hustlers in these public areas. Mark didn't really follow chess news, but remembered Henry's name from a news article a while ago due to his unique surname. Guy offered a game and if Henry won, he'd cut the tuition fee in half for him. It wasn't much to begin with but it was still a half cut, and if Henry knew anything from his years living with mom in her van, those extra cents saved could mean that extra large burger or that salmon sashimi dish from Shogun Sushi. He'd drool when he thought about it. Maybe he should pay that restaurant a visit again today, now that it was awarded 2 Michelin Stars. They never disappoint.

Henry eventually arrived on campus dressed as casuals go in a light blue polo shirt, brown khakis and 1980s Adidas sneakers. He parked his 1986 Oldsmobile Cutlass Salon in his usual parking lot in front of the Applied Science building of the campus. He met Mark at the agreed upon location, and they both sat down by a table in the studying area of the campus. For the next half an hour, he went through all the problems that Henry had with the assignment, or just assembly language in general, and explained them once again but this time a LOT more concisely than his professor. Truth be told, Henry kinda wished Mark was his professor, but that was neither here nor there. Gradually, Henry felt capable enough to tackle the assignment. At least now he had some sort of directions as well as tools to untangle the problem.

"Are you doing it now?" Mark asked, as Henry made himself comfortable in his study area, in that section of the building where undergrads never really had a reason to go there.

"Mhm." Henry simply nodded. "You wanna play?"

"Ye, but if you wanna focus-"

"We can play now too. I certainly don't mind." Henry replied, not needing the kind offer he was given. He was used to brain splitting already from his experience playing chess simuls, so only 1 game and his assignment wasn't that big of a deal.

And from what it turned out, it wasn't that big of a deal after all, as Mark showed on move 3 with a very subpar move. Henry didn't even hesitate to take advantage of it, both game-wise and time-wise. For the several curious onlookers nearby, both players were having their hands on their cheeks, seemingly having an intense intellectual battle over the 64 squares, but in reality only one was having that, the other was just writing his assignment. It didn't take a genius to know who was the superior player here, with one side taking his sweet time to think and analyze, while the other barely even glanced at the board before he made his move. Did he even think at all, or was he that fast in seeing all the possible calculations?

Thanks to having no time control, Henry was able to finish his assignment before the game ends. By the time he did, there were already a couple of onlookers around the chess board. The two sides were relatively equal on material, but Mark's pieces were quite tied up, while all of Henry's were active and developed. As a result, it was difficult for the former to make any sort of good move, while the latter was just chilling, grabbing a cup of tea and a Gulf Gabs copy in the meantime. He gotta admit, as trash as their news reporting were, they sure made them appealing to read with the commentary.

Heavy footsteps carried a disheveled pace across a finely manicured walkway. The sort of soft step generated by Berluti leather alternated somewhere between a brisk business stride and apprehensive caution. The man that they carried was little different than his current predicament: Heavy-set, short with large framed glasses and a quickly retreating hairline, but with an expertly tailored tan suit just as debonair as the shoes. Predicaments were a good thing, he always told himself. People paid money to have predicaments solved. When you were the best at it, Marcus Knight paid the best money. He retrieved a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and padded the sweat of an ever increasing morning humidity level. The initials simply read “DB” for Danny Broom, “the Sweeper” as they called him. He had worked for Marcus for many years, hotel after hotel, London, Tokyo, Sydney, Paris and through all the marriages. Setting up the Diamonds in Delta were to be the capstone of an illustrious career in one of the world's premier hotel names and the stadium deal was just another feather in his hat. However, he would have done ten more hotels and worked another whole decade past his guaranteed retirement if it would have gotten him out of his current assignment. He huffed and shook his head, taking a firmer grip on his briefcase as he strode the long pathway to the rear of Marcus’ Pace island estate, though he wasn’t there to see Marcus- he was there to see his daughter.

He stepped over what was left of an overturned buffet table and looked around the after-action battlefield of another wild party. His glasses fogged and he again retrieved his handkerchief to clean them, squinting briefly before putting them back. A large “Happy Birthday” banner wafted daintily from a stone column amid the scene. His nose curled slightly. He knew it wasn’t anyone’s birthday. He knew all of their birthdays: Sena, Karina, Tony, Aaron and even that smartass Levi. It was his job to know. Marcus demanded the best and that’s what he got. In hindsight he knew he had done it to himself. The birthday banner was just an ironic reminder. He could remember, years ago, Marcus had him organize Sena’s eleventh birthday party and it had been a grand-slam for his career. Sitting Presidents, Turkish Sultans, Japanese Emperors, royalty through the ages had rarely beheld such a spectacle. He thought about it briefly as he stepped up onto the ornate pool patio. That was where it all started. He thought with the tiniest of sighs. That was where the seed was planted. He winced as he stepped in something, but just kept walking. Sena was stretched out in a heavily padded lounge chair, still in her bathing suit apparently from the night before, black with an electric yellow stripe. She had on an absurdly large sun hat that covered most of her upper body.

“Sena!” He hissed, trying not to be too loud as he approached. He looked around again, finding Karina tucked into another lounge with a plush comforter taken from inside the house worth several thousand dollars that had been apparently dragged across the yard to keep her warm. He wiped his brow once more. There was at least hefty shade on the backside of the property and the air temperature was considerably cooler around the pool; however he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of two, angled, furry ears pointed in his direction from behind the older of the Knight daughters and he dared not move another step. He swallowed a dry gulp and tried to lean forward to give his voice even a few more inches to carry. “Sena!” She didn’t move, but the two ears stayed locked in his direction. He gripped his briefcase tightly with both hands. “Sena! Wake up!” The sweat that formed was no longer from the heat.

Sena Knight groaned groggily from beneath her hat. Her tanned slender legs shifted slightly from the interruption of her pleasant slumber, but the realization that she was rather cold caused her to tread her feet and unhappily roll over into the warm spot she’d been asleep in for several hours. The hat shifted clumsily with her over her shoulders and she exhaled in a long huff that seemed to cause her to sink further into the cushions.

“Sena, we’ve got an interview at the station, remember! The Sweeper pleaded. “It’s Wednesday!” He kept his eyes on the ears that continued to be angled straight at him like some sort of beam antennas on a jet.

After what felt like an hour of stone silence, Sena’s arm finally moved and she shifted over on her side. It was impossible for Danny not to look away from her ample backside- not a tan line in sight. He relaxed a bit seeing the ears fold back to accept her gentle reach.

“Tibsy…” Sena said playfully through dry, cracked dehydration. “Tiiiiiiiiiibsy”

Danny slowly stepped closer. The muscular neck of a full-grown Florida Panther craned upward to let her scratch under its chin. It seemed to grin happily as her perfectly manicured nails worked around behind its ears. Around its neck was a diamond studded collar with gold name plate: “MR TIBBS”.

“Such a handsome boy…” She said, almost whimsically. The large cat leaned into her arm and nudged against her adoringly before settling back down next to her.

“Sena!” Danny continued. “We gotta get goin-”

“No.” She said, rolling onto her back again. The hat still covered her face and she relaxed back into the cushions once more as if he wasn’t even there.

“This is a big deal!” He shot back, leaning forward as much as he dared. “This is how we get your big signing, you gotta get out there, you can’t just sit here by the pool and party every single day, my God, it’s only Wednesday!”

“Then get the helicopter.” Came the flat reply.

“Your dad is using the helicopter, and it’s not even that far.”

“No he’s not, I just talked to him.” She knew he was lying, so she was obliged to submit an even bigger lie. Mr. Tibbs rested peacefully on his massive front paws.

“Ugh, I wanna come too…” Karina said emerging from underneath the comforter, her black hair splayed all over from a mix of static and sweat. “But only for the helicopter.” Also still in her bathing suit, she propped her head up on one hand tiredly and yawned.

“Karina, honey.” Danny said. He felt relieved and could sense opportunity. The interview was only set for Sena, but he knew he could easily get Karina in as well. “You don’t have to come with us, relax and enjoy…”

Sena began snoring.

Danny reached for the edge of the chair to give it a gentle shake which instantly prompted Mr. Tibbs to set up, arrow-straight, looking directly at him. “Oh God, Jesus and Mary…” He said, frozen, looking the stone-faced creature directly in the eyes. He glanced back to find Sena glaring at him from beneath her hat.

“Get the helicopter or I’m gonna have Tibsy give you a kiss.”

Drip. Drip. Drip. He glared at the partitioned waterfall spit from the mouth of an iron tap just off to the room's corner. Each interval of droplets casted a shallow ambience to the main melody of paper shifting, document opening and the dissonance of busied bodies in adjacent corridors and rooms. Before him sat the paintbrush moustache-wearing, tie-too-tight looking, tobacco scented, blue-button shirt dressed concentration of his department handler: Paul Langley. He was everything that Sidney had imagined of the Delta Times back in 1985; there was an eerie stain of disdain wherever his eyes glanced, lest what he glared at was an opportunity to move from a crummy office to a less-than-stellar upgrade. Sure, Sidney had known him for a while. Paul was originally a department manager for schmucks like himself in the present day, so he'd say, but something between the firing and rehiring of the Scot had pushed him down a step or three on the Delta Times ladder. Sanctions of misconduct, misdemeanour or simply the in-and-out culture of some backdoor job roles within the company could have been any of the three explanations, but with people like Paul Langley, there was never a good reason to ask.

In the handler's hands were the recent additions Sidney had made to his collection: three images, two of the same potential story. Neither were particularly wild or encapsulating, but he knew that from the moment he took them. Wherever he'd gone, for at least two months, there hadn't been anything other than a scrap on the neighbour's lawn. The types of things he'd once been present for had gone off in the wind to be caught in another photographer's net. But the thought was interrupted by the loud and gruff sigh of Paul Langley - note, it seemed fitting to always refer to him in full name - and when the white-still photos were slammed against the table it really unsettled the nerves of Sidney.

"Jesus, Sharpe, what is this crap? I mean, two drunks fighting over a wristwatch outside isn't news, it's the alley behind my daughter's daycare on a Tuesday afternoon. And this," he wafted his hand over the second story, "I don't even know what this is. Like I see the image, I see it clear as day, Sharpe, but I can't give you a headline on the spot. Not that it's my job, but you know?"

"I don't know, Sir, but it's been a bit of a hard time for being in the right place at the right time." Wasn't the best of excuses, but the strain of bad luck had infected his ability to impress any sort of handler. Those like him, who were more or less on lease for their services instead of a secured and renowned photographer for the large-city paper, were in a position to be dropped on a dime. Walking the line for as long as he had wouldn't suffice. Of course, he knew that better than anyone else, for he'd been fired for that very reason the couple years back.

"Well, that ain't gonna cut it, Sharpe. You're good at what you do but you need to do better at finding things that matter. Venture into the political scene, or sports, or maybe go back and do all that big-crime snapshotting you did months back."

"There hasn't been much big-crime going around though."

"Come on, you're letting me down, Sharpe. Anything - at this rate - to get the light from Clarendon for us." There was a long pause for a while whilst Paul dragged on the largest stress-puff of a cigarette he'd seen since. It wasn't just Sidney who'd put him in that position. His own turn of bad luck had brought in at least five other part-timers who'd done so little as to provide him with good material for the reporters. Due to the scheduled timetable complications, most of them were unable to tag along with a reporter in the field, but those like Sid had the chance to do so if they'd commit at full capacity. Sell the soul to the lad with the notepad and questions, he thought. "I like you, Sharpe, but not enough to kiss your ass. You're my - our - best shot of getting out of the basement of the Times and back onto real stories. Find yourself a reporter who'll take you on or grab the writers a story worthwhile, even if small in scale, and then I can pay you."

With that, he left the office in a sort of drudged state. There was little energy to be had after a dressing down from the same Paul Langley that had once invited him to his family's neighbourhood barbeque back in '85. The man had aged a thousand years from the stress of cramped corner spaces and unremarkable photos. He'd mastered the art of making the photographers feel bad for not giving him what he wanted, and by crumb and crust had one Sidney Sharpe felt all the guilt in the world. More so toward himself, though. He was a bit of a downer when it came to missing out on the needed paycheck. And what better way, he thought, to wallow and think about his next move than to go spend his dimes on a hot meal.

He escaped the confinement of the Delta Times and took off on the long walk. He needed it, though the cramped streets and neatly organised buildings still made it hard to properly jump into his muse. The walk at least built up that appetite lost by the smell of Langley's office, but not so much that he'd spend thousands on the meal he'd been searching for: Sushi. Always that one place that everyone always talked about, but never the place he'd ever gone in and ordered anything from. Fuck it, he thought as he found the aimlessness of his trudge led to the arrival at Shogun Sushi. And without so much as a care of what he was doing, just out of the sheer need to clear the bile and stress from his battered mind, he walked on inside expecting just a normal in-and-out meal.

Stella Hiroto felt stranded at a dead end in life. The twenty-five year old Japanese-American had woken up this morning and like clockwork had a short breakfast, slipped into her uniform, and made her way to Shogun Sushi where she had been working for two months now. Her fifth job in five years since dropping out of college. Stella appreciated her job of course and her boss was a very likeable and accommodating employer. The pay was decent enough that with a little penny pinching she could afford to live in a decent apartment which conveniently wasn't too far away. After work she would get home just in time to catch the evening news, have dinner, and then read before bed. On the weekends provided she had the energy Stella would swing by the library and make a trip to the gym as well. Her weekly pattern was for the most part near methodic as it had been for some time now, and it was this methodicalness that made her feel so "stuck".

She went about her job as usual with a meaningful smile on her face and a friendly tone in her voice. One thing Stella enjoyed about Shogun was the usual patronage. Most people who came here were very friendly, easy to accommodate, and tipped well, the ideal customer. The other staff were hard working and easy to get along with which was another bonus. Positivity and momentary social pleasures such as this helped to inject some optimism to Stella, unfortunately these did little for her outlook on the greater scheme of things. At the end of the day Stella knew she was just another cog in the machine, getting by as a mere drone at a food service establishment and living a simplistic and minimalist life with little variety.

Stella had told herself that she was just feeling restless and this would pass. She had only been working at Shogun for a handful of weeks and the hard bumps over the past few years at times caused her to fell weary and misplaced at times. Not to mention going through a recent breakup had left her with an empty feeling some nights, an unwanted sensation that she knew she would get over. She had done it before after all. In truth she wondered why she was even pining over what had become such a draining and in truth abusive relationship, but at the same time another part of her knew why. Stella had always been the type to latch on to tightly to people when she developed a bond with them. This didn’t happen often as Stella could be a very distant person even as polite as she was, but when it did such a bond was Herculean in strength and as a result hard to shake free when needed.

Shaking her mind free of her wistful daydreaming Stella focused on her job. Delivering people their orders and ensuring her tables were well tended to. She got off work in several hours and had considering maybe walking through the park after, however the forecast mentioned thunderstorms that afternoon so she she would just be heading home afterwards. Stella had just finished delivering someone an order of sashimi when she heard the door opening signaling a new customer’s arrival followed by one of her coworkers receiving them.

Isabella Daphne Belle

location = University

Isabella was definitely not a morning person as humidity was already starting to rise again in Delta City and yet to have breakfast… feeling sticky and a cool shower soon felt more normal after a rather hot night.

Having moved from the Northern US it was a rather shock to the system, especially as the first night or two there was a big storm that suppressed the humidity for a while. Then it hit like a freight train. Her class still teased about reaction to seeing a Gator for the first time wandering about. Someone just grabbed it, cursed the Scaly Swamp Rat and threw it back over the fence. It was all kinds of surreal.

Wandering over the kitchen having found a comfy oversized t-shirt and dumping several spoons of sugar into her coffee savouring the sweet dark liquid. "Ouch" Catching self on something, being 5,10 was annoying at times especially when shopping or finding apartments with a bath you can fully stretch out in, finding one of those was a dream.

…

"Got it down, thanks professor Jones." putting the phone down with a satisfying clunk. Big, hefty and probably pretty old, the one in this apartment had a nice weight to it. Finishing her coffee watching the rather dramatic local TV coverage, rain later with high humidity, though she might be back in time to catch favourite show. Reaching the bedroom in the small apartment, fairly communal, had its own pool etc in the block and was popular with students sitting in the middle class area, not too expensive but nicer than the cheapest part of town.

Deciding to go a bit retro but fairly modern patterns in bright red, white with black details, 50's polka dot dress, with matching bright geometric earrings and necklace. The hot weather, humidity and more were too much right now to ever consider layers. First week in Delta she had to take it slow as heat was getting to her, she did not exactly want to visit the hospital in the first week.

While a bit quirky the tighter fit suited her slim figure, long legs and bright bold colours contrasted against her natural platinum blonde hair, plus suited the vibrant energy of the city. Something about the city just made you want to dress up, enjoy life and embrace the adventure.

Her low heels clicked along the tiles as Isabella walked through the lobby with her ever reliable leather messenger bag and hand bag, one proposal to hand in, PHD was as much paperwork and proposal as it was research and real computer stuff. "

Finding her little Suzuki Samurai exactly where she left it, an few clicks had the roof down, bags in the foot well and radio on playing as DJ announced a new Madonna song and advertising crazy gator or something close radio slot that according to questions was local legend for its brand of crazy, honesty and plain lunacy.

…

Reaching the university science faculty was not too hard… so long as you avoid the wrong merge and nearly end up heading down towards the industrial east rather than your planned destination. That would be kinda helpful. Her professor though Isabella was not sure if he embraced it for the joke or seriously in tweed, with leather patches on elbows, bow tie and even a waist coat on top… how he was still alive in this heat was some kind of magic. "Thank You miss Belle, as you're also assisting this year too, sit down and we can discuss how it works, sweet tea?" gesturing to a pot on the side, his hat and an battered diary lay on side wrapped in brown paper, pages spilling out along with oddly, an bullwhip alongside a long curved sword and a rough woodern cup...

"lI'll have a cup Please Professor , my letter was less detailed than i'd like, so be grateful." The office was lined with books of all kinds, papers scattered in piles and a board of half sketched out tasks. All in all it felt very much familiar to her Master's professors at MIT.

…

Entering the study area after a few questions and a hint about chess, well it certainly was on the money and she owed someone a coffee next time, it was usually PHD and such territory so he would be easy to find up here. Waiting for a pause in the game, chess she had played a few times but the two were playing far beyond her understanding so took out her book on ABC Programming language, a part finished code note book and waited as the game unfolded balancing perfectly on the slightly wobbly chair. It took a while as she managed to get one chapter done and make notes for an upcoming submission, scribbling down in a looping cursive.

"Hey Mark, how is the PHD proposal going? Chang bad as Jones on formating?." He was doing some computer related PHD, the exact title was some rather complicated academic mess as always. "Henry Koning? Im Isabella Belle, one of the PHD students, Computer Science. Professor Jones sent me over, not sure why, just well Professor's… mentioned a proposed somthing" Leaving the obvious question about the eccentricity of anyone with tenure. "I swear the older they get, the more cryptic they get like wizards. He gave me half the facts and sent me on my way."

Introducing herself, some people assumed the tall former dancer was a wide variety of things at times, it was funny at times. She still had joined the dance society for a little fun though and some exercise. Being a rare female student in the department, blending in was not exactly possible, so why bother hiding. Confusing professors with instructions that made as much sense as a morning cartoon. "Professor has sense of humour? He not set me up has he?"

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Jackson "Jack" Maxwell Rodriquez

location = Delta Times

The sunlight reflected off the sea shining against the now reinforced and gleaming and crisp Tropico resort having been battered by the storms of water and life over the decades. Lesser hotels had come and gone but the Tropico remained. Jackson was hardly his father's closest son but seeing what he worked so hard to build crumble or be demolished would not happen on his watch.

"Urgh" Hearing the radio alarm morning weather report of high humidity and thunderstorms. "Never changes" muttering to himself as he got up watching the planes take off from the nearby base and bank away with a morning coffee. While some things he missed, mornings were definitely preferable as a civilian, though he still kept things tidy, made his bed each morning and othet habits like ironing shirts regardless if it be an wedding or trip to store.

Too busy for a work out this morning, he could make up later on having determined to keep in good shape, their was mwant to be a good old fashioned iron and chains gym too, probably should check it out.

Running a hand through his short dark hair, a quick shower later and a change into a crisp and ironed short sleeved white and pale blue narrow pinstripe shirt without tie, grey trousers and a brown leather jacket for the rain when the weather turned. Smart yet comfortable. Finding his black boots and sitting down almost instinctively polishing and bulling them to a shine before he left, Michael Jackson came on the radio as he made tight circles to the rhythm bringing each boot in turn till the rising sun reflected in the leather. It was almost therapeutic in its own way, and also good boots deserved respect and lasted for years if you did.

…

The Hungry V8 rumbled to life slowly turning over and rolling into the bright sunlight, the 1967 Chevy Impala's long black bonnet stretching out in front replete with bright chrome. A very different kind of therapy as 7 liters of American built big block V8 opened up onto the main road towards downtown and the Newspaper. The boot could probably hold a body or two, not that he had plans to ever do that, it certainly held plenty of beer before though.

Getting into downtown early morning was pretty easy, as long as you left before the many commuting masses in suits and boots from the suburbs. With time to kill before the newspaper offices really opened you never arrived before they had at least one coffee, from experience they never liked working without one. "Thanks, keep it" getting a copy of the Gab and sitting down on a bench glancing over his sunglasses, trashy but usually always on the money or close enough it was worth paying attention regardless how rag like it was. The rumour on fake art sales was worth knowing and Sena Knight was far from the first time he had heard that name mentioned before , usually related to some kind of antics.

Figuring the cerberus in human form… aka Janice on reception before she had a coffee was now sufficiently human he grabbed his briefcase stuffing the gab in his pocket and walking across the road into the large and hive like levels of activity that the Delta Times be pushing door open confidently striding to the desk. "Good Morning, i have some copy id like published in week day editions job section , advert, and how to order a back issue from 1948 please." Hopefully someone was in, much as he enjoyed taking the Impala out, Downtown and it's ever foreboding city hall of taxes and paper based hell was an area the less time spent the better. He also saw the Police station and its infamous" the deep" that from personal experience was far from as bad as local legend, but worse. Insidious, damp, no violence or such things. The soul destroying sensory deprivation, cold, unable to get dry…

Suppressing a shudder in memory he waited in the lobby for someone, there was a fax but it was easier to sort out in person.

The blaring of the electric alarm at god awful early was met with a groan. “Dios mio!” The latino man exclaimed, running a hand over his face. He was obviously nude since the only thing preserving his modesty was the thin sheet across his hips.

”Yes yes pray. That will make the things you did with your mouth last night not a sin. Honey, you might want to do the opposite. Might have more luck not being damned to hell.” A feminine voice drifted up along with a pale arm snaking out to stop the alarm from squawking. The hand that rested on the alarm clock was polished with a neat classy french manicure. ”Are you planning to stay here all day? If so there’s water in the tap. That’s the extent of Southern hospitality at present, unless you want a ride to Chef’s.” Pale turquoise eyes framed by soot black eyelashes blinked as the woman rubbed her eyes and sat up snagging a black satin robe with a screen printed phoenix on it. Tossing the robe on quickly she hid the fact that she was just as nude as the male in bed.

The latino male flashed a smoldering look at the woman’s long dancer legs remembering just how flexible the bombshell in the short robe was. “Mi corazon…”

”Nope. No time for it Pedro.” She smirked as she teased him over her shoulder.

“It’s Fer-.” The latino male looked offended.

”Fernando. Yes, I like the song. I knew that. It was a test. You passed round one. Round two… not so much. Then again I’m a good sport. What’s my name Fernando?”

Fernando smiles and runs through the night thinking about if she introduced herself. The light flicks on as the woman starts collecting clothing. Her long blonde hair, that he thought was fake, was natural as was her ripe strawberry colored mouth. He noticed that she was not the honey color that most women were. She was noticeably pale and her eyes stood out like jewels under brows that made the statement that she was not the same as other women. He remembered noticing that she wore little makeup and with her hair up he had not known that her hair fell past her waist in thick waves. “Genevieve.”

GiGi stopped and looked up from her uniform for Chef’s and smiled. “Shower Nando?”



The slight squeal of the tires on a 1985 Firebird as the blonde behind the wheel smirked setting the break in the dive’s parking lot; while Steve preached the benefits of rolling with it to the gospel undertones that really nailed the point home. Gigi stepped out of the car in her ‘uniform’. Admittedly she looked pretty groovy but it was a pain that Chef has not budged on turning it into short shorts.

Tying her apron on Fernando leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Go sit and I’ll bring you a menu. Then I’ll call you a cab.”

Smirking, Fernando shrugged and said “Perhaps I’ll stay here so you have to take me home.”

GiGi laughed then stopped seeing he was serious. “Oh sorry. You were serious. No no no Nando. You eat, you leave. I have a very busy schedule.” She raised an eyebrow and motioned between the two of them. “Are you trying to make this a thing?”

Fernando looked confused. “You don’t…?”

”Don’t put words in my mouth. But if you must know I don’t normally sleep with someone on the first night if they’re a long term thing.” GiGi shrugged. “Sorry. Now sit down, order and I’ll call a cab after that.” She watched as Fernando raised an eyebrow but sat down and looked over the menu.

“GiGi you evil woman.” A smooth deep voice scolded. “That poor boy saw heaven and you just shut the gates on him.”

Snorting GiGi turned to the voice and put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, not even Nevaeh. We are not doing the hypocritical thing this morning.”

Nevaeh looked between Fernando and GiGi then sniffed, patting her hair. “Ain’t gettin’ any younger woman.”

”Yes mama. I know mama.” GiGi snarked at Nevaeh. “Besides I’ve already slept with him. They don’t want more than that normally.”

“Honey ain’t nothin’ normal about that latin angel you have in there.” Nevaeh remarked as they got into gear and started prepping for the start of the day.

Morning

---

Tony rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he took another drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands occupied with pouring a dash of bourbon into his morning coffee. He then quickly screwed on the lid and stored it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Splayed out on his desk was the same drivel everyone else seemed to love to hate. His eyes scanned over the pages as he put out his cigarette on a freestanding ash tray next to his chair. As expected, most of the Gulf Gab was useless trash. He was just glad he wasn't reading his own name in the rumors and rants. But the very end caught his attention. Seemed the pretentious busybody running the paper had a particular disdain for some "Princess" and her band. Tony leaned back in his chair as he took a sip of his coffee. There was only one band of misfits he could think of that matched the description, and they were just the sort of sound that Tony needed for the Ballroom. He quickly scribbled down "Sena - Miami Rebellion" on a post-it before standing up and smacking it next to the thirty other notes left ignored on the cork board in his office. One of these days he'd get around to doing something proactive, instead of just keeping the business afloat.

Former MLB star Tony Rossi stepped out of his office into his new domain: the dimly lit arena of screaming children and electronic tunes that was Frankie's Arcade. He did his best not to grimace at the sight as he made his way to the front counter. He was sporting neon green shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and an unbuttoned red Hawaiian shirt. He dodged his way through the excited kids and teenagers trying their best to top the score boards on any number of cabinets. When he got to the front counter, he gave a nod to the recently graduated zit-faced teen who was holding down the fort. "How're we doing today, Randy?"

The teenage boy gave a half-hearted smile to his boss. He was wearing a white shirt, black tie, and khakis... and was very noticeably sweating through them as the AC was not working nearly hard enough to keep up with the heat generating in the arcade. Tony almost felt bad for making the kid wear a "uniform" as he was working there this summer to help pay for college in the fall, but this would build some character in the scrawny nerd before he shipped off to FSU. "We could be doing worse, sir. The Alvarez kids were bickering and causing problems again hogging the Pac-Man cabinet. Maybe you could...?"

The question, while unfinished, was clear as Tony sighed and chugged his coffee, tossing the cup in the trash behind the counter as he shot Randy a displeased glare. The kid was going to have to learn to deal with conflict one of these days... but until then, it was Tony's business. The owner stepped around the counter and made a b-line for the deepest part of the arcade, where he saw four kids huffing and whining while two boys were standing side by side at the Pac-Man machine. Tony walked over and rested an arm against the side of the cabinet as he cleared his throat, the two boys standing up a bit straighter but not letting their eyes or attention waver from the intense game. "You two enjoying the game?"

The two boys gave enthusiastic nods as they continued playing. Tony sighed. "Look, I don't know what your parents have been teaching you boys, but you need to start learning to share with other people and not just each other." Tony knew the boys were barely listening, so he took a step behind the cabinet and leaned down to quickly flick a small switch he had installed in the back of the cabinet. The whole machine quickly reset, with the intense game giving way to the title animations.

The two boys were silent for a moment, before their ear piercing cries were heard in this part of the campaign. Tony took a step towards them and crouched down to their level, pulling out two quarters from his pocket and holding them out to the Alvarez brothers. "Go find another cabinet, or wait for the others in line to have a turn, alright?"

The two boys scowled at Tony for a moment, whispered some mild swears in Spanish to each other, and snatched the two quarters as they went searching for another game to play. The kids in line smiled at Tony, who just simply nodded his head in acknowledgement as he wandered his way back to the counter where Randy was trying to look busy. "I've got a couple errands to run before lunch, I'm trusting you with the place while I'm gone. Remember, offer a couple quarters and use the switch if there are any more disputes. Ciao."

Before Randy could even respond, Tony was out the door and on the streets of Delta City.

The Sweeper really had a time understanding the daughters and maybe under a different set of circumstances it would have been easier. He had two sons, both of whom he had encouraged to stay out of the hotel business and both of whom ended up joining the Navy. It was a good fit for them, full of firm structures and discipline, unlike the pair setting across from him in Marcus’ Bell Jetranger. As the humid turbulence jostled the aircraft a bit while they flew over the Bay towards downtown, he concluded, again, that if he had daughters like Sena and Karina he likely would have hung himself from one of the chopper’s landing pads, mid-flight, while over the shark-filled waters south of Pace Island. He hung up the helicopter’s large onboard phone having just rescheduled the interview that he knew there was no possibility of them making on time. There was at least a sales element to it that he could understand and unlike the promptness and careful attention to detail required for making property deals, many in other countries with their own explicit customs and tastes, a good manager in music had to sell the experience more than the music, which meant, in many situations, you could just lie your ass off completely. Sena wasn’t busy and she didn’t have a scheduling conflict like he told the station- she was just hungover. He could get her, and Karina, sobered up and on the air in an even better time slot later in the evening, that is, if the station still wanted the hottest act out of Miami to grace their airwaves- and he knew they did. The Downtown Diamond was where his office was located, they could land on the roof helipad, he could deposit them at the restaurant for a while, get some work done and then pop back over for the interview during rush-hour when everyone would be listening.

“I’m not eating at the Diamond,” Sena said flatly, her hand propped against her cheek as she glanced out of the window. She didn’t turn her head to speak.

“Ugh, not again.” Karina chimed in and checked her watch, one of several brightly colored bands along her arms. “It literally would be like the squarest place in town right now.”

“Bunch of old fudds having brunch over stock options…” Sena smirked. “No thanks.”

“This is literal five-star dining!” Danny protested. If nothing else, he would always defend his livelihood. “They’ll fix whatever you want, I have meetings there all the time.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” Sena said, cutting her eyes back at him.

“You have meetings there.” Karina finished the thought.

“Might as well call it the wrinkle-room this time of day.” Sena grinned smugly as Karina cackled.

“Oh for God sakes,” Danny wiped a hand over his face and let out a huff of exasperation.

“You gettin’ mad, Danny?” Sena’s dark eyes seemed to liven up and that prospect of getting under his skin a little.

The older man thought for a moment as they carried on towards the city center with the steady sound of the rotors overhead. Suddenly, he had a thought and looked up, glancing past the pilot to see how far away from the hotel they were. He grabbed the phone back off the hook and mashed a button to get the pilot’s comms.

….

Sena barely seemed phased as they descended past tree-tops, while Karina craned her neck and looked around inquisitively. Dust began to kick up as the turning blades got closer to the ground and she could see people pointing and watching, some scrambling to get out of the wash of air that beat against the ground and fanned the grass. Sena continued to look unconcerned. She and Danny were having one of their battles. Karina smirked a little. It was similar to how her sister and their guitarist, Levi, got along, but Danny was older and could be very clever when he wanted to be, one reason why he’d been so successful in working for their dad. It was all very entertaining. The skids settled onto a soft, grass wayside and the pilot shut down the engines with a sleek mechanical whine. The rotors turned lazily for a moment casting rotating shadows while the hum of regular traffic became audible in the cabin.

“Let’s eat!” Danny said, rubbing his hands together as the pilot lowered the hatch.

Sena stepped down first into bright morning sun with Karina right behind. Visually, the sisters could not have looked more different other than the starkly black hair they shared. Sena wore acid-washed jeans, high-top Chucks and a matching black tank top. Both arms had a similar dark assortment of bracelets and a pair of sunglasses. The only color was one of her trademarks: a red ribbon that she wore discreetly through her long hair in a manner similar to 50’s styles. It was a custom many of her followers picked up. Karina on the other hand, wore bright yellow shorts with a blue belt, red flip-flops and a matching tube-top. Her hair was considerably shorter at shoulder length and she didn’t quite have Sena’s figure, being more boney and childlike in her appearance. She smiled brightly behind wide, red-framed glasses as she stepped down behind her sister. In contrast to Sena’s subtle ribbon, Karina wore a large red bow in her hair. It was never planned, but the differences between them became part of the appeal. None of the band members looked like they belonged together.

A bright yellow sign blinked with red neon across the street: Chef’s Drive-In.

“Me and your old man used to eat here all the time when they were building the Double-D.” Danny proclaimed with some smugness, but Sena was already walking away.

“That’s nice, I don’t need a life story or anything,” She said, not turning back. “Just don’t sit anywhere near us.” The small intersection was stopped for a traffic light and someone honked with a cat-call as Karina caught up. Sena blew the burly truck driver a kiss prompting several more horns and shouts of approval. She stepped up on the curb and strode across the small, weed-cracked parking lot.

A pair of bells on a rope wrapped around the entrance let the staff at Chef’s know when visitors came and went from the tiny establishment. Inside was a combination of smells ranging from fried food, a worn counter-size griddle with burgers sizzling, cigarette smoke and some combination of glass cleaner and bleach that was used to wipe down the tables and bar. The whole place could have used a coat of paint, but that project was scrapped long ago. The grease in the air from years of hearty cooking stuck to everything consequently making it so that paint wouldn’t stick to anything. Sena walked in as if she had been there a hundred times, unphased by the stares and murmurs of the locals, particularly those holding a certain piece of green copy. She slid into a booth and glanced briefly across the street seeing the traffic light had changed behind them, leaving Danny and the pilot to wait at the crossing.

Karina slid in across from her and plucked one of the green papers from between the salt and pepper shakers thinking it was a menu since she had seen several lying around when they walked in. She flipped her sunglasses up on her head and began scanning. She loved new things, though “Chef’s” wasn’t exactly a private reservation at Shogun.

“That’s not a menu.” Sena said. She still had on her sunglasses and had shifted sideways with her back against the wall, letting her legs stretch out.

Karina’s expression wrinkled some in disappointment and she flipped one of the pages and turned it upside-down, craning her head oddly to follow the words of a bizarre, coupon ad. “No… I don’t think I need a…” She pronounced the words slowly, having literally never read a sale flyer before in her life: “Psychosis...of...Savings...at ‘Insane Jane’s’ electronics outlet.”

@Almalthia

---

Well, Mark certainly was a thoughtful guy with his moves. If any of his students were here, they would have made moves within less than 5 minutes then proceeded to blunder their queen and resign, if they had the shame to do so. That at least gave Henry some time to chatter around with this lady. He was honestly surprised that she knew his full name. He certainly was a household name for the Floridian chess community, but for a nation obsessed with physical sports like baseball, he was just a stranger. The only reason it made some sense here was this professor Jones she mentioned. A professor he had a semester ago, and an actual chess enthusiast, they had some interesting games with each other once he found out the Floridian state champion was in his class.

"Oh, Professor Jones. I know he'll be like that. The man is an interesting specimen." When Isabella, as she introduced herself as, mentioned his proposal, he knew exactly what she was talking about. But really? She didn't know about this but he did? Perhaps the old man was a wizard after all. Well, Henry wouldn't be a prick about it, but he had to finish this game first.

Right now, Mark was just cocooning. All his pieces were either undeveloped or surrounding the king for the defense, while all but one of Henry's pieces were involved and ready for the kill. He could simply initiate a massive piece trade, get all the pieces off the board, and by the end of it, he'd be completely winning with an unstoppable discovery check to grab whatever the most valuable piece Mark still had. In a normal tournament, Henry wouldn't hesitate to go for it, as he was more in favor of a conservative technical playstyle. But today, he was feeling artsy. He wanted to create something cool. There has got to be a knockout punch here. Yes...

It started with a rook sacrifice in order to bring in the last inactive piece into the game. Then the bishop jumped into the fray, forcing Mark's knight to take lest he lose the queen. But it wouldn't stop anything. It was mate in 2, with a queen sacrifice, deflecting the knight into a rook checkmate, supported by the other bishop. All his pieces were involved in the game with incredible harmony. If any doubts on Henry's capabilities as a player were still lingering, these last 4 moves would be a good dissolver of that.

The Delta undergrad reached for his pocket for a bill, put it inbetween his fingers and reached over the table to Mark for a courtesy handshake. Impressed, Mark returned the handshake and took the bill. Now, he was ready for a talk with Isabella.

"Well, it's a set up if you're looking for one." Henry briefly replied before putting his stuffs back into his bag. "Anyway, for that 'proposed something' that Professor Jones said, it's something he asked me for help with. To put it shortly, he wanted a program that could play chess."

Usually they'd probably have grandmasters be involved since they'd be more qualified, but he figured that it was much cheaper, since he was studying here. Well, it was fine for him either ways. A good way to meet some really fine intelligent folks.

"I'm going to head off for some lunch." Henry said, as he packed up his stuffs "If you're interested, we can talk on the way, or..." He held out a small piece of paper, containing an array of numbers. "...give me a call."
@PrinceAlexus

With the radio blaring out a song about a cheating jerk that wanted the girl he was singing to help him mess around on his girl while she was on vacation. Josie should kick the shite out of that little bastard. GiGi was taking an order as she heard over the music a chopper that sounded really close. Really, really close. That sounds like it is on the roof!! What the heck is going on?!

Looking around GiGi saw people pointing and running from the helicopter that was landing in a patch of grass across the street. Stunned, like the people at the table, she watched as a group of people exited the chopper. Snapping out of it before the people at the table she snagged her pad and pen, beginning to take notes on what was going on around her. This is why that pad is never far from me. I’m getting all of this and turning it into an article. Damnit where the hell is PJ?!

Noticing what she could see from the distance and as people milled about, GiGi hopped that they were coming into the dive so she could get a better idea of who it was exactly. The first occupant was a slender girl in black then another in a riot of color. The girls shared the same color hair though their fashion was opposite ends of the spectrum. Raising an eyebrow, GiGi blinked as she realized who these girls were. Oh… it’s Miami Rebellion…

Cutting her eyes to Nevaeh to see if the slightly older waitress had noticed GiGi winced as she heard a shriek of “MIAMI REBELLION!!!”

Because of course at least one fan was in the dive at this time. Looks like I’m gonna be late to the paper…

Nevaeh glared at GiGi “You leave me after this for that damned rag and I will hunt you down and murder you. I will not be stuck with the fan club!!” Was hissed as a warning low and deep.

”You’ll have Gladys…” GiGi defended whispering.

“Those teenagers will eat Gladys alive and Chef will lose hundreds of dollars on walked cheques.” Nevaeh hissed back. “Just for that you have their table. I’m not dealing with Danny. He wasn’t happy with our last encounter.”

”Do I even want to know?” GiGi was a little bit curious.

“Now why is anyone ever upset with me?” Nevaeh countered.

”Upset with you is not what you said.”

“Humm you’re right. He was expecting… Sade and instead got Boy George.”

Just then the bells from the door clanged and the girls walked in. GiGi rolled her eyes at Nevaeh. ”Saved by the bell. And you call me evil. Fine. Just so we don’t have a bigger issue.” She watched as fate said ”Be careful what you wish for.” as the group sat in her section. Because of course… I should have stayed in bed today. Or maybe I’m not giving them enough credit. Maybe... hopefully… Here goes.

Walking up GiGi took in the clash that was the sisters. The girls are sisters but their personalities are totally day and night. I really like the outfits… both actually. Please don’t be Prima Donnas!!!

Not wanting to be caught gawking, or at least not for long, GiGi quickly walked over to the girls with a smile just as the colorful girl was reading out loud the sales flyer as if she had never even thought of putting the words in the same sentence, let alone the same paragraph. Vaguely in the background GiGi noticed that the radio was playing Come and Get Your Love as she snagged a couple of menus. “Hello!! Welcome to Chef’s. Here’s our menu. What can I get you to drink?” She let her eyes move over the girls with no small amount of curiosity. She was friendly and found that she smiled easily now that she was in their presence.

“Hello!” Karina answered GiGi and smiled accepting the menus. She tossed the green copy away and it slid partially under the napkin holder. Sena glanced down at it briefly, still wearing her sunglasses, reading the last paragraph of the last page when another voice jumped in excitedly over their server.

“SENA! KARINA!” The young girl shrieked. She couldn’t have been over sixteen and had the red ribbon in her hair along with a white Duran Duran t-shirt from the band’s Rio album that Sena found mildly amusing.

Karina winced a little as her name was shouted, but she smiled back, “Hiiiiiiii!” She answered like she’d known the girl forever. Within the lineup of the band, she was aware people kind of regarded her as a ditz and they weren’t completely wrong, but she genuinely did enjoy people particularly when the setting was less chaotic. She didn’t have to fake any appreciation of the fans and it was a large part of her popularity.

“I can’t believe it’s… YOU?!” The girl continued, basically inserting herself in front of GiGi. “What are you doing here?”

“I guess we just knew you were going to be here.” Sena said with a smirk.

The girl just melted at the words. “No one is gonna believe this!” She clasped her hands together and shook her head.

“Sure they will,” Karina produced a marker from her handbag. Another multicolored and diamond studded affair. She pulled the green paper back out from under the napkin tin. “Autograph?”

“Uhhhhh, like yeah!” She couldn’t believe her luck and bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly.

Karina scribbled her name and the thick marker bled over the printed type easily. She slid it back over to Sena who picked it up briefly to reread the same final paragraph with a snicker. Who knew if the girl would ever read what they had just signed over, but something about the “Gabber-In-Chief”’s words felt fitting. He was half right. With a few strokes of the marker she had drawn an inverted crown and a phrase: No King - No Master right above it. “Even if they don’t believe you now, they will in a couple weeks.” Sena said, signing her name with a heavy flourish on the “S” and the “t” at the trail of her last name that ripped through the letters like a whip being cracked.

“Oh my God, that is just like the most badass thing ever.” The girl said, gripping the paper in front of her with both hands as if she were holding a piece of priceless art and looking for a sign of approval from GiGi before tucking it back against her chest and dancing away happily singing to herself.

Karina read the phrase briefly as it passed by her eyes, it was something new, so she wasn’t sure where her sister was going with it. Sena never made plans and if she did, she waited until the last minute to announce them which usually ended up being a lot of fun watching everyone scramble. Still, Karina wondered sometimes if Sena wasn’t taking the whole “rebellion” thing a little too seriously. She glanced back up at their server who seemed to have been pushed to the background amidst the whole encounter and tried to be as nice as she could be: “Orange juice for me,” She said politely looking around at one of the tables that hadn’t been bussed amid the spectacle of the chopper landing. “In a clean glass, please.” She was completely sincere as she looked at GiGi.

“‘Rina!” Sena snapped. “They’re not gonna give you a dirty glass, you ditz.”

“Well I didn’t know,” Karina replied, shrugging innocently. “Maybe they need to save money or something.”

“No, that’s not how this works.” Sena replied, shaking her head. Still behind her sunglasses, she glanced back at GiGi, looking the girl up and down briefly before speaking. “Sorry about all that, just coffee for me.”

@Almalthia

Isabella Daphne Belle

location = University

Isabella did not mind waiting merely finding a nearby table to take notes on ABC code and get some reading done Professor Jones suggested, he was somewhat eccentric but he knew his stuff and she respected him. He was a good PHD supervisor, plus she shared his love of hot sweet drinks he seemed to have for every meeting on tap had warmed Isabella's opinion a little.

The game was definitely miles beyond her understanding of chess so it was far more productive to do her own work for now. "Interesting, definitely accurate. Makes a good cup of sweet tea that's for sure." The game resumed and she turned back to her code notes, a mess of cursive corrections, various colors, personal shorthand plus anecdotes and page references that anyone else would ve hopelessly lost. It all made perfect sense to Isabella.

Glancing over the game her gold eyes could not see the strategy, sure she could understand most of how they moved but how all this worked and interacted was over her head. It was definitely advanced though and a very complicated and interlinked system. Knowing it was one and decoding it was entirely two different things.

She noticed a few glances her way but was used to that, a minority still saw computer science as a very much boys club. bright red 50's inspired dress, to tell the truth she did that deliberately, it was fun to tweak their noses a little. Plus the heat and humidity was plain ridiculous. Still Delta offered her a full ride and a PHD was very expensive otherwise.

Finally they shook hands and Mark left after a rather long game, was it a long game? Well it seemed it anyway, it might be a short game for what she knew of the two students. "Bye Mark, See you in the lab I'm sure." Waving him off, he was not a friend as such but she also got on and never had questioned her abilities.

Listening to Henery, yup her professor was a wizard and sent her on an merry adventure with half facts, just minus an magical apple or some other strange object. ""Il hear it out." Giving the opportunity and fair chance. A computer that played chess, well that had fixed rules, limited movement range and a set board meaning closed parameters and environment. The rest was code, maths, and probability etc."Possible." thinking to self and making a few notes on a spare page of her note book including an book to check later.

"Oh now i see, that would be a good way to test my multi step learning and adaptive feedback algorithm theory in a closed parameter environment with an fixed and evaulable..." Relishing she might have lost him at the start in her forgetting he was still an undergraduate a second. "Though honestly... My dad tried to teach me chess, i'm more of a grand unmaster. It does sound like an interesting project to test out."

Isabella brushed a platinum hair out her eye that was irritating and taking the paper with thanks. Writing her own number, Academic post box of sorts on campus (95% was usually fliers though) putting her fountain pen back in hand bag, lunch. Had time. Flown that fast? A quick check of the clock said yes. "Theirs meant to be a great sushi place, healthy light lunch too. Shogun Sushi?

I've got plenty of time before the Latin Dance event starts up, and most professors basically siesta." Isabella did not hide her hobbies, you needed something more than study plus dance helped keep you fit, kept you social, had fun and beat stress. Perfect. Being good at it helped.

Putting her book, pad and various pens away, take it or leave it, just being friendly as she smoothed out dress and checked self a second in the window everything was as it should. Isabella offered it as campus food, pretty good but still campus food.

Mentions.
@Conscripts

Dorian pulled his sleek 1967 Jaguar E-Type Series 1 Roadster into one of Delta City’s more secluded parking garages. Once parked he fiddled with the dial of the radio, after haphazardly flipping through the stations Dorian eventually settled on a song he recognized being played on what seemed to be one of the last remaining so-called new-wave stations that was still attempting to resist the onslaught of guitar-driven rock. He doubted that David Sylvian’s melancholic crooning would get much airplay elsewhere. Which was a shame because Japan’s cool detachment and sense of poise were always a welcome respite to the bloated sound of now that populated the airwaves. With the longevity of this particular station in question, he chided himself on never investing in a tape deck for his Jaguar; with the advent of portable mediums of music the commuter was no longer forced to suffer the fickle whims of the plebeians who demanded their radio DJ’s play the latest tripe.

Ensuring that he was completely alone Dorian produced a nondescript plastic bag from behind the dashboard. He assembled his best dashboard bump by using his American Express Platinum Card to configure the powder into a few manageable white lines. As he snorted the cocaine he felt a tinge of guilt as it did not take an acute amount of self-awareness to realize that his vices were on the verge of becoming unmanageable once again and he did not need to remind himself of the consequences as he carried an eternal reminder of the last time he let his passions overwhelm him. He could not help wincing as his gaze fell upon his eyepatch as he adjusted the rearview mirror to check his nostrils for any excess powder that remained. The sudden onset of guilt gave way to anger as he was livid that he was forced to take on the guise of an errand boy for this shadowy organization. Painting for them as that was a mutually beneficial low risk enterprise that played to his strengths. However, enforcing their will through threats of violence like a common hoodlum was frankly beneath him as he was not one of their goons that they could push around, to the contrary he was a gentleman artist of fame and renown. Despite his posturing Dorian knew better than to cross the Silverback Syndicate as that was a fast-track to end up in one of the plethora of unmarked mass graves that are rumored to be hidden amongst the dense foliage of the Florida Wilderness Reserve, many of the groups enemies or critics have been swallowed up by the city throughout the years never to be seen again. Dorian would just have to grit his teeth and do what they willed of him for the time being, exude false reverence until the time was right.

Returning the plastic bag to it’s hiding spot, Dorian exited his car and made his way out of the imposing structure. Once outside he was not exactly conspicuous as he sauntered across the sidewalk like he was untouchable, he certainly left an impression on those he passed and the majority of bystanders were left feeling as if the one-eyed man was familiar in the sense that he must be a person of some importance. Dorian had learned to tune out the hushed whispers when he passed and while normally he would bask in the attention given to him by others; he was preoccupied with getting this foolishness done as quickly as possible. Perhaps if he wrapped this nonsense up in a timely manner he could still be able to visit the local art museum downtown before it became overwhelmed by the mindless throngs of tourists, it had some of his favorite 19th century artists’ works on loan and he would rather view them without the added annoyance of tour groups and the idiots that comprised them.

Eventually Dorian made it to Shogun Sushi, which was apparently where all the jetsetter types loved to congregate nowadays; Japanese cuisine seemed to be the latest fixation for the yuppie generation and everyone whom wanted to be in the in-crowd was just expected to expand their pallet accommodate raw seafood. Despite his upbringing consisting of traditional southern cuisine, Dorian had to admit that the idea of sushi had grown on him in the intervening years since he left the LaValle estate as it was a rather satisfying dish. He entered the establishment with a disposition that suggested that he expected to be waited on; letting his gaze drift to a clock on the wall he noted that he was a good thirty minutes ahead of the meetup outlined in the letter.

Sounding throughout the kitchen as Vasco was making himself some breakfast was a song on his small portable radio that was sitting nearby. Vasco quietly singing along as he was making himself some parrot eggs. A variant of scrambled eggs and a dish that is served in his native Colombia. Scrambled eggs with butter, sautéed diced scallions, bell pepper, and tomatoes. Normally the recipe calls for onions instead of scallions but, Vasco prefers the taste of the scallions over onions.

Once he was done, and he took a moment to smell his freshly made dish. Smiling when the sweet aroma reached his nose. Just like how mom would make it, Vasco said to himself, satisfied that his meal was done, and went to sit down at the table. Taking no time to eat, and when he was about halfway through his parrot eggs, His phone rang.

Wondering who would be calling him at this hour, and got up to turn down his radio before answering. Vasco answered the phone to a familiar though sounding, sickish polish voice. "Hello boss, it is me, Marzena. I woke up today feeling something awful, and I threw up. I think I caught something, and I do not think I can go to work today."

"It is okay Marzena, I understand. Take care of yourself for as long as you need, okay."

Thanks, boss, and I will try to get back as soon as possible."

"Do not rush it Marzena, get well, then come back."

"Right and goodbye, boss," and the phone call ended.

Well, that is some bad news today, and it is still early in the day. But, not a problem, really despite it being the day after the bar was done being expanded and ready to open. Vasco does not have to close down his bar today since his bartender is sick. He used to bartend before hiring Marzena, and he can surely take her place. Though she certainly knows more about drinks and making cocktails than he does. Never really asked why and should maybe ask when she is healthy again. Regardless, Vasco still got chores he needs to do before heading to the bar, and it is going to be quite the drive to the library.

So after turning the radio back on, and finished eating the rest of his breakfast. Vasco cleaned up and turned the radio off finally this time and got his things together, and left his apartment. Wearing his usual attire for today, minus his scarf, a grey polo shirt, and black jeans. Taking the elevator to the parking lot and got into a white 1986 Acura Integra. A car that has served him well after his last car broke down enough, and he had to sell it. Relying on taxis for a while before picking up this one.

Turning it on and Vasco officially was starting his day and started his travels in Delta City. Maybe some good thing will happen to balance out Marzena being sick. Well, time to see.

Gwendolyn Dexter Barrett

Location: Gwen’s Apartment/ BandMate’s Garage.

Walking up to the sound of her alarm clock blaring in her ear, Gwen sat up on her bed reaching over towards the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. Lighting up one of the cancer sticks, hearing rustling on the bed behind her. “That was amazing last night, did you like what I did with my tongue?” A male’s voice could be heard behind her, she felt his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Yeah, it was fine.” She gave him a curt response as she took a drag of her cigarette. “Your gonna have to leave, I got people coming over soon and I don’t want them seeing you.” Taking another drag of her cigarette, blowing a couple of small clouds of smoke in the air. The man looked quite disappointed he couldn’t stay longer with Gwen, Never the less he soon got dressed and left her apartment. When she heard the door close, she got out of bed and started to get dressed. Checking her answering machine to see if anyone left any messages. There were two messages, the first was from his paternal uncle a priest named Father Harold Callahan. Urging her to contact him so she could reconcile with her parents. “Fat chance.” Sneering and deleting the message. The second one was from her acquaintance named Tony, wanting to meet in the evening to discuss an upcoming deal. Writing down the date and location of the meeting, Gwen deleted that message as well. After eating her breakfast consisting of eggs, bacon and coffee she headed towards the apartment parking lot.

Getting into her Toyota AE86, driving towards her bandmate’s apartment while listening to her mixtape. (The song she is listening to while driving- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrE_cDvcgJg ). Stopping in the driveway of her bandmate’s house, noticing the garage door was open with the other band members getting ready to practice. A man with a large blue mohawk walked over towards the driver’s side of her car, “Hi stranger, sorry we ain’t planning on being Mormons. So you better try someone else.” This got a chuckle out of Gwen, getting out of her car and walking with the bird-haired man towards the garage. “Very funny, you guys looked over the sheets I wrote yesterday?” taking out another cigarette from her pocket. Lighting it up while discussing the song they had practiced yesterday. After discussing how the song should sound, and what changes that needed to be made Gwen started singing the song. “Man I think we’re gonna kill it tomorrow.” The bassist said cheerfully. The drummer was nodding his head, mentioning how much better they had gotten since last year.

After the group had finished practicing, Gwen told the rest of the band that they would meet tonight to practice once again to make sure their set is perfect. Getting into her car and heading towards Shogun Sushi to meet with Tony. Driving pasted the Diamon Stadium, she fantasized about singing there with her band. Millions of people cheering for her, a dream she wanted to work for. But she had other business that was also quite important to her as well.