Planet Cambridge...
A red-haired woman entered a bar after having been through what felt like a long conference day. With slight circles beneath her eyes, she headed to a stool and plopped herself down on it with a sigh.
"The strongest in the house then, milady," the bartender asked her, to which she simply nodded and then cradled her head on her arms on the counter. The drink having finally arrived was a good sign, as she perked herself up and began the night by taking a sip.
Several minutes in, and she soon felt the effects of the alcohol working its way through her system, calming her nerves and washing away her fatigue. Feeling a little daring, she nonchalantly mentioned to the bartender how she always wanted to go to Gallia and visit it, particularly Champagne. Maybe the mention of Gallia in a Bretonian bar would raise some eyebrows and put the night in a more energetic mood.
But what she didn't expect was for the bartender to smile back. "Actually, you're in luck. I think I might know some people who would be able to...
share in your interest, milady."
He took out a sort of calling card from underneath his bartender's apron and slid it over to her. When she looked at it, all it had was a purple-colored sun, with eight flaming rays radiating from it.
He then said, "If you wanna meet them, just head over to the fashion boutique down the road, and show one of them that card. They'll know what to do."
And with that, he walked away to tend to his other customers, leaving the red-haired woman to herself and her strong drink.
She was exhausted from a long day of conferences and tomorrow would be no different. More meetings to attend and hopefully a meeting with officials from the Bretonian crown. She was no diplomat so it was the one she didn't look forward to.
She slid the drink away as she wasn't used to something so strong. She loved her Gallic White wine. She also had her doubts. She was alone at this conference and as she wasn't the fighting type. She was a caregiver and a good one. Her only defense from unwanted men trying to cash in on her beauty was a concealed side arm. She read the card. It sounded enticing but she was suspicious that the bartender knew of her thoughts on Champagne. Leaving credits for her drink, she left and headed to her hotel suite.
It felt good to get out of her professional attire. She took the red gown from her closet and put it on. The effects of the drink still somewhat present, she poured herself a sparkling water and stretched out on the couch and turned on some soft music while she called her son on datapad. The card was on the table. For now it was being ignored even if it was visible but perhaps a bit later when she could do some research on it. She was far from home and she didn't trust easily.
"... So she took the card with her?"
"Yup. Don't think she'll pay the boutique a visit right tonight, since she asked for something to keep the edge off. Well, nod is more like it. She'll at least think about it tomorrow," the bartender replied.
"Right... and are you really sure she's--"
"She's Dr. Nageen, of the Tinker & Transport group, alright," the bartender said. "Not really big news, but there's talk among the BPA stationed in the conference that she's planning, or at least hoping, to meet the Crown, what with all the diplomats she's trying to cheese through."
The purple-suited man on the bar stool sighed. "What would a simple doctor of the Tinker's Haven want with the Crown," he asked himself, stroking his purple-dyed mustache in thought.
"If you really are interested, boss, I can try and contact a mate of mine to do a little digging for ya."
"That would be most lovely, dear barkeep. If your informant finds anything interesting, let me know, yes? But for now, keep up with the wait-and-see approach. Not like she's the only smugglee I have under my belt... though at how slow things are going now, she might as well be."
The bartender shrugged his shoulders and said, "Eh, can't help it, I guess, what with the recent BAF shakedown. It's a shame Jeremiah got caught, he was a good guy."
"That he was..." And with that, the purple-suited man left the bartender to his dirty glasses and half-empty bottles.
Once he was out the door, the man, after looking at his golden wristwatch, placed his hands in his silk-lined pockets and continued down the streets of Cambridge, and disappeared into the cold, foggy night.
Another morning arrived and she was well rested. Still, the card had her attention as she sat over morning coffee. She dressed professionally, slacks, a red blouse, a fine necklace and earrings.
"Who is this guy?" she asked herself. The card has her attention but with her schedule, the shop would have to wait. Still, red flags of caution went off in her head. She was, after all, not the fighting type. She had a concealed side arm but was only minimally trained with it.
Using her morning time wisely, she sent a message to Fynn and Sturm. At least they would know what's going on. She then gave a good morning to Bennie and reviewed her schedule. She would have a little time in the afternoon to visit the boutique.
She finished her coffee and breakfast, grabbed her bag and headed out to her first meeting.
A reporter, dressed in a plain brown trench coat over his simple semi-formal suit, was leaning on a lamp post, sipping his morning tea, when the datapad within his coat suddenly rang.
With his other hand, he took the device out and replied to his caller, "Calvin, here..."
Calvin listened to his speaker, lazily at first, but when his friend mentioned the words 'Dr. Nageen' and 'Crown', his interest was suddenly piqued. "So you want me to see what her
real purpose here is, if any?"
"That's about right," his friend said. "Just see if Dr. Nageen's purpose here is more than just a medical conference."
"And, of course, I am--"
"Yes, Calvin, of course you're getting paid. The amount I'm sending you now should cover it for the time being, while the rest will be discussed in full by tonight." A sudden blip in the datapad's Credit balance was music to the reporter's ears.
"Sure. Good thing I was headed to the conference myself, eh? Anyway, guess I'll call you later then, Hank. Calvin out."
Placing the datapad back in his coat pocket, the reporter quickly finished the rest of his tea and sighed as the drink did its magic on his psyche, preparing him for the day ahead. After handing the teacup back to the establishment behind him, he brushed straight his clothes and headed for the conference.
---
Just as expected, the conference felt, and
was, long and somewhat a little dreary, but the woman also felt like she had made some progress by the end of its first half. But now was not the time to think about it. It was her break, and she had precious little time left to waste. She still had the boutique to check out, in fact.
Holding the card, she brisk-walked down the streets of Cambridge, her cautious, paranoid hand somewhat itching for her sidearm. When she reached the fashion boutique (which was hard to miss, considering it was the only one within several hundred meters in every direction), she took in a deep breath, swallowed as much hesitation down her throat as she could, and then entered the store.
Taking a break between meetings, she studied the card for a moment. She shrugged. "What the hell!!"
Keeping an eye on her time, she found the boutique and began shopping. She was wearing her hair long as she always did and kept the beginnings of a light smile. She found a blouse that seemed just right and tried it on in the dressing room. It was perfect. It would be tomorrow's attire. Putting her original attire back on, she went to the counter for purchase.
Upon paying, she then pulled the card out and with a smile, held it with two fingers in front of her face and raised an eyebrow, "I was told that someone here would know what to do with this."
The brunette behind the counter blinked upon seeing the card. "Ah! You have a 'Special Tours' Card', milady. By the way, I'm Clarissa, the proprietor and manager of this boutique."
Clarissa further explained to the woman that the card was a promotional coupon of sorts, organized between the boutique and an investor to attract female customers who had shown any particular positive interest with anything Gallic.
If availed of, customers would get not only a free tailor-fitted ballroom gown of their choice and style, but also the option of scheduling (within a few days of availing the card) a one-night dinner ball with the investor at the five-star restaurant establishment down the street.
"But if you ask me, milady," Clarissa chided in, "I think this promotion in general is just a grandiose excuse for that investor to organize a date with... different-thinking women. You're actually the first to have ever shown me this card ever since the promotion was put up several weeks ago, which isn't a surprise, given that very few Bretonians, if any, think Gallia is even worth mentioning.
"... So yeah. Would you like to avail of the coupon now, milady? Just so you know, the dinner-date's not mandatory at all, and you can just ask for the dress. Still, free posh food if you ask me, and the man seemed like a gentleman, if a little dandy for my standards. I even heard from a few of my co-workers that he has several collections of high-quality wine straight from the house of Gallia itself, just for the occasion. I'd go myself, but the card's only for customers... and I'm also married on the side." The brunette giggled to herself.
Doreen smiled and snickered, "I guess this means I win a free date with someone I don't even know." She then dropped the card on the counter and turned, her hand still in the air as if it was still holding the card in her fingers, "Lovely. someone probably thinks I'm an easy piece of meat or something."
She thought for a few minutes at the words of the woman behind the counter. No doubt Doreen was single and available but she wasn't actively looking. A lot of the clientele she saw each day turned her off and most men were after one thing. She gave herself up once to find her father long ago and if it weren't for the acts of one man, she would be worse than the single mother she was, she would have died in an escape capsule in the Omegas, the bones of her and her unborn still inside.
"A gentleman," she inquired, "I will make that decision. But for now, a new gown would be nice as I have so few. For now, I have a conference to return to."
She then took the card and wrote the name of the local restaurant that she like to eat at and about the time she would be there. It was nothing fancy but it was quaint and pleasant. She paid for the blouse she had purchased and left for her next conference.
The sun was setting over the Cambridge horizon. Sitting on a bench was a man wearing a suit and shoes of gray. Gray... How dreary such a color was, the man thought to himself. Professional, yet without vibrancy and personality. A color so ill-suited for a man like he.
Compared to the orange glow of the cambridge sun, it felt like he was doing injustice to the mistress of dusk by acting so... inconspicuous.
His thought train was interrupted when the datapad in his coat jacket suddenly rang out. He grabbed the device from its pocket and tipped his hat down to keep the beams from his eyes.
He talked at short length with the woman behind the screen, and he stroked his purple-colored beard and mustache as he listened.
When their conversation was over, the man turned the device off and deposited it back in its pocket. He leaned back on the bench, his purple eyebrows rising up his head as he let out a long sigh. It seems that Dr. Nageen has accepted the 'date' after all, but not exactly on his terms, unfortunately. She had left 'him' directions for a less... refined establishment. Quite understandable, but that didn't help make things more comfortable on his end, oh, not at all.
Would he really have to partake in an inconspicuous night, act in a plain and inconspicuous manner, and be dressed up in an inconspicuous suit yet again? The very thought of it brought a chill to his spine. Aren't first dates supposed to be occasions where people could show off their very best first impressions? Well, he could always use a purple chrysanthemum, but...
Ah, he'll figure out the trivial matter later. For now, the sunset was his mistress, and though he knew she wouldn't mind being ignored for a time, being the patient woman she was, he knew she always appreciated the attention. Or at least, he 'thought' she'd appreciate it. After all, when you're talking about metaphorical, inanimate symbolism such as the dusk, one's imagination can only go so far as to guess what would the most appropriate action be for a given circumstance.
After the day's conferences were over, she went to the restaurant she frequented after a long day.
"The usual, Ms. Nagger?" the bartender asked.
"The usual," she answered with a smile.
He looked around to be sure no authorities were around before he poured her glass of Gallic White Wine.
Taking it, she winked and went to her table.
The atmosphere was pleasant and she used the quiet and privacy to review records from the day. She also made a short call to chat with her son. The trip away from him would be long but the benefit it would have to both her and her fellow Tinkers far outweighed it even though she promised to make such trips few in number or if possible, take him with her.
The bartender returned with her food, "Just the way you like it, Ma'am. A refill on the wine?"
"Please," she replied smiling.
When he returned, he brought her a fresh glass and quietly said to her, "A gentleman entered and asked for you. Um, should I show him over?"
"Really?" she answered, "Um, yes. Just keep an eye on him from a distance if you please."
He nodded and returned to his bar, doing as she asked.