Ink_n_imp's Stories

The '63 Ford Galaxie

2008-06-21T07:21:29Z

“Ever try to hot wire a new car?”
“Once.”
“Once?”
“There was beer. I learned my lesson. But you were saying?”
“Ah. Well. Don’t. New cars are too electronic. Too many safeties. You’ll never drive off in it.”
“But an older car—”
How easily she slipped the coat hanger wire between the window glass and the door body of the ‘63 Ford Galaxie. How quickly it opened after a brief moment of concentration on her part. A shimmy and a twist of her torso hid her head underneath the dash, though her legs still hung out of the car.
He jumped when it roared to life. It was the sound of an old muscle car remembering what it had been made for.
Begging to be put into drive.
“Let’s make like Steve McQueen and have ourselves a Great Escape,” she said for her own benefit as she righted herself in the driver’s seat.
He was pretty sure McQueen had escaped on a motorcycle in that movie, but a man on the run had no right to nitpick.
He crossed to the passenger’s side, and got in.

An Agent's Priority

2008-05-14T00:01:34Z

Her chest is on fire, the world is blurred around the edges. It moves against her wishes. It breathes and twists and tears at her, but she pushes forward. Instinct is all she has now.

Later, when the drug they gave her wears off, she will finally have the presence of mind to congratulate herself on her daring escape. She will take stock of what she still has: shoes, shoe laces, socks, long pants, long sleeved shirt, underwear, under wire bra,elastic hair tie, two bobby pins, her glasses, a jacket, her health and her brain. Everything else was taken away.

She will administer to her wounds (inflicted both by man and nature) as she was taught to do. She will acknowledge she is lost deep in a woods she doesn’t know, but she will remain calm, orient herself to the cardinal directions, find and follow running water. She will survive to return to the Agency and give her report.

But right now, she is running for her life, and she’s half out of her mind.

Business as Usual

2007-09-14T05:48:07Z

“Not the dishwasher again! What, does he think that dishes wash themselves?” she moans at her head waiter, who rushes off to fix it.

“Troubles?”

He’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, trying to keep out of the way of the rioting good cheer of the customers. Over the din he’s hard to hear; but her ear is always open to him.

She grins as she smoothes her curls back into place. “The usual; aside that YOU are here, and on a Saturday!” She leans on the wall next to him; he has to turn around to face her, and it unbalances him.

“Business,” he’s curt to explain, and a note passes hands.

“You are a harbinger of bad luck for me!” she declares jovially, tucking the note away. “You come, and something happens to slow my club down!”

“Yea, what’s a girl to do?” he asks as he’s nearly bowled over by a group sweeping through the doorway, all laughs and yells. He’s finally resorted to raising his voice. She finds it endearing.

“Drink on me?”

“I’ll pass.”

He nods, and then he’s gone.

Custodian

2007-09-14T05:11:09Z

“Lights out, ladies!”

She walked down the corridor, checking the cells one last time before her shift ended. You couldn’t stand too close to the bars; a hand could reach out to grab you. You had to see everything within in a single glance; projectiles could be, at best, an embarrassing mess; at worst, a weapon. Slurs were nothing more than air, old hat to ignore. But spitting was cause for discipline.

The last cell was HERS , and she was waiting, same as every night.

“Guardian,” she began, in a sing song voice that didn’t match the look in her eye. “Keeper. Custodian. Keep it safe, keep it clean. Keep it OR-derly. Does that make you a janitor? Mr. Webster tells me they mean the same.”

To answer back was as good as begging for a riot. “Good night, ladies!” she called out, taking care not to look into the last cell.

Guard? Custodian? Janitor? Hell, janitor was right.

Who else would keep society’s shit at bay?

Closing Time

2007-09-04T06:30:02Z

She tops off his glass; she’s leaning with her back to the bar, watching her now silent domain. “To curfew,” she says; she’s the most dangerous woman he knows, but with her funny accent and plump figure and tired curls, she hides it well.

He’s hunched over the bar. “Why’d you let me in? You hate me,” he says, a matter of fact.

“I was feeling generous,” she shrugs. “Besides; I was bored today. You are not a boring man. Change the game, and something new might happen.”

“What is it you want?” he growls, a shout that was was strangled on the way out. He manages just enough nerve to look her in the eye.

She gently smirks; a knowing quirk of her mouth she’s never been good at hiding. “Lock up as you go,” she says as she leaves a key by his elbow. “Drop the key off in the morning.”

She leaves him there in the near dark, in the bar that still feels smoky though the patrons left hours ago. Outside cops prowl the streets; he nurses his drink, and thinks. And waits.

The Examination

2007-07-26T04:40:49Z

“The Exam will begin in 10 moments time.”

“Exam? What Exam? I ‘m not here to be tested! And not in 10 minutes—”

“That’s 10 Moments time.”

”...10 moments? What the deuce is a moment?”

“Approximately a minute and a half, miss. Now, if you would have a seat—”

“Wait, hold that thought. Go back to that moment thing. So I really have,” she tried to do the calculation in her head, but soon gave up. The clock was ticking, after all. “So, I only have 10 minutes—er, moments.”

“Actually, miss, you only have 8 Moments now.”

“8 moments! 8 moments! But, but I’m not suppose to even be here! I have to save someone, you know! I’m not even prepared for an exam!—Say, what’s this exam examing anyway?”

“It is an Examination of your Humanity.”

”...Oh bugger.”

Elbows

2007-07-26T04:19:34Z

“I can’t say I’ve ever been tripped by an elbow before.”

“I shouldn’t think why not.”

“Well, why should I be tripped by an elbow?”

“Rather tricky things, elbows. Rather like knees. They just
rather sort of stick out, you know. Never mind that you can close them around something like a steel clamp.”

“Yes, but to be TRIPPED by one?”

“I’ve obviously never told you about the time I was in Switzerland; The Trip of ‘72, and what a trip it was! The shapeliest elbow I’d ever seen. Why, just thinking about it brings back the joys and pains of my youth; Oh! Cecilia—“

“Yes, but—an ELBOW ? An elbow’s a long ways away from a foot, or an ankle! You know, the things that usually get tripped in a tripping!”

”...And your point is?”

“Well…well…well, it’s dashed odd, is my point!”

One of Nature's Bachelor(ettes)

2007-07-25T02:01:54Z

“Hello daddy. Time for dinner, is it?” she asked, looking up from her book.

“Hello, dear. Just came in for a sniffer, you know how it is.” Silence, the long heavy sort that comes before a tricky question is asked.

“Mummy told you about Freddy, hrum?” she asked, beating him to the punch.

“Ha, oh, er. Was just about to…well, you know,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “Dashed odd. One minute you’re set to marry the poor boy, next you’re not—”

“Oh, I couldn’t marry Freddy, not that I’m not FOND of Freddy, I am, terribly. It’s just—I yelled at him about the tie he was wearing. I thought it hideous.”

“You did, did you?”

“It was shameful, already telling him how to live his life. You see, daddy, I believe in the Sovereignty of the Individual. But Freddy made me realize that the only way to protect that is to keep myself from chaining some poor chap in the holy bonds of matrimony.”

“I say,” her father said, his eyes getting wide with admiration. “That’s jolly decent of you, Margie.”

Of Locked Doors

2007-07-25T01:40:04Z

“You know, there is nothing so tempting as a locked door.” Wilde jovially rolled up her sleeves, and got to work with a hairpin.

“Mistress Wilde,” Tranio began, but Wilde waved her hand.

“Tranio, now is not the time to lose heart or gain a belief in lawful entrance. This door stands in our way! We cannot be bested by mere wood and metal, we must Find A Way!”

“Yes, but—”

“You know, I think this damnable thing is jammed,” Wilde grumbled, jiggling the pin without success.

“Do you even know what you’re doing, dear?” More asked, taking a touch more delight in how well the door was thwarting Wilde than perhaps was called for.

Wilde looked up, and only glared.

More merely giggled. “She’s being foolish again!” she whispered into Tranio’s ear.

“Mistress—”

“Damn and blast, Tranio, can’t it wait until I open this damned lock!” Wilde whined.

“I think what Tranio is trying to say is why bother with a locked door when there’s an open window,” More said.

And it was open. Very open.