Thought I'd forgotten about this, didn't ya?
Certain things are said on a bus, we meet some ninja, Mal loses a staring contest and we finally learn what the S in “S. Malaclypse” stands for. All this and more in today's installment of Mr. Fnord Goes to Washington!
SS City of Alamosa
Trans-Luna Lines shuttle flight 1929 (Kandor City-Port Luna)
15 March 2014 19:33 GMT
Mal sighed for what felt like the millionth time that week. “You didn't have to come with me, Sora,” said to his traveling companion. “In fact, it's probably better if you stayed the hell away.”
“I'm not going to Washington, sir,” replied his traveling companion. “We need to have a face-to-face with some of our European suppliers about their quality control. Everybody else was busy, so I get to spend three days in sunny Adelaide arguing with Germans.”
“Ah ha,” said Mal, “I did wonder.” And he had at that; ever since their quick departure from Grover's Corners, Sora had stuck to him like glue. Mal understood it to a certain degree – they had developed a good working relationship over the last few months – but her insistence on staying so close had him thinking.
Mal wasn't entirely comfortable with where that train of thought was leading, but hey.
“Sir?”
“Sora, enough with the 'sirs.' You're making me feel like I'm Peppermint Patty and you're Marcie. Worse,” he added with a plaintive tone, “you're making me feel *old.* Please, stop.”
“Oh. I'm sorry. *Mal,* thank you for tolerating my dancing.”
Mal shrugged. “I'm not Fred Astaire myself, and you danced well enough to fulfill the traditions.”
“Oh, you're a *much* better dancer than I am,” said Sora, with just the right amount of insincerity in her voice.
“Flattery only works on GLaDOS and her cakes, Lieutenant,” Mal snorted. “You'll have to sycophant harder than *that*.”
Sora laughed. “Thank you, Mal.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “For?” he asked, not sure where this was going.
“For treating me as an adult.”
Mal raised the other eyebrow, having totally failed to predict *that* answer. “Sora, you *are* an adult. Why wouldn't I treat you like one?”
She sighed. “Everybody on Stellvia – and most of the people allied with Stellvia – think of me as Noah Scott's little girl. I'm the eldest daughter, his *favorite*,” she added with a note of sarcasm lacing her voice, “and they act like that's all I am. Like I'm just an extension of Stellvia. But you and Ptichka think of me as my own person. You trust me with your *lives* and nobody's *ever* done that before.” Sora looked at Mal and smiled. “So *thank you,* General Fnord.”
Mal returned her look, dipped his head a fraction of an inch and gave her a half-smile. “I didn't start this crazy outfit to *not* treat people the way they deserved,” he said, “so I can say Lieutenant Hasegawa, you're welcome and it was my pleasure.”
Sora's smile shifted, becoming more wistful. “Did you know I promised Yayoi that I'd go back to Stellvia someday?”
“No, I didn't.”
“Well, I did. And I kept my promise this week. I went back to Stellvia with the wedding, and then I went home. Now I'm going dirtside for a few days, but I know I'm coming home to Korolev, to Ptichka...” she trailed off, looking away. “And you,” she murmured.
Mal cranked an eyebrow again. “Sora?”
“I know what you're going to say. I think.” Sora said. “But... would you be willing to dance with me again, sometime?”
~***~
Reagan National Airport, Washington D.C.
Main Terminal
15 March 2014 17:16 EDT (23:16 GMT)
Mal Fnord stumbled through the post-flight “and you're *sure* you're not a terrorist?” security checkline, shouldered his carryon bag and tried to make a straight line for the baggage carousels. It had been a long and trying day, with the prospect of an even longer and more trying week ahead. All Mal wanted out of life in that moment of time was to pick up his bags, his security detail and maybe a cheeseburger before heading to the hotel and blissful oblivion.
It didn't help that his fatigue-soaked brain kept swinging back to the conversation he'd had with Sora. After the fiftieth iteration in as many feet, Mal stopped and smacked his head against a handy piece of Art Deco frippery.
Enough, goddammit. You've got more pressing matter to deal with than your engineer's infatuation, *or* your response to it. Stop woolgathering you jackass, tell the alligator to get to the back of the line and focus on draining. The. Swamp.
That said, Mal shook his head, pried his forebrain away from contemplating Sora's words (Damn it, I said *stop!*) and proceeded down the hall towards his goal, bruised and unenlightened.
When he got to the carousel for his flight, Mal found that his bags were already being taken care of by three teenagers dressed in black suits. “Holy shit, my bags are being stolen by Jehovah's Witnesses!” he said.
“General?” inquired a voice to his right. Mal turned and saw a slim Japanese woman dressed in an identical black suit standing close by, her eyes hidden behind fashionable sunglasses. The woman bowed. “Hyuuga Rumi, General,” she said. “We are the team you requested from Karasukage-sama.” As she said it, Mal noticed the small platinum comet pin on he lapel, indicating her allegiance to Seijutaigakure.
“Rumi-sensei, we've got everything,” called the shortest of the three ninja.
“Very good, Nikolas. Akira, Jenna, take the bags to the car, please. General, if you'll follow me?”
The four ninja and one Soviet leader exited the terminal and entered a waiting limousine. “Where too, miss?” asked the driver.
Rumi looked at Mal. “The Willard Intercontinental, please.” Mal said. “And don't spare the horses.”
~***~
Willard Intercontinental Hotel, Washington D.C.
15 March 2014 17:29 EDT
“Okay, before I go and try to grab some sleep let's cover opsec protocols. Ms. Hyuuga, how do you plan to cover security?”
“We developed a plan of action while you were in transit,” Rumi said. “As the only adult member of the team I'll be the visible security, as your aide-de-camp. Akira, Jenna and Nikolas will stay undercover and watch for threats from the crowds.”
Mal nodded thoughtfully. “Reasonable. What about weapons?”
“Non-lethal and close range only. Akira is proficient with some ranged weapons-” the named worthy nodded “-but they're difficult to conceal. Karasukage-sama forbade lethal weapons on this mission.”
“Nice to see Sergei's thinking ahead. With tensions this high I don't want to have to explain any collateral damage if some nut takes a run at us. That takes care of physical security. As for sigint...” he unzipped the carryon bag. “You can come out now.”
Five purple-haired robots poked their heads out of the bag. “Hey boss!” said all five Deebots in unison. “How'd you know I was in here?”
“Because the security guy at Port Luna asked me why I had a weather balloon and a can of swamp gas in my bag,” Mal replied dryly.
“Oh. Well, your technological genius is here! Command me, oh mighty leader!”
Mal rolled his eyes. “Since I can't just send you back to Korolev fourth-class post, you can set up the comm station, get a secure link with GLaDOS running and sweep the suite for bugs.”
“Righto!” The five Deebots jumped out of the carryon and dashed across the living room floor. Two hurried to the pile of luggage to grab the communications gear while the other three ran into the next room, hunting for surveillance gear. Rumi gave the five robots an uneasy glance.
“General, forgive me for asking,” she said, “but is this wise?”
“Nothing involving Dee is really 'wise,'” Mal said philosophically, “but she *is* incredibly handy, so you get used to it. You guys chill out; I'm heading to bed.”
~***~
Dulles, VA
16 March 2014 14:01 EDT
The Udvar-Hazy Center is the highly popular annex to the National Air and Space Museum, which happens to be one of the most popular museums in the entire world. Home to hundreds of aircraft and spacecraft, the Center has three centerpiece exhibits; the B-29 Enola Gay which dropped the first atomic bomb, one of the last Concorde airliners, and the star attraction, the space shuttle Enterprise.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, tourists from all over milled through the halls, gawking at the airplanes and making small talk. One tourist, a stocky man dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a battered denim jacket, ambled through the museum and came to rest on a bench right in front of the space shuttle.
He sat there for some time, watching the world go by. Presently, he was joined by a young woman with long black hair. “Mal Fnord?” she asked. “Or whatever you're calling yourself?”
“I s'pose I am,” the man drawled. “Of course, I could be Ralph Abernathy, but that's a bit of a stretch.”
The woman snorted. “Yeah, you haven't changed a bit. Budge over, asshole, and let me sit down.” Mal obligingly scooted over and the woman sat down hard on the bench. They sat there in silence for a while, Mal eying the shuttle while the woman kept glancing at him sidelong.
“You know,” she said after enough time had passed, “I don't think it's going to blink first.”
“Did I ever mention,” Mal said, not taking his eyes off Enterprise, “that this was our Plan B if the deal with Kazakhstan fell through?”
“No way.”
“Yep. We'd con our way into the maintenance and security staff, do all the refit work in the middle of the night when the center was closed. Probably would've taken a bit longer, but it was doable on paper.”
“Uh huh,” she said dubiously. “And what would you do when it was time to launch?”
“Hadn't quite thought that one through,” he admitted. “Still, I'm sure we would've worked something out when we needed to.”
The woman laughed. “You really are a first class son of a bitch, aren't you?”
“Hey now,” replied Mal, “there's no need to talk about Mom like that.”
The woman laughed again, pulling Mal into a hug. “Damn, Sam, I've missed you,” she said.
Mal returned the hug with equal fervor. “Missed you too, Mary,” he said, pulling out of the hug. He smiled. “Or should I say *Congresswoman?* Congratulations on that, by the way. I don't think you got my fruit basket after the election.”
Mary grinned. “Somebody on my staff probably threw it out. Didn't want the black sheep of the family endangering their meal ticket. But yeah! I'm The Man now, and so are you, and that's really kind of terrifying if you think about it for too long. And Mom and Dad wanted me to tell you that you need to call or write more often, you bastard, they shouldn't have to read about your adventures in the paper like ordinary people.”
Mal eyed Mary. “This coming from the girl who took 'just a little road trip' up to Alaska and back senior year? And had to be rescued by *me* when the car died in the middle of nowhere?”
“Pfft. That's just to Alaska, you've been out of the solar system. Big difference.”
“I'm not going to win this argument, am I?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“One of these days, though.”
“Don't stay up late waiting for it,” Mary concluded triumphantly.
Mal shook his head. “Allright, allright,” he said. “So what kind of gossip do you have for me?”
Mary sighed. “Your little 'donation' has a lot of people in an uproar. TSAB's flacks have been all over the place looking for support; I think they want to confiscate the shuttles and impose some kind of penalty on Fenspace. Your old buddy Caldwell's already testified twice before the committee, he's the one who really got the wind in Kellerman's sails about you.
“Kellerman's claiming he has evidence of a wider conspiracy and wants 'punitive measures,' unquote, taken. The State Department is claiming jurisdiction, nobody's paying attention to them. Buckaroo Banzai's got one of his guys, what's-his-name, Jack the Sophist-”
“Philosopher Bob,” Mal corrected.
“Yeah, him. He's been shoring up support in advance of your arrival. The President hasn't taken sides yet – but you can bet he will before this is over. And that's where we stand,” said Mary. She eyed Mal. “When you kick over a hornet's nest, you really kick, don't you?”
“It's a gift, sort of.” Mal said.
Mary made a frustrated noise, one Mal remembered hearing often. “You have a plan to deal with this, right? One that *doesn't* involve leaving everything in smoking ruins?”
“Of course I have a plan,” replied Mal, sounding offended. “Don't I always?” Mary gave him a look. “Usually?” he amended. Another glare. “Five times out of ten?”
“You...” Mary trailed off. “Yeah, you haven't changed. you jerk.”
Mal smiled. “That's a gift too, sort of.” He stood up. “Hey, if you don't think it'll hurt your campaign if you're seen dining with the enemy, how about we go get something to eat? We can head back to the hotel and I can show off my new toys. I have ninja, they're really neat.”
“Ninja? Really?”
“Yeah, rented a handful for the week. You'd like them, they're all serious and ninja-y. C'mon, if nothing else it'll give the blogs something to yak about.”
*/ Team Fortress 2 Theme /*
Let's meet some of the characters from today's episode!
Rumi Hyuuga, jounin leader of Seijutai's Team Four. Not her birth name, of course; the Hyuuga “clan” being a collection of several dozen people with sufficiently similar biomods. Rumi was one of the Karasukage's first supporters, and Sergei considers her to be one of the best ninja in all of Hidden Asteroid. Team Four specializes in infiltration and personal security, having served with distinction during the Boskone conflict. Rumi's Bakugyan biomod gives her the characteristic light gray eyes and boosts her vision well beyond the human norms when active.
The Hon. Mary Wildman (D-CO), freshman Congresswoman from Colorado's Sixth District. Formerly a junior VP from a Denver-area teleco and part-time activist, Ms. Wildman got the seat through the honest effort of her opponent, a carpetbagging black-helicopter nutcase who thought CO-6 was a completely safe Republican district no matter how loony the candidate. Said wacko found out the hard way that this wasn't true, and Mary picked up the seat. Mary is one of several pro-fen voices in the US Congress, though not a very influential one; as the junior member of the Colorado delegation she's not on any important committees, though if she manages to hold the seat in the '14 midterms that will change. Oh, and she's also Mal Fnord (nee Sam Wildman)'s baby sister. Go figure.
Just to top it off, here's an alternate take of the bus scene from the blooper reel (tip of the hat to LittleKuriboh):
“You didn't have to come with me, Sora. In fact it's probably better if you stayed the hell away.”
“Sounds like someone needs a hug.”
“I'm not a very huggy person.”
“Then how about a massage?”
“No. I'm fine, really.”
“What about a kiss?”
“... Are you flirting with me?”
“Whatever gave you *that* idea?”
“You just seem kind of forward.”
“Really, Mal. You say the silliest things. Now, how about I smother your naked body in cream and lick it off?”
“There! You just did it *again!*”
“Did what?”
“... Never mind.”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
Certain things are said on a bus, we meet some ninja, Mal loses a staring contest and we finally learn what the S in “S. Malaclypse” stands for. All this and more in today's installment of Mr. Fnord Goes to Washington!
SS City of Alamosa
Trans-Luna Lines shuttle flight 1929 (Kandor City-Port Luna)
15 March 2014 19:33 GMT
Mal sighed for what felt like the millionth time that week. “You didn't have to come with me, Sora,” said to his traveling companion. “In fact, it's probably better if you stayed the hell away.”
“I'm not going to Washington, sir,” replied his traveling companion. “We need to have a face-to-face with some of our European suppliers about their quality control. Everybody else was busy, so I get to spend three days in sunny Adelaide arguing with Germans.”
“Ah ha,” said Mal, “I did wonder.” And he had at that; ever since their quick departure from Grover's Corners, Sora had stuck to him like glue. Mal understood it to a certain degree – they had developed a good working relationship over the last few months – but her insistence on staying so close had him thinking.
Mal wasn't entirely comfortable with where that train of thought was leading, but hey.
“Sir?”
“Sora, enough with the 'sirs.' You're making me feel like I'm Peppermint Patty and you're Marcie. Worse,” he added with a plaintive tone, “you're making me feel *old.* Please, stop.”
“Oh. I'm sorry. *Mal,* thank you for tolerating my dancing.”
Mal shrugged. “I'm not Fred Astaire myself, and you danced well enough to fulfill the traditions.”
“Oh, you're a *much* better dancer than I am,” said Sora, with just the right amount of insincerity in her voice.
“Flattery only works on GLaDOS and her cakes, Lieutenant,” Mal snorted. “You'll have to sycophant harder than *that*.”
Sora laughed. “Thank you, Mal.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “For?” he asked, not sure where this was going.
“For treating me as an adult.”
Mal raised the other eyebrow, having totally failed to predict *that* answer. “Sora, you *are* an adult. Why wouldn't I treat you like one?”
She sighed. “Everybody on Stellvia – and most of the people allied with Stellvia – think of me as Noah Scott's little girl. I'm the eldest daughter, his *favorite*,” she added with a note of sarcasm lacing her voice, “and they act like that's all I am. Like I'm just an extension of Stellvia. But you and Ptichka think of me as my own person. You trust me with your *lives* and nobody's *ever* done that before.” Sora looked at Mal and smiled. “So *thank you,* General Fnord.”
Mal returned her look, dipped his head a fraction of an inch and gave her a half-smile. “I didn't start this crazy outfit to *not* treat people the way they deserved,” he said, “so I can say Lieutenant Hasegawa, you're welcome and it was my pleasure.”
Sora's smile shifted, becoming more wistful. “Did you know I promised Yayoi that I'd go back to Stellvia someday?”
“No, I didn't.”
“Well, I did. And I kept my promise this week. I went back to Stellvia with the wedding, and then I went home. Now I'm going dirtside for a few days, but I know I'm coming home to Korolev, to Ptichka...” she trailed off, looking away. “And you,” she murmured.
Mal cranked an eyebrow again. “Sora?”
“I know what you're going to say. I think.” Sora said. “But... would you be willing to dance with me again, sometime?”
~***~
Reagan National Airport, Washington D.C.
Main Terminal
15 March 2014 17:16 EDT (23:16 GMT)
Mal Fnord stumbled through the post-flight “and you're *sure* you're not a terrorist?” security checkline, shouldered his carryon bag and tried to make a straight line for the baggage carousels. It had been a long and trying day, with the prospect of an even longer and more trying week ahead. All Mal wanted out of life in that moment of time was to pick up his bags, his security detail and maybe a cheeseburger before heading to the hotel and blissful oblivion.
It didn't help that his fatigue-soaked brain kept swinging back to the conversation he'd had with Sora. After the fiftieth iteration in as many feet, Mal stopped and smacked his head against a handy piece of Art Deco frippery.
Enough, goddammit. You've got more pressing matter to deal with than your engineer's infatuation, *or* your response to it. Stop woolgathering you jackass, tell the alligator to get to the back of the line and focus on draining. The. Swamp.
That said, Mal shook his head, pried his forebrain away from contemplating Sora's words (Damn it, I said *stop!*) and proceeded down the hall towards his goal, bruised and unenlightened.
When he got to the carousel for his flight, Mal found that his bags were already being taken care of by three teenagers dressed in black suits. “Holy shit, my bags are being stolen by Jehovah's Witnesses!” he said.
“General?” inquired a voice to his right. Mal turned and saw a slim Japanese woman dressed in an identical black suit standing close by, her eyes hidden behind fashionable sunglasses. The woman bowed. “Hyuuga Rumi, General,” she said. “We are the team you requested from Karasukage-sama.” As she said it, Mal noticed the small platinum comet pin on he lapel, indicating her allegiance to Seijutaigakure.
“Rumi-sensei, we've got everything,” called the shortest of the three ninja.
“Very good, Nikolas. Akira, Jenna, take the bags to the car, please. General, if you'll follow me?”
The four ninja and one Soviet leader exited the terminal and entered a waiting limousine. “Where too, miss?” asked the driver.
Rumi looked at Mal. “The Willard Intercontinental, please.” Mal said. “And don't spare the horses.”
~***~
Willard Intercontinental Hotel, Washington D.C.
15 March 2014 17:29 EDT
“Okay, before I go and try to grab some sleep let's cover opsec protocols. Ms. Hyuuga, how do you plan to cover security?”
“We developed a plan of action while you were in transit,” Rumi said. “As the only adult member of the team I'll be the visible security, as your aide-de-camp. Akira, Jenna and Nikolas will stay undercover and watch for threats from the crowds.”
Mal nodded thoughtfully. “Reasonable. What about weapons?”
“Non-lethal and close range only. Akira is proficient with some ranged weapons-” the named worthy nodded “-but they're difficult to conceal. Karasukage-sama forbade lethal weapons on this mission.”
“Nice to see Sergei's thinking ahead. With tensions this high I don't want to have to explain any collateral damage if some nut takes a run at us. That takes care of physical security. As for sigint...” he unzipped the carryon bag. “You can come out now.”
Five purple-haired robots poked their heads out of the bag. “Hey boss!” said all five Deebots in unison. “How'd you know I was in here?”
“Because the security guy at Port Luna asked me why I had a weather balloon and a can of swamp gas in my bag,” Mal replied dryly.
“Oh. Well, your technological genius is here! Command me, oh mighty leader!”
Mal rolled his eyes. “Since I can't just send you back to Korolev fourth-class post, you can set up the comm station, get a secure link with GLaDOS running and sweep the suite for bugs.”
“Righto!” The five Deebots jumped out of the carryon and dashed across the living room floor. Two hurried to the pile of luggage to grab the communications gear while the other three ran into the next room, hunting for surveillance gear. Rumi gave the five robots an uneasy glance.
“General, forgive me for asking,” she said, “but is this wise?”
“Nothing involving Dee is really 'wise,'” Mal said philosophically, “but she *is* incredibly handy, so you get used to it. You guys chill out; I'm heading to bed.”
~***~
Dulles, VA
16 March 2014 14:01 EDT
The Udvar-Hazy Center is the highly popular annex to the National Air and Space Museum, which happens to be one of the most popular museums in the entire world. Home to hundreds of aircraft and spacecraft, the Center has three centerpiece exhibits; the B-29 Enola Gay which dropped the first atomic bomb, one of the last Concorde airliners, and the star attraction, the space shuttle Enterprise.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, tourists from all over milled through the halls, gawking at the airplanes and making small talk. One tourist, a stocky man dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a battered denim jacket, ambled through the museum and came to rest on a bench right in front of the space shuttle.
He sat there for some time, watching the world go by. Presently, he was joined by a young woman with long black hair. “Mal Fnord?” she asked. “Or whatever you're calling yourself?”
“I s'pose I am,” the man drawled. “Of course, I could be Ralph Abernathy, but that's a bit of a stretch.”
The woman snorted. “Yeah, you haven't changed a bit. Budge over, asshole, and let me sit down.” Mal obligingly scooted over and the woman sat down hard on the bench. They sat there in silence for a while, Mal eying the shuttle while the woman kept glancing at him sidelong.
“You know,” she said after enough time had passed, “I don't think it's going to blink first.”
“Did I ever mention,” Mal said, not taking his eyes off Enterprise, “that this was our Plan B if the deal with Kazakhstan fell through?”
“No way.”
“Yep. We'd con our way into the maintenance and security staff, do all the refit work in the middle of the night when the center was closed. Probably would've taken a bit longer, but it was doable on paper.”
“Uh huh,” she said dubiously. “And what would you do when it was time to launch?”
“Hadn't quite thought that one through,” he admitted. “Still, I'm sure we would've worked something out when we needed to.”
The woman laughed. “You really are a first class son of a bitch, aren't you?”
“Hey now,” replied Mal, “there's no need to talk about Mom like that.”
The woman laughed again, pulling Mal into a hug. “Damn, Sam, I've missed you,” she said.
Mal returned the hug with equal fervor. “Missed you too, Mary,” he said, pulling out of the hug. He smiled. “Or should I say *Congresswoman?* Congratulations on that, by the way. I don't think you got my fruit basket after the election.”
Mary grinned. “Somebody on my staff probably threw it out. Didn't want the black sheep of the family endangering their meal ticket. But yeah! I'm The Man now, and so are you, and that's really kind of terrifying if you think about it for too long. And Mom and Dad wanted me to tell you that you need to call or write more often, you bastard, they shouldn't have to read about your adventures in the paper like ordinary people.”
Mal eyed Mary. “This coming from the girl who took 'just a little road trip' up to Alaska and back senior year? And had to be rescued by *me* when the car died in the middle of nowhere?”
“Pfft. That's just to Alaska, you've been out of the solar system. Big difference.”
“I'm not going to win this argument, am I?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“One of these days, though.”
“Don't stay up late waiting for it,” Mary concluded triumphantly.
Mal shook his head. “Allright, allright,” he said. “So what kind of gossip do you have for me?”
Mary sighed. “Your little 'donation' has a lot of people in an uproar. TSAB's flacks have been all over the place looking for support; I think they want to confiscate the shuttles and impose some kind of penalty on Fenspace. Your old buddy Caldwell's already testified twice before the committee, he's the one who really got the wind in Kellerman's sails about you.
“Kellerman's claiming he has evidence of a wider conspiracy and wants 'punitive measures,' unquote, taken. The State Department is claiming jurisdiction, nobody's paying attention to them. Buckaroo Banzai's got one of his guys, what's-his-name, Jack the Sophist-”
“Philosopher Bob,” Mal corrected.
“Yeah, him. He's been shoring up support in advance of your arrival. The President hasn't taken sides yet – but you can bet he will before this is over. And that's where we stand,” said Mary. She eyed Mal. “When you kick over a hornet's nest, you really kick, don't you?”
“It's a gift, sort of.” Mal said.
Mary made a frustrated noise, one Mal remembered hearing often. “You have a plan to deal with this, right? One that *doesn't* involve leaving everything in smoking ruins?”
“Of course I have a plan,” replied Mal, sounding offended. “Don't I always?” Mary gave him a look. “Usually?” he amended. Another glare. “Five times out of ten?”
“You...” Mary trailed off. “Yeah, you haven't changed. you jerk.”
Mal smiled. “That's a gift too, sort of.” He stood up. “Hey, if you don't think it'll hurt your campaign if you're seen dining with the enemy, how about we go get something to eat? We can head back to the hotel and I can show off my new toys. I have ninja, they're really neat.”
“Ninja? Really?”
“Yeah, rented a handful for the week. You'd like them, they're all serious and ninja-y. C'mon, if nothing else it'll give the blogs something to yak about.”
*/ Team Fortress 2 Theme /*
Let's meet some of the characters from today's episode!
Rumi Hyuuga, jounin leader of Seijutai's Team Four. Not her birth name, of course; the Hyuuga “clan” being a collection of several dozen people with sufficiently similar biomods. Rumi was one of the Karasukage's first supporters, and Sergei considers her to be one of the best ninja in all of Hidden Asteroid. Team Four specializes in infiltration and personal security, having served with distinction during the Boskone conflict. Rumi's Bakugyan biomod gives her the characteristic light gray eyes and boosts her vision well beyond the human norms when active.
The Hon. Mary Wildman (D-CO), freshman Congresswoman from Colorado's Sixth District. Formerly a junior VP from a Denver-area teleco and part-time activist, Ms. Wildman got the seat through the honest effort of her opponent, a carpetbagging black-helicopter nutcase who thought CO-6 was a completely safe Republican district no matter how loony the candidate. Said wacko found out the hard way that this wasn't true, and Mary picked up the seat. Mary is one of several pro-fen voices in the US Congress, though not a very influential one; as the junior member of the Colorado delegation she's not on any important committees, though if she manages to hold the seat in the '14 midterms that will change. Oh, and she's also Mal Fnord (nee Sam Wildman)'s baby sister. Go figure.
Just to top it off, here's an alternate take of the bus scene from the blooper reel (tip of the hat to LittleKuriboh):
“You didn't have to come with me, Sora. In fact it's probably better if you stayed the hell away.”
“Sounds like someone needs a hug.”
“I'm not a very huggy person.”
“Then how about a massage?”
“No. I'm fine, really.”
“What about a kiss?”
“... Are you flirting with me?”
“Whatever gave you *that* idea?”
“You just seem kind of forward.”
“Really, Mal. You say the silliest things. Now, how about I smother your naked body in cream and lick it off?”
“There! You just did it *again!*”
“Did what?”
“... Never mind.”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"