The effects of the little device would wear off by the time we made it close to the Ritz, the silver adhesive would peel off with a proper shower. Probably. If not, madam would be [i]most[/i] happy to assist--- [i] What's this?[/i] “We’ll need guys, my guys, we have to go back, we have to…” For a terrifying moment, I thought that I had just killed him. The tranquilizer was only supposed to numb his limbs for an hour or so. But that he couldn't even finish a sentence-- I panicked. Two fingers just below the jaw confirmed a strong pulse. That. And the [i]snoring[/i]. "Idiot..." I let out a long, deep breath I wasn't aware I had been holding. "I'm giving you two hours." I yawned, "Just two." I reached around and gripping my left arm, twisting over at the waist. I peered at him over my shoulder before hunching back over to the laptop, envious. "...gee, I wish someone could fuck [i]me[/i] into submission..." either it was a coincidence or the bastard had actually heard me, a peeved tug of the lower lip suggested he might have. "Kidding," I said, "kidding." Minor hyperbole aside, I was drained. Questions. Too many questions, they were the only thing that prevented me from curling into my own set of swan feather pillows. Oh, and not to mention Tiger-Blood here, snoring like a freight train. I fished around for some ear buds and inserted it's spongy tips. His roaring sleep dulled to an acceptable level. [i]Some things never change[/i]. And what did he mean by saying Ulrich jumped him in the grotto? It's just one more thing I have to deal with. My list of chores: 1. Find Ulrich. 2. Kick his ass. 3. Find out what jumped the Sea Tigers. 4. Kick [i]it's[/i] ass. 5. Take a vacation. [i][b][Eeep][/b][/i] [center] [i][Would you like to accept invitation to this Chat Pod? ... ... Loading ... ... You are now in a conference with The Widow][/i] [b]The Widow[/b]: Suite 203. Bring Damien as planned. Leave the rest behind. They will only be a liability. [b]H[/b]: There was something that jumped him in the grotto. Do you know anything? [b]The Widow[/b]: Ask for room service. Order the Blue Lion. [b]H[/b]: Finally feeling like showing your face? [b]The Widow[/b]: You will be delivered a package. For security, you will be unable to open it easily. [b]H[/b]: How about the alternative: You tell me who you are and what you know. Or I take Damien, skip town, and you can just eat me? [b]The Widow[/b]: I have no information on the Grotto incident. Once Ulrich is secured, you may have a better chance at finding the ones responsible. [i][The Widow has logged off][/i] [/center] ---------------- Two hours later I managed to wake him; midnight on the dot. By 12:30 A.M. he could move around, albeit sorely, and I began to tell him the basic outline of the situation. He didn't take it well. By 1:30 A.M. we had escalated to shouting at each other like typical New Yorkers, (and anyone who dared check on us: "THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!" we yelled in unison.) I shoved him, frustrated. He made the mistake of laughing. Shove. Shove. [i][b]Slap[/b][/i].... By 2:00 A.M. our clothes were off again, (a boot to the face for poor Dirk Aearhil when he mistook our heated negotiations for something more sinister). Finally. [i]Fiiiiiiiiiiinally.[/i] By the time Selene cleared her throat from beyond the flaps, we had reached a deal. 3:30 A.M. I tumbled out of the palanquin dazed and badly in need of a cigarette. "Your Majesty! How was it?" Selene eyed the doors of the palanquin tensed for a fight. "Strenuous" "H...How deplorable!" "Well, what the hell sort of a question was that, anyhow?" If I was sleepy before, it was really kicking in now. My crabbing did nothing to deflate her. "I meant, did you reach an agreement?" she lunged forward to catch me as I trip trying to keep up the march pace. My legs were jelly. "Yeah." I raised my voice, making sure that [i]you-know-who[/i] could hear me, "We do this my way. We help bring the rain on those jokers from the grotto." He made a noise. "And..." I winced, "...and...access to The Old Library..." Selene raises both eyebrows. "Dude..." Dirk murmurs, "...nice..." That last part I wasn't too sure about. Mostly, because I wasn't sure if it was my promise to make. Ulrich had personally sealed off access to The Old Library within hours of the news that Avan had been killed. He wouldn't tell me why or what was in there. But I knew that in order to get Damien's stubborn ass to even consider my proposition, I had to bring out the big guns. ------- “Welcome to the Ritz, sir and ma'am, help with your things?” "Actually" I pivoted about-face, "Selene this might be a good time to mention that you have to go--" "Nope." Her form takes on one of a much taller stature and gives me a [i]'try-me-punk'[/i], look. Swallowing hard, "I was going to say that I need for you to check into the room across from us. After making sure the dancers know which path to take back home" "Oh" her frame zips into that of a child's. She smiles sweetly, "Will my Queen spring for the costs of the mini-bar?" Shrugging. "Splendid!" the child exclaims delightedly; the bellboy smiles nervously "Dirk-- you amuse me. You will keep me company." "I. What?" the Elf replies indignant as he is dragged off. Damien is at the front desk running on less than three hours sleep, "We need suite 203. And clothes." he proceeded to tell the customer service representative his sizes and preferences and when to deliver them. I forgot that we had been here before. Once. A long time ago for... Christmas... I trail miserably after him, shaking off a memory that threatened to surface; I leaned across the counter and sleep-slurred, "Clothes. And I want extra pillows. No. A mountain of pillows. And chocolate sauce. An Olympic sized pool of it, too. Got that?" That's how you had to be with these people. Ridiculous and demanding or else they won't take you seriously enough. "R-Right away, Miss!" We took an elevator up, I tipped the bellboy generously and told him thank you for insisting on carrying my laptop for me...little jank.... I swiped the card key, opening the door and looking up, I nearly wept. "The bed... it's... so... beautiful." Don't get me wrong. Ulrich's place was nice. But it was 'Folk' nice-- carved wood and detailed stitch work. The Ritz was all modern. The beds appeared to be hovering, while the walls were glossy white with holograms of endless food and drink choices. The shower, upon further inspection, was only a plain grey room. But I knew better. As soon as you stepped in the massive flooring would depress and a voice would ask you to pick from more endless choices: A heart shaped tub for newlyweds? A steam room for grandma? How about some sand and a projection of Maui for the kids? I wanted rain. A tropical thunderstorm in the jungle... but instead I hurled myself on to the left bed nearest the door, shoes and all, and began scrolling my way through the itemized list. "Blue Lion... Blue Lion... Blue...L..." I dunno when I dozed off. But I did. It was best sleep of my life.