N3v3rM0r3
Ezekiel
Pizza Box
RPM
Hos
rush99999
tadcfnaf
Syrenrei
Zeus23Eleanor leaned back in her chair and held up her empty glass. The doors were being dogged and the engines were beginning to wind up. By the look on the stewardess' pretty face she thought it was a bit late to be filling drinks, though she stepped towards Eleanor none the less.
"Oh just leave the bottle will you?" Eleanor said tartly, her impatience momentarily overcoming her normal veneer of calm. The woman in the next seat made a disapproving sound and Eleanor fixed her with a second pointed glance reminding her to mind her own buissness. The stewardess retrieved a bucket of ice from the refreshment area and set it on the small table beside the executive. The intercom overhead went off and the pilot began his rote boring declaration about flight time and then instructed them to watch the game of charades that convinced people they had the proverbial snowballs chance in hell if the came down from thirty thousand feet.
"Nearly everyone who works for the Group asks that at some point, myself included," Eleanor admitted. Certainly all the operatives she had known had tried at one point or another to figure it out. The Sunday Group was listed as a private company with its websites and financial records sanitized to the point of uselessness with corparateze. The Sunday Group works to provide quality data driven service to the community. The Sunday group is committed to providing a standard of excellence in a changing business community. The Sunday group is so bland it is amazing it doesn't put you to sleep just reading about it.
"You don't have to believe me but I honestly don't know and I've tried... alternative approaches at various times over the years. Certainly that suggests whoever is calling the shots is taking precautions against more esoteric attempts to figure it out.
"Emmaline, my wife, you met her I think? Yes? She worked for the group before I was recruited. She claims to have been approached by a man calling himself Samuel Priest, though I've never been able to verify that any such person, at least as Emm described him, actually exists." Emmaline had tried her own scrying as well, but even the most elaborate spells turned up blanks or nonsense results that looked like randomness but had to actually be considerable occult countermeasures.
"Certainly whoever or whoevers are in charge have connections in Law Enforcement and various other communities, occult and otherwise, though exactly how I can't say. I like to believe we are on the side of the angels, metaphorically at least," Eleanor concluded. Biblical Angels were a fairly sanitized account of other beings, beings with four sets of wings and far too many eyes and if they served any God, Eleanor doubted it was one that humans would find comforting. The security theater was winding up and Eleanor refilled her glass before they pulled out onto the taxi-way.
"Perhaps," she said, raising her glass in salute to the younger woman, "you shall be the first to figure it out." The engines roared to life and the jet raced down the runway, pressing them back into their seats as they lifted off into the afternoon sky.
"Oh just leave the bottle will you?" Eleanor said tartly, her impatience momentarily overcoming her normal veneer of calm. The woman in the next seat made a disapproving sound and Eleanor fixed her with a second pointed glance reminding her to mind her own buissness. The stewardess retrieved a bucket of ice from the refreshment area and set it on the small table beside the executive. The intercom overhead went off and the pilot began his rote boring declaration about flight time and then instructed them to watch the game of charades that convinced people they had the proverbial snowballs chance in hell if the came down from thirty thousand feet.
"Nearly everyone who works for the Group asks that at some point, myself included," Eleanor admitted. Certainly all the operatives she had known had tried at one point or another to figure it out. The Sunday Group was listed as a private company with its websites and financial records sanitized to the point of uselessness with corparateze. The Sunday Group works to provide quality data driven service to the community. The Sunday group is committed to providing a standard of excellence in a changing business community. The Sunday group is so bland it is amazing it doesn't put you to sleep just reading about it.
"You don't have to believe me but I honestly don't know and I've tried... alternative approaches at various times over the years. Certainly that suggests whoever is calling the shots is taking precautions against more esoteric attempts to figure it out.
"Emmaline, my wife, you met her I think? Yes? She worked for the group before I was recruited. She claims to have been approached by a man calling himself Samuel Priest, though I've never been able to verify that any such person, at least as Emm described him, actually exists." Emmaline had tried her own scrying as well, but even the most elaborate spells turned up blanks or nonsense results that looked like randomness but had to actually be considerable occult countermeasures.
"Certainly whoever or whoevers are in charge have connections in Law Enforcement and various other communities, occult and otherwise, though exactly how I can't say. I like to believe we are on the side of the angels, metaphorically at least," Eleanor concluded. Biblical Angels were a fairly sanitized account of other beings, beings with four sets of wings and far too many eyes and if they served any God, Eleanor doubted it was one that humans would find comforting. The security theater was winding up and Eleanor refilled her glass before they pulled out onto the taxi-way.
"Perhaps," she said, raising her glass in salute to the younger woman, "you shall be the first to figure it out." The engines roared to life and the jet raced down the runway, pressing them back into their seats as they lifted off into the afternoon sky.
