[Nex] Ministry [O] [OOC: This is an open thread that takes place in Nexus. Feel free to jump in with anything that might improve the story. The only restricted element right now is the new building, and what lies behind it. I hope people like my first attempt at a narrative.] Prelude: The garbage truck moved down the street in the pre-dawn light of Nexus, backing into alleys to empty the garbage from the previous day. A few shopkeepers stopped taking down the shutters over their establishments to wave. "Would you look at that!" one of the garbagethings exclaimed. "That wasn't there yesterday." The new structure showed a 60' frontage 3 stories tall sharing walls with the structures on either side. It fit very well into the street, considering that it must have been snatched into Nexus from an unknown world sometime in the past night. Wide windows and doors gave the place the feel of a shop, with either residences or offices above it. "You suppose they're goin' to need garbage services?" the second garbagething asked. "Who knows. I just wish I could be here when the poor schmuk who lives there finds out where his place is now." The two laughed and backed the truck into the next alley. ------ The entity sat in the comfortable room sipping absinthe and thinking. Maps covered the walls, and a few papers rested in front of him. //My five gangs are finally cooperating with each other, and together they've eliminated or absorbed all the other gangs in these districts. It's time to up the stakes. How do we best expand? I wonder . . . // ------ A man knelt in a darkened room, stripped to the waist, his muscular frame covered in sweat, and his hands clasped in prayer. "The false ones shall die!" he exclaimed. "The whole has chosen me! I shall slay the followers who lead others to error, and the false shall rejoin the whole! No follower may stand against me!" ------ Locally, the street was known as Strusel-Strasse. Of course, there were other shops and residences, but it was the bakeries, pastry shops, and cafes that gave the street its name. As they went about their business, most of the inhabitants kept a eye cocked on the new building. This being Nexus, there was no knowing what the building contained, and no one on the street was brave enough to push things. One brave child had established that the front door was locked, and the windows were made of something tougher than regular glass, but bets were still being made on what would emerge, and what his/her/its reaction would be. It was still early morning when people noticed movement inside the structure. First signs were placed in the windows on either side of the door, and then the front door was unlocked and a man stepped out. Though his clothing was nondescript (black leather boots, brown trousers, loose cream shirt, leather vest), his bearing was confident as he nodded greeting to the gawkers, and set a ladder in front of the large double doors in order hang a sign above the entrance. "Ministry of Inquiry" it read, and even those unable to read heard the words in their mind if they stared at the placard long enough. The same effect was present on the signs hanging in the windows. "Classes in Literacy, Math, and Metaphysics $0.10 per hour" one read. "Willing to buy books" said a second, and "Wanting to hire teachers" said the third. Jeff Wilson (Father Sarzhey Asta) ------ [OOC: This is an open thread that takes place in Nexus. Feel free to jump in or cross over at any time.] When you're a 19" tall sapient bipedal mouse, even in Nexus it's difficult to get people to take you seriously. When you've outlived the majority of your comtemporaries, and are physically older than the rest, things get even worse. //And when you're an old mouse who needs money,// Kirinee thought, //that's worst of all.// Kirinee had spent the entire day looking for work, and being laughed at. When Kirinee had retired, over a century ago, he had thought his nest egg would easily last him the remainder of his life. Unfortunately, his life had extended far beyond anyone's most optimistic view, and he was verging on penniless. //The fact that the neighborhood has changed doesn't help.// he thought. Kirinee remembered when there were always children playing in front of the buildings. Today though, the only 'children' in sights were hoods, and the good kids stayed inside whenever possible. //Ah well,// he thought, //there's always tomorrow.// He was a block away from home when he heard the sounds of things breaking in the corner pharmacy. Stepping through the door, he noticed the proprietor lying on the floor, and the two thugs gleefully smashing display counters. Adrenalin rushed through him, and he felt his heart pounding as he yelled, "STOP!" The shout sounded too loud to come from his small frame was louder and actually stopped the two momentarily. "Look, it's the mouse." the first one laughed. "Widdle mousie wanna pway?" teased the second. Kirinee stared at them, feeling 35 again, at the height of his powers. "Leave now, or answer for your crimes." The two looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. "So be it." and Kirinee was a grey streak across the floor. [too slow.] Leaping to a counter [shouldn't need a boost], he launched himself at the first thug, his teeth cutting a deep gash on the thug's throat. [too weak. that should have severed the jugular.] A graceful tumble [that actually hurt!], and Kirinee's cane was separated into sword and staff, and he was headed for the second thug. From Kirinee's perspective, they were moving in slow motion [still too fast], as his blade hit his second foe's knee [didn't shatter the kneecap], his staff clipped the first foe's ankle [missed the pressure point], and he darted away from their return blows [they nearly hit me!]. Turning gracefully [off balance idiot] he accidentally slipped in a puddle of perfume, and tumbled into a wall. Kirinee felt ribs crack [from a little fall like that?], but bounded back to his feet in time to see the thugs retreating. He snarled at them until they'd left the store, and then moved over to shopkeeper, who was getting to his feet. "Verdammt! I've never seen anyone move so fast! Who knew you were so good master Kirinee!" //Good, yeah right!// Kirinee thought with contempt, //I barely touched those two. A decade ago they would have been DEAD! 50 years ago I could have handled a dozen more like them. 100 years ago . . .// Kirinee realized he was wandering, and brought himself back to the present. "Thank you Mike, but one more would have been too much for me I'm afraid." Kirinee looked around, "What was all this about anyway? What happened to your protection?" The shopkeeper sighed, "Those two were the protection, or part of it anyway." Kirinee blinked, "What?" "Well, ever since the Fischer mob got taken down, Denna's mob has been trying to tell the shopkeepers what sort of things they can sell, and what they can't." "Hold it!" Kininee said, "What happened to the Greens?" "You kiddin? There ain't been no Greens around here in twelve years. A mob's our only protection these days." "I see." Kirinee said thoughtfully. "Yeah, so anyway, I told Denna's people that I'd be damned before I'd let them tell me what I'd sell." Mike paused, "If you hadn't shown up, I'd have been six feet under come morning." "So what are you going to do?" "I'm closing the store and moving. It's too bad, this was a good neighborhood when I was a kid." Jeff Wilson for Master Kirinee ------ Kirinee stared at the sign. "Teachers wanted" was all it said. //What sort of teachers to teach who?// he wondered, unconciously cleaning his whiskers with his hands. He was getting desperate, rent was due in two weeks, and his bank account was nearly empty. //I suppose it doesn't matter.// he thought as he entered the building. //I'll take whatever I can get.// A few minutes later he was seated across from the human who ran the establishment, and being offered a selection of figs to nibble on. The room was sparsely decorated, except for the rack of books, papers, and psi crystals on the wall behind the human. Between the two of them was a black laquer floor table containing papers, a pen, and an ink bottle. Several soft saffron colored cushions provided seating. "Thank you sir." Kirinee said, accepting one of the offered figs. "Sarzhey. Please, call me Sarzhey. You were seeking a teaching position?" "Yes, Sarzhey. I have some skill in the martial arts that I would like to share." Unlike most that Kirinee had talked to, the human showed no signs of wanting to laugh. He simply looked at Kirinee with a clear, steady gaze. Kirinee, however, had said all he felt was neccesary, although he had other skills to teach, he didn't want to appear too desperate. "I see. What styles and schools have you studied?" Kirinee was surprized by the question, but quickly answered. "Parna-Anrath Border school, Gumshi Kolor school, Pan-Ninjitsu Jushi school, Aster-Grappling Ring school, and Musabetsu Kakuto Shoni school. I've studied others, but those are the ones I've mastered. Why do you ask?" Sarzhey smiled, "Because even if I don't recognize the styles, they way you answered proves that you aren't just a dabbler, but someone who _was_ trained." //Of course.// Kirinee thought. //I should have realized that myself, but its been a long time since I've actually had to think in anything but ordinary ways.// In the meantime, Sarzhey had continued. "Have you ever taught anyone before? Particularly, have you ever taught anyone ouside your own race?" "It's been a long time," Kirinee replied cautiously, "but, yes I have." "Well, then, how does 65 trades a month salary sound?" Kirinee's mind reeled. His rent was 30 trades, and 5 trades would feed him easily. What sort of place was this that would pay that sort of salary to an old mouse without references? Taking Kirinee's silence for agreement, Sarzhey continued, "Good! Now you'll only have one evening class to start with, so I'd like you to audit some of our other classes, and also begin writing some manuals concerning your history and what and the way you were taught. Additionally, . . ." Jeff Wilson for Kirinee and Father Sarzhey Asta ------------ There is the sound of gears grinding, hitting, missing, then finally deciding to hit again. A lurch, as machinery tries to throw itself into doing something, groaning, stressing... and an exhaust system that's trying it's best, but sounding very sick. And then it comes into view. A Tractor-Trailer combination, painted a reflective royal blue and white, the nose of the Tractor elongated strangely out in front of a larger-than-usual cab. The noises come from beneath the hood, but aren't sounding any better. Just as the truck is sliding down the street, almost reaching the crest of a hill whose downhill slope might give the engine some much-needed relief, a crash comes from beneath the hood, along with some nasty-looking greasy smoke, and the whole contraption shudders to a halt. It hisses as the engine cools. "DAMN!" The door has been jerked open, and a man launches himself from the high cab down on the ground, expertly landing on his feet. He's a tallish Caucasian man, lightly muscled, with light blonde hair and a pair of dark brown eyes. The hair is cut short, but has grown out from the crew-cut it had been in several months ago. His body, as revealed from under the tank-top, jeans, and boots that he wears, is about half-covered with tattoos. Swirling black tattoos that in places look like animals, and others look like writing, but not anything people recognize to read. And he's missing his left arm. He gets up from the crouch he'd landed in, and noticed some women passing by. His cheeks redden a little, and his hand moves up to take off his baseball cap (Atlanta Braves) and he gives an embarrassed little bow. "Sorry, ma'm's. Didn't see you were here." The two younger women (hardly more than girls) giggle a bit, but the older woman quells them with a glance. That done, he pulls on a glove with the aid of his teeth, and carefully opens the hood of his truck, jumping back as brackish steam and greasy smoke struggle to escape from the engine. His shoulders slump. "D... Darn. This is going to take a while." He sighs, and looks around to see where he's ended up. "Strusel-Strasse? I wonder if there's someplace nearby I can work on this. Maybe I can rent someone's garage." "What's that son? You lookin for a place to put your truck?" The woman's voice is friendly. "I know just the place. My son's wife's cousin's husband has a warehouse that's empty right now, and not too far off, and he'd love the chance to earn a few bucks. I'm Pam Franzen, by the way. This is my daughter Cara and her friend Tisha Martell." Having gotten it, Jody pulls a flip-phone from his pocket, and dials the Brotherhood of Truckers Help Line. A few moments of describing where he is, and the pretty-sounding operator told him a towtruck rated for his machine would be there in an hour or two. That done, he wanders up and down the street, looking at the buildings as he waits. "A lot of pastry shops," he thought to himself as he browsed. He'd seen more kinds of doughnuts in this one block than he'd seen in most truck stops... even the ones that tried to cater to cops. The one he was standing in front of had a simple white-on-red sign advertising itself as "A Kiss of Sugar". His tow not having shown up yet, he finally gave in to temptation and pushed the door open, stepping into the shop as a cacophony of bakery smells did their best to escape into the street. A set of bells attached to the door sang out his arrival. Bakeries are Bakeries. He turned around, noting the wooden shelves storing some twenty or thirty types of bread, the glass cases displaying sugared treats for the customers' children to desire. Along one wall was a bulletin board showing off various reviews of the store (all glowingly positive), a picture of the store done in the style of a 1st grader with half of his crayons missing (along with a polite note from Ms. Kauffman's 1st grade), and a poster for a local high school's staging of Hamlet that had just finished last week. Underneath it were a few small tables and chairs for people wanting to eat here. The air was full of spices and the scent of baking bread... for a moment Jody was reminded of an old girlfriend //Judy?// who had made him cookies as a reward for making Sargent. //What *was* her name?// Attracted by the bell, a stocky figure stepped into the front room of the store. For a moment he thought it was his old girlfriend again //Jamey?//, but a moment's attention to detail proved him wrong. The woman was around six feet tall, mousy brown hair in a hairnet that prevented it from escaping. Her large frame filled out a pair of brown slacks and a t-shirt with the store's logo embroidered on the pocket. "Hello." She smiled at him for his order. Jody smiled back. "Hi. I'd like... um... Let me have a strawberry jelly filled, and a cup of coffee." She nodded, and in a few moments Jody was able to sit down at one of the tables, pulling the chair around so he would get a good view of the street. While the propriotoress had been filling his order, an elderly couple had entered, and it wasn't until she had finished with them (and inquired about Mrs. Roth's rhumitism) that she took a look at how he was sitting. "Waiting for something?" Her hand instictively grabbed a damp towel, and wiped up crumbs from around the cash register. Jody nodded, turning so he could keep one eye on the window, and the other on her. "My truck broke down. I'm waiting for my tow." She walked to the end of the glass cases and looked out the window to see his truck. "My goodness." Jody sighed. "Yeah, I'm not looking forward to the repair job. I've got a feeling I might have to replace large parts of the drivetrain." He took another bite of the doughnut, and his face brightened. "But at least that would force me to have more of your wonderful doughnuts." She turned, and wiped the counter while facing him. "You're going to be fixing it in the neighborhood?" "Yeah. A Mr... Franson... is renting me a small warehouse I can work in." She grinned. "Ah... that white elephant." Mr. Franson had been trying to find something to do with that building for years. At least he'd make up his security 'tax' with the rent. She nodded to herself... this newcomer didn't seem too bad, able to work on his own truck. The door chimed again as another customer entered. This time it was a single woman dressed in stylish dark clothes, but with too much makeup. Turning toward the door, the proprietor froze, and then moved stiffly into the back room. The woman grinned at Jody, and for a moment a trick of the light made her eyes look like black holes. Giving Jody a saucy wink, she too slipped behind the counter and into the back room. Jody grinned, and sipped the coffee. Not bad. He'd brewed better... but he'd be coming back for the baked goods anyway. It was only a minute or two before the two women came out again. The attendant was pointedly ignoring the younger woman. The younger woman was wearing a faint smile as she left with amidst the jingling of the door's chimes. His snack finished, he tossed the trash into the basket, and stood up. "Well, ma'am, I think I'll continue on. I hope to see you later." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Jody, by the way. Jody Earl Jones." The shopkeeper took his hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you Jody. I'm Hope Merriweather. Call me Hope." "Very well, then. Hope." The bells on the door jingled as he left. ------ He continued walking down the street. Finding a small grocery, he nipped in and picked up some supplies. He had some stored in the cab of his truck, but if he was staying here for a while he'd need some more. Stepping out, he found that the tow-truck had arrived. He ran up and greeted the man, and then helped him with getting the cab of his truck ready to tow. Using the instructions to the warehouse that Mr. Franson's relative had given him, he was soon at the warehouse, where he met with his new landlord, who was happy to rent out his building for a month or two. Jody bridled a bit on the cost, but at least it was clean and in good repair. There were even some old office furniture that Jody would be able to use. Settled in, Jody stepped into the cab to wake up his partner. It'd been a long ride, and he'd slept through the entire business of the truck breaking down and getting towed, but time to wake up to reality. A few knocks on the door to the sleeping portion of the cab resulted in a few desultory snuffling noises. "Oy, PS! Wake up!" A thump on the door was all the answer he needed. "The truck's broke down, finally. We've been towed to a warehouse... hopefully we can fix it ourselves." Another thump. "It's a nice enough neighborhood. Here, I got you a treat. C'mon out and eat it." Jody slipped out and padded over to a desk he had dubbed the kitchen table. He'd found a fairly decent desk chair for himself, and a box that PS could use. Spreading out the food, he looked up as he saw PS slip out of the cab, and look at the motor. PS did a little dance of anger as he saw what had happened. Jody sat back, and relaxed as his friend approached. "I told you... that shortcut was too much strain on the engine." PS was in no mood for conversation, and shot him a sharp look. Jody shrugged. ------ The next six hours passed in the pleasant haze of automotive repair. Some parts were obviously trashed, some looked trashed but were okay, and others deviously looked like they were fine up to the point where they were used. PS, predictably, wasn't able to help with the actual fixing, but any backyard mechanic will tell you that having someone who can bring you parts or tools, as well as someone who can start the engine for a test, can be invaluable on a repair job. Around 3pm, however, Jody was ready to call it a day. The engine was still misbehaving - the last test had comically covered him with soot - and as he leaned against the side of his cab, coughing, he realized he hadn't eaten lunch. He straightened up and knocked on the window of the cab, which PS lowered with some difficulty. "Hurrrm?" "How about lunch?" PS pointedly looked behind him, into the depths of the sleeper area of the cab. "Herring again?" "Ak!" "Well, I'm not going to eat that. I think I'll go cruise up the lane, and see what I can find, lunch-wise." PS thwapped him on the head, lightly. "Well, Yes, I was going to get myself a shower first. Geeze" That said, half an hour later Jody stepped out onto the main drag, and started searching for a nice place to have a late lunch. Evening brought quite a change to the street. Instead of families doing the daily shopping and people just traveling through, the people on the street were primarily couples dressed in their best. The street lights were set to illuminate most of the shop fronts, while still leaving large areas of shadows. Stepping out into the fading light of evening, Jody scratched lightly under his cap, and then lowered his arm to check his watch. "A shorter day? Might need to buy a second watch." Looking around, Jody was attracted to a small cafe in a courtyard off the main street. The sign over the door read, "The Croissant Witch." Jody smiled. He was afraid he was going to have to go back and dress up a little, with all of the nicely dressed couples about. He happily walks over to the restaurant, and spends the usual moment of disorientation over if he's supposed to order, grab a seat, or wait to be seated. The interior of the Croissant Witch was neat and tidy, with living plants lining three of the walls, and a serving counter on the fourth. The interior of the cafe was packed, though few of the people there seem to be eating eating. Jody notices Hope over in one corner, deep in discussion with a middle-aged man. A young woman comes up to him, looking a bit harried. "I'm sorry sir. We don't have any table seating tonight. Feel free to take a seat at the counter, if you'ld like." As Jody moves over to the counter, a man stands up in a corner of the main room. "OK folks, quite down. It looks like everyone's here who's coming." After catching everyone's attention, he continues, "We all know what the problem is. The gangs are out of control, and we're paying too much for our 'protection.' The question is what we're going to about it." One elderly man yelled out, "You should have listened to me in the first place, there's nothing we can do NOW?" This brought on outbursts throughout the room until a sharp whistle cut through the din, and all eyes were drawn back to the man in the corner. "The question isn't what we SHOULD have done, the question is what we're GOING to do!" "What about those so-called heros?" "They said it would take them years to fix things. That it wasn't like there was an army for them to fight. Then they left to where 'we can do some good' or so they said." "Could we HIRE somebody?" "You gotta be kiddin." "If we could afford to hire someone, we wouldn't be stuck with the gangs." ------ ****** "Monotheists." Father Sarzhey thought in wonder. "These people are almost all monotheists." He set the book he was holding aside, and checked the title on the next. "Considering all the trouble they caused, the priesthood could never figure out why Ferris insisted they be given a free hand." He shook his head and reached for the next book. "I still remember how Father Fllear got a full week of nightmares for merely suggesting that priests might want to discourage monotheistic beliefs in the populace." Sarzhey paused at the next book. "But a big part of the reason must have been so that priests like me would be able to cope with those ideas when we finally encountered them." _Being a Collection of Writings Concerning the Place of Ferris in the Monotheistic Pattern_ was the title of the book he took back to his desk to study.