>> Stick with the plan as discussed
The weight of a chainsaw in your hands feels predictably comforting as you watch Ashley saunter, grocer-like, into the main entrance of Gertie and Gertie Enterprises. It's a marvel to watch her keen, insightful mind in action as she chooses to open the door before heading through, saving herself a sore head, a lot of broken glass, and a lot more attention than any of you need.
"Are you ready Drainpipe? We need to be more inconspicuous now than we've ever been before." You warn you companion, who has really been making some quite outlandish moves recently.
"Ready as can be, friend." Replies the pipe, it's accent so thick, consistent and convincing that you feel transported to generic continental Europe with every word. "I shall blend into the shadows as only a Drainpipe can; we lurk at every corner, on every building, silently siphoning away precious rainwater from the gutters of a nation with nary a glance from the public. We are experts at operating in plain sight. We were born for subterfuge and we will die for espionage."
"No need to die today, old buddy. You and 'Mrs Fox' have an important meeting." You say with a wink. Estimating that you've waited long enough for Ashley to strike up a conversation, you begin your own approach of the front doors, Drainpipe in arms.
Following Ashley's lead you open the door before progressing through. Unveiled before you is the wide, high ceilinged, marble edifice of Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, an atrium fit for a national Bank or international laundrette stretching away from you in every direction except down. To your left is the reception desk, where Ashley is standing. Behind it is a middle aged gentleman in a porter's cap and pinstriped overalls. To your right is the gleaming, steel door to the lift, and a plain pine doorway to the stairs. You scan for a third, loo-like doorway but draw a blank. You make a mental note that you might have to go in the corner if it comes to it.
Most impressive is the back wall. Stretching upwards is a single slab of granite, three storeys high and two storeys wide. Onto its face the likeness and titles of Carradan Gertie and Excelsior Jones-Smith-Johnson-Johnstone-Miller-Smith-Jones-O’Daniels-Walker-Smith-Gertie, in a grim tableaux at a local pizzeria. Carradan is shaking hands with a waiter, while Excelsior stuffs a whole pizza into his back pocket and pours salt on another table. Quite why this is the scene, real or fictitious, that they have chosen to immortalise and present to the public is a mystery to you. Thankfully, solving mysteries is your business.
"Wow. This is Ritzy." You utter, softly. Mrs Fox, famed socialite, would never be taken aback by a space so cramped and tacky by comparison to her own home, so subtly is required to keep up the facade.
"That it is, colleague. It's symptomatic of their flagrant disregard for money." Assesses Drainpipe.
"Yes, that's right- THE Sir Chrimmington Colobario, of grocery fame..." You hear Ashley say, nailing down that cover story. It reminds you of the plan, to which you are determined to maintain an uncharacteristic adherence. Tempting as it is to start the chainsaw, and as much as you want to start letting the creative juices flow, you keep yourself on track. This case could make or further make your career; there's no breaking such a strong reputation as yours under any circumstances.
With the confidence of a woman twice your age, wrapped in one fewer towel, wearing a much nicer dress and not lugging an immaculately disguised length of Drainpipe, you stride on a purposeful trajectory towards the lifts.
"...that's right, I need your services as an intermediary. The public are so wretched and filthy; I want nothing to do with them..."
Underfoot the tiles are polished to a mirror shown, and the springs punctured into your wellies clatter and scrape their way noisily across. You try to convince yourself that it's just like the dignified heel-toe clicking of a stiletto, but the conviction just isn't there.
"...so as long as someone can scream about apples and pears, and their relative price per unit weight using a distributed software as a service model then I think we're able to work together regardless..."
Drainpipe slips in your hands. Not enough to be dropped, but plenty to touch the ground with a hollow clang. The receptionist looks over.
"Excuse me?! Sir and Madam? Can I help you?" He calls over.
Thinking quickly, which is an improvement on your general tendency not to think at all, you spin on your heel like a well-to-do vulpine socialite, fixing the receptionist with a 'Well, what is it?' kind of look from the dangling taxidermy.
"Oh! Begging your pardon, Mrs Fox. I didn't recognise you with that long, mysterious member of some kind of charred royalty." The receptionist blusters, rightfully embarrassed, when they are taken in by your disguise and Drainpipe's singed spring crown. "You have a nice day now."
You give the receptionist a thumbs up, and continue your walk to the lift, heart pounding.
"My word, but your disguise making skills are top drawer." Compliments Drainpipe.
At the lift, you press the door open button and the doors immediately slide back. There's no-one else inside.
"Excuse me, Sir Chrimmington Colobario! Could you attend me for a chat?"
You see the receptionist shooing Ashley in your direction. She has a business card in her hand.
"Great work, Ash." You whisper as she reaches you
"You too, team." She replies. "Based on the documents we found, the main office will be on the tenth floor."
Master of disguise: +1 duplicity
Famous Vulpine Socialite: +1 Charisma, +1 Self-confidence, -1 Verisimilitude
"Are you ready Drainpipe? We need to be more inconspicuous now than we've ever been before." You warn you companion, who has really been making some quite outlandish moves recently.
"Ready as can be, friend." Replies the pipe, it's accent so thick, consistent and convincing that you feel transported to generic continental Europe with every word. "I shall blend into the shadows as only a Drainpipe can; we lurk at every corner, on every building, silently siphoning away precious rainwater from the gutters of a nation with nary a glance from the public. We are experts at operating in plain sight. We were born for subterfuge and we will die for espionage."
"No need to die today, old buddy. You and 'Mrs Fox' have an important meeting." You say with a wink. Estimating that you've waited long enough for Ashley to strike up a conversation, you begin your own approach of the front doors, Drainpipe in arms.
Following Ashley's lead you open the door before progressing through. Unveiled before you is the wide, high ceilinged, marble edifice of Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, an atrium fit for a national Bank or international laundrette stretching away from you in every direction except down. To your left is the reception desk, where Ashley is standing. Behind it is a middle aged gentleman in a porter's cap and pinstriped overalls. To your right is the gleaming, steel door to the lift, and a plain pine doorway to the stairs. You scan for a third, loo-like doorway but draw a blank. You make a mental note that you might have to go in the corner if it comes to it.
Most impressive is the back wall. Stretching upwards is a single slab of granite, three storeys high and two storeys wide. Onto its face the likeness and titles of Carradan Gertie and Excelsior Jones-Smith-Johnson-Johnstone-Miller-Smith-Jones-O’Daniels-Walker-Smith-Gertie, in a grim tableaux at a local pizzeria. Carradan is shaking hands with a waiter, while Excelsior stuffs a whole pizza into his back pocket and pours salt on another table. Quite why this is the scene, real or fictitious, that they have chosen to immortalise and present to the public is a mystery to you. Thankfully, solving mysteries is your business.
"Wow. This is Ritzy." You utter, softly. Mrs Fox, famed socialite, would never be taken aback by a space so cramped and tacky by comparison to her own home, so subtly is required to keep up the facade.
"That it is, colleague. It's symptomatic of their flagrant disregard for money." Assesses Drainpipe.
"Yes, that's right- THE Sir Chrimmington Colobario, of grocery fame..." You hear Ashley say, nailing down that cover story. It reminds you of the plan, to which you are determined to maintain an uncharacteristic adherence. Tempting as it is to start the chainsaw, and as much as you want to start letting the creative juices flow, you keep yourself on track. This case could make or further make your career; there's no breaking such a strong reputation as yours under any circumstances.
With the confidence of a woman twice your age, wrapped in one fewer towel, wearing a much nicer dress and not lugging an immaculately disguised length of Drainpipe, you stride on a purposeful trajectory towards the lifts.
"...that's right, I need your services as an intermediary. The public are so wretched and filthy; I want nothing to do with them..."
Underfoot the tiles are polished to a mirror shown, and the springs punctured into your wellies clatter and scrape their way noisily across. You try to convince yourself that it's just like the dignified heel-toe clicking of a stiletto, but the conviction just isn't there.
"...so as long as someone can scream about apples and pears, and their relative price per unit weight using a distributed software as a service model then I think we're able to work together regardless..."
Drainpipe slips in your hands. Not enough to be dropped, but plenty to touch the ground with a hollow clang. The receptionist looks over.
"Excuse me?! Sir and Madam? Can I help you?" He calls over.
Thinking quickly, which is an improvement on your general tendency not to think at all, you spin on your heel like a well-to-do vulpine socialite, fixing the receptionist with a 'Well, what is it?' kind of look from the dangling taxidermy.
"Oh! Begging your pardon, Mrs Fox. I didn't recognise you with that long, mysterious member of some kind of charred royalty." The receptionist blusters, rightfully embarrassed, when they are taken in by your disguise and Drainpipe's singed spring crown. "You have a nice day now."
You give the receptionist a thumbs up, and continue your walk to the lift, heart pounding.
"My word, but your disguise making skills are top drawer." Compliments Drainpipe.
At the lift, you press the door open button and the doors immediately slide back. There's no-one else inside.
"Excuse me, Sir Chrimmington Colobario! Could you attend me for a chat?"
You see the receptionist shooing Ashley in your direction. She has a business card in her hand.
"Great work, Ash." You whisper as she reaches you
"You too, team." She replies. "Based on the documents we found, the main office will be on the tenth floor."
Master of disguise: +1 duplicity
Famous Vulpine Socialite: +1 Charisma, +1 Self-confidence, -1 Verisimilitude
- Press button for 10th floor
- Press all buttons
- Use hammer to hack the control panel
- Ask Ashley why birds never fly upside down