>> Ask Ashley for a Piggyback
Drainpipe Von Staffen's words ring in your ears. It's as if they came from your own mouth and reverberated through your jaw. It was right; you're Lucy and you're not going to let the magnitude of this case or the vicissitudes of your attitude change how you approach it.
"Sir Chrimmington?" you start, committing heavily to the watertight aliases you've established, "would you please bear me down these corridors upon your back, as if you were a piggy of the type who might eat the cast-offs from your establishment?" It transpires that Mrs Fox has a shrill yet smoky voice, and over-pronounces all of her vowels. She's always getting hit in the face by the wooden plinth of a taxidermy, which puts her off her stride a bit.
"Wha-? Er, oh, you want a piggyback, love?" Sir Chrimmington replies, giving you Ashley's 'Just checking I heard you right' look.
"Yes, please. I wouldn't like for my high society feet to touch these peasant floors."
"Even though they already did downstairs?" asks the attentive grocer. You think for a moment.
"Yes."
"Alright then! Hop up!"
Using Drainpipe Von Staffen for support, physically now as well as emotionally, and still holding a chainsaw in one hand, you bounce on your springy wellingtons and propel yourself onto the back of the heavily disguised Ashley. She lets out a little grunt of exertion as you and your toolbox of towel-ensconced items land on her back, and you feel the revolver dig reassuringly into your diaphragm, just as Mrs Fox would like it.
"Onwards, my grocer! To our definitely scheduled meeting in the largest, emptiest office of a CEO or similar." you declare, quietly enough not to be overheard through the walls, but with sufficient volume to fool any hidden microphones into believing this was a legitimate piggyback.
Not one who needs to be told twice, Ashley launches into a full sprint, or as much of a sprint as she can with you on her back and a drainpipe dragging along behind her. The venerable Von Staffen catches its head section on the top of the lift door with a bold, regal twang, providing a resonant soundbed for the thumping footsteps of a dashing grocer. To either side of you are closed pine doors with small brass plaques, but you're moving too quickly to read them. It seems that Sir Chrimmington has a destination in their sights, and they're determined to get you there without delay.
Ahead of you loom a pair of finely polished marble double doors. Engraved on the left door is 'Carradan' and on the other is 'Excelsior'. As graffiti goes an engraving is certainly much classier than spray-paint, but doing it to one's own door feels foolish. These CEOs, one real and one fake, will certainly run this shell corporation into the ground unless you stop them. Or once you stop them. You'll accept it either way.
Still heading quickly towards the marble doors you brace yourself on your wife's back, ready for impact.
It's around this time that you discover the quality of modern fake marble. From a distance it had looked terribly convincing, and even up close it was a credible effigy of hard stone. So taken in was Ashley that she really put her whole shoulder into barging the doors open. She also, in a more literal sense, put her whole body and yours into the hollow shell of batten and paper, and loses a good degree of her balance in the process. You both tumble through, feeling thin wood splinter and thinner paper tear as you hit the old, sunken carpet of the CEO's office.
1. Style it out
2. Teach remaining door a lesson using chainsaw
3. Ask Ashley if she's OK
4. Assume you're injured, but loot office anyway
"Sir Chrimmington?" you start, committing heavily to the watertight aliases you've established, "would you please bear me down these corridors upon your back, as if you were a piggy of the type who might eat the cast-offs from your establishment?" It transpires that Mrs Fox has a shrill yet smoky voice, and over-pronounces all of her vowels. She's always getting hit in the face by the wooden plinth of a taxidermy, which puts her off her stride a bit.
"Wha-? Er, oh, you want a piggyback, love?" Sir Chrimmington replies, giving you Ashley's 'Just checking I heard you right' look.
"Yes, please. I wouldn't like for my high society feet to touch these peasant floors."
"Even though they already did downstairs?" asks the attentive grocer. You think for a moment.
"Yes."
"Alright then! Hop up!"
Using Drainpipe Von Staffen for support, physically now as well as emotionally, and still holding a chainsaw in one hand, you bounce on your springy wellingtons and propel yourself onto the back of the heavily disguised Ashley. She lets out a little grunt of exertion as you and your toolbox of towel-ensconced items land on her back, and you feel the revolver dig reassuringly into your diaphragm, just as Mrs Fox would like it.
"Onwards, my grocer! To our definitely scheduled meeting in the largest, emptiest office of a CEO or similar." you declare, quietly enough not to be overheard through the walls, but with sufficient volume to fool any hidden microphones into believing this was a legitimate piggyback.
Not one who needs to be told twice, Ashley launches into a full sprint, or as much of a sprint as she can with you on her back and a drainpipe dragging along behind her. The venerable Von Staffen catches its head section on the top of the lift door with a bold, regal twang, providing a resonant soundbed for the thumping footsteps of a dashing grocer. To either side of you are closed pine doors with small brass plaques, but you're moving too quickly to read them. It seems that Sir Chrimmington has a destination in their sights, and they're determined to get you there without delay.
Ahead of you loom a pair of finely polished marble double doors. Engraved on the left door is 'Carradan' and on the other is 'Excelsior'. As graffiti goes an engraving is certainly much classier than spray-paint, but doing it to one's own door feels foolish. These CEOs, one real and one fake, will certainly run this shell corporation into the ground unless you stop them. Or once you stop them. You'll accept it either way.
Still heading quickly towards the marble doors you brace yourself on your wife's back, ready for impact.
It's around this time that you discover the quality of modern fake marble. From a distance it had looked terribly convincing, and even up close it was a credible effigy of hard stone. So taken in was Ashley that she really put her whole shoulder into barging the doors open. She also, in a more literal sense, put her whole body and yours into the hollow shell of batten and paper, and loses a good degree of her balance in the process. You both tumble through, feeling thin wood splinter and thinner paper tear as you hit the old, sunken carpet of the CEO's office.
1. Style it out
2. Teach remaining door a lesson using chainsaw
3. Ask Ashley if she's OK
4. Assume you're injured, but loot office anyway