Unrequited Love
Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse by Manga Shoggoth.
Parodyverse characters copyright (c) 2011 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works.
In amongst a week of boring meetings, infestations of fruit flies and my daughter breaking her foot, this came to me. It is set some time in the ever changing future, probably about 15 - 20 years from now.
Have you ever had an impossible love? You see someone, fall for them, and then discover that they are so far out of your league that they are in a different sport entirely. Usually, it's the prettiest girl in the class; the school idol or (in the days before FemSoc) the campus Beauty Queen...
For me, it was none of them.
I avoided, or at least, outgrew the old infatuations when I hit College. I worked through my degree (Media Studies), managed to scrape through the course and come out with a distinction, and dived head-first into the wild and wacky world of journalism and investigative reporting. I cut my teeth in local papers, and in a few hectic years worked my way through to a job in the Trombone. Finally, I ended up in the production team for a... well, let's call it a "current affairs" program.
You've seen the sort of thing. High profile presenter unmasks wrongdoings in industry and in government. Great television, and occasionally produces a little good in the world. There are far worse jobs in the world.
Of course, Mr (or Ms) High Profile Presenter doesn't do the grunt work herself. There's a dedicated team of investigators and researchers who do all the work in the background. And that, of course, is where "she" came in to my life.
I had been working on the program for a few months. It's not an exciting job, mostly grubbing around in files and reading paperwork. Nothing to write home about. I was doing fairly well, right up until the day I was transferred to "her" team.
"She" was not Ms High Profile Presenter. She never would be. She was personable enough, but she had been badly scarred at some point in the past. She would never have looked good behind the camera. She was, however, deemed one of the best researchers in the game. Where she got some of her information wasn't known, but it was invariably on the money.
I don't think I ever found out her real name, although no doubt it was held in her personnel files somewhere. To all and sundry she was called Maggs.
The first time I saw her, she was at her desk - which was covered in ornaments and small figurines - and in debate with Ms High Profile Presenter (who probably played the role of Campus Queen in the past). As I walked into the office, Ms Presenter got up, gave Maggs a wink and headed out of the door. As she passed me, she patted me on my left shoulder and stage-whispered "Don't let her break your heart.". She was out of the door before her High Profile could hit with something small, fast and ornamental.
I, of course, was slightly embarrassed. Maggs was annoyed and slightly embarrassed. It was not what I would have called an auspicious start.
I didn't know what to expect next. Experience told me that a flustered and embarrassed girl would do almost anything. I prepared for the worst...
She stared at me for a few seconds, smiled, and welcomed me to the team.
* * *
I was in the department for three months. The work was enjoyable, although some of the research requests were a little strange. It appeared that Maggs specialised in metahuman and occult cases. Be that as it may, she was pleasant to work with, soft spoken even with the most demanding presenters and generally a very nice girl. I noticed that even the most demanding of the demanding presenters (a sort of creme de la creme) dialled it down a bit with her. I was never sure whether it was sympathy or something else, although I came to suspect the "something else".
* * *
On a number of occasions I went out with her on investigations as scribe (officially) and sort-of bodyguard (unofficially implied by the higher-ups). I would like to think I provided some level of protection for her, but I'm not convinced that she ever needed it.
I remember the first outing very well. An expose into the world of people trafficking (where "people" in this case means "young girls"). We phoned, we researched, and suddenly we had the traditional mysterious phone call. So, off we went to Masamune's Night Club in Mangatown.
Now, Masamune's is quite an old club. It has been in and out of fashion several times, and been reinvented once or twice, but it has had that reputation of unfailing politeness that is common to the Japanese. It was going through one of it's quieter phases at the time, so getting past the polite-but-firm bouncers was quite easy.
I assume that there had been some form of secret sign or handshake, as we were taken through the downstairs bar, straight upstairs and into one of the staterooms that - according to the gossip - even the long-time members seldom saw.
The stateroom was pink. Very pink. It was done out in Japanese style, from the paper walls (panelling, naturally) down to the mats on the floor. In the middle of the room, at a low table was a middle-aged woman drinking tea.
Maggs suddenly came over all formal. She obviously knew the mores and customs better than I did, and did her best to guide me through what turned out to be a tea ceremony. I don't think I screwed up too much.
After the formalities were concluded, our host passed a file over to Maggs.
"Times, dates, photographs and videos." she said. "As I said to your Father once, 'Bunny Clubs are one thing. Forced prostitution is quite another.'. Speaking of whom, please be careful - I don't want to have to explain to him if you get injured chasing this lot up."
Maggs thanked her politely and profusely. We took our leave.
She wouldn't say who her informant was, apart from being an old associate of her father. I did a little digging on my own part, but never really got anywhere. There were a few rumours of links between Masamune's and the Yakusa, but - as they say - nothing that would stand up in court. I couldn't see Maggs as being the daughter of a gangster anyway.
* * *
Well, as time went on I worked alongside Maggs. We developed the sort of mutual respect you need in a job, and things ran quite nicely. I liked her, and she was the sort of person you could relax around, at least, once you managed to get past the scars.
What tipped the relationship beyond "like" - at least on my side, wasn't even directly work related.
We had just finished a gruelling set of interviews one afternoon, and were in that sweet spot where it is just too late to go back to the office, and slightly too early to head off home. Maggs suggested dropping in to a cafe and discussing the interview details over a coffee. We ended up in the Bean and Donut.
Now, the B&D has something of a reputation. It started off some thirty years ago as a little cafe owned by a Greek immigrant and later taken over by one of its waitresses. It was in a bad location, up against the up-and-coming espresso chains of the day, and doomed from the start. And yet, against all the odds, the cafe survived. It became famous for friendly staff, the wide variety of clientele and an open and inclusive attitude to customer service. They will serve anyone, will serve (almost) anything, and have the least restrictive hiring polices in existence. You will find yourself being served by humans, aliens, Caphans (under a strict "keep your hands off" policy), robo-sapiens, the odd person down on their luck, all under the watchful eye of the owner, who somehow knows everyone by name.
Our order was on the table almost before we sat down. At the time I didn't think much of it, as I was something of a regular, so the waitresses tended to know what I was going to order. I assumed that Maggs was in the same position, as the B&D treated its regulars very well. I suppose the order being served by the Owner should have been a clue.
We discussed the interviews, enjoyed the coffee and then headed out. The intention was that I would walk Maggs to her apartment and then head off home, and then meet up at the office the following day. It had been a fine day during a glorious summer, so what were the odds that we would be hit by a downpour just before her apartment?
This wasn't just a summer shower, this was a thunderstorm par excellence. Within a few seconds we were both saturated. Naturally, She invited me in to get dry.
It was a nice apartment. Standard single-persons quarters - four rooms (bathroom, bedroom, living room and kitchen), kept neat and tidy. In one corner of the living room was a small cage with a couple of mice in. The cage door was open, but they didn't seem too interested in escaping. Asleep under the coffee table was a large ginger cat.
Maggs went through to the kitchen, pulled a towel out of the drier and threw it in my direction. She then started making hot drinks. As soon as the fridge door opened, the cat roused itself, and rather stiffly walked into the kitchen and lay down in a basket, watching its food bowl. Maggs obliged with a pouch of cat food, then scratched its ears while it ate.
"He's a very venerable cat." she explained. "Dad used to look after him for a friend. Didn't like the cat much, but really couldn't handle it when the cat started to get old and sick. So I took him in."
"What about the mice?" I asked.
"Ah yes. The Mouse Guard. They leave each other alone."
At this point the phone rang. Maggs picked up the headset, looked at the caller display, and then answered the phone in a musical language I didn't immediately recognise. After three sentences she suddenly looked me and switched back to English. I could now understand one half of the conversation, and reckoned I could work out the other half.
"Sorry, Mother. I have someone with me the moment..."
"Yes, it's a boy..."
"..."
"Mother! It's not like that! He's a friend from work!"
And finally, with a heavy sigh, "Yes, Mother, I know. I'll call you later... Bye."
I tried to hide a smile. I knew Maggs, the personable but efficient researcher; but this was my introduction to Maggs of the slightly strange pet collection and Maggs the girl whose Mother was trying to marry off. Mothers are the same the world over, I guess.
We sat and talked for a while over the drinks. The rain showed no sign of easing, so Maggs rustled up something to eat.
I say "something". The only things I actually recognised was the garlic bread and the glass of milk. The rest of the meal was a mass of different ingredients heaped into a sort of gumbo, the first mouthful of which nearly burned my mouth out. And it tasted out of this world. But boy, did you need the milk.
As ever at a meal, the phone rang half way through. This one, although entirely in English, had me more confused.
"Maggs here..."
I understood the conversation so far.
"Mom! Sorry I haven't called - it's been a hectic week. Listen..."
At this point it got a little harder.
"Just because Aunt Sarah sees me with a boy doesn't mean I'm going out with him!"
"Mom! He's a nice guy who I just happen to work with. Do you think I'd let him into my apartment if I couldn't trust him?"
Nice to know, I suppose.
"Yes, I know. Just don't tell Dad. He'll freak. How's little brother?"
"Good. Anyway - I have to ring off. The getha-tarath is getting cold."
Apparently that was what I was eating. Presumably "getha-tarath" meant "flame thrower".
"Sure. Bye!"
Maggs did try to explain, but under the equivalent of culinary napalm I don't think I really took the explanation on. As far as I could make out, she had two mothers, the second one (I supposed) being Caphan. This explained the language and cooking - I was assured that "getha-tarath" roughly translates as "bean splat", although the traditional ingredients aren't widely available on Earth, and about the only "proper" ingredient was a trace of oomozoo spice, which apparently has to be kept under ice.
Eventually, in the face of the unceasing rain Maggs suggested I spend the night on the Sofa. I declined - her mothers didn't need more ammunition, and besides, I was getting the slightly unsettling idea that the mice were watching me.
And so, I walked on through the rain, trying to sort out my thoughts about the evening.
Maggs. Nice girl, whose Father split up with her mother and went after a Caphan (not exactly your typical mid-life crisis). Very close to both parent and step-parent to the extent of learning her stepmother's language (I could almost visualise both "mothers" making themselves get on with each other for her sake). A little soppy and romantic (Mouse Guard, forsooth!); a good cook; Badly scarred by some sort of accident....
And that was where the thoughts started to get unstuck. I liked her, but... I know it's shallow, but those scars were as big a barrier as the flawless appearance of the prettiest girl in the class.
* * *
Then things started to go wrong.
* * *
First, there was the late night outing. We were researching some old records related to a corruption case in one of the older colleges - documents had gone missing and creative accounting was suspected. I won't say which and what as the affair was finally hushed up at the highest levels. Maggs was visiting one of her contacts who had "useful information and relevant documents". This seemed par for the course until I found out the meeting was in a graveyard. At midnight.
It takes a certain something to keep your cool in the middle of a graveyard at midnight. A full moon lent a bright silvery sheen to the surroundings. Lots of light, and lots of shadows. I spent most of my time nervously looking around, jumping at every noise. I didn't even see or hear the contact arrive, and nearly jumped out of my skin when a rasping voice behind me said "Good Evening."
Maggs introduced the contact as a Mr Greye, who was some form of historian (or antiquarian, as he called himself). He was quite wound up about the case - muttering something about sullied scholarship - and gave us a load of information and, more importantly, a set of ancient building plans that were, as it turned out, the original plans for the college.
Maggs in turn presented him with a parcel that contained an ancient leather-bound time. I couldn't read the title on the cover, but Mr Greye was obviously pleased with it, although he grumbled something about Maggs taking unnecessary risks, and her father being quite displeased.
The missing plans were, figuratively speaking, dynamite. Along with Mr Greye's other information we had built a really strong case. Then the project was canned on orders from above. I was a little indignant about this, but Maggs took it in her stride, noting that sometimes the public interest doesn't need to know.
Shortly after this, the supposed perpetrators disappeared without trace. There might have been a story there, but we didn't research it. Privately, I wasn't upset by that. I don't know about the public interest, but sometimes I don't want to know.
* * *
Then, there was the trip to the old Lair Legion Headquarters. Now, I have nothing against metahumans. After all, some of my best friends are probably metahumans (secret identities being what they are), but the Lair Legion tend to be a little... excessive. Of course they have a grand history of saving the world, but they do tend to destroy just about everything they touch. of course, you do want them to destroy the world-shattering abomination, but not shattering the neighbourhood in the process might be nice. This was when the team was led by Fashion Statement, who was another person who could take the "Campus Queen" position.
The visit went reasonably well until we reached the front door. As soon as we, or at least, "I", knocked on the door we were shot at by something like a cross between a decapitation device and a flamethrower. I learned later that this was something of an occupational hazard. The devices were called stunnuators, and apparently never worked correctly.
I dived to one side, trying to push Maggs out of the way as I went down. As I lay smoking on the ground, I was dimly aware of the door opening and a figure in a red costume being given an exuberant hug by Maggs. She referred to her as Aunty Kes, but I recognised her as Flamestrike.
"It's OK, you aren't as badly hurt as you think." said a figure in a dark trenchcoat, offering me a hand up. He was quite right - I didn't have any injuries beyond a couple of scrapers. My clothes were a little singed, but evidentially I had missed the worst of it.
"Aunty Kes?" I queried.
"Yeah. It's a little inaccurate - Her dad was adopted by the firecracker's parents before she was born, so she treats her as an aunt."
The Lair Legion has some form of super-AI running its computer systems - it (or, rather, She) is called Hallie, and is a common spokesman on Robo-sapien issues. A quick request to "Aunty Kes" got us in to speak to it. It was obvious that Hallie knew Maggs very well (and I began to understand how she could be such an authority on Metahuman issues). However, I wasn't too keen on the looks I was getting from her.
It goes without saying that we left with the information we needed - Hallie's information-gathering abilities are legendry. The program we built out of it ended up giving Ms High Profile Presenter an award. I think we got a bonus for it, but I'm not sure. We had moved on to other cases by then.
* * *
Then there was the Affair of the Dogs of War.
On paper it was one of our most successful investigations, although not one that we would have been able to televise, as it turned out. The old racket of breeding pitbulls and fighting them had been replaced by some bright sparks importing Apocalypsian warhounds (technically puppies - even the most stupid dog fighter wouldn't want a full-grown warhound anywhere).
Well, there was some sort of gang involved, a couple of puppies got loose. The usual sort of thing. While investigating for our brilliant expose we managed to get ourselves brilliantly exposed. To cut a long story short, we ended up in the fighting pit with our pursuers about to open the cages on us. Naturally, I was scared out of my mind, and only have a fuzzy recollection of what happened. The dogs charged out of their cages and immediately dogpiled Maggs. I listened to the screaming coming from the mass, when I realised that I wasn't listening to someone being torn apart, but someone shrieking with laughter. One of the gang members realised something was up and pulled a gun. He managed to get one shot off. It slightly annoyed one warhound, and earned him the complete attention of all the others.
Now, a normal dog growling is frightening. A group of about six warhounds - even immature ones - is terrifying. They clawed their way up and out of the pit, and made very short work of the gang. In the mean time I managed to pick Maggs up, still giggling. For some reason, half-a-dozen alien killing machines decided to give her a good licking in lieu of tearing her to pieces.
There wasn't much left of the gang, and a quick call to the Lair Legion sorted out moving of the hounds to somewhere slightly more secure pending transport back to Apocalypse.
I still have a haunting image of Maggs talking to and stroking the hounds in the transport cage before they left. They were milling around trying to lick her hand, just like a bunch of puppies.
Surreal.
* * *
By this time it was clear to my sharp researcher's instincts (ahem) that something odd was going on. I was also starting to feel a little like the sidekick in one of those antique superhero stories, although Maggs was showing no signs of disappearing off into costume.
The next trip out was the one that tipped the scales. This was one of the occult investigations: Some occult cult was going around kidnapping girls and (presumably) sacrificing them. For some reason it's always the girls. I made the mistake of saying this to Maggs. Her terse response was that this told you all you need to know about men.
She then went into a frenzy of phone calls. Part way through she dispatched me off to the library with a long list of Gods to do some background research. This took the better part of the day, and when I got back there was a fleet of telephone engineer's vans outside the building (and an army of telephone engineers in the building, all swearing profusely). Apparently all the phones in the building were dead, apart from Magg's one - she was deep in a conversation with someone she referred to as "Most Holy". She explained that it was a priestess that her father knew once, who had certain views about human sacrifice.
It turns out that they were some sort of offshoot of the cult of Sekhmet, which seemed to be having a revival at the moment (Maggs comment was that if nothing else the ancient Egyptian pantheon was durable. And interchangeable). By this stage I was resigned to the fact that we would be trying to infiltrate the group, and I consoled myself that it couldn't possibly be worse that the warhounds.
The infiltration part went OK. The ceremony we finally managed to crash was pretty run-of-the-mill - if you have seen any cult-based horror film you would know what to expect. A lot of drinking, burning torches (not a brilliant idea in an underground "temple", sacrificial slab, lots of cries of "Mistress of Dread", "Lady of Slaughter" and even "Lady of Flame" (I noticed that "One Before Whom Evil Trembles" was noticeably absent). There was even a sacrifice, and that was the part of the scene that worried me. Someone was going to die, and there wasn't much I could do about it apart from nail the cult later. Preferably with blunt nails.
Of course, it didn't go like that. Just as the ceremony was reaching a climax, Maggs stalked over to the officiating priest, threw back her hood, then slapped him. Very hard. That rather disrupted the flow. This immediately stated an exchange of insults between Maggs and the priest, which mean that he missed what was going on behind him. I didn't, and neither did the other cultists, who made a point of panicking and rushing for the exits.
That left two investigative reporters (one who felt increasingly out of his depth), one sacrifice (female, screaming and tied to an altar), one Priest... And one animal-headed female figure standing over them, her cat-like eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
At this point the priest cottoned on. He turned, bowed to the figure, and intoned "Great Sekhmet! Punish these blasphemers!".
I really don't think he expected what happened next. The figure swiped her hand rather like a cat bating something with a claw. He was flung across the room, and landed in a heap just beyond the altar.
The figure stalked turned towards the altar. " Sekhmet is busy at the moment. She asked me to officiate as I had a vested interest.". Another two swipes and the chains holding the girl to the altar parted. As did quite a large chunk of the altar. "Human sacrifice again? Some species never learn... You, boy! See to the girl."
I doffed my robes and helped the ex-sacrificial victim in to them. She took the opportunity to cling to me in fright. I wouldn't have minded, but Maggs was present. She, however, had other things on her mind.
"Lady of the Ointment Jar, Eye of Ra and Lady of Flame, Oh great Bastet..." she began, bowing.
"Ah, you have nice manners, child. Although given your parents I shouldn't be surprised. No need to be so formal..." said Bast, placing a hand under her chin and lifting her face up. "After all, have you not cared for my servitor for so many years? And where do you think you are going?"
This last was directed at the priest, who had recovered from the first swipe, and was making a determined crawl for the exit. She swung her hand down, and the priest was flattened, as if hit by a giant cat's paw. "You called me here. Now I will deal with you."
"Do not raise up what you cannot put down..." I quoted quietly to Maggs. She nodded. Bast, who obviously had the hearing of a cat as well, turned to me.
"Sound advice, boy. Now take the girls out of here." And to Maggs: "Give my regards to your father, for his care to mine. Now there's an example of someone not to raise up..."
"Um... Great Bast?" asked Maggs, somewhat hesitantly, and with what looked like tears in the corners of her eyes.
"Child, don't worry. I will call my servitor to me soon.". She sighed. "whether or not he will listen is another matter entirely."
Maggs bowed, and helped the ex-sacrifice to the exit. I hesitated.
"Yes, boy?", asked Bast, looking at me intently.
"Is her father really that terrible?" This earned me another rather intense stare.
"He is a well-meaning but weak, fearful, ineffectual male, usually despised and put down by his own kind..." she replied thoughtfully. "Yet every person who has stood against him, be they immortal, mortal or from beyond this world, has fallen low... I would not want to arouse his anger. Now, leave us."
I bowed and left.
I understand from the police reports that when they searched the temple they found no body, but the walls and floor were covered in deep gashes.
* * *
I didn't have much time to think about things the next day - we were kept busy with police reports and the like. By the evening, however, I had more time to ponder.
And my ponderings were this: I liked Maggs. Really. But there were things about her that were more than just a little strange. And I was really not liking the sound of her father.
I ended up walking the streets, trying to get my feelings sorted out.
* * *
Dancer-style Insert #1: "Arranged marriages are what being a Caphan is all about. And Naari is half-Caphan, so we only need to arrange the other half"
[Scene: Late night at the Bean and Donut Coffee Bar. In the kitchen, a middle-aged Caphan is preparing the food for the following day. The manager, a raven-haired, beautiful - if middle-aged - woman is preparing coffee.
The door opens, and a young man walks in. he has clearly been wandering the streets for some time, and his woebegone look radiates "man with woman troubles" to anyone who cares to look.]
Sarah (for it is she): Take any table. Coffee will be ready in a minute.
[The young man in question gives a distracted grunt, and sits at the table in the corner, where all the people with issues seem to gravitate. Sarah walks over with a large latte, with cream, with sprinkles.]
Sarah: One large coffee. On the house. We also have a selection of cakes, cookies, crulers, sympathetic ears and shoulders to cry on.
Young Man: Well, it's complicated...
Sarah: Let me guess. You are in love with a girl. She doesn't know how you feel. She is way out of your league. You don't know what to say to her.
Young Man: Sort of... Except...
Sarah: Except what?
Young Man: I'm not sure if I really love her. Also her family sounds a little strange and her father sounds downright scary.
Caphan cook (putting down a plate of steaming food): One getha-tarath, no spice.
Sarah: You could just tell you that you love her. It's what every girl wants to hear.
Young Man: ...
Sarah: So, how does she feel about you?
Young Man: I... I don't know. And I'm afraid to ask. And she's brave, she's confident. She isn't scared of anything.
Sarah: You think she is? Even the prettiest girl has a little voice inside saying "You're not good enough... You're not good enough". How do you think the girl will feel if she feels scarred and ugly?
Young Man: Umm. You know Maggs? Oh, of course you do! She must be a regular here.
Sarah: Yes, she is. She's also my sort of cousin. And my god-daughter.
Young Man: Oh God. You must be Aunt Sarah...
Sarah: Oh for heaven's sake, calm down. I guided you here tonight to have this little talk with you.
Young Man: Um... I was walking randomly...
Sarah: Yup. Nothing like random chance, is there? Now, are you ready to hear the worst?
Young Man: Um... No, but I think I'd better hear it anyway.
Sarah: OK: the Cliff Notes version: Maggs has been through a lot. She was kidnapped as a baby, injured quite badly in the process and it took a long time for us to find her. She looks confident, a lot of that is a front. We keep a close eye on Maggs because her father worries about her too much, as does her twin brother. Fortunately they are off-planet at the moment, which is why we are having this chat now so they can't get in the way.
Young Man: She sounds like she needs some sort of hero. Not a normal boy like me.
Sarah: No! No! No! She needs a good, normal person who cares about her and isn't afraid to say he loves her. Now, she wouldn't let you near her if you didn't fulfil the first requirement, and I can tell you fulfil the second and third. All you need to do now is decide whether you fulfil the last requirement.
Young Man: Umm...
Sarah: Now, eat your getha-tarath (no spice) - specialty of the chef and all that. And this evening, on the house.
[Sarah wanders back behind the counter, leaving the young man to his meal. Eventually he finishes, nods a farewell to Sarah, and wanders off into the night. As the door closes, the cook comes out from the kitchen.]
Sarah: Well, what do you make of him.
Miiri (for obviously it is she): He seems like a nice boy. Naari obviously likes him, and I am inclined to trust her judgement. Should I start booking the Vina Drea?
Sarah: Mmm... Not yet. Let's see which way he jumps first.
Miiri: Can't you... I mean, arranged marriages are what being a Caphan is all about. And Naari is half-Caphan, so we only need to arrange the other half.
Sarah: No, it has to be his choice. We both know that.
Miiri: And if he chooses the other way?
Sarah: Well, there is that young lady from the Cult of Sekhmet. She could use a good man. And he's too much of a good man to waste. I mean, what are the odds that they should come from the same home town?
* * *
It took some time to write the letter. It wasn't an easy letter to write.
...It is with some regret that I must terminate by employment with the Company. Although I have enjoyed my time with the Company, my current role has been a little intense, and as a result I feel that it is time to move on to another job. I have three weeks accrued leave and time off in lieu, which I propose to take in lieu of notice...
When I handed it to Maggs she read it in silence, then turned to me with a sad smile.
"There's nothing I can do to change your mind?" she asked.
"No. I'm afraid not." I replied regretfully.
"What do you have planned?"
"Well, I need to go back home for a while and visit my mother. After that? Well, it's a big world. Full of opportunities."
"Well, good luck." she said, offering her hand. I thanked her, shook her hand, picked up my stuff, and left, trying to convince myself that I hadn't seen a tear in her eye.
I passed Ms High Profile Presenter in the lobby. I didn't have the courage to look in her face.
Footnotes:
Magweed Naari Visionary was gifted with the voice and friendship of small creatures by Sorceress, Luck by the Probability Dancer and the gift of seeing people's true hearts by Cleone Swanmay.
The titles for the Goddesses come from Wikipedia. They may be correct, they may not.
