12 - Coming full circle

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Dearest Anons,

In five days (on May 8, 2011) this meme will have existed for a whole year.

It is an extraordinary achievement, your extraordinary achievement, to have kept this going well and alive for so long. With thousands of fics and comments, this meme is one of (if not the) most amazing thing I've ever come across. Not only the amount of fic

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Fill: Hattie and the Pirates of Dodrago Cove, part 7a

[anonymous]

The offices were located on Greater Brigg’s Street, in the uppermost floors of Rosaline Tower, which stretched all the way from the ground, its pointed roof reaching nearly into the clouds. Such high towers would have been unsteady if it weren’t for the spindly girders that ran from wall to wall, lacing them together in a framework of rickets and stringing them together across the narrow streets. The door was painted a pleasant mulberry and a sign swung above, spelling ‘TONY BLAIR’ in gold capitals.

A dusty maze of storerooms piled to the ceiling with crates and barrels was interspersed with tiny offices, which were in turn packed with overflowing cabinets and too-small desks. The staircase ran up the body of the tower and was tightly coiled. Visitors would never fail to get their feet stuck between the steps, and the handrail was worn smooth. The highest floor was by far the neatest, and Tony’s office faced the street. A squashy leather sofa swallowed papers and trinkets, and a bookcase covered an entire wall, heavy with fat tomes he had never read, but wanted visitors to be impressed by.

Tony stared down at the street from the cushioned window seat with his shirtsleeves rolled back, idly plucking at a string of his ukulele. A sample crate of boiled sweets was balanced on the seat next to him.

“I can’t believe we’re considering trading these things,” Tony said, throwing a nasty glance at the sweets. “There’s no demand for confectionary at all.”

“Send it back. Say you that you have no interest putting our money in their sugary fingers.”

“I suppose there is some attraction in trading inexpensive confectionary. But it isn’t a break-in to big business for us. We need to think on a grander scale.”

“It’s what I’ve been saying for a long time.”

“It’s a relief to have you back,” Tony smiled. “I really do need you on board. You appreciate that, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Peter replied. He shifted a pile of papers across the desk and dipped his pen into the inkwell. For a minute, the only sound in the room was the scratching of the nib against paper as Peter stacked the numbers into columns and began the mechanical job of summing them. He pushed beads across the rows of the abacus thoughtfully. “Did you receive my telegram?”

“I don’t know. Probably. There was so much mail being delivered, I just left it for Grimsley to go through for me and he told me that nothing would be of interest. It must have been a very boring telegram.”

“Grimsley can’t read. Why did you let him sort the post?”

“Don’t be so bossy,” Tony said, slumping into his chair on the other side of the desk and pushing a clean sheet of letter paper at Peter. “I thought that delegating him some responsibility would be a good experience.”

“You can’t let the incompetent make important decisions independently of us!”

“Calm down, Peter, I’m sure it wasn’t that important, or you would have ended your little party to deliver the message personally. What did your damned telegram say, anyhow?”

“I sent it when I returned to the surface because it was essential for me to remain in the company of Roth’s guests,” Peter sighed. “While I was still in the clouds, Roth was kind enough to point out a certain guest to me, and suggested that it may be worthwhile to make his acquaintance. So I introduced myself. The man’s name is Edwig J. Ellswater, and he’s snoozing on a goldmine.” Tony crooked an eyebrow suspicious. Peter held up his hands. “He’s an Englishman, but has spent so long on his voyage that he has few contacts left in Sky City. He’s troubled.”