Operation Rescue

[oranje_windmill]

Who: Willem, Heracles, and Kiku
When: Friday July 15th, late evening
Where: Liberty’s Retirement Home
What: With all else fails, it becomes time for drastic measures.

Comments

bait, hook, line and sinker.

[wisdom_of_cats]

As the Dutchman went in, Heracles glanced around the lobby idly, radiating the air of one who was not in the least bit nervous, as if he was just waiting for someone, maybe Wilm. He wandered to the vending machines, taking out the credit card and weighing it in his fingers. They'd been a bit pressed for time, so they hadn't had time to plan the rescue in detail, and hadn't know what sort of security measures they'd have in place.

Looking around now, he noticed just one member of the staff, a rather bored looking young man sitting behind a counter. Damn, that might complicate matters. Still... it was about a fifty-fifty chance in any case, right, if one believed statistics.

Heracles gave another considering look at the vending machine, and then tucked the card away. He had a new plan.

To try the ice, he made sure to wander onto the line of sight of the man, and then took of his coat and scarf, revealing a tight white sleeveless shirt he knew showed off his body. And then he streched lazily.

Bingo, the guy behind the window was definitely checking him out.

Heracles turned to meet his gaze suddenly, smirking inwardly as the man flushed slightly. He wasn't stunningly attractive, a pretty non-descript guy with light brown hair and a sort of permanently worried expression. Kind of cute in his own way, Heracles decided.

He walked over, affecting a slightly nervous smile himself.

"Hello," he greeted the young man, who staightened up immediately and took on a more alert look. New there, maybe? Or just generally eager to be useful. Hm, might mean he'd also be a stickler to rules...

Heracles' brain kept whirring as he spun a story about a grandmother who'd spent her last years at a place just like this (of his actual grandmothers, one was still alive and the other had died from being pushed by a goat, still working at the farm at the age of ninety) and how badly off she'd been by the end. He sighed deeply.

"It still feels a bit... I don't know, just brings back the memories to be here, right? But my friend needed a lift, you know," he finished the sob story.

The man (his name tag said his name was Sam) nodded understandingly.

Heracles laughed a little, self-consciously.

"Hope you don't mind me wasting your time?" he asked, leaning in. He blinked rapidly, intentionally bringing to mind a very sad play he'd seen a few years ago, an ancient, timeless tragedy, but performed in a way that made it seem perfectly relevant in all times, and could feel tears rise to his eyes.
"Oh god, I'm sorry..." he mumbled, as the young man's eyes widened in alarm. "I, is there somewhere more private...?"

It was a bit of a gamble, that right there, but...

"Oh, um..." the man hesitated, and then got up from behind the counter. "There's a room for patient's relatives just this way, just follow me," he said.

Heracles smiled inwardly, though outwardly he said he should be fine in a minute, he just hated people seeing him cry, and he was so sorry for the trouble, etc.

Ok, soon he'd have them in a private space, and he'd noticed the man had forgotten to call in anyone to his post. This ought to go swimmingly.