(no subject)
...Roadtrip, Mother knows nothing of this roadtrip you speak of. He is plainly in good clean clothes, doesn't smell a thing like RV funk, and humming under his breath as he walks up to the Bar. He's been looking for something to do lately, staying under the radar is good...mostly.
"Hey Bar? Could you get me something, my tab should be good for it, the Calender sales are still good...."
See not that long ago, Fiona Glenanne suggested that he get copies of whatever documents any agencies might have on him.
Which is why, when he asks for them...five sturdy storage boxes appear on Bar's surface for him, and...well.
Look, the end result is this, you've got a forty-something geek conspiracy theorist who is out right cackling over every page he's reading. And when Mother isn't doing that, he's whistling 'zippity do da' and sorting out the papers into his own fashion.
Poke him, please, before he gets designs into his head to prank the CIA.
"Hey Bar? Could you get me something, my tab should be good for it, the Calender sales are still good...."
See not that long ago, Fiona Glenanne suggested that he get copies of whatever documents any agencies might have on him.
Which is why, when he asks for them...five sturdy storage boxes appear on Bar's surface for him, and...well.
Look, the end result is this, you've got a forty-something geek conspiracy theorist who is out right cackling over every page he's reading. And when Mother isn't doing that, he's whistling 'zippity do da' and sorting out the papers into his own fashion.
Poke him, please, before he gets designs into his head to prank the CIA.