triple malt whammy!
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Indecent Exposure
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: Grapefruit #2: sure thing, Rocky Road #10: bar, Cookies ‘n’ Cream #17: call
Toppings/Extras: malt (x3)
Wordcount: 1,958
Summary: Horatio Newson receives the most unfortunate phone-call of Miss Merritt’s career.
Notes: Not going to lie: this is ridiculous! The malt prompts ganged up on Adele… they had Plans. Grapefruit PFAH: Adele in disguise. What if? Adele cross-dressing. Pass the Parcel: Adele flashes a cop.
“Jesus Christ. I thought I had a PA, not a fucking teenage daughter. Like I need another one of those.” Horatio Newson ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly to show his irritation, hearing it crackling over the phone. “So, what, am I going to have to post bail or something?”
“No, they’re letting me off with a caution,” Adele Merritt muttered from the other end of the line, sounding very displeased. “The whole thing is bloody stupid, though!”
“Yeah, you can say that again. Shitting hell. I always thought you’d get done for assault and battery or anti-social behaviour or something, not indecent exposure. How silly of me…”
“Excuse me? This is all your fault.”
-----
It had indeed started with an order from Newon.
“Uh, are you serious?” Adele asked once he had finished outlining the plan. If it could be called a ‘plan’-to her it just sounded like some sort of sick joke. Newson’s expression didn’t change and she put her hands on her hips. “Really? People like that still exist?”
“Not many, I should think,” Newson said with a shrug, “but there we go. He’s a well-known criminal and is a massive misogynist. What a world.”
“So why don’t you just send out a man to meet him?” Adele asked incredulously.
“Did you hear the word ‘criminal? You do know that Nutriware Ltd is, you know, one of the most trusted food companies in the world? We are legit from black ops upwards, and God fucking help me if I send one of those pillocks out on a diplomatic mission as important as this. Dekeynel would annoy the man to death and Blackledge… well, need I say more?” He held his hands open. “You’re my most trusted asset. It makes sense.”
“He can’t hate women that much,” Adele said dubiously.
“He does. I’ve witnessed it. Honestly, first he’ll stare at you politely as you talk while not listening at all and then sweetly suggest you go find a nice, capable man to take care of business for you.”
“How does he survive in business?”
“I hear he shoots people a lot. Anyway, who cares?”
“Can’t you go and meet him yourself?”
“Sure, that’ll work. The head of the fucking company going out on a little stroll to meet up with Mister Slipperynuts himself. The police have been after this one for ages.” Newson rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Merritt. Just do it.”
“Do you think I’d make a convincing man?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” A pause. “Fine. Where am I going to get the clothes from?”
“Oh, fucking hell, I keep forgetting you don’t have any friends. Uh, black ops. Get them to help you. Kirby’ll probably have a fake moustache lying around somewhere.”
-----
Oddly enough, he did have a fake moustache. In his toolbag.
“Prepared for every eventuality, I see,” Adele said, making a mental note to never talk to Adam again. Ever.
“You look stunning,” Robyn Walshe said. “And I mean that in the most literal sense possible.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Walshe?”
“Nope.”
Adele sighed and looked at herself in the makeshift mirror that was the metal siding of the room. The blacks ops department was notoriously uncared for, with no funding put in for décor or luxuries-only the missions. It was easiest to skim off small amounts of the company’s profits for its behind-the-scenes missions. Her chest wasn’t much of an issue and the suit she was wearing was quite loose anyway-it was her figure that was the problem. She had a narrow waist and very wide, steeply curved hips. Fortunately a non-fitted blazer disguised it well enough.
“The walk’s a problem too,” Robyn said. She was sat on a counter and her boots thumped against the wooden doors beneath it as she kicked her legs idly. “Don’t see many men mincing like that.”
“I do not mince.”
“Sure.”
Adele ignored her.
“You think this is convincing enough?” She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn trousers. They were a smart, shapeless pair and shining black loafers jutted out from beneath them, too big for her because Adam, Victor and Bradley all had clown feet and she couldn’t be bothered to buy a pair of shoes she would be throwing away after one day.
Besides, big feet seemed to be a man thing.
“Enough to fool someone who isn’t looking for it,” Adam said with an encouraging smile.
“With the moustache,” Robyn added. Her smile was less encouraging.
Adele didn’t like being seen without make-up, let alone wearing facial hair. There was no way she was cutting off her hair so she had it in a low ponytail and was just going to look like one of those asshole businessmen that went on too many holidays. A pair of sunglasses completed the look quite well.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s not that convincing,” Robyn said. “Really. Long hair. Bit of a shape, bit of a walk. You’re going to need the ‘tache.”
This was turning into more trouble than it could possibly be worth.
“Whatever,” she muttered. “Is my voice going to be a problem, do you think?”
“No,” Adam said, and then shrank back from her glare. “Well… I don’t!”
-----
According to Newson they were meeting at Rejoice, some up-to-the-minute bar in one of the high-class high-rises closer to the city centre, London district. Trendy little Islington. The moustache was quite a realistic one and Adele decided wearily that it was probably the one thing holding her disguise firmly together.
Taking into account Robyn’s comment about mincing, Adele strolled into the bar with what she believed to be a masculine strut.
She spotted him almost instantly: Sebastian St. Prince in a convict-orange suit that made him look ridiculous. Did he have to stand out so much? Brown-haired and with a proud ponytail of his own, his eyes scanned the place restlessly. It was early, half-seven, so the place was barely open and the nightlife was yet to come. Good, Adele thought in irritation as she made her way over to him, stood at the bar.
“St. Prince?” she asked coldly. The man, who was unusually short but had the air of one much loftier, raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down.
“You’re Newson’s man?” he asked incredulously. He gave a bark of laughter and slapped her on the back. “Hah, I thought you were a girl when I first saw you!”
Adele didn’t change the look on her face.
“Let’s talk.”
-----
They sat in a bubble of glass protruding from the building, offering them a fantastic view even above their heads and below their feet. All of the bubbles around the bar were set next to a large set of lights that sent different beams of colour coasting across the glass to make the place look something akin to a malfunctioning Christmas tree from the outside. The music was far too loud for a business meeting and Adele was already finding St. Prince mind-numbingly obnoxious. He was toting a huge, violet cocktail that was apparently called a Purple Rain. She had gone for wine. He’d spent far too much time ogling the tight-dress-clad girls of the bar and not paying nearly enough attention to the business at hand.
“I said,” Adele growled after being ‘pardon?’-ed for what felt like the millionth time, “you don’t get the money until afterwards.”
“Ah, very canny of you, Aaron,” St. Prince said, which Adele thought was ridiculous. She also didn’t much like being called by her first name, even if it was a fake one. “But how do I know you’re going to pay up?”
“The reputation of the company would be at stake if we pissed you off,” Adele said. “Look, have you ever done this before?”
Her barb never landed with its full impact because St. Prince sat bolt upright all of a sudden.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “Dad’ll kill me if I get snapped up. Sorry man, I’ll be in touch another time.”
And he scarpered.
What the fuck? Adele thought as he disappeared through the crowds that had started to swamp the place over the last half-hour or so. How rude. She went to all of this trouble dressing up and they didn’t even get to finish their business talk. Did that mean she’d have to do it again sometime? Groaning, she fished her phone from the inside pocket of her shoulder-padded blazer to call Newson when suddenly a shadow fell over her.
She looked up to see two of Britannia’s finest standing by the table, looking tense and very much armed. Blinking up at them, Adele merely looked offended and tried to ask them what the hell they wanted without speaking.
“St. Prince?” one of them barked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re coming with us, St. Prince. Stand up.”
No way.
“You think I’m Sebastian St. Prince?” she asked incredulously. Jesus Christ, what an insult!
“Save it,” snapped one of the officers, landing a heavy hand on the seat behind her. She was trapped in the bubble-the lighting changed to a lurid green and the thumping music slowed. “You’ve done this too many times. Hurry up.”
“We received a tip-off,” the other one spouted triumphantly.
“I’m not St. Prince.”
“Get up.”
“I’m serious. I’m not St. Prince. I’m a woman.” Remembering the moustache, she ripped it off. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“How did you know the name Sebastian St. Prince?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m a woman.”
“A fake moustache. Nice touch.” The officers were obviously starting to get pissed off-no surprise that Adele’s own tail was starting to rattle. “No more games, St. Prince. Get up. We were tipped off right to your favourite booth.”
“You are kidding me,” Adele groaned.
“Nope,” the officer said. “You got betrayed.”
“No, that’s not what I… really. Really. Is this how it is? Is this how it’s going to have to be?”
“Just get up. Let’s not cause a fuss.”
“Not cause a fuss!” Adele fumed. “Arresting someone of the wrong fucking sex is something to cause a fuss about!”
“Don’t get shirty…”
“Shirty!” The officers were both looked a little concerned as Adele suddenly got to her feet. She tore off her blazer and her fingers flew to her buttons. “I’ll show you fucking shirty, you shit-eating little…”
-----
“Anyway, yeah. You know the story from there,” Adele muttered, sitting cross-legged on the tall stool in one of the black ops labs. They reminded her of school. Her hands were cupped around a mug of tea and she still didn’t have any make-up on, which altered her looks dramatically. She looked tired and very grouchy.
“They were probably just embarrassed at having the wrong person,” Adam said, his abundant cheerfulness not waning for one moment even in the face of Adele’s foul mood. “I mean, indecent exposure is... uh…”
“It’s such a bullshit law anyway,” Adele said.
“Quite,” Adam responded agreeably. There was a moment of silence as Adele drank her tea-she was skulking around in black ops for a while just to save herself the pain of having her minions giggle every time she walked by. Adam seemed about the only person in the universe that didn’t find her plight hilarious.
Then he continued-
“So, um, when’s your next meeting with St. Prince?”
Title: Indecent Exposure
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: Grapefruit #2: sure thing, Rocky Road #10: bar, Cookies ‘n’ Cream #17: call
Toppings/Extras: malt (x3)
Wordcount: 1,958
Summary: Horatio Newson receives the most unfortunate phone-call of Miss Merritt’s career.
Notes: Not going to lie: this is ridiculous! The malt prompts ganged up on Adele… they had Plans. Grapefruit PFAH: Adele in disguise. What if? Adele cross-dressing. Pass the Parcel: Adele flashes a cop.
“Jesus Christ. I thought I had a PA, not a fucking teenage daughter. Like I need another one of those.” Horatio Newson ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly to show his irritation, hearing it crackling over the phone. “So, what, am I going to have to post bail or something?”
“No, they’re letting me off with a caution,” Adele Merritt muttered from the other end of the line, sounding very displeased. “The whole thing is bloody stupid, though!”
“Yeah, you can say that again. Shitting hell. I always thought you’d get done for assault and battery or anti-social behaviour or something, not indecent exposure. How silly of me…”
“Excuse me? This is all your fault.”
-----
It had indeed started with an order from Newon.
“Uh, are you serious?” Adele asked once he had finished outlining the plan. If it could be called a ‘plan’-to her it just sounded like some sort of sick joke. Newson’s expression didn’t change and she put her hands on her hips. “Really? People like that still exist?”
“Not many, I should think,” Newson said with a shrug, “but there we go. He’s a well-known criminal and is a massive misogynist. What a world.”
“So why don’t you just send out a man to meet him?” Adele asked incredulously.
“Did you hear the word ‘criminal? You do know that Nutriware Ltd is, you know, one of the most trusted food companies in the world? We are legit from black ops upwards, and God fucking help me if I send one of those pillocks out on a diplomatic mission as important as this. Dekeynel would annoy the man to death and Blackledge… well, need I say more?” He held his hands open. “You’re my most trusted asset. It makes sense.”
“He can’t hate women that much,” Adele said dubiously.
“He does. I’ve witnessed it. Honestly, first he’ll stare at you politely as you talk while not listening at all and then sweetly suggest you go find a nice, capable man to take care of business for you.”
“How does he survive in business?”
“I hear he shoots people a lot. Anyway, who cares?”
“Can’t you go and meet him yourself?”
“Sure, that’ll work. The head of the fucking company going out on a little stroll to meet up with Mister Slipperynuts himself. The police have been after this one for ages.” Newson rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Merritt. Just do it.”
“Do you think I’d make a convincing man?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” A pause. “Fine. Where am I going to get the clothes from?”
“Oh, fucking hell, I keep forgetting you don’t have any friends. Uh, black ops. Get them to help you. Kirby’ll probably have a fake moustache lying around somewhere.”
-----
Oddly enough, he did have a fake moustache. In his toolbag.
“Prepared for every eventuality, I see,” Adele said, making a mental note to never talk to Adam again. Ever.
“You look stunning,” Robyn Walshe said. “And I mean that in the most literal sense possible.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Walshe?”
“Nope.”
Adele sighed and looked at herself in the makeshift mirror that was the metal siding of the room. The blacks ops department was notoriously uncared for, with no funding put in for décor or luxuries-only the missions. It was easiest to skim off small amounts of the company’s profits for its behind-the-scenes missions. Her chest wasn’t much of an issue and the suit she was wearing was quite loose anyway-it was her figure that was the problem. She had a narrow waist and very wide, steeply curved hips. Fortunately a non-fitted blazer disguised it well enough.
“The walk’s a problem too,” Robyn said. She was sat on a counter and her boots thumped against the wooden doors beneath it as she kicked her legs idly. “Don’t see many men mincing like that.”
“I do not mince.”
“Sure.”
Adele ignored her.
“You think this is convincing enough?” She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn trousers. They were a smart, shapeless pair and shining black loafers jutted out from beneath them, too big for her because Adam, Victor and Bradley all had clown feet and she couldn’t be bothered to buy a pair of shoes she would be throwing away after one day.
Besides, big feet seemed to be a man thing.
“Enough to fool someone who isn’t looking for it,” Adam said with an encouraging smile.
“With the moustache,” Robyn added. Her smile was less encouraging.
Adele didn’t like being seen without make-up, let alone wearing facial hair. There was no way she was cutting off her hair so she had it in a low ponytail and was just going to look like one of those asshole businessmen that went on too many holidays. A pair of sunglasses completed the look quite well.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s not that convincing,” Robyn said. “Really. Long hair. Bit of a shape, bit of a walk. You’re going to need the ‘tache.”
This was turning into more trouble than it could possibly be worth.
“Whatever,” she muttered. “Is my voice going to be a problem, do you think?”
“No,” Adam said, and then shrank back from her glare. “Well… I don’t!”
-----
According to Newson they were meeting at Rejoice, some up-to-the-minute bar in one of the high-class high-rises closer to the city centre, London district. Trendy little Islington. The moustache was quite a realistic one and Adele decided wearily that it was probably the one thing holding her disguise firmly together.
Taking into account Robyn’s comment about mincing, Adele strolled into the bar with what she believed to be a masculine strut.
She spotted him almost instantly: Sebastian St. Prince in a convict-orange suit that made him look ridiculous. Did he have to stand out so much? Brown-haired and with a proud ponytail of his own, his eyes scanned the place restlessly. It was early, half-seven, so the place was barely open and the nightlife was yet to come. Good, Adele thought in irritation as she made her way over to him, stood at the bar.
“St. Prince?” she asked coldly. The man, who was unusually short but had the air of one much loftier, raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down.
“You’re Newson’s man?” he asked incredulously. He gave a bark of laughter and slapped her on the back. “Hah, I thought you were a girl when I first saw you!”
Adele didn’t change the look on her face.
“Let’s talk.”
-----
They sat in a bubble of glass protruding from the building, offering them a fantastic view even above their heads and below their feet. All of the bubbles around the bar were set next to a large set of lights that sent different beams of colour coasting across the glass to make the place look something akin to a malfunctioning Christmas tree from the outside. The music was far too loud for a business meeting and Adele was already finding St. Prince mind-numbingly obnoxious. He was toting a huge, violet cocktail that was apparently called a Purple Rain. She had gone for wine. He’d spent far too much time ogling the tight-dress-clad girls of the bar and not paying nearly enough attention to the business at hand.
“I said,” Adele growled after being ‘pardon?’-ed for what felt like the millionth time, “you don’t get the money until afterwards.”
“Ah, very canny of you, Aaron,” St. Prince said, which Adele thought was ridiculous. She also didn’t much like being called by her first name, even if it was a fake one. “But how do I know you’re going to pay up?”
“The reputation of the company would be at stake if we pissed you off,” Adele said. “Look, have you ever done this before?”
Her barb never landed with its full impact because St. Prince sat bolt upright all of a sudden.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “Dad’ll kill me if I get snapped up. Sorry man, I’ll be in touch another time.”
And he scarpered.
What the fuck? Adele thought as he disappeared through the crowds that had started to swamp the place over the last half-hour or so. How rude. She went to all of this trouble dressing up and they didn’t even get to finish their business talk. Did that mean she’d have to do it again sometime? Groaning, she fished her phone from the inside pocket of her shoulder-padded blazer to call Newson when suddenly a shadow fell over her.
She looked up to see two of Britannia’s finest standing by the table, looking tense and very much armed. Blinking up at them, Adele merely looked offended and tried to ask them what the hell they wanted without speaking.
“St. Prince?” one of them barked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re coming with us, St. Prince. Stand up.”
No way.
“You think I’m Sebastian St. Prince?” she asked incredulously. Jesus Christ, what an insult!
“Save it,” snapped one of the officers, landing a heavy hand on the seat behind her. She was trapped in the bubble-the lighting changed to a lurid green and the thumping music slowed. “You’ve done this too many times. Hurry up.”
“We received a tip-off,” the other one spouted triumphantly.
“I’m not St. Prince.”
“Get up.”
“I’m serious. I’m not St. Prince. I’m a woman.” Remembering the moustache, she ripped it off. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“How did you know the name Sebastian St. Prince?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m a woman.”
“A fake moustache. Nice touch.” The officers were obviously starting to get pissed off-no surprise that Adele’s own tail was starting to rattle. “No more games, St. Prince. Get up. We were tipped off right to your favourite booth.”
“You are kidding me,” Adele groaned.
“Nope,” the officer said. “You got betrayed.”
“No, that’s not what I… really. Really. Is this how it is? Is this how it’s going to have to be?”
“Just get up. Let’s not cause a fuss.”
“Not cause a fuss!” Adele fumed. “Arresting someone of the wrong fucking sex is something to cause a fuss about!”
“Don’t get shirty…”
“Shirty!” The officers were both looked a little concerned as Adele suddenly got to her feet. She tore off her blazer and her fingers flew to her buttons. “I’ll show you fucking shirty, you shit-eating little…”
-----
“Anyway, yeah. You know the story from there,” Adele muttered, sitting cross-legged on the tall stool in one of the black ops labs. They reminded her of school. Her hands were cupped around a mug of tea and she still didn’t have any make-up on, which altered her looks dramatically. She looked tired and very grouchy.
“They were probably just embarrassed at having the wrong person,” Adam said, his abundant cheerfulness not waning for one moment even in the face of Adele’s foul mood. “I mean, indecent exposure is... uh…”
“It’s such a bullshit law anyway,” Adele said.
“Quite,” Adam responded agreeably. There was a moment of silence as Adele drank her tea-she was skulking around in black ops for a while just to save herself the pain of having her minions giggle every time she walked by. Adam seemed about the only person in the universe that didn’t find her plight hilarious.
Then he continued-
“So, um, when’s your next meeting with St. Prince?”