LJ Idol Season 7 Week 5 - Tired of Talking
o/` "A little less conversation, a little more action,
All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark" o/`
-- "A Little Less Conversation" performed by Elvis Presley
When they came for him, his colleagues neglected to present the proper credentials. Evidently they thought their smiles and winning personalities would be enough to gain access to my home.
My homestead is second to last on a dead-end road paved in shifting sugar sand which runs through a section of swamp land. Neighbors typically have acres of densely forested undeveloped land between property boundaries and we like it that way. The bottom line is, no one comes out here without being noticed and no one in their right mind does so unless they actually have business with one of the land owners. All officials know to call ahead and to identify themselves clearly unless they want a butt full of buckshot or worse. Therefore I had to wonder about the expensive sedan with its darkly tinted windows wallowing its way up the driveway. I don't think they were too happy when I met both men, dressed in expensive three piece suits, on the front porch with a carbine planted firmly against my shoulder and my other hand on my hound dog Daisy's collar. Daisy would more likely slobber anyone to death than bite, but neither of my unwanted guests need to know that.
"You boys are lost," I said conversationally, stroking the trigger of the Merlin. I wanted them to know that this was no scare tactic, that I knew how to use guns and would not hesitate to do so if they provided sufficient provocation. One of them inched forward aggressively, a hand moving toward the approximate location of a shoulder holster, but his older companion put a hand on his arm, tapped an ear piece and, after apparently listening to whomever he'd contacted, shook his head slightly. The younger stood down, a resentful and openly hostile expression on his face. "See that sign?" I gestured with the muzzle of the carbine toward the sign posted on the phone post which marked the edge of my property. Both ducked instinctively, and rightly so; had I chosen to do so, they'd have been fired upon...and the Merlin was a semi-automatic with a clip capable of holding up to nine shots. "You're also trespassing. Reckon you better get un-lost real quick and get on out of here."
"We're here for Diagenou Marouche," the older man said, using a tone of voice akin to that of a father scolding a bratty teen. It might have intimidated someone else, but my father had been Special Operations. I knew that tone of voice, I knew what it was used for, and their bullying tactics weren't going to work.
"Really, now," I said, my voice deceptively mild, "how interesting, because according to his supervisor and to his attending physician he's on medical leave." I let my gaze meander over to the garden, in which reposed the remains of two Blackberries and a laptop. The broken, twisted piece of electronics were also clearly visible the two men. It wouldn't take an idiot to notice that they'd been used for target practice after being thrown out the window.
"You can't do that, that's government property!" the younger of the two snarled. He moved too close, and I lowered the muzzle of the gun until it rested gently just a little below the belt line.
"Oh, but I can. Doctor's orders," I said sweetly. "Diagenou's allowed fifteen minutes of phone calls and one hour on the laptop daily. People were abusing the privilege and so I took matters into my own hands."
The older man tried again. "Ma'am, you've got to ---"
"No," I corrected him, "I don't have to do jack shit. I don't know who you are and Diagenou Marouche is an important national asset." I smiled and shrugged. "Just doing my part to help out the HSA. For all I know, you could be terrorists."
I didn't quite catch what the younger man called me this time but I was quite tired of the whole mess and more than willing to shoot both of them if they didn't quit fucking around and get off my property. I unlocked my hand from Daisy's collar. She lunged forward, ready to greet her two new friends.
"Call Daisy back, dearest, before she drools all over their suits. I'll speak with 'em," said a tired voice behind me.
I couldn't put the gun down, not with two armed strangers glaring daggers at me less than fifty feet away and Dee a clearly visible target behind me, but I wanted to go to him. His feet were bare, which explained why I hadn't heard him come up behind me, and he wore only his pajama bottoms and an old, tattered plaid robe he'd hastily pulled on. The early afternoon sunlight made his frail body appear insubstantial and gave his pale skin an odd translucent look. The flame colored hair ran riot around his shoulders; he'd obviously been sleeping and hadn't bothered pulling it back into the neat pony tail in which he customarily wore it. "Dee, what are you doing up?" I asked, exasperated.
"Preventing my woman from committing a felony," he said with a grin. "Those are federal agents, Kitty." He held out his hand, palm upward. "Give me the gun."
"You know these bozos?"
He nodded, his intense green eyes making contact with mine. "I know 'em. Now give me the gun and let up to the porch. No further," Diagenou cautioned. "They know the drill."
The carbine changed hands but Diagenou didn't lower its barrel. "Now," he said with a feral smile, "let's try this again and do it right, boys."
"Marouche ---"
*click* My boy had jacked a round into the chamber. "Can't be too careful, you know, not after what happened."
This time, they did produce their badges. Only after they had done so did Dee let me invite them inside.
All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark" o/`
-- "A Little Less Conversation" performed by Elvis Presley
When they came for him, his colleagues neglected to present the proper credentials. Evidently they thought their smiles and winning personalities would be enough to gain access to my home.
My homestead is second to last on a dead-end road paved in shifting sugar sand which runs through a section of swamp land. Neighbors typically have acres of densely forested undeveloped land between property boundaries and we like it that way. The bottom line is, no one comes out here without being noticed and no one in their right mind does so unless they actually have business with one of the land owners. All officials know to call ahead and to identify themselves clearly unless they want a butt full of buckshot or worse. Therefore I had to wonder about the expensive sedan with its darkly tinted windows wallowing its way up the driveway. I don't think they were too happy when I met both men, dressed in expensive three piece suits, on the front porch with a carbine planted firmly against my shoulder and my other hand on my hound dog Daisy's collar. Daisy would more likely slobber anyone to death than bite, but neither of my unwanted guests need to know that.
"You boys are lost," I said conversationally, stroking the trigger of the Merlin. I wanted them to know that this was no scare tactic, that I knew how to use guns and would not hesitate to do so if they provided sufficient provocation. One of them inched forward aggressively, a hand moving toward the approximate location of a shoulder holster, but his older companion put a hand on his arm, tapped an ear piece and, after apparently listening to whomever he'd contacted, shook his head slightly. The younger stood down, a resentful and openly hostile expression on his face. "See that sign?" I gestured with the muzzle of the carbine toward the sign posted on the phone post which marked the edge of my property. Both ducked instinctively, and rightly so; had I chosen to do so, they'd have been fired upon...and the Merlin was a semi-automatic with a clip capable of holding up to nine shots. "You're also trespassing. Reckon you better get un-lost real quick and get on out of here."
"We're here for Diagenou Marouche," the older man said, using a tone of voice akin to that of a father scolding a bratty teen. It might have intimidated someone else, but my father had been Special Operations. I knew that tone of voice, I knew what it was used for, and their bullying tactics weren't going to work.
"Really, now," I said, my voice deceptively mild, "how interesting, because according to his supervisor and to his attending physician he's on medical leave." I let my gaze meander over to the garden, in which reposed the remains of two Blackberries and a laptop. The broken, twisted piece of electronics were also clearly visible the two men. It wouldn't take an idiot to notice that they'd been used for target practice after being thrown out the window.
"You can't do that, that's government property!" the younger of the two snarled. He moved too close, and I lowered the muzzle of the gun until it rested gently just a little below the belt line.
"Oh, but I can. Doctor's orders," I said sweetly. "Diagenou's allowed fifteen minutes of phone calls and one hour on the laptop daily. People were abusing the privilege and so I took matters into my own hands."
The older man tried again. "Ma'am, you've got to ---"
"No," I corrected him, "I don't have to do jack shit. I don't know who you are and Diagenou Marouche is an important national asset." I smiled and shrugged. "Just doing my part to help out the HSA. For all I know, you could be terrorists."
I didn't quite catch what the younger man called me this time but I was quite tired of the whole mess and more than willing to shoot both of them if they didn't quit fucking around and get off my property. I unlocked my hand from Daisy's collar. She lunged forward, ready to greet her two new friends.
"Call Daisy back, dearest, before she drools all over their suits. I'll speak with 'em," said a tired voice behind me.
I couldn't put the gun down, not with two armed strangers glaring daggers at me less than fifty feet away and Dee a clearly visible target behind me, but I wanted to go to him. His feet were bare, which explained why I hadn't heard him come up behind me, and he wore only his pajama bottoms and an old, tattered plaid robe he'd hastily pulled on. The early afternoon sunlight made his frail body appear insubstantial and gave his pale skin an odd translucent look. The flame colored hair ran riot around his shoulders; he'd obviously been sleeping and hadn't bothered pulling it back into the neat pony tail in which he customarily wore it. "Dee, what are you doing up?" I asked, exasperated.
"Preventing my woman from committing a felony," he said with a grin. "Those are federal agents, Kitty." He held out his hand, palm upward. "Give me the gun."
"You know these bozos?"
He nodded, his intense green eyes making contact with mine. "I know 'em. Now give me the gun and let up to the porch. No further," Diagenou cautioned. "They know the drill."
The carbine changed hands but Diagenou didn't lower its barrel. "Now," he said with a feral smile, "let's try this again and do it right, boys."
"Marouche ---"
*click* My boy had jacked a round into the chamber. "Can't be too careful, you know, not after what happened."
This time, they did produce their badges. Only after they had done so did Dee let me invite them inside.