Welcome to Gaia! ::

Previously

"Sorry about dragging you away like that." Catherine said to the man sitting beside her in the spacious interior her seemingly small white Miata afforded its passengers. "but anyways, I was trying to ask you whether or not you'd like to help me with a dinner I'm planning for Sunday." The request seemed so silly now that they were speeding off together to fight crime and do other superstuff. Wait, no, nevermind, it wasn't the request that seemed silly after all. "I just need a good waiter, maybe some prep-work, or cooking. What are you available to do" Seeing a slightly unreadable expression with just a hint of bewilderment, she added, removing her hand from the six-geared transmission control, and extending it to her guest "Oh, sorry, my name's Catherine. Catherine Flavius."

"Mitch Ablebody," he murmured. He sat still, very confused for a moment before he regained his composure. "I may be able to set you up with something, but I'm afraid I no longer cook. Have I just signed up for something-not the catering, but the warehouse thing?"

Previously

No longer cook? Catherine pondered, What could make someone be so definate in such such a silly resolution? She toyed for a brief moment with various situations of traumatizing culinary accidents that could cause such a decision as "No longer cooking," but couldn't come up with anything good and so she turned back to her guest. "I'm sure it's nothing." Catherine said, about this warehouse thing, "Besides, you aw them all, we've got a veritable army here, just lay low and you'll come out fine. If you had mentioned it earlier I suppose I could have dropped you off somewhere, but this looks like it." And indeed it was, the white miata parallel parked between a red VW bug and a large war horse. Grabbing her keys and her yard sticks, Catherine hopped out.

"Cooking was everything," he sullenly responded. He was saying it more to himself than to anyone else. He sighed as his previously amicable demeanor melted into a reflection which was marked by his face drooping from a half-smile to a near-grimace like a candle that has been burning too long melts into a wrinkled form, sometimes resembling a face.
I wonder what she meant by "aw," he thought. It was this distraction brought him out of his solace and allowed him to get out of the mazda.
He stretched a bit and thanked Catherine for the ride, "I'll see what I can do for the catering. Take my card." He handed her a business card dressed in a viny border. It read:

Mitch Ablebody
Sommelier, Consierge
Bernoulli's Bistro

He wrote his number on the back prior to giving it to her. He thought it would help him pick up chicks if things like that were already ready. It might have worked, had he ever the opportunity to try it out on anyone that wasn't a nun. Mitch had only used the pre-written numbers once, and that was this very moment. By the way, Mitch isn't a sleazeball.

Mitch directed Catherine to her house. Well, first he asked if he should call her, "Sister, or something," but he didn't get any response so he decide to be strictly business. He didn't want to cross a new client, or a nun, yet alone one and the same. When they arrived at his apartment, he thanked her and then got out.

There was a car parked alongside the road. It was a bit too fancy for this neighborhood at this hour, yet it sat there. In it was a man, dressed far too formally for anyone in this neighborhood, at any hour. He even wore white gloves. He sat quietly and patiently for the Mazda to leave. Half an hour ago, the car was in the visitor parking lot of Area 42, but anyone who had seen the car now, would not have known that. All of the people who rushed out of the facility were gone even before said car arrived.

Mitch didn't notice the car. He just went to the door to his apartment building and oafishly fumbled with his keys for a bit. Then he unlocked it and went in.

Julius Burns got into, what seemed, to be the only taxi driven by a Scientologist in the entire world. He sighed; it was going to be a long ride.

"667 Sea Spray Road, and step on it", he said to the drive and the driver took off, carefully following every law in driving existence to make the ride go as slowly as possible. Julius looked out the window. They were currently passing Snottsborne Industries, the cleaning company that was dumping toxic waste into the ocean, ironic he thought that a company obsessed with cleaning could do that with the right hand and pollute the world with the left. Yay hypocrisy. About a minute after that the driver launched into a ruteen about how all people should become Scientologists. It was all Julius could do to keep from hurting him. Finally after what seemed like infinitely plus one they pulled up at 667 Sea Spray Road. Julius got out and played the driver in quarters just to piss the guy off. He looked up at his pent-house apartment. He sighed; he knew the elevator was out of order and he didn’t want to walk al the way up those stupid stairs.