War: UF/RP/Cousins: Toasty Temptations, or ... The Cheesy Bits

By: Les, Johnsie and Cousin Tser, Stabilizing Effect by Nancy
Place: The Hive & CERK
Time: Thursday, July 12th, Late morning
All people and places used with permission


The late morning sun lay easily on the UF Hive, its gardens, and
outbuildings.  Three people strolled down the path toward the
stable, the red brick walls of the classic, two-story building
glowing in the sunlight.  The white painted trim and wide double
door to the haymow on the upper story gleamed.

"I've been longing to get in here," said Nancy as they approached
the entrance.  "But it's just been one thing after another.  I have
to tell you, Les, if horses still lived here, I'd probably be
bunking with them."

Les turned to push open one of the broad white double doors with
his backside, a mug of coffee in one hand, his breakfast sandwich
of sharp cheddar on sourdough in the other. Grinning, he said, "I'm
sure horses would be much more agreeable room-mates than we are."

As the women stepped past him into the cool dimness, Kathy laughed
and Nancy replied, "Quieter, at any rate." They were all
remembering Jules' outraged bellows when she found herself
showering in warm tomato juice.  And April's scathing recitation of
her ordeal of washing four loads of laundry in the same crimson
Tide.

Sunlight came slanting in the high windows on the east side of the
building, lighting the large old-fashioned tie-stalls with their
mahogany dividers and brass trimmings, each still fitted with
marble trough.  Deep wood-shave bedding, musty with age, covered
their floors.  Perhaps it was the dust on the windows that muted
the light and kept it from reaching the corners.  The ventilation
fan set into the roof emitted a raspy groan as the faint breeze
caused it to turn.  It seemed a little chilly after the warm
gardens.

Nancy shook her head, hands on her hips.  "It's lovely.  But it
needs... airing out or something."  She and Kathy followed Les
deeper into the murkiness, and he pointed out the old tack room and
the carriage storehouse, now empty, waving his bitten sandwich.
They peered about and admired the workmanship of the carefully laid
out structure.  Les led them to the back of the building, where the
dimness seemed particularly dense.

"I think this room back here was the head groom's office.  I used
it for experiments in War 9, once they threw me out of the kitchen."

"What kind of experiments?" asked Kathy, as Les swung the door to
the room open.

"Oh, you know, things like what happens to rawhide when it's been
boiled in honey."  Les stepped into the room, gesturing vaguely
with his sandwich.  "Does it constrict when it dries, like when
it's been soaked in water?  If so, how much?  And *does* it even
dry?"  His companions followed him in, looking bemused.  "Pretty
basic stuff, actually, but I don't know that anyone has every
worked it out before."

Nancy and Kathy forbore from asking why anyone would, and looked
around the room instead.  It was small, compared to the spacious
stalls and tack rooms.  Obviously the humans came in second after
the horses and their equipment, but that seemed perfectly logical
to the horse people in the group.

An odd assortment of gear hung from the walls on pegs; crops,
twitches, leather straps, rope, other horsy stuff along with
equipment that was not immediately recognizable.  A solid but
scuffed and stained desk shoved against one wall held an ancient
hotplate and a strange, long, double handled device with a heavy,
circa 1950s, electrical cord and plug.

"What's that?" said Kathy, who realized the purpose of the hotplate
vis-a-vis the boiling of honey, but couldn't place the unfamiliar
device as equine equipment.

Les put his sandwich on the desk with a shocking disregard of basic
sanitation, his coffee mug beside it, and picked up the object.  He
gripped each of the handles and pulled them apart, showing that the
device was hinged at the top: the flat, square, wire mesh box there
opened in half on that hinge.  It looked like a large clamp of some
kind.

"I dunno," he confessed.  "It was in one of the desk drawers and I
can't imagine a horsy purpose for it.  But clearly, with the plug,
it could be powered up to apply some kind of energy, a shock maybe.
I was trying to figure out what part of the body it could go on,
but the shape-"

With an impatient sigh, Nancy plucked it from his hands, flopped it
open on the desk, picked up his bitten sandwich and placed it in
one side of the flat wire cage.  She shut it neatly around the
sandwich, picked up the cord, found an outlet and plugged it in.
The device hummed, the wires around the bread glowing with heat.

"It's a sandwich toaster," said Nancy dryly.

"Oh," said Les humbly.  "How sensible you are, Nancy."  He took the
thing back from her, turning it this way and that, watching the
bread begin to brown, as the smell of toast and warm cheese wafted
through the room.

Kathy grinned at Nancy, who was watching Les, shaking her head.
"That smells pretty good," she commented.  "Nothing has smelled
right in the Hive since Sunday, and it's blunted my appetite.
Maybe we should start barbecuing and eating out on the back patio."

"Have we figured out yet who let the skunks loose in the house?
It's hard to keep up with what's going on."  The lovely aroma of
the browning cheese sandwich was making Nancy's mouth water.

"Well," said Les, as he pulled the plug from the socket and opened
the toaster to remove his sandwich, "I've never hired a Merc before
and I'm having a tough time figuring out where to go and who to
talk to."

"'allo'allo!"

The three UFfers started violently at the sound of this new voice
and turned toward it.  A man stood in the doorway to the groom's
room. He looked like he'd been living on the street for some time,
except for the wood shavings in his hair and on his clothing.  In
one hand, he clutched a horseshoe.  His nose twitched, startlingly
rodent-like, as he eyed the melted cheese sandwich that Les juggled
absently as he stared.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" demanded Kathy.

In response, the man lifted and twirled on one finger the horseshoe
he held, and said, "Oh, Libster needed this thingee fer a goodluck
charm.  Hat first Oi'd brung 'er sateenee pumps an' rilly 'igh 'igh
'eels but she thunked me and sed she wanted 'orseshoes not 'ores
shoes.  'oodathunkit?"

Johnsie vanished the shoe into a pocket and stepped forward to
catch Les's sandwich at the top of a juggling arc.  He ripped it in
half and handed back the side Les had already bitten.  Les blinked
in astonishment and watched as the man took a huge bite and chewed,
nodding appreciatively.

"MMm, good.  Sew oi 'eard ya needed sum hinfo.  We'll do hit fer
cheese.  Halsew need bread, butter, a jar o' pickle slices an' that
there prongie toaster thingee; works great, hit duz!"

"Sooo, you're a Merc..?" Nancy asked with a dubious upward swing in
her tone.

"Not eggs-zack-hattackily.  But Oi'll do hinna pinch, roight enuf.
Hain't nowehres that kin keep the RatsiePacksie hout er noble-
bodiez we won'ts qwestshun."

The three UFfers eyed one another, then shrugged.

"It's a deal."

~~~~

Johnsie strolled through the doors into the lobby of CERK.  "Owdy,
Cuzzin!" he called to the person behind the desk.  She already had
one hand on the alarm buzzer; the other was reaching under the desk
for one of her defensive type thingies she'd hoarded there.

"Oi gots sum qwestshuns ta hask ya."  Johnsie continued as he
leaned over the desk.  She was about to bring up the Spooky Squeeky
Toy [TM] with Patented Holy Squeek Technology when she heard the
pitter patter of little feet beneath her.  Looking down, the first
thing she noticed was a pallid yellow post-it note that had come
unstuck from its place on her computer.  Shrieking in horror
(causing Johnsie to clamp his hands over his sensitive Ratsiepack
ears) she leapt away, pushing the alarm button repeatedly.

The dark clad CERK Cousins Fast Response Team (or, perhaps, merely
astonished Cousins gathering in wonder that a Ratpacker had entered
through the front door) bounded through the doors from within and
took up their assigned positions to maximize the kill zone in the
lobby.  They seemed confused about whom to target until they
realized that Johnsie wasn't just any old street person but a
dreaded RatPacker WITH ratsies!  All the supersoakers filled with
noxious fluids and blowguns with doping darts were pointed at him--
the Cousins knew they could never diminish the rat population with
anything less than weapons of mass destruction.

"Uhh..."  Johnsie began brightly, " Oi wuz 'ired ta track down
NEEfairy-hus hassailants wot pulled an' hattack on me clients, 'oo
shall remain nameless since that his part o' they fakshunul
nomenclature.  An' since hit wuz a strike wif no clues, no leads,
perfectly and DEevee-husly hexecuted Oi figgered the first place Oi
wud check was 'ere.  Musta been the Cuzzins."

"I didn't do it!" Jessi said emphatically, shaking her head
vigorously.  "And I'll never ever tell you that the Cousins did,
because Tser might dock my pay in gummi frogs."

Johnsie nodded.  "Oi'll jest 'ave ta come back agin, hover and
hover, fer days and days an' maybe hat noight ta talk ta the boss
habout this an' heach toime they be more an' ratsie wif me..."

Jess grinned at Johnsie winningly, not especially alarmed by this
threat as she had strong RatPacker tendencies.  But one of the
darkly clad Cousinly response team members (or just a Cousin
reacting in horror) ran forward and clamped a hand down over Jess'
mouth.

"We confess!" the Cousin exclaimed.  "Yes, we did it!  Shelley and
Arletta arranged it, Brandi weaseled her way inside,  Deborah
painted the mural, Rhonda provided manpower, Tser brought the
skunks and Tok approved the whole scheme.  We're *proud* we did it
and that we did it well, but we are indeed guilty.  Go now, shoo,
get out.  Now."

Johnsie smiled the irrepressibly smug smirk of the terminally dim
and strolled out the door clicking off the recorder in his pocket
as he left.  'Oi 'ope that wuz clickin' hoff this time....' he
thought.

~~~~

Back in the UF stables, an exchange of information and goods was
gleefully made.  The tape, even with the muffled sound quality, was
eagerly welcomed by the UFfers, and the names and deeds duly noted.

Gratified by their experience with Rattus Mercenarius, a large
assortment of cheeses, a couple loafs of bread, a huge jar of
pickles, and a pound of butter were happily handed over by the
UFfers.  Les seemed a bit reluctant to give up the toaster now that
he knew what it did, but a deal's a deal and it eventually ended up
in the RatPacker's possession.

Johnsie, juggling his booty, started down the path from the stable,
heading toward the front gate.  Then he stopped.

"Oh."  He turned to look back.  "A place loik this shud 'ave some
manoo-er, roight?" Johnsie asked.

The UFfers looked around at one another.  It was true.  Though the
stables had not been occupied since War 8 when they'd housed some
borrowed Mounties' mounts, the gardens took a lot of fertilizing
and the substance in question was certainly available.

"Yesss, why?" Julia queried.

"Oi wuz hasked to procure sum fer a prank."

"It won't be used against us, will it?"

Johnsie's brows raised, "Hmm, no garhuntees on that.  They moight
loik the hirony o' hit hall."

"Then we won't be providing any."

"Oh.  Kin ya scrape this bit offen me shew then?"  He held up one
foot.  Apparently he'd been taking short cuts through the flower
beds.

Nancy took up a pitchfork a gardener had left leaning against the
stable wall and advanced on Johnsie with a wicked grin.

"Uhhh, Oi'll jest brush hup aginst sumthin' summwehres.  Seeya!"
Johnsie exclaimed as he scampered down the road, his arms laden
with cheese, bread, butter, giant jar of pickles and a shiny,
prongie toaster thingie.

End