Rubel gets a letter

Johnson. Looking more flustered and harried than you've ever seen her looking before, the green coat gone, the bandages ink-stained and dusty, the crooked smile nowhere. Instead, all you get is an absent-minded- “AHA, I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU-”

and then you're pounced. By a whirlwind. It smells like an ancient library. It may or may not also be muttering something along the lines of need to find the paperwork for the damned bastard who forgot that we don't even have a damned budget anymore where the hell is everyone going to get food- grief!- is debt magical- a black hole, it's like a bloody singularity- feck me, I need a cup of tea- and when it sweeps away, you're left- holding things. Paper. In your hands.

They're forms. One is documentation with regards to hygiene and hazard standards in a hermetically sealed room. Another one has to do with pre-EMP artefact insurance and registration. A third has something to do with booking couches in the Bingo Hall. And at the top, in scribbled green ink-

PLEASE fill these in and get these back to me SOON or I will be CRYING and you will be LOOKING FOR YOUR DAMNED KNEECAPS. much love, J.

In the Bingo Hall

Steve Guttenberg wanders, shell-shocked out of the admin block, he spies Mountjoy over in the corner of the hall - he seems, ostensibly, to be dusting, “Hoy there MJ, have you seen this?”

Mr. Mountjoy hadn't in fact, “Whassat you got there?” he wasn't sure about this Battenburg fella, too louche and cheerful for his own onions, so he is, “Whassit say, man?”

Steve Guttenberg blanches and hands over the note from the Administrator, “She's only gone and asked me for-” a pregnant pause whilst Mountjoy's eyes go wide, “An inventory.”

Mr. Mountjoy baulks, “Who does she think she is?!” She's parading around the place like she owns it! Mountjoy enjoins Battenburg to be quiet, “The walls have ears,” he advises, fully aware that they're normally his.

Mr. Mountjoy continues, “We should go and discuss this elsewhere, maybe chat with Lillith and Bruce; see what they've got to say about it.” Once Mountjoy's finished with them, it is unlikely to be positive. That's just not Mountjoy.

GERM receptionist Lillith comes bustling up the stairs, she's got a couple of pieces of paper in her hands, “Have you seen these? She's got all sorts of demands! I knew that old wazzock should just have bitten the bullet and employed me, like I told him he should.”

Mr. Mountjoy had heard Lillith approaching, but he'd not picked up on the two notes with green ink on 'em, damn, he must be slipping. He's not slept well a couple of days since seeing that saucy nurse parading around in the hall. [11/07 02:22(:10)pm] Mr. Mountjoy has been sleeping as though propped up by a tripod. It ain't half uncomfortable when you're dealing with rheumatic knees. And the makings of sciatica.

Steve Guttenberg further pales as he smells Lillith, “What're those, Lil?”

GERM receptionist Lillith hisses, “She's told me to shower.” good idea that, “And a time and motion study of my whereabouts. I'm all over the place.” Yes, generally in the newbie male dorm rooms, playing the goat in their cupboards.

Steve Guttenberg had better go and begin his bloody inventory, so he bids his colleagues a fare-thee-well, and buggers off into the Bar.

Mr. Mountjoy grabs Lillith by her wrist as Battenburg buggers off, “Come on,” he whispers, vituperatively, “We're off to speak wi' Bruce. He'll know what to do. He'll gerrus in touch with his union rep.” And with that he disappears into the kitchen.

Below Stairs

GERM receptionist Lillith is dragged in by Mountjoy. “Where're we going, man?”

Head Chef Bruce is sitting, head in hands, rocking gently, sobbing; he's seen the note from her. And it's almost sent him over the edge.

Mr. Mountjoy tries to rouse Bruce, but there's no moving him. Well, unless Mountjoy lifts him over his shoulder, which he does. And, in a fireman's lift, lugs him out to the 'Herb' garden, “Come on you daft besom, you're coming too. We need to conflab.”

GERM receptionist Lillith follows along behind. For a secret assignation. Oh, it's like she was 32 again, and after that fireman. He had an enormous hose.

somewhere in the Bingo Hall

Marly's paperwork is a mess. A very neat, orderly mess. A small ceramic crucible, the type used in chemistry labs, sits with its stained white surface on the very top. A messy hand has scrawled Ashes of an Idea, Murdered by a Clan Notice in black marker. The letters are faintly smudged. The cover sheet is beneath it, the list of forms neatly ticked and crossed out. Johnson's message is left alone, unmutilated.

The next page is about Bernard's Pension, with international currency conversions scrawled all down the margins. He is to be paid in amenities and the amount corresponding to enough rubles to fill a large garage with the dimensions.

The next page is a love letter to a Mr. J. Alfred Prufrock. A quick read would- well, James Joyce would be rathe- um. Oh look, she’s even included diagrams, and all the stick figures have, um- well-groomed moustaches. The following pages are more factual in their fabrications. Most of the questions are written over with extended responses to previous ones.

These are followed by a repetitive claim to Werther's distribution rights (another of Bernard's papers) and a diagram of what will happen if legal rights are violated. The word WOOF is scrawled diagonally across the next page in rough letters. The word “slippers” is faintly seen in the title hidden beneath the word. As for the lunchbox rights, well, such forms need clarification; Marly has gone on extensively about the rights and fundamental freedoms of the average lunchbox and the specific rights and legal settlements of Bernard's. There might be a declaration of emancipation in there.

Last but not least is the underwear pattern documentation forms. Judging by the pictures, someone spent a lot of time in the- library, looking at underwear. Yes. Library. There’s drawings of corsets and bloomers, loin cloths and bras, various styles and lengths, all labeled so clearly that it would make Ebenezer proud (until the subject matter was considered). There's even a sketch of Bernard in Speedos! Down at the bottom, a male figure is circled with arrows pointing at it. This picture is the Most Important. He stands with his hands on his hips, his pelvis forward, a large grin on his face. His teeth are probably white and sparkle with an audible ting! when he does that. The caption below reads “commando (or sans kilt).”

The paperwork for pet licensing and alternate housing are noticeably absent.

<note>Part the Fourth

The Index</note>