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Shin Hyakuji High School Tvtropes
The Book that is Hyakuji's Story has come to a close. However, there are still plenty of stories left to be told in the madcap Anime Universe it inhabits. As one book closes, so too does another open. Presented by veteran Hyakuji Staff Members, check out the next generation EVOLUTION of "Anything-Goes" Anime Roleplaying at Senki Academy
The Book that is Hyakuji's Story has come to a close. However, there are still plenty of stories left to be told in the madcap Anime Universe it inhabits. As one book closes, so too does another open. Presented by veteran Hyakuji Staff Members, check out the next generation EVOLUTION of "Anything-Goes" Anime Roleplaying at Senki Academy
| {RW-3} Awake & Alive.; Closed for Final Preparations. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 20 2010, 01:15 AM (258 Views) | |
| North | Dec 20 2010, 01:15 AM Post #1 |
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[[From the Author; Special Thanks, in this post, to Maria and Kura, portraying the Lawyer and Sheriff, respectively. Couldn't have done it without you, ladies.]] Non Ducor Duco. I am Not Led. I Lead. Operation, Wake Up. Commence Final Phase. Day 28. Total Earnings; ~$40,932.00 -One-night Mercenary Gig, partnership with Aurora - rescue a kidnapped woman. [40k]. Hung neighbor's Christmas lights. Skim-coated a referrals basement. Oil-change for elderly woman two blocks down. Total Expenses; $ 21,500 Expense List; Furnishing Office [Desk, book-cases, art, decor, books.] Furnishing Apartment - Larger bed, new curtain & curtain rod. Blinds over all windows upstairs. Antique couch, restored. Pots, pans. Food. Coffee-table, more records. Various other items to make the place livable [ $15,000] The X Factor [ $6,500] [I can't tell you what it is, but it cost lots of money.] To-Do; "Just don't forget kid, that Lawyer's going to tear you apart. Up one side, down the other. Clean everything good. Lock at least one door so they know you're serious about your security. And for petes sake, get the cat out of there for the day, yeah?" "Thanks, Theo. I'll be over later, let you know how it goes." The previous day Ryan toiled and dripped sweat over cleaning out the kitchen. Caked on grease stains; other unfathomable stains that were unidentifiable. Best not to ask. After cleaning he painted a strip around the bottom - another of Theodore's tips - to make it stand out from the rest. Nine inch stripe around the border was all he needed. Then it was plastic. Plastic over the appliances, the tables, the pool tables. Everything that he didn't want making a scene, he covered. He was back at Theo's in the morning, getting a pep-talk while he waited for the Officials to come. He, for the first time in a long time, was nervous, sipping tea and wondering if he'd get whisked back to jail. A convicted felon trying to acquire land. Hah! Now that, was laughable. But Theodore seemed to know more than he let on, and after a few more words of encouragement, sent Ryan back out the door. They should be rolling up, any minute.... Adverse Possession. A legal loophole to aquire property. Applied nearly specifically to squatters; so when Ryan learned, after he'd applied for it earlier in the week, the lawyer was coming down accompanied by the Sheriff, he was on edge. Freshly shaved, thin sweater-vest under his jacket - he looked almost presentable. It didn't help, he was on record as a convicted felon, but he'd done his time, and that was years ago. All he could do now, was wait, hope, and pray.... Legal loopholes were a dime-a-dozen, but not many involved the property of one individual becoming the property of another. As such, it came as some surprise to the Sheriff when he received a call involving the old, derelict pub that had belonged to the deceased Renato and "adverse possession." The meeting was scheduled and about to begin as he pulled up in front of the pub, tires crunching on snow, lawyer in tow, serious gaze darting across the man standing out, waiting for them. The squeal of a car door and a few brisk, business-like steps later and he was before the man, fixing the individual with an assessing gaze before extending a hand, no questions asked, no names given. He knew how to do his job, after all. Adverse possesion. It was a nice change from the drug dealers and the murders that the lawyer seemed to always be facing. Paper-work in hand, the lawyer followed the sheriff from the car to the man in front of the pub, going over what she knew. The pub had been deserted since Renato, the previous owner, had died. There were no heirs to speak of, no one to claim this title. Enter in Ryan C. Knox, a convicted felon who had been squatting in the house for the last twenty-eight days. After speaking to the neighbors, it seems as if this man was nothing but kind, worked hard for every bit of money he had, and even seemed to be cleaning up the place. The lawyer locked eyes with Ryan, showing nothing, and stuck out a hand. Let the judging commence. Remember the body language. The moment you feel nervous and show it, it all goes downhill, and you loose. Keep cool. He took one last, shaky breath of chill air and smiled as they left their car. "Good afternoon." He shook the Sheriff's hands, looking him in the eyes. Turned to the Lawyer, shook her hand, "Thanks for coming out so soon. Would you like to start inside?" "Afternoon, son," the Sheriff rumbled in reply, voice a deep baritone, filled with the kind of drive that showed he knew how to get shit done. Knox, Ryan C. He didn't flinch, didn't glance away, no nervous twitch or quirk of his lips, nothing. First one went to him. With a faint nod of acceptance the Sheriff took a step back as the lawyer took over, waiting for the social pleasantries to end. Finally the greetings were over, much to his relief, not that it bothered him. Time to get the job started. She didn't say anything. She just accepted the handshake and started to look around, her eyes scanning for anything and everything that could be considered a flaw. Finally, the lawyer nodded, a faint smile overcoming her features. "Let's start inside." She stepped back, waiting for Ryan to open the door and start the tour. Meanwhile, she took a pen out of her pocket and wrote the adress on a single sheet of paper, as well as the man's name, and the date. Records had to be kept. Hurdle one, passed. With a grin, he opened the front door and waited for the other two to enter the pub, coming in behind them. The lights were already on; top fan spinning slowly. Walls freshly painted, but beyond that, there wasn't anything actually -in- the pub area, save the two pool-tables in the far corner, both covered with a thin film of plastic. He spoke first. "Been here just inside of a month. Today marks the twenty-eighth day. When I found the place the back window was broken in..." He motioned towards it, walking them through the floor, nodding to the now, replaced, window. "Door was off it's hinges, and there were high-schoolers smoking marijuana in the kitchen area." He nodded towards the doors, just off center of the bar, leading into the kitchen. That he'd flipped it from a drug-hangout was one of his major sells. He hoped it played. Nod and watch. The Sheriff strode patiently along behind the two, thumbs jammed into his belt loops, the picture of relaxation and nonchalance. The lawyer was the one recording everything, but that didn't mean he was just staring around like some glassy-eyed tourist. He was keeping tabs as well. Under a month and the boy had done this much. Impressive. He remembered the pub from before, having grown up in Hyakuji, and had to say it looked a lot like the old thing, if not...fresher. Glossier, shinier, a bit more modern. But still the same old pub. He only nodded as they moved along, taking mental notes of what the boy had done, his respect and admiration growing as the minutes ticked past, not that he was going to say it. Best to keep a gruff look on his face, expression impassive as the tour continued. The lawyer, on the other hand, was not impressed. It was great that the man before her had caught some teenagers smoking pot and turned it around, but that wasn't why she was here. She walked around the bar area itself, taking notes on the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. There were obvious patched places, but the job was sturdy and well-done; she stepped over one of them to make sure. So far, so good. Still, she smiled not and made no expression, just walked towards the bar area and ran her hand over the wood, barely even wincing when her fingers hit a splinter. She just walked around the wood separating the customer from the bartender. There was some obvious work that needed to be done; the floors needed to be polished and smoothed, as well as the bar--but in general, everything in the dining area looked great. She turned and walked back towards the group, still making no sound save her heels clicking on the wood. Her head was bent, taking notes and recording what she saw. Slowly, she raised her head and nodded at Ryan, silently telling him that it was okay to move on. "Alright. Into the kitchen then..." As soon as he turned to lead them, he sighed; but he let his shoulders slump not. This, would be his last major hurdle - or so he hoped. He had done next to nothing inside the kitchen, except spend the previous day scrubbing the crap out of it and laying out painters plastic over the tables and appliances; like a christmas present to himself, waiting to be unwrapped. He held the double-doors for his tagalongs, smiling slowly. Stainless steel - that meant, no splinters. "This is the kitchen area. Anything that wasn't bolted down was taken. Touched up the white-line around the base, but after the patchwork there hasn't been any trace of rodents." He stepped back, against the wall, and let them browse. He let his breath stay tight in his chest. The lawyer stepped up and past the Sheriff, walking into the kitchen and looking at every single thing with a critical eye. The stainless steel was covered by plastic, the one shining white strip sparkled compared to everything else. The walls needed to be painted, though the patchwork was decent. Never leaving a thing untouched, the lawyer leaned down and looked under the appliances, swiping her finger and looking at it with no expression. It was clean. So she stood, uncovered one table and wiped her hand across it. She could feel grime, though her hand came up clean, and the tables needed to be shined. Notes were taken, and she stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking authoritative and much like a road block. She turned towards Ryan and opened her mouth for the first time to ask a question when she was nudged in the leg by a visitor. The woman looked down, and there stood Cat, wagging its tail and purring loudly. The lawyer raised an eyebrow and turned towards Ryan, ignoring the purring furry monster weaving between her legs. "You have a cat." A statement, not a question. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Ryan breathed, smoothly. How to play that out. "He's not mine. I don't think he's anyone's, really. But he comes around every few days. I keep a water dish and food bowl for him upstairs. He eats, sleeps, and I won't see him again for a few days. Think he's just trying to get out of the cold, to be honest..." He shrugged. Sounded pleasant enough. Back to business. Hopefully Cat didn't just blow the deal for him. "Think I remember seeing him around with Renato at the pub occasionally," the Sheriff mumbled gruffly, eying the errant feline speculatively. He didn't know much about the state of everything else, though, and left that up to the trained professional. The lawyer was the one who paid big bucks to go to school for such a job, after all. He just had to stand there and look pretty. He glanced back at Ryan, bristly eyebrow rising in a silent question. "Anything else you found, boy?" He didn't want to stand around and talk about cats. He was much more a dog person as it was. The lawyer looked at the cat weaving beneath her feet, saying nothing more but jotting down notes, then leaning down and scratching between Cat's ears. Then she walked over it and walked out of the kitchen, jotting down more notes and not paying attention to where she was walking. "Let's see the upstairs." She muttered, ignoring the cat still bumping into her ankle. Don't let it be told, but she really liked cats. There was a smile that crept through his lips at the thought. This cat, knew Renato, and it stayed behind. He was still here, after all. The terse-ness of the Lawyer was looking less like a facade and more like a serious military family upbringing, but at least the Sheriff seemed mildly human. Ryan looked up into his eyes, stepping back through the doors into the pub itself. "Nothing, really. Cobwebs, some tools I've been doing odd-jobs with. Oh, and an old record player he kept under the bar. I keep it upstairs now. Speaking of which..." He lead the way, through the pub and up the stairs to the side. Even with three people coming up, there was no creak in the stairs; something he was proud of. Walls of basic, plain yellow. Nothing fancy. When they hit the top of the stairs, Ryan pulled a small keyring from his pocket and unlocked the door on the right. This, was the office. He stepped inside and kept the door open, relishing in the work he had done. Deep red and black covered the walls in an upper-class decorative finish. There were bookshelves with dark stain against the walls, a simple desk and a single chair. An antique copper phone sat on the desk, various artwork, a globe, but nothing else of any interest. The windows peered out towards the train station. "Private study area. Paint was a little time-consuming..." The Sheriff nodded, thumbs still hooked around his belt loops, gaze occasionally sweeping the pub with something vaguely akin to interest. "Old man always did like his music..." he mumbled, more to himself than anything. He trudged after the pair of they proceeded up the stairs, his gaze a bit more inquisitive once they came to a stop inside the study. He had never been up this far and there was obviously more than a bit of time and effort put into this area. More personal. Another nod, this time an appreciative grunt to go along with it even despite the carefully-constructed look of boredom on the officer's face. The lawyer wasn't interested in what he found. An old record player had nothing to do with why she was here, so she kept her head down and kept scribbling on her pad, waiting until the man in front of her started to walk up the steps. Once he started, she followed, walking up the stairs with purpose, wiping her hand along the walls and coming away with no splinters, no paint on her hands. She noticed that there was no creak in coming up the stairs, and that too, went into her notes. She finally reached the top and walked through the door, not interested in the paint, though she was interested in the structure of the room. She leaned down, checking every corner and wall, every window and even the desk; all to make sure it was safe. She scribbled down some notes and walked towards the door, pushing it open and closed with a little effort, hearing no squeak, seeing no problems with it. She looked down at her pages of notes, but wrote nothing down. Instead she walked out of the room and into the hallway, looking at the desk once more and noting the book with a nod. "I don't need to see your room...but we need to head outside." She looked up and stepped to the side, waiting for Ryan to head on down the stairs. "Alright. Only thing out there is the Shed, though..." He shrugged smoothly, smiled at the Officer and nodded. If in another time, another place, he would like to talk to the people that knew Renato - get a glimpse of who he was. Right now all he had was a picture and a record player - and a pub. Hmmm. He took them out through the back-door and after a short stint through the snow, they were at the Shed. He wanted to groan. It was old, but sound. Tin roof, wooden doors and an old, slat window. He unlocked the padlock he'd placed there and opened both doors. Inside was about as large as small sheds go. A broom, a mop, hung from the hooks on the wall. There was a workbench with a small toolbox on it - another bin full of organized trowels and taping knives. Recently used buckets of paint and other various accessories associated with. There wasn't enough room for three people to walk around, so he let the Lawyer enter, standing outside with the officer. He was sure there were splinters in there; it was probably as old as WorldWar I. But he hardly ever used it. Just storage, now. He didn't say a word; just kept his hands behind his back, cordially. The lawyer entered with no qualms, walking in with no expression. She looked around, and saw nothing but splinters. She smirked in the quiet of being alone, looked around, and walked over to the wall. She placed her hand on it and just looked around for a moment, giving appreciation to the man outside for all the hard work he did put in this. The shed was solid, there was nothing wrong with it. Her head bent down once more, her hand scribbled furiously. She was almost done with this inspection, and so far, everything was looking good. Of course, there was a bit he could work on here and there, some obvious things he could do, some pointers she would give him once she was through here. She started to walk over to the group once more when something caught her eye. Turning her head and following what she saw, walking towards the train tracks, wondering..."Mr. Knox?" She called, her face slightly inquisitive. "Er..." He looked at the Sheriff. He shrugged, casually, and caught up to the Lawyer, walking briskly beside her, wondering what the Hell she was going on about. Following the outside of the building. Crap; the one thing he never repainted. It gave off that rustic feel, but perhaps to an outsider [the Lawyer...] it looked shabby. Was there broken glass? A brick out of place? He finally let it best him; "What can I do for you, Ma'am?" Everything appeared to be in order, at least so far to the Sheriff. He continued his placid stare, the kind that was more befitting of a cow than anything else, inspecting the property with a detached air, at least until the lawyer called out. Curiosity piqued, he returned the young man's questioning shrug before ambling after him, for once bothering to move his hands to his sides in favor of haste, following Ryan over to wherever it was the lawyer had wandered off to. He came to a stop behind the pair, resuming his relaxed stance and waiting for the verdict, wondering quite what it was the woman was curious about. The lawyer looked at Ryan and held her hand out, pointing to the pair of storm doors that was attatched to the building. "I assume you have the key." It needed to be inspected, what lay behind the storm doors; and the fact that it was locked with chains and a key lock made her curious. The storm doors themselves were sturdy, made of oak and though weather-worn, seemed like they hadn't been opened in a while. "Uh...No. I don't, actually. I've looked. In the kitchen, all around the pub, in the shed. Key is nowhere to be found." He wanted to collapse, but he held strong. Failing marks, right there. Shit. If only Cat were here to really strike the nail in the coffin. "I also have no idea what's down there, to be honest." A frown creased the Sheriff's face for the firs time as he listened to the lawyer, stepping around Ryan to get a better look at the cellar doors. Renato had had a cellar? That he didn't remember, but then again, the old man had always remained something of a minor mystery to the officer. Apparently the young man knew even less than him, especially when he professed to lacking the key. A few moments of tense silenced ticked by, the Sheriff staring contemplatively at the locked doors before giving a brief nod. "One second," he said, barking the two words out like a command more than a request. He clomped back through the pub and out to his car, digging around in the back for awhile until he returned, lockpick in tow. He didn't wait for a word from the other two as he squeezed his considerable girth between them and settled himself down before the doors, setting to work. It was a short while later that the lock clattered to the ground and he straightened slowly, working the growing crick out of his back. "Boy, I reckon this is your right to see what's in here first," he said, gesturing brusquely with his head to the doors and shuffling out of the way, casting a critical glance at the lawyer, as if just daring her to protest. The lawyer only sat back and watched, locking eyes with the sheriff and blinking once, not phased by his look. She waited patiently and turned her cool eyes to Ryan, waiting for him to step forward and unlock the doors, so she could conclude her inspection and go home. Her fingers flipped through the papers she had on hand, pulling out one on the celler and reading it. There was nothing in the insurance about anything in there; it was barely even mentioned. The lawyer's brow furrowed, but otherwise, she showed no expression. Renato had left them quite a puzzle... "Here we go..." He pulled the doors open. They creaked, loudly, as if shedding off layers of rust and grime. The steps were deep and narrow; any more so and he would have called it a ladder. At the bottom of the deathtrap was a short expanse of hallway, adorned with large, rough-hewn stone. He offered to help the Lawyer down the steps [heels are bad] before venturing forth. At the end of the thirty-foot hallway was a single wooden door; The light was dim but he made out the giant, steel knocker-handle. It was like walking through time. He turned towards the Lawyer, a short smile on his face. "Now if there's, uh, bodies down here, or stolen goods, you'll believe I had nothing to do with it, yeah?" - that, was a huge concern. No one seemed to know Renato all that well. There could be a trap; there could be ten billion dollars. Who knew. The lawyer walked forward, raising an eyebrow at the offering hand. She looked Ryan in the eyes, and climbed down the stairs herself, nodding at him in thanks for his hand and stared at the entrance way. It looked amazing. Was this what she thought it was...? The lawyer tipped her head to the side slightly and walked in, pushing at the gate and noting the rust that came off with her hand. Her eyes widened at what she saw. A wine celler...? With only a deep breath, Ryan entered the room, and stopped just short of wildly confused and amazed. His fingertips groped the wall; slowly, surely; the right of the door held a lightswitch. It turned on a fake classy chandelier and recessed lighting. From where the duo stood it looked like a small turnaround for old underground trains. Exposed brick butted up against well-painted sheetrock - kept better than anything from the house. Intricate and rich stained woodwork wrapped around bottle after bottle - they were in a wine cellar - and a charmingly lavish one at that. In the center of the room, tile on the floor, was a dark-stained table, two empty glasses and two chairs. An old, leatherbound journal, pen on top; an envelope that held two words on it's front; 'Mio Erede'. But that wasn't all; another gate in the corner of the room expanded out - farther than he could see from the entranceway. With a slow smirk, and rapidly growing admiration for Renato's class, he turned towards the Lawyer, and could think of only one thing to say; "So. Can I offer you a drink?" The Sheriff merely smiled and grunted in response as Ryan ventured forth, following the courteous young man with little reserve. The steps, deep and earthy, led into what others had only speculated at - Renato's private reserve. Unable to contain himself, the Sheriff let out a low whistle, following the two as they stepped off the last steps. It was impressive, to say the least, and he allowed his gaze to roam for awhile before forcing his mind to grind back to the presence. "On the job," he answered with a rueful shake of his head as he strode over to one wall, attempting to ascertain exactly what dear old Renato had been secreting away from them all. The Lawyer, on the other hand, didn't utter a word. Her eyes were wide, her arms slack, and a smile slowly growing on her face. Renato, that sneaky bastard, had once again, thrown all of Hiyakuji for a loop and kept them all in the dark. For the first time since this inspection started, the lawyer seemed like a real human, that amazed smile growing on her face, her head shaking back and forth. A chuckle broke forth out of her mouth and a hand rested on her hip. "Well, I'll be damned." She turned towards Ryan, and with a raised eyebrow, smoothly uttered her responce. "We'll talk." Oh bother. Drinks with the cute Lawyer would have to wait. The Sheriff was right; they were on assignment. Clearing his throat, his authoratative side took over, and in a moment, he was back conducting masses, leading hockey teams, and calling the shots. "Alright, folks. We know what's down here. Ms, Take what notes you need to, and join us back upstairs, please." - Immediately after, Ryan surfaced, Sheriff in tow. The place was too wonderful to take in at one glance; he didn't want the novelty to wear off. Just a glimpse, like a kid peeking at christmas presents. Shortly after the Lawyer joined them, Ryan shut the doors, and took a slow breath. He had just found his new favorite place. With a reserved, warm smile, he turned back to the other two. "Is there anything else I can show you? I haven't done anything with the exterior paint, here...but I believe it brings out some of the pub's soul, as it were. I prefer it that way, else I'd have covered it by now." He nodded, assuredly. The Sheriff was still in awe, though he was doing a good job at disguising it, especially when he finally tore himself away from the fine selection and followed Ryan up the stairs. It was only once the lawyer joined them that the young man spoke again, though the Sheriff had little to reply or complain about. "No, I believe that about covers it," he said, shaking his head, though his glance did shift inquisitively to the lawyer. "Unless you have anything to add..?" he probed, even though he suspected they'd covered just about everything. Part of him was jealous for the boy's discovering and was slightly tempted to confiscate at least one bottle, but he was an honest man if ever there was one. The young man had certainly earned this find. The lawyer looked at Ryan, all buisness, and handed him three pages of notes. Her face didn't cahnge, and any expression she had was stopped by those cold, calculating eyes. "Mr. Knox, you have a lot of things to work on. There are a few things that need immediate attention, but all of them are laid out, in detail, in the pages you hold in your hand. The kitchen needs work, and though the cat can stay," Her eyes softened just a bit. "keep him out of the kitchen. Polish and sand the bar, and the floor. Scrub the kitchen more thoroughly, there are a dirt spots that shouldn't be there. There's a hole in the corner cabinet in the kitchen, indicating rats. Though I have a feeling that I know why there aren't any rodents." She smiled gently, showing her character and coming out of her strict mask. "But you've earned this Mr. Knox; and you've worked hard to make it look like Renato's old pub. It looks great." And there she stopped. What would she say next? No one knew... He breathed. Slowly. It was almost over. Three pages of notes? He wanted to shoot himself in the foot; violently. He took them from her with tact and never let his eyes leave hers as she spoke, taking in every detail mentally. Making a new checklist. He had shown possession - he had made it open and notorious and he had been found Hostile; there was no other owner; he had passed. There was no legal channel or person, save these two, telling him to leave. They stood between Ryan and his place of sleeping, eating, and being merry. He was exclusive, and planned to be continuous. He had given them all five signs of adverse possession. But to hear he had earned it - to know all the sweat, blood [and one thing's missing~] was enough to make him smile, and he finally let out a smooth sigh. He resisted the urge to hug them. "Thank you." He added, bowing politely. "Thank you, both, for coming out. Is there anything else I can do for you today?" Shut Up, Ryan. You're blowing it. A true smile from the Sheriff this time, the kind that crinkled the already well-used skin around the corner of his eyes and sparked a faint twinkle. "Keep up the good work, son," he said, extending a hand once more, "You've earned it." Those were the closest that words of encouragement came to from him, along with yet another faint nod. "Look forward to seeing what you do with the pub. It's a darn shame Renato isn't around anymore, but I think you've done the old man proud. Just keep it up." The lawyer's smile faded and she nodded. "Yes, in fact, there is one last thing." She looked at the sheriff and nodded. "In order for you to keep this place, to sleep there and eat there, you must reopen it in the way it was meant to be used. Open it as a pub; and keep it going for at least one year. It's only then that you can keep it." Once again, she dug into her papers and dug out the deed to the pub, handing it over to Ryan with a nod. "I don't think you'll have a problem with that. But I will be back to re-evaluate this pub in a year. On this exact day." And back into her papers she went, digging out insurance papers and other legalities, handing Ryan a stack that would blow his mind. "These are things you must go through and sign. Some of them are a little difficult to understand, but I'm sure you'll be fine." She looked Ryan one last time, and stuck out her hand, all business. "Congradulations Mr. Knox. You now own a pub." And with that, the inspection concluded. For the first time in six years, Ryan stammered. Speechless. It was too much of a shock to process, so he tucked it away. He shook the officer's hand with a smile and offered to send him a bottle of wine for christmas. The Lawyer, he looked dead in the eyes. She had pushed him through a whirlwind of emotions in a very short and horribly long hour. And now this? He shook her hand with all those callouses he built up building the place, taking the folder full of files in his other hand. "Th...Thank...You?" He mentally noted the date. "I'll. Er....I'll see you in a year, then." He nodded, slowly. You could see the blatent shock on his face. It was amusing. Total blindside. She was probably used to it. The lawyer smiled one last time, nodded and started to walk away. It wasn't until she was halfway to the car that she stopped, turned on her heel and walked back to Ryan with her normal serious look. "Mr. Knox," She stated, all buisness once more. But what was that in her eyes...? "Those legal documents...if for any reason, you can't understand them, you can reach me here." She pulled out a buisness card and wrote her number on the back, handing it to him. "Don't be scared to call." And with a passing, dark smirk and a wink thrown his way, the lawyer tuned and walked back to the car, looking back only once. "Oh. And Mr. Knox...you may want to come up with a name for your new place." And with that, she turned and left. The card in his hand turned over - Jessica N. Walters. He looked up in time to see the car pulling away. And he laughed. He stood outside, in the light falling snow of the midday sun, and laughed; still incapable of understanding the true essence of what had just happened. He'd passed. He won. It was a christmas miracle; and a whole new swelling of pride. He stopped just long enough to look at the deed she had drawn up. She must have written his name on it before she finished surveying the place; or while he left her in the wine cellar. But there it was. BE IT KNOWN AND PROCLAIMED TO ALL THAT RYAN COLUMBUS KNOX IS RECORDED AS THE TRUE AND LEGAL OWNER OF THE PROPERTY AT 413 RATHEDOWNE LANE AS DESIGNATED BY JAPANESE LEGAL OFFICIAL JESSICA NICOLE WALTERS. It was official. He held the documentation. Hell he had a phone number. He had a PUB! Oh, let champagne fall from the heavens and the gates of happy-town open up wi-.... Wait. Wait a second. "Open it as a pub; and keep it going for at least one year. It's only then that you can keep it." Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He didn't know a damn thing about pubs. Restaurants. Alcohol. [Well, beyond consumption]. Dear God. His mind burst. Running numbers, tables, chairs, parking spaces, cuisines... He needed a calculator. Fast. And an aspirin. Ryan threw the paperwork on the bar, locked up, and bolted off down the road. He needed help; he needed a partner, and there was only one woman in Japan he could trust. Hopefully, she had a calculator. Day 28. Total Earnings; ~$40,932.00 -One-night Mercenary Gig, partnership with Aurora - rescue a kidnapped woman. [40k]. Hung neighbor's Christmas lights. Skim-coated a referrals basement. Oil-change for elderly woman two blocks down. Total Expenses; $ 21,500 Expense List; Furnishing Office [Desk, book-cases, art, decor, books.] Furnishing Apartment - Larger bed, new curtain & curtain rod. Blinds over all windows upstairs. Antique couch, restored. Pots, pans. Food. Coffee-table, more records. Various other items to make the place livable [ $15,000] The X Factor [ $6,500] [I can't tell you what it is, but it cost lots of money.] To-Do; Survive Heart Attack. Figure out how to run a pub. Get a nice, tall drink. |
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