From: albert@bcm.tmc.edu (Rick Jones)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [MC] Rool [Wasters-HQ] Vacation [REPOST]
Date: 12 Jan 1993 18:21:04 GMT
Organization: Baylor College of Medicine
Distribution: world
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Originator: albert@chain.ssctr.bcm.tmc.edu

[ADMIN: There were some garbled lines in the previous post.  Sorry]

	"So where will you go?" asked Scorpion.  He watched her with
nervous eyes.
	"Away, Scorp.  Away from this place.  I dunno.  I've got some
poker winnings saved up.  Maybe I'll go to one of the Specificas."  Rook
wouldn't meet his gaze.  She instead let her eyes wander the familiar War
Room of the Waster's Headquaters.  A large map of Generica adorned one
wall, with various markings and pins sticking in various sites.
	"The Wasters need you."
	"The Wasters is one thing I _need_ to get away from.  Look, you've
got some hot prospects with the gangs and Creft's old crew.  The Wasters
don't need a tired old elven cat-burglar."  She nervously fingered a
silver piece that she had been worrying.
	"Old, eh?"  Scorpion grinned.  "Gee, you don't look over 400. 
Yeah, I've got prospects, but I need people I can trust."  
	"You've got Blink, and Nolrim, and Genvieve too if you can ever find
her.  Heck, if Moriarty can get hired help you can.  Besides, maybe I'll get
bored and come back."  She fiddled with the silver pin over the Dragon's Inn,
then put her hands in her pockets.
	"Well, stay in touch."  Scorpion said gruffly.  
	"You old poop." she inpulsively hugged him.  She slung a pack over
her shoulders, and walked out.


At The East Gate:
	Marcel quickly reached the East Gate.  He nodded to the guardsmen
as he briskly walked through the portcullis.  The small shanty town on the
outskirts of the gates attracted his attention.  He walked over to it.
	/What does a Twine look like, you suppose?/
	[Someone at the end of his rope.]
	Marcel grimaced, and continued looking.  The clearing by the city
walls was packed with merchants and other traders looking to sell their
wares without playing some of the hefty duties the city charged.

	Meanwhile...
	"He ain't so tough," thought Twine "His shinys are all gone. Even
his he does got his sticker.  Stickers don't mean grot nomore.  Funky
clothing, maybe thas what a Magma Verytan wears to meetings.  Good. 
Easier to open up." Twine flexed his fingers, itching to release his
claws.  He leaned up against a the city wall, slyly watching Marcel.
	[Slave, you are not to injure him.] echoed the voice in his head.
	/Yes, Lord Twine./
	Twine's evil grin vanished as he approached Marcel.

	Meanwhile...
	"Oh look, there's the cutie knight," thought Rook.  "I wonder where
he's off to.  I thought he'd have a big warhorse or something.  Oh well."
She looked back at the hostler, "Look, that's a nag there.  It can't be
more than twenty five gold to sell for meat in Low City.  I won't give you
a copper over thirty." Rook sniffed, and then wished she hadn't.  She was
a city elf, and thought all that talk about elves being one with nature
was a load of dragon-droppings.
	"Lass, you wound me.  You're not just getting the horse.  You're
getting the riding equipment, and I do know an excellent provisioner. 
Besides, Am-Whey, the God of Merchants would never let me into his
celestial warehouses if I sold this fine horse for less than forty."  The
merchant slapped at a horsefly with a little whip.
	"And my ancestors would never let me into Arvandor if I get ripped off
for so much. Thirty-Five."
	"Sold."  Rook looked back at Marcel, while reaching for her pouch.
"What the heck?"  She spied Marcel chatting with Twine. 
	"Excuse me, lass?" asked the merchant.
	"Just a minute."  She moved closer to the doorway of the tent. 
Marcel shook Twine's hand, and the two of them started walking away from
town.  "That can't be right."
	"Lass?"
	"Hold that horse.  I just saw an old friend."   Rook replied. 
	"What is a holy knight of somethingorother doing with that rat
bastard Twine?" Rook asked herself.  "Probably suckering the trusting
goober.  So, do I help him or not?"  She fingered the silver piece, then
held it up to the light.  "Heads I help him.  Tails he can handle it
himself."  She tossed the coin into the air, then grabbed it in mid arc
and slapped it down on her other hand.  "Heads.   Your lucky day, Marcel."
-- 
Rick Jones              "People come back from the dead all the time.  I mean,
albert@bcm.tmc.edu       I've come back from the dead.  I bet you have to!"
Systems Support Center  "Well... Yes, I have.  But I AM a professional."
Voice: 713-798-7352          -Rick Jones and Dr Strange, Incredible Hulk #399
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