China Doll

## Meta

**Timing:** spanning Blossom and Button's 2026 visit to Sydney

**Setting:** the Fitzroy residence; the airport; the area of The Village

## Revised & Expanded Text

""Jimmi!""

Jimmi huffs. "What!"

""Get down here! We've got work!""

She rolls her eyes—

You mean /**I've** got work, old man.

—sighs, trumps down the stairs, shtumps to the den.

There's Dad, bare feet up on the desk (ick).

And there's the client, who's moved a visitor's chair so their back's against the wall (smart).

"Jimmi, meet Logan Jones. Logan, my associate, Jimmi Fitzroy, Junior."

Oh. That explains the savvy.

"Hey," greets Jimmi, nodding and flopping into the other visitor's chair.

Logan 'Buttercup' Jones: ex-Jaeger pilot, king of the Sydney fight scene for over a decade before that.

Dad took her to the fights one night to see him.

Buttercup was from a different /**planet** than the rest of the 'fighters'. Just disassembled them. Even she could see how he toyed with most of them and she was /**fourteen.**

He bobs his head, passes Jimmi a thick packet.

She digs in.

He says, "I'm doing close coverage for a couple overseas guests and my client wants someone to keep an eye on our perimeter." Smirks. "Figured I'd throw some work your way."

Jimmi huffs, shuffles papers (hand signals, code words, itinerary, et cetera, et cetera), scans the pictures. "Who are they?"

"Just a mum and anklebiter from China here on vacation, not doing anything sketchy." Flicks his eyes to Dad. "I remember your rules."

Dad grunts approval.

Jimmi raises a eyebrow. "If they're just tourists, why do they need us?"

"'parently, the Defense Corps thinks they're worth something." Buttercup shrugs.

"Defense Corps?" Dad's feet hit the floor. "You want to hold off the Defense Corps with two people."

"If everything goes right, the Corps won't even notice they're here. If things go wrong, we've got heavy backup." Grins, all teeth.

"You've got connections who can take down Jaegers?"

Shrugs again. "Don't think they've tried, but I wouldn't bet against them."

Dad whistles.

Buttercup looks to Jimmi. "You still up for it?"

"What's the duration and pay?"

"Four days and there's an account slip for half in there—" Points his chin at the envelope. "—somewhere."

Jimmi finds it, reads. Re-reads. Keeps her face very neutral. "Yea, that's good enough."

Buttercup smirks.

Asshole.

"The other half'll appear in there when the job's done."

"Any do's and [don'ts] for me?" asks Jimmi.

"Find the mobile?"

There it is!

"Only one you'll carry on the job and's just for work. First contact is me, send pictures of sorts you wanna run to the second, third calls in the nuclear strike."

"Can I use it to check in with the old man?"

"Oi!"

"Go for it. That's work, ain't it?" Leans back. "Surprised it isn't a full-time job, considering his age."

Jimmi snorts, bookmarks a some plastic with her thumb.

Dad leans across his desk, wags a finger at Buttercup. "You best watch yourself, Scarecrow. This 'old man' could still show you a thing or two."

Jimmi blinks.

That's ... awfully familiar of him.

Buttercup raises a very patronizing eyebrow, fishes in a pocket. "Well, I could really use some help programming my mobile if you're—"

"That's more my thing," interrupts Jimmi.

"Don't you start, too, Junior!"

Buttercup snorts.

"Corps ID?" Jimmi turns over the plastic.

"A little something I found in my luggage when I moved out." Grins mischievously. "You never know, could come in handy." [1]

"Mm-hmm."

"Anything else?"

"Nah, I'm good," says Jimmi.

"Awe/**some**." Stands. "Then I won't see you at the airport tomorrow morning." Bows.

Jimmi bobs her head.

"Jimmy," he says, bowing more deeply to Dad—

Dad flicks a salute.

—stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I'll see myself out." Saunters from the room.

Jimmi gives the ID another look over.

Door opens.

Door closes.

Tucks it and the papers back in the envelope, leans back. "So how do you know Buttercup Jones?"

Dad rubs his neck. "I've run into him a few times over the years. First time he's come to me with a job, though."

"Sounded a bit friendlier than that."

Dad shrugs. "A job's a job. We do the job—"

"—and then we get paid," finishes Jimmi.

.

Bright and early the next morning, Jimmi stops in front of the couch. "I'm off."

"Break legs, Junior."

Fistbump.

Leathers zipped, gauntlets up, helmet on; she's on her bike flying to the airport.

.

Jimmi parks and strolls to a kiosk in Arrivals, buys a bottle of water, some antacids, some peanuts. Pulls out the new mobile, plays at taking a panorama to scan the space.

No idea /**how** Dad did this before mobiles. So damn convenient for surveillance.

A tide of Chinese off the flight from Shanghai wash through on their way to baggage claim.

No one's acting like a troublemaker, so she settles on a comfy-sorta chair, nibbles some nuts, sends the first check-in text to Dad.

An anklebiter shrieks—

Jimmi lifts her eyes, not her head.

That's /**the** anklebiter.

—flies across the space, straight into Buttercup's arms, latches onto him with all the determination of a facehugger.

That's ... weird.

Jimmi shakes her head. None of her business.

China Doll skids up.

Buttercup introduces China Doll and the anklebiter to a grandmotherly type, the newcomers part for a trip to the washroom, and then the happy family-ish set out into the city.

Jimmi follows at a discreet distance.

.

China Doll, AB, Buttercup, and the occasional friend pretty much stick to area between Buttercup's flat, the grandmother's flat, and Buttercup's brother's house. They go to the park, to local restaurants, a trip or two to the shops. It's so boringly normal Jimmi could cry.

In fact, absolutely nothing remotely interesting happens until Day Three.

Around lunchtime a black ute with deep tint and diplomatic plates double-parks in front of the grocer's, half a block from Jimmi's lookout at the corner café.

The Troublemaker working the day shift—

Yea, the Corps people tailing China Doll worked standard shifts.

—sneaks up behind China Doll and Buttercup as they stroll to the park, AB nestled in Buttercup's arms.

The ute's between them and Jimmi and the Troublemaker's closing in.

Jimmi jumps to her feet, flashes Buttercup the signs for 'enemy behind' and 'vehicle'—

Buttercup whispers something China Doll's ear, passes her AB, maintains their course and pace like nothing's going wrong.

—darts past them on the street side, plants herself directly in Troublemaker's path. "What're you doing?" she hisses. "What. Are. You. Doing."

Troublemaker freezes, searches Jimmi's face. "Wha—?"

Gotcha.

"You're just supposed to watch them, Officer! Not collect them!" [2]

"But the pl—" Troublemaker narrows their eyes. "Who are you?"

Jimmi flashes the ID from Buttercup's packet. "Doctor Kenniff, Drift Science. The plan's ob-ser-va-tion. Did you sleep through the briefing?"

Troublemaker takes a step back, makes a placating gesture. "Sorry, Doctor."

"I'm still calling you in." Jimmi yanks out her mobile, strides off, barking orders. She throws a disparaging glare over her shoulder.

Troublemaker slinks into the ute and it drives off. If they're stupid enough to try something Buttercup'll handle them.

Sure, he's old and beat up—a hitch from a bad knee and he keeps rolling a gitchy shoulder—but even an old and beat up Buttercup Jones could wipe out these dumbasses.

Jimmi gets her eyes back on China Doll within five seconds, slows to a casual stroll.

Everything goes back to boring.

.

China Doll and AB are on their plane back to China, none the worse for their Sydney vacation.

Jimmi smiles at their backs, dumps the mobile in a trash bin, strolls to a Departures area kiosk, picks out a bottle of water, some gum, a candy bar.

The barest brush to her arm.

She pulls some cash from her jacket pocket along with a slip of paper that wasn't there before.

Jimmi unfolds the note.

- Good show yesterday, AACTA-class -

Jimmi shakes her head, hands payment to the cashier, tucks the stuff into a jacket pocket, turns the note over.

- Your dad would've just hit 'em. Ask him about the 'Donut' job -

Jimmi grins, makes for home.

.

[1] Logan stole the ID from one of the doctors doing his post-war psych examination. It wouldn't work to get Jimmi into the 'Dome because Doctor Kenniff would have a new one with a different code, but it's good enough to bluff for a moment.

[2] Jimmi recognizes the setup as one for an abduction and some of the briefing materials Logan gave her discussed the possibility of a kidnapping attempt.

## Original Text

Jimmi sticks her head in the den. "I'm off."

"Break legs, Junior," replies Jimmy.

Fistbump.

Leathers zipped, gauntlets up, helmet on; she's on her bike flying to the airport.

Jimmi strolls to an Arrivals kiosk, buys a bottle of water, some antacids, some peanuts. Pulls out her mobile, plays at taking a panorama to scan the space.

No idea /**how** Dad did this before mobiles. So damn convenient for distance--

Ah. /**That's** why Jimmi's doing distance work.

Logan 'Buttercup' Jones.

Former Jaeger pilot, decade-long king of the Sydney fight scene.

Sure, he's old and beat up--a hitch from a bad knee and he keeps rolling a gitchy shoulder--but even [an old and] beat up Buttercup Jones [could] wipe out anyone stupid enough to try.

China Doll must be damn valuable to someone. Buttercup /**can't** come cheap. Jimmi knows /**she** doesn't.

She settles on a comfy-sorta chair, nibbles some nuts, sends the first check-in text to Dad.

A tide of Chinese off the flight from Shanghai wash through on their way to baggage claim.

Anklebiter shrieks, flies across the space--

Straight into Buttercup's arms.

--latches onto him like a facehugger.

That's ... weird.

China Doll skids up.

Jimmi shakes her head. None of her business.

Greetings exchanged with a grandmotherly type, a trip to the washroom, and their little parade sets off into the city.

.

Something finally bothers happening on Day Three.

A black ute, deep tint, diplomatic plates--

Uh oh.

--double parks in front of the grocer's.

Swing Shift Trouble--

Yea, these Corps spooks work shifts; Christ, they're boring.

--sneaks closer to China Doll and AB on their park run.

Buttercup's on close duty, but's got his arms full of AB.

Trouble closes the gap.

Gotta--

Jimmi wings a pebble from the gutter--

Buttercup flinches, glances over his shoulder.

::Enemy,:: signs Jimmi. ::Vehicle.:: Keeps moving up on Trouble.

Buttercup turns, leans down to China Doll, passes over AB.

They head off the back way to the Ranger enclave and reinforcements.

Show time.

"/**You!**" she screams, charges-- >Jimmi's screaming at the PPDC people?<

Trouble freezes, looks around wildly.

Gotcha, ye amateur.

--right into Trouble's face. "You forget the protective order /**already**?! Fifty meters, a--hole!"

"Wha--"

Bang (ankle), bang (knee), bang (inner thigh), down goes Trouble in a clutching, gasping heap.

"I'm calling you in!" [Jimmi yanks out her mobile, strides off (parallel to China Doll, of course), barking orders.]

In her peripheral, Trouble's friends pile out of the ute to leave no comrade behind.

/**Total** amateurs.

Other peripheral: Buttercup and China Doll and AB make the turn into the next street.

Jimmi gets eyes back [on within five seconds, slows to a casual stroll.]

China Doll, AB, and Buttercup step through the back gate into Fort Ranger.

Best case for Trouble trying to make a move now?

Three former Rangers: Jones, Jones, and Hansen.

Really bad case?

Five of 'em: Jones, Jones, Hansen, Egan, Macrossan.

Almost enough to make Jimmi shiver.

She takes a meandering route to the corner cafe, plonks at a table.

Sends the update to Dad.

Snaps a selfie, tucks the mobile in a jacket pocket.

The barest brush to her arm.

Mobile chimes.

Pulls it out along with a slip of paper that wasn't there before.

Dad's reply.

He can wait a minute.

Jimmi unfolds the note.

- Nice job on the morning shift a--hole, but don't ever clip me again -

How the--?

A glass of lemonade appears.

Jimmi turns.

Buttercup, smirking.

Jimmi bristles.

A--hole.

He raises an eyebrow.

Jimmi allows herself a grin. "Learned that strike pattern watching you /**yonks** ago."

Buttercup shrugs. "Just put my own flair on something I stole from a geezer I saw when I first hit town." Turns, strolls off.

"/**You** stole from another fighter," scoffs Jimmi.

Stops, throws a look over his shoulder. "I'm a thief, ay?"

Jimmi snorts. "Hard to believe a legend like you didn't drop outta the sky."

Rolls his eyes. "Got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Why's your old man know so much about the fight scene?" Waves absently, saunters away.

Jimmi blinks.

Oh, no /**way** ....