SpanAir Flight 269 (Madrid to The Edge) settles down on the runway in the clear afternoon sun. The MD-80 scheduled for the trip had been redlined for maintenance at the last minute, and SpanAir had been forced to substitute an Embrair turboprop for the flight across the Med. Even with its much smaller capacity, the aircraft had been no more than half full, but aside from somewhat cramped seating, no in-flight meal, an unscheduled stop in Sicily for more fuel, and an extra three hours added to the flight time things haven't been too bad.
Of course, when you've never flown before, "not too bad" is a relative term. Poor Danielle St. Claire white knuckled it all the way, her heart beating wildly in her chest, her stomach doing flip-flops and her pale white skin turning just the slightest shade of green. She simply doesn't like being this high up and deeply regrets her choice of a window seat instead of an aisle.
The Med was a gorgeous blue, and there had hardly been a cloud in the sky the entire flight. Thus passengers are treated to a stunning view of the mind-wrenching architectural impossibility that is D'Aubainne International Airport. An immense, nine-tiered ziggurat perched insanely upside down, each story larger than the one below it, its featureless surface is exactly the color of polished, gleaming bone. Just looking at it convinces the watchers that it cannot possibly be standing, and must therefore be about to collapse at any instant, burying anyone stupid enough to walk inside under tons of concrete, chrome, and steel.
The sight of this vertigo-inducing building is enough for Dani to shut her window blind tight and beg the stewardess for a Bloody Mary. When asked for identification, Dani is unable to prove herself to be anything but the fifteen year girl she is, and the alcohol-free Virgin Mary she receives, while certainly tasty, does nothing to calm her frayed nerves. As the Embrair begins its final descent, those passengers nearest Miss St. Claire are treated to the teenager's repeated and increasingly fervent prayers to the patron saint of air travellers, Saint Joseph of Cupertino:
"Dear ecstatic Conventual Saint who patiently bore calumnies, your secret was Christ the crucified Savior who said: 'When I will be lifted up I will draw all peoples to myself.' You were always spiritually lifted up. Give aviators courage and protection, and may they always keep in mind your greatly uplifting example. Amen..."
Ingar rises from the row of seats he has occupied at the back of the plane (he needs lots of leg space for his unbending legs, and his smell is likely to ensure that he gets it). He is probably one of the last persons to leave the plane. At the top of the boarding ramp and as the freezes for a while, staring at the Airport building. Ingar's mouth moves silently, and his entire body shivers as he stares at the inverted ziggurat, until somebody gets him to move on. Then he smiles and nods apologetically, shrugs in a way that ought to have pulled his shoulders out of joint, and stumbles down the boarding ramp with his duffel bag around his neck.
Michael stares out the window of the plane, totally absorbed within his own mind. Finally I can make a difference. As the strange structure comes into view, it reminds him of something that he has seen before, from where he comes from.
Michael is different, one could tell that from the start. His hair is wild and shock white; his gray eyes seem to pierce you as if he could read your soul. His voice is sweet but commanding; he wears a silver cross around his neck and has a tendency to twist it in his fingers. His body is well muscled, and when he speaks his words are backed by confidence.
As they walk down the boarding ramp, clutching their carry-ons to their chest, the sight of the Terminal momentarily distracts the first-timers, and they make it to the bottom before they realize that a group of armed individuals awaits at the bottom. Over a dozen armed men and women, dressed identically in dark blue riot gear and carrying submachine guns, watch the passengers disembark. Three dark blue open topped 4-wheel drive jeeps are parked behind them, and next to each jeep is a sign. The signs read, respectively, "Current Visa", "First Time Visitor" and "Terminal Only" in several languages.
As he notices the armed guards, Ingar looks very much like a boy cornered by the school bullies. If his eyes went any wider, they might possibly roll out of his skull. His mouth twitches slightly and he raises his open hands to his chest as if he wishes to shield himself with them.
Breathing deeply now, and on solid ground again, Dani starts to feel a bit more like her old self. The sight of the riot cops is just a little disquieting but she passes the time checking out the tallest of their number, trying to look past the glare from the face guard to see if he's as cute as he looks. My, it's hot out here, isn't it?
The guards at the bottom of the boarding ramp efficiently herd everyone into a tightly packed clump under their watchful gaze, then one steps forward and raises the visor on her helmet. Assuming a parade rest stance snaps out instructions in a bored baritone. Her tone and delivery suggest that she has made this speech many, many times.
As the travellers are herded together, Ingar strives to avoid body contact with anybody, or otherwise inconvenience anybody in any way.
"ATTENTION! WELCOME TO AL AMARJA! IN JUST A MOMENT YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION FOR YOUR PRELIMINARY INTERVIEW! HER EXALTEDNESS MONIQUE D'AUBAINNE WISHES TO REMIND YOU OF CERTAIN FACTS BEFORE THIS INTERVIEW TAKES PLACE!
Dani makes an irritated face and covers an ear. Why all the shouting?
"NUMBER ONE: FIREARMS ARE ILLEGAL ON AL AMARJA! PENALTIES FOR VIOLATION ARE SEVERE! IF YOU HAVE BROUGHT A FIREARM INTO AL AMARJA, PLEASE TURN IT OVER TO A MEMBER OF THE PEACE FORCE AT THIS TIME!"
"NUMBER TWO: ALL INTOXICANTS GENERALLY ILLEGAL IN THE CIVILIZED WORLD ARE ILLEGAL HERE ON AL AMARJA! IF YOU HAVE BROUGHT WITH YOU ANY ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES, YOU ARE URGED IN THE STRONGEST POSSIBLE TERMS ON BEHALF OF HER EXALTEDNESS MONIQUE D'AUBAINNE TO DISPOSE OF THEM IMMEDIATELY! FAILURE TO DO SO MAY RESULT IN DENIAL OF YOUR VISA AND EXPULSION FROM AL AMARJA!"
"NUMBER THREE: THE USE OF PSYCHIC POWERS ON THE ISLAND OF AL AMARJA ARE STRICTLY CONTROLLED!" "Psychic powers?" everyone thinks, "Whatinthehell??" "IF YOU HAVE, OR BELIEVE YOU HAVE PSYCHIC POWERS OF ANY SORT, YOU ARE INSTRUCTED IN THE STRONGEST POSSIBLE TERMS TO INFORM YOUR CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION CASEWORKER ABOUT THEM DURING YOUR INTERVIEW! FAILURE TO DO SO IS A VIOLATION OF AL AMARJAN LAW, AND MAY RESULT IN EXPULSION OR IMPRISONMENT!"
Dani barely manages to suppress a giggle. Psychic powers, eh? We're a looooong way from home now, that's for sure!
The woman turns and nods to the guards, and six of them drop out of the formation surrounding the passengers and move to stand next to the jeeps.
"YOU WILL NOW BE TAKEN TO CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION FOR YOUR INTERVIEWS! THOSE WITH CURRENT AL AMARJAN VISAS, PLEASE FORM A GROUP BESIDE THE VEHICLE ON THE LEFT! THOSE INTENDING TO VISIT THE TERMINAL ONLY, PLEASE FORM A GROUP BY THE VEHICLE IN THE CENTER! FIRST TIME VISITORS AND THOSE WITHOUT A CURRENT VISA, PLEASE FORM A GROUP BY THE VEHICLE ON THE RIGHT!"
The guards, like sheep dogs, efficiently and quickly sort passengers into their groups, and the first-time visitors find themselves standing by the jeep on the right. "PLACE YOUR CARRY ON LUGGAGE IN THE REAR OF THE VEHICLE! PLACE YOUR CARRY ON LUGGAGE IN THE REAR OF THE VEHICLE!" shouts one of the guards over and over with a thick Al Amarjan accent.
Dani's backpack goes to the rear of the vehicle but she keeps her purse if she can. They don't want the purse too, do they?
One of the guards leers at Dani (an impressive feat considering that the reflective Plexiglas riot face shield still covers his features). "Everything but your passport, sweetheart." he says.
Once they have assured themselves that this instruction has been obeyed, the two guards climb into the front of the jeep, and one switches on a flashing yellow light attached to the rear.
Those near Ingar can hear him mutter: "I am sure we all respect your authority, so a this show of force and drill-ground shouting is somewhat unneccessary, and even slightly discomforting. I think that you should reflect on whether this constant yelling is a way to compensate for personal insecurity, and whether you might achieve your goals more easily by a more friendly approach." Then he catches sight of the ziggurat again and shuts up for a while.
"FOLLOW THIS VEHICLE TO YOUR PROCESSING AREA! FOLLOW THIS VEHICLE TO YOUR PROCESSING AREA!" the driver shouts and pulls away fast enough to force the group to trot over the tarmac to follow.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Dani can be heard to complain.
While Ingar has no trouble keeping pace with the other passengers' jogging, he looks damn silly doing so, and if they are pushed too tightly together, he is likely to knock someone over. While he does not sweat, his smell seems to grow worse with the exertion and the heat.
After an "invigorating" quarter-mile jog, the group pulls up in front of "The Terminal", which looms over their heads like a frozen avalanche of concrete and chrome, still defying the laws of both physics and sanity. The guards hop out, and one gestures passengers back from the carry-on luggage by waving his submachine gun eloquently.
"YOUR CARRY-ON LUGGAGE WILL BE PROCESSED BY CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION AND RETURNED TO YOU FOLLOWING YOUR INTERVIEW! PROCEED INSIDE! PROCEED INSIDE!
The travelers quickly sort themselves into two groups, one in front of each of the two guards. One group gets the driver with the thick Al Amarjan accent. "FOLLOW ME!" he bellows and marches them all through a door.
"I think I'm going deaf from all the shouting," Dani grumbles to no one in particular.
As they disembark, Michael notices the young girl and notes how she kept looking at the sky. He also notices how the giant keeps trying to avoid people as if he was afraid to hurt them. As Michael takes in all this information, he bareley hears the man shouting orders and only follows by instinct alone.
Inside, everything is the same, polished bone color as the exterior of the Terminal, broken only by areas of gleaming chrome. Nothing appears to have any sharp edges, everything is rounded and flowing, making it hard to judge where the wall ends and the floor begins, or the exact distance from A to B. Very soft music plays in the background, just beyond the attention of the conscious mind, and the climate is so controlled that one would bet money that it never alters by more than a single degree.
Dani pulls out a stick of gum, unwraps it and pops it in her mouth. She chews it thoughtfully, glancing around the environment with a distracted, vaguely worried look in her eyes.
Ingar wobbles through the terminal building with a look of acute fright on his face, his upper body is hunched down in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. However, he does not seem to find the terminal architecture the least bit disorienting.
The guard motions with his free hand. "Step into the elevator. You will be taken to C&I for your interview. Please step into the elevator."
With that, he leads the travelers to a nigh-invisible door in the far wall, and manipulates one of the bits of chrome next to it. Moments later the door opens onto a large elevator, again the color of bone and chrome. The group gets in, the doors close, and the elevator rises. Ingar presses his body into one corner of the elevator, trying to avoid gettingt in anybody's way, a shy smile on his face. The doors open onto a small waiting room, featureless except for a dozen post-modern chairs.
The room is featureless in that way that only rooms in dreams or nightmares
are usually featureless. There is no sound but that which the various
people in the room make themselves, and even that is strangely muffled.
Dani tests the acoustics by whistling a tune from the latest "Nine Inch Nails" CD. The acoustics are flat. The walls seem to absorb sound. Or devour it. Kinda creepy really, particularly when Dani notices that the muzak is playing a NIN piece.
Dani glances at the other newcomers to Al Amarja, saying nothing for a time. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out three sticks of cinnamon-flavored chewing gum. "Gum?" she offers. "Yes? No? My name's Danielle, but hey, call me Dani. It's my first time here."
Dani is a fresh-faced teenage girl with blonde hair (currently pulled back in a pony tail) and rather innocent-looking hazel eyes. She stands about 5'2" tall and you'd be surprised if she weighed more than 110 lbs. Her accent sounds American (maybe somewhere on the East Coast?) She's wearing a FUBU cropped waist cinching sweater and sand blasted denim hot pants. She's cute. She needs a sun-tan. Right now, she smells faintly of cinammon.
"Thank you very much young lady," Ingar says "I would just love a stick of chewing gum." Ingar's voice is soft, deep and guttural, and he seems unable to talk at a stable pitch. He smiles widely at young Dani (who is about a yard shorter than him and about one third his weight) and carefully takes a stick of gum between the thumb and index finger of his gigantic right hand. "My name, by the way, is Ingar Forn. You may have some trouble pronouncing that correctly, but I won't mind - are you here on a holiday?"
"Holiday? I wish!" complains vivacious Dani, looking up at the soft-spoken yet stinky giant with a friendly (if somewhat cautious) expression. "Do you know there's a prison on this island where people torture you with meaningless tasks for years and years until you feel like you're going crazy with boredom? It's true! They call this place: 'high school.' And I've got a three year sentence, lucky me."
Speaking in a fast-paced guttural rumble, Ingar says, "Well, I must say that I rather enjoyed going away to high school in my time. But then again, I was in rebellion against my parents and their ways, I was living near the Arctic in a settlement with about 200 inhabitants - I would have gone anywhere to get away, really. But as I hope that your childhood was more happy than mine, I would advice you to concentrate on the positive aspects of your future. You get to spend years in the sunny Mediterranean area, and your education will hopefully help you realize more of your human potential, preparing you for further education leading to an interesting and rewarding job. And if the worst come to the worst, remember that boredom is not the worst thing that can happen to a human."
"I don't know," Dani answers. "Boredom's pretty bad."
Ingar occationally looks at Dani, his smile widening a bit for her, but narrowing again as he looks at the surrounding room and as his gaze skirts around Michael's edges.
Michael politely declines Dani's offer, then turning to face everyone he says, " My name is Michael; since it seems that we may be here or a short time, why don't we get to know each other. We should introduce ourselves and then say why we are all here -- how's that sound?" Michael waits for a response
Dani speaks up a little for Michael's benefit -- it's possible he didn't catch her name the first time. "Like I said, I'm Danielle and I'm here for boarding school. It's this whole exchange program dealie. I won't bore you with the details because... well... they're pretty darn boring. So what do you do, Michael? Why are you here?"
Ingar Forn seems unwilling to make eye contact with, or even look directly at, Michael, rather keeping his eyes on the walls of the room. Ingar shifts his weight from side to side as he speaks, rather quickly: "Hello, Michael. I'm sorry if you did not get my name. I am Ingar Forn, and I am a Norwegian psychologist. I'm here on a holiday, sort of." The last word is followed by a deep intake of breath.
"Oh, you're a shrink!" exclaims Dani. "Cool beans. Now is it the psychologist who can prescribe drugs and the psychiatrist who can't? Or is it the other way around? I always get those two confused."
"The psychiatrist can prescribe drugs. I can't. I can simply ask a psychiatrist to prescribe some for a patient of mine, though. But really, I feel that drugs are used to excess in treatment of mental cases. One should treat the cause of illness, not the symptoms. Psychoactive drugs -always- have side effects. For instance, benzodiazepines - tranquillizers such as valium - have sudden death as a possible withdrawal syndrome. Apart from that, it impairs mental and psychmotor functioning, can lead to dependence and..."
Ingar can't help but note that a glazed look has come to Dani's hazel eyes.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Here you are, your last precious hours before going to school, and I am boring you with a lecture."
"That's okay, I'm used to people lecturing me," the teenager breezily replies. "Of course, it's usually not about benzo... er... benzodiaz... you know, the valium thingee. Heh. Some nights my Mom would pop valium and we'd say she was 'sleeping with Prince Valium.' You know, like 'Prince Valiant?' Yeah, kind of a stupid pun, the more I think about it. Oh well."
Michael watches the exchange between the giant and the young girl. In response to Dani's question, he thinks for a minute and then answers. "I am here on what you might call buisness. I will be staying at the local Catholic school. And its a pleasure to meet both of you." Michael strokes his chi rubbing the wistful beginings of a goatee.
"A pleasure to meet you too, Michael," nods Ingar, still not looking directly at the man. "Perhaps you will be staying at the same school, then?"
"I'd bet twenty Hail Marys on it," replies Dani, eyes just now taking in the cross around Michael's neck. "Tell me, Mike, is it St. Dymphna's?"
Griffon enters the room, and sits in one of the chairs. He says "G'day" to anyone who happens to say anything to him, but otherwise sits in the chair with his hat over his eyes, and his arms crossed.
"Yes, Dani, that is the school." Just then Michael notices the other gentleman in the room; an eriee feeling settles over him and he becomes lost in deep tought.
"I knew it!" Dani exclaims. "A good thing, too. Those Hail Marys can get sooooo boring! Anyway, I think someone from St. Dymphna's is supposed to meet me here." She looks around for this person to absolutely no avail, then checks her day-glo Swatch watch for the current time. "Well, maybe they're going to meet me in baggage claim," she frowns. "Maybe."
The chatty teenager then notices Michael's lost-in-deep-thought expression and decides to leave him alone for now.
Griffon is wearing a worn black leather forager vest, a white short sleeve button up shirt, a pair of khaki cargo shorts, and a a set of polished black pair of combat boots. He's short (about 5'8") and looks fairly muscular. When he enters the room he is very graceful, though his movements are slightly exaggerated, and faster than they need to be. He immediately starts to dose when his hat drops over his eyes.
Something about this rude display of indifference (or is it merely narcolepsy?) invites young Dani's attention. Crouching down and tilting her head to try and catch a peek of the fellow who hides behind his hat, she greets Griffin in a cheery but atrociously bad Australian accent. "G'day, mate! Ow-yar-goin? Strewth! Ya got tickets on ya'self, don'tcha? Hoo-roo!"
He reaches up with one hand and lifts his hat off of his eyes for a moment. He's smiling, showing nice teeth.
Meeting his eyes, Dani smiles back (another flash of nice teeth), being friendly and yes, maybe a little flirtatious, though she doesn't say anything more.
He chuckles to himself for a moment, then lowers his hat again, giving a VERY relaxed air.
Dani resists the sudden impulse to grab the hat from his head and start playing frisbee with it ("Go long, Ingar!"), instead deciding to leave him be for now. After all, he probably needs that hat to keep his oh-my-God-what-died-on-your-head? bad hair day from permanently blinding everyone in the room.
She stands back up and shrugs. "Well, that exhausted all my Aussie slang," she complains to no one in particular, the slightest ghost of a smile playing on her pretty face as she pops another stick of cinammon gum.
"Funny thing about Saint Dymphna," she offers between noisy chews, turning her attention back to the only awkward-looking giant in the room, "I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure she's the patron saint of psychologists. Among other things. I'm guessing you're not Catholic, Ingar?"
"No, I am no Catholic. I subscribe to the tenets of enlightened humanism. As a matter of fact I am somewhat opposed to all theistic religions. When it comes to gods, I believe that the best thing you can do is to be quiet and try to avoid drawing their attention to yourself. The tales of gods were written in blood," his gaze grows somewhat glazed over, "and when gods are sighted, carnage and despair is sure to follow..." shaking his head brusquely he begins speaking very quickly.
"This-of-course-is-solely-my-personal-opinion-which-I-hope-that-you-do-not-find- offensive-in-any-way," slowing down somewhat, "as Maslow and others have pointed out, religion can be an important part of self-development and suchlike."
Danielle listens thoughtfully, furrowing her brow at Ingar's heartfelt (if paranoid) words, her expression somewhat hard to read.
"I'm not offended, Ingar," she begins, measuring her words carefully. "Everyone's entitled their own opinion. I'm not totally sure by what you mean by 'enlightened', but if that means being the best 'humanist' you can be, I think that's great. Just like I should be the best Catholic I can be. We're all on different paths. The only difference is my path leads to Heaven while you're going straight to Hell."
She pauses dramatically, then breaks into a big smile. "Kidding! I'm kidding! The only people going to Hell are me, myself and I for making jokes like that, believe you me! More gum?"
She offers him another stick.
To pass the time, Dani checks her nails and goes back to whistling the
chorus of that NIN song, double-checking the acoustics in the room and
grooving to the surprisingly good muzak they're playing here in Al Amarja...
She is startled to notice that the tune immediately fades into silence.
It is then that she discovers that the acoustics in this room are really
horrible - the walls seem to eat sound, so that everything sounds completely
flat.
"Mr. Griffon Kyle? Your caseworker is ready. Please follow me."
Griffon stands, and walking easily follows the man. He smiles at the girl briefly before leaving the room.
Dani returns the smile but it's not an easy smile; something about the situation has distressed her a bit. "Um... good luck," she offers as Griffon takes his leave.
The section of wall swings shut, appearing to merge flawlessly with the whole, leaving no seam.
The fact that more or less normal people do enter through doors seems to have relaxed Ingar a bit.
Dani immediately turns to Michael and Ingar. "No, no, no, no, no. This is totally wack. We're waiting here like chickenheads for what, an hour now? And Mr. Backstreet Boy from Down Under --"
Ingar finally stops his restless surveillance and looks disbelieving at Dani, his lips stretching out into a huge smile showing too many and too elongated teeth.
"-- shows up for five seconds and before you can say 'It's Australian for rude,' bang, he's getting processed?"
At this point, Ingar crouches forwards, and starts laughing with a wheezing laugh (pretty much like Muttley from "Wacky Races" and other, equally bad cartoons), which is little more than breathing very loudly. He turns a bit away from Dani and Michael to avoid exhaling towards them.
She steps up to the section of wall that opened and thumps it with her fist. "I call shenanigans!" she yells.
Ingar wheezes more strongly.
Eventually, Ingar stops laughing, and straightens up somewhat. He is still smiling. He wipes his eyes with his left index finger. His expression is so genuinely friendly that it just about makes up for a physiology that seems to have started out on the evolutionary track and kind of lost its way and then have been run over by a truck. "Oh, Danielle, you really are quite funny. I haven't laughed this much in a long time. You must allow me to buy you a refreshment when we get out of here - Whenever that may be."
"Cool beans," chirps Dani, very happy to have found a friend here in this home away from home, even if the friend is a little on the freakishly big, neurotic side.
He then whispers to himself: "Laatten har sanneleg ein stress-dempande effekt - med mindre ein lir av amyotrofisk lateral sklerose - og laatten er menneskeaettas triumf, kven har vel hoeyrt om ein leande gud? Dette maa eg skriva ned!"1 He pulls out a leatherbound notebook and quickly scribbles a note with a Parker pen.
Putting pen and notebook back into a pocket he then says, "But really, Dani, you should give the C&I workers the benefit of doubt. Perhaps the Australian gentleman was known to be in a rush, or they had some other good reason to let him go first. Or perhaps it was just a mistake..."
"Yeah," says Dani, acknowledging the possibilities without looking particularly convinced by any of them.
"... Either way, there is nothing one can do about it."
"Sure there is. One can... pound one the walls!" she says, thumping the defenseless wall once again and noticing the dull, muted sound the impact makes.
"I guess we should do something to pass time," continues Ingar. "I did have a travelling chess in my hand luggage, but, having turned that over to the customs, I guess that we have little else to do but talk."
Dani blows a bubble. "Probably just as well. I can't play chess to save my life. Dad tried to teach me but it's pretty hopeless. I play a mean game of checkers though." Here she mimes a piece making multiple jumps to the back row.
The gigantic shrink replies "Oh, but I had checker pieces as well. I am afraid that my life is not fit for producing entertaining anecdotes, but perhaps you or Michael has something interesting to share?"
"Well," the teen starts, with a questioning look at Michael. With no story immediately forthcoming from him, she continues: "Let's see. An anecdote. Hmm. Okay, well there was this one time, it was like nine-thirty, and the stoner kids in my class spiked the substitute teacher's coffee with... gosh, well I think it must have been LSD, because she jumped up on her desk, pointed right at my friend Suzi (who didn't have anything to do with it!) then jumped off and started running around the classroom, spitting and yelling, 'I found the spiders! I found the spiders!' while flapping her arms like a chicken trying to fly. It was scary at the time. Now I guess it's kind of funny. The police came and hauled her away; we got out of classes early; there was this big-ass investigation and the principal called a school assembly to try and get to the bottom of it but for some stupid reason they never caught the guys responsible."
"That is just too bad. Whoever did that must really have needed help and understanding. How did the poor teacher cope?... This event must have been rather traumatic for you as well, right?"
"Well... weird, yes. But traumatic? I'm not sure. I guess so. What do you consider traumatic, Ingar?" Dani wants to know.
"Something traumatic is something that puts one into a state of emotional shock. I am glad to hear that you coped so well."
"Thanks! But... er... how do we know I'm not still in a state of emotional shock? I mean, seriously, how do we really know for sure? Maybe I'm back in that assembly, totally shocked-like, just imagining that I'm here talking to you. And then maybe the assembly will end and all this will suddenly disappear!" Dani pauses for dramatic effect, then starts humming the theme to "The Twilight Zone" before breaking into a smile.
Danielle shakes her head at the thought, reminisicing, then relates the incident in greater detail if Ingar shows interest in the subject matter.
Ingar nods. "Oh. I see. I am glad that you shared this with
us."
Dani does a classic doubletake, unable to wrap her mind around the geometry of this befuddling place. Hell, if she understood geometry, she wouldn't have earned that C- last semester.
"Ms. Danielle St. Claire? Ms. Danielle St. Claire, please follow me for your C&I interview."
"Guess the squeaky wheel gets the grease," comments the cinammon-scented teen with a friendly wink at Ingar and Michael. "Wish me luck," she adds before following the C&I officer out of the waiting area and into places unknown.
Ingar's mirth implodes into nothingness, and with a small wave, he calls "Good luck, Dani. I hope we'll meet again later" to Dani in a cheery yet insecure voice, as the door seamlessly closes.
"Gum?" Dani can be heard to say as the door seals behind her.
Moments later, once again a section of the wall swings open, and once again it is a different section from previously, though only seconds have passed. Once again the same C&I officer with the clipboard steps through.
Ingar looks at the C&I officer with growing apprehension.
"Michael? Saint Michael the archangel defend us in battle; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, o Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell the Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world, for the ruin of souls. Please follow me to your C&I interview. Amen."
The statement is uttered completely without feeling or emotion - he might as well be quoting from the tax code.
Somewhere early in this monologue, Ingar suddenly and quietly puts a few metres more between him and Michael and the officer. In all likelihood the two others in the room have their attention on each other and only spot the movement at the periphery of their field of vision.
As he comes to a halt, his upper body is bent forwards, his arms are pulled back and his hands are held up in front of him as if to push something away, and he leans forwards, standing on the foremost part of his feet. His eyes are wide open and his pupils are dilated.
Ingar speaks in a deep, guttural bass (as in "distant thunder"), in a shaky voice, and stuttering a bit: "Y-you really shouldn't m-make j-jokes like that, y-y-ou know. P-please don't do that."
The C&I agent, oblivious to Ingar's comments, pauses a moment. When there is no further reaction from anyone he eyes Ingar mournfully (ignoring the unresponsive Michael).
"Are you Michael? Saint Michael the archangel? Defend us in battle; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, o Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell the Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world, for the ruin of souls. Your case worker is waiting. Please follow me for your interview. Amen."
"Waiting" and "interview" are stressed the way one might stress words when speaking with a particularly dim four-year-old.
Ingar points frantically at Michael, saying: "No, no. I am Dr. Psychol. Ingar Forn!" pronouncing the punctation marks clearly and distinctly.
Upon hearing Ragnar's statement, the man turns his mournful look towards Michael. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a small tuning pipe, and blows a C-sharp, then begins to chant.
"Eee Nu Rah
Eee Nu Rah
Eee Nu Rah
Zay"
He pauses for a moment, checking to see if there is any reaction whatsoever. When there is still no sign of activity, a frown crosses his previously bored expression.
"Listen pal! You may have nothing better to do than hang around this waiting room until the trumpet blows, but us working folks have jobs to do. Just because you are foremost of the seven archangels, leader of the host of heaven, chief of the order of virtues, Prince of the presence, angel of repentance, righteousness, mercy and sanctification, and ruler of the 4th Heaven, don't think that cuts you any slack around here! The Chaldeans may have worshiped you as a god, but do I look like a Chaldean? Well, do I? You supernatural forces are all alike - good or evil you're always trouble for the working man! Now move your ass into the office for your interview or I'll have your feathery butt on the next damned flight to Magog!"
Michael finally comes out of his trance-like state and looks to Ingar
and the C&I worker. "Ingar, calm down, the man is just playing
around. I am no angel, as you can see." Then, turning
to the loud obnoxious man, Michael states clearly and loudly: "I am ready
to see this case worker." He turns and walks throught the door.
To Be Continued...