In the Brinker House

Conversation with Tiffany

At the end, Tiffany announces that it is time for her to "chat with her friends." She does a little Betty Boop shake with her hips and settles into an easy chair.  "Hi Ingar," she says cheerily.  "What's up big boy?"

"Hi, Tiffany. What a mightily fine show.  'Up' is 'To, toward, or in a more elevated position', I think...  Deeply troubled people have been rather violent, and I am a bit worried about them and Dani.  But, really, what manner of show is this?"

"It's a dangerous world, big boy," says Tiffany.  "As to what sort of show it is, it's a cartoon show, silly!  Right now its broadcast all over Al Amarja, and with luck it will be syndicated to Europe in the near future."  She winks.

Ingar blinks in confusion.  "But how are you capable of responding to my queries in a coherent manner, being a cartoon character?"

Tiffany smiles - it's a really cute smile.  "Don't stereotype me in with the Powerpuff Girls, big boy."

"Never in a thousand years, my dear.  But how could anybody outside this room know what I am saying?"

"I'm not outside this room, now am I?" Tiffany replies.

"Is there some kind of surveillance equipment in the room?"

"There's a TV set - that's close enough if you know what I mean," replies Tiffany.

"No, I am afraid I do not. Are you saying that this TV is an independent computer, a weak AI or something?"

"If that's a multiple choice question, I would have to say 'something'," replies Tiffany sweetly.

"What is something, then?  And why does Anoop Varma endeavour to transform the world into a serial comic strip of low artistic quality?"

"Big boy, Anoop is a villain - a bad guy.  BUT...  to his credit, he really wants to turn the world into a serial comic strip of high artistic quality.  More of a series of graphic novels than your standard four-color."

""Oh."  Ingar pauses.  "And how could stealing Isaac Newton's earthly remains further his cause?"

"Weren't you following the script, sweetie?  Too busy staring at my legs I'll bet."  Tiffany waves her legs... seductively (???) at Ingar.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that.  Oh, a bit, perhaps -" in a daemonic rumble, "THOSE ARE VERY NICE LEGS... that-was-intended-as-a-sincere-compliment-nothing-more-so-sorry!"

"Don't sweat it, big boy.  Anoop Varma had been reading that New Age interpretation of Jung's collective unconscious and put it together with recent writings on viral ideas.  He got it into his head that if, as the New Agers contend, our thoughts shape reality, and if, as linguists and psychologists are now suggesting, viral ideas can spread rapidly throughout populations, then if he cloned Sir Isaac Newton and created an evil genius out of him using the rogue DNA he had acquired from his mother, Shiva, then he could use the clone to propagate the idea that the physical laws of the universe were more to his liking, and rule the world!  Or at least get more babes."

"A rather futile plot, I'd say, the serious scientific community reject these silly metaphysical theories.  Actually, the same scientific community is currently quite convinced that Newton was an evil genius.  His personality bears all the marks of a classic sociopath, and his heartless attacks on Leibniz are a prime example of his antisocial way of relating to people whose actions did not comply with his desires."

"I disagree," replies Tiffany seriously.  She reaches off camera, pulls a big leather chair back onto the screen, sets a pair of spectacles on her nose, and pulls out a notepad and pencil.   "look at the poor guy - he's got four arms.  He's a mutant.  Mutants are not popular in India, particularly among the brahman class.  I think that this is a classic case of an ingrained survival mechanism, coupled with some sort of weird childhood desire to live up to, or perhaps in this case down to, the expectations of the society that he grew up in.  He was undoubtedly cast as evil, so he decided to become evil.  That doesn't necessarily make him sociopathic, just enacting an ingrained survival strategy that was probably quite effective at some point, but now could use some adjustment.  I think that therapy is probably in order, but my prognosis is good if he gets help."  Off come the glasses, away goes the pen and notepad, and the chair gets yanked offstage by a hook.

Ingar frowns slightly.  "We all have to cope with the circumstances of our birth in one way or another...  But we still cannot escape moral responsibility for our actions. Are you not confusing Newton and Shiva?  I do not think that you should be joking about Shiva, the g-g-g-h-Hindoos might object.  With all due respect, I must ask you to show some respect."

"On the other hand, what do I know?  I'm just a trilobite!"

"Do not diminish your own worth with this kind of species-prejudice. You have to stand up for your phylum!"

The gongs of a grandfather clock sound.  "Oops!" says Tiffany, "gotta run.  Anything else before I go, big boy?"

"Take care. Think happy thoughts," says Ingar.
 

A Knock at the Door

Ingar becomes suddenly aware of his soggy, stinking, stained self.  He smiles sheepishly (actually, he smiles more like a very self-conscious dentally over-endowed fish).  "H-h-h-h-h... Hello Agent Goodness." He turns to the other man and presents his humongous right hand: "H-h-h-hello, I am Ingar Forn.  I have had an accident.  Sorry about that.  And by the way, I hope that I have not inconvenienced you too much, Agent Goodness."

Goodness accepts the hand rather nervously, wrinkling his nose a bit.  "Eh, no, no," he says, stepping across the doorway, after Ingar has stepped out of the way and back into the house to allow the newcomers to enter.

"Th' seemingly silent fellow unless he's speakin' o' doin' violence an' how much he hates it behind me there is me slave.  In thairty days his name'll be Griffon Kyle."  He puts the food on the table and walks over to Mrs. Brinker, giving her a hug.  "Hullo, Mum," says Goodness, smiling warmly.  "Doon't mind th' two black eyes, busted nose an' chipped tooth.  The slave there decided t' vent his pent-up spleen in my general direction.  Jest had a bit o' fun on the job, doan'cha know."  The smile fades and the agent pauses, looking around for a moment.  "Eh, sorry, but I suddenly remember ye'd asked me fer bandages an' antiseptic.  All I've brought ye is soup."  Goodness looks genuinely contrite.  "I'm sorry, mum.  It's good soup, though.  Hot an' sour, from the shop on the coorner.  How's the sudden bursts of random violence, then?"  He stops, furrows his brow a bit, and turns back to Ingar.  "Eh, sorry, Mr. Foorn, wha' did ye mean by 'inconvenience'"?

"Oh.  Well.  It seems that I have mentioned the instructions you gave me to Mr. Chen of the immigration authorities, which seems to have reflected rather badly on you.  I'm a bit bewildered, actually.  But why are you referring to this quiet person as a 'slave'?  It is a rather demeaning term, you know.  And we really could use some bandages, and actually, I think we had best get a medical doctor to look at Dani and one of Mrs. Brinker's sons.  For you as well, I think."

Goodness' blood runs cold.  "Well," he mutters, "Tha' explains his comment in Room Thairteen.  What exactly did ye say t' the Judge, Engar?"

Ingar blushes, well, at least his face darkens a couple of shades.  "Well, as Mr. Chen was telling me not to follow the Brinkers, I pointed out that you had told me to go to Mrs. Brinker, as I had no idea that this was confidential.  Perhaps I ought to have figured this out in some way, but sadly I did not.  I tend to take a straight-forwards and trusting approach to such matters.  I am so sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you."

Fear begins to creep up Buttery's spine as certain reprocussions meander through his active imagination.  He sinks into a chair, exhaustion taking hold at last, and points to Kyle.  His voice seems miles away.  "Soory, Engar, bu' demeaning oor na', 'slave' is exactly what 'e is.  In a moost legal an' bindin' sense.  'Twas either that, oor th' firing squad fer 'im.  He's na the smairtest guy ye've ever met, Engar, an' no mistake."  Goodness pauses, an idea lighting across his face.  "In fact, fer all the trouble he's caused me, I think I'll kill him myself.  Right now."

Agent Goodness moves to draw his 9mm Glock from its holster, but hesitates.

Ingar looks horrified, and his entire body tenses.  How could the nice Agent Goodness contemplate killing anybody?  Is this some disgusting joke?

"Eh...actually, I doon't feel so well..."  Goodness collapses to the floor.

Ingar breathes a sigh of relief and moves over to Agent Goodness, in order to ensure that he is all right (for a beat up person) and to appropriate his Glock before something fatal happens.  He slips the glock inside his ruined shirt, where it creates a bulge which vanishes in a moment.

Mrs. Brinker comes bustling out of the kitchen and spies the crumpled form of Buttery on the floor.  "Oh dear," she says.  "Ingar dear, would you be so kind as to take Mr. Goodness up to the second floor.  You can put him in the third room on the right, across from Dani.  I believe that Dani is asleep at the moment, but you can check on her if you like."

"Certainly, Ma!" answers Ingar.

Mrs. Brinker turns to Mr. Kyle.  "Hello," she says pleasantly, "I'm Mrs. Brinker, but please call me 'Ma'.  Would you like to come into the kitchen for some milk and cookies?

Griffin smiles kindly at Ms. Brinker.  "Yes ma'am, if I won't be imposing any..."

Mrs. Brinker beams back.  "Wonderful!" she says.  "Come with me please."  Griffin and Mrs. Brinker disappear in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Ingar with the unconscious Goodness.

Ingar picks up Goodness like a mother would pick up a baby.  Carrying him in his strong arms, he wobbles up to the second floor, and puts Mr Goodness down on whatever bed or other soft surface might be available in the third room on the right.  After giving Goodness a final look-over, checking his pulse and his breath, he goes to check on Dani.

Aside from the fact that he is not nearly as unconscious as he is pretending to be, and the fact that his nose is broken,  he seems completely normal.  Ingar resolves that this might be Goodness's way of signalling that he needs some time on his own, and discreetly ignores the agent's wakefulness, though he keeps part of his attention focused on the door behind him as he goes to see Dani.

Going across the hall Ingar finds Dani in what looks to be an architypical young teens room, complete with lots of make-up, posters of teen idols, and stuffed animals.  The curtains of the room are thick, and tightly drawn, so no sunlight leaks in.  The bondage gear and straps attached to the four-poster bed seem a bit incongruous, and the cat o' nine tails hanging from the wall seems downright ominous, however - though somehow compelling too.  Dani is fast asleep, sleeping with all the satisfaction of the sweet and innocent.  Ingar has a fleeting fantasy of what it might be like to use the straps and the other gear and finds the notion - oedipally complex to say the least.

Well, perhaps not oedipal, but quite weird. He makes a note in his book that the house seems to have been prepared in some way for the visitors, though he wonders whether Dani's youthful curiosity might truly go that far. If there is any hope of this, then it is cast into the dungeon of the subconscious before reaching conscious awareness, along with any hopes that Dani might be attracted to colossal men and exciting odors.

Lacking any real expertise to examine Dani thouroughly, and quite reluctant to touch her, Ingar instead gives in to the monkey-like curiosity he gained from his mother's side and goes to peek behind the curtains.

Things look every bit as surrealistic as they did last time - the usual.  Sky a thousand colors that there are no human words for; terrain that shifts continually and yet has odd familiarity, like a bad movie you've seen once too often; weird energies which cause an odd humming sensation from your teeth (all of them); clouds that seem to be reinacting the final season of "Gilligan's Island".

Stuff like that.

The second and third floors of the Brinker house most assuredly are not in the same dimension as the first, however it may appear from outside.

Ingar stares out into the landscape, relishing in the use of many senses usually neglected, and lapses into an odd daydream of chasing and digesting plains-dwelling apes. However, he soon recovers from this momentary lapse of humanity and, slapping his own forehead repeatedly with both hands while wiping the voracious grin of his face, he pulls away from the window and quickly steps out of the room and away from the young female hominid sleeping there.  He then goes to peek into Agent Goodness's room to see if that hominid is still pretending to be unconscious.

As Ingar approaches the door, it flies open, and framed in the doorway is a very surprised looking Buttery Goodness.  Ingar for once looks quite composed, with his lips closed in a patronizing  smile, and calm, droopylidded eyes.  The "tell me about your mother" look.  The  expression of serenity is only slightly compromised by his twitching hands.

"Foorn!" says Goodness.  "Yer hair.  Na yer hair, bu' yer... hair.  In front o' me.  Hair.  Christ, ye nearly scared the skin off me.  How's the lass?"

"DÂNI SEEMS TO... - rhumgh - The young girl seems to be sleeping peacefully, though I am a bit worried about subtle brain injuries, and we probably ought to get her to a medical doctor.  Apart from that I must say that I would not speak that Nazarean's name in vain if I were you, Mr Goodness.  It has very bad socio-cultural implications, for one thing.  Furthermore, I would appreciate it if you could tell me about your experiences after we parted, your indentured assistant, and perhaps share your thoughts and feelings regarding the current situation.

"Eh," says Goddness with a shrug, and motions Forn into the room.  He closes the door behind them, and sits back down on the bed.  Knowing Ingar's penchant for standing, he doesn't think to offer him a seat.  "Wall," begins the agent, "Fairst things fairst.  The 'sairvent' ye speak of is, in fact, a slave.  'Tis a way of having undesirables looked aftair withoot puttin' 'em in prison.  A good thing too, if ye ask me.  We doon't want this one lairnin' hoo t'be a better criminal."

"Well, I agree with the idea of trying to integrate criminals into society and teaching them more pro-social ways of coexisting with other people, rather than to isolate them and reinforce their criminal ways and self-perceptions," says Ingar.

"He's a slave t' me fer thairty days because o' what ye see hair."  Goodness points to his chipped tooth, broken nose and black eyes, then motions to the blood on his shirt.  "The lad seems t' think Al Amarja's a place where he kin go aboot sluggin' folks.  Read one too many comic books an' 'Destroyer' novels, ye ask me."

"Well, the potential for imitation learning from such media should not be underestimated, but it is also quite likely that his violent actions stem from emotional problems and inner turmoil, or possibly he may lack knowledge of more adaptive patterns of action."

"So he'll be taggin' along wi' me fer the near future.  It's my job, ye see, t' make sure he doosn't get himself inta any moor trouble, Engar.  Ye dinna need worry, though.  I'll see he gets through all right, though he'll be hatin' me afore he's through."

Ingar looks a bit worried: "I hope that you will do your best to make this an experience of growth and understanding for both of you."

"Now, as t' yer current situation, you tell me.  I haird from Mrs. Brinker that ye had a bit of a tussle.  What's happened?  Someone attacked?  Anyone hairt?  Air you okay?"  He pats his chest.  "An' by the way, where's me gun?"

"Well, the Brinker brothers do tend to favour very aggressive modes of interaction, and they rammed our vehicle and threatened the C&I people at gunpoint, though I must say that Mr. Chen did nothing to reduce the tension of the situation.  As we came to this place, a sniper fired at us, and Pere was hit in the shoulder, abdomen, and left leg.  However, we were able to patch him up and put him to bed."  Dr. Forn shrugs a bit.  "As for myself, I was a bit disarrayed in the automobile collision, and I really need to change my suit.  Coming to think of it, did you see any luggage lying about in the front yard?  I am rather worried that we may have left it there."  Ingar quietly ignores Goodness's question regarding his gun.

"Do ye know WHY they wair shootin' at ye, Engar?" Goodness insists.

"Well, I am not quite sure why.  But my professional opinion would be: Poor ability to deal with aggression, lack of good role models, coupled with a low socio-economic status may have led to this sort of behaviour.  Possibly, an authoritarian personality, leading to resentment of those unlike themselves, may be involved.  Additionally, it is quite possible that the Brinker brothers may have some personal enemy, given their regrettable tendency towards confrontational behaviour."

"An' noo that yer hair, did Mrs. Brinker give ye any indication as t' what all we kin be doin' t' help?  I doan much like the idea of ragamuffin's snipin' at me friends, an' no mistake."

Ingar looks thoughtful.  "Well, Mrs. Brinker did not seem to worry very much.  I must say that I find this sniping very much distasteful and frightening, but it is important that we do not sink to the level of the snipers - for violence breeds violence in a malign cycle."

Goodness sighs and stands up, wondering if everything will continue to go wrong for the rest of his life, and which of his charges has his pistola.  "Yer a strange, strange fellow, Engar."

Ingar smiles fondly at Goodness, his misproportioned face glowing with trust and good will.  The agent pats the giant on the arm.

Ingar grows a bit tense at this gesture, though his friendly smile does not waver.  It is clear that he is quite unused to being touched by another person.  More oddly, Goodness could have sworn that he felt something twist and squirm under his palm as he touched Ingar's arm.

"But bless ye, ye've got a heart o' gold," he continues.  "Let's goo downstairs an' see how oor Mr. Kyle is fairin' wi' everybody.  I think I've had enough time t' catch me wind."  The agent takes a deep breath, feeling his fuse shortening.  Perhaps a trip to Sad Mary's wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

Sensing Goodness's mental tension, Ingar hesitantly pats Goodness's back as they leave the room, in a reassuring gesture. "I am sure things will work out, eventually", he murmurs.
 
 

In the Brinker Kitchen

"Yes mum."  He says sheepishly, handing her the butter.  "I've always been a little to quick to act, and seeing those..."  Griffin chokes slightly, stiffling a sob he didn't know threatened, "... pictures didn't help my thought process any."

Mrs Brinker puts a big glass of milk in front of Kyle.  "There, there," she says soothingly.  "I know that C&I can sometimes be disorienting.  Try not to let it bother you too much."

Griffin shrugs, and takes a drink from his glass of milk.  He seems lost in thought as he looks down at the white liquid.

Mrs Brinker, like the wise old woman she is, gives Griffin the time and the space to think about whatever it is he needs to think about, busying herself doing dishes and keeping an eye on the cookies in the oven.

Griffin looks up after a moment, then says: "So what is your place in all this?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, dearie?" replies Mrs Brinker with a twinkle in her eye.

"Come on, mum, I'm a smart lad, I went to uni and all.  You've got to be involved in this somehow, please, tell me what it is."

"Dearie," replies Mrs. Brinker with an easy smile, "You need to tell me what 'this' you're talking about before I tell you how I am involved in this particular 'this'."

"Why is it that Mr. Goodness placed so much importance on seeing you Mum?  He made you out as to being pretty integral to his whole situation.  At least that's how I took it."  He raises his eyebrow slightly, looking at her, looking to see if she pauses, or shows any other signs of forming a deception.

Mrs. Brinker?  De-cept-ive?  How could he even think that about such a sweet old lady?  Shame!  Shame!

"Oh, Buttery and I have known one another through mutual friends for quite some time, but I wouldn't say that I am 'integral' to anything at all."  Mrs. Brinker plops a cookie sheet in the sink and begins washing it.

"Aside from that, you'll have to ask him why he's doing what he's doing I'm afraid.  Buttery tends to be rather secretive about such matters - part of his job training and all, you know.  For right now, I think you can safely assume that you won't be having any trouble with C&I for the moment.  Have another cookie."

Griffin follows her suggestion, and has another cookie, not saying anything else on the matter after having been so skillfully diverted.

At this point, Goodness and Forn troop downstairs to find Kyle sitting in the kitchen, lapsed into a thoughtful silence vaguely watching Mrs. Brinker clean up the kitchen.  There is a big plate of cookies on the sideboard, and from the crumbs on the plate in front of Kyle, and the milk mustache on his upper lip, he has already partaken of the largesse of Ma Brinker's kitchen.

Ingar smiles widely (though without showing his teeth) at all present, but at the same time, his eyes dart anxiously from Goodness to Kyle; he is ready to get between them in case tempers should flare.

It could be said that the kitchen of Ma Brinker confuses Ingar in somewhat the same way that the airport confounds most other burgers.  He has a strong feeling of presque vu, that if only he could realize what it was about Ma Brinker which seemed so soothing, he could fill a large void in his life.  The Forn family remembers the late Angbanda Forn, his maternal grandmother, for her great skill at driving a hakapik through a seal's neck and then skinning it before it properly realized it was dead.  She did not make chocolate chip cookies; nor did she keep a tidy kitchen.

Noting that Ingar and Buttery have joined her klatch with Griffin Kyle in the kitchen, Mrs. Brinker smiles beatifically at both.

Ingar bares his off-white teeth in a sincerely meant reciprocal gesture, but his teeth still seem better suited for other purposes, such as tearing flesh.  (Yes, Ingar's teeth are mentioned quite often, but they are quite conspiciously unsuited for affectionate gestures.)

"Dearie," Mrs. Brinker says, addressing herself to Buttery, "I was wondering if you and your friends could do a little errand for me?  As Ingar can tell you," she waves a hand in Ingar's direction, "I'm afraid our truck came out a bit the worse for wear when we collected him from that nice Mr. Chen and I need to have it run in to the shop for some body work - Pere dotes on it, and I would just love to have it all fixed up by the time he recovers from his gunshot wounds.  If you could take it in to the CARumba garage and drop it off that would be very sweet."

"With pleasure, Ma.  I would love to be of assistance, and it would be nice to see a little more of the Edge as well, I understand that it is quite -hrm- picturesque.  But if you don't mind, I will just bring in the luggage, first, unless anybody has already done that, of course - and perhaps the indentured servant would care to offer me a hand?"  He looks down at his disintegrating suit and shirt.  "Furthermore, I think I might need to change clothing before I go out into public."

She begins scribbling on a piece of floral note paper.  After a moment she hands it to Goodness.  "Here's the address, dearie." she says brightly, "It's just a couple of blocks from Gun Metal, so maybe your slave would like to visit?"

The address on the paper is:

CARumba
1597 Piteous Road
Four Points

To Be Continued...