Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously…

Prompt word:

CHECK

“So, Sister, what’s your deal?”

Sister Aclima stared at the man across the table from her, the normal interrogatory pause stretched well past ‘I beg your pardon’, continued on to ‘Are you addressing me’ finally coming to rest in the air above their glass-topped table, mere seconds before a very localized snow flurry could commence, answered, “What is it, precisely are you referring to?”

“I’ve done work for your Order before; guiding people through foreign terrain, but mostly dealing with intractable locals; I like to think of myself as a guider of lost missionaries who, although skilled in verifying the authenticity of artifacts and relics, tend to be at a loss when encountering opposition, in said mission, that is.”

Warming to his topic, the man in the scruffy clothing let his voice smooth out the corners of a lecture and bordered on the conspiratorial which brought with it a certain seductive emphasis that included a slight lowering of his eyelids and increased animation in his hands; “Saints be praised Sister, I dinna think I would survive my last assignment, luckily the Grail is smaller than most think and we managed to recover it; but you, Lassie, clearly have a demon hiding within, so what’s with the haunted look?”

Sister Aclima’s gaze at Brother Lymphocytus wasn’t disapproval, something he was not only used to but welcomed, it was a cold dismissal that had the finality of a rock dropped down a well, “What you think about me has little to no meaning, that you can do the job the Order has paid you to do, does; come to my hotel tomorrow at noon prepared to layout our route.”

Seamus Lymphocytus frowning at the sudden disappearance of a rapt listener to a story that always charmed clients, began to sputter, “Well, seeing how I haven’t taken you to the lodgings assigned by the Order, I can hardly… ”

The young woman in the ancient garb stood, the metal feet of her chair protesting the sudden motion, “You’re the expert guide, if you can’t find me you are of no use;” Sister Aclima snared a waiter’s attention, then nodded at the still seated man, “Get the check and be ready for work tomorrow …Rover.”

 

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