the Wakefield Doctrine

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

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

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls‘, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (Get your ownself all caught-up before the story ends)

Prompt word:

GRAIN

“Your efforts to assist my organization in this matter of Mooncross Industries has, regrettably, been insufficient; I would be remiss, Mr. Caesare, were I not to remind you that no information coming out of our mutual effort find it’s way into the public eye; negligence in this matter would be quite ill-advised.”

Diane Tierney watched Lou’s face as the voice on the other end of the call slithered out of the handset in search of something to poison; for his part, the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge winked at her and began to make faces at the old-fashioned, very non-video handset; Diane knew boss’s ‘tell’ was nothing as obvious as a scowl or reddening of the face, as he replied to Cyrus St. Loreto, the calm in his tone making his contribution to the surprise telephone call all the more effective.

“Hey, Count Chocula, where I come from we have something called omertà, it’s a code of silence that’s kept people like me in business for quite some time; maybe if your ancestors didn’t have slaughter-everyone-in-the-village engrained in their culture, you could leave the garlic necklaces and heads-on-stakes behind and come live in the 21st-fuckin’-Century; no one and nothin’ leaves my organization without my say so, capiche?

And, while we’re on the subject of who was doing who a favor, when were you gonna tell me about your goddamn super-powered friends, that Co-Ordination of Super Villains bunch; if I hadn’t sent the two people I did, your company’s name would be all over every tabloid in England by now.”

“Boys, boys…boys how about you stop with the ‘who’s penis to bigger or longer or whatever metric you obsess over and act like adults, can you do that for me?”

Anya Claireaux’s voice stepped seamlessly between the two men; underneath the smiling tone, the wheedle of a teenaged girl discovering the power to make her two-week boyfriend drive their stolen car off the interstate and rob the first filling station they came to; not because she needed money, just because.

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

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

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘.

This Six below is meant to follow Tom’s most recent ‘Old Friends, New Friends‘

Prompt word:

GRAIN

“Moonbeam, seeing how you already made the drive up here from Shogun International Airport,” Rue DeNite stood on the sill of the open right-front passenger door of the SUV in which she and Moonbeam had arrived at Mooncross Industries, an unfortunate thirty minutes late.

Addressing the small group gathered in the parking lot, she looked first at Rocco, her erstwhile bodyguard and putative lover; then Isla, the young mercenary hired to kidnap them from their Airbnb in a posh London suburb; some guy named Alex; and finally, Moonbeam,  a member of something called the Co-ordination of Supervillains and suitor wannabe.

Rue’s expression, which could be accurately, albeit poetically, described as, ‘the texture and grain of extreme exhaustion, writ in flesh’, dared them to ask what airport she was talking about, “What say we get Rocco to drive, give him something to do with his hands and I’ll sit in back and get to know our little home-invader, Isla, a little better.”

“Sounds good, Rue,” Moonbeam, sounding tired, in a PTSD sort of way, slid behind the wheel and on the final ‘thunk’ of a closing door, gravel-crunched the vehicle down the hill and onto the highway back to Reykjavik.

 

[GCHQ London Branch]

“Watch Supervisor Colonel Villicus, you have a call from Number 10 on Line 23.” Reflexively nodding assent to the disembodied voice, Mrs Villicus’s son removed a handset from a locked enclosure and intoned first words of the introductory rites of the Security and Surveillance State, “Yes sir?”

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

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

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

However, most previously from us (in which Rue and Moonbeam drive to Mooncross Headquarters)   and, approaching the location of our Six   …from Tom.

Prompt word:

LEVEL

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

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

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

Most previously   …from Tom. and, now following our first Six this week, we continue the tale.

Now, as we’re sure you surmised from our peculiar subtitle, we up to some hijinks. Given that we’re approaching the climax of our Serial Six, we decided to switch desks! Tom is writing ‘our’ storyline, (in which Rocco is protagonist), and we’re taking over the Rue & Moonbeam narrative. For a while, at least.

Prompt Word:

TONIC

“I’m just outside the main doors, hurry the hell up, we’re on the move.”

Stepping into the cold morning air, Rue DeNite laughed at the sight of Moonbeam leaning over the empty front passenger seat of a brand new, shiny metallic green, something-or-other brand SUV; as soon as she clicked her seatbelt, he pulled away from the terminal, drove past what appeared to be a giant acorn sculpture and headed northeast.

Rue leaned against the passenger door after checking the GPS display in the dashboard; there were two starred highlights: the airport, receding along the illuminated route in the animated map and, on the destination end, ‘Tunglfjőrður’, with a label “Mooncross Industries’ at the bottom of the screen, Estimated Travel Time: 1 hour 50 minutes blinking in red.

“You’re mad at me, that’s what’s going on here,” in premeditated response to Rue’s assertion, Moonbeam furrowed his brow, as if his concentration on the nearly empty road was all that stood between their success and the fate of the world;

“While I’m impressed with that business of dark energy shooting out of your arm and being able to make people, like, suddenly fall sleep, when it comes to boosting cars and other forms of transport, of all the Supervillains I know, ‘You’re my all-time favorite‘;” Rue, pretending to admire the snow-covered mountains took hope in a slight tremor to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean, but since you brought it up, am I safe thinking that under all that white denim, you’re not wearing some kind of stripper-secret-weapon that, when we get cornered, you’ll start to twirl in the face of our foes?”

Taking off her jacket, Rue turned in her seat, added an unprovable arc to her spine and, with the hint of a side-to-side shoulder motion, brushed a button on her phone; Bob Seger’s voice filled the car, “They’d kill to make the cut“; laughter once again proving itself to be the best tonic.