More Libran fanfic
Title: Museum Pieces
Rated: T
Word Count: 2740
‘Sequel’ to Brief Encounter and Passing Chance
She was alive.
She was bound to a chair; thick ropes were tied around both her ankles and wrists. A black scarf, which had obviously been used as a gag, hung loosely around her neck. There was a mark just under her right eye, already swelling and spreading with a bluish tinge. But she was alive.
I managed to hold in my audible sigh of relief just in time.
Her captor reminded me not to relax for long. He loomed over her, his face twisting into an ugly, menacing mask. “If you want to live, you’ll tell me where he is,” he snarled
She met his gaze calmly. “After I tell you, you’ll just let me go?” she drawled sarcastically.
He straightened and I caught a glimpse of a holster beneath his jacket. I slumped back against the wall. He had a gun.
“Of course. I’m a man of honour.”
“I’ve met very few men of honour in this lifetime, but I do know that the ones I have deemed to fall into that category would not tie me to a chair and beat me.”
I peeked out from my hiding spot again to see him sneering at her defiant look.
He shoved his hand into his shirt pocket. I tensed and leaned forward, but he’d only revealed a toothpick. He flicked it into his mouth and began to chew on its end. I couldn’t decide if it made him look more threatening or more foolish.
Still, my next move had to be soon.
“I haven’t beaten you.” He reached out and ran his finger along her cheek. “Yet,” he added in a too quiet voice.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, but she didn’t flinch.
“Tell me where he is,” he repeated.
My eyes flicked around the room urgently. I had no weapon -- except the element of surprise.
“How would I know?”
If only I could get higher. I could combine my weight with gravity to jump him.
“You are his lover.”
“Yes. We had sex,” she admitted in a bored tone. “Quick fraks when the media wasn’t watching. You think there was time for pillow talk and intimate confessions?”
The thought of her having sex with Sweetman... My fists clenched and fury pulsed through me.
Laura pressed the buzzer on the silver rail before returning the book to her handbag. She should have finished reading it ten times over by now. Instead, she was only about half way through and she’d let herself be sidetracked by reading three other books in the meantime. Every time she opened Blood Runs After Midnight up, she thought about the dedication on the title page, and subsequently the man who had owned it before her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if perhaps Richard was correct, and she did need therapy. Finding that man, the man she’d met at the Fleet Departure Lounge on Caprica, was becoming an obsession.
It had almost been two weeks since she’d arrived in Mudgee. She’d frequented the village regularly but had never seen her mysterious fellow traveller.
She now thought she must have been mistaken and the man she’d caught a fleeting glance of out the window on that first return bus trip had not been her man.
Still, she looked out for him every single day and had even asked a few questions at the cafes she’d dined at -- all to no avail.
And now, to add to her fixation, she had just spent two hours travelling on a bus to the capital on the off-chance she would find out something more about him at the Libran War Museum.
Laura stepped down off the bus and began walking along the paved sidewalk. She passed several specialty clothing boutiques -- so different from the small shops in the village -- until she came to the sandstone facade of the museum.
She paused, reading the sign announcing entrance prices and opening times.
Two men wearing Fleet uniforms strolled past, duffle bags slung over their shoulders, and her mind was made up.
At the small booth near the museum entrance she paid ten cubits to a young girl who paused from flicking through a fashion magazine for long enough to dispense a ticket and a thin piece of paper which claimed to be a map and guide
Clutching both, Laura removed her sunhat and pushed her way through a turnstile into the, thankfully, air conditioned foyer of the museum.
She squinted down at the dull printed guide. It seemed the museum was split up into three main areas: History of Colonial Wars, History of Colonial Battlestars and Decorated Libran War Heroes.
She decided to head straight for that last display.
It didn’t take her long to find an honour board which listed the names of Libran citizens who had served in the Colonial Fleet at one time or another. She dismissed the females, and the males who were either too young or too old, on the roll call. It left five men.
After rustling around in her handbag for a notepad and pen, she quickly scribbled their names down.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Laura squeaked and jumped guiltily, hastily dropping the notepad back into her handbag as she turned to face the man who’d spoken.
He was dressed in a dark blue Colonial Fleet uniform. It was a uniform that may have fit in years gone by, but now stretched across his too portly body. A name badge was pinned crookedly just below the tunic’s collar. It proclaimed he was Barry Garner, Colonial Fleet Tour Guide.
“I was just...” She paused and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Yes. You probably can help me, Mr Garner,” she said, flashing him her most charming smile. “I was just wondering, this list of Libran Colonials is wonderful, but are there any photographs of the veterans?” she asked in a sweet tone.
~*~
A waitress set down a cup of tea in front of Laura with a slight disapproving frown. Mr Garner, however, had no qualms with talking to a weak stomached Caprican.
Uninvited, he pulled up a seat beside Laura and continued with the history lesson he’d began at the row of photographs.
“You’re a volunteer here?” she’d guessed.
“Yes, yes. I come in every morning and try and instill some of my passion for the Fleet to the visitors. I was in the Fleet, you know.” He spoke in a high nasally voice which she couldn’t quite imagine capturing the attention of students he would later claim he regularly showed through the museum.
“You were a pilot?” she’d asked politely.
“No, no, much more important. I was an engineer. Chief. There’d be no Battlestars without engineers.” He’d leaned close and peered at Laura in the dim lighting of the museum. “Do I know you from somewhere? You’re not a reporter, are you?”
She’d waved his question off with a short laugh and had moved to study the photographs. Unfortunately they’d held no clue for her in the search for her soldier. The young men smilingly posing beside Vipers and Raptors were so youthful that she would never be able to determine if any of them had grown into the solid man with sad and tired features who’d helped her with her bags. The most distinctive thing about his appearance, she remembered, had been his piercing blue eyes, and the black and white, faded with age, photographs hadn’t been any help at all.
Garner had hovered behind her, until suddenly making an unexpected announcement. “Laura Roslin.”
She’d tilted her head to one side. “Sorry...”
“Secretary of Education. On personal leave. Tory Foster is filling in for you.”
Laura took a sip of tea now, Tory’s pretty face and trim body flashing into her consciousness . She wondered whether Tory was filling in for her in every way.
When Ms Foster had been touted as a possible candidate, security had certainly spent quite some time running their background checks. Also, it had been clear from the dealings Laura had had with her replacement before leaving Caprica, that Tory was not only efficient and organised, but very ambitious. First Lady would more than likely be an attractive prospect to the girl. Laura doubted the difference between her and Richard's ages would prove to be any kind of deterrent.
Garner interrupted her musing. “I know the Mayor of Thermis quite well. I wonder if I could arrange for him to invite you to our Colonial Day celebrations, Madam Secretary.”
Her gaze involuntarily settled on Barry Garner’s left hand. It was bare. He was around her age, and although his fair features didn’t appeal to her, she was sure some women in her situation would still find him attractive.
“I don’t know... I’m not here in any official capacity, Mr Garner.”
“Of course, of course. But it would be a coup for Thermis. Our dignitaries usually come from the legal background. An expert in the field of education would be a breath of fresh air.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Thank you for that.”
She hadn’t been described as a breath of fresh air for too many years now.
~*~
Bill walked to the window and held the vase up to the natural light.
“You won’t find any chips, Mr Adama. My grandmother was very careful. She knew its value.”
Bill gave a noncommittal grunt.
Behind him, his seller bounced from foot to foot impatiently. “I’ve been told it will fetch me twelve thousand cubits in an auction,” he prompted.
Bill carefully placed the vase back onto the side table and turned around to face the young lad. “You say your grandmother has owned the piece her whole life.”
“Yes.”
“How old--”
“She was 92 when she died, and it was her mother’s. The vase is genuine Bracko.”
Bill raised a hand. “Mr Lyman, your grandmother’s death notice gave me her age. I was wondering how old you are.”
The boy’s overconfident attitude wavered for a moment. “Me? I’m 25, but--”
“So, you can only be sure the vase has been in your grandmother’s possession for 25 years, or less, depending on the accuracy of your childhood memories.”
“Well, yes, but--”
“You told me yourself your mother and father died soon after your birth. Is there no one else who can vouch for the number of years your grandmother had the vase on display? An aunt or uncle, perhaps.”
James Lyman frowned and flushed. “Are you saying my grandmother lied?” he bit out.
“Having not met your grandmother, Mr Lyman, I won’t make any aspersions of her character, but I’m afraid I find it difficult to believe this vase was crafted by Benito Bracko.”
The boy clenched his fists by his side. “I think you should leave, Mr Adama. Obviously your reputation is not as solid as I was led to believe.”
Bill removed his glasses and pinched his nose wearily. It was never easy to tell someone their inheritance is not as large as they expected. Even though the kid was acting spoilt and petulant, Bill had heard through the grapevine before making this trip that James needed money to pay off his grandmother’s medical expenses.
“Look, kid--” Bill broke off. Leaning against the far wall were several paintings. The colours of one caught his eye... He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back on and stepped closer for a better look.
“What--”
Bill raised a hand to silence the boy again. Next, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a thin pair of gloves before he picked up the painting.
“Where’d your grandmother get this?” he asked.
“I... I think... She said her first sweetheart gave it to her.”
“Sweetheart?” Bill chuckled.
“Yeah, that’s how she worded it,” James said with affection.
“Was he local, do you know?”
“No. Some farmer from Aerilon.”
“Indeed.” Bill carefully scraped the back of his nail over the corner of the painting.
“You think it’s valuable?”
“With your permission, I would like to take it back to my shop. Remove the frame and study the back of the painting. Also I have a special infrared light...” He cleared his throat and looked James Lyman straight in the eye. “If this is by who I think it is by, we won’t need to worry about the vase.”
~*~
After finishing her tea in the museum cafe, Laura was relieved to wander around the other displays in peace. Barry Garner had bustled off to play tour guide to a school group and the only thing watching her now was the one red eye of a full sized Cylon model standing in the corner of the History of Colonial Battlestars section.
The first display was a miniature model of a Mercury Class Battlestar. It helped you visualise the specifications of the ship, showing the size of an average heavy carrier beside it, as well various other objects the ordinary citizen could relate to: cars, horses, houses. It also had 3000 model people beside it, representing the number of crew who usually made up the full complement of such a ship.
On the adjacent table was another miniature; a cross section of the ship. It showed each individual deck and gave an insight as to where the various tasks involved in running a Battlestar were performed.
Next, an actual Viper stood behind a rope barrier. She paused to read the blurb beside it. This type of Viper was no longer used by the Fleet apparently. Its navigational systems and weapons’ control were outdated; a new computer network was now used in Viper cockpits.
There was a mention of the pilot whose callsign was written on the side of this retired Viper. After serving in the First Cylon War, he had gone on to become a Battlestar Commander. Originally from Caprica, he had ties to Libran due to the number of times his Tauron father had come to the planet to practice law.
~*~
“What the hell are you doing here” she demanded in a low tone. “Dammit, were you following me?”
“A simple ‘thank you’ for saving you from this goon would have been too simple,” I grumbled.
“Did I ask you to save me?”
I rolled my eyes and bent to remove the gun from the man now lying unconscious on the floor. I shoved it in the waistband of my pants before patting him down for more weapons. I found a flick knife in his top pocket. Opening it, I moved to kneel in front of her and set to work on the ropes around her ankles.
Her skirt was bunched high, giving me a nice view of her long, long legs.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she quietly accused.
I gulped down an angry retort, but I couldn’t deny it. I’d wanted her in this exact position for such a long time...
I looked up and held her gaze. Then, slowly, I lowered mine until I was focussed on her lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten them, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe.
Her captor moaned behind us, breaking the spell.
I returned to my task of cutting through the ropes with added vigour. “No time for foreplay, sweetheart.”
Bill placed the book aside at the sound of the doorbell. It was the local courier with two letters he needed to sign for.
He tore open the one from the Caprican broker he’d spoken to yesterday and skimmed the letter quickly.
He sunk back into his office chair and picked up the telephone to dial James Lyman’s number.
He’d been right. Twelve million cubits was going to be much more pleasing than the original twelve thousand Lyman had expected from the vase.
While he waited for the phone to connect, he opened the second letter. It was an invitation to Mayor Gray’s Colonial Day Charity Ball. The small festivities to be held on the village green sounded more his style.
Lyman answered. Casually, Bill threw the invitation onto a pile of other paperwork lying on his desk and concentrated on breaking the good news to his client.
Rated: T
Word Count: 2740
‘Sequel’ to Brief Encounter and Passing Chance
She was alive.
She was bound to a chair; thick ropes were tied around both her ankles and wrists. A black scarf, which had obviously been used as a gag, hung loosely around her neck. There was a mark just under her right eye, already swelling and spreading with a bluish tinge. But she was alive.
I managed to hold in my audible sigh of relief just in time.
Her captor reminded me not to relax for long. He loomed over her, his face twisting into an ugly, menacing mask. “If you want to live, you’ll tell me where he is,” he snarled
She met his gaze calmly. “After I tell you, you’ll just let me go?” she drawled sarcastically.
He straightened and I caught a glimpse of a holster beneath his jacket. I slumped back against the wall. He had a gun.
“Of course. I’m a man of honour.”
“I’ve met very few men of honour in this lifetime, but I do know that the ones I have deemed to fall into that category would not tie me to a chair and beat me.”
I peeked out from my hiding spot again to see him sneering at her defiant look.
He shoved his hand into his shirt pocket. I tensed and leaned forward, but he’d only revealed a toothpick. He flicked it into his mouth and began to chew on its end. I couldn’t decide if it made him look more threatening or more foolish.
Still, my next move had to be soon.
“I haven’t beaten you.” He reached out and ran his finger along her cheek. “Yet,” he added in a too quiet voice.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, but she didn’t flinch.
“Tell me where he is,” he repeated.
My eyes flicked around the room urgently. I had no weapon -- except the element of surprise.
“How would I know?”
If only I could get higher. I could combine my weight with gravity to jump him.
“You are his lover.”
“Yes. We had sex,” she admitted in a bored tone. “Quick fraks when the media wasn’t watching. You think there was time for pillow talk and intimate confessions?”
The thought of her having sex with Sweetman... My fists clenched and fury pulsed through me.
Laura pressed the buzzer on the silver rail before returning the book to her handbag. She should have finished reading it ten times over by now. Instead, she was only about half way through and she’d let herself be sidetracked by reading three other books in the meantime. Every time she opened Blood Runs After Midnight up, she thought about the dedication on the title page, and subsequently the man who had owned it before her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if perhaps Richard was correct, and she did need therapy. Finding that man, the man she’d met at the Fleet Departure Lounge on Caprica, was becoming an obsession.
It had almost been two weeks since she’d arrived in Mudgee. She’d frequented the village regularly but had never seen her mysterious fellow traveller.
She now thought she must have been mistaken and the man she’d caught a fleeting glance of out the window on that first return bus trip had not been her man.
Still, she looked out for him every single day and had even asked a few questions at the cafes she’d dined at -- all to no avail.
And now, to add to her fixation, she had just spent two hours travelling on a bus to the capital on the off-chance she would find out something more about him at the Libran War Museum.
Laura stepped down off the bus and began walking along the paved sidewalk. She passed several specialty clothing boutiques -- so different from the small shops in the village -- until she came to the sandstone facade of the museum.
She paused, reading the sign announcing entrance prices and opening times.
Two men wearing Fleet uniforms strolled past, duffle bags slung over their shoulders, and her mind was made up.
At the small booth near the museum entrance she paid ten cubits to a young girl who paused from flicking through a fashion magazine for long enough to dispense a ticket and a thin piece of paper which claimed to be a map and guide
Clutching both, Laura removed her sunhat and pushed her way through a turnstile into the, thankfully, air conditioned foyer of the museum.
She squinted down at the dull printed guide. It seemed the museum was split up into three main areas: History of Colonial Wars, History of Colonial Battlestars and Decorated Libran War Heroes.
She decided to head straight for that last display.
It didn’t take her long to find an honour board which listed the names of Libran citizens who had served in the Colonial Fleet at one time or another. She dismissed the females, and the males who were either too young or too old, on the roll call. It left five men.
After rustling around in her handbag for a notepad and pen, she quickly scribbled their names down.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Laura squeaked and jumped guiltily, hastily dropping the notepad back into her handbag as she turned to face the man who’d spoken.
He was dressed in a dark blue Colonial Fleet uniform. It was a uniform that may have fit in years gone by, but now stretched across his too portly body. A name badge was pinned crookedly just below the tunic’s collar. It proclaimed he was Barry Garner, Colonial Fleet Tour Guide.
“I was just...” She paused and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Yes. You probably can help me, Mr Garner,” she said, flashing him her most charming smile. “I was just wondering, this list of Libran Colonials is wonderful, but are there any photographs of the veterans?” she asked in a sweet tone.
~*~
A waitress set down a cup of tea in front of Laura with a slight disapproving frown. Mr Garner, however, had no qualms with talking to a weak stomached Caprican.
Uninvited, he pulled up a seat beside Laura and continued with the history lesson he’d began at the row of photographs.
“You’re a volunteer here?” she’d guessed.
“Yes, yes. I come in every morning and try and instill some of my passion for the Fleet to the visitors. I was in the Fleet, you know.” He spoke in a high nasally voice which she couldn’t quite imagine capturing the attention of students he would later claim he regularly showed through the museum.
“You were a pilot?” she’d asked politely.
“No, no, much more important. I was an engineer. Chief. There’d be no Battlestars without engineers.” He’d leaned close and peered at Laura in the dim lighting of the museum. “Do I know you from somewhere? You’re not a reporter, are you?”
She’d waved his question off with a short laugh and had moved to study the photographs. Unfortunately they’d held no clue for her in the search for her soldier. The young men smilingly posing beside Vipers and Raptors were so youthful that she would never be able to determine if any of them had grown into the solid man with sad and tired features who’d helped her with her bags. The most distinctive thing about his appearance, she remembered, had been his piercing blue eyes, and the black and white, faded with age, photographs hadn’t been any help at all.
Garner had hovered behind her, until suddenly making an unexpected announcement. “Laura Roslin.”
She’d tilted her head to one side. “Sorry...”
“Secretary of Education. On personal leave. Tory Foster is filling in for you.”
Laura took a sip of tea now, Tory’s pretty face and trim body flashing into her consciousness . She wondered whether Tory was filling in for her in every way.
When Ms Foster had been touted as a possible candidate, security had certainly spent quite some time running their background checks. Also, it had been clear from the dealings Laura had had with her replacement before leaving Caprica, that Tory was not only efficient and organised, but very ambitious. First Lady would more than likely be an attractive prospect to the girl. Laura doubted the difference between her and Richard's ages would prove to be any kind of deterrent.
Garner interrupted her musing. “I know the Mayor of Thermis quite well. I wonder if I could arrange for him to invite you to our Colonial Day celebrations, Madam Secretary.”
Her gaze involuntarily settled on Barry Garner’s left hand. It was bare. He was around her age, and although his fair features didn’t appeal to her, she was sure some women in her situation would still find him attractive.
“I don’t know... I’m not here in any official capacity, Mr Garner.”
“Of course, of course. But it would be a coup for Thermis. Our dignitaries usually come from the legal background. An expert in the field of education would be a breath of fresh air.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Thank you for that.”
She hadn’t been described as a breath of fresh air for too many years now.
~*~
Bill walked to the window and held the vase up to the natural light.
“You won’t find any chips, Mr Adama. My grandmother was very careful. She knew its value.”
Bill gave a noncommittal grunt.
Behind him, his seller bounced from foot to foot impatiently. “I’ve been told it will fetch me twelve thousand cubits in an auction,” he prompted.
Bill carefully placed the vase back onto the side table and turned around to face the young lad. “You say your grandmother has owned the piece her whole life.”
“Yes.”
“How old--”
“She was 92 when she died, and it was her mother’s. The vase is genuine Bracko.”
Bill raised a hand. “Mr Lyman, your grandmother’s death notice gave me her age. I was wondering how old you are.”
The boy’s overconfident attitude wavered for a moment. “Me? I’m 25, but--”
“So, you can only be sure the vase has been in your grandmother’s possession for 25 years, or less, depending on the accuracy of your childhood memories.”
“Well, yes, but--”
“You told me yourself your mother and father died soon after your birth. Is there no one else who can vouch for the number of years your grandmother had the vase on display? An aunt or uncle, perhaps.”
James Lyman frowned and flushed. “Are you saying my grandmother lied?” he bit out.
“Having not met your grandmother, Mr Lyman, I won’t make any aspersions of her character, but I’m afraid I find it difficult to believe this vase was crafted by Benito Bracko.”
The boy clenched his fists by his side. “I think you should leave, Mr Adama. Obviously your reputation is not as solid as I was led to believe.”
Bill removed his glasses and pinched his nose wearily. It was never easy to tell someone their inheritance is not as large as they expected. Even though the kid was acting spoilt and petulant, Bill had heard through the grapevine before making this trip that James needed money to pay off his grandmother’s medical expenses.
“Look, kid--” Bill broke off. Leaning against the far wall were several paintings. The colours of one caught his eye... He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back on and stepped closer for a better look.
“What--”
Bill raised a hand to silence the boy again. Next, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a thin pair of gloves before he picked up the painting.
“Where’d your grandmother get this?” he asked.
“I... I think... She said her first sweetheart gave it to her.”
“Sweetheart?” Bill chuckled.
“Yeah, that’s how she worded it,” James said with affection.
“Was he local, do you know?”
“No. Some farmer from Aerilon.”
“Indeed.” Bill carefully scraped the back of his nail over the corner of the painting.
“You think it’s valuable?”
“With your permission, I would like to take it back to my shop. Remove the frame and study the back of the painting. Also I have a special infrared light...” He cleared his throat and looked James Lyman straight in the eye. “If this is by who I think it is by, we won’t need to worry about the vase.”
~*~
After finishing her tea in the museum cafe, Laura was relieved to wander around the other displays in peace. Barry Garner had bustled off to play tour guide to a school group and the only thing watching her now was the one red eye of a full sized Cylon model standing in the corner of the History of Colonial Battlestars section.
The first display was a miniature model of a Mercury Class Battlestar. It helped you visualise the specifications of the ship, showing the size of an average heavy carrier beside it, as well various other objects the ordinary citizen could relate to: cars, horses, houses. It also had 3000 model people beside it, representing the number of crew who usually made up the full complement of such a ship.
On the adjacent table was another miniature; a cross section of the ship. It showed each individual deck and gave an insight as to where the various tasks involved in running a Battlestar were performed.
Next, an actual Viper stood behind a rope barrier. She paused to read the blurb beside it. This type of Viper was no longer used by the Fleet apparently. Its navigational systems and weapons’ control were outdated; a new computer network was now used in Viper cockpits.
There was a mention of the pilot whose callsign was written on the side of this retired Viper. After serving in the First Cylon War, he had gone on to become a Battlestar Commander. Originally from Caprica, he had ties to Libran due to the number of times his Tauron father had come to the planet to practice law.
~*~
“What the hell are you doing here” she demanded in a low tone. “Dammit, were you following me?”
“A simple ‘thank you’ for saving you from this goon would have been too simple,” I grumbled.
“Did I ask you to save me?”
I rolled my eyes and bent to remove the gun from the man now lying unconscious on the floor. I shoved it in the waistband of my pants before patting him down for more weapons. I found a flick knife in his top pocket. Opening it, I moved to kneel in front of her and set to work on the ropes around her ankles.
Her skirt was bunched high, giving me a nice view of her long, long legs.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she quietly accused.
I gulped down an angry retort, but I couldn’t deny it. I’d wanted her in this exact position for such a long time...
I looked up and held her gaze. Then, slowly, I lowered mine until I was focussed on her lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten them, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe.
Her captor moaned behind us, breaking the spell.
I returned to my task of cutting through the ropes with added vigour. “No time for foreplay, sweetheart.”
Bill placed the book aside at the sound of the doorbell. It was the local courier with two letters he needed to sign for.
He tore open the one from the Caprican broker he’d spoken to yesterday and skimmed the letter quickly.
He sunk back into his office chair and picked up the telephone to dial James Lyman’s number.
He’d been right. Twelve million cubits was going to be much more pleasing than the original twelve thousand Lyman had expected from the vase.
While he waited for the phone to connect, he opened the second letter. It was an invitation to Mayor Gray’s Colonial Day Charity Ball. The small festivities to be held on the village green sounded more his style.
Lyman answered. Casually, Bill threw the invitation onto a pile of other paperwork lying on his desk and concentrated on breaking the good news to his client.