prompt for July 1st - Harry Potter/Sneakers
Okay, let's see if I can actually write the beginning of this thing. XD
Prompt for July 01:
The possibilities are endless.
"Mother, have you been messing around with the local wildlife again?"
"Not lately. Why?"
"Because there's a pigeon on the window sill with something tied to its leg." There's something a little off about the bird itself, though Carl can't place exactly what. It looks a little skinny to be a city pigeon, though, and he can't think who would want to track one of those down long enough to tie anything to it.
"Huh. Okay, I'll see what's up." With that, Mother heads out of the office. Crease sighs and turns away from the window; Carl can only guess he'd rather not watch the free entertainment.
Mother comes back in about five minutes later, carrying a bundle of paper that wouldn't look out of place at a Renaissance fair. The pigeon finds itself something to eat on the sidewalk, then flies back up to the window sill. Without the paper, it looks oddly familiar, but still not quite like any pigeon Carl's seen in action.
"Very strange mail call, apparently. I'd say it's some kind of job offer."
That gets Bishop's attention. He gets up, takes the paper, and reads it, looking more and more confused as he goes along. "Wait, the Ministry of what?"
None of that helps Carl any, but to say Mother's face falls would do a disservice to just how quickly it happens.
"Let me see that again - oh, no. Not the British wizards. I thought it was Americans, from the pigeon, but apparently he's just the relay."
Crease groans. "You have got to be making this up."
"I'm not. And something's fishy about this. The British wizards don't talk to non-magic-users if they can possibly help it, and they don't like Americans at all. I don't know why they'd come to us first unless they don't mean well by it."
Carl's been keeping an eye on the pigeon the whole time, partly to see if it goes away (it doesn't), and the rest of the conversation rings enough bells to fill in why it looks wrong. "He's not kidding, Crease. Not unless you know of somebody else who'd be using a passenger pigeon for their mail service."
The office goes quiet. A minute or so later, Whistler says, "What's the pay scale on this thing look like?"
Mother glances at the paper again. "Pretty good on paper. But I'd have to find someone who knows the exchange rate before I could say for sure - they didn't bother translating it."
"Then this is either a very elaborate hoax, or another government offer."
Bishop sighs. "And after the last 'government' offer I got us into... Whistler's right. One way or the other, this is going to take a lot more research before we can answer."
"I'll call Mary later," Carl says. They're due to talk anyway, and she might know something from her own job that would help.
"Good start. We can tear into it in earnest tomorrow. Not much point in starting something new this late."
Carl goes back to the coding experiment he'd been working on before he noticed the pigeon, still keeping an eye on the bird as much as he can. He hears Crease say, "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but how do you know more about this than the rest of us?"
Mother snorts. "I don't care what kind of laws are in place, do you really think I'm not gonna keep tabs on people who could wipe my memory at the drop of a hat?"
Carl just shakes his head. He's got a feeling this is going to get interesting fast.
Prompt for July 01:
The possibilities are endless.
"Mother, have you been messing around with the local wildlife again?"
"Not lately. Why?"
"Because there's a pigeon on the window sill with something tied to its leg." There's something a little off about the bird itself, though Carl can't place exactly what. It looks a little skinny to be a city pigeon, though, and he can't think who would want to track one of those down long enough to tie anything to it.
"Huh. Okay, I'll see what's up." With that, Mother heads out of the office. Crease sighs and turns away from the window; Carl can only guess he'd rather not watch the free entertainment.
Mother comes back in about five minutes later, carrying a bundle of paper that wouldn't look out of place at a Renaissance fair. The pigeon finds itself something to eat on the sidewalk, then flies back up to the window sill. Without the paper, it looks oddly familiar, but still not quite like any pigeon Carl's seen in action.
"Very strange mail call, apparently. I'd say it's some kind of job offer."
That gets Bishop's attention. He gets up, takes the paper, and reads it, looking more and more confused as he goes along. "Wait, the Ministry of what?"
None of that helps Carl any, but to say Mother's face falls would do a disservice to just how quickly it happens.
"Let me see that again - oh, no. Not the British wizards. I thought it was Americans, from the pigeon, but apparently he's just the relay."
Crease groans. "You have got to be making this up."
"I'm not. And something's fishy about this. The British wizards don't talk to non-magic-users if they can possibly help it, and they don't like Americans at all. I don't know why they'd come to us first unless they don't mean well by it."
Carl's been keeping an eye on the pigeon the whole time, partly to see if it goes away (it doesn't), and the rest of the conversation rings enough bells to fill in why it looks wrong. "He's not kidding, Crease. Not unless you know of somebody else who'd be using a passenger pigeon for their mail service."
The office goes quiet. A minute or so later, Whistler says, "What's the pay scale on this thing look like?"
Mother glances at the paper again. "Pretty good on paper. But I'd have to find someone who knows the exchange rate before I could say for sure - they didn't bother translating it."
"Then this is either a very elaborate hoax, or another government offer."
Bishop sighs. "And after the last 'government' offer I got us into... Whistler's right. One way or the other, this is going to take a lot more research before we can answer."
"I'll call Mary later," Carl says. They're due to talk anyway, and she might know something from her own job that would help.
"Good start. We can tear into it in earnest tomorrow. Not much point in starting something new this late."
Carl goes back to the coding experiment he'd been working on before he noticed the pigeon, still keeping an eye on the bird as much as he can. He hears Crease say, "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but how do you know more about this than the rest of us?"
Mother snorts. "I don't care what kind of laws are in place, do you really think I'm not gonna keep tabs on people who could wipe my memory at the drop of a hat?"
Carl just shakes his head. He's got a feeling this is going to get interesting fast.