#iloveitxwhenaplanxcomestogether

Mr. Knight standing in the corner and irritably pulling at his tie might find these fundraising parties irking, but Elsa can hardly see why. Certainly, an endless calendar of fundraising dinners, benefit galas, and charity cocktail parties can be a bit tiresome, but they also are part of operating non-profit organizations. The money has to come from somewhere, after all. They are also staples on her own calendar—one of the dangers of having a tremendous fortune in the bank and a familial history of philanthropy. She used to let Anna handle these kinds of events, but her dear sister was a bit too softhearted and free with her checkbook. She soon sent Anna back to PR parties for the company while she took charge of the charitable angles. Admittedly, however, this party is a bit dull. Though she is loath to admit it, this fact falls on the head of the Foundation’s venerable leader Devon Miles. A wonderfully charming and witty man in small groups and one-on-one conversations, he becomes a bundle of nerves when he has to deliver official speeches, resulting in slightly long-winded and rather tedious ones. Unfortunately for all of them tonight, the Foundation ias giving an overview of their work for the last year, and handing out several awards to various charitable endeavors in Southern California. That means poor Mr. Miles has had to make multiple speeches, and the rest of them have to listen to them. It made for an uncomfortable evening across the board. Finally though, the last award has been given and the last of the speeches have been made. A general air of relaxation moves through the crowd as they shift into the ‘cocktails and mingle’ portion of the evening. Mr. Knight promptly disappeared with Dr. Barstow, the two intently discussing something with their heads tilted close together as they vanish through a side door.   Elsa finds herself moving into ‘small talk’ mode where she makes polite conversation with various familiar faces, is introduced to a few new ones, and starts plotting the opportune time to make her farewells. She probably has another hour or so here first though… while Mr. Knight can blow in and out as he pleases, a woman of her position can never appear to be rushed even if all she wants to do was get back to her apartment, slip out of her heels, and slink into bed with a good book. She makes her first circuit of the room, ending by the bar where she gratefully accepts a refill on her seltzer water. Spotting a new man leaning awkwardly against the bar in a tux he is clearly not comfortable in, she acknowledges him with a polite headtilt. As she greets the stranger, she spots another figure bee-lining toward her—one she wishes to avoid. Mr. Standforshire has been after her for months with an unsound business proposition that she suspects he is trying to use as an overture toward a romantic relationship. Desiring neither from the odious forty-five-year-old, she turns fully toward the stranger. “Hello,” Offering her hand politely, unable to fully hide a sense of urgency, she finishes her introduction.  “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I am Elsa Arendelle. Do you work for the Foundation, Mister… ?”

“Now you can’t laugh when I come out, Amy.” Face lingers in the bathroom a few minutes longer then necessary while he tries to extract that promise from the brunette. “Murdock gave me this sweater, and it means a lot to him that I wear it at least once a year during the Christmas season.” The sweater is a work of chaotic, abstract art as every vaguely seasonally appropriate theme seems to have been jammed onto this red-and-green abomination. He has gingerbread cookies, poinsettias, tinsel, snowmen, candy canes, packages, Christmas trees, reindeer, Santa Clauses, and snowflakes all vying for a point of prominence. The overall effect feels more like a Christmas hangover than anything else… Still… his best friend bought it for him, and it really does mean a lot for the pilot to see Face wear the gift at least once a year. After every Christmas, Face packs it back in his trunk in the orphanage, and hopes the moths will take care of the problem for him. So far, they have not obliged… A glance at his watch tells him that he cannot stall any longer, or they will be later than he usually is. Coming out of the bathroom, he hurries across the room in the hopes of grabbing his overcoat and slipping it on before Amy gets a good look at the sweater. Even pairing it with a sedate white shirt, black pants, and black tie does little to tone it down… if anything, the low-key nature of the rest of his clothes just puts more emphasis on the sweater. “Are you ready?” He goes to grab his coat, glancing at Amy as he speaks.

In context, that was Ned using his gift to bring dead things back to life for sleuthing purposes. Or via pure accident. Out of context, or how it might appear to someone in the not-knowing, it was a man, 6-foot-five in stature, tampering with evidence and who was possibly a necrophiliac. A necrophiliac who worked in food services.

@iloveitxwhenaplanxcomestogether   CONTINUED !

You can blame Rose & Smeagol for this.

“Stay behind me.” Face gently pushes Amy behind him, “And get ready to run when I tell you to do so, okay? Just make for that emergency exit… can you see it?” He keeps his eyes trained forward, but hopes Amy remembers where the stairwell is in the hotel’s corridor, their escape route marked by the glowing neon sign. This enemy is different from some of the other ones the pair have tangled with in the past, a new Colonel sent by the military to capture the elusive A-Team. Where Lynch was a buffoon, and Decker’s ruthlessness made him predictable, this new guy is a wild card… and quite possibly just wild. There is definitely something off in that man’s head, but whatever it is, Face does not want to examine it too closely. He also cannot afford to let this lunatic find out about Amy. The corridor in front of him is not straight—there is a ninety degree corner that he is focused on for the moment. Face waits until he hears the sound of military boots thumping into the soft carpet, and raised voices coming from around the obstruction as they systematically check every room on this floor. Six voices… they are all there so no one has doubled around and tried to sneak up on Amy and himself. That is what he needed to be sure of before they flee. Reaching down, he finds Amy’s hand and squeezes it before letting go. “Run.” The order is whispered, but leaves no room to question it. “I’ll be right behind you.”  

“I wasn’t going too!” Kelly whispers back, horrified by the crass nature of the inquiry. “Are most of the men in Los Angeles like that?” Perhaps living out in the country has made her a bit sheltered, or she is just used to everyone in a fifty-mile radius knowing that she is the vet responsible for keeping their livestock and animals healthy, but Kelly is accustomed to a certain amount of respect regardless of who she deals with. The men in Los Angeles though, have clearly not gotten that memo. Granted, she will admit that HM spoils her, but still… two ladies should be able to go out for dinner without degenerates coming over to their table and making obscene comments! Still flustered, Kelly leans a bit closer to Amy. “You know, I’m really starting to think we should just go back to your apartment, or my hotel room. At least there we can talk without,” she casts a disgusted glance toward the creep’s retreating back, “interruptions.”