Operation: Pacifica, Pleasure Faire by CyberPyro (cybrpyro@infinet.com) "Grrrrr," growled CP as Elektra pulled away from the curb and headed into traffic. "So we ran into some spongies," thought Samhain, "Nothing out of the ordinary, ya know." "I know," spoke CP very softly, turning his head to look out the window. "What?" asked Samhain, raising an eyebrow in concern for his friend. "I'm getting sick of this," he responded, sinking in his chair. "I'm afraid I don't understand..." "You don't?" asked CP, sitting upright. "No, I don't!" "Ok, fine! Let me put it this way: I spend all of Op: Phoenix fighting assassination squads, breaking out of traps, dodging bullets, and also trying to lead some sort of resistance. "Now that *THAT'S* over I get all the joy of working 80 hours a week to put everything back together. I try to chill out for an hour or two in a restaurant and what we get? SPONGIN!" "Look," sighed Samhain, "this time is stressful for everyone. After this quick mission is over, hand off reconstruction responsibility to someone else in TRES for a week. Go on vacation ... and leave your beeper in the office." Both Jihaddi let out a cry of shock, Elektra screeching around a corner fast enough to slam CP into the passenger's door and snap Sam against his seat belt. CP shot a wicked look at Samhain, pushing himself off the door, as Elektra easily tripled the speed limit. "What..." accused CP before he saw the look in his friend's eyes: he wasn't in control of the car. "Knock it off, you two pieces of driftwood!" chided Elektra, "Live a little! I'm going to take you where you *CAN* have some fun... besides, then I won't have to put up with your oh-so-cheery company..." ... Eighteen minutes and a long, terrified string of motorists later, Elektra came to a bouncing halt in an over-grown field turned parking lot for several hundred cars. Her doors popped open, rustling weeds and grasses on both side of the Vector as the Jihaddi undid their seat belts. "Now get out!" teased Elektra as Samhain and CP slung their swords into their customary places. "Yes Ma'am," responded Samhain dryly as Elektra started to pull away again. "Well," said CP as he watched Elektra streak towards the road, "she sure didn't waste any time getting out of here." "What's that?" asked Samhain, pointing towards the distant tree line. Brightly colored tents, everything but their tops obscured by a large snow fence, hugged the forest edge. Poignant smoke swathed the tent tops, collaborating with the sinking sun, trees, and distance to create an almost mystical appearance. "Dunno, but looks like we can get in over there," observed CP, pointing to a large make-shift gate where groups of people streamed in and out. A few paces later, a sign reading 'Renaissance Pleasure Faire' in golden, Olde English lettering clearly defined what the gathering was about. "Well," said CP with a smile, "..." ".. at least Elektra has good taste," finished Samhain as he shoved his friend forwards, "Hurry Thyself along!" ... The two Jihaddi, one a lithe dark-complected man carrying a katana and wakizashi, the other a tall, muscular, heavily tanned one carrying a Claymore, blended perfectly into the crowd of costumed individuals. Where the males were as likely to sport chain-mail as tights and feathers, two guys in shorts carrying swords barely merited the batting of an eyelash. Basking in the anonymity a Pleasure Faire provided, Samhain and CP set about enjoying themselves for the what seemed like the first time in months. After a short time, TRES Corps and the Doberman Empire seemed like ephemeral, half-forgotten entities in contrast to the waves of pleasure brought to the duo by games, conversations, fresh and hot food and drink, random jokes, public entertainment, and the general feel of enjoyment that comes with all Pleasure Faires. ... "This has been a lot of fun," smiled CP as he walked close to his friend. Samhain nudged CP with his shoulder, directing him towards a sword vendor's tent. It had been a long, fun day, and they'd both been able to let the demands of the Jihad be forgotten while they played. This was something precious to both of them; it happened so rarely in their lives. The two walked through the tent, observing the swords' quality, edge, tone, and balance before leaving. They were obviously tourist blades, made for mantlepieces or a hard-up Pleasure Faire fighters who couldn't afford a better weapon. They crossed the thoroughfare, the setting sun catching the dust kicked up from everyone's passage and turning the air a sparkling gold color, to another vendor selling fired clay plates and cups. "I want it!" exclaimed CP as he picked up a sculpted cup that would impress Conan the Barbarian. The cup resembled the lower leg of a dragon, the ankle just the right size for a grown man's hand to hold it. The sun caught the enamels and set the cup ablaze, greens, golds, and blues flashing as CP turned it over it to check the price sticker on the bottom. "That's a really large cup," observed the sword dealer from the previous tent coming up behind them, "look like you'd kill your thirst and then some with that." "Indeed," replied CP as he completed his transaction with the merchant who began wrapping the flagon. "Perhaps you wanted to buy it?" Samhain caught CP's gaze for a split second, and somehow his friend found enough time to roll his eyes before looking at the unwanted member of the conversation. "Well, no," admitted the merchant, "My name's Frederick and I deal swords for a living." "And?" asked CP, looking for something to divert his attention and thus provide an escape. "I couldn't help but notice..." faltered the pest, "What I mean is: Is that a *genuine* Claymore? I've never seen one that's so *close* to one used by the HighLanders of Scotland, and in such good condition!" "Charmed..." replied CP, his lowering tone of voice indicating the conversation was meant to end there. Samhain raised an eyebrow at CP. "It *is* awfully close to an original," added his friend, his curiosity about the past his companion would never discuss piqued. He'd known it to be an authentic blade from the Scottish Highlands circa the 1500s since he had lain eyes on it, but had never had a convenient excuse to ask. "Your friend has an eye for good blades," quipped Frederick, "perhaps you'd be willing to ... sell it to me? I have some very wealthy clientel who like such a piece." "Look," retorted CP, shooting Samhain an evil look, "if I'd wanted to sell it, I'd have offered it..." "But!" interrupted Frederick, "..." His conversation was completely forgotten as warriors clad in Neon Magenta and Candy Apple Green armor jogged down the paths towards the Jihaddi. "Hold this for me" ordered CP as he handed the cup back to its vendor, "I need to finish enjoying the rest of the Faire first." "Sorry," cut-in Samhain, ending Frederick's spiel mid-word, "we've something more important to take care of at the moment..." No sooner has the last 'T' been enunciated then the two were off at a full run, dancing around the crowds of pleasure seekers in search of an area where no innocents could be hurt by the coming combat. TO BE CONTINUED! CyberPyro Copyright, Pyrokinetic Production, Inc. (1996)