Shorty chapter but I'm in such a good mood I might give you more super soon. Between my new Stargate app and the finishing of a certain pain in my side, I'm all giddy...
This is where twist number two comes in and I want to warn people that we will soon enter the world of corny-ville. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure fic for me in that regard but I really, really wanted to do it :P
Thank you to everyone spoiling me with reviews, you make me all 'nawww'-y!
xx
"Still comin' in strong," Henry whispered, not tearing his eyes from the tablet in his hand. "We're getting close."
Helen tightened her grip on her gun as they crept through the darkened corridors. The entire building was musty, rats occasionally scampering about in front of them and setting them all on edge.
"Down here," Henry continued, gesturing to yet another dim stretch of abandoned warehouse. Helen nodded, gesturing for him and Will to drop behind her before she shone her torch in the direction Henry had indicated to where she could just make out a solid door.
Looking back to Henry and Will briefly, she waited for Henry's nod of approval before slowly making her way towards the door. She could hear very little over their heavy footsteps though she wasn't sure she wanted to. Something inside of her was screaming that this was only going to get worse. Tips of icebergs and all that. Because her day really needed to get worse.
During her first solo mission out to try and track down whatever was sending out these messages, she'd fallen into a hole, been rained on and actually ended up in the middle of nowhere. Of course, she'd been lucky because no one had seen her but still it wasn't what she could call a successful mission. At least now the rain had stopped, she mused absently as her eyes continued to take in the dank corridor. Mildew coated the ceiling, great splodges of fungus sagging with the roof. The floor was carpeted but soaked with enough fluid that it felt thicker under their feet. The recent rain obviously hadn't helped matters at all but Helen had to wonder why a building this disgusting was allowed to stay standing. The large storage sections were home only to rats, birds and the occasional teenager vandal.
Helen stopped a metre from the door, listening even more intently. A soft tapping echoed through the door and she could just make out the clink of what sounded like a glass hitting the table.
She turned and nodded to the other's, Will taking up a position on the other side of the door as she grasped the door knob. Taking a deep breath, Helen turned the knob and threw the door open, aiming her loaded weapon the second she could. Will ducked in to her right while Henry took up a position just behind her.
The room was bathed in golden light, a large and ornate lamp upon the rotted out desk allowing the room to seem almost homely. The walls were still covered in mildew and the stench that permeated the entire warehouse was still present but a pot of tea sat on the desk next to a delicate tea cup. In one corner on a sturdy metal table was a rough approximation of an autotype, or at least Helen assumed that's what it was considering the way it was turning and whirring softly.
All of this recognition though was secondary, her eyes glued not to the décor but to the woman who sat before them, long thin legs propped up on the edge of the desk, black patent pumps glinting in the dim light.
"Nice of you to join me," she drawled, her rich, cultivated accent laced with sarcasm. Helen's eyes quickly appraised the young woman's lanky frame and soft brown hair falling in thick waves down her back. She was well dressed, the charcoal pinstripe pants contrasted nicely by the cream of the business shirt she wore. In one hand she held a cup of tea almost carelessly, the fine china poised between thin fingers.
Then the woman turned, smiling prettily over her shoulder as she swung her legs down. Her icy blue eyes twinkled, complementing the powder blue silk waistcoat she wore. Her features were straight and classical, her nose a little too long to be considered conventionally beautiful but paired with her lanky frame, it gave her an air of sophistication that was only enhanced by the accent. She was American, Helen knew instantly but something about her spoke of a more British education.
"Well then?" she prompted, cocking her head as she twisted in her seat. Placing the tea cup back down, she crossed her legs and thrust her arms out dramatically. "This is the bag and tag part," she said condescendingly, flashing Helen and the boys a bright smile. "Or do I have to whip out my claws?"