Re: SDNWorld Redux: Story Thread the Third
Posted: 2009-01-10 05:19pm
Presidential Palace, downtown San Dorado
“… meanwhile, still no news has come out about the intrepid astronauts and their undoubtedly grisly fate!” an excitable reporter jabbered incoherently into the TV-screen. “However reliable sources have informed us that in FASTA’s secret Siberian star base, armed space ships are currently gearing up for a retaliatory strike against GIANT SPACE BATS!”
“Ha heh ha”, the President grinned incoherently, before erupting in a fitful bout of coughing that left him hacking and wheezing for air. He whimpered with self-pity and took another gulp of whisky, eyes tearing up as the alcohol seared its way down his soar throat.
“Still not doing so well I see?” Sinclair could barely keep the amusement from her voice at seeing her President reduced to a self-pitying state of misery at the hands of the flu. “You know, if this had happened a few months earlier we would’ve had you confined for suspicion of EAS…”
“Very funny, Daphne”, Sidney Hank groaned. “Very funny indeed. Have you merely come to poke fun at my wretchedness or is there a more benevolent purpose to your visit?”
“You know I’d do anything to cheer up my President, mister President.”
Hank grinned, an expression turned wolfish by his two-day beard. “So I hope-” but any further innuendo was interrupted by another bout of coughing. “Oh sweet Lady I hate being sick” murmured the President. “Why haven’t your SinTEK bozos found a cure for this yet?”
Daphne leered. “If we had… We’d still be SinTEK. Would you even take our cure?”
“Eh. Probably not.” Sidney changed subjects. “Any word on the FASTA situation?”
“Helena’s offered the use of one of our orbiters, the thing was due for launch in three days and we can probably speed up its departure. They have yet to come back to us…” Her eyes trailed toward the massive wall-mounted plasma screen in the Presidential study, where an incoherent host with an exploded haircut was now babbling with a so-called alien expert from a PeZookian tabloid about the true nature of the Giant Space Bats and their relation to the HERV virus. “Why do you watch this crap again?”
“Because it makes me feel intelligent. Every man needs his little indulgences… Speaking of which, you probably didn’t come over just to tell me that FASTA hasn’t told us anything new yet.”
“No, mainly I came over to see how you were doing.”
“Ah. And?”
“Sidney, you look like hell.”
The President laughed, a laugh that culminated in a wheezing cough that took his breath away. “Well then,” he said with a grand gesture, “join me in my private little purgatory… For a while.”
Daphne smiled. “I guess I could stay… For a while.”
Sidney Hank smiled back. “I feel better already.”
Result: President Hank is under the weather. San Dorado officially offers its orbiter for a hypothetical rescue. Crazy loonies speculate on the cause of the catastrophe in SPACE!
“… meanwhile, still no news has come out about the intrepid astronauts and their undoubtedly grisly fate!” an excitable reporter jabbered incoherently into the TV-screen. “However reliable sources have informed us that in FASTA’s secret Siberian star base, armed space ships are currently gearing up for a retaliatory strike against GIANT SPACE BATS!”
“Ha heh ha”, the President grinned incoherently, before erupting in a fitful bout of coughing that left him hacking and wheezing for air. He whimpered with self-pity and took another gulp of whisky, eyes tearing up as the alcohol seared its way down his soar throat.
“Still not doing so well I see?” Sinclair could barely keep the amusement from her voice at seeing her President reduced to a self-pitying state of misery at the hands of the flu. “You know, if this had happened a few months earlier we would’ve had you confined for suspicion of EAS…”
“Very funny, Daphne”, Sidney Hank groaned. “Very funny indeed. Have you merely come to poke fun at my wretchedness or is there a more benevolent purpose to your visit?”
“You know I’d do anything to cheer up my President, mister President.”
Hank grinned, an expression turned wolfish by his two-day beard. “So I hope-” but any further innuendo was interrupted by another bout of coughing. “Oh sweet Lady I hate being sick” murmured the President. “Why haven’t your SinTEK bozos found a cure for this yet?”
Daphne leered. “If we had… We’d still be SinTEK. Would you even take our cure?”
“Eh. Probably not.” Sidney changed subjects. “Any word on the FASTA situation?”
“Helena’s offered the use of one of our orbiters, the thing was due for launch in three days and we can probably speed up its departure. They have yet to come back to us…” Her eyes trailed toward the massive wall-mounted plasma screen in the Presidential study, where an incoherent host with an exploded haircut was now babbling with a so-called alien expert from a PeZookian tabloid about the true nature of the Giant Space Bats and their relation to the HERV virus. “Why do you watch this crap again?”
“Because it makes me feel intelligent. Every man needs his little indulgences… Speaking of which, you probably didn’t come over just to tell me that FASTA hasn’t told us anything new yet.”
“No, mainly I came over to see how you were doing.”
“Ah. And?”
“Sidney, you look like hell.”
The President laughed, a laugh that culminated in a wheezing cough that took his breath away. “Well then,” he said with a grand gesture, “join me in my private little purgatory… For a while.”
Daphne smiled. “I guess I could stay… For a while.”
Sidney Hank smiled back. “I feel better already.”
Result: President Hank is under the weather. San Dorado officially offers its orbiter for a hypothetical rescue. Crazy loonies speculate on the cause of the catastrophe in SPACE!