The Wrath of a Pianist

A boisterous round of knocks broke the silence in the Safe.  Sighing, Minder went to the door.  "I wonder who that could be," she muttered coldly, knowing full well who it was.

No sooner had she turned the knob did Spockeh and his crew tumble through the door, each of them looking rather pleased with themselves.

"Well boys, I'd say we have a job well-done on our hands," Spockeh announced to his group.  They gave a shout of approval.

"What did you do this time?" Robyn asked, exasperated.

"Let's just say we crashed the most recent Antagonist speech," one of them replied.

Both Robyn and Minder, who was normally an unemotional woman, balked in shock.

"You did what?!" Robyn shrieked, standing quickly.  Minder slipped from the room.  "And you came back here?!"

The crew shrunk back a bit behind Spockeh, looking to him for guidance.

"What were we supposed t'do?"

"I don't know," a new voice answered saracstically.  "'Thinking' is always a decent option."

The crew did a one-eighty to face a new, silohetted figure.  Spockeh winced.

"Thought ya got away from me, did'ja Spockee?" Gwen asked, coming down the stairs into the main room, pronouncing the final vowel of his name with an ostentaciously, horizontally ugly "ee" that made everyone cringe.  The crew, startled as they were, looked to their leader in confusion.

"Who's that?" one muttered.

"Name's Gwen," she answered tersely before Spocky could say anything.  "He used to write for my section of an underground arts paper back in the States.  Betcha he never told'j'he wrote for a paper, didee? 

The poor, trembling Spocky chanced a sheepish grin.  "Good times, huh?"

"Oh, sure, if you call teetering on the edge of occupation-oblivion 'good times,' compañero."  Gwen shook her head, chuckling in spite of herself.  "Constantly late in turning in pieces, always angling for that promotion to the multi-media section.  Oh, I would've gladly put in a good word for ya, if you weren't always getting yourself into trouble.  Not only were you hanging by a gossamer thread, you put my neck on the chopping block, too!  'Why can't you keep him in line?' the boss would constantly ask.  And y'know what?  I couldn't answer!  Because I hadn't a single idea; I'd tried every trick up my sleeve within two weeks!  Two weeks!"

Everyone watched the peculiar scene unfold before them (even if Robyn could only listen): this lanky, cocky rebel shrinking and trembling before this diminutive frizzy-haired creature.

"I would've had you fired, but I didn't!  Know why?  Because you wrote good stuff.  Even though you bugged the hell out of me, you did good pieces, I admit.  I would've told you more often, but you just kept wearing on me and my patience.  And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a pretty patient person.

"And now that both of us are on the run, you and your little friends here..."

"Now wait a minute," one of the stockier ones growled.

Gwen pointed a finger at him, her brown eyes narrowing.  "Quiet you, or you're next."  She turned back to poor Spocky.  "Anywho, now that you're with your crew there, your shenanigens have left the Antagonists 'no choice' but to tighten security even more, especially for foreigners, aye-ee Americans and especially for us young whipper-snappers.  And if you slap the two t'gether?  It all just adds up to 'unless you're careful and hide out in a church for two weeks, you're pretty much screwed'!!"

She took a few shaky deep breaths to calm herself down.  No one dared to break the silence, for fear of another hell-spawned fury lecture.

One of the stairs creaked, causing everyone to jump and look in the doorway.  Two more people filed down the stairs, one laiden with computers, the other with a serious limp.  They stopped abruptly, surveying the scene.

"Are we... interrupting something?" the one with the computers asked nervously.

The End

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