Mr P's diary

Mr P taps on his PDA. He still keeps his Dell Axiom close to hand, the screen's big and the stylus doesn't fall apart.

He sits near the docks and recalls his very first experiences of Sinners Rest.

Seeing the Police van, windows smashed, SCUM scrawled across the back had made him feel right at home. He smiled now just thinking about it.

Wide open roads, big pavements. He was looking forward (yes, actually looking forward) to driving his car here - AND there was a Gas station!

He'd been chatting to friends on his blue-tooth headset and had been 'jumped' by a a pimp, who, for reasons best known to himself, had chatted, intimidated, tried to sell crack, made fun of, and then left Mr P, a little bit like a whirlwind. *shakes his head as he remembers it* He barely had time to reach for his gun before a knife was pressed up against his guts. He probably did need to be doing drugs to stay alive around the cafe.

He'd got on his dirt bike, just to check out how sticky the tarmac was. It was good! he was looking forward to seeing the bikers moving in, pronto.

He'd been drawn to the house on the hill, only to discover it was a mental institute, and they hadn't heard of him (yet). He had met a very friendly red squirrel though. It wasn't quiet on speaking terms, but he intended to find out if he could infiltrate it's advance scouting party and discover the invasion plans.

But that then brought him to, well, to his most fulfilling experience for some time.

* stops scraping the stylus across the screen at this point, and turns to survey Zoe's cafe, which is taking shape*

Zoe - she'd been a little reluctant at first to allow him to join her in her business venture - as a silent partner of course. but he'd nearly convinced her. well he had the headed stationary, he just needs a lawyer to draft up the wording, and then he would be back for Zoe's signature. She was every so cute. She really would make great 'front of house' person. He was looking forward to working with her. It also meant he didn't have to find himself premises just yet.

* presses save for the tenth time (never can be too sure with the touch screen getting worn) and just for good measure, re-runs the align screen application. Yes. Zoe had been doing the resting, and he had been doing the Sinning. He felt as if he should get a gold star from the mayors office or something. Immersing ones self in the vital essence of a place..

Mr P couldn't rely on the income from the Cafe (he was a silent partner after all) to sustain him - he couldn't. Zoe was one smart cookie - intelligent, street savvie, and lets face it, brains a little too big for her head - he had to build in contingency for her finding some legal way to wriggle out of his constrictive agreement. No, what he needed was a stable, steady eddie job to fall back on.

That's when he saw the advert for Firefighters and paramedics. It was down at the fire station, but no-one could tell him what the job entailed. Still, there had to be lots of fires - I mean, he mused, sinners at rest, well, sinners had come from the fires of hell, some of them must still be smoking...

So he'd picked up an application form and gone down to sit on the grass by the sea - how hard could it be to apply? Weeel, first thing that had run out was his biro - the application form went on, page after page. After picking up a replacement biro from behind the counter in Zoe's (put it down as tax deductable) he had come to the bit about one of the chief's being a woman of ill repute called Faerie Lindley. He happily completed these details, having known her in the dim and distant past, and signing with a flourish, he posted the application in the box.

Quite some time later (in fact he was given to thinking the secretarial support was in need of some motivation) he got the letter back - the stamp had SRFD promoting it's self, so he didn't just open it there and then - he got himself sat down in his favourite bar, ready to celebrate.

Dear Mr P,

Thank you for taking time to apply for the post of Fireman,...blah, blah, blah

Your application was generally very good, however, your comments about the chief were inappropriate, and it is with these comments in mind, that I regret to tell you that your application has been rejected.

We welcome another application for other positions... blah, blah, blah

Yours sincerely,

Jackson Riley


Mr P read the letter again in a state of disbelief. He got himself a bottle of JD to help him come to terms with it. Jesus Christ - his plans to pull himself off the streets, to 'clean up his act' were in tatters. The JD helped him gain perspective on things and deal effectively with his anger.

Of course, once he'd woken up nursing the hangover, he had decided to keep his history to himself, and with a suitable preface, had applied again. He did notice, when he returned to the SRFD to post his second application, that the place was dead again. He wondered if Sinners Rest was turning into a DeadEnd as far as he was concerned, but, nevertheless, steeling himself, he posted the second application.

Of course, when the letter arrived with the stamp of SRFD he didn't bother going anywhere special to open it up. He sat down calmly at his breakfast table, took out the box of matches, ready to destroy the evidence in a suitable manner if such action was deemed necessary, and opened the letter...

Dear Mr P,

Thank you for your re-application, blah, blah blah...


you meet the minimum physical and mental requirements, blah blah blah...
It is with pleasure that I can confirm your application was successful, blah blah blah..

Yours sincerely,

Jackson Riley


He held the letter in his hand, glancing occasionally at the matches - having steeled himself to burn something - he was trembling with excitement.

GREAT! he smiled, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

--------

but plans to go and start firefighting had to put on hold as events in his life started to become problematical and it was to be some time before he could turn his mind back to stomping into burning buildings and rescuing little kitties from trees.

As previously alluded to, affairs out of town caused him to forget that he had realised one of his childhood dreams. The GF problems (well her adoptive mother mostly, and all the other suitors), and having to put all his possessions, his shop, everything, including his beloved art - as collateral for a loan to pay an informant to secure the safe release of his GF were complications enough. Without the added problems of doing some freelancing work that had caused him to get shot by the most level headed, experienced cop he had yet had the misfortune to come across since Chief Cleo Mavendof skipped town.

He couldn't find any doctors to treat his gunfire wound and was forced to go to Dr Hillburton. He knew the woman was unhinged... but he had been ill prepared for the switch-back her schizoid personality would subject him too... running naked through the streets of DeadEnd, after being pistol whipped, had his balls crushed by a large lump of plaster and having his clothes burnt with acid, was never something he had expected to do anywhere but in his nightmares.

He had sat quietly in his room, looked at his beloved roses, and there, amongst the final demands and offers of additional credit from the unscrupulous DE bank, he'd seen the acceptance letter from SRFD. He swept all the other letters off the table. It was just him, the letter of appointment, and - the light at the end of the tunnel. he threw his 'stuff' in a bag and caught the first container ship out of DE.

He arrived in SR to another fine day. He was lucky - there were people in SRFD. The 'Chief' was in - but this wasn't the guy who had written to him 'Jackson Riley' - no, it was some new bird who had just taken the post. Mr P handed over his appointment letter, knowing this was his lifeline - this career in the Fire Department.

The new Chief couldn't even lift her eyes from the computer screen and said he needed to sit an interview.

He was flabergastered. The appointment letter was worthless - he felt like a drowning man clutching to a life vest, thrown to him by a man he could no longer see - and the life vest was punctured, filling with water, if he clung to it any longer he would surely sink into the depths. Mr P put the 'appointment letter' back in his pocket.

So, when could he take the interview? He asked the new Chief - and woman called Faerie Lindley. She took that moment to look up from her computer to tell him wasn't dressed appropriately!

He left, speaking to the guy on the couch as he left - and it started to dawn on him that the new Chief was deranged. Did he want to work for a deranged boss?

Perhaps he was over-reacting? He went across to the wash rooms to change into his interview suit - and as he returned, he bumped into an old acquaintance: Louise Dreadlow was looking dapper, and between them they managed to finish a bottle of Merlot... it was a pleasant evening... he walked out, intent on going for that interview - knocking that Fearie Lindley over with his stunning credentials.... instead he saw HER again. The classy bird ... Miss Hillingdon-Smythe... and he found himself falling into conversation with her, over ANOTHER bottle of wine.... and of all the people he has met these past few months, she is the nicest, most interesting, easiest to talk to. But, whilst he was getting her a drink, he got a wood splinter inserted into his bottom, and from then on was a little distracted - eventually leaving her in search of emergency medical treatment... and so to a new part of his life - who'd have guessed it?

Mr P. The name had an air of mystery about it, in a M*A*S*H sort of way. Strangely, it didn't seem to inspire people as much as he had hoped. Nevertheless, Mr P was a certain sort of person. But there was another side to him, and, this go-getter needed a different name - a way to pigeon hole him - a way, to be vilified. Normally Estos didn't come out to play, but sometimes, if a course of action required the right motivation, Estos was there to deliver.

So it was that when Mr P saw the advert at "The Rest" for staff, and applied for the highly respected job of Nurse, expecting a huge application form and grueling interview, he found himself under the microscope of one Dr Kensley Allen. Dr Allen had an agenda, and it was Estos who pulled himself up to the line, ready to be counted, not Mr P.

The application was approved, and Dr Allen was impressed enough to skip the interview - they went straight into the tour. The facilities were exorbitantly comprehensive; some of the patients were shocking; literally - Estos felt tremors running through his body when he saw Vylet's body imprisoned in the treatment room. What had befallen her?

Mr P is worried - Miss Hillingdon-Smythe isn't answering her door. He hopes no other opportunist has taken advantage of her - though his fears are probably unfounded, it is most likely she is just settling in to her new job she seemed so exited about.

But, he's got problems of his own, things he must attend to.

First of all he's got a job suited to his abilities - a Nurse at The Rest. But - clearly, the Doctors Allen and Box have their work cut out creating a workable treatment plan for their patients... and he unfortunately was introduced to 'The Girl' without a chaperon. Despite the fact it was his first day on the job, having 'The Girl' show him around, and then 'interact' with Vylet - this definitely seemed to be a trial by fire. 'The Girl' in his opinion should not have been left free to wonder around the Asylum (someone take the keys off her!) - was it reasonable to let her pace the corridors, her wild hair the only clue that she should be wearing a 'handle with care' health warning? But more importantly was it therapeutic to let 'The Girl' introduce the patients to 'Noe'??? Noe gave Mr P the willies, so what did he/she/it do for the patient's sense of calm?. And then that whole thing between the stool and chair 6 - maybe, he could have handled that better.

Still, he now had 'The Girl''s key line of inquiry, and had a special pair of shoes ready for his next shift.

On the other side of life - GF has got a job at Zoe's. That will cramp his style - how can he ensure that any business / financial transactions can be completed successfully with Miss Hillingdon-Smythe if GF on the doorstep? But, at least she's out from the mother hen's wing - and perhaps will take the opportunity to spread her own beautiful wings - and soar, hand in hand with Mr P? One can but hope... (and scheme, plot, and plan)

Mr P has been busy. How much of his business should be in his diary I wonder?

Of course, GF is top of things Mr P has been busy with. What with fighting off people muscling in on the action, and still trying to win approval from adopted mother -figure, Mr P hit a moment of clarity. Mr P had taken GF to the opening party at Alexia's new club in Sinners Rest. GF was looking quite magical in dress and heels. Mr P was just getting to the bar to get drinks, when non other than Hitomi Heron, - you remember her - don't you? The rather effective investigative Reporter for DeadEnd Daily? (long blond hair, inquisitive mind, sharp, witty humor..) Well, she came in wearing a opening party present from Mr Stradivarious. It looked like half a dozen red cigars bundled together - which would have been OK, if there wasn't an alarm clock attached. Poor Hitomi was being used as a camel - she was gagged and arms bound behind her back, and told in no uncertain terms where to go with her 'present'.

Mr P found himself stood in the bar with Hitomi and her present between him and his GF. Well, suffice to say between the quick thinking staff and experienced guests present (RM?, Summer?) the situation was diffused. But it shook Mr P up bad. Real bad. Who knows how long he's got, how long anyone has? So that thing that he has been trying to find the right moment to do, you know, that thing blokes need to do that involves outrageous expense and the potential to be rejected... he decided to do then. With the adrenalin running through his blood stream!


So, Mr P is now officially engaged! GF will no longer hide behind her anonymity - Seonaid Landar said YES!

If the excitement of planning for a wedding wasn't enough... Mr P has had another break through. It all started with a burglary. You see, Miss Hillingdon-Smyth has been paying for her rent up front.

How many gal's in Sinners Rest do that? For a man who once hacked the DEPD computer system, Mr P thought it time he started digging a little into the background of the Miss POSH totty. Was that paste she wore around her neck? Were those polyester rugs in her front room? And Mr P discovered that Ceara was a right prolific writer. Always sending letters. What could all those letters contain?

Damn, if she'd been sending Emails, her secrets would have been laid bare so much sooner (memo to self to ensure encryption on own diary is set to 256bit AES, and old entries deleted using triple DES) So a trip to the temps down at the postal service was required. Didn't take long to find an overworked, underpaid worker who would intercept the letters - get copies to Mr P - and send them on their way. Strange how efficient people can be given the right incentives.

So, Mr P can safely say that the burglar WAS after Miss H-S's jewelry. But that the TOFF also appears to have a weakness for posh blokes with cute derrieres.

Hmm, a plan appears to be forming.....


p.s. That proprietor at Angels Rest is a right mardi cow, we'll see if a bit of food poisoning will improve her customer service... After all, the customer is ALWAYS right.

Well that was a right mess. I knew when I went away someone may find the Dell Axiom, and I couldn't let all my research fall into the wrong hands, so I wiped it. But, I must have been delirious from something I'd eaten from the scum bag, Steph's cafe. 'cause could I recover my data from the USB stick? could I hell. it's taken me months to pull together all my research and get back on track...

And God am I glad that O has left SR, she's a mean fucker. She worked me over, but in the end, she's so clever, she's got away with it. See, I think she hides her love affair with the Devil beneath a fur coat made of seal puppy skins softened with distilled raccoon vitriol. the Devil himself knows what currency she paid Kogasu to fuck me over, again and again, like some sort of broken record. She rigged the fight against Steph so I lost my money there too. Once that dirty Kogasu had softened me up, she waited till a couple of days before the wedding before her and her lap-dog - punch inebriated prize cock wasted me again. Said something about being even. That O must have distilled Raccoon's piss for brains if she thinks she's ever going to be have me someplace safe.

------
*short delay as I sip from the malt whiskey, letting my hands grip on the stylus soften*

Seo is more than I could ever have wished for - and a lot more trouble than I could have imagined, in my wildest, most deranged dreams. But she has a sparkle in her eyes that lets that soul of hers reach out and borrow deep into my heart, brushing my twisted tormented memories to the brittle brown leaves of autumn. I might question if I've done the right thing, but I can only ever imagine one answer...

Trust a new start to bring totally new problems. No sooner have we returned from honeymoon, and started making preparations for our new business venture in Sinners Bay, then I have the most unwelcome brush with the law!

It's poetic of course. I have to laugh. There was Mr P, considering how to make the most efficient use of Ceara Hillingdon-Smythe's jewellery (she has so much of the stuff and 'Daddy' just keeps bank-rolling her, she wouldn't have missed any that much).

*sits back and looks out across the sunlit seas from his new homestead*

And now, Mr P is being sued by Ceara for not returning it! I know, you gotta laugh - except this ain't no laughing matter. Well, Louise might be laughing, and Ming, she'll be laughing, and Ceara? She'll be wringing her hands with glee: See if she's successful she'll get her money back (Mr P has you see, a successful business, which can be liquidated to provide the funds) so she won't have to ask Daddy for more, and she'll get Seonaid put away to do hard time.

Yes, Mr P knows that Ceara's just jealous; Jealous of all that time that Mr P spends with Seonaid. Mr P noticed that squaring of the shoulders when Ceara was playing the organ at the wedding. The surreptitious glances in his direction when she thought no one was looking; how she didn't come to the reception in case her true feelings would become known. Ceara might have had finishing school, but she has nothing but ending thoughts for Seonaid. That's her motivation for the writ she's lodged against her. But Mr P will not allow Seo to go to jail. Seo is a innocent flower, yet to grow, mature and reach her full potential. And you know what? Mr P ain't about to do hard time either. The right way, the expensive way, to deal with a lawyer is to get another lawyer. A cheaper way is to get a different kind of middleman - a cheaper solution that will keep Mr P's name out of any official documents. Yes, time to make an investment.

Mr P's Diary

*turns over the pillows and the disheveled bed sheets, the dirty clothes lying on the floor, no-where near a wash basket, even further from the washing machine. He shuffles through the unopened mail, and peers at the answer phone again - yet still the message light reads zero. He checks his phone, but that is also devoid of messages and down to its last battery bar. He stomps around the bed room, throwing things into new piles as he searches for and finds the charger - with a flourish he rams it home into the wall socket, before realising that it's not his but Seo's and looks at it incredulously, before throwing it on the ground and dropping to the floor, pushing himself up against the bed, his knees drawn up.*


Just because you're married don't count for much in anyone else's eyes. 'Cept for the cougars, who think maybe it wont be long before you're joining their happy throng.

Zanders, for instance, had tried to grab Seo on the day of her nuptials, and then disappeared. So it was that he'd believed the biggest threat to his happiness, to his new life, his new business ventures, was that terrible woman. The one who could cover her tracks so that he could never put her in her place. The insidious poison she poured into him, trying to pull Seo away from him. He didn't even write her name - why should he justify her, by naming her? Each time he tried to steer Seo away from her misguided trust in her, she would fight him, blind to what SHE had blinkered her to.

What written, or unwritten law of the universe said that life was fair. Or that when things were going well - they would continue to. So no sooner than he had set wheels in motion to deal with Ceara, that poisonous s.o.b. Louise, then.. in a spray of blood, in a broken-in home, Seo was gone... and Zanders was back.