"Well, let me leave it at this: if God does exist, He would have a great deal to be sad about. And if He doesn't exist, then that too would make Him quite sad, I imagine."
-Jonathan Safran Foer; Everything is Illuminated


Hiroko flew down the stairs, ignoring the feeble morning light that filtered through the grimy windows of Home. Her bare feet padded softly across exposed wood, despite her pace and the banging in her chest. She reached the Bomb Room door, sliding down the rusty banister to make better time. Guiness was at his station, eyes fluttering across an indigo screen at lightning speed. She fell to his shoulder, bending down to read from behind.


Guiness--
I apologise in demanding such haste, but it is essential that we destroy those files immediately. Continue work on their site, but Hiro and Master Summers must come now. Tomorrow night the grid will be down. I will not be available for assistance.
--B.B.


"Tomorrow night?!?" demanded Hiroko. "Bloody impossible! We need more time!"

"I don't know if there is time, love." He pulled up his headset and dialled across the number pad. A sudden stream of French poured from his lips, pausing occasionally for the other's reply. Hiroko waited patiently for the five minutes the dialogue lasted before Guiness hit a different key. "Merde."

"What's happened?"

"It seems that Basil's 'ad a bit of a run-in with Monsieur Moscoe. Got a bit of troublin' news."

"And what news would that be?"

Guiness shook his head. "No idea. He didn't elaborate enough for Rose to know." He pulled off his spectacles and surveyed the prints on his lenses. "However," he began, wiping the devices on his shirt carefully. "he did tell her that there's some sort of social event out there tomorrow evening." He placed the glasses back on his nose and squinted before smiling in satisfaction toward their condition.

"So does that mean the Moscoe will be off his guard?"

"Indeed." A wicked grin spread across Guiness' features. "Wouldn't want 'is guests knowin' he's runnin' a secret organisation that corrupts the minds of children. T'would ruin the evenin', wouldn't you say?"

Hiroko sighed in resignation. "Bugger all. I hate it when he does this!" She let a growl escape from her throat but regained composure nonetheless. "So what does he expect us to do?"

"Crash the dinner party. Or spy on it." He thought a moment. "No, spy on it. Blimey, my French is off."

"It's not as though it's useful, Giz." She smiled. "Under cover, eh? Sounds smashing."

Guiness beamed. "Best tell Sissely to make up your costumes. Spandex en't terribly appropriate for formal wear."



Fordo was all-ready up when Hiroko at last had time to find him. He was fully dressed, despite the frightful condition of his hair, and sitting at a make-shift desk in his room. Piled around him were thick, well-loved volumes, ink-cartridges and scraps of paper. He was etching something upon a sheet before him; tracing complex, floating lines about it.

"May I come in?"

"Certainly." His eyes did not leave his work, so deep was his concentration.

"What are you writing?" She resisted the urge to read over his shoulder.

"It's not so much writin' as it is copyin', really."

"What are you copying, then?"

"Some passages, nothin' important. Jus' tryin' to improve me penmanship."

"May I see?" Fordo didn't seem the type to worry about legibility and such concentration on a seemingly trivial manner intrigued her. He finished a line and passed the sheet to her, revealing a rather confusing message:





"It's beautiful," she whispered, still wondered by the green curves before her.

"It's atrocious, s'what it is." An aggravated sigh escaped Fordo's lips. "M'terribly out of practise. Mum would be appalled."

"What does it say?"

He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "Nothing important. Just some scrap I pulled out o' a book, really."

"Please?" The page was handed back and he took it with regret.

"In the beginnin', there was Eru, the One, the Creator and Destroyer of all. Out of nothin' he formed his children, the Children of Illúvatar. These were the chosen people, our fathers and mothers, the heroes of legend."

It was difficult for Hiroko to not respect him then, so deep and clear had been his voice, so certain his words and phrasing. "Is that what your books say?"

"More or less."

"Is that what you believe?" He nodded, watching the paper. "That's lovely, Fordo. Really, it is." His gaze was grateful, perhaps thanking her silently for not mocking his dogma. Pretending not to notice this, she returned to the lettering now in Fordo's lap. "So what are these runes called?"

"We say Tengwar, though I've 'eard other words." His gaze followed hers. "Mum taught it t'me. About the time I was learnin' other letters, actually."

"Will you teach me some?"

His eyes brightened. "Of course! Here--" He yanked out another sheet and set another line of calligraphy on it, the words gliding across the page as swans to a lake.





"What does it mean?" she pondered, but took the offered pen and gingerly copied nonetheless.

"It's your name. The 'c' is silent in 'Pocky', though. There's no real point tu'it since it blends in with the 'k'."

Hiroko was disappointed with her own shaky attempt, noting how some letters were much more misshapen than she enjoyed. She copied it again to a much more pleasing result. "Can I try another?"

"Certainly." The pen danced again, revealing another set of letters.





His nose crinkled. "Tha's me name, but it never looks right somehow."

"Why?" She took the pen to etch near-identical patterns below his, noting how the swirls became simpler the more she created them.

"Too close to somethin' else." Without thinking, he drew yet another phrase below Hiroko's line.





She paused, searching it. Fordo felt his heart freeze as he realised what he had done. "This looks terribly familiar." Her look was questioning. "What does it mean?"

"I can't remember," lied Fordo quickly. His heart pained horribly at hiding the truth from her. "Me mam used to write it all the time. It's Quenyan, I think." This was honest, relieving a bit of the guilt from within.

"What's it say, then?"

"Im mel le." The room grew very quiet. He had forgotten the beauty of the elder tongues, how sweet and soft they sounded, how easily they slipped from his lips. It was near second-nature to speak such words, yet he had avoided it for so long. But now the bittersweet memories of childhood flooded back: the long hours spent listening to his father read from musty old books he hardly understood; haggard lessons on lazy summer days; and, most of all, his mother bringing up the covers each night and whispering those same words in his ear. Yet now, they seemed so much purer, so real, less finite. He came to a sudden, daunting realisation that nearly made him gasp. He stifled it and cleared his mind as much as possible.

Beside him, Hiroko copied down his final entry and nodded in satisfaction. "I like it." The sight of those words nearly overtook him, and for just a moment he dared to hope.

Tearing the sheet from its fellows, he handed it to Hiroko. "Keep it." She eyed him warily but softened when he offered a slight smile. "You'll never have your first Tengwar again."

"I'm sure I'll be embarrassed later."

He shrugged. "Still." He shook his head, looking at the desktop again. "Did you need something, Hiro?"

"Oh! Yes." She shook her head, feeling rather ashamed of forgetting herself. "Uh... Yes.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Her look read of confusion and some concern, but she shook it off and continued with her train of thought. "Anyway, I came to inform you that Sissely needs your measurements."

"Me measurements?"

"Yes."

"...Why?"

"Because we're going undercover."

He looked left, then right. Then left again. "Eh?"

"That's right, Fordo-san!" she beamed. "You and I have our first mission."


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Huzzah-wha?? Two entries in one week? OMG The sky is falling, the sky is falling, we must inform the president!!!

A tech week present for all of you high kiddies. ...If you even get time to read it. ::ponders::

<3
--Kirily