Opco Boone Idea Bank: Difference between revisions
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===The MTM Grand=== | ===The MTM Grand=== | ||
{{Opco business day convention scene}} | {{Opco business day convention scene}} | ||
She’s nervous. She looks about. She gasps – clocks something, someone, over her shoulder. | |||
She gets closer. | |||
She gets suuuuper close. | |||
His dander is up. It’s aching, bad. | |||
She leans in. She whispers in his ear – her lips touch his lobe. He wants to explode. | |||
“Have you got something for me?” | |||
“Do you want something?” | |||
“I’ll accept anything. No questions asked.” | |||
She says, “come find me. Come find yourself.” She presses something into his hand. | |||
It’s a key. It’s on a ring, a number punched into the plastic. HACIENDA 547. | |||
“You can give me anything. I will accept it.” | |||
The Negotiator groans. | |||
“Meet me at the end of the month. For business.” | |||
Boone checked his Rolodex. The end of the month was tomorrow. | |||
“Tomorrow?” | |||
She leaned in close. She breathed into his ear. Her breath was hot. “Work it out, big boy!” | |||
His professional circuits clicked in fast. Tomorrow was Saturday. It was the thirtieth. It was month-end proximate. He tipped the ambiguity right off the bat. “Wait: Following or Modified Following?” | |||
“I like the way you’re thinking,” She drifted away. She dissolved in the crowd. “Actually –” | |||
“I – Actually? But wait – what’s your name?” | |||
She turned and drifted on the current of sales bullshittery and lofted canapés. She floated further. The ocean closed up, and she was gone. Through the chatter, there was a tight-point whisper, and it hit him broadside: “I’m Marissa.” | |||
Bus-boy rocks through with the bacon-wrapped scallops in newsprint party hats. | |||
“Careful with her, sir: She’s an agent.” | |||
The girl winds up murdered on a heart-shaped satin bed, in the Hacienda while it is being imploded. In her mouth, rolled up and tied with a blood-red satin bow, sealed in blood-red wax with a curious dark mark: a legal document. The Negotiator pulled the bow: it dropped to the floor. | |||
She’s dead as a doornail, a beautiful girl. Dead. Murdered, and someone’s responsible. | |||
Suspicion: it is some counterparty planning a huge shipment of financial weapons of mass destruction, rubbing out all the process agents in the nation to prevent documents being served on it. | |||
===FWMD effects=== | ===FWMD effects=== | ||
The disasters caused by FWMDs include. | The disasters caused by FWMDs include. |