Opco Boone Idea Bank: Difference between revisions

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GPS said the road would took an hour, end to end.   
GPS said the road would took an hour, end to end.   


The lads waited an hour. They kept eyes peeled and spirits high with primo [[banter]] on the C.B.   
The lads waited an hour. They kept eyes peeled and spirits high with primo [[banter]] on the [[C.B.]]    


''Nada''.   
''Nada''.   
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Boone double checked the map. He finger-traced the route. He stabbed the boys’ locale and growled into the intercom. “There ''is'' no other way out. If they haven’t coming past they must still be in there.”  
Boone double checked the map. He finger-traced the route. He stabbed the boys’ locale and growled into the intercom. “There ''is'' no other way out. If they haven’t coming past they must still be in there.”  


A cold wind whipped up. Fat globules of rain slapped the windshield. Aggie looked west. It was fearsome dark a mile down the lake. “[[liquidity|Liquidity]] situation is tightening up, Boone. We be wet if we don’t move.”  
A cold wind whipped up the valley. Fat globules of rain slapped the windshield. Aggie looked west. It was fearsome dark a mile down the lake. “[[liquidity|Liquidity]] situation is tightening up, Boone. We be wet if we don’t move.”  


Boone snapped shut the map and slid into the cabin. He barked into the tw0-way: “Ok. Let’s go. Boys: prime your GMSLAs. Be ready for action. Something is going down. I ''feel'' it. We’re coming through. Boone ''out''.”  
Boone snapped shut the map and slid into the cabin. He barked into the tw0-way: “Ok. Let’s go. Boys: prime your GMSLAs. Be ready for action. Something is going down. I ''feel'' it. We’re coming through. Boone ''out''.”  
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No sign of the Wickliffe semi.  
No sign of the Wickliffe semi.  


Boone rode the camber hard. Aggie hung on the grab-handles. The AIF belted through the autumn detritus. Aggie navigated. The GPS came and went. The depo whined.  
Boone rode the camber hard. Aggie hung on the grab-handles. The AIF growled and belted through the autumn detritus. Aggie navigated. The GPS came and went. The depo whined.  


No sign of the Wickliffe semi.  
No sign of the semi.  


They shot past a deserted hotel. Boarded up for the ski season. The dwellings thinned out. The trees came thick and fast now. The road gained elevation: smashing lake-views. The depo whined.  
They shot past a deserted hotel. Boarded up for the ski season. The dwellings thinned out. The trees came thick and fast now. The road gained elevation: smashing lake-views. The depo whined.  


No sign of the Wickliffe semi.  
No sign of the semi.  


Boone stamped on gas. He hit a blind hairpin. The AIF fishtailed. It slewed out right. Boone cursed his luck and the sled skidded down a bank. The depo graunched.  
They shot past an old school of some kind. ''Not'' boarded up. Lights beamed through the gloaming: Swiss nippers learning times tables. Boone gunned the AIF and left the Swiss nippers for dust.  


“That didn’t sound good
Boone hit a blind hairpin. He stomped on the anchors. The AIF fishtailed. It slewed out right. Boone cursed his luck and the sled skidded down a bank. The rag top flipped. The depo graunched. The [[AIF]]’s mags spun slow, idle and upside-down.


Aggie looked under the hood. “The alpha generator has thrown a rod”.  
Aggie popped up, super casual, and said, “Okay, so that didn’t go so well. What now?”


Boone and Aggie track back through the rain to an old house by the lake they’d spotted a few miles back. Turns out to be an orphanage. All lights on.  
“Guess we better go see if the Swiss nippers can give us a tow.


They trudged back. The house was a grand old gothic mansion, set back from the lake in defended by firs, snuggled into the folds of the mountain. A jumble of architectural styles grafted on, like some Frankensteinian horror-show.  An A-Frame extension. Out right, an art nouveau wing, of glass and wrought iron, glowed and sparked like a firefly. The main reception: a neoclassical portico, emblazoned in cursive font: Ugland House. Behind: a grand post-Raphaelite portrait of an old man with a cracking moustache. George R. M. Ugland, 1827-1957.
They fashioned paper hats and trudged back through the rain. They rocked up at the school they’d seen: quelle surpise: ''not'' a school. Some kind of orphanage. Set back behind a wrought iron gate and imposing statue of a wanderer in the fog: <blockquote>''“Give me your poor, huddled, lost little [[Special purpose vehicle|special purpose vehicles]]. Give them all to me: yea, even unto their tens of thousands. I will nourish them. I will feed them. I will shelter them, just as they will shelter you, and your taxable income.”'' </blockquote>The house was a grand old gothic mansion. It was set back from the lake in defended by firs, snuggled into the folds of the mountain. A jumble of architectural styles grafted on, like some Frankensteinian horror-show.  An A-Frame extension. Out right, an art nouveau wing, of glass and wrought iron, glowed and sparked like a firefly. The main reception: a neoclassical portico, emblazoned in cursive font: Ugland House. Behind: a grand post-Raphaelite portrait of an old man with a cracking moustache. [[George Robert Maguire Ugland|George R. M. Ugland]], 1827-1957.


The door opened. A young administrator stood behind. He said, “The masters are are entertaining clients this evening. But come in: we can offer you — an your taxable income — shelter. He smiled an oily smile.
The door opened. A young administrator stood behind. He said, “The masters are are entertaining clients this evening. But come in: it seems nasty out. He smiled an oily smile.


“Masters?”
“Masters?”


“Mister Maple and Mister Calder.”
“Masters of the orphanage: Mister Maple and Mister Calder.”


“What did he mean by that chat about taxable income, Opco?” asked Aggie.
The administrator took their [[ISDA]]<nowiki/>s at the door. they are fed, watered. As she returns from a washroom Aggie follows a weeping child down a hallway, where she discovers the terrible secret of the orphan manufacturing laboratory.  She doubles back and alerts Boone. They swipe the sniveling child and make escape in a boat across the lake.


Opco shushed her.


The administrator took their [[ISDA]]<nowiki/>s at the door. they are fed, watered. As she returns from a washroom Aggie follows a weeping child down a hallway, where she discovers the terrible secret of the orphan manufacturing laboratory.  She doubles back and alerts Boone. They swipe the sniveling child and make escape in a boat across the lake.


They don’t realise the girl is a multicellular vehicle. She spawns a double. And another. And another.   
They don’t realise the girl is a multicellular vehicle. She spawns a double. And another. And another.   


"Jesus it’s a side pocket!"
“Jesus it’s a side pocket!


“close it out !! Close it out!" Boone’s voice was urgent now.   
“Close it out !! Close it out!Boone’s voice was urgent now.   


“She’s just a little orphan ...”  
“She’s just a little orphan ...”  


“Jesus Aggie pull the fucking [[NAV trigger]] would you?”  
“Jesus, Aggie, pull the fucking [[NAV trigger]] would you?”  
 
Aggie’s face was wet with the horror of war.  She said, “all these memories,” and waxed the kid with a [[6(a) - ISDA Provision|6(a)]]. 


Aggie’s face was wet. It was the horror of war.  She said, “All these memories.” Aggie waxed the kid with a [[6(a) - ISDA Provision|6(a)]].   
A small [[Mark-to-market|MTM]] shock wave waft knocked her back but Aggie held her feet. The kid went down with a a crazy smile. It crumpled, collapsed in on itself and vanished in a puff.   


The kid went down with a a crazy smile. A small MTM shock wave waft knocked Aggie back but she held her feet. The kid crumpled, collapsed in on itself and vanished in a puff. The rest of the spawn kept coming.  
The rest of the spawn kept coming.  


“Jesus it must be segregated! Find the parent!”  
“Jesus it must be segregated!” Boone barked. “Find its ''parent''!”  


“No sweat, I’ll just DUST it!”   
This was no time for complicated DD. Aggie shrugged and flipped off the safety. “No sweat, Opco, I’ll just [[DUST]] it.”   


Boone screamed, “no!”, but it was too late.  
Boone screamed, “NO!”, but it was too late. Aggie squeezed.  


Aggie’s 87 blammed out a [[5(a)(v) - ISDA Provision|5(a)(v)]]. It filled the air with choking dust. Opco and Aggie hit the deck. The air flared and flashed and sparkled across the gunwale. The dust cleared.  ''The kids still stood''. The kids kept coming.   
The old 87 blammed out a [[5(a)(v) - ISDA Provision|5(a)(v)]]. It filled the air with a choking miasma. Boone and Aggie hit the deck. The air flared and flashed and sparkled across the gunwale. The dust cleared.  ''The kids still stood''. The kids kept coming.   


“What the living ''fuck''?”<Br>“They’re segregated, Agster.” <Br>“Oh, shit.”  
“What the living ''fuck''?”<Br>“They’re segregated, Agster.” <Br>“Oh, shit.”