Agent Audrey Hanson, Challenge #8

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50530638747405971.post-43949743362945183502008-03-26T21:14:00.005-06:002008-12-09T02:29:49.536-06:00Agent Audrey Hanson, Challenge #8<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R7SUdXw8vKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/3e27Hch8ovw/s1600-h/hanson7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166917904817241250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R7SUdXw8vKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/3e27Hch8ovw/s200/hanson7.jpg" border="0" /></a>Obviously, I’m in this to win and I’m not surprised that I’ve made it to the final three. This is going to get tougher, though. I’ve got to take Sylar on a date and I know I’ve got to do something that will set me apart. I could take him out to some wild nightclub and dance the night away with him. I could, but somehow I think he’ll know that’s just not me. My best bet is to go with something a little quieter and a lot more intimate. That’s why I made reservations at the Vichyssoise, one of the finest French restaurants in the tri-county area. Located conveniently on Exit 109 near the airport long-term parking lot. I slipped into something a little more comfortable, and by that I mean my finest poly-cotton pantsuit (it breathes yet it’s durable). Sylar’s got on his finest, uh, something I guess, and we’re soon at the bistro. “Here’s your table madam and, er, company,” the maître d’ said as he showed us our seats. “Thank you, Jeeves,” I said as I handed him a cool fiver. “Wonderful,” he answered dryly as he held the bill between his fingers in mock distain and slid away. <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRYZFLEVI/AAAAAAAAAI0/y_PtJ5QuYlQ/s1600-h/sylar1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182254906967003474" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRYZFLEVI/AAAAAAAAAI0/y_PtJ5QuYlQ/s320/sylar1.jpg" border="0" /></a>“Wow, he was like, all authentic and stuff,” Sylar said. “He even sounds French.” “Yeah,” I nodded. “Normally, I’m not a big fan of the frogs, you know with them being snooty towards us Americans and all, but really kind of I like it here. I think there’s just something special in the air tonight.” “Oh yes, I can feel it too, lol,” Sylar answered. Does he really say “lol” out loud like that? Weird. “Say, have you ever had the circumference of your brain measured?” “No, I don’t think so,” I shrugged. “Oh,” he looked down at his menu disappointed. “Uh, you know, I think you and I’ve got a lot in common,” I said quickly. Ooh, I hope one of his powers isn’t smelling desperation. “Really.” “Yeah, well, you know uh, you’re a serial killer and I’m on the FBI’s serial killer task force,” I answered. “I guess we’re two sides of the coin then, huh?” Sylar stated. I can’t tell if he’s just looking at me or if he’s leering or what. “So, how many people have you killed?” I politely asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “I dunno,” he said noncommittally. “It’s so easy to lose count.” <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRYpFLEWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/frLUDR6owJ8/s1600-h/sylar2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182254911261970786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRYpFLEWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/frLUDR6owJ8/s320/sylar2.jpg" border="0" /></a>“Yeah, I know,” I laughed. “I bet you remember your first one, though, don’t you?” “I sure do, lol,” he looked off wistfully. “Yeah, my first kill was a drug mule.” I then added “Boy you should have heard his brains splatter.” Sylar was quiet for a moment. “Such a waste,” he shook his head. “You know what else we have in common?” I replied quickly. “You stabbed your mother with a pair of scissors and I stabbed my father once with a corn holder.” “I miss mommy. I remember once when she gave me a little sailor suit for my birthday. I was the happiest thirteen-year-old evah!” “Yeah, my relationship with my father wasn’t that great,” I stated. Let’s see if I can get him to understand me a little bit here. “He could never see how special I was. We’re happier now that he’s dead. We’ve really mended our relationship.” Sylar looked away. Aw geez, am I boring him with talk about my father? “Uh, I really love your eyes,” I said. “Oh?” he perked up with the compliment. “Yeah, they’re dark and piercing, but so full of intelligence and life,” I replied. “Sometimes, when I look deep in your eyes I swear I can see your soul.” “Compliments of the chef.” A waiter placed a tray of cupcakes on our table. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRY5FLEXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/OihiK2IiUPA/s1600-h/sylar3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182254915556938098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRY5FLEXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/OihiK2IiUPA/s320/sylar3.jpg" border="0" /></a>“Oooh cupcakes,” we both squealed. “They look delish.” I said as I grabbed the nearest one and took a bite. Sylar did the same. “Mmmm, almost as good as mom used to make,” Sylar gushed. “Wow, this is one special night. The moon is so bright out there, romance is in the air, and we’re served the finest cupcakes that France has to offer. I think…” Oh oh, something just made my stomach turn a little. “What is it? Are you OK?” asked Sylar. “Too much sugar, lol.” “No, I’m fine.” I fought back a wince as my stomach turned over again. I only react to one thing this way and that’s Yellow Dye #12b, but DuPont quit producing that years ago. How could it be in this cupcake? “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.” “Maybe your blood sugar’s low,” Sylar replied and shoved some cupcake into my mouth before I could stop him. “Here, have some more.” “Thanks,” I mumbled wanly with the treat spilling out of my mouth. I could feel the blood rush out of my face. I hope he doesn’t see. “Think they have French onion soup here?” he asked. “Or maybe I’ll get some French fries.” “Yeah, or French toast,” I added. I then felt a pocket of gas escape from me. Ohmygod, Sylar just crinkled his nose! He can smell it. “I hope that’s not the soup I’m smelling.” <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRY5FLEYI/AAAAAAAAAJM/1OMsK4ozjF4/s1600-h/sylar4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182254915556938114" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRY5FLEYI/AAAAAAAAAJM/1OMsK4ozjF4/s320/sylar4.jpg" border="0" /></a>“Uh, I think it’s the brie.” I looked around. I think someone sabotaged my dinner. Then I saw them. Over in the corner, dressed like busboys and laughing like a couple of drunken hyenas. Bennet and Cyclops. “Mmmmmmm,” my dinner date mauled another cupcake. “Oh am I being selfish? Here, have another.” “Oh no, I couldn’t,” I waved it off as I felt more gas roll through. This time, it came out with a noise. “Is there a duck in here?” “Maybe they kill them fresh for their turduckens,” he laughed. “Yeah,” I laughed along with him. Oh for the love of Dillinger, the biggest wind broke yet. I could swear that I saw people at the other tables wince at it. I felt something else ready to bubble out too. I have to get out of here. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Oh fine,” I managed to answer. “I uh, just have to powder my nose.” “Well hurry back,” he replied. “And don’t pretty yourself up too much, I might get jealous.” I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not, but then he laughed. I laughed right along with, then threw my napkin on the table and walked briskly away from the table. “I don’t know how you knew, but I know you know,” I growled at Cyclops and Bennet as I clutched my stomach. “You’ll pay for this.” “Whoo, you’re stinking up the joint,” Cyclops laughed as he brushed his hand back and forth in front of his nose. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRX5FLEUI/AAAAAAAAAIs/Ht46GQBJb-8/s1600-h/bathroom.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182254898377068866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A5CINA_1Jao/R-sRX5FLEUI/AAAAAAAAAIs/Ht46GQBJb-8/s320/bathroom.jpg" border="0" /></a>I glared at him, but I was also about to lose control. I turned and dashed for the ladies room. “Do you want me to order anything for you while you’re in there?” Bennet laughed. “Maybe another round of cupcakes?” I threw myself into the lavatory and dove into a stall right in the nick of time. “Ahh,” I said in relief. “Much better.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/50530638747405971-4394974336294518350?l=www.burnttoastdiner.com'/></div>Agent Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04625769285868277258noreply@blogger.com6