Post by Carlson Rex on Dec 20, 2020 9:03:34 GMT -5
- The Tuesday after the final Synergy of 2020:
O'Hare airport is, as one would expect, bustling. Travel being what it is, one expects the long lines, the annoying TSA lines and the complete disruption of half-monitored children running amok about the place. The lone figure of Carlson Rex, having just checked-in and dropped his luggage off for the first leg of his flight, to LAX and then the transfer to a plane to Honolulu, departs the TSA station with his shoes and belt in hand, his lone small duffle slung from his shoulder. He finds a spot to lean himself against the wall to put his shoes on. Good for him, he wore slip-on shoes today, so no laces to fuss with. With a sigh he straightens up, absently brushing his hand across his dark blue plain t-shirt. which pairs with his blue jeans and blue slip on casual shoes. He gathers himself up and starts off toward the gates, pausing to look at a clock, then a this watch.
Carlson: "Good. Two hours to spare."
He pauses at the sound of one of those overly expensive, overly crammed food courts. His stomach growls, causing him to put his hand on his stomach. He shifts the strap of his duffle and turns his heels to start heading that way when a young man's voice issues from somewhere between his left elbow and left shoulder.
Boy: "Excuse me?"
Carlson takes a step, then stops in place and turns. Standing there is an unremarkable looking young lad. He is dressed in blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt with "Illinois-Chicago" printed across it. Carlson blinks.
Carlson: "Hello."
The young man pulls his hands from behind his back. In his left hand is a Bic pen. The other has a small, leather bound notebook, open to a page somewhere near the middle.
Boy: "Mr. Carlson Rex? Can I please have your autograph?"
Carlson blinks.
Carlson: "Me?"
The boy nods.
Boy: "Yes, sir. It's for someone I know. She's a big fan of yours and she'd be so disappointed if I didn't bring your signature to her."
Carlson smiles nervously.
Carlson: "I didn't know anyone bothered. I haven't exactly been at my best."
The boy steps forward, offering the notebook and pen, not one bit nervous.
Boy: "She's a fan of the underdog. She's been one herself her whole life. I think she identifies with you."
Carlson clears his throat, uncomfortably.
Carlson: "Okay. Is there anything special she would like to know?"
Boy: "Just that you are out there."
Carlson: "Okay."
Carlson takes the notebook and pen and uncaps the pen, eyeing the boy as if he's expecting Alan Funt to pop out of a nearby trashcan.
Carlson: "What's her name?"
Boy: "Princess."
Carlson looks doubtful.
Boy: "It started as a nickname. It's just how everyone knows her."
Carlson shrugs and starts writing.
Princess. Everyone faces challenges. Everyone struggles. With some it is easier to see than others. The trick is to know which ones will continue to struggle, continue to fight for progress, for peace, for life, and those who will give up. I will never give up. I expect neither will you. You will be in my prayers for your strength, your determination and your desire to not just survive, but to thrive. Always remember, you have a fan in me. - C-Rex
Carlson, looking pleased with his spur of the moment message, hands the notebook and pen back to the young man, who nods.
Boy: "Thank you, Mr. Rex!"
The boy turns and moves quickly through the crowd. Carlson turns his attention back to the food court.
Carlson: "Now, for a Popeye's lunch."
- - - - -
- Two days later, a Thursday afternoon
The same boy from the Airport walks down a hallway, carved stone from the look of it. Lights from the ceiling flicker and hum. He turns a corner in the corridor and at the end of the hallway is a lone, wooden door. He pauses here and knocks. He waits a moment before a voice from inside bids him to enter. He opens the door and steps in. The room is well decorated. Plants along the far wall give the appearance of an indoor garden. A small waterfall whispers off to the right, water gently flowing down layers of stacked rocks and to a small bowl where it appears to recycle back into the system. A bed stands a few steps from the fountain. The bed is made with a floral print comforter over the top. The wall to the right from the door has a small, but long, wooden desk. Seated there in a wooden chair twice her width, sits Sylvestra, dressed in a light green dress with black leggings leading down to the light green half inch heels she wears. Her brown hair hangs loose about her shoulders and has been carefully teased to show it can hold a full body. A light green flower peeks out from over her right ear from her hair. Her brown eyes turn their focus up and toward the young man from a pair of papers resting on the desk.
Sylvsetra: "Hello, Scott."
The young man gives a half bow and enters, holding the pen and notebook out before him.
Scott: "My mission was a success, M'Lady. I was able to find the quarry before it flew."
Sylestra smiles and takes the offered notebook and pen.
Sylvestra: "Thank you, Scott. That will be all."
Scott bows again and turns, closing the door behind him. She hesitates, dragging her fingers across the face of leather on the notebook before opening it and, finding the page reading the words. After reading, she wipes a few tears from her eyes with her hand and sniffs.
Sylvestra: "Be safe, my Champion. I refuse to believe what they are trying to make me. You were kind. Caring. I will not let him harm you, or my memory of you."
She closes the notebook and opens a drawer on the desk, placing the notebook into the drawer gently, and closes it. With a sigh, she returns to looking down at the papers before her.
= = = = =
Everyone have a safe Holidays and enjoy the break. See you all in 2021!
O'Hare airport is, as one would expect, bustling. Travel being what it is, one expects the long lines, the annoying TSA lines and the complete disruption of half-monitored children running amok about the place. The lone figure of Carlson Rex, having just checked-in and dropped his luggage off for the first leg of his flight, to LAX and then the transfer to a plane to Honolulu, departs the TSA station with his shoes and belt in hand, his lone small duffle slung from his shoulder. He finds a spot to lean himself against the wall to put his shoes on. Good for him, he wore slip-on shoes today, so no laces to fuss with. With a sigh he straightens up, absently brushing his hand across his dark blue plain t-shirt. which pairs with his blue jeans and blue slip on casual shoes. He gathers himself up and starts off toward the gates, pausing to look at a clock, then a this watch.
Carlson: "Good. Two hours to spare."
He pauses at the sound of one of those overly expensive, overly crammed food courts. His stomach growls, causing him to put his hand on his stomach. He shifts the strap of his duffle and turns his heels to start heading that way when a young man's voice issues from somewhere between his left elbow and left shoulder.
Boy: "Excuse me?"
Carlson takes a step, then stops in place and turns. Standing there is an unremarkable looking young lad. He is dressed in blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt with "Illinois-Chicago" printed across it. Carlson blinks.
Carlson: "Hello."
The young man pulls his hands from behind his back. In his left hand is a Bic pen. The other has a small, leather bound notebook, open to a page somewhere near the middle.
Boy: "Mr. Carlson Rex? Can I please have your autograph?"
Carlson blinks.
Carlson: "Me?"
The boy nods.
Boy: "Yes, sir. It's for someone I know. She's a big fan of yours and she'd be so disappointed if I didn't bring your signature to her."
Carlson smiles nervously.
Carlson: "I didn't know anyone bothered. I haven't exactly been at my best."
The boy steps forward, offering the notebook and pen, not one bit nervous.
Boy: "She's a fan of the underdog. She's been one herself her whole life. I think she identifies with you."
Carlson clears his throat, uncomfortably.
Carlson: "Okay. Is there anything special she would like to know?"
Boy: "Just that you are out there."
Carlson: "Okay."
Carlson takes the notebook and pen and uncaps the pen, eyeing the boy as if he's expecting Alan Funt to pop out of a nearby trashcan.
Carlson: "What's her name?"
Boy: "Princess."
Carlson looks doubtful.
Boy: "It started as a nickname. It's just how everyone knows her."
Carlson shrugs and starts writing.
Princess. Everyone faces challenges. Everyone struggles. With some it is easier to see than others. The trick is to know which ones will continue to struggle, continue to fight for progress, for peace, for life, and those who will give up. I will never give up. I expect neither will you. You will be in my prayers for your strength, your determination and your desire to not just survive, but to thrive. Always remember, you have a fan in me. - C-Rex
Carlson, looking pleased with his spur of the moment message, hands the notebook and pen back to the young man, who nods.
Boy: "Thank you, Mr. Rex!"
The boy turns and moves quickly through the crowd. Carlson turns his attention back to the food court.
Carlson: "Now, for a Popeye's lunch."
- - - - -
- Two days later, a Thursday afternoon
The same boy from the Airport walks down a hallway, carved stone from the look of it. Lights from the ceiling flicker and hum. He turns a corner in the corridor and at the end of the hallway is a lone, wooden door. He pauses here and knocks. He waits a moment before a voice from inside bids him to enter. He opens the door and steps in. The room is well decorated. Plants along the far wall give the appearance of an indoor garden. A small waterfall whispers off to the right, water gently flowing down layers of stacked rocks and to a small bowl where it appears to recycle back into the system. A bed stands a few steps from the fountain. The bed is made with a floral print comforter over the top. The wall to the right from the door has a small, but long, wooden desk. Seated there in a wooden chair twice her width, sits Sylvestra, dressed in a light green dress with black leggings leading down to the light green half inch heels she wears. Her brown hair hangs loose about her shoulders and has been carefully teased to show it can hold a full body. A light green flower peeks out from over her right ear from her hair. Her brown eyes turn their focus up and toward the young man from a pair of papers resting on the desk.
Sylvsetra: "Hello, Scott."
The young man gives a half bow and enters, holding the pen and notebook out before him.
Scott: "My mission was a success, M'Lady. I was able to find the quarry before it flew."
Sylestra smiles and takes the offered notebook and pen.
Sylvestra: "Thank you, Scott. That will be all."
Scott bows again and turns, closing the door behind him. She hesitates, dragging her fingers across the face of leather on the notebook before opening it and, finding the page reading the words. After reading, she wipes a few tears from her eyes with her hand and sniffs.
Sylvestra: "Be safe, my Champion. I refuse to believe what they are trying to make me. You were kind. Caring. I will not let him harm you, or my memory of you."
She closes the notebook and opens a drawer on the desk, placing the notebook into the drawer gently, and closes it. With a sigh, she returns to looking down at the papers before her.
= = = = =
Everyone have a safe Holidays and enjoy the break. See you all in 2021!