"Miss Beaufort! Miss The Ibis, may I have a moment?"
"Miss Beaufort! Will there be a crackdown on time manipulation?"
"Miss Beaufort! Did the talks go well?" Grace looked over her long nose at this journalist as she walked down the shallow steps of the Senate house. She glanced over her shoulder with an exaggerated twist. The news fiends followed her gaze up to the pitted stone and aged wood.
"Mrs. Popov!" This brought Grace whipping around back to the throng. She stopped so suddenly that the man she escorted stumbled and hung from her grip on his arm until she was able to haul him to his feet beside her. The orange light at his throat blinked furiously with his pulse. Grace ignored his whimpers as he tried to reverse time and couldn't.
"Beaufort," she snapped at the reporter. Flashes from news cameras dazzled her eyes, and yet again Grace wished for her helmet. She already knew what she'd see in tomorrow's paper, or see on the TV if she dared: the flashes washed out her skin, which then clashed mightily with her ear-length bob of dark hair and the too-red lipstick she'd let some governmental aide smear on her face. By now it was literally smeared, along with mascara and eyeliner. The red was meant to match the triangle of red on her white dress, which in turn matched her costume. But her helmet and flight suit weren't a dress. She lurched like a drunk on the Senate stairs. Maybe she should unleash the time turners after all. Let them find the man who invented heels and--
"Miss Beaufort! Will there be a crackdown on time manipulation?"
"Miss Beaufort! Did the talks go well?" Grace looked over her long nose at this journalist as she walked down the shallow steps of the Senate house. She glanced over her shoulder with an exaggerated twist. The news fiends followed her gaze up to the pitted stone and aged wood.
"Mrs. Popov!" This brought Grace whipping around back to the throng. She stopped so suddenly that the man she escorted stumbled and hung from her grip on his arm until she was able to haul him to his feet beside her. The orange light at his throat blinked furiously with his pulse. Grace ignored his whimpers as he tried to reverse time and couldn't.
"Beaufort," she snapped at the reporter. Flashes from news cameras dazzled her eyes, and yet again Grace wished for her helmet. She already knew what she'd see in tomorrow's paper, or see on the TV if she dared: the flashes washed out her skin, which then clashed mightily with her ear-length bob of dark hair and the too-red lipstick she'd let some governmental aide smear on her face. By now it was literally smeared, along with mascara and eyeliner. The red was meant to match the triangle of red on her white dress, which in turn matched her costume. But her helmet and flight suit weren't a dress. She lurched like a drunk on the Senate stairs. Maybe she should unleash the time turners after all. Let them find the man who invented heels and--
Her new friend whimpered again. Grace blinked. There they were. A ring of cops waited behind the journalists. They'd casually herded the reporters into a crescent, and Grace steered her captive for the narrow point to one side. She knocked aside a thrusting microphone via sending her buddy cracking into it with an accidental hip-bump. Both time manipulator and reporter responded with a "hey!" that Grace ignored. Grace shoved him toward a set of receptive cops. She turned to face another officer with bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin.
"The Bear's got two more pinned in there," she said. Grace rubbed off a swathe of makeup onto her bare arm before she caught herself. "Half a dozen more unconscious. The five senators trapped by the time displacement are likewise unconscious; Calli--PG--has been able to use the assistance of the Bear's trapped manipulators to age the senators back as nearly as we can tell. Someone will probably have to fine-tune it." She turned to look up at the ruined doors as one fell in. "Maybe get someone from outside the country."
Ooh, our first glimpse of the time manipulating villains! I like it!
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