Pro at Cons: Schoolfed

Once he got home and changed, the doorbell rang; sipping on a glass of cold milk, he opened the door and saw nothing. Bemused, he poked the head out of the door and scanned left and right, until a small voice attracted his attention from below:

“Mister, are you Moon Shine?”

A boy – about maybe eleven-twelve years was standing on his porch, holding an envelope.

“Aye, my good man – I am. What brings you here?” - Moon crouched to be at a boy's eye level and not to tower over him.

“I have an envelope for you, sir...” - puffing his chest out with pride, the child reported meaningful. - “here you are!”

“Why thank you!” - nodded Moon, accepting the envelope; he put it on the mirror stand, reaching for his wallet:

“There you are, sir – for your trouble.” - A handful of bits changed hands, and boy beamed at the sight of his honestly earned money, but quickly regained the attitude and just nodded seriously:

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir!”

“My pleasure. Best of luck and thanks again!” - smiled Moon, watching as the boy strolled down the path to the pavement and bounced away, filled with that child's joy he couldn't remember having for long.

“Heh, dem kids... Seen that, your Excellence?” - he showed an envelope to the Cardinal – an owl plushie. - “It says 'Mr. Moon Shine' and address. No return one. I wonder if there's a bomb in there of sorts...” - taking a bite of an apple, Moon Shine procured a paper knife from the drawer and opened an envelope.

Inside he found a paging device and a note – and nothing else. He even double-checked the envelope itself for watermarks – nothing, just a plain old envelope one might get in any post office, address and name printed on a laser printer, same is the note – same as the one from the HR folder.

He unfolded the note; it read:

“Good job today; I can see you taking your business seriously. Even though hitting on the librarian wasn't necessary, it's a nice touch. Just don't let it get in the way.

Back to business: take this pager. Once you'll turn it on, I'll get the message. From now on we'll keep in touch via this device: you report me, I debrief you of your further steps.

Now, for your first assignment: I want you to infiltrate the Crystal Prep Academy and find out what skeletons linger in the cupboards of Principle Cinche. I don't care which way you do that, but I need information.

Don't ever question the motives. I just want it done.

Once you're there, beep me.”

“See, your Excellence – looks like we've got some fun ahead of us. Not to mention that Cheerilee lass there...” - drawled the man with a sinister smile, a plan brewing in his noggin; of course, the plushie owl was silent, gazing at him with his plastic beady eyes, as Moon Shine peeled off the skin-coloured patch from his brow, revealing a massive scar, reaching his left eyesocket; he scratched the scar, grimacing at the sticky residue from the patch, and shot a glance to the wristwatch; half-past four. An hour and a half till he's due to call Cheerilee, but, being a gentleman – or, at least, considering himself one – Moon Shine was about to call the lady at least at quarter to six.

“That gives me an hour to do some research...” - he explained to the Cardinal, grabbing a fresh towel and heading off to the shower.

“Okay, time to call...” - rubbing his eyes, tired with the lousy laptop monitor with low frame change frequency, he reached his shirt and produced a paper Cheerilee gave him; clock chimed quarter to six silently, deafened out with the sound of buttons beeping:

“...and – done...” - Moon Shine mumbled, raising a phone to his ear. - “'ello? Cheerilee? Good evening, lady – your colleague here. Aye, that's me... Uh – were you in the middle of something? I mean, I'm interrupting? No? Oh. I see. I just thought it'd be, well, polite to call in advance... What's so funny? Eh?” - he himself started to chuckle. - “Aight, ma'am. Duly noted. Uh-huh, Flower Lane, 14, in forty minutes. Copy that. I'll be there. Sure. See you!” - he hung up, stretching his arms; a coy smile crept across the man's face.

“See, your Excellence, for a man like me, there's no better shielding than a desperate spinster schoolmarm,” - he explained, putting on a fresh pair of socks. - “Some smiles, some pep talk, some charisma – and she's eating from my hands, while willingly or not providing me some pretty damn durable alibi. Win-win situation, I say...” - buckling up the belt, Moon Shine concluded.

“Now for some cologne... and done.” - Inspecting the reflection in the mirror thoroughly, the man straightened his collar, slicked back the unruly strand above the forehead and dashed away, mentally running through the checklist: clothes – check, shaved face – check, shoes – check, cologne – check, flowers... Flowers.

After a quick stop at the nearest flower kiosk – he chose the bouquet of assorted roses – red, pink, yellow, blended – Moon Shine checked another point on the list and got on the bus to Flower Lane.

“Gog dammit...” - he swore under the breath when a bus ran into a traffic jam. - “That's the last thing I need...” - thought the man, checking with his wristwatch; it appeared he had still twenty minutes left, and Flower Lane was just seven minutes from this here point by bus – if not stuck in a traffic. - “Oh come on, Gogdammit!!”.

The prayers were heard – and he was standing on the Flower Lane in five minutes, as if the destiny wanted to compensate for the time he had lost stuck in traffic – the driver seemed to contract the just right kind of speed amok and was burning some rubber, like a speed demon – so the way that usually took four minutes was covered in one and a half, stops included,

“That's more like it...” - the man smirked, straightening the sheet of plastic flowers were wound into and absentmindedly reaching into the pocket for a cigarette – catching his hand at the last moment, however, opting not to smoke before going out with a lady; Moon recalled that he was told once – by his real close friend, who extended the definition of a 'friendzone' to new limits, that 'ashtrays' – as she dubbed smokers – usually smoke a lot before going out, which is pretty natural, 'cause them nervous; still, the mix of cologne odor and tobacco stench makes the going out a pretty repulsive experience.

Wristwatch clicked seconds away into the past, and Moon Shine waited patiently, bouquet put behind his back; what schoolfeeding in etiquette he received told that a small latency was appropriate for a lady, and a gentleman must patiently expect his date.

Ugh. Date.

Date?

Pretty much, he mused to himself, toying around with the thought. Well, of course there's no such thing as animal magnetism, or love at the first sight, there are only pheromones and organism chemistry...

...she's pretty though. Smart one, too, judging by how quick she held grasp of his pretty dumb advance. If not consider her just as a disposable shielding for his job, she might even be someone he'd experience some feelings towards.

But nah.

“Sorry to keep you wait, Shine...” - Cheerilee smiled sheepishly, appearing out of the blue in front of Moon Shine, effectively derailing his train of thought. - “Had a little... wardrobe emergency...”

“I don't think I can perceive the details...” - smooth one, halfwit, the man silently scolded himself.

“Yes, it's a, uh, girls' stuff.” - the teacher lady shrugged with a smile. - “Well, anyway – good to have you here...”

“My pleasure.” - Moon replied curtly, presenting flowers to Cheerilee. - “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.”

“Oh! Woah... thank you... I haven't got flowers since...” - she stopped short, blushing hard. - “Uh, let's not open the old wounds, shall we?”

“I wasn't going to open any wounds, if you ask me...” - the gentleman smiled encouragingly, offering an arm for a lady to hold.

“So, where shall we go? I've had a couple of places in mind...”

“Like what?” - Cheerilee coyly inquired, her eyes slightly gleaming.

“Well, first of all – I forgot to mention how absolutely stunning you look in that ensemble of yours; the dress really suits you, complimenting your eyes just fabulously...” - Moon rolled his eyes in awe.

“Awww, you charmer...”

“Whenever I say something, I usually mean it, ma'am...”

“Don't you ma'am me, or I'll call you 'Sir'!”

“Oh, I'd be totally content with it!” - the man laughed, accompanying Cheerilee's giggle. - “So, back to business. I had a couple of places in mind, as I said – the ones where a proper gentleman could get a lady for an evening...”

“Like what?”

“Well, should I say – a concert or a theater play, and then – a fancy dinner with a load of silverware and aqua con zitrone, served a la chef...” - replied Moon with a coy smile.

“The concert sounds just dandy, I say; though, I reckon, I'm a bit underdressed for the occasion...” - mused Cheerilee out loud. - “I really should've worn a full dress...”

“Let's break some rules and be rebellous, shall we?” - Moon lowered his glasses lower on the nose, making himself look like some kind of strict professor.

“Alright, sir – let's do it!” - Cheerilee shook her head vigorously, bursting into carefree laughter. - “What's on tonight?”

“Cello concert, Octavia Philharmonica; one good cellist she is, that lass...”

“Sound wonderful.”

“Cab!”...

...”Thank you, madame, sir, for your patronage. Your drinks will arrive in a minute. May I take the menus?” - the waiter inquired.

“Yes, please.” - replied Moon, handing over the leatherbound folders.

“That was a wonderful concert.” - Cheerilee sighed happily, her eyes still a bit hazy. - “The sounds of cello... I never expected and instrument with just four strings to hold such... such...”

“Power?”

“Quite so... That's the virtuoso for you, I say...” - sighed the lady, biting her lower lip thoughtfully.

Moon Shine just smiled, rubbing the patch: the brow was itching some bad, as if ants crawled all along the old wound, biting, nasty little buggers. He ignored the feeling for the whole evening, but now it was slowly reaching the critical mass against his tolerance.

“Say, you're a musician yourself, right?” - Cheerilee piped in haphazardously, effectively distracting the man from his turmoil.

“Yes, why?”

“Just though... Might it be that you're playing cello? It just looked so... uh...” - she never finished the sentence, but the hot blush – red hot, really – did the rest.

“Uh, sorry, I don't do cello.” - sighed Moon. - “I'm more of a percussions kind of guy. I do bagpipe, flute, tumtums, tambourine... Some guitar, occasionaly. But nah, no cello, sorry. And yes, Octavia sure made it look... well, sexy.”

“Moon!”

“Whaa? We're both grown people, Cheerilee – why so antsy about the natural things like that? The beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and you know it!”

“Yeah... I'm just... well, nevermind.” - the lady waved off the troubling question. - “So, you do bagpipes? How come?”

“Eh, long story.”

“Are we in a hurry?” - Cheerilee inquired, smiling and creasing a brow; the waiter arrived with the drinks:

“Marguerita – for madame; and for sir, I believe – single-malt whiskey?”

“Aye, aye, my good man; we shall paint the town red tonight, eh?” - Moon Shine accepted the glass of ember-brown drink, nodding his gratitude to the waiter.

“Certainly, sir. I wish you luck in that endeavour.” - replied the waiter, allowing himself a faint shadow of smile.

“Well – this one's to the meeting, I say?” - Moon proposed a toast, which Cheerilee accepted with a small cheer; they sipped the drinks, and for a brief minute sat silently, relishing the taste of their respective drinks and the sensation of warmth spreading in the body.

“So, Moon – mind if I ask you a personal question?” - Cheerilee asked sheepishly, twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger.

“Why not, go ahead.”

“What's with that patch on the brow? I mean, don't worry, it's good, virtually undetectable, but, you know – girls...” - shrugged the lady, smiling. - “We are all about small details...”

“Uh... well...” - the man shifted on his chair. - “Let's say, it won't be pretty if I peel it off right here, and – besides – I don't want to excuse myself for a bathroom to just return a Tommy Scar-Face.”

“A scar, huh? Got in a fight?..” - Cheerilee's eyes gleamed, as she took another small sip of her cocktail, licking her lips in just-not-yet-seductive manner.

“He-he, you wish...” - the Lies Machine kicked in again, full throttle. - “'twas just some accident on the farmlands. I was putting some nesting boxes onto the trees – you know, spring time, old trees that bear fruit no more – they're perfect for those; so, one day my foot slipped on the bark and I just slid down all the way, collecting all the branches with me face on the way down; the last one broke, leaving me a keepsake on me eye; now I don't do nesting boxes anymore.” - explained the man, taking a small sip of whiskey.

“Ohh... That's unfortunate...”

“Well, I wasn't objecting much; I was, lemme think... fourteen? nay, fifteen at the time. I even refused to go to the surgeon to fix that, till it healed itself. I was proud over me head, really – gave me the badass look, lassies 'ere all going nuts about it...” - laughed Moon Shine, internally wincing at his own lies he was so shamelessly spewing at the lady. Of course he'd lie about that – he had a legend to keep, and he couldn't just spill the beans.

After all, he was an employed man – an artist in his business – and he held certain pride in what he was doing. Even if it involved feeding an attractive (and attracted) lady with complete horsefeathers.

“Huh... So, you're wearing a special skin-tone patch to conceal it? Not to startle people, am I right?” - inquired Cheerilee, taking another sip of her drink; Moon could say it started kicking in. Tequila's pretty wicked stuff, especially on ladies. They're tender systems.

“Absolutely.” - the man nodded his approval, and the waiter served their order...

...”...you were saying?..” - giggled Cheerilee, taking a tall drink of her second glass; as for Moon, he didn't still finish the first one.

“Well, yes, he was just standing there, looking at me with googly eyes, and I was holding this bloody heavy sack – I swear to Gog, it weighed like a ton! - and just blocking me way through!”

“And what did you do?!”

“I... well, I opened me big mouth and soaked him – head to toes – in the worst wasted-porter-style obscenities I could muster at the moment; I mean, just imagine – you were hauling this here sack, as tall as yourself, filled with what felt like leaden weights to the brim, all the way from the warehouse, all the time uphill, and you can't just stand on the place – you have to move on, coveting a sweet release of the burden – and here he stands, not a single flicker of thought in his bloody eyes, and he be all like...” - Moon grimaced, mimicking the way the mysterious frustrator looked like, and Cheerilee just rolled with laughter, incapable of holding it to the ladylike giggles – she was roaring with a full-blown laughter fits.

“Oh... oh my ribs... ohmy...” - she managed to breathe out, wiping some tears the laughter managed to squeeze out of her. - “I can imagine that...”

“Oh you better don't. Because when he finally processed what I was saying and what my motives were, he just rocketed away from there, rushing all the way to the warehouse and opening a doors for me, looking at me as if I was a Gog incarnate or whatnot...”

“And in the end, what was in the sack?!”

“Apples. Bloody apples. Red, green, yellow, heck, I wouldn't have been surprised if there were the purple and blue ones, I swear! And that was the top-priority package I was meant to deliver on me two legs, can you imagine?!”

“Oh my... Moon, darling... please, spare me, I fear I cannot laugh anymore or I'll just pop... oh...”

“That'd be unfortunate. I do not want to glue you back from bits and pieces – this would absolutely wreck your beauty.”

“Awww, you charmer...” - giggled Cheerilee, downing the remains of her Marguerita. - “Hey, listen up.” - she gave the man a stern, classroom look. - “You hitting on me or what?”

“Well...”

“No 'wells', mister – yeas or a noah?” - looks like all that tequila finally kicked in: slurred speech, gleaming eyes, coy smile... bedroom eyes.

“Uh, mostly yes.” - quickly replied Moon Shine, downing the remains of his glass.

“Yur place or mien?” - Cheerilee let one of the dress' brace strips slide down from her shoulder, exposing a tender skin.

“You decide.” - replied Moon, quickly paying the bill and adding some generous tips.

“Let's go yurs, mien'z a rek...” - giggled Cheerilee, hugging a man and stumbling away from the restaurant.

“Cab!”...

...”Well, mi casa es sui casa, miss Cheerilee; come on in. The bathroom is this way if you need one, and there's the living room... In case you wanna change, I can whip something up in a sec... and, I guess, this calls for a pick-me-up?” - Moon Shine smiled knowingly, locking the door.

“Uh, yup, I coulda use a change...” - Cheerilee smiled tipsily, clambering away from her shoes and stumbling towards the living room. - “I'll be there if you need me...”

“Take a seat, have a rest; I'll be up in a sec” - nodded Moon, dashing to the wardrobe to get the fresh change.

“Uhhh... What to give, what to give...” - he idly scanned around the half-empty wardrobe: his old camo uniform – still bearing all the insignia – a neat stack of T-shirts, stack of jeans, some shirts, empty hanger from a suit he was wearing...

Finally, he opted to pick a loose T-shirt and shorts for Cheerilee – hoping that they wouldn't be either too loose or too tight, as that one lady there sure had some curves to her – and for himself he threw on a singlet and knee-cut jeans; such a homelike look.

“Now for the secret pick-me-up a la chef...” - producing a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, Moon Shine quickly poured some into the blender, added some tomato juice and whatnot other ingredients of the vicious brew he was concocting; the kitchen appliance's motor buzzed quickly, and, pouring the resulting drink into a tall glass and grabbing a change of clothes, he headed towards the living room.

No Cheerilee was present there.

“Dayum.” - stumbling over the coffee table, Moon managed to keep the drink from spilling, but dropped the set of clothes; muttering something probably heavily censorable, he put the glass on the table and crouched to pick up and fold the clothes back up.

“Hey Moon...” - Cheerilee called in a sultry, deep voice. - “Like what you see from there?..”

“Whu?..” - raising his head, Moon Shine felt his jaw dropping.

Cheerilee was standing in the bedroom doors, leaning against them; she bit her bottom lip, giving the man a look of a hungry huntress, eyeing down her prey. Truth be told, Moon Shine did took his time to look at Cheerilee from this new perspective: where normally he was a good head and a half taller then her, now he had just a perfect vista of the lady's body; he took his time to scan every curve, hugged by the fabric of the dress, awestruck...

...but boy wasn't he prepaired for what came next.

In one fluid motion Cheerilee dropped the gown, stepping graciously away from it and presenting herself to the man completely exposed.

“Like what you see?..” - she inquired again.

Moon Shine managed to wrestle his jaw into submission once again, automatically standing at attention:

“Rule number one of a proper gentleman: in a presence of a lady a gentleman must stand up straight and greet the lady...” - he stuttered out, feeling a strange numbness in his mind.

“Well, that makes the two of you, I see...” - giggled Cheerilee to her own innuendo, rocking her hips seductively. - “So?..”

“I – stop!” - Moon Shine shook his head, backstepping one step. - “Cheerilee, you're inebriated, and this might be considered as me taking advantage over you.”

“Am I?” - smirked Cheerilee, tracing her fingers down from her neck; Moon tried to fight the urge to swallow the lump in his throat – and failed miserably; dayum was that lady sensual... - “Come on now. Don't be skittish, honey... We're both grown ups, remember?..” - with each word she stepped an inch closer till she was pressing Moon against the wall, smiling to him, looking upwards to his eyes. - “And since there are two consenting adults... who cares what happens in the bedroom?..”

“I... I got you a change...” - Moon Shine grabbed the last straw he had, trying to regain whatever semblance of control at the diversioning situation.

“I'll need it... later...” - Cheerilee's tender hand cupped his jaw, pulling man's head lower and closer. - “But for now... I need something other.”

“Consenting adults my face...” - the last thought flashed in Moon's mind, before the wave of lust rushed into him, washing away everything else...

...clock on the wall chimed eleven o'clock in the evening, and Cheerilee, disheveled, but obviously content, planted a small kiss on Moon Shine's scar, cuddling closer to the man:

“Let's cuddle?..”

“Sure.” - he replied, embracing the lady; she sighed contently, caressing his shoulder:

“You know – don't put that patch on anymore. You look way much better as is. And with that patch – for me – it looks like someone, who sucks at Photoshop, tried to fix the scar by simply painting over it.”

“Well... Alright. No more paints.” - chuckled Moon, twirling a lock of Cheerilee's curly pinkish hair around his finger.

“Besides, you really look badass with the stuff. And I like baad boys...” - she blew him a raspberry and laughed happily.

“Duly noted!” - Moon Shine reported mockingly, stretching to attention, crossing eyes and saluting the ceiling.

“You dummy!” - laughed Cheerilee, poking the man into the side with her sharp fingernail. - “But that's so fine with me...” - she sighed, fiddling with his neckchain:

“You've been to an army?”

“No – why?” - Moon's guts froze at the question.

“Dog tag?..”

“A keepsake from a friend. He moved abroad, and... well, for some pretty queer reason, he decided that I'd get the most use from having his dog tag...” - Machine of Lies screeched with all the cogs, coughing out virulent fumes, but it worked – coarsely. - “...though, well – it was a symbolic gesture. We were friends from the very childhood. Sometimes I miss that bummer.”

“I guess he's doing well...” - Cheerilee planted her head onto the man's chest. - “And the tattoo? It's an owl, right? But... well, it's wing seems off somewhat – like made of metal. A wing-blade, I'd say... I've seen that one somewhere...”

“Aye, I played in a band. Well, a garage band. Knight Owls. We did something that we thought at the time was damn fresh – and it was a sick blend of speed metal and medieval tunes. You know, like Deaf Sentry? Ring a bell?”

“Wait... Lion Eyes? Minstrels and Haze? Wow!!” - Cheerilee perked up. - “They were my absolute favourite when I was at high school!”

“Well, we started maybe two years before these guys. Which makes... oh man. I guess I was nineteen at the time. Oh Gog, I feel old and wrinkly...” - chuckled the man.

“You don't feel so to me, if that's any consolation...” - smirked Cheerilee, giving Moon her best bedroom look. - “So? The tattoo?”

“Uh, yeah. You know the garage bands – their brains are fizzy with beer, blood hot as a volcanic lava, and ambitions just keep sprouting and blossoming; so we all came up with the same design – that knight owl, with them blades for wings... kind of a 'teambuilding', or rather, team bonding piece...”

“That's really nice...” - sighed Cheerilee. - “And what happened to your band?”

“We just hit the state of decay. Lead guitarist got junky, vocalist – drank himself to insanity, others just split from the band... So, there were only me and the drummer left, and what good can you do with a guys who only do drums and percussion? Well, we tried running some gigs like 'bagpipes and drums' for some fans of Celtic music – even tried to roll into a jig dance courses as the musicians – and then we just parted ways...” - shrugged Moon, fighting with the starting migraine; his brain was incapable of handling that much stress with the endorphines-jagged Lies Machine.

“This is sad... Well, I guess such things happen.” - Cheerilee threw the hair away from her eyes, allowing Moon to sneak a magnificent peek on her bosom. - “And now you're a teacher.”

“Yup.”

“I know you'll do well. I can see it...” - rewarding the man with a kiss on the cheek, Cheerilee clambered out of bed and stretched graciously:

“I'm hitting the shower; you with me?”

“I'm afraid shower fits only one person at a time. As much as I'd like to rub your back, it's pretty much risky...” - shrugged Moon Shine. - “You go ahead. Ladies first. Fresh towels are on the rack, And there's some pick-me-up on the coffee table in the living room – a la chef. Strongly recommend to drink it down; trust me, morning would be brighter”.

“Noted!” - chirped Cheerilee, fleeing to the bathroom.

Moon Shine waited until he heard the sound of water running – and then jumped out of bed as well, ruffling the tuft on Cardinal's head:

“I'm sorry, your Excellence – the confession would have to wait.”

Scurrying through the pockets of his jacket, he located what he was looking for – the pager. Indicator flashed one unread message:

“I see you've took the part of alibi way seriously. Don't let it get in the way.”

Moon rolled his eyes, texting the response:

“Research done today; official sources hold no information. Will run through some old friends tomorrow, infiltrate and search. Reports would be made once entered the facility.”

The response came quick and short:

“Good luck; don't mess up – and I mean the girl too.”

“Your Excellence – sometimes I feel like someone's biting more than one can chew, safe for swallow...” - grunted Moon Shine, addressing the plushie owl. - “I'm getting pretty pissed off with this 'know-it-all' attitude”.

Of course, the Grey Cardinal remained silent, smiling his vaguely mysterious and knowing smile.