socialitesleuth

[socialitesleuth]

Oh, how fabulous! I'm sure they'd look wonderful decorating our large outdoor trees that line the drive, however I'm also now wondering whether one could, if one buys enough packs, string them together to create some sort of bauble arch?

@socialitesleuth I found some decorations for your tree! Pictures a little off but they’re some really nice pinks!

They’re not too small, are they?

[socialitesleuth]

Oh, this is fabulous!

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

Well, this is one (or five...?) Christmas gifts sorted. Tiny pies for Tiny Scott(s)!

My goodness, five Tiny Scotts...? I am rather concerned over their spelling. Scott(s), darling(s), I know you're American, but I'm not sure that Z placement is an acceptable substitute at the end of that word. Also, who certified this licence?

The Scotts asked me to leave this here to avoid any further Situations of Confusion.

[socialitesleuth]

I suppose, when you put it like that...

A new shade of pink it might very well be! Usually I opt for a candy cane pink, for obvious reasons, but perhaps a lighter hue might be better.

Yes, you've given me much to think about @call-me-casual.

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

You don't think it would be... tiresome to do it again?

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

Yellow is a grand idea @coco9728, as is IR blue @idontknowreallywhy.

In fact I suppose I could forgo a theme entirely and co-ordinate based on the reciever's preference of colour; a bit of green, a splash of purple, a drop of orange, a patch of red, a sprinkle of teal...

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

... Not even a hint of pink? For a splash of colour?

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

It's never to early to start Christmas shopping (unless it's before November 1st, in which case I'm afraid you're being too eager).

The only problem is I'm not sure what colour scheme to go with for the wrapping this year. I fear that pink, for the third year in a row, would be too repetitive.

[socialitesleuth]

Preparations have been made and the stage has been set. The manor has been transformed from its usual appearance of a grand, lavish estate to a ghoulish, haunted manor. They even managed to install some spooky sound effects!

With Penelope's Halloween Gala fast approaching, everything, so far, has been going to plan.

Happy Halloween everyone!

[socialitesleuth]

Sniffle, sniffle. Cough, cough, cough.

We always get ill at inopportune moments, don't we? Thankfully, Parker has been looking after me these last few days. I am, and forever will be, grateful for him. Bertie has been doing his bit too, offering up many, many cuddles.

Being bundled up inside, however, has not been ideal. Despite the weather growing colder, I've found myself missing going on an adventure or two.

Still, as all things eventually do, this shall pass.

[socialitesleuth]

The tension in the library was palpable. Penelope had sat herself far enough away from the crowd of guests so they couldn't hear her conversation. It hadn't been entirely purposeful at first but Penelope was glad of it upon hearing the latest update.

It provided little comfort. Outside, Penelope's well kept, neatly arranged gardens battled against the thunderous winds of the storm. Inside, Penelope herself was beginning to battle the rising tide of fury as she considered the implications of what John had been relaying.

"Stolen or escaped... I'm not sure which outcome I'd prefer." Penelope mumbles, half to herself but loud enough for John to hear. "Would Thunderbird One be able to fly through a storm like this? I know Scott is a mighty fine pilot, but I wouldn't want him to risk himself, or the ship, if it wasn't safe enough. The same goes for you too."

John's suggestion of bringing himself down was ludicrous, and Penelope had to agree with EOS's attempt to question the sensibility of the idea, but she knows that look. She knows that grin, and she knows there would be very little point in arguing a case against it if her only argument was because she thought it wasn't safe.

But, with Parker still busy tending to the guests, Penelope figures there's little alternative she'd be able to find. After all, going out completely alone on the wild goose chase would be just as dangerous an idea as John's was. It would undeniably be better for the two of them to brave the storm together. Forget strength in numbers; Penelope's current concern regarded safety.

Her eyes find the spider-web crack, stark against the pristine condition of the inner frames of the window. How long would it be before the glass took another hit? How long until the storm damaged more of the manor, possibly worse?

Depending on how long the rogue drone could sustain itself, it could be hours before the storm is over. They had to act, and they had to act fast.

"Are you absolutely certain you can make it down without putting yourself in too much danger?" It mattered little that John had already given her those reassurances; Penelope would be concerned until his feet were firmly set on the ground — which she realises was now a definite actuality. The drone had to be found and so the word 'no' was no longer an option.

She stands from her seat, dusts off her skirt and heads over to Parker and the gathered crowd. Parker's initially hesitant but understandable once Penelope explains the situation and plan. Once she's adequately reassured him, she leaves the library and ascends one of the manor's staircases — if they're going storm chasing, appropriate attire would be needed.

As she walks, Penelope offers John a nod; a go-ahead for their plan. "Alright, but be careful! When you're Earthside, meet me at the garages. I'll bring the car around."

Garden Party Gale [RP]

@socialitesleuth:

"This is Britain." Penelope contemplates, though even she isn't entirely convinced by her own conclusion herself. "The weather can change here at the drop of a hat." She eyes up the downpour through the windows. It's becoming heavier with each passing minute. The pellets of water hit the glass loudly and Penelope wonders for a moment if the rain has since turned to hail. Sure, British weather could be unpredictable, but John was right to express his concerns. This didn't seem normal. A quick thought of the local farmers and landowners distracts her momentarily. With such a heavy storm, and with it occurring so suddenly, flooding was all the more likely. Penelope makes a mental memo to check in with the locals once the situation has cleared. Depending on the scale of destruction, perhaps she and Parker could be of some assistance. "Then again," she reconsiders, with her attention fully back to the present situation, "when you put your suspicions like that, it is rather alarming." Penelope could remember the problems that had been caused by Fishler with his out-of-control drones. Despite the chaos that had ensued, the man hadn't been trying to wreak havoc. While she doubted Fischler would be fool enough to try that experiment again, she didn't rule him out entirely. The self-proclaimed visionary was always one best kept on watch. But if this freak storm was indeed due to some sort of interference, and it wasn't caused by Fishler, then who? Was this the result of another science experiment gone wrong, or was there something more sinister at play? If someone was deliberately causing such a storm with malicious intentions... Penelope cast the theories and questions from her mind and smiles cheerily, undisturbed as the howling gale outside rages on. "At least the report on the manor is a relief. Parker will be thrilled to hear there isn't much to worry about there." She'll save the news for later, however; she doesn't want to remind him of the worry he'd had. Her manicured nails, pristine and unchipped, swipe John's image to one side of her device before pulling up a secondary image. She processes the guest-list, making a couple of quick adjustments before sending the file over. "There, I've sent you the finalised version. The ones ticked off are those who are accounted for. The rest... I do hope they've managed to find shelter." The dimly glowing lights from the chandelier flicker. A few of the guests, still shaken by the storm, gasp. Thank goodness the Creighton-Ward Manor has a fair few backup generators. An evening trapped inside in the dark wasn't a promising prospect for anyone. "Thank you, John." Penelope isn't sure she's vocalises her gratitude yet. "For the warning, and for the assistance."

John hmms something a little noncommittal at her suggestion that English weather is just like this sometimes. He can hear the doubt in her voice, and the thickness of those black clouds - spilled across the perfect replica of the south on his HUD like black ink - clearly isn’t something he’s used to seeing come out of nowhere. As much as Thunderbird Five insists he’s not a meteorologist, his screens sure have experienced their fair share of extreme weather.

“You’re welcome.” John comments, offhand, like all this is just a regular Tuesday for him. Perhaps it is. He’s working his way through sending each member of Penelope’s guest list a polite message, with a link that will call Thunderbird Five directly if they are in need of assistance. He receives a few replies quickly, and is relieved to find they confirm the recipients safety. One couple at home. A man who'd turned around when he saw the clouds rolling in. A family with an older son who are stranded in their car, but they have parked up at a services, so aren't overly concerned. John flicks them a recommendation to get indoors, then turns his attention to Eos - who's waiting patiently up by his ear. 

“Eos? Any res-”

He’s interrupted as a gust of wind smashes a blur that vaguely resembles a tree branch hard against the glass of one of Penny's big arched windows. The Victorian pane cracks with a sharp, splintering snap, followed by a muffled thud as the branch falls to the ground outside. It’s probably lucky those Victorian panes have been reinforced to be bulletproof - the branch leaves a spider web of cracks, but no significant holes. It is loud enough to distract John though - the spaceman almost looking unsettled despite his reassurance of the building's structural soundness.

“I have located one metallic anomaly at the epicentre of the disturbance.” Eos, however, is unruffled, “It appears to be the same model as Fischer’s drones, but I have it on good authority the man is currently experimenting with his latest submersible in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It seems unlikely he is responsible for this attack.”

It’s lucky John Tracy is not a swearing man, else the canned air of his Thunderbird might be turning blue around now.

“Someone’s stolen a drone?” John's biting his bottom lip red, “Or one’s gotten loose…?” He has remarkably little faith in the security of the GDFs impound for seized goods, having, perhaps accessed it’s systems once or twice to take a look at their inventory. He’d not put this stunt past an intern taking the machine out for a joyride. “I can dispatch Thunderbird One to you,” John tells Penny, “but it'll be forty minutes even at Mach 19...” His jaw tightens, “Though…” An idea occurs to him that his brothers would not like, and John's fingers curl then uncurl through his screens. “I'm currently geostationary over Portugal. I've been keeping an eye on a wildfire in the south but local crews seem to have it well in hand. It wouldn't take a lot of fuel to use the manoeuvring jets to position Five closer to you.”

“John.” Eos’ little voice is heavy with trepidation for him, “The wind speed-”

“I've done the math.” He reassures, having literally just completed the tensile strength calculation in his head, “I can get the space elevator down there within safe parameters." And there's the edge of a wild Tracy grin on him now, the likes of which Penelope hasn't seen much of since college. "I can rewire Eos’ mobile unit to disrupt electrical signals. I'll make it long range, but I'd still have to be a lot closer than anything above the Karman line. So... what do you say to chasing down a weather drone, Pen?”

[socialitesleuth]

Honoured Internettians,

TODAY is your Lucky Day! For you have been chosen as the FOCUS GROUP for some totally top notch:

MARKET RESEARCH!!!!

I wanted that to sparkle! Where is the sparkle button? You, Whateveryounameis, build me a sparkle button!

[socialitesleuth]

Sometimes, Langstrom, slow and steady wins the race.

Hot water first, then you add milk.

Hot water first, then you add milk!

Any other way and it isn't a cup of tea; it's a travesty.

[socialitesleuth]

@womble1 - It all rather depends on how one is boiling their water, I suppose. However, the tea must always be present before the milk.

@ill-put-the-kettle-on-then - My, my. That is... quite the idea, Langstrom, but are you sure you wouldn't want to test this product first? Perhaps get some market research done? I, for one, would not be keen on a microwavable cup of tea.

Hot water first, then you add milk.

Hot water first, then you add milk!

Any other way and it isn't a cup of tea; it's a travesty.

[socialitesleuth]

You make an excellent point.

Hot water first, then you add milk.

Hot water first, then you add milk!

Any other way and it isn't a cup of tea; it's a travesty.

[socialitesleuth]

Hot water first, then you add milk.

Hot water first, then you add milk!

Any other way and it isn't a cup of tea; it's a travesty.

[socialitesleuth]

"This is Britain." Penelope contemplates, though even she isn't entirely convinced by her own conclusion herself. "The weather can change here at the drop of a hat."

She eyes up the downpour through the windows. It's becoming heavier with each passing minute. The pellets of water hit the glass loudly and Penelope wonders for a moment if the rain has since turned to hail. Sure, British weather could be unpredictable, but John was right to express his concerns.

This didn't seem normal.

A quick thought of the local farmers and landowners distracts her momentarily. With such a heavy storm, and with it occurring so suddenly, flooding was all the more likely. Penelope makes a mental memo to check in with the locals once the situation has cleared. Depending on the scale of destruction, perhaps she and Parker could be of some assistance.

"Then again," she reconsiders, with her attention fully back to the present situation, "when you put your suspicions like that, it is rather alarming."

Penelope could remember the problems that had been caused by Fishler with his out-of-control drones. Despite the chaos that had ensued, the man hadn't been trying to wreak havoc.

While she doubted Fischler would be fool enough to try that experiment again, she didn't rule him out entirely. The self-proclaimed visionary was always one best kept on watch.

But if this freak storm was indeed due to some sort of interference, and it wasn't caused by Fishler, then who? Was this the result of another science experiment gone wrong, or was there something more sinister at play? If someone was deliberately causing such a storm with malicious intentions...

Penelope cast the theories and questions from her mind and smiles cheerily, undisturbed as the howling gale outside rages on.

"At least the report on the manor is a relief. Parker will be thrilled to hear there isn't much to worry about there."

She'll save the news for later, however; she doesn't want to remind him of the worry he'd had.

Her manicured nails, pristine and unchipped, swipe John's image to one side of her device before pulling up a secondary image. She processes the guest-list, making a couple of quick adjustments before sending the file over. "There, I've sent you the finalised version. The ones ticked off are those who are accounted for. The rest... I do hope they've managed to find shelter."

The dimly glowing lights from the chandelier flicker. A few of the guests, still shaken by the storm, gasp. Thank goodness the Creighton-Ward Manor has a fair few backup generators. An evening trapped inside in the dark wasn't a promising prospect for anyone.

"Thank you, John." Penelope isn't sure she's vocalises her gratitude yet. "For the warning, and for the assistance."

Garden Party Gale [RP]

@socialitesleuth:

Stressed is not a word that Penelope's vocabulary is overly familiar with. She's the epitome of the quaint and oft-overused British saying of Keep Calm and Carry On. Years of handling situations that were less than ideal meant that Penelope had an astute ability to remain unfazed by sudden predicaments. Such as this one. Calm and collected, her mind is already attempting to solve a compendium of possible conundrums, solutions to various problems that could occur should the storm become anymore worrisome. She's unflinching as the manor begins to take a battering from the gale, nonplussed when the hears a scream echo from the entryway down the hall. Utterly composed. After all, panicking never helped anyone resolve anything. "Flying gazebos, you say?" Penelope can't let that comment slip by. As she leaves her position by the window, her lips curve into an amused little grin. She directs it at the little figure hovering in the the centre of her faux cosmetic compact. "Don't be saying things like that around our dear friend Fischler. I'm sure he'd find the concept absolutely splendid!" She, like John, did not. The imagery of out-of-control tents soaring haphazardly through the skies is enough to have her hurrying along the hallway, towards the entrance. The corridor acts like a wind tunnel. The closer she gets to the open entrance, the stronger the draught is. Penelope fights against the gusts, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the whistling gale. "I believe this particular event was to have upwards of fifty in attendance. It's not one of my biggest events of the year, I'm pleased to report, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about anyone who might still be travelling getting caught up in this storm." Howling, strong breezes rattle through the open doorway. Parker is already there, standing stalwart with a white knuckle grip on the cast-iron handles. He's ushering in the guests, offering up a hand to the slightly older couple who are straggling behind the rest. To describe the group as windswept would be an understatement; even their clothes are lopsided from their brief tussle with the storm. A quick headcount has them at fifteen and, without hesitation, Penelope guides them all through to one of the manor's many libraries. Normally this is one that remains closed to the public. Old texts and unique editions are housed in there, usually off-limits to any possible prying eyes, but Penelope makes an exception to the rules. Out in the corridor, the thump of the large outer doors being closed reverberates through to them and Parker appears moments later. "Cor, blimey!" He says. "Ain't seen a storm this bad for donkey's years. Everyone h'alright?" He attends to the guests, assessing and checking on each and every one in turn. Leaving them in Parker's capable hands, Penelope takes a seat on an Ottoman on the other side of the library. Her shoulders are slightly hunched but she still sounds as composed as she was when she first picked up John's call. "Worry not, we've taken shelter in the West Wing. No-one appears injured, just a little shaken up. Understandable, given the circumstances." The wind's howls sound more like roars in the rafters above. Rain continues to pelt against the windows, turning the visibility to effectively zero. If the grey clouds had sunk down to ground level, no-one inside the manor would have known; it all looked grey and opaque outside now. A sudden crash occurs from somewhere outside and a few of the guests jump out of their skin. Even Parker seems to wince at the sound. "Any idea how long this storm is going to last, John?"

"Uh-huh." A muscle under one of his eyes twitches a little, aware he's being teased about the gazebo thing, but, professional as ever, John doesn't comment on it... still, he doesn't think she's going to let that one go easily.

He does finds the mention of Fishler suddenly unsettling though.

"You know..." Something uncomfortable dawns on the astronaut, "I haven't been able to work out why there was no reference to this storm in local meteorological predictions." His frown deepens, "The first mention was the Amber Alert that Thunderbird Five flagged less than five minutes ago." And the whole thing had not only come out of nowhere, but it's weirdly localised over to the South East of London and Northern Kent. "Why," He postulates, mostly to himself, "would no one have seen a force ten gale coming?"

Except, John has seen sudden, unpredictable atmospheric conditions like this once before, with Fishler and his weather drones. He's developing a very bad feeling about this.

"Eos?" He calls up to her, somewhere offscreen, "Can you run me a scan for any large, metal anomalies in the airspace around South East London? Calibrate it for anything receiving electrical signals."

"FAB John." She chirps, her voice routed into the narrowband Commline so that Penelope can hear her too, "Here is your structural report."

Eos cascades the requested information into his hands and John's relived to find the East Wing is in better shape than it had looked.

"You've got a dormer and a couple of chimneys that might need repair come morning." He reports, "But the foundation analysis is looking good." Which is impressive for a building the age of the Creighton-Ward mansion. "Forward me your guest list?" John requests, "I'll run check-ins for you with anyone unaccounted for."

It's lucky he's a master of multitasking. The crash-bang outside the manor doesn't even seem to phase him.

"I'm no meteorologist," John tells her, "but, I'd expect a storm like this to last at least overnight, though if that windspeed drops, the rain could be there longer."