Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie does a "Tool Time" like Pamela Anderson, travels to Whateley's past to help out Operations, Pinky devises more trouble, and Joanie learns she's not the first mutant in her bloodline.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout 2-Pause/Record/Fast-forward: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is still sort of first my attempt a TG/sci-fi piece, thought every day in every way I’m getting better and better. Constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This is for fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe, take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright, trade mark or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which saves my butt. Love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents 86 and 99 of Control. Free Complimentary Factiod: Mel Brooks & Buck Henry wanted agent 69 but this was the navel free 1960’s after all.

Adult content warning: this chapter contains adult sexual themes or acts. Nothing much really but still not suitable for underage readers. Mind you if you’re at this site, you know this already but still, you were warned.

Timeout 2

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 8 - The Loading Dock, Pinky part 3, Ba Ba Black Sheep 1

Whateley Academy — February 07-March 03, 2007
February 07, 2007

Ms. Carson requested I meet her at Administration 8AM sharp today, wouldn’t say much other than my special “talents” were needed and to dress ready to get dirty. I went with the “Farmer Judy” look, named for this nice girl I knew in high school; my hair in a simple braid, I wore a workman’s flannel shirt, bib overalls, heavy work socks, ear band, fingerless work gloves and ladies safety work boots, a tough, comfortable, practical outfit, and then I looked in the mirror. I looked like a refugee from a tool company poster; I’d forgotten how sexy bib overalls could be on a suitably endowed woman. With a shinny gold hardhat and high heels, it would make a great stripper costume; hey, at least I have an idea for next Halloween. It was too late to change, so I ran to Administration. Ms. Carson almost laughed when she saw me but agreed it was appropriate.

“I thought you’d be in a jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, it is a construction site, but still, Joanie.”

“Can I help it I’m built like this; you said be prepared to get dirty.”

This time half the staff were laughing, the rest covering their mouths while Amelia gave me this look of “oh Ghod why me?” Ms. Carson and I met with the ‘Mario Brothers’, Stan and Morrie at the back of Hawthorne Hall. Vance MerrilI, Assistant of Operations and Sue McClellan, the warehouse foreman joined us. I could see lines painted on the driveway, part of which was already torn up, and out into the lawn and lots of those Diggers Hotline flags marking a route towards the nearest building.

“Morning Ms. Joan, glad you could make it, we really need the help,” said Morrie, his eyes not quite looking high enough to meet my eyes. I noticed most of the other workers doing the same.

“What’s wrong, is it me? Have I got something on inside-out or forget to remove a price tag, I did dress kinda fast this morning?” Ms. Carson whispered in my ear. I felt myself blush. “I’m so embarrassed, I didn’t realize.”

I’d figured with the “get dirty” stuff, a fancy bra would just trap dirt and irritate my skin, so I went bra-less, well almost. I had to wear something to keep from getting, ah, over-stimulated as I moved, so I wore this plain, soft lycra-spandex bra that was little more than an unlined bikini top. A support bra it was not. Not a problem for me as me breasts refuse to sag due to my exemplar and regen powers. I figured the bib top would act like a shelf bra so the jiggling would be within reasonable limits. I forgot that women’s bibs are often more a fashion item than true work clothes and that the fabric these were made of was soft and stretchy, as was the flannel shirt. Oh and it was a little chilly out; I don’t know what stuck out more, the brass snaps on the bib pockets or my... I recovered quickly.

“Enjoying the view are we, boys? That’s all you’re getting, so let’s get back to work,” I chided them.

As they explained what was going on here, I swore I heard a camera shutter clicking occasionally but paid it no mind.

“A janitor was cleaning up after your run in with those two boys,” said Mr. Merrill.

“The Blue Flame and Rampage?” I questioned.

“Exactly, he spotted some cracks in the wall near where they hit,” Mr. Merrill replied.

“They broke a reinforced concrete wall?” I asked.

Morrie spoke next. “More like they exposed an existing problem that had been painted over, our mason inspected the wall and found the foundation near the loading dock was shifting. That’s when the Princes of Plumbing got consulted.” Stan and Morrie chuckled.

“Leaking pipes in the walls or a collapsing sewer the problem?” I asked, Stan took over from Morrie.

“Too many underground utilities though a foundation wall not designed for it, it’s been decided to replace the old dock and buttress the failing foundation section. We also intend to run new services in while we have everything exposed. Fortunately we don’t have much frost in the ground this year.

“The problem is just as you suggested at your interview, Joanie. We gone over the site with metal detectors, magnetometers, ground penetrating radar, gravity meters, thermal imagers, scintillation counters, sonar scans, diviners and dowsers, and it’s your worst nightmare. Sometimes it seems like you’re taking your life in your hands planting flower bulbs around here.” A couple started to laugh, Stan cut them off. “I’m serious, people. Joanie hit it on the nose when we first talked; we have lead water pipes, cast-iron and clay waste pipes, various electrical conduits, including one cryogenically chilled superconductor, a gas line, buried telephone, a steam tunnel and one unknown mystical object. Mr. Lodgeman will explain.”

“I’ll keep the introduction brief as everyone here knows who I am except Ms. Brown. I’m Charlie Lodgeman; I’m a superintendent here and a mage. Ms. Carson thought the two of us could get to the source of the trouble here, so this project may resume.”

I gave him a “huh?” expression while I studied the man. He appeared around 30, and was built like a small football fullback, stocky and muscular but did not project the air of a so-called jock. He exuded a relaxed, humorous, almost whimsical air and dressed like he was fresh from the American West. His obvious Native American heritage gave him an exotic appeal, and he carried it well despite his modest 5’6” frame. I liked what I saw.

~Oh dear, this isn’t gonna be easy. ~

Certain parts of my body echoed my thoughts enthusiastically.

~Good thing I put in a panty liner today, too late for a stiffer bra though. ~

I started to feel a flush but forced myself to listen.

“And just what are ‘we’ doing, Mr. Lodgeman?” I said trying to sound mildly disdainful; it came out like a come-on line.

To his credit, Mr. Lodgeman didn’t skip a beat. He spoke quietly so only those who were trustworthy might hear.

“Ms. Carson, along with Stan and Morrie, want us to travel back to just before the offending object was buried to determine its nature and level of threat.”

“Why not have a sorceress or clairvoyant scan it; don’t we have a half-demon on campus?” I asked.

“In reverse order, Joan, we do and I did and so did several others with magical gifts, but the most they could get was that it was still active and the day when it was buried, nothing else. We could use Miss Waite; but she’s a student whereas you’re available, staff, and you did volunteer. Between your time travel and my magic, the two of us will manage.” He smiled at me, almost a laugh.

~Oh dear, that’s got me going again. ~

“It’s warded or shielded either externally or internally we’re not sure, but we do know it’s powerful. The ley lines in the area are distorted and plain wrong the closer you get to it. You know about ley lines, Joan?”

“A friend back at MSG is a sorceress. So do we, time travel and retrieve it,” I whispered, “Or do we photograph it, note position relative to major landmarks then report back on its nature and true location?” I asked.

“The later, they’ll set up whatever privacy screens you need, then we’re on,” Mr Lodgeman said.

We went to Physical plant and studied the blueprints and scan results. I suggested a spot on campus that had a good view, provided cover and was unchanged over the years involved. The theater group provided Mr. Lodgeman with period clothes, I had my own. Charlie was impressed when I came out dressed like a late Victorian Gibson Girl.

“I haven’t seen someone dressed like that since I was a child,” he said.

“It’s not right?”

~I could have sworn this was period. ~

“No it’s perfect; I am older than I look.” he winked at me.

~So he is that old, come to think of it there is Circe and Dr. Joan Alden. ~

We got our equipment together and waited for campus to quiet down. I used the same relaxation trick Gin and I did for my first “research trip.”

”From these old campus photos, the top of this original section of Siegel Hall offers a good view and ample concealment.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Joan.”

“Call me Joanie; I prefer it, okay, Charlie?” I smiled, and he grinned happily. “Hold my hands and don’t let go unless I tell you to; there’s a chance I could strand you in the past.”

I relaxed and went for the feeling. In minutes I felt a momentary disorientation and we were there, over 100 years into Whateley’s past. There were only a few buildings back then, we settled in to wait as we only had a rough idea of the correct time. Through binoculars and a telephoto camera we observed the site. Several hours passed and I gradually got more and more “stimulated” but hung on. More hours passed, I was resting and concentrating on anything but my condition when Charlie whispered to me. My “side effect” was getting urgent; I’d never been in the past this long or far back. He’d noticed my discomfort.

“Why are you so nervous, Joanie?” he appeared puzzled.

“Umm... for some reason the longer I stay in the past the more, aaah... aroused I get. I hope they’re coming soon, or I’m coming here and nowow ooooh... Oh, that was close. Don’t mind me, I’ll manage.”

I fought to keep some control. I’ll give him his due, Charlie stayed professional though I thought his eyes went wide for a moment and his usual friendly face got even friendlier looking.

~It makes him look so ruggedly handsome; I want to rip off his, oooh, NO!... one plus one is two, two plus two is four, four plus four is...~

It worked, the delightful tension eased, I gained a measure of control.

Moments later he spoke, “They’re here, look.”

We saw a small procession of people in ceremonial robes carry out some rite then carefully bury a lead wrapped container, looked like jar or urn. I could see Charlie concentrating intensely; I was barely holding it together.

~One times one is one, one time two is two...~

I silently recited my third grade multiplication tables to keep my mind off it.

“No wonder our scans failed. That object they magically sealed and buried contains a fairly major demon; some fool must have summoned it, these people captured it and are entombing it as best they can. If we’d damaged it, the wards on the jar might have failed; Ghod knows what harm it would have done.”

He took a few pictures and notes on the objects position relative to Hawthorne Hall and landmarks that survived from the period.

“We can go now, Joanie.”

We held hands; I relaxed and went for the feeling. We returned and after I... ~Oh My Ghod...~ recovered from the ~ooh, oooh, ooooh...~ after effects we came down from the roof and I ~ooh my ~ rushed to the nearest ladies room.

“Excuse me I need to get changed,” I breathed huskily rushing off. I’d anticipated some “reaction” and came prepared with a tote bag of spare clothes.

~I wonder how well soundproofed that women’s room was? ~

Not too well, judging from the look on Charlie’s face. Together we turned in our notes and photos and walked out of Physical Plant.

“Does ‘that’ happen every time you time travel, Joanie?” he asked. Charlie seemed a bit embarrassed.

“Uh uh, what’s worse, the longer I stay and the farther back I go the stronger the, um, reaction. If we’re all done here, I’d like to go back to my room and recover. As they say, travel is sooo rewarding.” I grinned and ran off before Charlie could say anything or I got any more excited.

Ms. Carson had warned me that my time travel might prove too tempting to him. Though a good man who knew better, he desperately missed his late wife and might be tempted to see her one last time. Ms. Carson thought the chance of him asking me was slight but warned me anyway. That would be a very bad idea, she cautioned, as Sherry was a powerful magic user and might misinterpret my “side effect” as coming from a different stimulus.

I got the picture; I did not want someone with that kind of power thinking I was a rival for his affections, let alone the timeline problems it could cause. As to the object, it was decided to recover it, re-enforce the wards around it and re-bury it in military grade reinforced concrete with additional magics added to both entomb it and warn future generations. It is now part of the footing for one of the Whateley perimeter walls and helps re-enforce the wards there.

* * * *

Whateley Academy — February 07, 7:40PM

Pinky sat in a quiet library alcove researching her next move. “I need an angle, a gimmick, something to rattle her cage but keep me in the clear. I may need to back off for a while; I didn’t expect so strong a response from Security or my Aunt. I need her as an ally not an enemy; I miscalculated,” she thought remembering their conversation earlier. She’d caught up with Aunty Hartford as she was leaving Administration for the day.

“Ms. Hartford, a moment of your time please?”

“Only if it is brief, I am off duty.” They walked to her car talking softly.

“Did you hear, Aunt Hartford, someone’s dug up dirt on that Joanie person who’s causing you such grief?” she smiled.

“Who ever it is, is a fool. As much as she irritates me, she is staff and entitled to respect. If a student is behind this, they could be expelled. Conflict between students and staff is intolerable. Is there anything else, Ms. Conners?” Someone was walking past and Ms. Hartford reverted to formal mode.

“No, Ms. Hartford, other than may I have some advice on how to best serve my campus organization? What to do and what not to?”

“See me at 8:45 am tomorrow; I’ll give you an appointment for later. Good night, Ms. Conners.”

* * * *

Back in the alcove, Pinky continued her research. “The best way to destroy someone is to trick them into doing it themselves. What are Joanie’s strengths and weaknesses, and how can I exploit them?”

She was looking through magazine and newspaper articles. Internet research was a last resort because her efforts could be traced.

“She’s a leap-before-you-look do-gooder, and it’s rumored she’s pretty wild sexually with women since her change. She’s certainly not been seen in the company of a man since becoming a public figure. She likes to sing and perform, that’s obvious. She’s fairly athletic, takes an early morning run most days. She’s admitted to still having problems sorting out her sexuality, is reputed to be embarrassed by her good looks and is hurt by having to cut loose from her old friends and family. Those all could be exploited but how best?” A smile grew on her face as it came to her.

“The library is closing in 15 minutes, bring any material for checkout to the desk and shut down all computers, thank you.”

Pinky started putting her materials back, working out her plan as she went.

“If she got caught having sex with a student, preferably a minor but how to do it? I could use my gift to influence someone, but it’s tricky, if another empath tuned in on me, I could get discovered or blackmailed. I need to do this right or not at all, but I can wait,” she thought, then felt an uncomfortable sensation below. “Euh, not again, maybe I should go to Siegel Hall. This damned ’thing’ is out of control,” she though as she rearranged the stiff and annoying ‘thing’ in her pants. “Why does it feel so good when I touch it; I hate it and everything it represents?” Pinky’s anger grew with her unwanted arousal; her self-loathing and frustration boiled over. “Hell if I have to, I’ll seduce her. I can claim I was asking for help from a fellow TG. They’d believe a child over an adult when it comes to rape. Maybe that ‘thing’ might prove useful, after all semen is great evidence. That would be ironic, destroying my Aunt’s tormentor with the very thing I hate most.” Pinky began to laugh to her self, much to the annoyance of the other patrons.

* * * *
February 08, 2007, 9:45PM Poe Hall

Saturday February 17th is nine days away, and I’m beginning to panic. I’ve arranged a private charter jet out of the same airport the TV show used, booking through Meridian to avoid publicity. I plan to take my cycle along to show my Iowa friends. Managed to get the weekend off, I had to trade a few favors to Ms. Carson — she’s one tough negotiator - but I could see she was giving me “The Look.” The kind of look your Mom gives you when you say “it’s just the movies, Mom, it’s nothing serious” but she knows better.

Problem is, forgive me for the cliché, I haven’t a thing to wear. I, Joanie, with all my money and clothes haven’t a suitable dress for the dance. I can’t go as Joanie the singer, those outfits are too wild. They’re by no means obscene but for a school dance? I have a few dresses, but they’re either too adult, i.e. college clubbing gear or too daywear, the sort of thing I wore around the Mutant Wing.

I hear there’s this great seamstress in Dunwich, Cecilia Rogers, many of the harder to fit students go there for uniforms, and she does ballroom dance wear as well. I may try her shop out, “Rogers Fabric Boutique;” Mr. Lodgeman, Charlie, recommended her, and she can make clothes while-you-wait. He assisted me on a “research trip” I took for Physical Plant a few days ago, and Ms. Carson told me to trust his advice as he is far older and wiser than he looks.

I called Gin to see if she could come up with something, but she’s busy teaching a seminar at UW-Stevens Point, “magic wards in the modern age” or some such title and may not have time. My fault, I didn’t think I needed a new dress, but everything I tried on wasn’t it, whatever it is.

I’m investing way too much time and emotion into something that started out as a joke and bit of harmless fun for the girl I never was. The steamroller is picking up speed, and I don’t know if I can stop it. Tina and Chris keep giving makeup tips and dance lessons; they seem to like the slow, close dances best.

~Strange, I thought school dances tend toward dancing separately to fast beats? ~

Their suggestions for a dress are well, biased; biased towards skirts way above mid thigh, open toed high heels and lots of cleavage. I’d look great, but these are eighth graders, not grad students; I’ll find something nice somehow.

I have to remember this is just for fun, this is just to get used to the idea of dating men, this is not that serious, Girl. I need the experience badly if I’m this nervous about dating the brother of a friend where the entire night his parents will be there as chaperones. If I’m this bad now, what would I be like if it was with an adult man and alone? Eric’s a nice boy, helpful and with good manners, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Then why am I so worried? Ghods being a girl is complicated.

Maybe I’d better call Dr. Sara and get her advice. I would prefer to see her in person but the conference/ski trip fell though. She couldn’t get leave to attend as that bird flu epidemic hit Madison, and the hospital is so short staffed the Mutant wing personnel are assisting the public wings.; all vacations are canceled. I hope she can get a refund on the ski lodge.

* * * *

February 09, 2007, Whateley Academy, Wauwatosa WI, Dunwich NH

In recent years my Father spent considerable time researching our family history. This started before my mother fell ill and continued long after. It was nothing morbid, it was sometimes interesting and it gave him an excuse to travel to Germany and Poland in the spring of 2006 to visit friends and look up where our ancestors came from. Strangely most were from near the Baltic, even the Norwegians, maybe that’s why so many settled near the Great Lakes? I got a cryptic e-mail from him last night, what’s up?

“Joan, found something odd in the family background; call me ASAP.”

This was odd for him that he didn’t trust e-mail. He may be 80, but he’s taken to it like a duck-to-water, for hobbies, contacting friends and such. I got permission to use a phone in the security office; I got his answer machine.

“Dad, pick up... Dad... Daddy, it’s Joan. What gives with the e-mail?”

“Oh, Joan, sorry, I almost didn’t recognize...” he sounded embarrassed.

~I said, Daddy? It got his attention, and it does fit now. ~

“It’s okay, Dad, I’ve changed a bit. “ I giggled. “You can call me Joanie; I’m used to it now. So what’s so hush hush?”

“You alone?’

“I’m calling from inside Campus Security, it’s as alone and secure as it gets.”

“It’s your namesake, the John who emigrated from England in the 1840s, he, well I’m not sure who he really was or at least not until yesterday.”

“Dad, you’re talking riddles here.”

“Remember I thought he came from Yorkshire or Cornwall but couldn’t be sure. “

“Yah, you said your side of the family was easy to trace until him, it was like all the records disappeared.”

“That’s it Joan... ie, they did or so he thought.”

~He? ~

“John destroyed his own records, why and how do you know?”

“I found his wife’s diary in some old papers of your grandfather’s. She had suspicions about his past; it was a shock but the conformations are solid.”

“Huh, Dad?”

“He talked in his sleep, she listened. He tracked down his public and private records and systematically destroyed them just prior to emigrating. He cut out his entries in the church registries, burned the family bible, eliminated all his school records -- he even stole his doctor’s file.”

“Pretty thorough but mostly vandalism, so what’s the big deal?” I asked.

“He burnt a court house to get rid of his tax records.”

“Arson?”

~Great, great, great Grandpa John committed a felony? I thought my family was dull. ~

“How do you know her diaries are true?”

“I contacted the original locations, took months, but everything was as she said, including a fatal courthouse fire just prior to his departure for America.”

“But what did he have to hide; he was just a farmer?” I didn’t realize dad had said fatal until later.

“His criminal activity, he was running from former associates, who wanted him dead. What better place to hide than deep in a foreign country near the frontier -- remote, low profile, a perfect hiding place.”

“Why didn’t he move on after a few years?”

“Fell in love, got married and started a family. He truly loved his wife and for him time was not an issue. He was a mutant, Joanie, and a mage.”

“Great, great whatever Grandpa Brown was a mutant and a magic user?” This was a shocker.

“Yes and if the rest of the diary is correct, a murderer.”

“He killed?”

“A watchman died at that fire but of a broken neck before the building burnt.”

“John’s long dead, what does it matter?”

“He may not be, Joan, I think he’s alive.”

“He’d be 203 years old, that’s impos... Ghod it is possible, I should know. What happened to him, he was buried, and I’ve seen his gravestone?” Dad knew of my extreme longevity and powers, I’d told him when I visited last fall.

“That’s it, Joanie, the grave is a sham. The issue of the local newspaper that reported his death is missing from their archives, one of very few they ever lost. His wife’s diary mentions it was a closed casket burial, unusual for a Victorian ex-Brit. That was the height of the fear of being buried alive hysteria. She also noted a sizable portion of the family funds went missing at the same time of his death. There was enough left plus her share of the farm for her to live out her life satisfactorily, but she long suspected the casket was filled with soil and not a body,” my father explained.

“Where did he go?”

“She got strange, cash-filled letters and packages over the years from people claiming to owe John money. Some came from the Colorado silver mining areas, a few from a San Francisco oriental trading firm. The last letter she got before her death came from Dawson Creek just as the word of the Klondike gold strike got out. Her children got similar letters as well and did so for years after her death. Her letters alone totaled in the thousands of dollars, a tidy sum in those days,” he said.

“How do you know he’s alive?”

“The last one came yesterday -- Fed Ex from Tokyo -- and Joanie, the contents are addressed to you.”

“What? He wrote to me; how could he know who I am? How are you certain he’s who he claims to be?”

“He wrote me to forward this message to you, it explains everything. He said his magics in addition to prolonging his life, enabled him to manipulate machines, he was a safecracker among other occupations. He claims he can do vision spells that predict the future like a precognitive but less reliably. You know what a precognitive is?” Dad asked.

“The doctors say I may be one, but they’re not sure; it would fit in with my warper time powers. Precogs see bits of the future,” I replied.

“He wrote, ‘My dear great, great, great granddaughter, you of all people may understand me. My magics have extended my life and permit me to hide my physical appearance from others. I am physically no more than 30 and may live another 500 to 600 years. I was not born in 1804 but in 1623. I was 221 when came to America in the 1840s. I have kept an eye on my scattered descendents and regret having to keep my distance. I have killed many times to protect my secrets and am not proud of it. Your rescue of the girl in Prairie du Chien and subsequent press speculation brought you to my attention.

The results of my vision spells are difficult to interpret and thus imprecise. Fifty years ago a vision predicted a male descendent would transform into a beautiful woman with special powers, but I had no names to put to the images until I saw you in the press. You are exactly as my vision of decades past foretold. I managed another vision spell recently and must tell you in person. As a time traveler, you know the dangers of knowing the future, but I feel I must. I’ll meet you at the Dunwich, New Hampshire train station 8AM Eastern Time this February 12th. Congratulations on the Meridian Chair and as to your singing career, in my over 383 years I’ve managed to acquire a fortune not many times larger than what you’ve earned in little over 100 days. Of course you were a banker, until then, my dearest granddaughter.’”

“Is there more?”

“Just instructions to contact you, please be careful, Joanie, I ...”

“I will, Daddy.”

* * * *

To be continued

Revised 10/04/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance

Notes:

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