Entry tags:
Centennial Celebration
On the seventh of January, in what is now 1992 in the Old Tiger's world, a gift shows up in Myra's home in New York. It's a fairly large box, neatly wrapped, and the less she ponders over that the better. On Christmas day a basket of teas and an elegant little dagger showed up, unmarked but too utterly familiar as a seasonal gift from him. This, so soon after, could make her suspect the sinister hand of someone else, but there is a small tag attached to the ribbon neatly marked with the characters Lăo hŭ.
Inside is a silk kimono robe, elegantly embroidered with a tiger. The very nature of the gift borders on daring a familiarity he is usually careful not to take with her, but it is an outer robe, at least. When she lifts it out there is also a small red envelope with a little money, of the sort usually given on one's birthday. It is not her birthday, of course, but on his centennial The Shadow has decided to take a somewhat backwards approach.
Inside is a silk kimono robe, elegantly embroidered with a tiger. The very nature of the gift borders on daring a familiarity he is usually careful not to take with her, but it is an outer robe, at least. When she lifts it out there is also a small red envelope with a little money, of the sort usually given on one's birthday. It is not her birthday, of course, but on his centennial The Shadow has decided to take a somewhat backwards approach.
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"I seem to have picked up a chest cold while I was in Russia," He continues with an expression of mild distaste, one hand waving vaguely in the air. It's an explanation, but one designed more to forestall any comments on his health than for any other reason. "It's inconvenient for stakeouts and espionage, so I have a few errands I'd like to put you to."
None of this explains the dress, mind you. He's content to leave that gift as an elephant in the room, unless she asks.
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"So the dress isn't an omen of things to come?" If he's working in Russia, and in his time period, she highly doubts the dress had anything to do with the work, but it's the easiest way to tie in the object to their current discussion.
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"...It's a birthday gift." Not hers, of course, and he sent Green a gift as well, although it's doubtful they've had time to compare notes yet.
He does not look up, listening instead for the metaphorical penny to drop. The last time they discussed his birthday was five years ago, and that one seemed momentous enough at the time.
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Finally her mind picks up speed, and races for the finish. She had her guess to his age but this one would have to be something important to warrant giving out gifts. He'd never made it a point to do so in the past and then her chair creaks slightly as her posture straightens.
She feels that she shouldn't be so shocked as she does the math in her head quickly, her eyes staying on him. Once that's over though, she realizes she's staring and quickly ducks her head, casting her eyes down to her tea. She's struggling for what she should say, feeling like she should speak but for some reason even the words 'Happy Birthday' almost seem inappropriate, or at least inadequate.
"Thank you." She's finally decided upon something at least, and her tone is quiet, though surprised. She rarely celebrates her own birthdays, seeing little reason to mark the passing years but to recognize his... It was hard to believe she was sitting with a Centennial who looked easily 20 or 30 years younger.
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Carefully, he lifts his gaze to meet hers, and gives a mild nod. "You're welcome. I have no need for more things, and it seemed a fitting celebration to send out a few gifts instead. I'm just lucky Green hasn't tried to throw me a party." He gives a mild grimace at the idea. It was suggested, of course, but he's never liked social gatherings. Like all things that bother him on some emotional level, The Shadow prefers to mark this event as he chooses, then swiftly move on to his latest work. Myra's reaction, quiet as it is, pleases him more than any gushing over his longevity ever could.
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"I haven't seen Green in a while, but if I hear anything, I'll let you know." She's not a fan of surprises herself, particularly parties, so she doesn't feel bad letting him know if Metody contacts her about any sort of gathering in his honor.
At least his gift isn't an omen. True it marks an unusual age but, even with a chest cold, he's incredibly lively and she knows now that she can look upon the dress with fondness instead of dread.
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"We spoke in the Nexus not too long ago..." He does hope Myra wouldn't enter into conspiracy against him, however well-intentioned. In this he will trust her at her word, however. They are both, he has been very surprised to realize, his friends, but Myra has had more time to learn his likes and dislikes, with the advantage of knowing his close alternate. She knows better, and she also seems willing not to pester or baby him about his health. Perhaps she's simply more subtle.
He sips his tea, breathing in the steam, which can only help to ease the mess in his chest. "Anyway, I'd rather you didn't remind the other me." That warning given, he's quick to move on to work. "I've done a fair job catching up since I got back, but this cough has me back to paperwork the past couple of days. I need a good pair of eyes to check out a couple of things."
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Then he's back to business and her wandering mind returns, hinging on his words with a solemn nod.
"You know I'm glad to do whatever I can." It doesn't need saying, but she does anyway. She's eager for work in his world, and the type of jobs he gives her are more challenging, the kind he prefers to reserve for himself, the kinds his younger self also prefers to handle personally. The last thing she'd wish upon him is a cold, but she does find a perverse enjoyment at the chance to push her skills.
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As far as vigor goes, he's certainly felt better, and the chest cold grates at him. It's taking him far, far longer to recover from this than he'd like, and only that continued cough has prompted him to restrict himself to lighter work. Myra should be grateful, not only that he's making some effort to take care of his health, but also that this effort gives her more exciting work than might otherwise be available.
The Old Tiger gives a couple of rattling coughs and sips his tea before he continues, mind racing down several tracks at once, as always. "The arms dealers are, for the time being, either in chaos or laying very low, so we're back to chasing down drug traffickers. I suspect ultimately the higher-ups will prove to be outside the country, but I need to pick up some more solid leads. Keep your PINpoint handy, I want to post you in a tight spot or two to listen in. How's your Spanish, by the way?"
finally. BACK for a while. /so late to all the things
"Not good. I can work on that." At least she has a propensity for languages, though certainly not to his degree. Still, she can muddle along and if all she needs to be is a pair of ears, then she can learn to understand the language enough to dig out the information he needs while playing the part of an oblivious party.