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Fictional Disclaimer:
i. This is a work of fiction. This work is intended for adult audiences above the age of 18. It is prohibited to provide access to any portion or entirety of this work or any information or description of the contents to any minor. This work is not intended to be read, provided to, or accessed by anyone under the age of 18 years old, age of majority, or the age of consent whichever is greater. All the names, places, businesses, incidents, characters, locales, and events herein are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. (Unless you have video that proves otherwise, then I want to see it.)
ii. This work contains descriptions of acts that may be sexually graphically descriptive, erotic, immoral, illegal, condemned by some church, politician, state, or just unsafe.
iii. These acts may result in injury, castration, death, impotence, marriage, or worse if attempted in real life. Your admission into the Darwin Awards due to any act based upon this work is your fault.
iv. Do not take the events in this work as proof of the plausibility, legality, sanity, or safety of any particular description or practice.
v. The content of this work may not be considered or read as a depiction of the desires, opinions, or fetishes of the author.
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vii. All acts, actions, and descriptions in this work are whole cloth fiction; said acts, actions, and descriptions appearing in this work may be illegal if performed in real life and can result in prosecution by law enforcement. It is your responsibility to comply with all laws, rules and regulations that are applicable.
viii. This work is not intended to be used as an instruction manual.
ix. Do not drink-drive while snogging or fucking.
x. Drinking while fucking may increase risk of pregnancy.
xi. Drinking to excess may result in injury, death and YouTube videos that you can never live down, or live to see.
xii. Drinking to incest is just bloody wrong and you deserve to be in dock. (I hope your solicitor sucks.)
xiii. Any legal ramifications are completely and totally your fault due to your actions or inactions and are not in any way the problem of the author, this includes the introduction by prison staff of any cell mate named Bubba that may have designs on your arse-hole.
xiv. Any god-like, tree-based, or blue life forms were not harmed in the making of this work.
xv. Several politicians, and the managers, accountants, and solicitors of said god-like, tree-based, or blue life forms were tormented mercilessly and left to rot following a vicious ostracising by a dull ostraciser. But they had it coming.
I am Groot.
~PROLOG~
Travel. I hate it. Putting up with airports, lost luggage, lousy hotels, and the cheapest cars-to-let that the company will grudgingly approve are some of the high points. People. Well people are the other issue, usually. Humanity is a wonderful concept; although humans endeavourer to completely bugger this up on a regular basis. Sometimes though, you come across a nice human that just needs some understanding and assistance.
~ONE~
As an IT contractor for a small defence intelligence support company I had to travel quite more often than the initial employment roll had suggested. Originally I was hired on as an in-house IT staff supervisor to oversee a programme that merged field reports and remote signals collections into useable raw data for the MI groups to pick through. Unfortunately, less than a year into the position the MoD decided that other sources of data were preferred and terminated the contract. That left my position open to interpretation by the company. Fortunately I was on a five year minimum tenure contract, provided I met minimum standards that any first year intern could meet with ease so unemployment was not a concern for now. The company agreed to maintain my supervisory status and pay, although I had to make a concession in that travel was going to be required to oversee the staff attending to other programmes.
This resulted in my recent travel to a small village on the North coast for a site visit to a facility that has been in operation for decades, and looks like it. Although from the outside there is little more than a large metal blast door sporting a pealing olive drab paint job from the '80s huddled against a large concrete frame in-between the high grass berms. Inside that door is a different matter. The state of the art facility held some very dedicated staff with burn-before-reading security clearances and a radio and computer centre that monitors everything that crosses the waters in the area. As usual, the trip was dull. The staff, hardware, and software all functioning without issues, leaving me with little to do for the four-day visit but observe the operations, complete a two page checklist, and fill in the names and places in a boilerplate report I had created when I discovered that this job was going to be very repetitive and dull.
After the first day at the site I returned to the nearby village to check in to my hotel. I arrived just before dusk and found that the 'hotel' was a converted country house that had been the summer home of the local lord until The Crown sold off the property after WW-II. The building now housed the village pub and inn on the ground floor, council meeting room on the first floor, and eight rooms on the second floor for travellers to let. Entering the inn, I was met with a typical Scottish scene. Several elderly men gathered at the end of the pubs bar nursing pints of ale who gave me the suspicious looks that seem to accompany all men of a certain age when a strange person enters 'their' pub. A few other people were scattered throughout the pub at various tables having diner or drinks. Most did not pay any attention to my entrance.
After a quick look around did not locate a check-in desk I approached the barkeep and asked about checking in and food service times. The lady behind the bar was a cute redhead, tall, slender and busty. Her short snug dress was likely chosen to enhance her long legs and ample bust for a better chance at tips from the drinkers. She introduced herself as Stacy and the inns manager.
"Nice to meet you, Stacy. I am Thomas MacCloud. I believe you have a reservation for me?"
"Yes Mr. MacCloud, I have your room ready. Is anyone travelling with you?" she asked.
"No, it is just me."
"Well, I guess there can be only one." Stacy joked, pulling the old Highlander line out for an airing."
I laughed. "Well, in this case I agree. I left the car on the street, there a place to park?" I asked.
"Yes, I'll open the gate, there is a small lot in the back." She turned and took a key from a rack above the old metal register. "Here is your key, you are in room number one. It is on the second floor, first room on the right if you take the lift. Last room on the left if you take the stairs." Stacy gave me a quick smile, "We serve food until 21 and brekky is available starting at six. If you don't mind, please let me know what you would like in the morning on this card before you turn in." Stacy placed a small card and pencil on the bar that had a number of options listed. Breakfast and dinner is included in your room fees, as are two alcoholic drinks each evening between 17 and 19. Soft drinks, coffee and tea are free. Please let me know if you should find anything not to your liking."
"Thank you, Stacy." I looked at the breakfast card again and was surprised at the number of options available. I finally decided on an eggs Benedict over salmon and crab with OJ and tea. Handing the card back to her, "I have never heard of eggs Benedict over salmon and crab but it sounds wonderful."
"Yes, it is one of the favourites here. I make the salmon and crab cakes myself. Everything we server is locally sourced and made from scratch every day. It was the way that the Lords staff had done, so it just seems right." Stacy said as she tucked the card in her apron pocket.
"It seems so. Well I'll go move the car and be back in a bit." I said and turned to leave.
"Oh, I almost forgot, here is the password for the Wi-Fi." Stacy said as she quickly scribbled on a small card. "Just don't share it. I had to change the code last week after a lodger left the card on the table and everyone started surfing off the connection."
"Wi-fi, out here? I did not realize BT had managed to get high speed internet out here yet?"
"Oh, it's not BT. I subscribe to a Hughes satellite service. I use the service to manage the inn and usually have much more bandwidth than I need so I let the lodgers use it. I'll be well retired before BT manages to get anything resembling high speed internet to our village. Just because BT can't meet my needs, does not mean that I don't have needs to be met." She smiled at me and turned to attend to one of the grumpy old men who was tapping an empty pint glass on the bar. "Yes, yes Horris. I hear you." she said as she started to pull another pint from the tap.
I pulled the car around back and into one of the small spots reserved for lodgers. I found the lift just inside the rear entrance and took it to my floor. Entering the room I was pleasantly surprised. A four-post king-size bed and sizeable sitting area with a high-backed rolltop desk met me. A well appointed en-suite with both two-head shower and a bath made up the rest of the room. The three wide and tall windows had black-out drapes but offered a nice view out on to the rapidly darkening hillside. A few lights were visible at the distant homesteads, and headlights of a single car could be seen on the Northroad leading out of the village to one of the few homesteads on the coast. I quickly hung the few shirts and pants I had brought, then tucked the remainder in a drawer. I considered setting up my laptop and satellite modem, but decided to leave them locked in the Pelican case. If the Wi-Fi worked, I would only need the company VPN on the laptop to connect. A quick hand and face wash and I headed back to the pub for dinner.
