the whiteboard.
“Okay, what else?” she demands, brandishing a red marker.
“Sunlight, threat, or menace?”
“Thank you, Evan.” She swings to the board, writes SUNLIGHT and circles it in yellow. After a moment she adds rays. “Well?”
“I got burned,” says Alex, “but only my hands and face.”
“Protective clothing,” mumbles Dick. His suit probably qualifies as such, at least if it’s his virginity he’s trying to protect—it came from a charity shop, a coarse green tweed pig farmer’s number that is more effective dissident garb in this environment than any amount of tie-dye and patchouli oil. “Hey, what about latex face paint, like in
Mission: Impossible
?”
Mhari adds two linked circles to the board: PROTECTIVE CLOTHING and LATEX MASKS.
“Hats,” offers Janice. “Becca gave me a lovely new trilby . . .”
HATS goes on the board.
“Keep it moving, people,” Mhari says briskly. Alex’s attention wanders. He notices she’s wearing opaque black leggings under her dress.
“Shouldn’t we move the office down a few levels?” he asks. “And further away from the exterior?” The Scrum’s office is already shielded in the heart of the bank’s building, well away from any possible exposure to laser microphones or long-lens cameras.
“I’ll action that with Oscar, but that’s not strictly a user story,” she reminds him. “Stories, people!”
“Blood: animal or human?” offers Evan.
“Good one. Does it have to be fresh from the artery, or can it be stored?” This from John.
“I saw this film once,” Alex stumbles momentarily; “in it, the vampire had taken over a local hospital—it was set in the mid-west—and was using the blood bank . . .”
“Jolly good!” BLOOD BANK and FRESHLY SQUEEZED BULL went on the board. “Next?”
“Mind control.” Janice took her turn. “We need to explore it. Can we all do it?
How
do we do it? What are the limits? What if the target is resisting?”
“Excellent points, one and all.” Mhari turns to the board and scribbles: HYPNOSIS, RESISTANCE, LIMITS. After a moment she scrubs out HYPNOSIS and writes in BRAINWASHING instead. “Anything else?”
Alex rubs his jawline. It itches. “The mirror thing. How does it apply to cameras? Because if—”
“Nonsense, Alex!” Janice is nodding along with Mhari. “We already know that one.”
“But—”
“Because I had to use FaceTime on my fucking iPad to do my makeup this morning. It can’t fool cameras, or I’d be a real mess.”
Janice holds up a cautionary finger: “Unless you swap the image right-for-left. Is that what you were wondering?”
“No, but—” Alex stares at Janice, then at Mhari. “It’s a mental effect! Whatever stops us seeing our reflections, it’s in
us
, not in the mirror or the camera.”
“Huh.” Mhari sounds skeptical, but turns back to the board anyway and adds: FACE BLINDNESS. “Anything else?”
“Garlic.”
“Coffins!”
“Holy water.”
“Anyone got a crucifix? Or going to holy communion?”
“Wait up, if you believe in the strict trans-substantiation, then if the host and wine turns into the body and blood of Christ, does that mean it could fix the stomach upset? Or would it set fire to us?”
“Dude,
consecrated ground
. Also: holy water!”
(Mhari doesn’t interrupt the flow, but writes JESUS STUFF on the board.)
“But what if someone invites you in?”
“I can settle that one,” says Janice. “The thing about needing an explicit invitation? Is nonsense.” She sounds a little too smug, to Alex’s ears.
(LET THE RIGHT ONE IN goes up on the board. RIGHT ONE is then struck out and replaced by WRONG ’UN.)
“Stakes,” says John. He is greeted by stony, unwelcoming silence. “Did I say something wrong?”
“There is an obvious joke,” Mhari says tightly. “You’re all thinking it, so you can pat yourselves on the back and keep it to yourselves. But in current company if you say it
aloud
I will have
“Okay, what else?” she demands, brandishing a red marker.
“Sunlight, threat, or menace?”
“Thank you, Evan.” She swings to the board, writes SUNLIGHT and circles it in yellow. After a moment she adds rays. “Well?”
“I got burned,” says Alex, “but only my hands and face.”
“Protective clothing,” mumbles Dick. His suit probably qualifies as such, at least if it’s his virginity he’s trying to protect—it came from a charity shop, a coarse green tweed pig farmer’s number that is more effective dissident garb in this environment than any amount of tie-dye and patchouli oil. “Hey, what about latex face paint, like in
Mission: Impossible
?”
Mhari adds two linked circles to the board: PROTECTIVE CLOTHING and LATEX MASKS.
“Hats,” offers Janice. “Becca gave me a lovely new trilby . . .”
HATS goes on the board.
“Keep it moving, people,” Mhari says briskly. Alex’s attention wanders. He notices she’s wearing opaque black leggings under her dress.
“Shouldn’t we move the office down a few levels?” he asks. “And further away from the exterior?” The Scrum’s office is already shielded in the heart of the bank’s building, well away from any possible exposure to laser microphones or long-lens cameras.
“I’ll action that with Oscar, but that’s not strictly a user story,” she reminds him. “Stories, people!”
“Blood: animal or human?” offers Evan.
“Good one. Does it have to be fresh from the artery, or can it be stored?” This from John.
“I saw this film once,” Alex stumbles momentarily; “in it, the vampire had taken over a local hospital—it was set in the mid-west—and was using the blood bank . . .”
“Jolly good!” BLOOD BANK and FRESHLY SQUEEZED BULL went on the board. “Next?”
“Mind control.” Janice took her turn. “We need to explore it. Can we all do it?
How
do we do it? What are the limits? What if the target is resisting?”
“Excellent points, one and all.” Mhari turns to the board and scribbles: HYPNOSIS, RESISTANCE, LIMITS. After a moment she scrubs out HYPNOSIS and writes in BRAINWASHING instead. “Anything else?”
Alex rubs his jawline. It itches. “The mirror thing. How does it apply to cameras? Because if—”
“Nonsense, Alex!” Janice is nodding along with Mhari. “We already know that one.”
“But—”
“Because I had to use FaceTime on my fucking iPad to do my makeup this morning. It can’t fool cameras, or I’d be a real mess.”
Janice holds up a cautionary finger: “Unless you swap the image right-for-left. Is that what you were wondering?”
“No, but—” Alex stares at Janice, then at Mhari. “It’s a mental effect! Whatever stops us seeing our reflections, it’s in
us
, not in the mirror or the camera.”
“Huh.” Mhari sounds skeptical, but turns back to the board anyway and adds: FACE BLINDNESS. “Anything else?”
“Garlic.”
“Coffins!”
“Holy water.”
“Anyone got a crucifix? Or going to holy communion?”
“Wait up, if you believe in the strict trans-substantiation, then if the host and wine turns into the body and blood of Christ, does that mean it could fix the stomach upset? Or would it set fire to us?”
“Dude,
consecrated ground
. Also: holy water!”
(Mhari doesn’t interrupt the flow, but writes JESUS STUFF on the board.)
“But what if someone invites you in?”
“I can settle that one,” says Janice. “The thing about needing an explicit invitation? Is nonsense.” She sounds a little too smug, to Alex’s ears.
(LET THE RIGHT ONE IN goes up on the board. RIGHT ONE is then struck out and replaced by WRONG ’UN.)
“Stakes,” says John. He is greeted by stony, unwelcoming silence. “Did I say something wrong?”
“There is an obvious joke,” Mhari says tightly. “You’re all thinking it, so you can pat yourselves on the back and keep it to yourselves. But in current company if you say it
aloud
I will have
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