Disclaimers: So, this here's the Amanda and Matt entry from Rhi's recent alphabet challenge. Enjoy. I did. Characters, as usual, do not belong to me.

Again, the blame can be laid squarely at Rhi's feet, if you're so inclined: her challenge, her fault. However, I'm not quite as eager to disclaim all responsibility for this one.... (g). -- tarsh

All The World's A Stage

Act I

"Klepto," the sergeant muttered not quite quietly enough, causing Amanda's eyes to grow wide with faux-innocence.

"L'il ol' me?" she breathed, her entire body proclaiming her incredulity and innocence as she leant forward a precisely calculated amount. "Might I ask, sir, what on earth led you to such a clearly mistaken conclusion?"

Not unsurprisingly, the sergeant's face grew red, the tips of his ears bright enough to act as landing beacons for the very flight Amanda should have been safely ensconced on, instead of sitting here in this oh-so-uncomfortable police station employing her wiles on highly susceptible young police sergeants, and all because of a most unfortunate case of mistaken identity--she'd mistakenly identified the undercover cop on the corner as a harmless businessman.

"Oh, I don't know," interrupted a new voice in a slow southern drawl, bringing with it identification of the nagging immortal buzz that had been troubling her for some minutes now, "could it be, perhaps, the intriguing contents of your handbag, ma'am? Possibly the fascinating collection of long-lost artefacts, missing jewels, and portable family heirlooms the Evidence department of this fine establishment is even now sorting through?"

Quicksilver changes being rather a specialty of hers, Amanda carefully considered voice, accent, manner, comment, and immortality. Running quickly through options in her mind, she discarded most of the more ingenuous ones, deciding that this was not a man to be fooled by appearances--which left blatant seduction the weapon-of-choice from her extensive arsenal.

Swivelling her chair, she looked boldly over the man thus revealed to her gaze, mischief dancing clearly visible in her eyes. "Those items, Mr.--" she paused, awaiting a name.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken," the stranger drawled, amusement glinting clear in the upward tilt of his half-smiling mouth, "you would be the infamous Amanda, would you not? Very pleased to meet you," he continued, bowing politely even as he returned Amanda's thorough once-over, "Agent Matthew McCormick of the Federal Bureau of Investigation at your service, ma'am."

Well, well, now this was a challenge Amanda could appreciate. Xenon flourescents for lighting couldn't detract from this man's obvious charm, and the nagging familiarity of name and manner distracted her for little more than a second before she held out a hand, fully expecting the kiss that was placed upon it by the seductive stranger, enjoying herself immensely. Yes, this day had definitely just taken a turn for the better. Zion be praised, but it seemed that perhaps missing her plane would not turn out to be such a tiresome occurence after all.

"As I was saying, Mr.--" she paused, glanced upward at his face, and resisted the urge to run her fingertips across the stubble gathered there, "my apologies, Agent McCormick."

Bright, dark eyes danced merrily, belying the serious set of his face as the agent considered her words. "Continue, please, ma'am," he requested, running his fingers lightly along her palm before releasing her hand at the last. "Don't let my presence impede you." Easy laughter lurked behind his words.

"Far be it from me to ignore your--substantial--presence, Agent," she replied with feigned demurity. Giving way to a brief and silent prayer that her contacts had done their usual excellent work, she set about extracting herself from the dangers of lawful custody--at least, the sort of lawful custody the police would provide: FBI, on the other hand... "However," she continued, "I do believe the Evidence department of this friendly establishment is about to deliver precisely the same verdict I was informing this young man of: everything in that handbag belongs there, indubitably."

"Indeed," he replied, eyes fastened on hers and clearly showing their disbelief, even as he took hold of the paper a young patrolman was even now delivering to the desk, along with the contents of her bag, neatly packaged and labelled. "Judging by this," he said, no longer keeping the laughter visible in his eyes from appearing in his voice, "you have some rather interesting acquaintances, m'lady; perhaps I could persuade you to accept my sincere condolences on the death of your dear uncle, the late owner of many of these beautiful items--and allow me to extend an invitation to dinner, as reparation for the most--unfortunate--mistake that led to your presence here this evening."

Keeping her eyes on his, Amanda rose gracefully from her seat, barely pausing to gather her belongings before purring acceptance of his invitation and making her way to the door, her newfound Agent in tow...

Zephrim's was not the most expensive restaurant in town; but it was, he assured her, the best. Yellow gardenias framed the doorway, and the music spilling lazily into the night air was pleasant, and-- "Xylophones, Agent McCormick?" she murmured softly, raising one elegantly curved eyebrow.

"Would you be so kind as to call me Matthew, m'lady Amanda," he replied, "that is, if you will forgive the informality."

"Veritably, fair knight, 'tis easy to forgive you--'most anything," Amanda returned, batting eyelashes flirtatiously at him, "but -- xylophone music is rather--"

"Unique?" he interrupted so smoothly she found she didn't mind in the least. "True, it is--a pleasant change, don't you agree?"

"Sure and we will see," she murmured in response as they approached their table.

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r sure true unique veritably would xylophones yellow zephrim's

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