Sunday, 1 May 1988, Montreal
Spring in Montreal is short, mild, less than terribly predictable, and welcomed with open arms. 1 May 1988 dawns slightly overcast, but the clouds burn off, and it hits a quite comfortable (by Montreal standards) 12°C.
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."

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And it's all so very 1980s. Though Parker can't voice that particular observation aloud.
"I've never been here before. Meg is helping me expand my horizons."
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X pauses for a moment, flicking a quick look at Parker.
" -- expanding my horizons, too. It is useful."
And interesting. X is not sure if that goes without saying.
(And it is not coincidental that her delivery of that phrase is just a little too precise.)
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"And interesting, too, I hope."
Alain pauses. "And how do you all know each other?"
One would think, given Meg's general approach to planning, that the possibility, if not the likelihood, of this question's coming up would have occurred to her.
But in this case, one would be wrong.
"Um, we . . . were all penpals," she says.
The look she casts Parker says help.
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Parker actually does a lot of what one might call 'penpalling.' Though in her time, it's a little different. Email and message boards and instant message, none of which are really applicable in this case.
But she thinks she can run with this.
"I forget what organization it was with--it was something that one of my high school teachers came up with. It was supposed to be just a one or two-shot thing. Like a writing assignment, you know? But, you know how it is when you hit it off with people, even if it's via letter. And we just all kept on writing. And now, here we are."
She smiles brightly.
"Who would have thought? All of us together in Montreal."
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"It is the good kind of unexpected."
This is probably true for a lot of things about today.
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Alice returns with their orders. Alain waits until she has gotten everything where it belongs and made sure they don't need anything else.
"I should leave you to your dinner and conversation. But thank you, for letting me join in."
He stands up, then leans down to speak to Meg. "À demain?"
"Oui. À demain."
"Bon." He kisses her quickly, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "It was very nice to meet you both. Enjoy the rest of your visit. You are in excellent company.
"Excuse me."
He heads back for the kitchen.
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"He's a cutie," she says. "The pictures almost don't do him justice."
She grins at Meg.
"Pen pals, huh?"
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"It is important to have one."
And X does not know enough about the technological restrictions of the eighties to be able to whip out one on her own.
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"And the pictures definitely don't do him justice."
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Parker doesn't know much about covert ops, but Keep your story simple just seems like common sense.
"I feel like we'll need spy pens or something to commemorate the occasion."
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"They will double as detonators?"
Someone has apparently been watching too many movies lately.
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At least, she hopes so.
Not that today hasn't been a blast, but, um . . .
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Parker grins at her friends.
"Don't worry. I wasn't about to suggest that we go all Charlie's Angels."
Even if they would make a good Hollywood-style crime fighting trio.
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X's expression goes blank.
"I do not know what that is."
No one has ever thought to suggest she should watch it.
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"And they would go undercover, um, usually in some guise that required them to wear some sort of scanty outfits, and solve mysteries and such."
Honestly, if you were going to assemble a team of beautiful women to run around solving mysteries, you could probably do a lot worse than the three at this table. Though they'd likely all insist on sensible clothes and shoes while they did so.
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"Brains, charm, and butt-kicking skills. We'd make good Angels."
Hey, there are worse career paths.
Parker, smiling serenely, neatly cuts a bite of her crepe.
"494 could totally be our Bosley."
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"He would want to go on missions, too."
Beat.
"I think he likes when people do not wear many clothes."
And then she, too, starts eating her crepe.
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Because Meg has nothing to contribute on 494's opinions on people who don't wear very many clothes.
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Not that she's giving this actual thought or anything.
"I seem to remember Bosely being more the 'damsel in distress' character. The one the Angels have to rescue. But I'm not sure if I'm remembering that right."
Parker is way more familiar with the movie version than the show.
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"And it is better if people do not stare."
Everything about sex that X knows she has learned from the brothel or the streets of New York.
494 is more confusing.
Not as confusing as Charlie's Angels, though.
"It is important? Whether he was rescued?"
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Meg would probably be mind-boggled that anyone bothered to make a movie.
"Jeans are a must. Oh, and flat shoes.
"One broken ankle is enough, thanks."
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Never underestimate the power of a little PG-Rated cleavage.
"Definitely flat shoes," Parker agrees. "Something you can run in. Boots wouldn't be all bad."
"And of course it's important that he'd be rescued. I mean, we like him. Well, I mean, the Angels like Bosely, but we like 494, too. And if he, say, got kidnapped by terrorists--or a dragon--we'd go save his ass."
It's not like he wouldn't do the same for them.
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"I am not good at that kind of distraction."
Beat.
"But boots are okay. When you are used to them."
X is. It just takes some time. And some breaking in.
And as for rescuing 494 --
"I do not think he would get kidnapped."
Well, not by terrorists, at least.
"But we would still save him. Sometimes he is stupid."
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Meg can . . . plan things.
"And I'm not good at that kind of distraction, either, I don't think."
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Their skills fall in line so neatly, it's almost scary.
"Now all we need is for someone to kidnap him."
She's kidding.
99% certainty.
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