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She put the plate of cold-ish hamburger and chips in front of me. One of the guys I played with online was American, and called crisps chips, and chips French fries. Mum and Dad have encouraged [made!] us prepare and cook meals since we got into double-figures, so my sisters and I are all familiar with the simpler recipes.Rachel's expression was bland, while Danni looked disgusted because she'd finished and, by parental dictat, was required to wait until we all – that is, I – had finished before anyone could leave the table.I got through my food and we three all went back upstairs. As Danni reached her bedroom door, she stopped and turned to me.'If you can hold off from playing with yourself for a few minutes, we want to talk to you – in our room, ' she said.Okay, I know she phrased that the way she did just to sound superior, and to deprecate what she only suspected I did. Unlike Mum, neither sister had caught me in flagrante, so how would they know, huh?Anyhow, I've known my sisters. DedicationThis story is gratefully dedicated to my two greatest assets, Estragon - the ruthless eliminator of the clich? and punctuator in chief who has put much unsung effort into making this as good as it can be.OneWhoAdores who has pulled me out of more plot holes than I deserve and whose moral compass always points due north.Without either of them this tale would never have been told.Thanks guysAnd so, on with the story...PreambleThe sweat fell down in rivers as Jenny McTavish, a young journalist working for the Gotham Times, pushed on through the jungle. Was she letting herself get carried away, in more senses than one, or was she onto the scoop of her young lifetime? While on a stop-over in the Far East she had approached in a bar by someone with a story, and not just any old story. It would seem that, living close by, there was a Western-born woman who had been involved in the rebellion back in the twenties. Now, fifty years later, if Jenny was interested, she was willing to.
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