Play@YSDC

With the evening drawing in, the traffic in Guildford is relatively light. Nonetheless the A3 is still very busy, forcing you to queue, moving stop-start on your way to Down Lane.

Please make an Observation roll.

Des scowled out of the window, watching the world go by as she brooded on the days events…

Observation (60%) 1d100

1d%50%

Fail.

Skipper largely had his eyes shut, enjoying a brief pause.

Jordan can barely see a thing.

Observation roll (70% skill) at Down Lane:
d%

Observation: 60%

1d100

Hard success!

It seems like the police officers are the only ones actually keeping an eye out for anything as they drive down the A road, with Izzy's eyes being particularly keen. Even her usual flighty nature can't completely assuage the professional policewoman in her...

As soon as they get onto the highway, Leo bursts into song, belting out a pornographic verse of the "Hedgehog Song" that makes everyone in the car simultaneously blush and uncomfortable, including acts that, while clearly physically impossible, still intrigue. You may never eat parsnips again. But Leo will.

Observation (60/30): 1d100

It’s pretty dark, so it’s only the observational skills of our two trained police officers that allow them to spot the badly-dented Range Rover turning off the A3 a few vehicles ahead of you.

Checking your satnav, it’s obvious that it’s taken the same turning as you need to take to get to Down Lane.

A few seconds later, an Aston Martin DB7 roars past you, before pulling across into the correct lane (cutting up a motorist) and taking the same turning.

"James Bond over there sure seems in a hurry, and he's going the same way we are," says Jordan. "We'd better follow."

"Yep, and there's that that Range Rover," Leo said, grinning and pointing. "And it's headed our way, too."

Leo groans . "Party foul, Mr. Aston Arsehole." He says softly. "That's a party foul. If we weren't trying to get to Barry before they move him, we would have to issue you a citation."

Leo says to Jordan, nodding, a passable US southern accent, "I suspect we all may be headed for Satan's Toilet Bowl, or whatever the hell it's called."

"The Devil's Punchbowl," says Jordan. "That's where the moss that lets you see invisible stuff comes from. We should pick some up while we're here."

Skipper stirred from his snoozing, during which there had been snoring, somewhat in the manner of a giant bumblebee, except louder and less attractive. He had noticed nothing of racing cars passing by.

"Whazzit? Are we there yet? Can we stop and get ice-creams? I won't spill any. Is there a services on the way? We could get a choccy bar too, for a more balanced supper. If we stop at a services, just keep Leo away from flammables..."

"Ever feel like you're just going up and down the same places all the time?" Izzy asks, as the group travel yet again down the A3, considering the map seems to have so far been sending them up and down the same major road to get to and from every location thus far visited.

"Anyway, seems sus to me. And idiots like that are one of the reasons I don't own a car..."

Well, she's passed her test at least. Lack of actual need for a car living in Central London also plays a part. Skipper's mumbled words remind her of something too.

"By the way... you know Leo actually had to take the same training course they put firearms officers on, when he learned how to cast a Fireball? It's a requirement of the job. Since the spell can be lethal... anyone who knows it is treated as a firearms capable officer, except they're always armed and dangerous. Peter was telling me, he had to do the same." As Izzy speaks, she gives Leo a very pointed look.

She wonders about the merits of learning the spell herself at some point... then worries about accidentally burning down her flat with herself, Alice and Freya inside...

Having slept through it, Skipper listened to descriptions of the cars racing by with muzzy interest, possibly more focused on vanilla ice-cream and a mars bar. "Wonder if those cars are heading to the same spot on Down Lane that we are? Could be like a secret car wash but with detergent that makes their cars invisible?"

Skipper then registered what Izzy had just said. He looked at Leo skeptically, then back at Izzy. "You have got to be taking the proverbial."

"I'm not sure what I'm worrying about more now, your Old Bill firearms course, or every Met firearms officer in London."

"The Sweeney never burnt down a skittle hall while innocent skittlers had to leg it. Neither CI5."

Des yawned loudly. ”Are we there yet?!” she grumbled, in the manner of a petulant child… …

"Kind of makes me glad I don't use magic," says Jordan. "It's a heavy responsibility."

Leo winced. I am a strong and capable man... he repeated silently. I will buy a new skittles hall with my lotto winnings.

"Totally serious, mate," Leo replied to Snappers inquiry. "Nightingale beta tested the course with Peter; I was in the second training group. There is an actual firing range in the basement of The Folly where you learn the spell and qualify, casting at WWII-era standup targets. I cast over and over until I could hit the target every time, just like Grant did for Nightingale. I haven't burned down a building in well over a month now," Leo added. "And in the interim, I requested follow up training on methods of identifying valid targets, which is ongoing."

He nodded at Jordan. "You know, I dream about it sometimes...not ending as pleasantly. Just me there. No Skipper hitting the fire alarm. No friends calling 999. And when I try to use my phone, I sanded it. And..." Leo's voice trails off.

The roar of engines cut rudely through the conversation, as another sports car zooms past you. It turns off at the turning to Down Lane just before you reach it.

Following along a narrow B-road, you approach what appears to be a patch of flat scrubland. A number of sports cars, plus the Range Rover, are parked in a rough line.

Nearby, a number of middle-aged men, mainly wearing denim and leather jackets, are milling around a large, new-looking corrugated metal shed. They look up as you approach.

”Great! A boomer convention!” snarked Des from the back seat…