A Different Approach

[January 16-Open to Rourke and Jim Dear]

Thick boots crunched in the soft snow, and if their owner felt bothered by the cold, winter air, he didn't show it. In fact, in some ways the winter air was a welcome change from the Arabian desert. Seeing trees and actual streets was especially nice after many months of seeing nothing but sand, sand, and more sand.

Rourke paused on the sidewalk for a moment to look around, allowing himself a brief moment to take in the sights of the small town. Once the war ended, and he'd had his fill of adventuring, plus a nice retirement stashed away, he might have to retire to some place like this. He brought himself back to the present, and continued walking.

He paused outside a house that looked like something off of a postcard. He double-checked the address he'd written down, then walked towards the house. While the town was run by a full council, he'd heard that Jim Dear had a lot of pull with them. And, since they lacked the manpower to fully invest a place so far from Agrabah, he'd hatched a different plan. One more subtle.

His boots crunched lightly as he ascended the steps to the porch, and he approached the door, and rang the bell before stepping back a bit and standing, hands folded behind his back, facing the door and waiting patiently. He'd politely sent a letter ahead via post about his visit.

Snow softly fell against the glass pains, drifting gently down outside the Victorian home. It was another cold winter night, filled with a sort of muted stillness that seemed so fragile that the very air might crack like glass. Inside the home however, it was a warm and welcoming heaven cast in the glow of gas lamps, and the warmth of the steam radiators. The grandfather clock in the hallway rung, softly chiming away the lateness of the hour. A warm fire crackled away in the hearth locomotive within the parlor. It's heat emanated out to create a warm and inviting atmosphere. The house was empty, save for himself and his guest who was currently fast asleep in a basket inside the kitchen. Darling and Junior had gone to Aunt Sara's for the new year, Jim having to stay behind in order to deal with some business with the local magistrate. Business that would soon be knocking on the front door.

He was thankful for the stroke of luck, as had he joined them, he would have missed the pup. As it was, Jim had been previously engaged in re-reading the scroll that his own dog had brought to him. Sitting in his wing-back chair in the parlor.

At that moment, Scamp himself was slumbering in his basket in the kitchen. Every so often, Jim would hear a whine or whimper. It seemed the dog's sleep was constantly being disturbed by bad dreams. However, Scamp would never admit to it. Jim's eyes left rhe scroll to peer at the small clock a top the mantelpiece. As if right on cue, the doorbell rang. The young man stood up, and headed for the vestibule. Dropping the scroll atop the writing desk next to the letter that precluded this visit.

Opening the door, he gave a kind smile, and a warm welcome. Stepping back slightly as he realized newspaper photos never gave justice to just how big a man could be.

"Hello, Mr. Rourke! It's a pleasure to see you on such a cold evening. Do come in."

The young man polity stood back, holding the door open for his guest, and an arm to take his coat. The latter would be deposited in the small closet just inside the vestibule.

"It's an honer to have you within my home. Not everyday one gets to play host to the man who found Atlantis,"  Or the man who was representing one of the three big armies currently engaged in fighting a far away war. The fact was not lost on the young industrialist. "I understand you had quite a welcome arrival."

Rourke affably returned Jim Dear's smile as he stepped inside, slipping his coat off and handing it to the younger man. He placed his hat on the rack by the door as he knocked the snow off his boots. As he did, his gaze took in his surroundings, and swept over Jim. He heard honest praise and respect in the young man's tone, but at the same time, he knew Jim was a staunch opponent of active involvement in the war.

"Thanks for seeing me on such a short notice. I must apologize, but my schedule is rather busy these days, especially since Simba's troops tried to burn Agrabah to the ground," he said, extending a large hand towards Jim. It wouldn't take much to turn that event to his advantage here. He knew Jim was a married man, with a young son. That could provide some leverage, one way or another, if need be.

"Yes, I was made to feel right at home," he responded, chuckling a bit. While he didn't much seek fame in and of itself, ti certainly had its benefits. He'd had to go to the town hall, and spend some time talking to the mayor, the town magistrate, and the other members of the town council, before coming to the Dear residence. He could play that game well enough, and it wouldn't hurt to ingratiate himself with the town council, after all.

"I've been away so long, I'd almost forgotten what real hospitality was like," he added, his warm smile turning into an amused grin. Truth be told, he often spent long amounts of time out of some expedition or another, before the Atlantis mission.

"Well, you won't find any better hospitality then here. Your far away from such troubles."

Jim Dear could only imagine what it was like. He had been across the great sea twice. With a honeymoon to London, and not all that long ago, a second trip to Paris for an exposition at the grand cathedral. Made not long after their baby was born. He was no globe traveler like his guest had been, nor had he done any exploring. But he could only shake his head at the thought of these grand cities being caught up in the tides of what seemed to the outsider, a hopeless conflict. His eyes silently glanced over at the writing table, and at the scroll that lay discarded atop atop it.

"Come, let us move this conversation to the parlor, where we can speak in private."

The parlor was just though a set of sliding duel doors, which Jim slid closed behind them. Sealing the room off from the rest of the house.  He dropped another log into the fireplace, which continued to crackle away and, along with the steam radiator, fill the room with it's comfortable warmth. In one corner of the room, a large festive Christmas tree stood. Left over from the recent holiday. Outside, snow was falling again, gathering on the windowsill and highlighted in the shaft of light that came from within the home. Jim sat down in his wing back chair, and motioned to a 2nd one before pulling out a pipe.

"I imagine a man such as yourself with such a busy schedule must have some very pressing business...considering it couldn't  wait untull daylight."  He lit the pipe, before taking a few puffs.  "and considering that you wished to see me within the privacy of my home."

Like a proper gentleman, he slid a hand over to a small wooden box that sat atop a side-table, and held it out to the great man. With one hand, he opened it to reveal a small stash of good cigars.

"Care for one, Darling frowns upon the habit outside my study...but while she is away there is no harm."

While it was indeed nice to get away for a while, he wasn't as far from such troubles as Jim might have thought. The truth was they needed to increase their territory, and their supplies, if they wanted to break the deadlock, and gain the initiative. he was under no illusions about the HV capability to seize and hold this town for any real length of time. But, perhaps an arrangement could be negotiated. One that wouldn't require excessive force.

As he followed the younger man into the parlor, he took notice of the house's layout almost instinctively. He didn't fail to spot the scroll on top of the table, and note how it seemed very out of place. He couldn't see much of its seal or anything, but he'd hazard a guess at it contained. But for now, it wasn't worth mentioning. He watched silently as Jim stoked the fire, remaining standing until Jim sat down and motioned for him to take a seat.

"Thank you. Don't mind if I do," he said, taking one of the offered cigars. He retrieved the cigar clips from the table, and clipped the end off the cigar before taking an appreciative sniff. It had been quite a while since he'd had one, and this one was certainly high quality. He struck a match and lit the cigar before tossing the spent match into the fireplace with a quick flick of his fingers.

"I might have to leave early tomorrow morning. Like I said, I've got a lot going on. And as for the private meeting, well, I'm not here in any formal capacity. Not yet, anyways," he stated, leaning back in his chair as he enjoyed his cigar. He paused for a moment, tapping a single finger on the armrest. "I'm certain we can both agree that the sooner this war is concluded, the better off we'll all be."

He fell silent for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, looking steadily at Jim. "That's why I'm here. Now, I'm not asking for anything like active involvement from Marceline. I'd just as soon not see the war reach here, or any of this town's sons go marching to war," he stated, pausing to take another puff of his cigar, enjoying the aroma. "My interest is in supplies, Mr. Dear. Exclusively for Agrabah."

Jim drew forth a puff on the pipe, the cup glowed slightly as he did. One eyebrow rose as the match was perfectly tossed into the fireplace. He took the pipe from his mouth, and a gave a solid nod. he had suspected as much, the papers had been full of accounts of the burning of Agrabah. It only made sense that it be quicker to find an outside source of supplies to help rebuilding rather then attempt to rebuild from within. With it's brickyards, iron mills, and other manufacturing facilities, their little new England town stood prime to flex it;s industrial muscle. But the young industrialist was not unable to see past the facade. Iron-mills could roll gun-barrels, and brick works could build defense walls.

However, there was also money to be made. Jim Dear was an anti-war atavist...but he was not above making good money when he saw a deal presented. Smart and quick thinking had built the home they sat in, it had enabled him to afford the luxuries that his family was growing up in, including one purebred cocker spaniel.

"You don't mince words. Mr. Roruke.  I don't think I have to tell you that the collective feelings about the war are that it should stay over there, and that this town and it's people have had more then enough conflict in the past. One look at the statue and memorial in Veteran's Park should be enough to say that. But I understand the situation you are in."

He drew again on his pipe, enjoying the sweet smell of tobacco.

"However, we are in a small recession. Providing supplies for a...rebuilding, lets call it...of a city is something that could bring a shot in the arm for some of our working men. Haveing said that, what can Jafar's Army provide for us? Why should be risk international involvement in a war that is not ours. While I see the monetary gain...I'm sure you can see how it may look to an outsider. Turning this town and it's people into a target is something I wish to avoid."

Rourke watched Jim intently, studying his face to gauge his reaction to the offer. He had figured it wouldn't be a simple thing to convince Marceline to enter into even a trade agreement with a foreign army. Especially not during a war. But he also saw the prospect of the financial gains Jim and the rest of this town's industrialists and tradesmen stood to gain if they could arrange a mutually beneficial deal.

"I prefer a direct approach, Mr. Dear. And believe me, I have no desire to see any more names carved into a plaque in Veteran's Park. So many have died already, and as long as this war drags on, that list is only going to grow longer," he said, a grim, solemn look on his face. Wars of attrition, which was what this one was rapidly descending into, were costly to wage. Wasteful. Much better to win swiftly.

He remained silent for a few moments, smoking his cigar as he regarded Jim, and considered how best to answer. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out a bit. "How about a quick end to this war? It's no secret that this war has ground into a stalemate. If Jafar were to receive more supplies for his soldiers, even if it's just foodstuffs, and materials to rebuild Agrabah's infrastructure, he could take the initiative. We should be able to press Simba and Scar hard enough to keep them too busy to even consider turning their eyes on Marceline."

He paused for a moment to take another pull from his cigar before he continued. "And consider this. Jafar stands to rule a fairly powerful kingdom after the hostilities cease. A kingdom that will be in need of new infrastructure. Bricks, iron, steel, timber, foodstuffs, you name it. And if Marceline were to be the primary supplier for him, you stand to gain far more than Simba or Scar could offer this town," he stated. As far as he knew, Scar didn't treat with humans, and Simba, well, what could he offer from his little collection of tents?

"Besides, if they haven't already, it won't be long before Simba's soldiers look to expand this direction, if left to their own devices," he stated, taking another draw from his cigar as he watched Jim's face closely.

"Besides, if they haven't already, it won't be long before Simba's soldiers look to expand this direction, if left to their own devices,"

Jim kept a poker face, silently puffing on his pipe. His mind however, was in the next room. Wrapped in a simple scroll, as well as the young mongrel who delivered it. He felt a bit of unease at what the message forebode, how Simba's army was already turning it's eyes on the Americas, and on Marceline. He made no attempt to publicly hide his discontempt for the army that took his canine family away. It was nearby, atop the piano that  a family portrait of their family sat proudly displayed...he sometimes wondered if any of them where still alive. No thanks to Simba's protection. The young man felt his pipe drop slightly in his mouth, his eyes reflected a sort of sadness. While Marceline in general wanted to stay away from the war in general, Jim felt a sense of disappointment in one army in particular. Perhaps there was a way to not only provide a quick end to the war, but do it in a way that made his pocketbook a bit fatter at the expense of Simba...and a boost to their economy to boot.

"We all want to see a quick end to the war. If nothing else, to end to loss of innocent life. But I don't know if the wish to end the war and stop it's spread is stronger then the wish to stay isolated. Simba's actions have left a bad taste in most people's mouths."

He leaned back in his chair, and held his hands out, as if welcoming something into his lap. His pipe coking to out side. He could see Lady's soft brown eyes staring out from the portrait....an end to the war.

"But nether would they wish to openly support Jafar, and I wish not to make us a target for doing so..." He reached a hand to the pipe, and pulled it from his mouth. "However, the recession has made the local merchants uneasy...and if spun in such a way to just be providing supplies to a war torn city rather then an army. I think we may be able to arrange something. But only supplies to rebuild...nothing of an offensive nature, correct?"

While Jim's attempt to keep his feelings hidden was admirable, Rourke was a veteran at reading people. The drop of the pipe, and the look in the young man's eyes suggested he'd hit pretty close to home. he could almost feel Jim's resistance and reluctance begin to weaken. For the moment, he would only press a little further. Just far enough to cause Jim's opinion to lean towards an agreement with the HVs.

"Speaking of innocent lives, do you know how many children were in the palace when Simba's soldiers burned Agrabah? Now I can't give you an exact figure, but even one would be too many," he said, a hint of anger in his words, matched by the rigid scowl on his face as he leaned forward a bit, cigar lowered for a moment. Then he leaned back, letting the scowl fade as Jim continued.

"I believe Jafar can be convinced to accept such an arrangement. Mind you, I can't promise that any materials sent to Agrabah won't be turned to things of an offensive nature, but we don't necessarily have to have cannons, shells, or bullets shipped. But we'll have to discuss that further at a later date. My primary purpose for coming here is simply to inform Jafar if it's worth arranging such a deal, or if it would be a wasted effort," he stated, once more taking a deep pull fro his cigar.

"I don't need a firm answer one way or another for now. Just your assurance that you will consider our proposal, and do what you can to sway the town council," he added after a moment. If Jim agreed, he could return to Agrabah and discuss what they needed most with Jafar. He wasn't about to negotiate something like this without the Sultan's input. Not when he was already on the list of people Jafar didn't trust.

Jim thought about that, it would take some discussion to sway the town Council...the merchants association would not put up much resistance once they realize the potential monetary gain. But still, he was not sure about providing support, as indirect as it was, for either of the three warring fractions. He continued to pull forth on the pipe, contemplating his next move.

One one hand, the town had made it's feelings of isolationism known. No good could come from willingly being pulled into the war. There was a deep rooted anger for Simba's army, and the lack of action that caused the conflict to stall into a war of attrition. But there was also the chance of being pulled unwillingly into the war, or the war reaching out and touching their little New England town in an ugly, uncontrollable way. It had already left it's scar on his canine family...and while he had yet to share the contents of Shang's scroll...he knew from it's deliverance alone that the war was coming. They had stayed isolated for a year so far....could they stand to do it for another?

On the other hand, excepting this offer could help keep the war overseas, perhaps even end it before it had a chance to cross the great pond. It would also boost Marceline's struggling economy. Put wealth in his friends and family's pockets. If they had to face the great conflict...should they not take control of how they do it?

"Here is where I stand, and I will speak off the record here. This town wants to stay isolated. They fought tooth and nail over the course of a year to remain isolated. But it's a battle that we may loose. Your not the first to knock on our collective front door. I don't want to see my home, my family, suffer at someone else's hands.

On the record, your proposal has a lot of promise, for us both. Because it will help reignite our industrial furnace, I shall consider your offer and speak with the city council tomorrow afternoon, and see about  working to supply the city of Agrabah in order to help it's rebuilding. Nothing more, nothing less."

The isolationist mindset of the town was plain to see in Jim's careful deliberation. But, at the same time, so was the business savvy of the successful industrialist. He didn't blame Marceline for wanting to remain neutral. While they had the capacity to produce war materials, they certainly weren't in a military mindset. However, he still had a few more cards to play before this conversation drew to a close.

His expression didn't change when Jim confirmed his suspicion about the Heroes' plans. They seemed to be thinking along the lines of expansion as well. No great surprise, there. If Scar had any sense, he'd be thinking the same thing. Only he wouldn't be seeking any help from any human populations.

"No one in their right mind wants to see their home get caught up in a war. But I'm afraid that, sooner or later, the war will find its way here if it isn't ended soon. Take it from an old soldier. I predict it's going to turn into a war on more than just one front, real soon," he said, tapping a finger on the chair's armrest. "Off the record, I would urge you to consider which is better. Remaining completely isolated until the war arrives on your front lawn, or getting involved on a very small scale, on your own terms. I'm an American myself. I'd just as soon not see the war arrive on our shores."

He leaned back in his chair, raising the cigar to his lips once more. He had one last card to play this round. Time to strike really close to home. He lowered the cigar, and slowly exhaled, sending a stream of fragrant smoke into the air. "If you help us end this war as quickly as possible, you won't have to worry about your wife and son getting caught up in it. If the current deadlock isn't broken, this war may very well last for years. And it will only continue to spread."

"That's all I can really say for now. I'll inform Jafar that you're willing to consider a trade agreement. Next time I stop by, I should be able to present a list of just what we'll need to rebuild," he added after a moment, once more raising the cigar to his lips.

Jim puffed idly on his pipe, for the first time since the war had become public knowledge, he found himself stareing at it right in the face. He had stood by and watched his canine family vanish, one by one. Starting with Angel, who had only been a member of the close-nit home for less then a year. Then, their beloved Lady, the princess of the house vanished. She would never come home again. Annette, Collette, Tramp, Scamp Danielle...all had left. Untull one day, the house was empty.

Their family was not alone. All around town and in the surrounding hills, brothers and sisters vanished as they made the trek to fight. Some would never return.

Rourke was right, at it's present state, sooner or later it would spread. As much as he wanted to keep the town isolated, this seemed to be their best course. For a few moments, Jim sat in his chair, hands folded, fingers interlocked, his brow furrowed. The only movement being a small ring of smoke that wafted from his pipe as he exhaled, the inside of the cup glowing slightly as he did so.

"How can I get a hold of you, in case a decision is made before you return? I'm not saying agreeing to anything just yet, but...I'm not declining."

Outside the closed set of double sliding doors,another set of ears tried desperately to listen in one the conversation being held within. Scamp had not been as fast asleep as Jim Dear had originally thought. Once again, he found his dreams hunted my ghosts of Angel, 'Tania, and Patch. The doorbell had been what pulled him from his latist nightmare...one in which he had been too late to stop Patch from ripping out Angel's jugular with his jaws. He has nudged the door to the kitchen open just a crack, but wide enough to see Jim Dear leading a bulky looking man into the parlor, and closing the doors behind him

This was odd...Jim Dear never kept those doors closed.

The grey mongrel moved silently down the hallway, keeping to the side, so close his furry flank almost rubbed against the wall. Slowly slinking his way untull the came to the duel doors. There, he pressed his torn ear against the wooden barrier, and listened in. Heart in his throat.

He couldn't hear much of the conversation...in fact all he could hear was indistinguishable voices. One, Jim's, the other the strangers. But he could make out one word:

Jafar.

Whatever was going on, it made the canine's blood run ice cold. Talk of Jafar....here in Marceline?  Impossible!

Rourke sat quietly, merely enjoying his cigar as he let his words sink in, watching Jim closely, but to all appearances casually. He'd said all he intended to say for now. Time to let his words, and his offer, work their way into Jim's mind. He knew he'd hit close to home, and it almost seemed like Jim had already lost someone, despite how stoic he tried to be. Just a hint of something in the man's eyes. Not a close family member, or a child, but someone he cared about.

He'd have to try to find out more about that. See if he could learn just what had happened. But not from Jim. And not now. He really was on a tight enough schedule as it was. In time, though, he'd do some digging, and asking around. He frowned in thought when Jim asked how to get into contact with him, and he leaned back, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he reached into a pocket to retrieve a notepad and a pen.

"If you can send a telegram to this station in Paris, it'll reach me. Now, it might arrive in Agrabah after I've left to return here, but if that happens it won't be a problem. Just a case of bad timing," he said, once more smiling affably, and shrugging his broad shoulders a bit as he wrote down the address of a telegraph office. Of course, arriving only to find he'd been turned down would be...irritating, it was a possibility.

"I understand. It's not a decision you can or should make on your own. But I'm satisfied with the knowledge that you will consider our proposal," he stated, leaning forward to offer Jim the note he'd written. He'd have preferred to have a direct line all the way to Agrabah, but it would run too close to the Pridelands. And the Outlands. and there was no way to secure the entire length of the wire.

Jim leaned forward, and extended a hand to take the note between two fingers. Flipping the paper over, he read the name of the telegraphy station, and then placed the note on the side table, next to the oak box of cigars. The pipe was removed, and placed in a stem, the cup continuing to trail a thin waif of smoke.He then braced himself on each of the chair arms, and stood.

"I will be sure to send contact as soon as a decision is reached. Hopefully, by the time you arrive back in Agrabah, a telegram will be waiting."

A kind smile came from below the mustache, polite as always.

"Far be it for to hold a man to his duties. Thank you for stopping by. It's not everyday A genuine explorer walks to your front door!" A glint in the man's eye, perhaps a trace of boyhood nostalgia, or a want for adventure, long suppressed. Jim walked over to the sliding doors, and placed a hand atop the knob. "I read the accounts of your expeditions to Iceland, and the Atlantis Expedition. Fascinating work. I hope you have a relaxing and safe trip."

****

Scamp heard very little. Other then the words "Telegram." and "Atlantis." But he did feel Jim's footsteps began to make their way to the door. His triangular ears perked as he backpedaled away from the door. brown eyes darting up and down the vestibule for a place to hide. Running up the stairs to the landing would leave him exposed, while running back to the kitchen would leave the swinging door flopping back and forth behind him.

He remembered Bambi's lessons about scouting, about learning to use whats around you to blend in. The lighting was dim, and the shadows along the walls where dark. He quickly spied the hatrack, and the writing desk by the telephone. The mongrol slide along the floor, and made himself as small as he could as he slid under the writing table, then stood up and braced himself. using the table top to shield the bulk of his body from view, and the legs of the table and chair to camouflage his one canine legs.

Hopefully, if one was not looking, he would go noticed.

****

Jim slid the doors open. Just as the grey mongrel took to hiding.