Guy Burgess (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatmadbastard) wrote2011-09-25 02:15 am
thatmadbastard) wrote2011-09-25 02:15 am
1st Broadcast- [voice]
[Guy Burgess hasn't been in Luceti long enough for most things.
Being a smaller man with little luck, he hasn't found his own clothes yet, or even been told that they were in a shop somewhere, waiting. He hasn't gotten over his newest accoutrements and the fact that no fine haberdashery could adequately swathe a pair of wings. He does like their colour, however. Reminds him of the coat he misses. He hasn't gotten the chance to make something of his bedroom or have anyone in it, but he certainly has plans. Personalizing his every surrounding is part of what Guy enjoys. His own loudness is everything his world mirrors, but none of that has happened yet.
One thing Guy has most definitely, however, been in Luceti long enough for is to make a bloody fit of breakfasts had so far with Kim and Anthony in mornings after too little sleep.
He's far too damned lazy to write, but he's sorted his way through enough of the guide to know he can press something and broadcast his voice. If there is one fucking similarity in this place, it is that he could broadcast at all. It isn't BBC radio, but what he has to say isn't exactly their material either.]
There's nothing continental about a bloody continental breakfast. At least an empire is built on a start of its kind. The best of thinkers eat empires as their breakfast, lob them into bowls and think of all the ways their countries could devour one another. Yet there's something appalling and dull, spooning into one's mouth the liquid and creamed wheaty remains of a box made hot.
At least in a continental breakfast one has something to chew on, physically, as they realize how bloody little there is to eat. EAT YOUR CONTINENTS TOMMY. THEY'RE BLOODY GOOD FOR YOU.
[There's a pause in his speech, perhaps for dramatics, though it's just as likely he's taking a suck from his cigarette.]
I've yet to find where everything is in this buggering town, but I refuse to endure another unacceptable morning of a spoon in an opened can of something. The best anachronisms are catchy, but I'd prefer not to be using little three letter blots in regards to my morning meal. Breakfast should not be UFO's... unidentified food objects splattered about in a bloody bowl.
Coffee can only take one so far without a country in it. Irish, Spanish, it doesn't matter. There's something to make it tolerable. I never knew it was possible to brew undrinkable coffee but it would seem my beloved compatriots have made a talent of it.
No more, I say. NO BUGGERING MORE.
Hello and good morning, Luceti. RISE AND SHINE YOU SHEEP OF THE WORLD. Guy Burgess, September the 24th, midmorning greetings.
[So ends your broadcast. Hope you like that you're now a substitute for the radio in part.
OOC: Backdated to before the event, that way he can get a proper introduction with people acting themselves. Also will begin tagging after work tomorrow. For now SLEEP.]
Being a smaller man with little luck, he hasn't found his own clothes yet, or even been told that they were in a shop somewhere, waiting. He hasn't gotten over his newest accoutrements and the fact that no fine haberdashery could adequately swathe a pair of wings. He does like their colour, however. Reminds him of the coat he misses. He hasn't gotten the chance to make something of his bedroom or have anyone in it, but he certainly has plans. Personalizing his every surrounding is part of what Guy enjoys. His own loudness is everything his world mirrors, but none of that has happened yet.
One thing Guy has most definitely, however, been in Luceti long enough for is to make a bloody fit of breakfasts had so far with Kim and Anthony in mornings after too little sleep.
He's far too damned lazy to write, but he's sorted his way through enough of the guide to know he can press something and broadcast his voice. If there is one fucking similarity in this place, it is that he could broadcast at all. It isn't BBC radio, but what he has to say isn't exactly their material either.]
There's nothing continental about a bloody continental breakfast. At least an empire is built on a start of its kind. The best of thinkers eat empires as their breakfast, lob them into bowls and think of all the ways their countries could devour one another. Yet there's something appalling and dull, spooning into one's mouth the liquid and creamed wheaty remains of a box made hot.
At least in a continental breakfast one has something to chew on, physically, as they realize how bloody little there is to eat. EAT YOUR CONTINENTS TOMMY. THEY'RE BLOODY GOOD FOR YOU.
[There's a pause in his speech, perhaps for dramatics, though it's just as likely he's taking a suck from his cigarette.]
I've yet to find where everything is in this buggering town, but I refuse to endure another unacceptable morning of a spoon in an opened can of something. The best anachronisms are catchy, but I'd prefer not to be using little three letter blots in regards to my morning meal. Breakfast should not be UFO's... unidentified food objects splattered about in a bloody bowl.
Coffee can only take one so far without a country in it. Irish, Spanish, it doesn't matter. There's something to make it tolerable. I never knew it was possible to brew undrinkable coffee but it would seem my beloved compatriots have made a talent of it.
No more, I say. NO BUGGERING MORE.
Hello and good morning, Luceti. RISE AND SHINE YOU SHEEP OF THE WORLD. Guy Burgess, September the 24th, midmorning greetings.
[So ends your broadcast. Hope you like that you're now a substitute for the radio in part.
OOC: Backdated to before the event, that way he can get a proper introduction with people acting themselves. Also will begin tagging after work tomorrow. For now SLEEP.]
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[Smug? We might sound it.]
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[Never mind that we're being vague on purpose. Goading? A little.]
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Now, now. Bit of a jump, don't you think? I work in British Intelligence, however there are plenty of branches that might extend my well trodden path from Eton to Cambridge to such an institution.
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... have a small tl;dr?
It had been a time when he was in the naval college, his only time where holding a gun was considerably normal. Being an utter pacifist has warded away any desires to hold one. For holding one and keeping one leans toward intent to use it.
His body winces with only a disgruntled exhale as any sign of what she can't see. His life has always been on the line, and he knows it. Those guns do little to comfort that sort of neurotic paranoia that has kept him from being caught in this game. Caught means being executed... if his captors are kind.]
Do you assume all MI-6 agents come armed?
[He's a pacifist. He spies for England and the idea that some of his passed information changes the military actions on the Eastern front where soldiers die in numbers such as thirty thousand a week makes him sick.
No, he's not fond of guns. The day he holds one with intent is a day his friends will find themselves so bloody frightened... there's little to say.]
YAY /noms on it
Otherwise the KGB would chew up them up and spit them out for breakfast. Or are you before Afghanistan? [The first one. Pre-9/11.]
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KGB? The acronym doesn't register. AS for the country, I'm well set in 1945 where it exists. Odd reference point, darling, but I'm sure you've reason for asking.
[He's inviting you to explain!]
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[Oh, that is very complicated indeed. Give her a while to process this.] Ah, I guess in the future I'm from, things with MI6 get a little trickier.
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Yes, 1945, duckie. Plenty of futures I've spoken to, and I can't say I'm all that curious to know everything of it.
Though the trickiness of it. How so?
[That is enough of home territory that he's hoping general information will help him understand. That is assuming she won't hook into the specifics in her explanation, but gambling for information isn't something he's above.]
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
1945 starts the Cold War. Mostly between America and Russia but Churchill and Montgomery were pretty mad that Eisenhower let the Red Army get to Berlin ahead of the rest of the Allied Army.
Hum... America used the atomic bomb on Japan and Russia was pretty scared of the happening to them... but Russia is Russia... so rather than outright fight each other, they politically maneuvered everything to other countries and fought it out there: communism versus capitalism.
Since it wasn't outright war, espionage became almost as important as technology. The KGB was the Soviet Union's intelligence and secret police. They didn't come about until 1954 though... but when they did... that's when it got tricky. Assassinations, double lives, some of the things really made the Gestapo look downright friendly. [Yes, she just said that.]
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[Guy is deadly quiet as she explains. He didn't want to know all of this. She clearly didn't understand that this is a huge pill to swallow. This sort of information could change the game, or say too much about what happens to him and his friends.]
So it all happens, doesn't it? The whole bloody project. The Americans decide to take their time entering the war, and then they suddenly grow big-boy wings and explode the masses.
[He isn't saying anything about these double agents. He's already been one for over ten years. That isn't to say he's a stalwart communist. Even spies for the Comintern can see that communism isn't perfect except on paper, that Stalin isn't so benevolent when he's supplying the Red Army with soldiers by the hundred thousands... only for a third of them to die each week on the battlefront.
Hell, saying what he's said about the Manhatten project already says too bloody much. He hopes there won't be much remarked on.]
Churchill is a good man.
[Then again, Guy has some personal ties to Winston Churchill that near nobody knows about.]
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
I guess. He was well before my time so I'll take your word on it.
[She shrugs.] Most people from Earth know all that much already though, you'd be hard-pressed to avoid finding that much out.
[She's got her own spy games she'll never in a million years reveal. Even here to people who don't give a damn and wouldn't understand even the places mentioned.]
You're really not issued a gun?
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
[Please, not in a collection of old boys. No one had guns back then. They armed themselves if they felt the need, and Guy was the least likely man in the world to own a gun. Your weapon was what you knew.
Unless you were a man placed somewhere else for the soul purpose of bringing over or convincing a defector in dangerous areas, weapons were unheard of.
He'd be more likely to fight the world with the sharp edges of broken bottles. Still, all of this unnerves him. When did the Manhatten project become public? The day the bombs were dropped? Before then? Were they threatening to turn these bombs against Russia, these bloody Americans? Damn it all to bloody, fucking hell.]
Your only weapon is your only defence, and the only thing you're good for. Information.
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
And I'm Japanese, we're not allowed guns at all. [But she still carries 5... which says something big.]
You probably would get along with Lupin. He believes in information over violence as well.
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
I take it your freelancing has to do with this Lupin fellow?
[Voice] [Locked 90%]
Well.
[Sighs.] Sometimes. He tends to mess up my other jobs, so sometimes I try to work with him to cut him off at the pass there, but sometimes that just makes it easier for him to screw me up. I come out on top more than him, but it's still annoying.... [Pauses. Actually does she really come out more on top than him? It's hard to tell since they're both impetuous and do ridiculous things for even more ridiculous reasons. Oh well, she will keep claiming she does.]
Sometimes we work together, sometimes against each other, often separately, and sometimes we start off separate and either wind up together or against each other. We have different styles though. He prefers information gathering over "drastic measures." [Fujiko likes drastic measures.]
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[A pause.]
So. Is he a good fuck?
[Because there is only one conclusion the spy can draw from two minutes of her going on about it.]
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[Or... hits him with a boxing glove on a spring trap, or a beartrap. And if she's really mad, she gets even more violent.]
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[He laughs at the absurdity of everything.]
Do be nice to the fellow. It's counterintuitive to be so demeaning to his parts.
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