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.]
[action]
Not bad. It isn't my own, but I'm going to be in a desperate need for more shirts than what I wore before here.
I'm looking for a coat. Brown, excellent fabric, well tailored, deep pockets. I do hope my bottle is still in it. It was my father's.
[And a well known personal vice.]
[action]
Did this bottle have anything in it? [Archie picks up a brown coat--not Guy's--and holds it up.]
[action]
Gin. Unless our captors, in their infinite lack of tact and manners, helped themselves to it. Hardly gentlemanly, getting into a man's drink and stripping away his fine clothes.
[He looks at the coat.] Too dark. [He begins rifling through a rack of additional shirts, thumbing them to feel the fabric.]
[action]
I believe I've found it.
[action]
I believe you have! Thank you, dearest Lieutenant. It seems I will not be without a proper coat, or my personal possession.
[He walks over to take the bottle first, then the coat off of Archie's hands. Then adds inquisitively:]
How cold does it get here?
[action]
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It's why I like my coat. I was curious about here. Seems I'll be needing it come winter.
[action]
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[He walks a little ways down, spotting a flash of blue that looks too familiar. Picking up its sleeve he asks aloud,]
Anthony's?
[With little skill he removes the coat from its hanger and holds it up to his face, sniffing it deeply.]
Oh yes. It smells just like him. He'll be quite happy to know I found it.
[action]
That's good, I'm...glad you found it.
[action]
[Then, like a child in a candy store, Guy's face lights up. He's spotted a shelf with hats, a nearby rack with ties, and the shoes just down the way.]
Bowlers and brackets, ties and trousers... sir is a very, very, happy boy.
[He approaches it slowly. Oh this is perfect. He needs to bring Anthony and Kim here.]
I wonder if they've any matching kerchiefs for pockets.
[action]
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[He throws a look over his shoulder as he's draping a tie around his neck.]
Perhaps I'll find reason enough to commission a dress, though for now clean suits, shirts, well matched ties and scarves will do.
[action]
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That's very interesting. Outnumber the women by how many?
[He turns back toward the ties and the hats, looping another striking tie around his neck. His grin is rather amused and has a dirty edge to it, wondering just how many chances he'll be given here with the male population.]
[action]
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[He quickly grazes over his own comment as he spots a hat next to the tricorn.]
Oh! Now that is a fine looking fedora. [He puts it on his head, and it sinks far too low.]
Must be Kim's. Has the slant to it.
[action]
[All of a sudden, there was a tall, blond man at the side of the dark-haired man.
He laid a hand on the man's elbow, as if wanting to be sure he was, in fact, actually standing there. A sigh of relief and he shook his head.]
Next time you leave, we'd appreciate being told.
[For the moment, he has not even really noticed that Guy isn't standing there alone.
Wait a moment for the tunnel-vision to clear.]
[action] 1/2
[action] 2/2
He does not cry out immediately. He just stares. This is Guy's friend, but he looks exactly like the Earl of Edrington. Granted, it's been a couple of years since he last saw the Earl, but this is uncanny, and he doesn't even think to check his blank stare.]
[action]
Oh hello, you!
[He throws his arms around the fellow spy and plants a kiss right on his cheek. He pulls away, pouting.]
Do forgive me for running off, but I've found my clothes and a few of yours. Dressing properly took a small priority for the discovery of a proper wardrobe and news that they've a seamstress in town.
I've your coat, darling, and Kim's hat. Be excited, won't you?
[action]
Wonderful, Guy. But don't wander off like that. Not here.
[A stern father, that's what he sounds like.
Until-- He sees Archie.
He gives the man a once over. Uniform. Antiquated. But still... It's a careful, almost judgemental look.
Though his voice is... friendly enough... as he offers his hand.]
Anthony Blunt.
[action]
Kennedy. [He clears his throat and his voice comes out more clearly.] A-Archie Kennedy. L-Lieutenant. [He's almost embarrassed by the introduction, because this face should already know all this.]
[action]
Lieutenant! This is my dear friend, the handsome one who looks at pictures and offers opinions to the blue-bloods about them.
Anthony, this wonderful sailor has helped me find our things and has quite a bit of know how. I met him at the party.
[action]
[He shook the man's hand, giving a bit of a squeeze.]
Well, Mr. Kennedy [best to be polite until he had a better feel of the situation.] thank you, then, for helping Guy out. I do hope [a smile, a friendly jab at Guy] he hasn't been too much trouble.
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