thatmadbastard | 1st Broadcast- [voice]

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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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If you actually want the basic things...I could show you were the grocery is. It's got a decent selection...and it's like the rest of the shops. There's no money to trade, so you pretty much just take what you need.

[No money to trade. He feels as though he already knows the answer to this, but he has to ask it.]

No currency? Or is it a value system? I mean to get a grasp on the economics before I go out collecting provisions for cooking.

As for showing me, I do believe I'd like that.

Neither. There...really isnt' an economy here. The stores get restocked, so it's not that everything is available all the time. They can run out. But there really isn't a shortage of anything crucial.

...at least, there hasn't been since I arrived.

Do you know where the fountain is? I could meet you there.

A community setting.

[He sounds so pleased by this, it practically gushes. Even if the Malnosso seem more and more like something akin to facism, Luceti itself is looking increasingly far more like a utopia he's read about.

Claiming housing without paying anything for ownership. A lack of an economic system founded on currency. Shops simply there because they helped support the city. Slowly, Guy is gaining hope.]

Something Thomas More would like by the sounds of it.

Fountain? The fountain. I believe I've walked past it before. Perhaps meeting you there and finding this market can be done after all!

[Now he sounds just a bit dramatic.]

Though I don't even know your name, darling. Guy Burgess, if you didn't catch it before.

[Jilly is less thrilled with the setup...mostly because she's wary of places where she hasn't earned what she's given. The last world to do so had tried to trap her because of it. But it's hard to ignore the enthusiasm in his voice, and she ends up smiling because of it.]

I caught it. And I'm Jilly.

I'm not wonderful with voices...but I think we talked at the party. [he had a rather distinct manner of speech]

I can be there in a few minutes. I might even be able to point you in the direction of a good cup of coffee, if you're desperate.

The party... [He ponders this for a moment. He spoke to only one female, and this certainly isn't the Lieutenant he met.] Dark hair, one of the only persons in the room who wasn't towering over me. I do remember.

Terrible of me to forget my introductions that night! I think I'll suitably change that at the fountain. I like things personal. A few minutes it is.

[He'll decide on his way over about the coffee. He far more fancies a gin neat than the coffee, but who was to say he couldn't make something out of both?]

[there's an amused laugh at the description] That would be me. I've never been a fan of towering.

[it doesn't take her long to reach the fountain and sit. She'd already been out for a walk, journal tucked into a satchel for easy access, so she simply makes her way over to the landmark to wait]

[Guy is in the very same clothes Jilly last saw him in, wrinkled to an extreme from sleeping in them. At least this time he's managed to find a pair of shoes and don them, though they clip a little from being as oddly sized as the lot of it.

He's not as diligent about bringing along his journal, and so for his poor friends, he's quite unreachable at the moment. He approaches Jilly, however, with a pleasant smile.]

Ah! So I've found it. And with it, a lovely girl who intends to assist me! Quite the lucky morning I think.

[that gets a laugh. While not as rumpled as he is, she's just as ragged as she'd been the night of the party. With the warmth from the sun, she's in an oversized t-shirt, her brown and white wings actually visible for once, with heavy boots and paint-speckled jeans quite happily broadcasting her complete lack of interest in fashion] Well..you're right about the fountain and the assisting, at least.

[standing, her satchel goes over one arm] So...which is the more urgent need? Coffee? Or the makings of a decent breakfast?

Now, now. Don't shrug off my compliments so lightly. I like you.

[He takes in her outfit and smiles appreciatively.] And by the looks of it, you're an artist. Which I can appreciate.

[He takes a few more steps and kneads his lips as he thinks.] Can the coffee shop do Irish coffee?

[she doesn't say anything to the compliments part, though she nods in response to his guess about art. It's his question, though, that gets an arched eyebrow and a smile]

I don't think they've got what it takes, but Good Spirits could manage in.

[she doesn't comment on the time of day.]

[Guy frowns a bit at the thought but ah, it is very early and not all of decent humanity takes to drinking at a time like this. Five o'clock has significance to some people, after all.]

I don't think we need worry about that. Coffee it is--[He punctuates with his hand, gesticulating via a pointed, pointer finger]--without the country in it, perhaps some inquiry into your artistic skill, and then your help.

[He rocks on his heels and buries his hands in his pockets, content with his choices.]

Of course, you're welcome to do what you will, considering you're the one granting me courtesy.

[she couldn't help the laugh, tilting her head in the direction of the coffee shop]

Well, my will is to offer what help I can, countryless coffee and all.

[as she turns to lead the way to the store, she gestures with a hand that is notably marked by paint, bright flecks lingering under her nails despite the best of efforts]

If we're going to talk skill, I can show you my studio if you want...but I might be out of practice. I haven't had to deal with critics for a few months.

If you just mean medium, though, I paint. Or sketch, depending. I've dabbled in other things, but I always end back at oils.

[Guy smiles excitedly at the mention of mediums... and the studio seems to brighten him further.]

I may be no critic, but I do know a very well-received art critic here. I'd be happy to simply appreciate what you've done, if you feel like showing me.

[He follows her line of sight and starts walking a little of the ways, pausing for her.]

I would simply love to introduce you to my dear friend, when you've the time for it.

[a laugh] All I have here is time, really. It's a lot quieter than it was back home. Usually.

[as they approach the coffee shop, she nods to the door, gesturing to draw his attention to it]

So I'm certainly happy to fill it, especially with dear friends.

Thank you.

[He opens the door for her, for even a ponce can be a gentleman.]

I think you would get along very well. He doesn't paint much any more, though I don't see why he couldn't given the time. Surveyor of the King's pictures, my Anthony.

[He can't help boasting. He's known Anthony since he first took a term of Anthony's art history teachings at Cambridge, and it's all quite impressive. Even to someone who can't make a lick of art themselves, he appreciates his artists, and Anthony the most of them all.]

Surveyor to a king? I think my studio might seem like a pale thing in comparison. [but it's said with a laugh and not even a bit of embarrassment]

You're from England, right? Can I ask which king?

Even blue bloods have their tastes in the arts, though such tastes need as much guidance as military action and political choice. Anthony's own art is something entirely different.

I was born in Devonport, studied at Cambridge, and I lived in London prior to here. The current King is a rather popular fellow, a reluctant monarch with a stutter, though I must say my opinion of him changed over the years.

[Once he got away from supporting a liking to Hitler.]

It seems like a reluctant king might be better than an overeager one...but a difficult situation. That's a huge responsibility to take on.

It's a position I have no envy for, and you're right. Thankfully being a royal, he has the tools he needs to guide the transference of principals to actions.

I've grown to respect some of his attributes.

That's good, at least. I don't know that being royalty really means you're suited for it, but if he's earned respect, he must be doing something right.

[she orders herself a simple coffee, black, and cradles it in her hands, enjoying the warmth against her fingers]

[He orders himself a coffee and asks to fix it himself, adding small amounts of cream and a fair amount of sugar.

The spoon clinks in the mug as he stirs it.]

He's learned, I believe. Which is more than I can say of most men in positions of such power.

Sometimes that's a lot to ask of someone in any station.

[she wasn't saying it out of acceptance. While still cheery, there's a solemn note to the observation]

I could never want that sort of responsibility. To hold the fate of a nation in one's hands is a solemn thing, and quite daunting.

[He will never step up into a position of power, not only because his ideals that have deep roots in communism would go against it, but because he does not ever want to feel that weight.

Having to bear the burdens of the information he has is enough, knowing that there are lives and plans and futures all resting on the outcome of his actions is enough gravity to grey the edges of the colourful life he lives. He will never ascend to any place of power, but what he is remains close enough that he could never want it.]

So how did your friend get the opportunity to manage art for so daunting a figure?

[she sipped her coffee, glad for the conversation]

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