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]
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.
[action]
[He bites that off with a forced smile.]
[action]
He speaks, his voice as dripping with teasing as his grin.]
Apparently, Anthony, you're a lord!
[Cue a rather loud snort and a raucous fit of laughter. That is just about the most hilarious damned thing Guy has heard. Anthony! A fucking lord! He would do lords, but he couldn't be one himself! HA!]
Oh no WONDER you've got a stick up your arse half the time. I would suggest taking up horse back riding, though I do believe that would make it all that much worse!
[He laughs even harder now.]
[action]
Guy? Gets a glare.
He will not take this opportunity to tell Guy that he can, in fact, ride a horse.
But back to Archie.]
Forgive me, but... May I ask?
[action]
Beg pardon, you bear a...an uncanny resemblance to someone I know. [Something like a smile goes here.] But, as I precede you by nearly a hundred and fifty years, I suppose by your time he has relations everywhere.
[action]
He had only been making fun of Anthony. He hardly meant for the Lieutenant to feel mocked.]
I'm terribly sorry about that, Lieutenant. I hadn't meant to make you feel terribly about the mistake. I simply had such a time imagining Anthony as one of those pompous blue-bloods!
Forgive me, good man. Seems I'm the one in need of pardon.
[He smiles at Archie. Normally he wouldn't give a damn about the embarrassment of men in conversation, but there's something about this sailor that has him drawn. He has a light to him Guy can't quite place, but it has a likeness to something enough that Guy doesn't want him to feel offended.
He rather owes Archie for all the help. Laughing won't show that.]
[action]
He has the tendency to make an ass of himself, I'm afraid.
[action]
[action]
[He looks back at Anthony for a moment.]
You clothes are here, aside from your coat that I found. You may want to have a look.
[action]
He's only half trying to hide the look on his face. The one that says that anything of his found littered about here will need washing before he will wear it. It's one thing when he gets his clothing wrinkled or out of sorts. But when it is entirely the fault of someone else and he had no part in the fun... Well. No. It certainly requires cleaning. Just in case.
He's just a little finicky.]
[action]
...What's he got to lose?]
Mr. Burgess--Guy--if you no longer require my assistance?
[action]
[He seems to think that quite funny for he smirks a bit when he sticks out his hand to Archie once more to shake.]
Thank you, Lieutenant. Perhaps next time a social call?