thatmadbastard | 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

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]

He's worked in the Intelligence Services as well. Trod the well-trodden path of good Trinity men. He was always very talented, granted a fellowship at Cambridge to teach after his tripos was complete. He's dedicated himself to his country as deeply as he has to art. Quite published.

[He took a drink and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.]

It does help that he's related to Queen Mary.

[Another sip.]

Aaaah. That's a good cup.

[she smiles over her own drink] Better than the one you braved this morning?

Without question. The Queen herself would be convinced this is by royal appointment by the vast difference.

Sir is very happy.

[one eyebrow arches] Well, "Sir" seems to have earned it after the way you described your first cup....and, wow... I'm not calling you that again. [laughing]

However, I will still show you the grocery store if you want. For breakfasting purposes.

Nobody does, duckie. [He has a chuckle with her, then another long sip.]

To think, your assistance will aid in properly nourishing myself and two other poor, inept fellows.

I feel so very charitable.

[she grins, nodding towards the door] It's not far. Nothing here really is...at least, not by city standards.

I take it you lived in a big city prior to here? Good place for an artist.

Not as big as New York, but big enough. I miss it, sometimes.

What city is it you come from? I've not been to New York, I'm afraid, so I'd be quite the terrible judge.

[a laugh] Neither have I...and I have less of an excuse.

I'm from Newford. It's in New York, but it's closer to Canada than it is to most of the U.S.

Canada, the annexed little arm of the British empire. Cold, I assume?

[Like Cambridge, maybe.]

[she laughed] In the winter, anyway.

Vladivostok, Moscow, the Kuznets Basin and Cambridge.

I'm sorry?

Coldest places on earth.

[He smiles, genuinely.]

Are you more fond of the cold, or warmer weather?

[she laughed] No North Pole?

I like both, really. It'd be hard to choose between them.

[action]

thatmadbastard - 2011-12-11 20:52 (UTC) - Expand

tehoniongirl.livejournal.com - 2011-12-14 00:27 (UTC) - Expand

thatmadbastard - 2012-01-05 05:58 (UTC) - Expand

theoniongirl - 2012-01-12 03:23 (UTC) - Expand

thatmadbastard - 2012-01-12 19:16 (UTC) - Expand

theoniongirl - 2012-01-14 19:15 (UTC) - Expand

thatmadbastard - 2012-01-17 20:24 (UTC) - Expand

theoniongirl - 2012-01-22 18:47 (UTC) - Expand

thatmadbastard - 2012-01-25 16:32 (UTC) - Expand

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

Re: [action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]