1st Broadcast- [voice]

[thatmadbastard]

[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.]

Comments

[thatmadbastard]

If I am mad, I'm sure it will be quickly realized.

[He's grinning a bit, though the statement isn't as much of a joking matter as it sounds. It's all lighthearted tones with hardly any hint toward the seriousness.]

[doubleppk]

That's disturbing. Why will it be so quick?

[thatmadbastard]

Most people have a well developed idea of what a madman should be, don't they?

[doubleppk]

Have you ever heard of Arsene Lupin III?

[thatmadbastard]

Can't say I have. Enlighten me?

[doubleppk]

My idea of a madman. He's completely crazy. Hell, he even says that about himself.

One time he spent a whole year in jail up to his execution just because he was mad that he got caught. Stupid pride... He wants to be the world's most famous thief so he goes around stealing big projects, just to get the cops' attention. He went to ridiculous lengths to get a snowcone machine so he could have the perfect beer snowcone. He's broken in to get the Crown Jewels, only to find that too boring and just makes it a distraction so that he can get something more "interesting" instead. He's stolen the Statue of Liberty and the Cristo Redentor statue. Again, not for the purpose of actually stealing either one, but just to be flashy while he stole something else. One time he got his hands on the ultimate formula to make people immune to bullets and fire. And after using it a couple of times, he got the formula burnt and lost it... idiot. [Years later and she still resents that one since she went to extreme lengths to get the formula and he was only "borrowing" it from her.]

And for all of that, he's still saner than most of the people I've met in my line of work.

You seem very rational in comparison sir, I assure you.

[thatmadbastard]

[He'll be digesting all that this fellow supposedly stole for quite some time. Now that does sound utterly mad, but he reminds himself that in a place where people from far back in history can talk to him and coexist in the same moment of time make impossible things quite possible and extend the realm of possibility entirely.

It takes a few moments but then he speaks.]

Rather talented fellow by the sound of it.

[doubleppk]

Don't tell him that, he'll get an even bigger head.

If that's even still possible at this point.

[thatmadbastard]

Insufferable ego. I'm quite familiar with those.

[He looks in the mirror and sees one every morning.]

[doubleppk]

They're very irritating.

[thatmadbastard]

No good company is boorish, darling.

[doubleppk]

It'd be hard to find someone who wasn't.

[thatmadbastard]

You're in good company, I'd say. I don't think there is a soul, even in my professional circles, who would deem me boring. It's a wonderful life, duckie.

[doubleppk]

No worries about insecurities either, I see.

[thatmadbastard]

It wouldn't suit me, considering what it is I do.

[Smug? We might sound it.]

[doubleppk]

Oh? That competent at it?

[thatmadbastard]

I wouldn't say that, regardless of any truth in it. Insecure simply doesn't suit the profession.

[Never mind that we're being vague on purpose. Goading? A little.]

[doubleppk]

And which profession would that be, Monsieur?

[thatmadbastard]

British Intelligence Services, the BBC, and the British Foreign Office.

[doubleppk]

MI6? And ... the BBC? Really now. You're in television with an undercover position like that?

[thatmadbastard]

[His demeanour is more serious, but he keeps his voice light. She can't see his grave expression, but she can hear airiness in his voice by his control.]

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.

[doubleppk]

[Laughs.] Of course. [Plays with one of her Walther PPKs. And then cocks it casually, just to see if he falls for the bait. Seeing as such guns are standard issue (in her world and based on James Bond) for British police detectives and agents. She went through a lot to get her twin guns.] It's really a shame. It'd be far more impressive if you were, don't you think?

... have a small tl;dr?

[thatmadbastard]

[While Guy is, by no means, as well acquainted enough with guns to know a model by the way it cocks, he still knows enough to recognize the sound and hear 'low calibre' in it. Surprisingly enough--by the world she knows--spies are not typically equipped with guns. In fact, the last time Guy ever held one was years ago, before Cambridge.

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

[doubleppk]

In my experience, they all have.

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.]

[thatmadbastard]

[Had Guy any clue that the KGB was what the NKVD (the organization he worked for under the comintern) would become, undoubtedly he would have set into a panic by now. Internally, of course. It helps that to him, Afghanistan is a country and little else. No war is attached to it yet.]

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!]