A Very Vexatious and Villainous Vacation [CLOSED]

[A mean old man]

"A Very Vexatious and Villainous Vacation"


After a long history of international travelers disappearing while visiting the mysterious, beautiful, and rather notorious nation of AMOM, the governments of five nations have decided that it is finally time to discover what exactly has been going on within the borders of this isolated dictatorship and where their citizens have been vanishing off to. Many citizens have returned to their homelands spreading great praise of the resorts in this nation, however many more have not returned from their journeys. It was originally believed that they had loved their stay so much that they decided to remain in the country; however, this theory has started to seem unrealistic. The governments of these five nations have organized five of their best spies to pose as tourists, infiltrate the nation, and work together to discover all that they can about what’s been going on behind their countries’ backs. The mission is a dangerous one, and none of the spies are sure of what to expect. However, the horror will soon be revealed…


[OOC:

This is a bit experimental (and entirely original!), though it should prove to be fun, challenging, and interesting.

Directions:
You will be sending your tourist (spy) to one of your nation’s airports, where they will be picked up and flown to an airbase outside of AMOM by a small passenger jet. After arrival, the spies from the five nations will meet in private in the bathroom (the only place that they can be sure of there being no “ears in the walls,” if you know what I mean) to introduce themselves and discuss anything related to their mission that they might like to discuss. Remember – once your characters leave the restroom, almost everything they say and much of what they do can and will usually be watched by the AMOM officials. So (make them) act wisely.

HINT: The utmost paranoia is required in AMOM if you want your mission to go well.

The roleplay will progress in a turn-based fashion: The first nation to arrive in the thread will begin the roleplay. Their spy will travel from their airport and arrive at the AMOM airbase. The second to arrive in the thread will then do the same. This will continue until the fifth has posted. Then I will do some narration and control a few actions of the people of AMOM. Then the one who posted first will enter the restroom and introduce himself, followed by the second, third, fourth, and fifth. Then I will continue narration.

The goal of this roleplay is not anyone “winning.” The goal of this roleplay is to make a damn good story. So don’t godmod (duh), try to be as fair as possible in general, and go with the flow if I narrate a twist in the plotline. My only goal in narrating such a twist would be to create an even crazier situation in the storyline for those of us involved to build off of. The beginning (with the airport and restroom) may seem a little restricted, but after that I will attempt to infringe as little as possible on the actions of the spies, so be creative! If I have to, I might reveal some things “OOCly” to people. Oh, and “OOC” posts are not restricted by turns. Post “OOC” any time you like, but don’t include any “IC” if it isn’t your turn. Also, feel free to control some of the less important AMOMians in your IC posts. However, important characters (and I will tag them as such) must only be manipulated by myself.

If a participant fails to respond within a day, their turn will be skipped and I will control their actions very conservatively in my narration. If they fail to respond within another day, their turn will be skipped again and I will once again control their actions as conservatively as possible in my narration. If they miss a third day, I’ll kill them off somehow and they’ll be out.

If, for any reason, however, a participant is going to be unable to respond for over three days and would like the RP to be put on hold, they may send me a telegram and I’ll post an OOC message in the thread postponing its activity. I’d rather not have to kill anyone off before the end of the roleplay.

Oh, and, in case you’re wondering, yes, your spy dies. Sorry. Don’t use a character you’re particularly attached to or use in other roleplays often. Why does your character have to die? Well, if it all ended well, and big bad AMOM was revealed, and your nations knew what was going on out here and decided it was time to nuke me, how would I ever be able to do this roleplay again? How would I do this roleplay again if everyone knew what was really happening in the end after reading it? Simple – In the next roleplay, something different is happening to the tourists. Yes, I’m thrifty like that.

HINT: Pay attention to any small details in every post I make; taking advantage of any of them could help your spy out and advance the plot in interesting ways.

Can't figure out what to do early on? Try exploring the hotel and grounds. Don't know what the hotel or grounds are like? Make it up. I'll give the RP an occasional push in the narration if things slow down at all. Also, like I said, I might have to reveal some things to aid the storyline (because I have a general idea of what's happening to the tourists), however it's up to the RPers to flesh everything out.

Like I said, this is a bit experimental. We'll see how it works out.

I think that’s all you need to know. This post might be updated later if necessary. End OOC.]


Your spies are viewing an advertisement for a rather appealing-looking resort in the steamy jungles of the South-Eastern district of AMOM.




Welcome to AMOM!

Are you tired of all the hard labor your nation forces you to endure every day that drains you of your energy and morale? Are you stuck indoors all day every day due to the freezing temperatures that your nation’s climate hurls at you endlessly? Are you constantly worrying about whether a large shoe manufacturing conglomerate is going to have your shoe shop brutally attacked and your customers murdered in an attempt to increase their brand’s popularity? Is your corporeal and cerebral structure in need of much rest, relaxation, revitalization, and rejuvenation? If you have answered yes to any of these questions, then the serene and beautiful Resort Pitfall in the South-Eastern district of AMOM is just the place for you to vacation to!

Renting a room is cheap – only 25 AMOMian colostomy bags a night, though additional price depends on quality of room and service: The basic 25Cb room comes with a queen-sized bed, air conditioning, television set, standard bathroom with a shower, and a small kitchen area with a sink and refrigerator – and the resort is only half a mile away from one of AMOM’s privately owned and perfectly pristine beaches (no drunken teenagers or trash on the sand will spoil your visit to this beach! Just remember to show the guards your hotel pass-card).

The hotel has an indoor Olympic-sized pool, five indoor hot tubs, and two outdoor hot tubs. The elevation of the hotel keeps most of those pesky biting insects away, though closeable screens around the outdoor hot tubs and the screens in every room’s windows can complete the job rather nicely. If you’re lounging outdoors in a hot tub and happen to have a pesky mosquito or two ruining your visit, simply press the button with the mosquito silhouette on it that is built into the side of your hot tub and a trained Bigtopian will come out to hunt down all those bugs and kill them off, no matter how many ugly bites he might receive in the process of doing so. There is also an exercising and weightlifting room for anyone who values athletics and staying in good health. Personal trainers, for an additional fee, can help teach you how to make your body into the work of art you need it to be and aid you in using the exercising machines and weights.

The hotel serves breakfast, lunch, dinner, and anything that might come in between, and can serve you almost anything that would suit your cultured tastes (an extensive menu can be reached by calling our number). Numerous atmospheres are available in multiple different-sized dining rooms and bars and the staff and cooks are swift yet very thorough.

The hotel has other wondrous things to offer you, but why spoil them all in an ad? Some see for yourself! Visit Resort Pitfall in AMOM today!

Informational hotline:
5342-009582-571869-666

[Crabulonia]

A shady character - dark brown eyes, black hair, dark sunglasses, trilby hat and long black trenchcoat - arrives at Aeropuerto Internacional de Crabulonia. He has brown case, the only distinguishing characteristic being the fact that it has no distinguishing characteristics. He walks into an official office and emerges later, dressed in the manner of a typical Crabulonian tourist - white t-shirt, khaki three-quarter length trousers, straw hat, though he kept his sunglasses. The clothes felt uncomfortable as he never dressed like that unless he was on a mission.

He still had the exact same suitcase and in his other hand, he held two boarding passes on an international jet to Resort Pitfall in the Weed Choked Lawn of A mean old man. The very name had brought worry among the spy chiefs.

"The name brings us worry." they informed him the day before, "It sounds shifty, we want you to investigate it."
"We have lost many good people in that nation, never again. If you do your job correctly that is." his Secretary had chipped in.

He did not have much love for the Secretary, she was so obviously after him and he knew it. He did not want any affection, emotions were dangerous to a man in his profession. Just like honesty.

"Adult, single." the Shaded-Man blankly asked the girl at check-in.
"Did you pack these bags yourself sir?" the orange-faced girl asked.
The Shaded-Man did not respond for several seconds, as though he didn't hear.
"Yes." he finally stated.
"Your plane takes off in half an hour." the orange-faced girl finished.

[Aundotutunagir]

.

[Urgench]

Airports did not agree with Zumrud, and airports in foreign countries even less so. As the daughter of a powerful Shahbanu (vassal Queen) from the Trans-Oxianian region of the Confederated Sublime Khanate of Urgench, Zumrud of Gargachin was used to a life of duty and obligation, and her recent recruitment to the Urgenchi Security Secretariat had offered her another opportunity to thank the Empire for the wealth and status her birth had given her. However, when Zumrud had received orders that she was to make a visit to a country she had only the vaguest familiarity with to find an errant nobleman who had gone missing there, apparently while on holiday of all things, her heart had sunk a little.

In common with most Urgenchis Zumrud could hardly believe that the rest of the world existed, that it should do so happily and without the sublime felicity which permeated the CSKU was frankly impossible to countenance. So she took the usual tone of polite condescension towards all foreigners, and having touched down and had her luggage collected by her servants and flunkies and finding herself in need of a change of transdermal patch she had taken this tone with a local airport staff member when asking for directions to a washroom. Being asked in perfect English where a toilet was by a glowing and unnaturally youthful Urgenchi noble women covered head to toe in gorgeous black silks, diamond and rhodium jewellery and surrounded by a swirling cloud of perfumes and vaporised dew drugs was doubtless something to report to the AMOMian woman's family when she got home after her shift. But she had managed to stutter out directions to the washroom nonetheless.

Zumrud, conferred with her eunuch assistant Nazvardar as to whether this particular washroom was indeed that which she had been instructed to find. Upon finding the toilet in question Zumrud was rather annoyed to discover that it was a male only facility, and so cursing her handlers in Tabriz she sent Nazvardar inside on the basis that he had at least once been a man. So it was the tall and ghostly pale Nazvardar, eunuch assistant to Zumrud of Gargachin, dressed in long black silk robes and a silver embroidered skullcap who upon entering the Men's washroom discovered a man with the unmistakable features of an Aundotutunagirian in a state of semi-undress, as his mistress used the women's facilities so her other attendants could replace the transdermal patch on her neck containing it's precious dose of exquisite perfumes and vital dew drugs.

That the man Zumrud had been sent to find was of high rank, with close connections to the Grand Chancellor of the CSKU made this mission rather sensitive, and the fact that he had extensive business interests in the Arctic provinces of Urgench, and more specifically close connections with the Aundotutunagirian community in that region made this mission much more than sensitive. It also made Nazvaradar's seemingly chance meeting with a man from the Curse of the North in this far flung place even more extraordinary.

[Ardchoille]

Small passenger jets have small plastic tables let into the cramped seats in front. Very small tables: almost too small for Feline Thibaudet to lay out the divination spread, but with a bit of overlapping, she could do it.

There they were again. Death, The World, The Tower, Judgement, and the Ten of Swords, the five of them showing up again in a repetition that defied statistics. Feline smiled with exasperated affection.

“Yes, yes, we’ve already been through that,” she told the Tarot. “I know something’s beginning, I know something’s being reshaped, I know there are hard times ahead, and I know why you’re showing me all this. I’m dying. I get it. The question I asked was, when?”

No answer. No minor detail suddenly leapt out before her practised eye to give the reading a new focus. The cards stayed flat, two-dimensional, their colours subdued. Her Tarot deck knew what she knew: she didn’t really want an answer.

In fact, not wanting an answer was what had driven her past protesting secretaries two days ago into the office of Ardchoille’s more-or-less head of more-or-less Security to make her demand: “Bast, I want you to have me assassinated.”

“Can’t. An it harm none, and all that.” The Cat had elevated his other back leg to the hambone position and resumed work on grooming the underside of his tail. He’d never liked the High Priest’s sister.

“Don’t give me that Wiccan cant. You’ve never been a believer ...” Feline was working herself up for the familiar tantrum when the damnable fact that had brought her there bit her on the (still shapely!) bum again. She was dying.

And if Bast, or somebody, didn’t help her out, she’d have to go through all the horrible, smarmy, well-meaning crap of an Ardchoillean death-day. The announcements, the arrangements, the gentle, pastel shades of a life winding down to its dignified end on the day she’d appointed.

Not for an Ardchoillean the painful struggles to leave a body wasted by disease. Just soft music, sweet scents, low lights and gentle touches as she swallowed her release; then the dear, grand poetry of the silver cord and the golden bowl, Avaya doing her best to smile and say farewell properly, Thierry solemn, Phillippe putting real effort into the ritual ... even bloody Dicey behaving for once ... her surroundings fading ...

She couldn’t bear it. She wanted to go out in the middle of life, on the crest of a wave of doing and being, leaving the world in exactly the way she’d lived in it, invested completely in the moment, being her own arrogant, hot-tempered, gifted self.

Abandoning the quarrel-to-be, she’d humbly explained. Humble? Feline? It was so much more convincing than a tantrum that Bast had found a way to help. And so, here she was. Other agents, struggling to survive and bring back information, had died – or so it was assumed. She, not caring, might live. And at least, with the strength of her telepathic gift, she’d very likely be able to send something back.

Not that said telepathic gift was in particularly good shape right now. The reading, the flight, the fuss of disembarking, collecting luggage, yet another unbelievably intrusive security check ... paranoia, thy name is AMOM ... she felt drained, dishevelled. This was no way to start off the (snicker) Holiday of a Lifetime. Besides, she’d been told quite clearly, she had to go to the bathroom.

“And what, exactly, makes you assume that any reasonably alert nation won’t use any surveillance in its bathrooms?”

Never you mind, they’d told her: when you get there, just go.

The first shock was the discovery that these hillbillies still had gender-specific toilets. The second shock was finding such a Very Important Person inside the -- heh! -– Ladies. Decades of diplomacy had taught Feline that VIPs were never treated as other beings, who had to eat, sleep and eliminate. They had special passkeys, private washrooms, hotels empty of other guests. Yet the first person she saw was clearly a ... she eyed the woman covertly as she renewed her lipstick, checking for clues ... an Urgenchi, and a high-born one at that.

“So, you staying here long?” she asked chattily, bending forward to the mirror as she stroked un-needed lengthener on her lashes –- as a witch, she could have just cast a glamour, but she’d promised to act normal. She carefully fixed her gaze on her own pupils so that even her mirror-image wasn’t looking directly at anyone. If she chose, the woman could pretend the question was not addressed to her.

[Crabulonia]

The shady Crabulonian enjoyed his flight. The workings of the plane and slow rhythmic hum synchronised in his head and he felt at peace.

When he came off of the plane he noticeably sunk.

"Thou art below" he thought to himself, "As one dead in the bottom of a tomb."

Now that he had arrived he had no idea of what to do. Usually missions came so clear to him but this was a different case, there was next to no intel available for this mission and he had not been equipped as well. He had not even been given a weapon to use, no secret gadgety watch and his clothes had no extras - like tracking devices - stored in the pockets. He was utterly without help.

"On the other hand," he thought as he flexed his muscles, "This is good opportunity to get back to basics, hand-to-hand death-dealing."

It would be exactly like when Pierce Brosnan was replaced as James Bond, the new guy was more prepared to beat his enemies to death rather than rely on high-tech wizardry. So where was he staying and how to get there?

Clutching onto his suitcase, he walked through the airbase. He had no idea what could happen next, this was all so new to him.


---------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile back in Crabulonia some suits of the spying network were meeting.

"So!" the Leader of the Board said with dangerous enthusiasm, "What's the deal with this spy that we've sent out?"
"He has a penchant for wearing formal clothes, his favourite weapon is his fists, he has a dark and mysterious past." answered one of the drones who did well in this area.
"He sounds like he's been made up well, you say this is all his choosing that has done this?"
"Yes sir, no work by the marketting department at all." said a second drone, "This is exactly what the people of Crabulonia want! A smart-suited spy with a mysterious past and a love of formal clothing."
"Not sure on his charisma though," returned the first drone.
"He's the strong silent type." chipped in a third.

Another of the suits then began, "Is he any good at his job?"
All of the drones and the leader answered at the same time, "He's the best. He has nice suits, mysterious past and beats them with fists."
"Yeah but does he actually have practical spying skills?"

Everyone in the room shook their head. This suit would not last long in his business, he didn't seem to get the whole idea of mysterious past, hand to hand combat and nice suits. He could be gone within the day, at least from this comittee.

------------------------------------------

Higher up from this committee, the actual leaders of the spying network were thinking about it.

"Right let's cut the fuckin' chatter" a man with a Glaswegian accent begun, clearly the leader of the group, "What can you tell me about this guy, and why should I care?"
"He was a prodigy with a rare gene which gives him faster metabolism," a female doctor in a white coat answered, "He thinks faster, heals faster, moves faster. He also has a form of autism which allows him to make signficant connections much quicker than many others in the programme."
"I like the sound o' this guy." the Glaswegian leader stated, "What are we doing now with him?"
A man who previously had been on the comittee of suits (but was seen as too ambitious for the marketting circle) knew the case, "He is at an airbase just out of AMOM. He is to be briefed on what we expect of him then we are to send him to Resort Pitfall with as much information as we have gathered from vicarious sources."
"I like it, meeting adjourned"
"There is something else..." said the ex-suit.
"Wha' is it?" the leader asked.
"We have signs that a suit in the marketting circle is exhibiting signs of thinking outside of the general model for that board. We have to either raise him up or have him killed."
"How many have we got on the table again?"
"6 currently, with none on holiday and none on maternity."
"Send him to the secret uni."

[A mean old man]

Outside of the restroom, the Weed Choked Lawn's airbase bustled with activity. Subjects carefully filled out forms related to incoming and outgoing flights on the airbase's computer database. WCL police officers paced nervously about, fingering the handles of their cruel-looking gaff hooks and carefully observing any subject or foreigner that moved within their line of vision. Subject D216F787 M stood anxiously upon the gravelly pavement outside of the airbase entry, slowly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Right to left, left to right, then right to left again he swayed. The gravel crunched beneath his thick black boots. He wore a slightly sinister white lab coat, the only unique feature being a strange black and gold emblem portrayed a silhouetted buzzard. The buzzard’s back and wings were hunched and its small, ugly head leaned outwards as if it was watching a group of oxen, just waiting for one of them to keel over in exhaustion. The doctor looked up at the road before him. His face was dark and cold, his eyes seemingly frozen in his skull. He had a firm black goatee and sharp prominent cheekbones. He appeared to be middle-aged.

A child screeched as his playmate chased him. The doctor cringed and his head snapped to the left to seek the source of the discordant noise. The child was small, perhaps around five years old, and wore the gray and black uniform that all young AMOMian subjects were required to wear. The doctor strode quickly over to the child and grabbed the boy’s arm.

“What is your name,” the doctor snapped, “and what is your district?”

The boy looked up. The smile vanished from his small, round face, and he stood, frozen with fear, staring at the menacing figure which grasped his arm so tightly.

The doctor furrowed his brow. “I asked you your name.”

“I am Subject C561E437 M of the North-Eastern District.” The boy replied, with an almost robotic tone.

The doctor glared at the child. “Do you know what your screaming sounds like to me?”

The boy stammered, “Wha- what does it sound like to you?”

“It sounds like the scraping of the machines in Deathco that manufacture the “Organ Grinders.” Do you know what we do with the “Organ Grinders?”

The boy waited.

“We give them to the packs, and the packs use them to rip the guts out of little runts like you who make obnoxious noises when the rest of us are trying to enjoy our day.” The doctor paused, for dramatic effect, and stared into the boy’s eyes. He then released the child’s arm violently and stood straight again, staring down at the boy and his young friend. “So, unless you want to paint the airport wall with your brains, I recommend you shut up, stop running, and sit down on that bench like normal, respectable human beings. Running around, acting like a pair of crazy monkeys… It’ll serve you right if you’re skewered in boot camp.”

The doctor turned about and walked briskly back to where he had been standing before. Not a moment later, a black van pulled into the drive in front of the base. The doctor’s ride had arrived.

[Aundotutunagir]

.

[Crabulonia]

The shady Crabulonian regained his character. He was not going to turn as confused as one of those girls who claim to be 'blonde'. He figured he would search around for a telephone, but before he could go out on his search, he felt an inconsolable need to piss. He ran off in the direction of a toilet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" he though, he began vocalising these thoughts, "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

He slammed the door of the toilet, it cracked the wall. He thought he would have been alone but he walked in to find a man with an elated - opium-fuelled - look on his face talking to a eunuch. How he knew one was on opium and the other a eunuch is anyone's guess, one of them was noticeably taller.

"What the fuck is this?" the shady Crabulonian said in a Russian accent, instantly inquisitive and demanding.

[Urgench]

Zumrud smiled her warmest smile (which to non-Urgenchis would seem distinctly lacking in warmth) at the Ardchoillean woman standing at the mirror, presuming that her question had been aimed at her she said "Not long Witch-hordeswoman," using the English translation of the Old Mongol name for Ardchoilleans, "Not long. I am here on holiday, at the invitation of an uncle of mine who is staying in this strange country." Zumrud had exhibited no sign of surprise at meeting Feline in these circumstances, but she felt it was remarkable enough, and so she scrutinised the woman carefully. The faces of non-Urgenchis were always so expressive, in line with the greater volume of their voices it seemed, but this made it harder for Urgenchis to read them not easier. Zumrud could smell the very distinctive smell of disease, serious disease, surrounding Feline, (one of the pharmaceuticals Zumrud used, Anthrobion, radically enhanced her olfactory abilities), "My name is Zumrud of Gargachin, what brings you to this country? I hope you will forgive me for saying so but you look very well considering your condition, do you use sorcery or have your people access to some species of Dew drug?". Zumrud's newly replaced transdermal patch released a cloud of Oud, Bulgar Rose, and Shizu Mint perfume and her skin began to glow and shimmer more than usual, and her pupils dilated as a dose of fresh Dew drugs and other pharmaceuticals began to flow into her body.


_ _ _ _


Meanwhile only a matter of meters away Nazvardar was making his own small talk with an unexpected foreigner. "Hail to you Goturoc North-Hordesman" He said eyeing the Aundotutunagirian suspiciously, he had used the polite form of address for an Aundotutunagirian and not one of the more common Urgenchi epithets for a people known as "The Curse of the North" in CSKU, "No indeed I am not here for pleasure I am afraid, such is not my lot. I am here in the service of Zumrud of Gargachin, who is vacationing here at the invitation of an intrepid uncle who's taste for the exotic has brought him to this barbaric land."

His hands clasped inside his robes Nazvardar felt discreetly for his weapon, a broad dagger made from weapons grade ceramic designed for use in environments of high security where a metal blade would be discovered by scans. This Aundotutunagirian had a wolfish glint in his eyes and Urgenchis were always naturally suspicious of their northern cousins.

"I do not notice the heat so much," Nazvardar said,"What brings you here? Business or pleasure?" he asked. The presence of this Aundotutunagirian in a place of assignation asigned by the Security Secretariat could not bode well, and it seemed either a deeply unfortunate coincidence or sign of the evolving shape of the mission Nazvardar's mistress had been sent on. That the missing noble Zumrud had been sent to find, the Khan of Zumayadkent (a city in the Arctic provinces), had connections among Goturoc's ethnic brothers and sisters in the Aundotutunagirian diaspora in the CSKU, and that there were suggestions that these connections were of a highly sensitive nature tended to indicate that this meeting was no accident. Nazvardar remained alert and ready for anything Goturoc may say or do.

[Ardchoille]

"Oh, it's entirely natural," Feline laughed. "I expect I'd make a beautiful corpse, but sadly my body will turn to dust the minute I leave it. Tidy, but not emotionally satisfying. Still, I'm not planning to do it just yet," she added. "I want to catch up with someone first -- a young Lodge brother. See?" she added, dragging a pendant from the collection around her neck and holding it up to the Urgenchi as if it explained everything. The jewelled eye of a silver owl caught the light, glinting red.

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry -- Feline Thibaudet, a votre service," the witch said, like a child reproved for lack of manners. She continued to hold forth the owl pendant, accompanying it with a blatantly hermeneutical gesture, but did not seem disappointed at her hearer's lack of response. "No, I didn't think so," she said consideringly, still watching the owl. It began to spin, then arced out on the chain in a circle, deosil. "Absolutely!" Feline agreed, then turned to Zumrud. "We're apparently going to be such girly chums!" she told the dignitary cheerfully. "Or so Minerva tells me, anyway. Can't say I've ever tried it, myself, but since we're going to be hunting men, I suppose it's appropriate."

Turning the basin taps on full, she dipped her right hand in the running water and drew a symbol between the two women, muttering an apparent invocation about "sisters" and "change and flow". But a careful listener would have heard the gabble turn into an oddly specific chant: "Isis, Astarte, Diana ... Rhuri Macleay, 27, fair, tall, slim build, last heard from a month ago; aaaaand Theophilus Antipater, 91, stocky, short, golden eyes, October last year; liiiikewiiiise Molly Boyd, 43, average build, short brown hair, eighteen months ... Hecate, Demeter, Ka-li, Inannaaaa ... an' it harm none do what ye will and oooohhhhh blesssss-ed beeeee ..."

Satisfied, she turned the taps off decisively, sprinkled a circle around the pair of them with the remaining water, and smiled, "So mote it be!" with the air of one who'd said all that needed to be said.

[A mean old man]

The pack waited at the elaborate security station near the only exit to the airbase. The station was massive compared to the other stations at the terminals, containing cubicles for a mandatory strip-search and ultrasound, over a dozen baggage X-ray machines that scanned the baggage from all angles, plenty of metal detectors, and numerous types of fume detectors (some of which would be set off by perfumes and normal body odors and that the security staff would simply have to ignore).

The pack was made up of twenty WCL police officers, trained from birth in all the most brutal forms of combat possibly imaginable. Those that have witnessed the horrendous wrath of the packs and have survived it have reported horrific and amazing incidents. Supposedly the packs have been known to shoot their enemies’ limbs off with their oversized firearms and proceed to bludgeon their dismembered enemies to death with the severed limbs. Most of the pack members (or “packsters”) wielded firearms larger than their actual arms (their actual arms being quite large, considering most of the pack members were over six and a half feet tall), and had an array of particularly cruel-looking sidearms dangling from their belts.


A packster sniffed the air carefully. He caught a whiff of several unusual smells, including dew drugs, cat fur, a rather boring brown case, the blood of an Aundotutunagirianman, and something which he named on his own and thought to be quite clever, “eau de eunuch.” He would be remembering these unique smells until they passed by him at the security station and exited the building. It is possible that the scents might not pass by him, however, should the wielders of the interesting odors board a flight to another district or nation…

The pack member then observed his surroundings meticulously, as he was trained to do so once every thirty seconds. He observed his fellow packsters, some of whom were also doing their half-minute look-around, some of whom were idly spinning their vicious-looking gaff hooks about. “They shouldn’t be doing that,” he thought. They had been taught not to fiddle with things and to always stand still and ready for unwelcome surprises. He pulled his eyes away from his slightly distracted colleagues and did a visual sweep of the ceiling. “There are certainly plenty of cameras up there.” He noticed a long, wide ventilation duct that spanned the length of the ceiling. This worried him. What if there were people inside of it? He wanted to shoot it and find out, but he knew he was not allowed to. He screwed up his eyebrows in frustration. “I want to shoot it! No, you can’t shoot it. But I want to! That is unfortunate, P727. You cannot shoot it.” Suddenly the pack member realized that he was arguing with himself inside of his head and growled. The rest of the pack looked his way for a moment and then returned to what they had been doing beforehand. It was not uncommon for pack members to growl, even if the growl was seemingly unprovoked.

Little did the packster know, but this ventilation pipe reached the outside of the building, and there was, in fact, a way to break into the building’s ventilation system from within a certain pair of restrooms within the airbase…

[Crabulonia]

"As I said, what the fuck is going on here?" The Shady Man's accent becoming even more pronounced when he said 'fuck', "Answer quickly, I have no time. Are you my contacts?"

The Shady Man opened his case. He looked at some intel papers, drawn with crayon by some suits in marketting.

"Fucking shit-eating suit wearing bastards!" he yelled, "The fucking morons! Who are you? Nobody told me at all."

[Aundotutunagir]

.

[Crabulonia]

The Shady Man took out a packet of cigarettes and struck a match.

As he inhaled he said, "These people might not like smoking in toilets. I don't give a fuck it makes no difference. Do you have a codename or any info you could tell me to verify you are not a double agent? If you are a double agent speak now, and prepare to meet your making."

The Shady Man walked over to the hatch to take a look at what he was facing with his new potential ally. He was still wary of what may happen to him, he did not like now knowing his mission and it seemed like it had inextricably changed.

"So, my friend," he said the word 'friend' tentatively, "We climb out, find a vehicle, approach the resort and enter disguise?"

[Urgench]

Horrified to suddenly find himself in the company of both an Aundotutunagirian and someone evidently of Russian extraction Nazvardar's eyes narrowed, he ignored Goturoc's command and said "I know nothing of 'agents', double or otherwise, Muscovite. I suspect you and your escapologist friend here are not in full competence of your faculties. This is an airport not a detention facility. If you wish to leave by means of ducts and tunnels like rats then do so, and may providence confound whatever criminality you are both involved in. I will not expose my mistress to such antics."

The eunuch turned and walked out of the toilet to find his mistress in conversation with a rather casual looking foreigner, evidently a tourist, but perhaps appearances were deceptive he thought. He waited in silence to be recognised by his mistress with his eyes focused on the ground.

"Ah Nazvardar!" Zumrud said, and then in the arcane dialect of Old Mongol spoken by the nobility of Urgench, "What did you find within? You were kept occupied long enough."

Nazvardar replied (also in Old Mongol) "This place is running with vermin and criminals, Northhordesmen and Muscovites were there, Madame, as perfect examples of their races they are involved in some scheme which has them motivated to escape the building via the air conditioning. I suggest we leave this place as soon as possible and avoid association with these types. Security is tight here, and the Amomians look disinclined to overlook anything nefarious."

"Indeed" Zumrud said, "Go and find a security representative and inform them of what you have seen Nazvardar, I think this Witchhordeswoman will be a useful contact here, I will see if she wishes to accompany us to our destination, I will meet you at the security checks."

Zumrud apologised to Feline and said "My servant has gone to find another of my staff. I wonder if you would care to join me, I am on my way to a holiday resort, perhaps the same one as you? We can travel together if you wish?"

Nazvardar went to find a security staff member, inside his robe he twisted the handle of his ceramic blade making it break into pieces which he dropped into his pocket, pieces which on inspection would look like nothing more sinister than puzzle pieces, which without knowing what they really were would only reassemble to form a decorative plaque in the shape of a Niponnese fan with some motto in Chagatai Persian script written upon it.

He found a rather ugly airport staff member, if they were security staff they wore no uniform or sign of it but Nazvardar knew he had little time, and so he informed the Amomian of what he had seen taking place within the toilet.

[Ardchoille]

Feline was sure her face had revealed nothing, but she pulled back from her sisterly embrace with the Urgenchi with considerable surprise. No familiar touch of mind-shield to shield, no aura blending, nothing! The Urgenchi seemed to be a non-telepath!

It wasn't that Feline had anything against non-telepaths; it was a one-in-10 chance in every Ardchoillean birth, and the split that the genetic quirk created made her country's politics a minefield for the foreigner (or the locals, come to that). But if she wasn't telepathic, how had this woman known about her disease?

Well, Bast wanted her to be just an ordinary tourist, and an ordinary tourist would surely ask. Besides, the Urgenchi seemed friendly enough. If it was a violation of some custom to ask personal questions, she'd just have to violate custom (and miss out on a ride, and slog through the mosquito-infested scrub that was all there seemed to be to this damn place so far, she added to herself.)

"Thanks, I'd love a lift, I can't stand trudging around in this heat," she said aloud. "Tell me," she continued, "how did you know I'm dying? I know I don't look all that decrepit yet -- what gave me away?"

[A mean old man]

The unpleasant-looking airport staff member, who had been picking his nose while the Urgenchi eunuch had reported the incident, suddenly stopped moving. His eyes widened.

He would have to do something that he hated doing with a passion. He clenched his teeth and brought his fist down on the large red button on the counter beside him.

Suddenly, the pack at the security station snapped into action. They speedily made their way over to the Urgenchi and the staff member, the latter of which was shivering slightly. The biggest packster, approximately eight feet in height and who appeared to be the leader of the pack, stepped forward and glared down at the staff member with large, unblinking eyes. He had a horizontal scar across his face.

The staff member quickly explained the problem and jumped back as the pack leader swung his brutal-looking gaff hook off of his back, barked something to the rest of the group, and began trotting towards the restrooms. Most of the other packsters followed him, hooks in hand, eyes wide and unblinking. They were ready to hook themselves some Aundotutunagirian and Crabulonian troublemakers.

Five packsters remained and surrounded the Urgenchi. They would need to search him for weapons and wait until the others came back before leaving him alone.

[Crabulonia]

The Shady Man was suddenly animated.

'Let's fucking go, my unsure ally.' he said with speed as the Urgenchi went to tell on them.

He saw a ladder leading down to the pavement below in what appeared to be a loading dock of some sort. The loading dock appeared to be outside the building, with quick access to a parking lot and a road leading away from the airbase.

Eyes darting left and right, he saw what he needed to. There was a forklift truck, several feet away that could easily provide the escape the needed. He had taken part in a programme, which gave him a specialisation in forklift driving. He could power it away at speed, his uncertain ally clinging onto the back for dear life. Perhaps brandishing some weapon or other which may allow him to take out any potential aggressors.

'Get on the back' he whispered loudly and aggressively as he jumped into the street and desperately hotwired the vehicle. It took him exactly 14 seconds, he had been practising his forklife mechanics.

[Aundotutunagir]

.

[Crabulonia]

'Good thinking adversary,' The Shady Man did not have the greatest grasp of English, he occasionally made a malapropism or two. There was no time for petty banter, he leaned forward on the forklift to provide greater downforce, 'Climb on the roof, we need more downforce! More downforce!'

The forklifts top speed had been reached, there was one thing for it - weight reduction. He ripped plastic off of the sides of the forklift, completely removed the front, ripped off the backrest of his seat. This would have shaved a maximum of 7500mg, increasing the top speed, with the added downforce to a maximum of 17 mph. They were going to make it! They were going to make it! The Shady Man wiped his forehead clean of sweat, ever millilitre counted in this manouvre. He kicked off his shoes, ripped his shirt off, cut his own socks into ribbon, all saving a maximum of 1000 centigrams. There still was not enough force.

'Take off your clothes!' he shouted back at his comrade by default, 'It's the only way!'

The gust of wind nearly blew off the Shady Man's hat but he held tight. He would not lose his primary asset.

'We will make it my friend!' growled the Shady Man, 'Pray to whatever god you choose!'

Small Trivial Rhyme

So Shady Man and Goturoç must hide
Else get beaten by mean old man's dark spy
The must drive faster, must not slip but slide
Onto the lorry or else they shall die
Traitorous Urgenchi hide thy dark shame
You will lose A mean old man's darkest game
Your eunuch by Shady Man's hands
He will rip out his fucking prostate glands

OOC: Wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

[Urgench]

Feeling the need to be on her way and not being particularly concerned about the absence of Nazvardar, he was only a servant after all and one of many, Zumrud asked her new friend to join her to make their way through the security checks and having been checked by the fairly surly and extremely barbaric security staff who seemed by turns confused and astonished by the magnitude and costliness of the contents of the numerous trunks she had brought with her but having found no weapons (or at least nothing which would appear as such to anyone but an Urgenchi) and seemingly no contraband (rather curiously), she and Feline were directed to where a very comfortable town car awaited them. All but Zumrud's personal women servants would travel in another car as would her copious luggage. A distant screech of tyres and the roar of a tortured forklift engine were the only unheeded clue as to the current fate of the Aundotutunagirian and his Shady companion.

Inside the town car the AC kicked in as it pulled away from the airport and Zumrud decided to finally answer Feline's question, "You need not worry you know, to most your condition will be entirely invisible, it is merely that certain of the pharmaceuticals I have habitually used since childhood have enhanced and developed my senses, in this case my olfactory sense, and this has given me an a ability, among others, to smell the physical health of those around me. You may be aware that canines have been found to be able to discern the presence of cancerous cells in the effluvia of humans, well though it pains me to make the comparison, the effect of my pharmaceutical regime has given me a similar talent." As though prompted by their mention Zumrud turned to her maid servant and said "Lishaan, I will take my Myropion now" the maid produced a small golden box containing powdered pearls mixed with the drug, she applied it to her mistress' skin combining a touch up of Zumrud's makeup with a top up of her buzz.

"How rude of me! Lady Feline would you care to partake of some? It is a mild deliriant and euphoric, these barbaric climes will be somewhat less harsh with the benefit of Myropion?" Zumrud said.


Meanwhile back in the less salubrious surroundings of the airport Nazvardar was frantically trying to remember which one of his teeth had been fitted with a tiny capsule of Phoereon, a drug which once ingested would put him in a temporary coma. His tongue counted his teeth, and beginning to panic at the attentions of the strange and barbarous foreigners all around him he bit down hard on what he hoped was the right tooth. A sickening crunching noise indicated that he had indeed shattered a tooth, and the acrid stinging taste of Phoereon indicated that indeed he had found the right one.

Nazvardar collapsed seconds latter, seizing and writhing. He would be totally unconscious now for as long as the drug remained active in his system. Which might not prove long enough to preempt whatever fate now awaited the eunuch.

[A mean old man]

Startled by the sudden fall and quick, jerky movements of the seizing eunuch, one of the Packsters surrounding him froze in place, his eyes twitching. He seemed to be remembering something.

---

A dummy with a rifle strapped to its arms fell down to the floor. The rifle fired.

The toddler watched. The cartridge fired from the rifle was empty, but the child flinched and saw where the sound was coming from. An electrical pulse to surged through the toddler's bulging neck muscles. A strident alarm blared through the room, and the lights flashed red. The straps attached to a harness on the boy's torso suddenly became loose, and he fell forward onto the ground. He wailed and beat the floor. The pulse slowly died down into nothing as the child punched the spongy surface of the chamber floor. The sound of the alarm died away. The toddler breathed heavily as it stood up, furrowed its eyebrows, and bared its small teeth at the dummy.

The dummy dropped down to the floor again and fired.

The child screamed once more as the electric pulse and the sound and the light tortured him, and when the straps released him, he ran towards the dummy, beating it about the head and shoulders. As soon as the blows hit the dummy's head, the shock stopped, the room grew silent, and the lights suddenly stopped flashing red. The boy continued to beat the dummy until the straps slowly dragged him back towards the opposite wall. He waited. His anger was palpable, and cold sweat dripped down his face.

The dummy dropped.

The straps suddenly let go. The child bolted forward as fast as he could and, with all of his strength, brought a crushing blow down on the dummy's head. The rifle did not fire. The shock did not come. The light did not change color. The room was quiet.

The toddler stared down at the dummy thoughtfully for a moment. He then kicked its head. After another ten seconds or so, the straps slowly began dragging him back to the wall, and a man dressed in a black uniform and wearing a black, featureless mask with no visible eyeholes entered the room through a metal door on the child's right. The child stared at him. The man held out a metal cup of water for the child to drink. The child drank. The man took the cup and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

The lights flashed red once. The child jerked its head back towards the dummy once more, startled, but it had not dropped to the floor yet. Seeing his opportunity, the child prepared to run.

The dummy dropped.

The child made an attempt to run towards his inanimate foe, but the straps held him back. He panicked. He jumped, kicked, and swung his fists, but the straps would not allow him to move forward towards the dummy. He screamed at the ceiling.

The dummy fired.

---

The Packster watched the eunuch drop with his arms flailing and drool flying from his open mouth. Instinctively, the soldier jumped forward, his eyes watching the eunuch's head carefully. One of the militant's colleagues, recognizing the harmlessness of the situation and understanding the intent of the attacker, barked at him and tried to put his hand in front of him to stop him from barreling towards the Urgenchi. The attacking Packster was the largest in the group and the other's arm flew aside when the attacker's torso came crashing into it.

The Packster's hands, both clenched into a pair of massive, meaty fists, came crashing down on the poor eunuch's unprotected head as he lay on the floor of the station.

---

The Packsters outside watched the forklift as it sped away. They stopped firing their weapons at it. Slowly and deliberately, one of them came forward and slid the pieces of an enormous rifle from a case held out to him by a colleague. This particular Packster was taller and thinner than the others, and had slightly larger eyes and a more profound nose. He silently assembled the weapon, loaded it, cocked it, and lowered himself till he stood on one knee. He attached a sight to the top of the weapon and held it still in his arms, with his right eye peering through the weapon's optics and out at the forklift.

The shot echoed through the parking lot. The man on the back of the forklift exploded into three large pieces. His right arm and head, attached to each another by his shoulder and some of his ribs, spun around in the air slowly before hitting the ground and rolling over four times. His left arm and some of his torso whirled about, hurling pieces of his organs and shards of bone into the air around them. The rest of his body (what little bit of his torso remained, and his two legs), fell backwards off of the forklift and onto the pavement, where they gushed blood and slowly snaked his intestines onto the ground. The shady man was showered with blood and with bits of the Aundotutunagirian's guts.

The sniper ejected the used cartridge and allowed his weapon to cool off. He carefully inserted another shell into the rifle's stock and cocked the gun. He raised the optics to his right eye and held the weapon almost perfectly steady.

The second shot rocked the Packsters' eardrums.

The Shady Man's head disappeared from his body. His brains were scattered across the forklift's steering wheel and dashboard. Bits of his skull flew out behind the vehicle as it sped forward. His lifeless body slumped down onto the wheel in front of him and the vehicle let out a loud, sustained beep as it careened across the empty parking lot. Ten seconds later, the forklift's engine could not take any more strain. The vehicle burst into flame. Its tires left long, black, stinking trails of rubber on the stony ground below. Suddenly, it jerked to the right and flipped over, throwing the headless corpse from it and skidding several yards across the ground, dropping a film of molten yellow paint.

The Packsters stood and watched, emotionless. One of them was on both knees, blood dripping from a bullet wound in his side. Two others helped him to his feet and returned to their black, armored truck. The sniper turned and looked at the mess in the parking lot. A crew would be along shortly to secure the bodies and clean up the wreckage. The sniper had completed his job.

---

A radio message was received in the town car outside of the airport. Connections between the eunuch, the slaughtered men outside in the destroyed forklift, and the two unusual individuals within the car had been confirmed. The soldier in the passenger seat of the car was ordered to do what he did best - shoot first and not ask questions later.

He glanced in the side-view mirror and observed the feline in the back. Then he looked up in the rear-view mirror and looked at the Urgenchi. They seemed harmless enough to him. In fact, they were actually quite nice-looking. A sudden feeling of remorse hit the soldier as he observed the beautiful Urgenchi, and he slowly began to inspect her breasts. He abruptly stopped himself and shook his head about vigorously, silently scorning himself for his weakness.

Without warning, the soldier whipped out his pistol, spun around, and quickly put two bullets into the heads of both individuals. The feline shuddered, went limp, and suddenly crumbled into dust. The soldier shouted with surprise, and suddenly realized that it must have been an attempt to remove the evidence of her visit to the country. He burned with anger and shouted at the dust on the seat. The Urgenchi's head fell back over the top of the seat, and her right arm jerked sideways a bit before lying still on the seat next to her in the pile of dust.

The car stopped moving, and the driver and soldier opened their doors and got out. The driver quickly opened the door behind his and stuffed a handkerchief into the hole in the Urgenchi's head to temporarily stop the blood that was falling on his car's interior. The soldier began unloading their belongings.

---

Two weeks later.

This is Subject P375R004 of the administration of The First, primary speaker of the department of Public Relations for the governmental administration of the WCL. Our police force recently halted a terrorist attack in one of our airports which we will not be naming. The terrorists were apprehended via lethal force. The nations responsible for this attack, which we will not name, are warned that any future involvement in The WCL's affairs may result in harsh military repercussions, and no act of hostility will be made by The WCL at the current time unless such a move is provoked. The terrorists' belongings nor any information regarding their identities will be returned to the countries they are from.

Subject P375R004 of The WCL.
Over and out.

The radio transmission ends.

[A mean old man]

[OOC: This was not how I would have liked this roleplay to have ended. However, it was a shame that it was not ended, and therefore I have ended it. I ask that none involved post here or in the RP's OOC thread again. Thank you.]