ScriptFrenzy Bios: LisseleAlthough in her late forties, Lissele, the all around serving maid, had not lost the fiery temper that she was known for. Although dressed in the traditionally formal solid black dress and white frilled apron and cap, Lissele has no difficulties in assuring the others of her seniority over them. Although she may disagree with Aturas' orders at time, she knows enough to know when to back down.With great dedication, she has worked herself up to this postion, and now has near complete run of the mansion- answering only to the Master of the house, Arturas, and his son Medhol.
ScriptFrenzy Bios: ButlerThe loyalty of friends, the promise of danger, he knew these things all to well. On the other side, he also knew the phenomena called survivor's guilt at an intimately personal level. That had been the main reason for his change of career- from the agent to the butler. There were, of course, other factors as well. The lack of a working voice, for one thing, and the various other impediments to his health would have severely restricted his uses, and it was far too early to settle for a desk job.Even if he had been able to speak, Butler suspected that he would not, for a simple reason. There was a certain advantage to being able to take others by surprise, a talent he had learned in his early days as an agent. Butler silently laughed at himself. So much had changed since then, and life was certainly far better the way it was now. The simple role as a servant-and bodyguard-at times suited him just fine; and, if he could get by with scaring a few people, all the better.
Re: Contact in Russia 7 Chapter 7"You are a fool to think that any of our people would even agree to such a thing," Rebecca said, her voice taut with suppressed pain.Samuel cast a worried glance at her, and then added, "Try as you wish, Brian, but you will get nowhere."Brian laughed condescendingly, and pulled a small recording device from his case and turned it on to the play-back mode. He watched with a smirk as the two listened in dismay to the recording of his earlier phone conversation."Greeth? This is Brian; you might remember me as R." The bitterness in the tone was clear, "However, that's beside the point. To put it clearly, if you want Agents Rebecca and Samuel alive, you'll meet me- alone and unarmed- four hours from now, in the back parking lot of the bakery that just closed down last week. Try any tricks or show up with the wrong information, and they're dead."A long pause followed before Greeth's voice could be heard. "I'll be there."Brian's smirk, however, deepened while he watched
Re: Contact in Russia ProloguePrologueA trainee- not even a qualified staff member yet- was supposed to handle documents and paperwork; certainly not bomb threats. Paul fumbled with the printout as the silent machine spat it out."Classification?" Rebecca asked. Her tone hinted at boredom as she fiddled with a twenty five paneled Rubix cube."B20," Paul said.Rebecca perked up at that as she tossed the cube onto the 'IN' tray at the corner of her desk. "I'll take it. Let me guess- a bomb scare at the elementary school?"Jay snorted from his cubicle as Paul handed her the sheet."Right in one, again," Rebecca said, shutting down her connection to the networks. "Everything looks fine- the police said that some kid had something suspicious in his lunch box again, but that they didn't recognize one of the pieces. They wanted someone to check up on it, just to be safe. I'll check in with Greeth and I'll be back within an hour, you'll see, Jay."As she left, grabbing a small metal box
Re: Contact in Russia 6Chapter 6"Greeth," C2's team leader A'Rol said curtly in his preoccupation. "Jay's got a trace on them, he's just a few minutes away from pinpointing their location," A'Rol added while Greeth scanned the screens in front of A'Rol."Good, good." Greeth muttered.A'Rol pressed a finger to the earpiece of his headset. A moment later, he turned back to face Greeth. "You should talk to Beth," he said. "She's got a read on their vital signs and things are haywire."Greeth nodded shortly and stepped to the main office space where the various team members had their cubicles. Even at the first glance of the specially designed and lengthened flat-screens, Greeth knew something was amiss. "What on earth-?" he breathed.Beth barely paused in her furious typing, "One moment, sir." When she paused, she pressed a small key on the edge of the adapted keyboard, and then spun her chair around to face him. "I don't suppose A'Rol said anything?""No, only that things have been out of control.""Th
NewsboyNewsboyThe air on the wharf smelled of pungent salt, dead fish, and fresh baked bread. For the majority of the year, the sky was overcast, hanging with the heavy weight of the oppressive grey clouds. The waves pounded against shore, against the docks with an irrepressible vengeance. Oblivious to it all, the merchants cried their wares day after day, the fishers fought the currents for the fish that would put food on the tables back at home, and the children ran screaming and fighting through the streets, dodging the streetcars as they went. The endless routines continued; nothing new, nothing old ever causing a stir within the small wharf. With the passing of time, the colors had all leeched from the buildings, casting all in a hue of grey that was only slightly lighter then the crashing waves and darker then the bleeding sky.In all of the grey, one thing and one thing alone stood out. The grown newsboy that cried his father's wares to the market place saw things di
The World's TearsA World's TearThe oceans are full of them, you know. The tears we cry, the tears we hide. The oceans themselves are just one fat tear; the world's tear. With only a tear, it weeps; weeps for the thing we have lost, forgotten through time. The lives of those who lived in the background, their life's work thought unimportant as they created a backdrop for those whose did. The world weeps for them, remembering when no one else would. There are those things that we shuttled aside, quickly lost in the mires of dreams unachieved. The creations of the mind and heart that were once considered art and now are not. The world weeps, giant fat tears, filling the oceans to their brims. When we have weighed the cost of hours and the cost of supplies against the correct standards of the day, and found the piece to be lacking, the art is considered art no more, and lost. The world weeps. The energy of such fervor to create this work, to take something intangible
Re: Contact in Russia 5Chapter 5"You will talk to me, Rebecca!" Brian growled, losing patience an hour later.Her head spun, and her vision blurred completely. Rebecca chewed her lip, holding back the words that Brian wanted to hear. "Rebecca. C1," she muttered her voice rough after a nearly endless repetition of the phrase."Z! Tell me about Z!""Rebecca. C1.""Who works in the abandoned fabric factory?""Rebecca. C1." Her voice was barely audible, and her body had gone limp."Rebecca! Look at me!"When she did not reply for a long moment, Brian forced her head up to reveal that she was only partially conscious.Brian let her head drop with disappointed sigh. "It's a pity anymore serum would outright kill you," he said while hastily detaching the drip line. "Six! Get in here and bring her back to the cell. I'll deal with the pair of them later"The guard entered immediately and undid the restraints before carrying Rebecca back to the other room.Samuel had awoken some time earlier and men