A Type of Management

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lightning, Aug 24, 2013.

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  1. [​IMG]

    She could still remember the first time she looked through these windows.

    It was during the first day of her coronation. Dressed in the best of silks and the finest jewellery that made the humble envy, and the indifferent -- jealous. But should she be dressed in rags instead, the reaction would be unchanged. For the blood that ran in her veins, the house she lived in, and the strip of metal embroidered with the finest stones and diamonds tucked in her hair -- made Margaret the most priceless thing in the world.

    Her eyes lingered out of this very window, where her bright orbs gazed at two identical black Rolls-Royce vehicles pulled over at the courtyard below. Four men, she recalled, all dressed in tailored black suits and shiny leather shoes. They all almost looked alike, but one man stood out from the three. He stopped in his tracks momentarily after leaving the vehicle, his fingers curled at the dome of his hat -- dettaching it, revealing a collection of blonde hair that was as golden as the morning sun, arranged and combed in a fashion.

    His head jolted up seconds after, his clear blue eyes clashed against her own. All this time he knew she was watching him, and as a spectator who was smeared by her own curiosities -- Margaret was taken aback at this revelation. She wanted to back off the window, run away -- hide in the shame of her own embarassment. But she could not. She was a Queen, and Queen were always poised. The man kept staring at her although, now with a smile on his handsome face. Margaret fondly remembered the warmth it radiated, the charm and the glamour of his whole entirety.

    Little did she know that at that moment, she had just met the love of her life. Her husband, her king, the father of her sons, and the man she missed the most.

    But today, in the present day, at this very window and through the lenses of her thinly-framed glasses, she eyed a black Mercedes parked in the very spot she saw her late husband for the first time. However, no one came out from this vehicle -- no one was in it. It's owner was on it's way to see her, and it did not take long till a knock on the door was heard.

    "Come in." Margaret said croakily, the youth in her voice faded in the decades that passed. The door opened to reveal a petite young brunette of a woman, dressed in the uniform of the Royal Servants. As it was difficult to courtesy in themedium length skirt that latched onto her legs, the servant bowed instead,

    "Jerome Clark is here, Your Highness." She responded in her silky voice, pronouncing her label as if she was still the Queen.

    "Let him in."

    As the girl left, she was replaced with a man of a greater height -- dressed in a suit that signified his lean body and broad shoulders. His eyes reminded her of her husband's: clear blue like the sky on a sunny day. But instead of flowing blonde hair, this young man possessed the brown her servant girl had -- cropped in a short cut that also fashioned his face. Like the former, he bowed a courtesy, standing tall like a soldier of the army.


    "Your Majesty." Jerome said quietly, keeping his eyes lowered as she surveyed him with her analytical way of observation. He found this meeting to be a strange summon, but an order is an order, and Lady Margaret is of the royals.

    "Mr. Clark." The old woman retorted sharply. She was never gentle on first meetings, she had troubles on such occasions. Her dead lover was the more welcoming type. "Young man I am not your Queen anymore -- but no matter, it has been done. Do you know why you're here?"

    Jerome paused, but there was no point in lying, "No, I don't" was the only answer he could craft. It was truth in all of it's potency -- he didn't know why he was here. What would she want from him, a mere MI5 agent who worked to protect the country in all costs. His service was to the crown, but a summon from his department of services was uncommon.

    "Your superior referred me to you. He said you were one of his best." Margaret replied to his confusion, motioning her frail body towards the nearby table. A cup of her favourite oolong sat on the surface, cradled inside a porcelain cup painted by the finest of artists. "This is a special mission, Mr. Clark."

    A special mission? It dented his suspicions, but all an agent could do was to listen.

    "My granddaughter is not in her... Best behaviour." She continued, sipping her tea in the gap of silence. She lowered her cup back to its coaster and folded her fingers together, "And unfortunately, so is her father -- my eldest son, your current King."

    Jerome remained silent.

    "Do you know why I gave up my seat years ago, Mr. Clark?" Margaret inquired rhetorically, her hands clutching the warm porcelain as her voice slowly faltered. Her eyes met his again, now staring intently and sincerely, "I'm on the verge of dying a slow death. I am sick to the bone! Before I die earlier, I surrendered my reign to my son. I want to make use of myself in some other way, and it seems like the shame was worth the time."

    The man decided it was time to speak up. He was still puzzled about what she wanted of him, but he remained calm. Margaret was an old woman now after all, and people of her age were often fond of reflecting about their life. "What do you want of me, Your Highness?"

    "My granddaughter will be almost of age to take the crown, but as I said earlier, she is out of control. I tried everything: house arrest, royal guards, and all forms of disciplinary action. She is too fleeting, she is in no shape to put that crown on her head. My son never favoured her, as soon as that wife of his bore him a son -- he couldn't take his eyes of that child. My little girl was neglected for as long as I can remember. He knows and I know that it's almost time for her to take that crown and put it on her head, but my son... My son is not very delighted."

    The government wasn't blind to the affairs of the Crown, they know. They know about everything. They watch and observe the monarchy day by day, amalysing them, recognising them -- all of that in everyday. This news was no surprise, but the intention is, the Intelligence only knows what has been done -- not what is being done. It was limited knowledge.

    "I want you to protect her, Mr. Clark. Before my son shames my bloodline on whatever I know that he plots of, protect her, and make her realise that she is going to be a queen."
  2. Kieara was sitting in her room awaiting to meet her accompanyment. Her grandmother told her she was hiring one. She was the princess that was to be over this kingdom one day. Until a bit ago. Now she was the princess that was to be watched and prodded until the day she died to save this kingdom's butt should it fall into trouble. Hardly a reason she saw fit enough to be watched so closely. She understood saving her people, but this was all out of spite she assumed. She wasn't allowed to do anything fun. She was expected to be arranged to be married soon. Did she want an arranged marriage? No, but it was bound to happen anyway.

    She was a gorgeous young woman. She had natural red hair, and bright aquamarine eyes. She was pale, but not unhealthy looking, and had a line of freckles over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose that crinkled in a charmingly adorable manner when she smiled or laughed. She wore a purple gown today, it showed off her curvy petite form, and her well endowed chest.Hanging from her neck was a locket. It had belonged to her late mother. It never came off. She was only about 5'4. However she was small and curvy. A sexy woman, but also a beautiful, and graceful one. Though she wasn't aware of her beauty, she barely payed it any mind. Her step mother was always telling her otherwise.

    Her father was in his throne room awaiting her accompanyment as well. He wanted to see his daughter off on her new journey to her own but his mother was stopping this. Her step mother however was the same story. She couldn't wait to get her out of here, Kieara failed to pick up on that however. She knew the woman bore a special form of hatred for her, but she never suspected it to be so severe. Her step brother was out on a trip somewhere. Not that she was complaining. He was as mean if not worse to her than her step mother was.

    She was growing restless. What if she didn't like the man she was set to marry one day? What if he was mean to her? What if love never came? Or what if this supposed body guard was a pain to be around. Though right now her main thought was on the body guard. Her feelings were as plain as the nose on her face. She was terrified that he'd be mean to her like everyone else.

    She sat on her window sill and looked out over the grounds. She had nothing better to do while she waited to meet her body guard.
  3. "Do you love your country, Mr. Clark?" Margaret called out to his retreating figure, just as he thought he was fully briefed on his new assignment -- another question arises from her lips. After all, she didn't become one of the best figures of British monarchy by letting things go lightly.

    Jerome stopped in his tracks, turning to face the old woman again, locking eyes in his own form of sincerity, "I do."

    "Then you will know what to do."

    It wasn't too long till after Jerome was granted dispatch by his superior to accommodate to the Queen's wishes. However, as simple as it sounded, it was top secret like every other high-rank mission. As much as he was delighted to have the honour of doing something for the old queen, he also felt iffy. He was a field agent, he worked in the shadows and he belonged in them.

    Tailing around a girl was not exactly discreet in any angle, however, the undercover label of him being a part of the royal staff was enough to make him feel a bit of that comfort zone.

    He drove his shiny black Mercedes into the courtyard as the slim metal gates opened in approval, driving across the stony terrain and parking himself in the exact same spot he did yesterday. As soon as he pulled into a park, his phone began to buzz a simple tone. It was a call, an amusing one at that -- it was like as if it waited for him to pullover before calling.

    "Clark." Jerome announced in greeting as he placed his phone beside his ear, leaning back against his seat.

    "You seem to have added an extra polish on that car, Jerome. " A low sultry female voice spoke through the mild static, with a giggle softly rubbing against her throat.

    "Moira, if you dare shoot a hole on my wind shield I will come after you." He retorted, a small smile crept upon his face as his eyes darted on the rooftops, looking for the troublemaker on the loose.

    "Buy me a drink and we'll talk."

    Jerome sighed at the offer, shaking his head as he fell to a silent pause. "You know I can't, Moira."

    "Come play with me again Jerome, your place is here with us -- the team, and you know that. MI6 is your home. You were meant for international affairs, not a princess' watch dog."

    "Look, I have to go." He hesitated, pulling out his key from the slot before opening the door to exit out of the car. He looked up to the rooftops again, hoping to see her -- but like every field agent, she lingered like a shadow.

    " Fuck you Jerome." She hung up.

    Jerome closed his eyes as he pocketed his phone, inhaling deeply as he conquered his mind for inner peace. His retirement from MI6 left bitter resentment from his old friends, and it haunted him often.

    He opened his eyes only to find a butler standing in front of him, stern and snobby as he expected him to be, "Good morning Mr. Clark, we have been waiting for you."
  4. She saw him out the window. Much as her grandmother had saw her husband years ago. He was handsome and attractive. She just worried if he would be nice. Would he be kind to her and treat her normally?

    Normal. That was all she wanted. To be loved. To not have her family hate her. To have a friend. She felt so isolated and alone. That's why the young 23 year old acted out as she did. They didn't care about her so why would they care?

    Her "acting out" often consisted of leaving the castle grounds unannounced or not showing up to important family gatherings. She respected her grandmother enough that if she asked she'd show up. But her grandmother was the only one that seemed to care anymore.

    The red head smiled. Perhaps she'd looked at it wrong the day before. Perhaps he could be a friend to her. Someone she could hang out with so she wouldn't feel so alone anymore. She turned and left her room to go greet him.
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  5. Clark followed the butler into the castle interiors, it was his second day visiting the premises and even though now he was 'part of the staff', he was still escorted around the area -- at least for now. It was a brand new day and a brand new morning, but it wasn't the Queen's face he will be seeing today -- but his assignment.

    "I assume you know your way around?" The butler grilled mildly, not bothering to meet his eyes as if he was an abomination to look at.

    "Yes." Jerome replied honestly, rolling his eyes at the other man's attitude. He studied the palace's blueprints overnight, 775 rooms with 40 different trapdoors and passages were not easy to memorise. "Which is why I wonder why I am being escorted."

    They arrived at a pair of white doors with golden knobs that slithered like snakes. It was the entrance to the main hall, if he recalled it correctly. The butler stopped in his tracks and turned his heels to finally face him, though the arrogance was still present.

    "It's a palace courtesy, Mr. Clark." He frowned in reply, burying a white gloved hand into his blazer -- pulling out a small bronze pin that bore the royal crest. "Now if you can stop being witty with me and put this on. You are staff now. We will be meeting the princess shortly."

    The butler turned his back away from him once again, now with his two white gloved hands, he jerked the doors open.
  6. Kieara had already made her way down. Today she wore an emerald dress. It seemed to set off her pale skin fiery hair and bright blue fluorescent eyes. It was V cut showing her curves as well. It was short sleeved running to her knees and she wore a pair of matching flats with it. Around her neck was her signature locket. Her hair was pulled back into a braid. not the normal fancy hair styles for a princess. She rarely wanted to fool with it. She hated being primped.

    "Good evening." She greeted with a happy smile. She rarely felt like she was royalty. She wasn't treated as such. And it often made her awkward in instances where she was supposed to act as such. So being who she was and trying to show him respect, she bowed to him slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She told him.

    She thought he looked even more handsome in person. She didn't know how much he truly was dreading watching over her, nor that her father was so displeased about it. Her father and step mother had yet to make their way down and probably wouldn't for some time. They were dreading it, but Kieara was excited hoping that perhaps he would be a friend to help keep her sane.
  7. She was... Simpler than he thought.

    Jerome made certain that this thought would not escape his face. Who could blame him anyway? No one. The princess' frequent absences made her avoid the nosy spotlight quite successfully, and she didn't look anywhere near her photo in her database. Kieara was beautiful no doubt, very beautiful. But he expected her to be more painted like the way the current Queen was, but then again, like Lady Margaret said: she was different.

    "Princess." He took a step closer, angling a bow towards her way before straightening once more. As he looked at her again, he realise how he towered above her by 4 more inches. Petite to his eyes, but much taller than her grandmother no doubt.

    Jerome analysed her subtly, what is it of this girl that her grandmother didn't find to be exceeding her expectations? 'Not in her best behaviour' he recalled the old woman say, but he didn't look like a brat to her -- not right now at least. Girls were good at that -- deceiving people -- he must not take this job for granted. After all, he was recommended and he silently hoped that she wouldn't test his temperament.

    The butler took his leave, it was just the two of them now.

    "Jerome Clark, royal bodyguard."
  8. Kieara smiled. "It's very nice to meet you Jerome. So you're the one that grandmother hired?" She asked. "Well, have you been shown around the castle yet, if you haven't seen everything I could give you a tour?" she offered. She was hoping to do something with him to try to get to know him better and such. She wanted to get to know him well, and he her.

    She brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. he was handsome. Very handsome. She couldn't help but look at those eyes. They could engulf her. She tore her gaze away with a soft blush and cleared her throat. "Um.....perhaps we could talk more and get to know each other?" she asked.
  9. "Yes, that is me." Jerome replied quietly, studying the patterns of her behaviour. She seemed a little awkward, not exactly as poised as he expected her to be. He didn't mind too much though, in a way he felt terrible with the way he was subconciously analysing her -- it was a habit. After all, every agent had their own share of trust issues.

    A tour? He certainly didn't mind a tour, despite the fact that he knew every inch of this building, it was handy to know any other security features that the database failed to supply. After all, one can never be too cautious.

    "Certainly." He agreed, glancing at her with a small smile before distracting himself as he loomed his gaze across the room. One camera at the top left corner by window, motion detector attached adjacent, and another camera at the corner of his right. Bugs were not allowed in the palace, conversations were sacred in the palace and cameras were only for surveillance purposes.

    But there was one person he'd like to see the most.

    "Where is your father?"
  10. Kieara frowned as he mentioned her father and was about to answer when the man strode in. He bore a more dulled and greying version of Kieara's red hair and a beard to match. He rose a brow the the man in front of him. "You must be the man my mother hired." He spoke. He drank in the appearance of the man with his eyes. This might pose a problem to his assassination plans.

    Kieara's demeanor instantly changed as he entered. It turned nervous and skittish as if she feared he may hit her. Like it might've even happened before. "Kieara, I wish to speak to him, go somewhere and get out of my hair." He spoke harshly to her.

    She frowned. "Yes...yes father." she sighed and left them be.
  11. If there was someone who seemed more 'misbehaved' in Margaret's description, it wasn't the daughter -- but the father.

    At a glance, Jerome could tell that the king had a way with himself. He knew what power he had, and he had a certain demeanour that subtly tell you that he could slap your face with it. In a way, Jerome found himself impressed his character -- for confident men like him always hid more secrets.

    "And you must be the man she told me about." He shot back with a false smile. He dismissed the king from his sight momentarily, following Kieara's retreating figure on the road to nowhere -- evidently afraid of her predecessor.

    "Jerome Clark." He offered, raising his hand for a shake.
  12. He eyed his hand for a long moment as if he would catch some foul disease from shaking hands with the man, but he gave in and shook his hand. "Quite." he answered him and his hand quickly retreated. "I couldn't help but overhear you wanted to speak with me." He told the man waiting. "What was it you wished to say Mr. Clark?"

    Kieara wandered off down the hall as she had quite often. She made her way to the library. When she was on castle arrest this was the only place that allowed her to escape. She escaped through the covers of a book.
  13. Jerome watched him carefully the whole time, he took notes of his behaviour in his mind. He was vain, but not enough to be terribly suspicious - - unlike how what his mother had accused him to be. But one thing's for sure : he wasn't very friendly.

    "I just wanted to see you, that is all. Isn't the the same reason for you, Your Majesty? I assume you have been hiding a long time behind those walls, you would've come out even if I didn't summon your presence anyway. " He finished his sentence with a topping of a smile, after all - - he didn't want to sound too cross on the first meeting.

    It would give him away.
  14. The king was silent giving him a look speaking for him. It said to watch his tounge. To not get smart with him. Or he would regret it. Much the way his daughter had on many occasions. "I suppose you're right Mr. Clark." He told him. "But honestly I don't think that your services will be needed around here. I think my mother is a tad batty. Why does she think a simple bodyguard can improve the behavior of my daughter?"

    He paced away from the man over to the throne in the room. Climbing the few steps to the seat he sat down with no remorse and crossed his legs one ankle on too of the opposite knee.
  15. This guy.

    Jerome wasn't afraid of him. Should you be a Queen or the God himself, he always trusted his own judgement. Doing the right thing shouldn't have any limitations -- not even authority. Although respecting and following authority is a general courtesy, extreme measures can be taken just in case. The future is always uncertain, and that is the the way to survive.

    "I trust Lady Margaret knows what she's doing." He told the monarch, bowing again as a sign of his voluntary dismissal. The longer he stays in this room, the more tension he forms with him. "Though I can assure you very much that I am very hard to get rid of, good day Your Highness."

    Jerome began to walk towards the route Kiera disappeared into, leaving the king be. He had enough interaction with him for today, and it was also important for him to know what kind of person she's protecting. He was greeted by the hallway, the abundance of doors can be overhwleming to someone who didn't stare at blueprints all night -- but Jerome? He didn't mind. This was where the drawing rooms and the library were. She's probably in one of them, since her room is located in the other wing.

    Drawing room? Clear. Second drawing room? Clear. Library? There she is.

    He found her immersed in a book -- bordered around the dimensions of her own universe. Was she always like this? Buried under the rich intimacy of literature? What was so bad about that kind of behaviour?

  16. Kieara jumped a little. She looked up from her book. She offered him a smile and closed it. She sat it on the table beside the chair she was sitting in. She stood straightening her dress.

    "Hey." She was at a loss for words. She didn't know what to say. She felt exceedingly shy for some reason.
  17. "Hey." Jerome said again, before stepping into the room. His gaze marvelled at the sight and the overwhelming amount of books they had in the palace, there were a lot - - beautiful collections at that.

    These were one of those moments when just knowing the blueprints wasn't all he needed to be satisfied - - because this castle was one of a kind.

    He motioned to her side quietly, reaching for the book she just placed down. Prying it open, he leafed through the pages carefully - - scanning through thick masses of text written out in deep black ink. "What book is this?"
  18. "Paradise lost. It's an old English epic poem." She told him with a soft smile. "I've read it more than once, you could read it if you'd like." She offered to him. There was nothing to her like a good book. That was all she had for escape anymore, so she had to make the best of it.

    "Should we tour you around then?" She asked him giving him a long moment to leaf through the pages. She'd tried to shrug off how her dad had talked to her, even though it bothered her deeply. It was what made her act the way she did, she wished for his approval and love, but instead he saved it all for her step brother.
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  19. Paradise Lost.

    It was an epic poem, but one the Jerome did not read. He had heard of it on the contrary - - quite often than not - - his superior boasted about it countless times, but it wasn't enough to charm him. Old texts rarely appealed to him, it felt foreign and distant.

    "I've never read much of these sorts." Jerome admitted, unashamed of his stance. He wasn't going to kiss up to things for the favour of others, it just wasn't his style of living. He closed the book shortly after his brief analysation, stretching his arm towards her way with the book in hand, "However, I do like the Odyssey."

    The Odyssey was probably the only form of old text he has ever read in his lifetime - - aside from the helpless amounts of Shakespeare forced in his high school years - - it was the only piece he enjoyed reading in his own time and dedication. Greeks had a scandalous lifestyle.

    "Penelope was faithful. That fascinated me - - because people are fleeting creatures." He told her, smiling slightly as he landed the book gently onto her grasps. A firm connection is an important establishment between two people accompanying each other, if there was anything Jerome needed to make sure of - - it was that trust.

    "You still owe me a tour, yes? "
  20. "I agree the odyssey was good." She spoke putting the book back and standing once more. She dusted imaginary diet from her dress and stretched a bit herself.

    As she headed for the door she spoke. "Where would you like to begin? I'm sure they've made you study my home." She told him.
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