- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Online Availability
- Between 7 a.m. and noon EST
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Modern, Grit, Fantasy, Romance
[BCOLOR=transparent]E[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]lliot dropped his arms, latched both hands to his hips and squinted his eyes. Those pressured little azures shone like gems in bright bedrock, glaring forth with an astute anger as-told by the sharp inversions of his skinny, but lengthy, eyebrows. The young man was only one step out of his residence, that two-level cottage that housed not only he but the rest of the recently formed, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Unit A3. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Of the other seven members (himself making it eight), Elliot knew only one well, this being a skittish young fellow by the name of Rowan Nestler. Like Elliot himself, Rowan had been initially adopted into the ranks of Sovereign's Technology and Surveillance division, but the boy proved to be more tinkerer than screen-watcher. He was given turn in the [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Applied Technologies [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]division, which was little more than a vivacious substitute for "The Development and Application of Gadgetry". When Rowan first came to him with word of the impossibilities the techs at Sovereign had conceived in this department, the ever-curious Elliot felt spurned by the decision to send Rowan instead of he. He viewed it as some manner of "promotion", despite knowing truly that Rowan was transferred due only to his ineffectiveness within the surveillance cell. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He remembered the conversation well and kept it locked away, for the itinerary Rowan spoke on enlisted the need for remembrance, for it all sounded so fantastic, so deliciously queer and wondrous. "Everything is fitted with GPS, in the first-off," he remembered Rowan saying in that usually furiously-rushed, overflowing manner; Elliot occasionally surrendered to an urge to retreat several steps, whenever Rowan began speaking, for fear that the very words themselves might leap out in clumps and bludgeon him to death. "Not terribly exciting, 'eh, I know, but that's only the beginning, Elle---But good lord man, everything from a---a---a simple inkpen to a cigarette case: it all transmits, it's really spectacular." But Elliot expressed neither excitement nor care for his friend's mention of micro GPS devices, for not only was this not astounding news, Elliot knew that a reply devoid of emotion would push Rowan to divulge more in hopes of hooking a reaction. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot was rewarded later that evening. After a term with the rest of the surveillance team, Elliot left the room, hooked a left onto one of the many great, lengthy, well-lit and clean white halls of the Den with aims to pop above ground to snag a meal before the second half of his exercises (that particular day their division lead, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Owl, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]was hosting a most rewarding course on obscure traffic patterns and identifying potential enemy vehicles by their driving habits alone). But as soon as Elliot was free in the hall, Rowan was there with a fierce, fiery grin roasting his bony cheeks. "Well?" Elliot had said flatly, his progress stunted. "Going to tell me I'm pretty or something, Rowan? I'll have to tell you, mate, you aren't exactly my type, so you'd better be thick in the wallet."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"I seen the most amazing thing today, Elle," Rowan said. "Bossman takes out a pack of cards, pulls one out at random and---"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Let me guess," interrupted Elliot. "GPS? Can sync the card to your watch so that one might cheat his way to some fantastic intelligence?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Oh, can it, Elle, this is actually quite a thing, listen up. So Bossman places a card on the table, it was just a spade of some kind, then presses his thumb against it for [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]precisely [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]ten seconds. Bossman takes a few steps back, then the fireworks started. See, the cards have heat-activated phosphorus strips under the suit tags, also have some kind of seal that acts as a timer: it's always precisely ten seconds. It's something, Elle."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot bit. Eyes wide and with his thumbnail between his teeth, the lips around coiling into a smile (a smile that was twisting up Rowan's belly), Elliot plotted his advance. Snapping the hand away from his mouth, Elliot shot, "That's it---I need to see those. Snag a pack for me, Rowe, and I'll be in your debt."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Coercing Rowan into the theft of Sovereign property proved as difficult as Elliot expected, and yet he held inexplicable faith in his success. Had Rowan been a boy of more elaborate intellectual graces, Elliot would have plotted, planned and lied his way to victory. But Rowan was, despite being a talented machinist, a young man with a paper resolve and meager common sense. It took nothing more than constant hounding for him to agree. Which brought the young men here, to this day in which both young men (along with the rest of unit A3) had been summoned to council with none-other than General McGinest himself. Elliot was not fond of the timing, but he wouldn't fret himself to wrinkles over it---the General had a reputation of astuteness, but possess x-ray vision he did not (or so Elliot could only logically conclude), meaning he (should) be none-the-wiser in regards to the stolen pack of phosphorous cards in Elliot's britches. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot's glare made Rowan weak. Both young men were dressed-sharp in suits of black, ties of black and polished loafers; while Elliot stood, hands pocketed stoically in his trousers, Rowan, evading Elliot's dissecting glare of blue, was manipulating his tie knot. "You going to fish them out?" Elliot asked coolly. "Or am I going to have to dig through your trousers for them? I'll warn you that I'm comfortable enough in my sexuality to be seen doing as such, so don't think this an empty threat, mate."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Broken down to a rangy bundle of sighs and eye-rolls, Rowan reached into the breech of his suit jacket and retrieved the pack. He tossed it up and Elliot snagged it out of the air with a grin. "I'll never get you, 'eh," said Rowan. "Put both of our tails at risk for some prank. Because that's it, isn't it? You're going to do something dreadful with those for a few laughs, yeah?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot smiled and jerked his head to the right, indicating Cullworth, the estate above The Den that stood watch over Selborne's main street. "C'mon, then," Elliot said. "Going to worry your life away, Rowan. Today we've been bestowed the honor of council with General McGinest; ahh, what fun, yes? I've queried Owl a few times about him---every time I ask, she only smiles in that weird little way and looks away. What do you picture, mm? I see---a fat man in fatigues with enough service pins to fill a hall."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]In-stride with Elliot, Rowan, the taller of the two young men, kept his chin up as they approached the estate. It was morning, the dead-crack-of to be exact, and beside a few other meandering recruits filing towards Cullworth. the Selborne streets were clear. "Never really thought on it," Rowan said. "But yeah---I can see that. The man must've seen his lot to be given jury over a place like this." [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Both men entered the large, rustic doors of the estate and scuttled through it's great, main room. A short trip through a series of thinner halls brought them to a door with a digital pad affixed to the wall beside a metal door that likened an elevator's glide. Elliot pressed his thumb against it and the panel flashed green, but it was not until Rowan followed with the same action that the door did slide open: a security measure: a sensor above the door detected two figures, thusly two imprints were required to open the shaft. Elliot entered first and Rowan followed. The trip was quick as the elevator car descended almost soundlessly to the Den's depths. When the chime sounded, the doors repealed and the Den and all it's clean, blank glory stood before them. Elliot often remarked to Owl, "Would a few paintings really kill the mood? You can even pull it out of my salary if you'd like." [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Owl was standing just beside the entrance to the meeting room where Elliot, Rowan and the rest of A3 had been summoned. She was a tall woman, older than thirty, less than forty, pretty in-face with a small mouth that was always a bit curled on the fringes, always a bit amused, a hooked nose and quiet brown eyes that were usually magnified by square-rimmed spectacles. Elliot (who walked ahead of Rowan) smirked and greeted her with a long, zealous windmill-like wave of his right arm. She did not speak. And when the young men tried to pass by, Owl reached out a hand of bright, pristine flesh and meticulously manicured nails of black, snagged Elliot's necktie and tugged, refusing his entrance. Smiling cleverly, she said, "Mr. Singer---Mr Nestler---a word, mm?" [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot's eyes popped out. "A bit rough, huh? You know if I go in there with my tie all out of sorts they're likely to put a bullet in my head, yeah?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Enough," Owl said, her tone short. "Tell me what they'd do to you were they to know you've got Sovereign property in your trousers, Mr. Singer." [/BCOLOR]
Without a beat, Rowan's jaw dropped and his eyes, burst open, locked on Elliot. But the young man's blue-eyed counterpart did not break. "Sorry, love," Elliot said. "I'm a bit at a loss---what's missing, and what does it have to do with me?"
[BCOLOR=transparent]"What division do you work for?" Asked the amused Owl.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Come aga--"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]The bespectacled woman tugged a bit harder on Elliot's tie, suffocating his quip. "What. Division, Mr. Singer?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Sur---Surveillance and technology?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"And who might your superior be?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"---you."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Am I terrible at my job?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"No. No, of course not."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Then give them back, or so help me I'll sentence you to three years in front of a terminal viewing old, raw, black-and-white security footage."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]When Owl released his necktie, Elliot, visibly shaken now (something that did not amuse Rowan right away, but would later on in the afternoon when he'd jab at Elliot over the incident), dug into his trousers and produced the pack of cards. Owl snatched it up, flashed a wicked squint then turned away and stormed off, her journey logged by the furious taps of her heels against the cold, hard tile of the Den's floor. Both young men watched her exit in astonishment. It was Rowan that spoke first: "Good God, man. What do you think will happen? Why didn't she turn us in?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Couldn't say," Elliot said as he turned toward the doorway. "Probably because she's in love with me. A tricky thing, love; makes you do senseless things."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Now inside the meeting room, a room that looked an awful lot like a classroom save the gigantic digital monitor on the far wall, the young men filed towards their desks where most of their unit had already taken seats (meaning they were late). Rowan whispered, "Come off it," in his friend's ear before taking a seat near the front row. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Besides the students from unit A3, only one other person shared the space with them: an impeccably dressed (saying something considering the strict codes on attire at Sovereign) man in his late forties. He was of average height and build, square of jaw and thin of eye (Elliot thought them green from where he sat). His hair was dark but streaks of silver ran evenly through the precise, comb-stroked rows. He was staring down at a pocketwatch connected by a chain and it wasn't until Elliot (the last remaining recruit still standing) took his seat, would he snap it closed. He smiled at all eight seated faces, then announced, "Good morning. My name is General McGinest, and today I am happy to announce that your unit has collectively achieved notice, notice enough to warrant fieldwork. Isn't that exciting?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]He remembered the conversation well and kept it locked away, for the itinerary Rowan spoke on enlisted the need for remembrance, for it all sounded so fantastic, so deliciously queer and wondrous. "Everything is fitted with GPS, in the first-off," he remembered Rowan saying in that usually furiously-rushed, overflowing manner; Elliot occasionally surrendered to an urge to retreat several steps, whenever Rowan began speaking, for fear that the very words themselves might leap out in clumps and bludgeon him to death. "Not terribly exciting, 'eh, I know, but that's only the beginning, Elle---But good lord man, everything from a---a---a simple inkpen to a cigarette case: it all transmits, it's really spectacular." But Elliot expressed neither excitement nor care for his friend's mention of micro GPS devices, for not only was this not astounding news, Elliot knew that a reply devoid of emotion would push Rowan to divulge more in hopes of hooking a reaction. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot was rewarded later that evening. After a term with the rest of the surveillance team, Elliot left the room, hooked a left onto one of the many great, lengthy, well-lit and clean white halls of the Den with aims to pop above ground to snag a meal before the second half of his exercises (that particular day their division lead, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Owl, [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]was hosting a most rewarding course on obscure traffic patterns and identifying potential enemy vehicles by their driving habits alone). But as soon as Elliot was free in the hall, Rowan was there with a fierce, fiery grin roasting his bony cheeks. "Well?" Elliot had said flatly, his progress stunted. "Going to tell me I'm pretty or something, Rowan? I'll have to tell you, mate, you aren't exactly my type, so you'd better be thick in the wallet."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"I seen the most amazing thing today, Elle," Rowan said. "Bossman takes out a pack of cards, pulls one out at random and---"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Let me guess," interrupted Elliot. "GPS? Can sync the card to your watch so that one might cheat his way to some fantastic intelligence?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Oh, can it, Elle, this is actually quite a thing, listen up. So Bossman places a card on the table, it was just a spade of some kind, then presses his thumb against it for [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]precisely [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]ten seconds. Bossman takes a few steps back, then the fireworks started. See, the cards have heat-activated phosphorus strips under the suit tags, also have some kind of seal that acts as a timer: it's always precisely ten seconds. It's something, Elle."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot bit. Eyes wide and with his thumbnail between his teeth, the lips around coiling into a smile (a smile that was twisting up Rowan's belly), Elliot plotted his advance. Snapping the hand away from his mouth, Elliot shot, "That's it---I need to see those. Snag a pack for me, Rowe, and I'll be in your debt."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Coercing Rowan into the theft of Sovereign property proved as difficult as Elliot expected, and yet he held inexplicable faith in his success. Had Rowan been a boy of more elaborate intellectual graces, Elliot would have plotted, planned and lied his way to victory. But Rowan was, despite being a talented machinist, a young man with a paper resolve and meager common sense. It took nothing more than constant hounding for him to agree. Which brought the young men here, to this day in which both young men (along with the rest of unit A3) had been summoned to council with none-other than General McGinest himself. Elliot was not fond of the timing, but he wouldn't fret himself to wrinkles over it---the General had a reputation of astuteness, but possess x-ray vision he did not (or so Elliot could only logically conclude), meaning he (should) be none-the-wiser in regards to the stolen pack of phosphorous cards in Elliot's britches. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot's glare made Rowan weak. Both young men were dressed-sharp in suits of black, ties of black and polished loafers; while Elliot stood, hands pocketed stoically in his trousers, Rowan, evading Elliot's dissecting glare of blue, was manipulating his tie knot. "You going to fish them out?" Elliot asked coolly. "Or am I going to have to dig through your trousers for them? I'll warn you that I'm comfortable enough in my sexuality to be seen doing as such, so don't think this an empty threat, mate."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Broken down to a rangy bundle of sighs and eye-rolls, Rowan reached into the breech of his suit jacket and retrieved the pack. He tossed it up and Elliot snagged it out of the air with a grin. "I'll never get you, 'eh," said Rowan. "Put both of our tails at risk for some prank. Because that's it, isn't it? You're going to do something dreadful with those for a few laughs, yeah?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot smiled and jerked his head to the right, indicating Cullworth, the estate above The Den that stood watch over Selborne's main street. "C'mon, then," Elliot said. "Going to worry your life away, Rowan. Today we've been bestowed the honor of council with General McGinest; ahh, what fun, yes? I've queried Owl a few times about him---every time I ask, she only smiles in that weird little way and looks away. What do you picture, mm? I see---a fat man in fatigues with enough service pins to fill a hall."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]In-stride with Elliot, Rowan, the taller of the two young men, kept his chin up as they approached the estate. It was morning, the dead-crack-of to be exact, and beside a few other meandering recruits filing towards Cullworth. the Selborne streets were clear. "Never really thought on it," Rowan said. "But yeah---I can see that. The man must've seen his lot to be given jury over a place like this." [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Both men entered the large, rustic doors of the estate and scuttled through it's great, main room. A short trip through a series of thinner halls brought them to a door with a digital pad affixed to the wall beside a metal door that likened an elevator's glide. Elliot pressed his thumb against it and the panel flashed green, but it was not until Rowan followed with the same action that the door did slide open: a security measure: a sensor above the door detected two figures, thusly two imprints were required to open the shaft. Elliot entered first and Rowan followed. The trip was quick as the elevator car descended almost soundlessly to the Den's depths. When the chime sounded, the doors repealed and the Den and all it's clean, blank glory stood before them. Elliot often remarked to Owl, "Would a few paintings really kill the mood? You can even pull it out of my salary if you'd like." [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Owl was standing just beside the entrance to the meeting room where Elliot, Rowan and the rest of A3 had been summoned. She was a tall woman, older than thirty, less than forty, pretty in-face with a small mouth that was always a bit curled on the fringes, always a bit amused, a hooked nose and quiet brown eyes that were usually magnified by square-rimmed spectacles. Elliot (who walked ahead of Rowan) smirked and greeted her with a long, zealous windmill-like wave of his right arm. She did not speak. And when the young men tried to pass by, Owl reached out a hand of bright, pristine flesh and meticulously manicured nails of black, snagged Elliot's necktie and tugged, refusing his entrance. Smiling cleverly, she said, "Mr. Singer---Mr Nestler---a word, mm?" [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Elliot's eyes popped out. "A bit rough, huh? You know if I go in there with my tie all out of sorts they're likely to put a bullet in my head, yeah?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Enough," Owl said, her tone short. "Tell me what they'd do to you were they to know you've got Sovereign property in your trousers, Mr. Singer." [/BCOLOR]
Without a beat, Rowan's jaw dropped and his eyes, burst open, locked on Elliot. But the young man's blue-eyed counterpart did not break. "Sorry, love," Elliot said. "I'm a bit at a loss---what's missing, and what does it have to do with me?"
[BCOLOR=transparent]"What division do you work for?" Asked the amused Owl.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Come aga--"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]The bespectacled woman tugged a bit harder on Elliot's tie, suffocating his quip. "What. Division, Mr. Singer?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Sur---Surveillance and technology?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"And who might your superior be?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"---you."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Am I terrible at my job?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"No. No, of course not."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Then give them back, or so help me I'll sentence you to three years in front of a terminal viewing old, raw, black-and-white security footage."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]When Owl released his necktie, Elliot, visibly shaken now (something that did not amuse Rowan right away, but would later on in the afternoon when he'd jab at Elliot over the incident), dug into his trousers and produced the pack of cards. Owl snatched it up, flashed a wicked squint then turned away and stormed off, her journey logged by the furious taps of her heels against the cold, hard tile of the Den's floor. Both young men watched her exit in astonishment. It was Rowan that spoke first: "Good God, man. What do you think will happen? Why didn't she turn us in?"[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]"Couldn't say," Elliot said as he turned toward the doorway. "Probably because she's in love with me. A tricky thing, love; makes you do senseless things."[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Now inside the meeting room, a room that looked an awful lot like a classroom save the gigantic digital monitor on the far wall, the young men filed towards their desks where most of their unit had already taken seats (meaning they were late). Rowan whispered, "Come off it," in his friend's ear before taking a seat near the front row. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Besides the students from unit A3, only one other person shared the space with them: an impeccably dressed (saying something considering the strict codes on attire at Sovereign) man in his late forties. He was of average height and build, square of jaw and thin of eye (Elliot thought them green from where he sat). His hair was dark but streaks of silver ran evenly through the precise, comb-stroked rows. He was staring down at a pocketwatch connected by a chain and it wasn't until Elliot (the last remaining recruit still standing) took his seat, would he snap it closed. He smiled at all eight seated faces, then announced, "Good morning. My name is General McGinest, and today I am happy to announce that your unit has collectively achieved notice, notice enough to warrant fieldwork. Isn't that exciting?"[/BCOLOR]