Corruption.

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"No time for dice then. This rebel he has a mansion"
Paris spoke so that Silk wouldnt realise he had been checking out the hot chick who had entered before them. 'Nice view i've got' he thought.

Paris wan anxious about going into his house, he didnt know Yukio or whatever his name was, he would have to be on his guard more than usual.

"What kind of rebel lives in a mansion?" He asked but didnt expect an answer as they got nearer.
 
Silk laughed as he and Paris stepped through the gates, he looked up at Paris and followed his eye gaze to the woman who had entered previously.
"Nice view you got there," he jested, smirking and walking in.
"Tokugawa Yukio is..." he broke off, thinking for a moment before smiling brightly, "...eccentric, but kind-hearted. Although as a Rebel he is one many lower-down men look up to."
As they walked in, Silk began to whistle a faint tune, rolling the dice between his fingers.
As they reached the front door, he took one step in and whistled.
"Paris, I think you should go ahead," he said as a girl came to lead them in, "I will wait here to talk to Tokugawa, I need to tell him some things, that he needs to know. Whether I share them with you all later, is up to him..."
He leaned against a wall, and closed his eyes.

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Imraldis shook hands with Spectre and then Seraphim as he came in, then saluted. His dislike of Seraphim had nothing to do with the man's position, his skills as an Agent or even his prowess. His dislike simply stemmed from him just not liking the man. It was as simple as that. Plus, he hated the Ministry of Love. It sickened him slightly.

"Sir, in my defense, the Agents I injured this time were holding me up." He cut across any further formalities quickly then, he was in a hurry.
"I was informed in my telegram that you had orders for me. Private orders, from Big Brother himself, codenamed 'Parting the Silk'. I await your instructions. But," he added with a slightly stronger tone, "I think it would be better if we were to discuss it outside. Or somewhere with a lesser chance of being overheard."
 
A Choir of Gregorians... watchers amongst god's commander.

Michael had no problem with the interruption, and upon being prompted, he took his seat in solemn patience. Spectre walked in, and the exchange of quirked brows between the two of them passed as quickly as it had occurred. They were on the same team. Even if agents disliked one another, they could trust one another... to get the job done, even if it meant offing them. That was how Michael looked at it. If Spectre, or even Seraphim, or himself for that matter, ever had to die one day for the wishes of the Ministry to be carried out, then by god, they were gonna be havin' a funeral. It was the unspoken expectation amongst the agents, and it's what kept their bond happy. They knew inside not to expect heroics from one another, yet if it didn't call for an agent's death, an agent... wouldn't die.

That's how it used to be, anyway. These rebels, however... Michael'd seen it. It's why he did what he did, it's why he was good at what he did. He'd been there at the beginning, time immemorial, watching them grow from small little coves living on fresh meat and wildlife, to taking over lesser equipped abandoned technological facilities. Multiplying, they grew like a nest of insects or rodents. And every tier of ability a rebel possessed, Michael had faced and extinguished. Yet while an agent's death was unheard of before, the casualties had begun to accumulate.

Shocking at first, it was now becoming clear that this was war... or turning into a war, not a methodic extermination as it had been. Any agent that doubted the ability of the rebels was either in too high a position to be threatened, and thus in extreme nervous denial, or dead already due to their own underestimation. It was partly because Michael respected the rebellion so that he was alive, and also why he always crushed the rebellion so fully and without hinderance.

Truth be told, The Archangel did not believe that this way of life would continue forever. Like all other historical empires, it would have its beginning, its apex, and it would eventually fall. And he believed that the rebellions would be the reason it would fall, in time. But he never went easy on them, he did not sympathize with them. If they wished to take away the paradise big brother created, they would most certainly have to earn it. He would see to that.

Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world.... Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. Your lobby is proof enough of that threat.

Thoughts that he projected knowing Seraphim could read them. It was a way to let the fellow know in his own subtle fashion that the time to act, to strike, and to prepare was now. He sent out that message only to hope that Seraphim was not discarding the Rebellion as peon or pathetic. If he did not take them seriously, he could end up dead and the ministry destroyed.

Nevertheless, those eyes lifted when yet another came into the room, and even requested that their little party be broken up in favor of ... alone time for this operation silk something. Michael simply closed crimson eyes and folded his hands. He had all the time in the world.

... The people here sure were rude, though.
 
Spectre nodded to Seraphim, and scanned the man in the corner carefully. "I'll inform you if anything comes up, comrade."
He beckoned to Agent Imraldis, "we have a plane to catch. Have you got a car? We'll have to go to my house in Mayfair first, to pick up something on the way to the aerodrome." Spectre opened the door, and waited outside Seraphim's office.
 
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The doors slowly opened before him, and in an instant, a rush of sound nearly knocked him over backwards. The full force of the situation finally hit them while he was backhanded with treble and bass; he was now entering a place that he had only heard about in passing conversation. So casually did the murmurs of extravagance grace the lips of those who dared to speak of it, that Caleb wasn’t even sure if this chateau was all it was cracked up to be. It seemed to ooze intemperance even from the fortuitous pillars, and thus the cashier’s initial doubts subsided some as he traversed the entrance into the less than humble abode.

Shifty-eyed nobodies made the acquaintance of the young Whitaker rather involuntarily, jostling him and passing him by with only a dash of manners. It was comparable to how a rural boy would react upon taking his first step onto the bustling subways of New York City. His eyes flickered from place to place, the sheer monetary value of the items he witnessed blinding him to any sort of interaction taking place in the entrance hall. Thusly, ignorance guided his steps as he worked his way through the invited guests, he obviously not being of that breed of habitué. It was in this manner that he felt remarkably out of place, a trespasser in this domain despite the doors being thrown open for his unworthy self.

Throughout Caleb’s entire life, he had never seen such a beautiful place. The lively and classy colors contrasted wonderfully against the grayscale of London, bringing an astonishing light to the dark eyes of the visitor. At once, he lost himself in the intricate labyrinth of the first floor, moving from room to room and seeing both attractive and powerful-looking creatures conversing with one another. They were on a completely different level than him, and he could not even compete with his meager appearance no matter how handsome he might have been. In this world, one’s social aptitude was valued far more, and it was with great lament that Caleb stumbled into the dining hall, having given up on trying to make heads from tails of this place.

However, he would find himself in another busy room, with people trickling in from the different corridors to settle in. Occasional laughs resounded off of the high ceiling, traveling across the room to reach the already panicked ears of Caleb. It wasn’t much different from the coffeehouse in terms of sounds, but the face value of the mansion threw him entirely off of his game. Wit and humor were replaced by timidity and panic as he shuffled to an inconspicuous corner, slouching down against the wall as he did almost half a day ago. Footsteps passed him by, clunking lifelessly on the imported rug as glasses clinked together and a faint pleasant smell wafted in from some unidentifiable location. All of it only served to further drive Caleb into his insecurity.

There was life outside the café.

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“’swhat you get for tryin’ ta sneak one in, kumquat,” Rover informed Weiss with a wide smile, laughing out loud at the recollection in a volume that rattled the guards that accompanied him just a short ways away. It always pleased Forrest to hear stories of other peoples’ failures, especially when the stories were about Agent Weiss. Surely, he was a talented man, but when he experienced his own shortcomings, it only further inspired Rover to trample him in terms of achieving feats for the Ministry. He had learned to compete indirectly with this ivory-haired man, making sure to brag about successes that Weiss did not have the chance to witness. Hell, Rover even bent the truth once in a while to make him appear far greater than he actually was, but the suckling bigot couldn’t tell the difference.

“What a boring day,” Agent Rover suddenly said during an unexpected silence, having grown tired of the random sounds coming from Weiss’s mouth. “I could use one of those ‘special missions’ right about now; it’s been forever since I actually had some fun around here. How come no violators have been passin’ through? A good torture session would hit the spot right about now. Shoulda kept one of those numbnut Rebels from that little invasion thingamabob just so I could have somethin’ to do in my free time. Shame all those buggers got mowed over before I even batted a lash.”

Rover sighed and finally stood up from his squatting position, kicking at the ground with the heel of his boot. Surely, he was a madman if he couldn’t find better ways to occupy his time than to see those below him suffer like animals. “Funny, I didn’t see you around when that happened. The invasion thing, I mean. Were you hiding in your little cubbyhole, Weiss? You know, that one place you go to everytime somethin’ big happens so you don’t have to contribute and then emerge later only to claim some credit? Huh? Huh? Is that were you went Weissypoo? Weissykins? Wittle Weissy too scared to pwaaaay?” he mocked, puckering his lips up as if he were addressing a baby. When he couldn’t brag about any particular achievement, Forrest made sure to turn to mockery.
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Paris was beginning to like Silk. His laughter had stopped but he did not blame Silk for not trusting him. However he was still cautious and walked slowly, his hands were in his pockets and with one he was stroking his switchblade. It was nice place, which didnt help to put Paris at ease. As he continued walking he saw a guy pass him 'my hair is blonder than that' he thought as he strolled into a room with a leather couch. He sat down and prepared to wait, the time passed slowly, unlike Dunbar this didnt please him. He became aware of someone watching him. He turned around and saw a servant watching him, when he realised he had been seen he ducked out of the room.
This made Paris laugh, as he leaned back, crossed his legs and began to wait, for the second time in such a short period of time
 
Those grand doors would open, allowing those Rebels entrance into his, more-than-lovely home. As for the pristine golden-boy, let's just say that he was pleasantly surprised to see a rather attractive girl standing in front of him. Chimitsu came closer to him, and dared to lean forward, giving Yukio a view that could only lead to embarrassment. His eyes lowered, hovering over the girl's chest, and a curtain of crimson found it's way over his cheeks. His eyes widened slightly, and he quickly brought his eyes to be level with her own, clearing his throat and rubbing at his mouth as he tried to rid of that bothersome flushing of his cheeks.

"..Uhm...I...do believe so." Yukio managed to grin at the woman, sheepishly, finding it quite adorable the way she said 'Whity-chan." Maybe this girl wasn't psychotic like the other pretty women in his life? Hye Lin would butcher him before she ever entered his bedroom. And, there was that hot red-head scientist, but...she scared the hell out of him when she asked him if he'd like to be the subject of her next 'experiment.' When Yukio inquired, hoping it was just another word for some kinky ritual of her's...he found that it was, well...far from that.

Back to reality. Yukio leaned back, holding his arms behind his back as he looked at the girl. "It's nice to finally meet you, Miss. I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time. But, as you can see, my home has recently become some sort of Resistance Resort, so, if you have time to spare, you're welcome to stay. I'm sure I'll have time to discuss the matter of Weapons with you. If you'll excuse me." Yukio bowed his head with a smile, before beginning to walk toward the dining hall. Of course, he made sure to give that girl one last glance before doing so. Woo, what a hottie!

He quickly shook his head, knowing that if he didn't get away from her soon, he'd be drooling rivers. As he walked into the room of gathering Rebels, he gave them all a glance over, before moving to sit at the head of the large dining table. "I am quite surprised to see so many of you here. You are welcome to stay for as long as you wish. Though, I regret to inform you that I'm only a sponsor, an investor. I leave the plans up to you."
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Seraphim sighed with a bit of disdain as his cell phone rang. He gave an apologetic motion to Agent Imraldis before answering it. "Yes? ---Ah, Mr. Salazar! Completed already? Good, good. Although, from now on, I would like you to contact Agent Michael in regards to the weaponry. He has been appointed as Head of Security here. Thank you, Mr. Salazar. Great work." With that said, Seraphim flipped his cell phone closed, setting it atop his desk, and hoping he could finally have a moment to speak with the other Agent. "Parting the Silk, yes...quite an important mission." Seraphim would remove a small key from his pocket, and place it inside of the lock to one of his desk's drawers. Opening it, he would remove a large manilla folder, and would hand it to Imraldis.

"That folder contains all of the information you need to know about 'Parting the Silk.' I will be more than happy to--" His phone would ring again. He bit his lower lip, before glancing at the calling number. ...It was one of Big Brother's 2nd-messenger numbers. It must be a direct order. He flipped it open, and listened to the recording on the other end. After about a minute, he would close the phone, and slip it back into his pocket. Quickly, he would pull up a screen on his computer, sending a message to two different persons, before he would turn to Michael with a look of...slight surprise in his eyes. "Agent Michael, I apologize for having to be so sudden, but, for the next four days, I am leaving you in charge of the Ministry of Love. Anyone and everyone will answer to you in my absence. I have been given orders directly from Big Brother, to be carried out as soon as possible." He took a step closer to his childhood friend, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure we will have a chance to catch up sometime."

Seraphim truly was a busy man, as to be expected from the Head Agent of the Ministry of Love. People would just have to learn to be patient with him at times. Turning to Imraldis, he would motion to the door. "If you don't mind, Agent Imraldis, and are capable of walking and talking, you can discuss with me whatever it is you wish to, on my way out." With that said, Seraphim would slip into his black coat, accompanied by his black shades, and would walk out of his Office door. Before doing so, he would glance back to Michael. "This is your office for the next four days. You'll have your own when I return. The codes are in your message box."

With that said, Seraphim would exit the room, motioning for Imraldis to walk beside him. It seems that Big Brother felt it necessary to start utilizing his best Agents as quickly as possible, for the events that would occur in the not-so distant future.
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"Rover, are you gay?" Weiss tilted his head to the side after being assaulted by Rover's mockery and childish name calling. "The last person to call me Weissykins was this really emasculated guy I knew, and I swear, he totally had a crush on me. It was really weird." What a nice world Agent Weiss must live in, to be entirely ignorant of the ill-will that people had towards him, especially the headstrong Agent before him. The candy in his mouth was beginning to vanish, so those sounds coming from him were following suit. "I was down by Room 101 making sure to kill off the criminals down there before the Rebels could try and free them. Didn't get to blow shit up, but, I still had some fun!"

Weiss tilted his head even more, glancing at the other with those all-too innocent eyes of his. "Hey, Rover, what's a kumquat? Is that a dirty word?"
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" .... Ahh. "


Raphael was lounging on his velvet sette, at home. It was blood red with threading of gold. You know, he really should go back to the Ministry - or do something. But apparently, he hadn't made it back there yet. He laid in silence, twirling a strand of iron grey hair around his left index finger. A dramatic sigh. A high heeled boot slammed down onto the neck of the woman, naked and helpless, on the floor. Within his left hand he held a chain to which her leathery collar was attached. He had many of these toys around and it was so easy to use the filthy proles. One couldn't have too many toys, especially if you were as lazy and cold hearted as he. He pulled on the chain, roughly. Insolence was something he usually didn't exhibit openly - but seeing as how he could do it, and enjoy it, he sure as hell would. In the corner, he could hear a whimpering. It must've
been his latest prize he stole from the Ministry. He had bound the man in various chains. A dirty rag, smelling of filth, was stuffed into his mouth. Raphael chuckled. It was difficult being at home, alone, with just a few toys.

" You're thirsty, aren't you, darling? "

The poor creature groaned aloud as he rubbed the heel of his boot into her flesh - Well then, he'd do something constructive.

" You realize, it's such fun mistreating you ignorant slobs. If it was my choice, I'd send half of you to the gas chambers. I'd love it. But for now - I must relish in his momentary diversion. Ah, I seem to have gotten your sweat on my hands. Such filth. I do believe it's time for a bath. I could use a soak. Couldn't you, my precious darling? Ha ha. "

The young man would have his bath - smirking as he watched the telescreen before him. What a day! Anyway, he had been out of commission for at least a week. Later, Raphael would leave his home and could be seen walking across the Southwark Bridge. The waters of the River Thames glistened underneath it. His cell was on, should anyone need to contact him. As for his manner of dress - it was of the most filthy and tattered sort. A torn jumper, black in color, with denim slacks torn at the left knee. He looked like the usual street thug. Head was covered by a dusty ball cap and eyes hid behind large, wire rimmed glasses. Who would've thought such a vagabond was an Agent? He was busy investigating the various sectors of London - gathering what info he could. A few hours later he would return to the Ministry of Love - dressed in a three piece black suit, a rose bud on his chest. In his left hand he carried an umbrella, decorated with various intricate designs of rosebuds and thorns. At times, he was a rather strange dresser. He didn't bother to close it as he walked into the lobby -

" Hey you. "

Eyes were fixated on Rover.

" Yes, you. Your name is Rover, correct? I had a dog by the name of Rover, once, long ago. Stinky, fat - he slobbered alot too. Most of the time he ran around with his tail between his legs. Why am I suddenly reminded of him? Must be the name and the name alone. Now, go make yourself useful. Perhaps there are some floors to be mopped? Surely a great man who can wield a chainsaw with such brutish ease, can wield a mop with the same. "

Eyes would glance at Weiss.

" And you. I have work for you, that I do. You're to be my assistant. Aren't you flattered? "

Talk about being a slave driver. Hell. But that was just his way. He pressed the sharp point of his umbrella, right into Weiss' back, and would attempt to drive him to the elevator.
 
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"Thank you...." Salazar ends the phone call with a grim smile shown on his face, the lights of the demons of "greed" and "pride" shining individually in the irises of his eyes. All was clear, the weapons would be delivered to the Ministry and Salazar would receive his payment (I need the name of our currency...what's the name of the money we are using at the moment?). Having contacted Seraphim calmed his anxiousness, and being lead to Michael satisfied his expectations. Since he had already arrived to the Ministry, Salazar told his driver to enter the building. The guards at the entrance asked for his identification, and Salazar willingly show it to them.

"Oh, Sorry Mr. Salazar. Please continue."

The driver continued driving the limousine towards the parking lot, awaiting for Salazar's next order. "You may leave if you wish Robert, I will call you once I am ready to leave the building." The driver exited the car and then walked to open the door for Salazar. Salazar walked towards the building as his driver, Robert, entered the limousine again and proceeded to leave the parking lot.
 
Weiss would glance to the taller, approaching Agent, with hair that similar to his own. He's seen Raphael before, and was always impressed by the way he carried himself. Weiss even caught himself thinking that Raphael was 'cool.' Of course, other's saw Raphael for what he truly was...a loyally demented man. Poor Weiss, wouldn't have any idea what kind of hell he'd be in store for, with Raphael's new proposition.

He giggled and laughed at Raphael's words of borderline-insult to Agent Rover. "Hehe, you got totally owned...in the face!" Weiss was grinning brightly, before he'd feel those red eyes upon him, and glanced at Raphael. "...Work, for me? Assistant? Really!? Whoa, I've never been anyone's assistant before! I didn't last very long with Seraphim...but, I'll be a good boy this go around, promise!" Weiss' smile grew, before he slipped a stick of spearmint gum from his pocket, and folded it inside of his mouth, chewing it.

That was until Raphael stepped forward and shoved the end of his umbrella against his back. Weiss stiffened, swallowing his gum, with brought a frown to his lips. "Uck, uhm...yes, sir!" Weiss saluted him briefly, like some soldier would, before hurrying into the elevator. Oh, the poor innocent fool, had absolutely no idea what was in store for him. No idea at all.
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" Will you now? I hope so. I like the good ones. Especially the innocent. I'll work you nice and hard. "


Yes, he was loyal and very very strange. Demented, maybe. He had the sick fascination of human tissue, organs, and of replicas of Seraphim. This guy was, well, to Raphael a replica of himself and Raphael did find himself extremely charming. Talk about sick. He was soo arrogant. He closed the umbrella and jammed it into the innocent's back. If only there were more of these in the Ministry, well, his days wouldn't be soo boring. A fierce stab of that umbrella would push Weiss into the elevator.

" You and I will have soo much fun together. I've already made many plans in my head. Of course, you can't know what they are! If you did, that would spoil all the fun. "

What the hell was this? He pushed the kid out of the elevator, as soon as it stopped and the doors opened. They were in the infirmary wing? Why? There was a calculating gleam to the fiend's eyes. Casually he would balance the umbrella on his left shoulder and roughly grab Weiss with his right hand. Fingers would curl around his upper arm.

" There are so many fond memories here. Shall we take a walk? "

The poor kid. It wasn't his fault he caught the man's eye. There was a deserted room, free of telescreens, which Raphael stopped before.

" Look inside. There's the biggest piece of candy I've ever seen. Found it yesterday. Chocolate - the finest I ever tasted. Rich and creamy - unlike anything I've ever enjoyed. So, I thought: Why not tell that loveable Weiss about it? He loves sweets soo very much. Aren't I the kind and thoughtful individual? "

As the man looked inside - Raphael would plant the sole of his right foot against the back of Weiss and push him inside. A sigh. Leather gloves would be removed casually and, goodness, there was a flick of dust on his lapel. Raphael brushed it away and laughed as he walked inside and shut the door. A while later, he would emerge. Face was flushed and hair was damp. A few streaks of silver laid across his smooth forehead.

" Ahh yes. You're one fine assistant. Good work. "
 
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Easy. If only everything was so easy, the world would be a much better place. Lazing about with nothing better to do than find a cute woman and bring her home while gettin' paid for it. That was the dream, right? Well, maybe it was only his dream. Not many people were as intelligent, or as awesome was he was. That was the damn truth, yo. Taking a seat the dining table, he rudely kicked his feet up onto the no doubt expensive item. Pulling out a piece of candy, he noticed that Lin shook her head and gazed around; it was impossible not to notice her growing agitation.

"Something wrong, Lin-chan?"

"我恨这件制服。"

Facial features twitched, a cold chill shooting up through his spine while her anger continued to grow. She began a comic tirade around the kitchen, complaining continuously in Chinese before grabbing a knife. He noticed that she continued to point toward her uniform; she must have been used to her normal clothing. Understandable -- but she did look pretty damn good in that uniform, too. . .

"Calm down, Lin-chan. You'll attract a crowd."

A crowd? A damn crowd? The maid outfit was getting too old and annoying for her tastes; maybe she saw at as something to bitch about because of the lack of actual substance thus far. Now that her boss was around, she felt that urge gradually rising. Swinging out her arms in an overly dramatic, frustrated manner, she let the knife fly toward Mamoru, stomping her feet.

His hand immediately lifted to his chest, his index and middle finger clasping together to secure the bladed instrument in between dexterous digits. The tip sliced lightly at the inside of his finger, and secretly hoping that the sight of blood would calm her down, he wiped the knife off on the edge of his jacket and set it down on the table.

Luckily, that sight alone was enough to momentarily calm the woman. Her expressions shifted from the agitated and fearsome show of anger to the more pleasant look that anyone would prefer. No wonder they didn't let her in the kitchen.

And as if his prayers hadn't been answered, not at all, or even acknowledged in the slightest, more people were starting to arrive in the dining hall; hell, even the host himself was there along with people he didn't recognize except for one. The idea of visiting his home was mighty tempting right about now.

It had only been a few hours since his departure from Mother Russia's cold, deathly embrace; it wasn't the most tear-filled departure he had the luxury of receiving, but a bond between soldiers and comrades didn't need such dramatic sentiments. Twin Mauser C96's were held in the leathery grip of holsters concealed under his coat, the long barrel of the trademark Karabiner 98 hidden by the upturned collar. His weapons were never too far from his person, nor would he allow them to be taken away.

His chin was propped upon clenched digits, elbow situated on the opposite arm that happened to be crossed over his chest; his arrival was too sudden to be properly announced to the others. His knowledge about the foreign country was slim, but he knew about one agent all too well -- Seraphim. Ilya was interested in speaking with the man, but he wouldn't be too useful, nor too lively, with his immense lack of sleep. When he finally managed to reach the Ministry of Love, his arms dropped idly to his sides.

Grabbing for his identification, Ilya approached the front door, showing the guardsmen, and anyone else that might have impeded his way, the small I.D. A majority of it was in Russian, but it was enough to inform them of his status. Further inside, he was blessed enough to see a rather hilarious sight; a two silver haired men and a man that shared the name of a dog. It was none of his business, so he simply left them alone and stepped by.

He was so damn unsure of what to do; the location where all of his belongings had been sent to was even a mystery. This was such a shitty day.

 
Smiling at the flush upon his cheeks, as his eye's traveled down, and promptly shot back up to her face.
"I'm sorry! I didn't realize you weren't prepared for guest. Course I'm surprised you've got so many people here! Are they all rebels? If so....hmmm...might be able to make a tidy profit!"
Following the handsome man towards the dining hall she eyed his slim form, "We might even be able to talk about a little more than just weapons..."
Taking a place at the left hand of the head of the table she eyed the gathered people's. "Tsk, tsk...have you no manners sir? Placing your shoes upon our hosts lovely table? Is this how the rebels are? I was hoping for more along the lines of sweet Whity-chan here...sigh....well, what's for dinner?"
 
Imraldis nodded and fell in besides Seraphim, walking at a brisk pace to match the high-Agent.
"Sir," he began in a tight voice, "I was told that this mission was of a great importance, but that the likelihood was high that I would fail."
They walked past the still injured Agents that Imraldis had beaten earlier, although they had a medic now so he didn't give them a second glance.
"And I resent that." he added in a rush, eyes blazing.
"I believe that I am being "sacrificed to bring down the Rebel "Silk" and that I am no longer useful to the Ministry of Truth as I am freelanced too. As such, I recently terminated my contract with them and only receive direct orders from the top. However," this was the hardest part for him to say, "however, I admire the work you do and would wish to work under you. So..." he broke off eyes turned inwards before simply voicing his thoughts.
"After this mission, I wish to work as one of your personal in-the-field Agents."

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Silk, was starting to get hungry.
Standing straight, he began to wander around the mansion.
He found a bathroom, where he relieved himself.
A bedroom, with belongings stationed in there, although not with the feeling of a permanent home, so he kept moving.
A kitched, busy, as though preparing for many people, and he managed to steal a loaf of bread and some beef without being seen.
Two studies, one with some interesting notes, but he didn't investigate long.
He even found a servants room, with the occupant apparently washing up.
The whole time, he avoided servants, and moved slowly through the areas with the visible security cameras. Movement attracts attention, he knew, so he moved slowly to avoid attention.
Eventually however, he reached a small side-door and, hearing voices inside, went in.
It was the dining room.
Looking around, he saw quite a few people and instantly made the decision to not stay long. Gatherings too attract attention.
Seeing Tokugawa Yukio at the head of the table, the description matched at least, he made his way over to a free seat, he pulled up a plate and began to stock up on lean foods, planning his leave and how he could get his information to all the Rebels here, and not be noticed.
 
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“Gay?!” Rover spat in return, turning full face to confront Weiss at the entrance. His cerulean eyes were aglow with blatant shock. “Hell no! And even if I were, I wouldn’t go for ALBINOS!” he blared, putting both hands on his hips and stomping his right foot on the cold, rejecting pavement. In this accidental pose, it seemed as if he were mocking himself, contradicting his rebuttal of his sexual alignment. Surely, he wasn’t portraying himself in the most masculine of ways, but in the back of the mind he knew this and he didn’t care. Such social categorizations were irrelevant on the battlefield, where the whiz of his chainsaw cut through all prejudices and judgments. Perhaps it was the final judgment, the last thing any of his victims saw in their short and tragic lifetime.

“Don’t take it personally, though. You’re a kumquat because a kumquat is—” Forrest began, but an agent by the name of Raphael would most rudely interject, possibly ruining one of the greatest comebacks in Miniluv’s history. A poetic tragedy composed by a man whose presence reminded him of that of Agent Seraphim, more aptly named ‘Bossman’ by the targeted upstart. However, Raphael was not so imposing as to send chills down the curved spine of Rover, instead sending vibes of pure annoyance through his nerves and neurons. A damaged amygdala would motivate the following response without too much time for delay.

“Well, like they always say, the master and his pet always share a resemblance. Trying to make a comparison simply based on a name is really stupid; I mean, people give their animals human names all of the time. I think the connection between master and servant is more prominent than the connection between a shared name, eh?” he retorted coyly, ignoring the jeering sounds of Agent Weiss. His nasally voice made him want to punch a baby in a face. “Also, who are YOU to tell me what to do? My post is here at the entrance today, so it would be better for you to stop being a smartass, trying to boss me around when I’m following orders as is.”

Agent Rover made it a clear point to look between Raphael and Weiss when discussing the ‘master and servant’ bit, as if making yet another connection. This connection was between his statement and the pair that stood before him, perhaps implying that he was witnessing the subservient relationship right before his very eyes. How quaint it was, to see a tangible representation of the comeback that he so easily delivered. Alas, it was one of the very rare moments that Forrest could actually think of a witty reply in such a short amount of time.

“Yeah, that’s right! Turn your back on me!” he called as the duo began walking inside and apparently to the nearest elevator. “Anyone can wield a mop no matter how seasoned their hands are, so maybe you should give it a try sometime seeing as how you have nothing better to do! Umbrella man!” Rover bellowed, laughing aloud in an obnoxious fashion as if to spur conflict. Who knew if that would be the result, however.
​
 
"Rebel? Nah, darlin'. Who said anything about me bein' a rebel? Sheeeesh, I'm a mercenary."

Tapping the heel of his shoes against the table in response, Mamoru folded his arms under his head, grinning mischievously. Why was he even bothering to disclose his profession and personal business to the other inhabitants of the room in the first place? Fear wasn't an aspect; through his own trials and tribulations, he gained an amount of skill that resulted in an unbreakable confidence that he could kill them all. It didn't manifest itself in arrogance -- hell, his old man beat his ass each time arrogance peaked in his youth.

Clicking his tongue, he spared a glance toward the assassin he met with earlier, giving an acknowledging nod toward the man before crossing his feet, whistling in response to Yukio's new nickname of "Whitey-chan."

It seemed like anything with a pair of tits could get away with any kind of nickname. The same applied to him, too, though; every time he met a cute girl, he always let them get away with a nickname, no matter how demeaning or insulting it was.

Wonder if I can bribe her to call him Cow-kun for me.


(I'll post as Ilya later. >_>)
 
Thanking the servant who set her plate and utensils before her, she looked over at the rouge, "A merc huh? Well, I might have a few goodies you'd be interested in, that is if you can afford them, Mr....."

Turning her attention to a servant, "A water please, and....*whispering* is the young master single?"

Turning to regard Yukio, "So besides being an investor do you have any objectives you'd like to see come to pass? Does anyone here have any plans? Have any of you guys seen that "preacher" of theirs? The guy who's always making public speeches about how great the Ministry of "Love" is and how we all need to follow Big Brother? Personally I'd like to take out his little co-spokesmen, then take him out after he's had time to shiver in fear about when we'll get to him. We need to make it public too, so that everyone can realize how fake Big Brother's "protection" really is."

With a big smile on her face, "That said this duck is delicious! Where did you get it? Tell the cook I give my compliments, better yet tell the cook I want to give him my compliments in person!"

Then looking drawing a circle on the table with her left hand she looked a Yukio from under her long lashes, "Whity-chan is it alright if I stay here for a little bit?"
 
"Mr. Kobayashi, but you don't have to call me that if you don't wanna."

No harm in promoting his profession, right? It wasn't as if his job could possibly harm innocent folks and the way the government and economy flowed, right? Tilting his head, the man let a devilish grin come to his facial features, green oculi resting on the talented woman. If she wanted to mention weapons, then he was going to test her.

"I know I can afford them. So, I've got a few requests."

Coughing, he pulled his feet from the table top and rested them on the floor, idly rapping his knuckles against the arm rests on his chair. A rhythmic beat slowly came to fruition, switching from tapping his knuckles to using his wrist to add bass to his little expedition of musical "talents."

"First of all, I want a FAMAS rifle with a bullpup configuration, so I can use it ambidextrously. Y'know, just in case. Second, I'd like a Beretta 92 model. This one is out of date and jams too frequently; the feeding system is much too annoying for my tastes."

There was much wrong with both of his requests; for one, the FAMAS rifle was already designed with a bullpup configuration in mind, thus adding one to the rifle was redundant and showed the mark of a shoddy salesman, or someone who didn't know their weapons. Secondly, the Beretta 92 model was outdated and succeeded by the 90-TWO model that he used frequently.

"Oh, and if you can, could you please get me a pair of tonfa? I'd love to have another chance to actually use them. Oh, by the way, you can call me Mamoru."
 
((I haven't quit or anything, just had trouble getting my spare time and "working internet time" to lap over.))

 <o:p> </o:p>
Rill let laughed a bit at Gabriel’s antics. “Don’t sweat it sweety, I’ll understand if you find me irresistible.” Rill batted his eyes and flipped his hair in an exaggerated manner. “I just hope this won’t make things awkward between us!” He said in a girly voice as he brought both of his spread hands onto his cheeks and looked at Gabriel with wide eyes. Then he dropped his arms and let out a heart laugh. His personality was already completely relaxed, as if the bar fight never happened.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Relax man; I won’t question your sexuality unless you question it first. I’d thoroughly enjoy a manly walk back to you completely heterosexual home." Rill brought out his arms and puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look manly for the purpose of the joke. Though he was doing it for humor, he actually looked pretty intimidating for his size when he straightened up. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pick on you or anything, I can get carried away sometimes. So which way we headin’ my man?” Rill finished his question with another of his good-natured smiles as he looked over Gabriel for the first time. "Damn man, you sure make me feel short." He said as he stood himself beside Gabriel.
 
As the head chef came out, Chimitsu immediately rose from her seat and rushed over to him. Throwing her arms around his large, jiggly frame she squeezed his portly body, and rained praise upon him.

"I absolutely LOVE your duck! Its the most amazing thing I've ever tasted! You simply must tell me the recipe! Oh, I'll have to stay here the rest of my life just for you cooking! Its enough to make me want to kiss you!" At that she promptly places a large kiss on each of the bewildered, but very happy, head chef's cheeks. With her arms around the head chef's neck she places a finger upon his nose, and in a coy voice asks,

"Now, would you be a dear and make me a surprise dessert of your own? I want something original. Something you created. Is that ok?" Giggling as the head chef hurriedly dashes off to make her original dessert, Chimitsu sits back down at her place and turns to address Mamoru.

"Kobayashi-san, I do notice that you are carrying a Beretta 90-TWO and you wish a 92? I assume you do know that the 90-TWO was designed to eliminate the shortcomings of the 92 series, so is this for sentimental reasons? Might I inquire as to which caliber does your 90-TWO take? Does it take 9mm or the .40 S&W? Also what variant is it? Type F, G or D? If its G or D be careful with it please. I'd hate for someone to get hurt. As for the FAMAS. Do you not know your gun makes? I understand the use of the bullpup configuration, but....a FAMAS comes with a bullpup configuration. It was designed specifically with a bullpup configuration. But that aside, which variant would you like the F1 or the G1 variant? The G1 uses the same ammunition as the M16 so it'll be easier to come by. The F1 uses French-made 25-round magazines with the 5.56x46mm cartridge. Which'll be a little more costly. As for the tonfa, heeheehee! I should be able to find a pair or two of those. While were at it do you want me to throw in a headband?"


 
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