Birds of a Feather

Dieter 2002-03-12 20:10:23

After completing your 6 months of compulsory training followed by an additional 6 months in your department of choice, you're ready to join the ranks of the new agents of the "The Service."

But before you enter the world and as a reward for your outstanding accomplishments over the past year, The Service send you on a fortnight's vacation to the exotic harbor city of St. Rochelle. It is part of a very small island archipelago somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.

(Edited by Dieter at 3:51 pm on Mar. 12, 2002)

(Edited by Dieter at 3:48 pm on Mar. 28, 2002)
Dieter 2002-03-28 17:02:44
Ok, let the story begin!

Artis was admiring some pieces of late empire Roman bas-reliefs at the quaint yet impressive Antiquities Museum of St. Rochelle. The afternoon sun had drove the big lunk indoors, seeking refuge from the seemingly ever-present heat of a Mediterranean summer. Artis wiped the sweat from his brow for the umpteenth time.

You'd think these people would invest in a little A/C, especially for the tourists.

As he was checking his watch to see how much longer the damn daylight would last, the LCD screen switches from 4:30pm to a text message.

Proceed immediately to the harbor. Go to dock 12, wait for further instructions. *End of Message*

Meanwhile, Jessica Spiner was basking in the late afternoon sun, tanning herself on one of the many beaches of St. Rochelle. While other ladies read Danielle Steele romance novels, Jessica was content with re-reading Sun-Tse's Art of War. It had been almost 5 years since her last visit with the master of tactics, so she though she'd brush up before her first real mission. With the exception of the endless streams of horny/swarthy Mediterranean bachelors hitting on her to no end, this was almost a perfect day. It was almost a throwback to the long, lazy days of summer vacations on Martha's Vineyard away from her studies at Oxford.

In the midst of curtly, yet kindly refusing her 100th marriage proposal of the day, Jessica hears the ringing of her phone emminating from her beach bag.

Thank god. Maybe this will make him go away...

She hears a voice in a rather refined, but indeterminable accent.

Ms.Spiner, proceed immediately to the harbor. Go to dock 12, wait for further instructions.

Dieter 2002-03-28 17:10:30
I'll catch a cab or a bus and take it a few blocks from the harbor, then walk the rest of the way. No chance of the taxi having a/c, is there?
Gatac 2002-03-28 17:24:32
As I don't think I'd make it through public transportation alive, I'll employ my charms and see if any of the nice guys around has a cabrio and is willing to drive me there - or rather, to Dock 9, from where I'll proceed by foot.

Dieter 2002-03-28 17:53:16
As you try to hail for a taxi, you see car after car with the international marking of "Taxi" written on the sides. Eventually, someone pulls over. It looks like a looks like a delapidated FIAT (which everyone know stands for Fix It Again, Tony).

The car screeches to a halt, belching out a fowl smelling/non-catalytic converting cloud of exhaust, with the front right hubcap popping off in the decelleration.

A short olive-skinned man, probably in his late 50's jumps out of the car, lighting a cigarette while attempting to grab the hubcap as it rolls among the cobblestoned street, all the while spouting out obscenities while attempt to re-affix it to the tire. He puffs away at his cigarette as if it were his last, beckoning Artis over to help him.

"(H)ere, (h)old thees.", giving the hubcap to Artis as he straigtens out the wheel hub.

"I should (h)ave sold thees peece of sheet to my bro-thair when (h)e offered to buy eet. Ah, zer vee go."

(motioning for the return of the hubcap)

After another 2 long minutes of shouting for good measure, Artis not only learns every swear word in what sounds like French, but is finally asked where he's going in broken English.

(Whiping his dirty hands off on a greasy, if not dirtier rag and exhaling a large puff of cheap cigarette smoke into Artis' face)

"Bon jour, Touriste! Where can Marcel drive (y)ou tooday?"

(Edited by Dieter at 11:57 am on Mar. 28, 2002)
Dieter 2002-03-28 18:07:43
(you're a bastard indeed :biggrin: )
"The harbor restaurant. I'll double the fare if you get me there in 5 minutes or less. Let's put this thing in H, I'm in a hurry."

(assuming there is a restaurant thing at the harbor, like an airport cafe thing)
Dieter 2002-03-28 18:18:11
Jessica has no trouble getting a ride down to the docks as a every man within earshot offers her "a ride".

While being flattered by the numerous offers of a "free ride", Jessica chooses the services of a kind-looking elderly man who perchance is also going down to the harbor to get some fish for this evening's meal.

Driving down to harbor, Jessica is both impressed and shocked at the aggressive nature of the elderly man's advances.

Eeeew. This guy is old enough to be my grandfather.

After a few kind retreats, followed by smack to the face and a tongue-lashing in the man's native language of Spanish, the man keeps both hands on the wheel for the remainder of the trip.

As he drops Jessica off at near the entryway for dock 9, she already senses the eyes of the sailors mentally undressing her.

That's it, I'm wearing a nun's habit for the rest of my stay.
Dieter 2002-03-28 19:15:19
"Eh? Zee (h)arbor? Tres bien, that's where I'm (h)eading. Climb in, Monsiuer!"

Marcel opens the door for you then jumps back into the driver's seat.

"(H)ere, I will take zee express route."

Marcel throws the Fiat into gear, the transmission horrible grinding at every shift. Artis is surprised at the amount of acceleration the little car can muster. Actually, he's a bit terrified at the amount when he sees the twisting cobblestoned streets ahead of him. Marcel glances back.

"Wee going fast enough, Monsieur? I (h)ope so. My baby is zee fastest car on zee island."

Artis is not sure how to respond as he is lurched to one side as Marcel, honking repeatedly, narrowly avoids a fruit cart. He yells something to the extent of "Get out of the fucking way!" at the fruit peddler.

Jesus, this guy drives crazier than I do!

Three minutes and one lunch almost out the window later, you arrive at the harbor. The car screeches to a halt as the front-right hubcap falls off...again.

As if it were almost a ritual, Marcel gets out of the car, lights another cigarette and begins to cuss wildly. He yells something back at Artis.

"(H)ave a good day my friend. No charge, I was coming (h)ere anyway."
Dieter 2002-03-28 19:56:40
You wind your way through the stalls of fishmongers and boatyards.

The dock area opens up into a prestine area, immaculently kept with assorted floral arrangements and trees lining the entranceway to dock 12.

Cripes, they call this subtle?

Near the entrance stands a small man, probably no taller than 5'5". He looks like he's taking his afternoon post-lunch smoke and reading the local newspaper. The area surrounding the entrance is populated with assorted deckhands from the various ships docked nearby.

At the far end of the entranceway to dock 12, you see what appears to be a large white yacht. It's hard to tell from this distance (about 200ft. from your current vantage point).

You can tell that the guy has spotted you while doing a casual glance, but he doesn't seem too interested in you, glancing back to his newspaper.
Gatac 2002-03-28 21:56:19
I arrive on foot with the subtlelity of a brick being thrown through a window, thanks to the beach dress clashing wildly with the darker harbor. Noticing the man with the newspaper and a sweating fellow way overdressed for the heat, I quickly make my way past the two and hide behind the next corner. There, I grab the X-Ray lenses from my handbag and insert one into my right eye. Having done so, I peek out again, scanning the two for weapons.
Dieter 2002-03-28 22:31:22
Jessica tries to "blend in", despite the fact she's clashing insanely with the overall decor of the docks.

The short man with the newspaper does a double-take when he sees her, but apparently is really into the article he's reading.

The tall man also sees her. He seems more interested in what she's not wearing rather than the fact she's out of place.
She sneaks around the corner, popping in an X-ray lens. Peeking around again, she spots several metallic objects from underneath the short man's sports jacket also detecting a large metal object hidden beneath the bigger man's jacket. The details are unclear, perhaps wearing both lenses would help?

What Jessica does notice is that the larger man is, in someway, familiar.

Old boyfriend, bartender? Wait! It's Artis from the academy. What the hell is he doing here? Unless...

While Jessica recognized him, he seems oblivious to her.

Why the hell doesn't he acknowledge me? He's probably staring at my boobs.

(OOC: Adam, you just rolled really bad on noticing that it's Jessica you're drooling over.)

(Edited by Dieter at 4:34 pm on Mar. 28, 2002)
Gatac 2002-03-28 22:39:34
I remove the lense again and stumble back onto the street as if I had walked on a bit and then suddenly realized something.

"Jim ? Jim 'Jackknife' Jones ? 3J ? I haven't seen you in ages !"

I hurry towards Artis, dragging him away by way of a solid grib on his jacket. While shouting large amounts of enthusiastic nonsense, I sneak a few whispers between that, continuing to drag him behind the next corner.

"Artis, what are *you* doing here ?"
Gatac 2002-03-28 22:55:23
(I'm kind of leaning towards a larger, more ethnic Jeremy Piven for how Artis looks - "Droz" from PCU, Cmdr. Cliff Wolcott in Black Hawk Down, that security guard friend of John Cusack in Grosse Point Blank... um... he was in Very Bad Things too)

(And... I posted too slow)

"Whoa, whoa... um.. who are you- OH. Hey Jess. Ssh. I'm a secret agent. Don't wanna blow my cover. And for this mission, my codename's Pitstains."

I give her a big grin and a hug - quickly checking for weapons (using whatever appropriate skill to do it surreptitiously).
Dieter 2002-03-29 01:11:15
As Artis checks her for weapons...

Hmm, I don't -think- she's armed, but I don't want to risk a severe case of swollen scrotum to find out for sure.

While the two "love birds" are embracing, a finger taps the back of Artis. Before either of them can angle themselves for a look/attack, they hear a voice.

*In a very Joe Pesci-like, New Yorker accent."

"Eh...excuse me. If you two love birdz are done matin' for da afternoon, the boss wants ta see yer."

(Edited by Dieter at 7:12 pm on Mar. 28, 2002)
Dieter 2002-03-29 02:59:10
I get back on the clock and turn to face this new guy.

Command had better not been screwing with me when they gave out the passphrases...

I arch one eyebrow Bill Shatner style and ask the little guy, "I seem to have misplaced my teddy bear. Will you sleep with me?"

Goddamn. I bet they were planning for a female contact, preferably one in an orange and white pleather catsuit.... OR they're just fucking with me...
Dieter 2002-03-29 14:39:47
The short man starts laughing at Jessica's remark.

"Young lady, you're funny. Let's just hope your skills are as good as your looks."

The short man walks at a brisk pace towards the dock entrance. He starts chatting it up, at an equally brisk pace.

"By the way, my name's Tommy, anything you folks need while you're here...let me know...You guys hungry? (Looking at Artis) Sid's got some steaks cooking on the grill...and I think we might have some salad for your lady friend."

(OOC: Tommy comes off as a bit gruff, but your gut-instinct is that he's a overall nice guy)
Dieter 2002-03-29 15:27:53
"...isn't that the truth. Nothing tastes better than a free steak. Sid's great, you know he used to be one of those celebrity chefs out in Hollywood, that was before he got into a little hot water with the local Yakuza. Those bastards cut off two of his fingers and he still can make the best damn steak. Is this your first time to St. Rochelle? This weather is a bitch. I sweat my fucking ass off everytime I come here..."

(Edited by Dieter at 9:28 am on Mar. 29, 2002)