Ninurta
07-11-2004, 01:21
Rules: Messing with the primary storyline is not permitted. If you make a post that I decide interferes too much with what will happen, I'll post that I ignore that post and explain why. Other than that, feel free to post...
IC:
He was not an ugly man, but he wasn't handsome either. He looked like he might once have been very handsome before age began to take his features. He'd denied the many available forms of therapy, of age lengthening and of professionally applied semipermanent cosmetics. Instead, he'd allowed his hairline to recede and the hair that remained was grey or white. He wore the camouflage army jacket that he was no longer actually required to wear, but he left it open, revealing a black tee-shirt that would certainly not have been permitted to someone of even two ranks below his own. The blue jeans he wore were just as nonregulation.
As he stepped off A BIKE*, one of the last two things that would have likely identified what he was was abandoned behind him. All that remained were the twin gold and silver berettas that he chose to wear both on his right side. Despite their indication of rank, an assassin who thought they were ceremonial would have been surprised.
A black machine on his side of the gate read the bar code on his military ID and a guard on the other side pushed the button to open the gate. "Good day, sir?"
"I'm afraid not." The general's voice was quiet as he approached the booth.
"I'm sorry, sir. May I ask what the purpose of your visit is?"
"I have to speak with my brother."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Of course."
The guard punched some buttons on his touch-screen display and read for a few moments. "I'm afraid you're several minutes early, sir, but if you wish I'm sure I could interrupt his lunch for you..."
"Please."
The guard, who had his own display of rank - a green revolver - displayed prominently in front of him, pulled up a microphone and had a hurried conversation with one of the Consul's assistants. Several moments later, he looked up. "Sorry to keep you waiting, General. The Consul is finishing his lunch as we speak."
The old general nodded. "Thank you."
The guard closed the gate and went back to his ... whatever it was he did.
The general began the long walk through the park toward the huge Legislature Building. Midway through the park, he felt water fall on his shoulder and looked up. It was beginning to drizzle. He frowned, looked around, and countinued on his way. By the time he'd reached the building the sky had turned grey, but he had not hurried his stride - his dignity refused to allow him that aid. The door opened on its own and he looked inside. The receptionist - a security guard in disguise, he suspected - nodded to him. "The Consul is waiting for you, sir." The general nodded and proceeded to the elevator. That door, to, opened as he arrived and closed behind him, and he didn't even have to say anything before it began its upward trek. It arrived, indicating the twenty-sixth floor, and the doors opened for him and then closed behind him again. The general didn't like things that worked without someone he could see telling them to. He'd watched science fiction movies as a child, so he knew what that led to. He continued down the short hallway, ignoring the few doors on the side until he came to the end of the hallway, where it opened into a large, empty room. Steel and mirrors covered the room in the style that had been fashionable for the last few years. Tasteful artwork hung at a few areas, but failed to give the room a sense that it was occupied. The man in the room - for there was a man in the room, and only one man, and no women - was young by the general's standards, and fairly old by anyone else's standards. He was close in appearance to the general, but his hair remained black, his height remained unchanged(though his posture suffered) by age, and his hairline remained. He wore a suit rather than the casual quasi-Army-wear of the general.
The general spoke, alerting the man to his presence. "You sent for me, John?"
The man swiveled in his chair, his face becoming clear and shown to be that of the Consul, famous across Ninurta. "Yes. Steven, both of us are people who like to get to the point, so shall we?"
"Please."
"I need you to resign."
The general smiled. "I knew this wasn't going to be good."
"Steven..."
"No, John. If you want to fire me, you're going to have to do it yourself."
"Steven."
"John, I know I'm not what I once was, but I'll tell you something you already know. You know what I'l tell it to you? Because you need to hear it. I have three Major Generals under me, and not one of them is more qualified for my position than I am. You know it. I know you've been overestimating what my aging has done to my mind, but even you know they aren't what I am. To show you, then, that this mind of mine hasn't lost too many steps, I'll tell you what you're going to do with my position. You're going to give it to some politician in exchange for some vote on some issue. And if you wanted me to resign so it didn't look bad that you were firing your own brother, well, we don't always get what we wish for. Goodbye."
He turned around and walked back to the elevator, which opened for him and closed for his brother's protests. He punched in the lobby button - this time he got to make it work himself - and began the short trip back to Army Command.
*A BIKE is the standard Army transportation unit. All are motorcycles, most built for two for quick navigation around the jungles and cities. As a General, Steven's would most likely have been very different - built for one and designed more to look stylish and be fast than to have the maneuverability and stability that traversing jungle would have required.
A Note On The Title: The Consul and the General are brothers, John and Steven Adamant.
IC:
He was not an ugly man, but he wasn't handsome either. He looked like he might once have been very handsome before age began to take his features. He'd denied the many available forms of therapy, of age lengthening and of professionally applied semipermanent cosmetics. Instead, he'd allowed his hairline to recede and the hair that remained was grey or white. He wore the camouflage army jacket that he was no longer actually required to wear, but he left it open, revealing a black tee-shirt that would certainly not have been permitted to someone of even two ranks below his own. The blue jeans he wore were just as nonregulation.
As he stepped off A BIKE*, one of the last two things that would have likely identified what he was was abandoned behind him. All that remained were the twin gold and silver berettas that he chose to wear both on his right side. Despite their indication of rank, an assassin who thought they were ceremonial would have been surprised.
A black machine on his side of the gate read the bar code on his military ID and a guard on the other side pushed the button to open the gate. "Good day, sir?"
"I'm afraid not." The general's voice was quiet as he approached the booth.
"I'm sorry, sir. May I ask what the purpose of your visit is?"
"I have to speak with my brother."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Of course."
The guard punched some buttons on his touch-screen display and read for a few moments. "I'm afraid you're several minutes early, sir, but if you wish I'm sure I could interrupt his lunch for you..."
"Please."
The guard, who had his own display of rank - a green revolver - displayed prominently in front of him, pulled up a microphone and had a hurried conversation with one of the Consul's assistants. Several moments later, he looked up. "Sorry to keep you waiting, General. The Consul is finishing his lunch as we speak."
The old general nodded. "Thank you."
The guard closed the gate and went back to his ... whatever it was he did.
The general began the long walk through the park toward the huge Legislature Building. Midway through the park, he felt water fall on his shoulder and looked up. It was beginning to drizzle. He frowned, looked around, and countinued on his way. By the time he'd reached the building the sky had turned grey, but he had not hurried his stride - his dignity refused to allow him that aid. The door opened on its own and he looked inside. The receptionist - a security guard in disguise, he suspected - nodded to him. "The Consul is waiting for you, sir." The general nodded and proceeded to the elevator. That door, to, opened as he arrived and closed behind him, and he didn't even have to say anything before it began its upward trek. It arrived, indicating the twenty-sixth floor, and the doors opened for him and then closed behind him again. The general didn't like things that worked without someone he could see telling them to. He'd watched science fiction movies as a child, so he knew what that led to. He continued down the short hallway, ignoring the few doors on the side until he came to the end of the hallway, where it opened into a large, empty room. Steel and mirrors covered the room in the style that had been fashionable for the last few years. Tasteful artwork hung at a few areas, but failed to give the room a sense that it was occupied. The man in the room - for there was a man in the room, and only one man, and no women - was young by the general's standards, and fairly old by anyone else's standards. He was close in appearance to the general, but his hair remained black, his height remained unchanged(though his posture suffered) by age, and his hairline remained. He wore a suit rather than the casual quasi-Army-wear of the general.
The general spoke, alerting the man to his presence. "You sent for me, John?"
The man swiveled in his chair, his face becoming clear and shown to be that of the Consul, famous across Ninurta. "Yes. Steven, both of us are people who like to get to the point, so shall we?"
"Please."
"I need you to resign."
The general smiled. "I knew this wasn't going to be good."
"Steven..."
"No, John. If you want to fire me, you're going to have to do it yourself."
"Steven."
"John, I know I'm not what I once was, but I'll tell you something you already know. You know what I'l tell it to you? Because you need to hear it. I have three Major Generals under me, and not one of them is more qualified for my position than I am. You know it. I know you've been overestimating what my aging has done to my mind, but even you know they aren't what I am. To show you, then, that this mind of mine hasn't lost too many steps, I'll tell you what you're going to do with my position. You're going to give it to some politician in exchange for some vote on some issue. And if you wanted me to resign so it didn't look bad that you were firing your own brother, well, we don't always get what we wish for. Goodbye."
He turned around and walked back to the elevator, which opened for him and closed for his brother's protests. He punched in the lobby button - this time he got to make it work himself - and began the short trip back to Army Command.
*A BIKE is the standard Army transportation unit. All are motorcycles, most built for two for quick navigation around the jungles and cities. As a General, Steven's would most likely have been very different - built for one and designed more to look stylish and be fast than to have the maneuverability and stability that traversing jungle would have required.
A Note On The Title: The Consul and the General are brothers, John and Steven Adamant.