Doctor Belasco

The God Complex

Posted.

I assumed it was alright to comment that Elton met James' gaze since he's scrutinising newcomers anyway.

*doesn't know what the bunnying threshold is*

The God Complex

The Erasure Agency was not an organisation given to slackness. It was tight, efficient, and naturally secretive – as it had to be; leaks could jeopardise an operation in the time it took to tap a keyboard. What this did mean was that James had not had so much as two days' notice. Forty-eight hours had not quite passed since he had been invited into the head of his previous department's office, and given the news. He had been bashfully aware that McNair had been mentioning his name to the 'right people' for a while, now, but had simply assumed that it was barely more than a gesture of generosity. He'd certainly never expected anything to come of it.

“Thanks for seeing me, James,” said McNair, maybe twenty years his senior, as the two men shook hands. He gestured to a seat opposite his own. James sat.

“Not at all.”

“I've had a request,” McNair spoke slowly and deliberately. The contrast was particularly evident against James' bulletlike speech-patterns. A wide grin was just about visible beneath a convincing effort to conceal it, “To transfer you to the Central Agency. Congratulations!”

There was a pause. He couldn't quite believe it. He thought he'd lucked out getting his current job with C-East. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he might be working for central.

“When do they want me to start?” he couldn't stop himself from beaming.

“Thursday.”

“I don't know what to say. Thank you so much for this!”

“Don't thank me. All I did was let people know how much potential you have, and they snapped you up. Anyway, as far as I'm aware, you'll be doing similar stuff as you have been with us; all-round support to whatever needs supporting, but even that's an estimate. You know how hush-hush they all are.”

The email with proper details had arrived later that evening. Where he was to go, to whom he was to report – his new salary. The figure for C-East had been astonishingly high, even for him, a junior employee, but this one was practically eye-watering. Not that the money mattered. Wealth was nice, but there were bigger things in life. Besides, he'd long been told that, if the Agency sensed you were only in it for the paycheque, they wouldn't look at you twice, just like the medical industry. It made sense; they were both about making people better.

So it was that, that Thursday, he approached the C-Central Erasure Agency, head held high. He looked like any young professional; blonde hair neatly parted, tie perfectly knotted. He had splashed out on a new suit and pair of dress shoes for the occasion – it was visibly expensive and a gorgeous piece of tailoring by anybody's standards, but it didn't quite suit him. They were an older man's clothes; his eyes shone too much, too blue. Briefcase in hand, he had a change of trousers and a pair of slightly more practical boots with him – still appropriately smart attire (as was literally everything he owned), but slightly less impressionable for the first meeting. To look at him, you wouldn't have known his heart was fluttering in his chest like a startled moth. Certainly, the way he entered the building cleanly through the correct staff entrance (as opposed to the more welcoming visitor's entrance) and passed the fiddly identification protocols without incident, passers-by could be forgiven for thinking he had been there before. In fact, he had, yesterday, for research purposes. With a little information, you could do anything.

The building was particularly grand. C-East was somewhat more rough-and-ready, with bits of the building needing re-touching, whereas C-Central, which had no fewer than sixteen storeys, six of which underground, was pristene from top to bottom. The corridors were wider, and taller, the doors big enough for three to fit through abreast, and James couldn't escape the feeling of being dwarfed as he found the meeting room on floor two. He would have preferred to take the stairs for such a short distance, but new buildings like these were fazing out stairs altogether as obsolete technology, so tried to walk slowly down the corridor. He made a conserted effort not to look like he was dawdling, but, ultimately, he was trying to kill time. Even having scouted out the location and procedures, he had left his appartment in very good time, just in case. This meant he was now five minutes early - he had been told to report at fourteen hundred hours – not thirteen hundred and fifty-five. Mentally timing himself, he found the right room after an appropriately laboured stroll, just one minute prior to the specified time. Not too bad.

He knocked, and entered. Only two others were there, a girl even younger than himself (could she possibly be an Agent?) and a man slightly more in keeping with the age precedent McNair had set – he actually looked a little like him, funnily enough, grizzly and chiselled, but he didn't appear particularly happy to be there. Weren't there supposed to be nine of them? Well, of the two, not-McNair was clearly the more senior, and was looking, or glowering, at the newcomer anyway.

“James Hart. I am in the right place, aren't I?”

The God Complex

Can you give us an idea what to expect future-tech-wise? I'm pretty inexperienced in futuristic settings... :P

+ any preference on the two versions of James?

Master Request List for bbcodes (or MCodes)

Please let me preface this suggestion with I know nothing about coding and have no idea if this is even possible or massively copyright infringey - would it be possible to upload soundfiles to the board? Some people put theme music to their characters and an unrelated Youtube video that happens to have the song you want seems egregious. Ideal world: a little play/pause button you could click to play whatever the soundfile is.

Yes, I know it's a long shot.

The God Complex

Just given James' personality a bit of an overhaul. Lemme know if you want me to budge it back to how it was. :)

The God Complex

What is/do you have a plan for how our characters all know one another? Are they one team of erasers that already knows one another, or just a bunch of erasers that are thrown together on a mission-by-mission basis?

I always find it's helpful to work out vague character relationships before the RP begins - "Billy-bob dislikes Shanequa because x" - "Shanequa doesn't know Billy-bob can't stand her" etc.

The God Complex

Alarei said Also, he's not so much straight-laced or completely detail oriented either, I guess that's the disadvantage of not being able to describe some kind of background for him.

Does that mean there's a bit of room for straight laces on James' front? I kinda wanted to take him in that direction but saw you'd got there first so made him around that. :P

The God Complex

Name: James Hart
Age: 23
Appearance:

Click

Gender: Male
Personality: James is young, enthusiastic, very intelligent, and anybody can tell that, with a bit more experience under his belt and the right sort of guidance, he will soon be a top Erasure Agent. He is very chipper and widely regarded as an asset on any team; even if he is still something of a diamond in the rough, he is, at the very least, an excellent team mascot. Friendliness, loyalty, and tact are rare traits in the high-pressure Erasure business, and good will is something James tries to bring by the bucketload, as well as a great work ethic.

Although the lad is undeniably bright (even by Erasure Agents' standards), his eye for detail, quick mathematics, and absurdly accurate memory do nothing for his ability to think critically about the intel he is presented with. This makes him easily manipulated, as he, in particular, tends not to think about the why and takes information at face value. On the positive side (for the team leader), he is excellent at following orders, and makes for an efficient, unquestioning robot whenever something needs doing. He has no trouble following instructions suited to the task in hand, and without the burden of autonomy, his natural all-round competence truly comes to the fore. Alternatively, he can engage his own computer-like brain to become a reasonably strong strategist, but he is not entirely confident in his ability to do so unsupervised.

Once upon a time, James' motivation to become an Erasure Agent was probably more noble than it is now; the desire to help 'fix' people. Since then, though, he has become almost entirely a part of his relatively new vocation, and, now that he's settling into it, has come to truly love the artistry underpinning Erasure operations, the excitement of the chase, and, yes, a certain voyeuristic thrill. Apart from anything else, he struggles to imagine what life might be like outside his current field of employ.

Writing Sample:

Rescued from Guild Cache

Albert swung idly against the banister on the first floor of the hall. It creaked worryingly, but he continued to push his weight into it despite the not inconsiderable risk of it cracking underneath him entirely and hurling him down the stairwell. Hold on. What was that? From his vantage point, staring out the window, he could make out two figures heading toward the motel's reception. There was a young woman wearing sunglasses, and, by the looks of things, an older gentleman, but his face was a little obscured by the hat he was wearing and the gear he was lugging, so it was hard to tell. Either way, they were both wearing suits. That could mean only one thing: his team had arrived. Or, at least, part of it. He span on the spot and hopped down the stairs, almost tripping on the second step from the bottom. Twenty-four hours on his own with nothing to do but work – he was surprised at how grateful he was for other agents to turn up. He skipped to the front door and opened it to see the two agents stood there.

“Welcome to Chateau D.A.P.P.E.R,” he said, amiably, looking over the newcomers. The girl was pretty and was holding a familiar-looking briefcase; the man was, as he suspected, older. Wait. Albert's eyes narrowed, focussing on the bowler hat perched awkwardly on top of his head. The head which now nodded in his direction.

“Widmann,” the older man rested some of his luggage on the ground, “Been waiting long, now?”

“About twenty-four hours.”

The agent grinned, “Guess you’ll be wanting this, then. Miss Brandt, if you would.”

“Miss von Brandt, thank you,” said the pretty girl, clearing her throat. With a surname like that, it didn’t take a genius to guess where she was from. And that accounted for the slightly unusual accent.

She handed him the briefcase she was holding - his briefcase. As the older man tipped the hat he was wearing in apology. Albert twitched a little and half-threw the briefcase behind him, where it landed awkwardly on its side in the hall. Pouting slightly, he simply said, “I like your hat.”

“I’m not surprised,” the older man removed the bowler hat, frowning past Albert after the briefcase in the hall.

“It’s mine.”

This Von Brandt also seemed preoccupied with the briefcase, and, perhaps without realising the irony, said through red downturned lips, “Herr Widmann, do you always treat your toys that way?”

Albert simply ignored the young woman, continuing to glare at the older man; presumably this assignment’s handler. For his own part, the handler coolly returned his gaze, and raised one of his eyebrows, spinning the unusual weight of this particular hat between his palms, as Miss Von Brandt watched, seemingly enjoying herself.

“Give it back, please.”

“It’s the Bureau’s,” said the handler, calmly, “But I’ll loan it to you if I don’t see that,” Albert glanced over his shoulder at the briefcase, “That again.”

Albert paused, remembering the countless times he had been told something similar. It was usually put in slightly blunter terms, but something about this older man suggested that if anybody would make good on a threat, it would be him.

He had retreated back to his room. It was generally best to have both a mirror and peace and quiet for this part, and the whole atmosphere downstairs with the others heaving in the equipment, especially following what he belatedly realised constituted ‘his display’ earlier. It turned out that Alden Aikens was indeed the handler on this assignment, and he had hardly made a fantastic impression on their commander.

On the plus side, at least he’d got his hat back. From the outside, it looked reasonably ordinary, and was, in fact, the smartest item of clothing he owned. Peering into the inside, its true nature was more apparent. The whole inside of the crown was covered with a layer of metal, and exposed wires. He didn’t understand the technology, just how to operate it.

Looking carefully in the mirror, he pulled the hair to the left of his forehead as far back as possible, exposing a small metal disc amid the roots, fused into his skin. It was just about visible through his dirty blonde hair anyway, but revealing it properly always made him gag a little. Still, it was part of him - like it or not. It wasn’t the only one, either. They were physical reminders on - in - his head that were proof, as if it were needed, that he wasn’t, and would never be, normal. Miss Von Brandt, even if she knew his speciality, didn’t understand the reality of the situation. She wasn’t much older than him, but they were worlds, and not just nations, apart.

From the inside of the hat, he pulled out a small green wire, and closed his eyes as he plugged it carefully into a socket within the metal disc. He could feel sparks leap across his mind. Plugging in had long since stopped hurting, but it never became comfortable. With the green wire in, he then did the same with a red wire to a socket on the right of his forehead, and a white one to a slightly larger disc at the top of his neck. He placed the hat on his head, and tucked the wires within his crown. If you knew where to look, you could just about make out the sockets and wires, but, to most, Albert would appear to be nothing more than a young man wearing a bowler hat.

He shut his eyes again as he could feel his mind doing something new. He always imagined a balloon with a tiny puncture: a huge transfer of pressure, painful, but becoming increasingly comfortable. After about five minutes concentration, he was able to stand up again. Apparently, he’d fallen over while focussing. Excitedly, he grabbed the briefcase he had been given and opened it up. Some people might have expected a weapon, or at least a few documents. This one contained mostly juggling balls. Scooping one up, he tossed it gently into the air and smiled as it hovered right there in the middle of the room. Albert was back.

The God Complex

What nation is this based in?

Of Steam and Ambition (Steampunk Nation RP)

Interested. I'm a little uncertain with NRPs, but my eye's on this.