Lady Selune

High Castles, Ivory Towers

"Vultures serve an important part of the natural world, Herr Carter. Tabloid journalists are more akin to mosquitos." Once the other man had finished talking, Schultz would reach again, this time drawing out a small polaroid picture. It showed a smiling woman, likely in her early twenties holding a wine-glass cocktail in one hand and gesturing wildly with her other one. She was unmistakably beautiful, even in black and white; in fact, her and fellow actress Marilyn Monroe could have been sisters, were it not for Jacqueline's much darker hair colour. On the reverse of the polaroid were details. Jacqueline Schultz. Maiden name Jacqueline Fosters. Employed at the Glamour Hawk production company, currently working on the set of a new film. "The title of the film is under confidentiality clauses at the moment," Schultz would say after a short while. "So that's the best I have for you. If you want the itinerary... I'll see if I can't extract one at some point, but know that my pockets are deep enough to not mind the extra expense."

The pair would quietly stare at each other for a little while, Schultz answering any further questions, before the elderly German drew out a pocket watch and examined it. "I've taken up twenty minutes of your time, have I not?" It was a question, but not one that needed an answer. He would retrieve his wallet, place two reichsdollars down onto the table, turn, and limp his way out of the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

The steps would fade away into the distance as the man walked down the stairs, leaving behind the two notes and the picture of his target. Say what you would about the tendencies of Germans in this new world, but their money didn't lie; the one-reichsdollar bill still held George Washington's face on one side, but on the other, the bald eagle clutched a shield blazoned with the swastika, 'In God We Trust' had been replaced by the Nazi slogan of Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Fuhrer, and the unfinished pyramid had, at last, been finished, to show the completeness and perfectness of the German regime.

High Castles, Ivory Towers

A haggard fellow would enter the room. He was not old, his gait was that of a middle-aged man, but life had not treated him well. His face was wrinkled, a few of his hairs had already been shocked grey, and he walked with a noticeable limp; a war wound, no doubt. His salt-and-pepper hair was tightly combed back, and he wore a custom tailored Hugo Boss suit; the kind of suit that only wealthy boche wore. Boss himself had, of course, passed away several years ago, but Germany's victory had cemented the brand as the go to for menswear, be it for the Schutzstaffel or the Stockbroker. He looked around at the mess, sniffed once at the cigarette smoke in the air, and approached the seat.

"Herr Carter." The man spoke with a strong German accent, and now that he did, his face was not difficult to place. Ludwig Schultz; Wermacht officer turned politican after an honourable discharge from the British Front. Supposedly his limp came from a mills bomb he hadn't quite been quick enough to avoid. Now however, rather than dodging grenades, he instead dodged social faux pas. "I have heard... Despite appearances, you are a very competant man." His eyes were sunken into his skull, although they were keen and piercing. Dangerous eyes.

"I know not if you follow showbiz news, but I'm afraid it's very pertinent to me." He straightened himself up. "My wife; Jacqueline Schultz, is an up and coming actress, just secured herself her first leading role in one of the new pictures." He looked down to the cigarette smouldering in the ash tray, before working a hand into an inner breast pocket and working free a small plastic cylinder. Unscrewing the lid, he would shakily tip out a flat, round tab and knock it back into his mouth, swallowing it dry. An all-too common sight with ex soliders; the boche love for narcotics had a side effect of a very dope-dependent peoples.

"Now, you must understand," the official would say as he screwed the lid shut again. "I do not actually suspect her of doing anything wrong. In fact, considering the circumstances, I commend her for her frankness in her dealings with me. You see, she is almost three decades younger than me, and so, when she is constantly between the sets and the fancy Hollywood parties, people begin to talk." He gestured vaguely with his hand.

"I don't care for what they say, but there others that do. I need you to follow her, take some photos of her about her daily business, show that she is merely doing what the other degenerates in the unfortunate industry she has found herself in do, and then send them to me. I shall do the rest." He pulled at a middle finger, the joint cracking softly. "For your work, you'll be handsomely rewarded. Whatever your usual pay is for this sort of thing, I'll double the number of reichsdollars."

High Castles, Ivory Towers

👍

I await your starter.

High Castles, Ivory Towers

If we're doing mature stuff it needs to be in PMs, just to let you know.

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

.

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

Ooh. Food. She took another sip of her milkshake as the woman sprayed on the skin-foam (Guarenteed to Seal in 1-2-3!) and could only chuckle at her reply. "Ain't my role to judge, I just bring 'em in if I get 'em." She patted the other woman on the back a little bit and took the devices back, handing the spray can over to the bartender. "Could you be a gent and bin that? Ain't no good after you used 'em once." Once she had done so she would take a few of the chips, savouring them slowly. Delicious. Truly delicious... And the onion rings! So crunchy she swore she'd chipped a tooth! Marvellous! "Gosh, my compliments to the chef, these are fantastic."

Of course, her mood was dragged down fairly quickly by the ne'er-do-well looking to buy the skin-foam can. "Err... Gent, you can get that at most pharmacies. It's just like a plaster aint'it? The other one were just some painkillers and an autoinjector. Nothing you can't get either." Gosh that bourbon was nice. She could get very, very drunk off of it very, very quickly. Probably not a good idea.

"Did I go back in time or what? Y'alls folks never seen 2122 tech? Digi-structors? Auto-injectors? Voidsuits? Am I missin' somethin' here?"

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate

Australia. Right, that meant... Another blue magic portal. Siobhan gulped a little subconsciously; thoughts of herself and herself and herself and herself and all whirling around in her head, but she squashed them down. She had defeated the thing in the mirror once, surely she could do it again. Other people went ahead, took the lead, made a big hoo-hah. She was happy to be the one they could fallback on if things went badly. It was a role that suited her well. She would look out, look at the man talking about the FOE, and shake her head.

"Not the FOE you gotta look out for. It's regular joes. Bunch of peoples rocking up to exchange stuff in the middle of the outback? Going to look like a drug deal. That's what you should be worried about, not magic police coming down." She had spent enough time on the lam that she knew what suspicious activities looked like. "It is the Australian outback though, so as long as everyone keeps hydrated we should be fine. Don't know anybody who would willingly spend time out there in the blaze." She hadn't been to Australia much. It was a dead end, geographically speaking; the only place to go was back up to mainland Eurasia or cross the Pacific and head to America, something which she had done once... But stowing away for that long was rough.

"Anyway. You don't have to worry about me wanting a normal life."

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

@Zoey Boey

Forgot to mention you in my post.

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

"Hey lass, if you're dead, this'n be a pretty good place to be dead at. Here." Vyn reached for a pouch and pulled out a small polymer device the size and shape of an extremley undersized pistol, then a small silver canister and what appeared to be a spray bottle. "This'll fix ya up right as rain; always does for me. Painkillers, binders." She shook the spray can a few times hard and set it down in front of the other injutred woman, then jabbed the cylinder down atop where the hammer would have been had the injector been a pistol, turning it once to secure it. Twirling the device in her palm, she would offer it grip-first to the newcomer, taking a sip of her milkshake as she did so.

From behind her, she heard the mew of cat and the bartender acknowledging an animal. Almost instinctively she tried to activate her helmet's ability to grant her panoramic vision, before remembering it was sitting on the counter next to her, and she'd just have to turn her head like a normal human being. Cute cat.

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

The woman watched as the drink was assembled, raising an eyebrow as the man made pretty much a picture-perfect milkshake, and with a cherry on top to boot. "Can I get the rest of that bottle o' bourbon if ya don't mind. Need a good..." She took the bottle and knocked back a good slug of the liquor. A low rumbling started at the back of her throat as she set the alcohol down, emerging from her mouth as a rough, growly 'rah' sounding noise as the burn subsisded. "That's what the doctor ordered. Ain't no finer painkiller than eighty proof, ain't that right?" The woman chuckled to herself, flipping over the pages of the menu. "Chris'almighty, what a delight! Could go a lifetime and not eat the same thing twice. I think though some comfort foods are in order for me; could you be a dear and send the order for the uh..." She flipped back through the pages, tapping on the right one after a few seconds.

"Chilli cheese fries and the onion rings, and I do not take kindly to skimpin' on the jalapeños." She offered a wink, and then gasped, seemingly shocked at something. "Now now, where in the hells are my manners. You'se gave me drink and I ain't even given a kindly gent like you my name! Call me Vyn." Once this was done, she would turn and look at Balthazar and his goons. Rough. Tumble. Dangerous sorts of fellas; the kind she normally dragged in for a price on their heads. "I appreciate the gesture gentlemen."