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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Jun 8, 2013 20:45:16 GMT -8
Granted, they most certainly don't hurt anymore because you got them amputated.
I wish that I had a Hitler tea pot.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Jun 8, 2013 13:41:44 GMT -8
I'm interested in plotting with you o wob
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IC FML
May 25, 2013 22:07:37 GMT -8
Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on May 25, 2013 22:07:37 GMT -8
My sister is in love with my annoying coworker. FML. My siblings have forgotten about me. FML. I ran out of lasagna. FML. My younger sister that I have cared for for so long hates my guts and has become a stripper, even if I created a lovely family structure with my mafia. FML. I forgot to pay back Arthur. FML.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on May 25, 2013 22:03:32 GMT -8
Your microwave burns your house.
I wish the stock market would be in my favor.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on May 24, 2013 20:38:34 GMT -8
May we plot, dear? c:
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 20, 2013 18:40:59 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 350px; padding: 15px; background-color: fbfbfb;] VASH WAS AS BLUNT AS HIS AIM WAS SHARP. In a place like this, it was certain that he wasn't going to be as calculating with his words. He had his excuses, and he was going to use them. He pretty much knew he stuck out so much here, but what could he say? Cheap drinks are cheap drinks. He wasn't here for the company. In Vauxhall, you simply didn't try to strike a friendly chat with people. You strike a friendly chat, you might end up getting a little too friendly with the person, and Vash wasn't known for his friendliness. To say he was friendly in the friendly sense would be a total lie. His reaction was always deadpan, especially when he is put into an awkward position such as now.
"Evening, Vash. Let's skip the niceties. I have a friend over there who finds you very attractive but is too shy to talk to you. So, buy her a drink or something," a certain coworker of his said. I'll be damned.
Vash wasn't going to buy a drink for a stranger who was reportedly checking him out. There were a lot of reasons for this, the biggest reason being he was simply too cheap and would rather buy drinks for himself. If the woman was attracted to him, why was she asking Aoife out of all people to be the messenger? He would rather the woman be up and straightforward to him... plus... did he consider himself attractive or dating material? Not so sure about that one. Vash is a solitary man and doesn't seem to have that at the top of his mind. In fact, he seemed to hinder his younger sister from romantic interaction. Chances of the Zwingli family line continuing was slim at this point.
"No, won't be doing that." he said, looking at the direction of the girl in question, then looking back to Aoife. Vash, you are a party pooper. But really, Aoife out of all people should know that he has trouble forking over money. His thrifty ways would get in the way of relationships, yes. But he would much rather prefer not to part with his hard-earned and hard-saved cold cash. He'll stay as cold as his cash, and there was no arguing with that. She didn't need any explaining here.
| [atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 120px; padding: 15px; background-color: 312925;] 404 WORDS |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 19, 2013 15:48:19 GMT -8
Shall we plot~?
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 19, 2013 15:46:04 GMT -8
@ Amy:
We're agreed e ueb
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 19, 2013 15:13:53 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 350px; padding: 15px; background-color: fbfbfb;] IT HAD BEEN A LONG DAY. Then again, it always was a long day for any MI6 employee. There is no "short day" or "casual Friday", especially when it came to days when you were assigned to a mission. If you weren't on a mission, you were at the SIS Building, doing office work at the Cubicles,t raining your body in the workout rooms, or helping clean out the lab (a task many tended to avoid). Or, you were sent over to Scotland Yard to be their lapdog. You were the government's slave and they intended to drive you all day long.
Once the day was over, many agents went their way to one of the strip clubs or gay bars of Vauxhall, both to fill a void and because of convenience. Some went to the fabulous Fortuna Magnus Casino for the entertainment. Vash tended not to go to the Casino; he had no interest in pleasuring himself with the eye candy or risking his money. There was the fact that he had a reputation of being a grumpy man with a serious demeanor. He really didn't want to explain things. He would not even dare think of what would happen if he decided to walk into a gay bar and get called out by annoying coworkers of his. And he really didn't have the energy at the end of the day to question his sexuality.
So his usual drinking place was a somewhat undergrown bar at the corner of the street. The location was questionable, next to a couple of the strip clubs. In the window of the next building over were scantily dressed women beckoning for his patronage. He turned a blind eye and only continued walking.
This bar he went to somewhat often was dubbed "The Irish Lady". It was owned by an oldwoman from Northern Ireland who probably felt nationalistic and felt the urge to spite the English. The drinks happened to be cheap (cheaper if you weren't English) and was good to the taste. It actually didn't taste too cheap either. There was even actual food here, though it mainly consisted of potatoes, potatoes, and even more potatoes. A real gem of a pub hidden in this vulgar corner of London.
He had entered the pub without too much fuss, even if a few of those gingers and carrot tops turned their heads towards him. His blonde hair stood out just a bit in this Irish hellhole. They went back to their drunken Irish Gaelic and English conversations. Sometimes, if they were drunk enough, it was hard to tell what language they were speaking. Vash usually didn't bother.
"One Guinness Draught,": he said, making certain not to start any side conversations. Once you got an Irishman yapping, they won't stop, especially when drunk. The price of the Guinness here was definitely agreeable, especially because of the post-St. Patrick's Day cheer (a day some people made a point to be excessively Irish). Guinness here was dirt cheap. For the length of today, he wanted to make sure he didn't blow out his wallet, and so this was the place.
It was a long day and a man deserves his drink. | [atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 120px; padding: 15px; background-color: 312925;] 535 WORDS |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 16, 2013 16:05:47 GMT -8
[atrb=cellspacing,4,true][atrb=cellpadding,5px,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/Vrs56.png); border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 30px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 30px; border: 5px solid #222222;] — give in, to temptation that keeps following you tonight obey the shadows cry
He really wondered why the heck he decided to work with Donald. But of course, it was usual for him to be coerced to work with the twins. He couldn't complain, there were much worse candidates to go on missions with him.He has no right to complain about Donald's work ethic or how Aoife can dwarf both of the men in strength and umph factor. Her presence could emanate masculinity, but in a nicely wrapped package of a feminine figure that many a men feared. She's a good comrade to have around, but damn it, it makes you very insecure of just how masculine you could be. Vash was more likely to trust Aoife with his life than to trust her brother. And he did. Personally, going into missions solo was very dangerous, and it felt somewhat comfortable to have someone who had your back... and a potential meat shield. Well that's a cruel thought, but it was true, Agents tended to prefer that their partners were shot instead of them. Vash wasn't the kind of person that was easy to shoot at, however.
It somewhat pissed off Vash that Donald had the strength to laugh and to be eating crisps at the moment. Doesn't he worry that he'll get the crumbs in the car, a car that was most certainly not his but the government's, and would have to clean it up later? Didn't he worry that he could potentially lose an organ or two or that he was going to delve into an illegal organ trading cartel? If anything, why not give Donald the fun job of being the decoy? Donald should be worrying but not showing it, staying silent and calculating his every move. Of course he wasn't going to do that. He was Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland, and he was going to do as he wishes.
But of course, Donald was a somewhat capable agent. He knew what he was capable of doing, and unfortunately, he knew what went on in those dastardly places. He knew because he was once a part of those kinds of organizations, though not organ smuggling specifically. He knew the social structure, the way they ran things, and how they created their chaos. It was fortunate he had been able to grab a career at MI6, considering that his criminal record was a tad bit extensive. That was perhaps the power of Aoife in the works.
“Oi, Vash, are y’sure yer all righ’ with bein’ decoy? If not, yer can always change yer mind an’ I can take over,” Aoife said. Vash really didn't have objections about being the decoy (even if it was a position that the Q had forced upon him), and he could hold out on his own, yes. There was just a little bit of a tickle in the conscience here. A few concerns, if you will.
"Absoolute-ly-not! Chipper is capable—yes, he’ll b’fine, yea? Ye caen’t predict much o' 'bout th' lawless. Fer all we know, maybe his grumpy demeanor’ll is convincin’ enough te them! 'Ave a little faith in ‘im wouldya—unless ye think ye can pull off a grumpier face than him." Donald chimed in. Again with Chipper. Where the heck does this guy get his nicknames? But besides the point (and besides the comment on his "grumpy" expression), there was definitely a concern with having Aoife as the decoy in participating with this organ smuggling cartel. Call it sexist if you will, but this was going to be awful business. You'll see needles, you'll see saws, you'll see dismembered bodies and people more up close and personal than you would like to see them, depending on the nature of this organization. And with women, well... with organizations like these, organ smugglers tend to target a woman's uterus and ovaries. There's a great business in those two feminine organs, and those two things, the tissues of human creation, there was a lot of experimentation you could do with those two things, not just sell them to egg banks. Scientists could do some dastardly things and with Aoife's fiery hair, well you can assume she carried the genetic code in there. Vash most certainly didn't have any concerns over her not being able to handle the job, but this was serious business. And frankly, organ smugglers won't be going after your balls, there's enough of that in the world.
"Don't worry about it, I'll do it. If anyone's going to have to decoy and be strapped down to whatever sick table they have, it would be me. I trust you'd be able to get me out of that situation," he said simply, the car halting to a stop.
Let the show begin. There will be blood. |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 16, 2013 14:20:20 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable] She really shouldn't trouble herself... it was a shame that he had to always worry about coming home unscathed. He hated it, the things that she probably could imagine. She worried too often because of his constant injuries. She worries way too often and always nurses him, even if he needs no nurse. It was painful that her worry was a misuse of her imagination. Her imagination shouldn't be steeped in worry. It should be steeped in the books that he had read to her as a young child, in a castle fairytale world that London could lend itself to be. Safe here at home, safe and sound, tending to the flowers, and staying in this world and never poking her head into his world. Of course, he can't keep her here forever, but he'll keep her here for as long as he can.
It was always a frustrating cycle, but it would be something that he would have to keep going through. The signed Don't See, Don't Tell Secrecy Act unfortunately bars him from saying anything. And if she knew the truth, he would be forced to resign because of her worry and her insistence.
"It could happen. You never know..." she said. That worry. Again, that worry. For all he knew, he would start worrying for himself. A nervous chuckle. Maybe he was going to start worrying. Too late, he's always worrying.
Of course, in his awkward Swiss manner, he changed the subject. Dwelling on the topic of the bank was always a tad bit uncomfortable. If only he really did take up banking, but no he probably wouldn't be here if he took up banking. Taking a banking job in Switzerland is much more safe.
Those flowers got a reaction. Yes, crap. Which meant he probably would have to beat the crap out of someone in his mind. And of course, with the Big Brother Alarm, one does not simply dismiss flowers. Especially when your sister is a florist. Who is this up-start? He probably hasn't even known her for too long. If he was a bit more honorable, there would be more gifts, like cookies or cards or teddy bears or corgis.
“It was a man that just stopped by yesterday. He was very sweet, Vash! Even if he did buy my flowers—honestly, I’m a florist. He didn’t have much of a choice.” she said, her face definitely betraying nervousness. Looks like he definitely was able to get her off the topic of going to the bank.
"How long have you known this man? And there are many different gifts you can give someone, like that Belgian Chocolate shop down the street. Really now, you can't be giving into this man's poppycock! Did you make him pay a higher price at least? I won't have you won over the cheap gesture of having a guy buy something from you and give it to you as a gift. And how are the security measures in the shop?"
And so it begins. IT IS STRONG, YET SO PURE |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 16, 2013 13:30:09 GMT -8
VASH'S RELATIONSHIPS
ADOPTED YOUNGER SISTER
❖ LILI ADELAIDE ZWINGLI His darling younger sister who he dotes on. She currently lives with him after the tragic deaths of their parents, but she seems to be doing well. He worries about her constantly and can be somewhat overprotective over her. Especially with the precautions regarding the flower shop she runs (with capital from him, of course). Please don't get the milk by yourself, Schwester... |
COLLEAGUE
DONALD O'NEILL-KIRKLAND ❖ A coworker of his that constantly coerces him to do missions with him. Vash gets quite annoyed at the guy... and to top it off, this guy is hitting on his sister. Great. Vash does trust this guy, though. Perhaps not to the extent that he trusts Donald's twin sister, but Vash can trust this guy to at least increase the survival rate by 25%. Vash hates to admit it but Donald is one lucky guy. |
SUPERIOR; OCCASIONAL DRINKING BUDDY
❖ IAIN STUART-KIRKLAND The Q of MI6, Vash doesn't exactly appreciate Iain's ways of showing appreciation and complimenting his capabilities at MI6... really now, how would a potato gun help? Iain is his superior, so Vash doesn't have the right to complain. Of course, the two of them share just a bit of a distaste for Donald's antics, and perhaps share more views on the world than they would like to admit. The stress of work can suck, but hey, there are some cheap bars around that the two hit up. And they're both cheap, so expect those drinks to be cheap. |
COLLEAGUE;
Aoife O'Neill-Kirkland ❖ A fellow agent and twin sister to Donald, Vash can tolerate her a lot better than Donald. They've been on a few missions together, and he's come to trust her to have his back. Now then, is this a "friendship"? It depends on how you define a friendship. After all, she's the one that he's worked with the most on missions with MI6, so perhaps this is the closest relationship you can count as a "friendship". Iain's more like a "let's sulk about the world's problems together because they just don't understand" person. Now then, what is she hiding... |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 14, 2013 5:48:48 GMT -8
WHY ARE YOU SO PERFECT *O*
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 13, 2013 21:06:48 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #333333; padding: 5px; width: 210px, bTable] Couldn't a man be accident prone if he so desired? This routine was getting too old. He had been lucky to not land himself in the hospital, because explaining a bullet in the knee would be difficult to explain. Even with his great marksmanship, his best suit was negotiation. Unfortunately, some criminals enjoyed negotiating with their fists.
"I'll get you some ice if it hurts. It still looks very swollen," she offered. Before he could protest, she was already up to go get the ice. Damn it, she never gave him time to say he was very much capable of doing things by himself. He was actually capable of making things in the kitchen. He could make some pretty good treats, but she would always offer to be on kitchen duty. She pretty much owned the kitchen at this point. The only time he really got to use the kitchen was if he got back home earlier than her and decided to surprise her... if he had the energy. You simply do not stop her from doing what she intends to... because you don't want to. The hospitality was contagious and you never took advantage of it.
"I'm sure I irritate you when I worry, but I'm afraid someone is going to attack you with... you know. An actual weapon." Ah, isn't that close to the truth. Those lawless folk tended to have, I don't know, actual weapons, not those nice Nerf guns. They didn't play friendly with their toys. No one did. Of course, Vash knew how to play with actual weapons, cheat at the game even. Not that he waved that fact around. Lili knew he had a gun in the house, but he didn't specify that he had a whole arsenol locked up somewhere.
"I doubt Manaria Bank's security system will allow weapons to go through the doors, so I really don't worry about that. The bruise really doesn't matter, things happen." he said, conjuring yet another believable lie. You can't help but worry for your life when you have a gun pressed against your neck. Unfortunately, he won't be having that gun at his neck in the bank. There were much less holy places to get shot in the neck.
"One day, I will have to go to the bank myself and give your bully a stern talking-to."
Oh goodness, he has to divert from this. Going to the bank wasn't good for keeping a cover. Find something, find something... that vase.
"You really don't need to do that... who exactly had the nerve to buy flowers from you and give them back?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the vase at the center table. Clever flirting trick... probably something even Vash would do. It was a cheap trick, but who the heck would have the nerve to give Vash Zwingli's sister flowers? IT IS STRONG, YET SO PURE |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Mar 8, 2013 22:34:39 GMT -8
[atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=width,480,bTable][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,100][atrb=vAlign,top] ASHES, ASHES He found himself eating a sodium-ladden meal at the Shanghai Hous of Chinese in the sketchy neighborhood of the Aylesbury Estate. That wasn't his usual cheapskate eatery, nor was it one of the healthiest cheap food he had ever had... nor did it taste very good. Of course, he never said anything about taste. He'd just have to be content that there was food in his stomach and would have to claim "I ate it for the taste."
Why was he eating such a cheap meal tonight? Well, it's been a long day at the bank (lie), he's too tired and hungry from accounting to go home just yet (lie), and he wouldn't want to bother his sister with cooking up something that was always delicious (truth). So that is how Vash decided to go have dinner at the Shanghai Hous of Chinese.
The establishment was humble, run down (look at how the "E" is missing from the sign... and the word "Cuisine" was probably supposed to be next to the word "Chinese"), and permanently smelt of oil and soy sauce. The people who ate were sketchy, many of them recent Chinese immigrants coming here for business or to start a new life. You could tell who was here for business. You'd see them as ones in suits... though of course, they were the minority. Those here that were rich in China tended to go to The Jade Dragon. Here, you see the low scum who decided to jump ship and swim here to London to hopefully make a new life. Well heh, bad idea. London sucks. Go follow that new ad line and go to Romania, it seems happier.
He had ordered chow mein, something that seemed mostly harmless. After all, a lot of Chinese food he had seen before didn't seem like... food he would eat. Food involving cow tongues, dog meat, and livers wasn't very appetizing to him. And what were those... Ching Chong Balls? Well that's not edible at all. From the looks of the samples at the counter, they seemed like... balls of grease rolled in bread crumbs or something of that sort. "Made of real tiger bollocks!" they said. And so, he did not even dare to try having a sample of those tiger balls.
He silently fiddled with the wooden chopsticks to eat the chow mein. Of course they'd be too cheap to purchase proper silverware... or lazy to go wash silverware. Rain started trickling outside, heard on the roof of the rundown restaurant, the overhead lamp shaking from the rumbling coming from the second floor, swinging left and right, left and right, the noodles slipping off the chopsticks... ahhh, the joys of msg.
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