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Post by Mihai Chimet on Aug 4, 2013 6:17:14 GMT -8
what mi what
idk if i should be saddened or amused
(o and get me a screenshot of luci omg i wanna see my cutie)
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jul 6, 2013 21:14:34 GMT -8
We love you Asu :u <333
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 30, 2013 22:56:18 GMT -8
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 27, 2013 11:01:35 GMT -8
As he waited for his coworkers to gather themselves, he pushed open the door and peered into the hallway. Some debris littered their path, but it looked stable, for the most part. He guessed that the explosion was a rather contained one, but situated above the ballroom for maximum impact. Unless it was an accident? He knew that Maximantics kept some unstable chemicals in their laboratories, but they couldn't possibly be that careless—though he had to admit that arrogance was a potent drug. Still, it was too coincidental, and much too perfect. From the stillness above them, he assumed that there would be no more trouble, whereas an accident would not nearly have been so clean. And the message he'd received through the earpiece...
He bit his lip. There was no room for doubt that someone was deliberate in causing the explosion, and if that were the case, then they had enemies in the building. Someone had transmitted that message, after all; he couldn't let his guard down now, especially with Ludwig and Arthur in tow. Though, speaking of them, he did receive a subtle sense of blame from behind him.
A half-resigned sigh drooped his shoulders. They were pinning it on him already, weren't they? The crisis could have been averted easily enough if Maximantics had allowed them a sweep of the other floors, so it really, technically had nothing to do with him or his division, though he'd stomach his excuses—that is, explanations—for later so long as they did the same for their grievances. He wouldn't be so lucky as to expect the same sort of distance from the media, however, and if he got out of here unharmed he'd would be best off to have his explanations on hand. But that was a later issue for a later time.
He turned back to the other two. "I honestly could have thought of better ways to spend the evening," he replied lightly, then fell silent. What options did he (they) have now? He had to get Arthur and Ludwig to safety, but there was no easy way to do that on the fiftieth floor—not to mention that Clara and Johanna were missing. Had security escorted them out already? He bit his lip. He should check—he should check but he had to ensure Arthur and Ludwig's well-being too. He could send them off on their own, but if the perpetrator or their cohorts were around, the both of them would be in immediate danger. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm going to the ballroom," he announced. "Clara went in that direction, and I don't know where Miss Bondevik went. The ballroom probably took the heaviest damage of the blast though, so it's going to be dangerous in there, but either way, I'm responsible for their safety and I want to find them, if I can." He hesitated. "You two can go, if you want. There are stairs a bit further down the hallway, but whoever caused this might be still around; I can't say for certain." Another sigh, but this time a hint of frustration edged in. "Either way, it'll be dangerous." His eyes darted between the two men. "It's up to you."
With that, he turned around and stepped into the hallway, barely hearing their uttered replies, but something must have been said as Ludwig charged past him. He sped up slightly, though he didn't share Ludwig's enthusiasm to reach the ballroom. He didn't know what he should expect when he got to there, but if he was correct in assuming that the explosion had been directly above (or near to) the party, what was in there would be complete and utter chaos. If the guests were lucky, the worst they'd suffer was from the debris falling from above—if not, he wasn't sure there would be many people left alive to be found.
The damage was both better and worse than he'd expected. Immediately visible were the patrons panicking and making for the nearest exit, the last trickle of them disappearing through the doorway amidst the dust. The next thing he noticed was the chandelier leaning on its side in the middle of the floor, looking like a twisted wreck of a monster. Someone was beside it, but he couldn't quite make out any features before his attention was pulled away by a familiar voice. "Mister C-collins... What do we... Mister Collins!"
He gripped Johanna by the elbow just as the male beside her collapsed, and she looked on the verge of it herself. His eyes darted from her panicked face down to the crumpled form at their feet, recognizing the pale hair of Lukas Bondevik. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, a frown coloring his features. "Did he get hit?" Frankly, he wasn't as interested in the well-being of the Bondevik heir as he was in that of his coworkers, but he knew of Johanna's relation to Lukas, and she would likely not leave without him. He bit back his desire to tell her to leave him to what remaining security there was, and bent downward to loop one of Lukas' arms over his shoulder as she explained her cousin's condition.
He turned his attention to Johanna once again. "Are you all right?" he asked. She looked fine, compared to Lukas, but it couldn't hurt to make sure. He hesitated briefly before continuing, "And have you seen Clara anywhere?"
He never heard her answer, not that one would be needed. His attention was drawn by another shout, this time coming from the man by the chandelier. It wasn't until his eyes focused on the other man's form that recognition began to take hold. "Boss?" The word came from his lips instinctively, the tone questioning as he couldn't be certain. Sadik had said he'd stay home, didn't he? Sadik had told him he wouldn't be at the soiree, but there he was, kneeling by the chandelier, now joined by Ludwig. God, what in the world had happened over there?
Mihai made a motion for Johanna to follow him, then picked his way across the strewn glass and debris, finding a cleared space to set Lukas' unconscious form. He made a quiet mention to her to see if she could find any of his medicine before he went to unravel yet another mystery of the evening.
The question died on his lips when he saw the object of Ludwig and Sadik's distress. He'd seen bad accidents in his career—hell, even worse—but it was something else to see a coworker trapped under the biting metal of the fallen chandelier. For a moment, he was struck by how delicate Clara seemed among the wreck, broken like a doll, and he wondered if he should fear her death. But the pained noises that came from her lips made it apparent that she was still alive yet, and part of the other two's desire to hasten the removal of the iron cage above her.
"I thought you weren't going to be here," he said through gritted teeth, his eyes still glued on Clara though the statement was clearly directed at the Home Secretary. "Figures that the party goes to pieces when you show up." A tense smile raised the corners of his lips as he knelt down by the chandelier himself. It was a small attempt to reassure himself, a momentary distraction to attempt to take the bitter, biting edge out of the situation. Because it didn't look good. No one could take the weight of debris like this without a good deal of damage, and what was more, Clara was already a rather delicate girl. Judging by her expression and the wreckage alone, it was an undeniable certainty that her legs were in bad shape, and they could all only hope that the damage wouldn't be permanent. Though they'd only stand a chance at hoping if they got out alive.
His eyes flickered up to meet Ludwig's, then over to Sadik. "You two pull; I'll drag her out," he said. He hoped this would be their only rescue attempt for the evening, but it hardly seemed like a possibility. Even so, there were no other stragglers to be seen beneath the debris littering the ballroom—they were lucky enough not to have received this blow. He thought that was a pity, as he would have preferred their sacrifice over Clara's bleeding body.
He reached out for the girl in question, grabbing her by the upper arms. "Sorry, love," he said with a smile. Its character bordered the edges of pity and a desire to provide reassurance. "This is going to hurt."
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 24, 2013 11:03:41 GMT -8
{Now on the correct account.}
It was around six when he found himself down in his living room, sprawled across the couch with one hand occupied on the TV remote. The lights on the screen flickered as he switched from channel to channel, trying to find something he could concentrate on. Nicoleta had phoned in a earlier to say that she was on her way, but knowing her, that meant at least a half-an-hour delay. He understood—he was rather the same way himself—but that didn't change the fact that he'd had the chance to cook up a basic dish of pasta, drink a glass of wine, and was now aimlessly channel surfing as he waited for the woman to show up.
He was not, in any way, having second thoughts about his decision.
It was true that he'd made the bet rather out of hastiness, but if there was anything that wasn't lacking, it was his self-confidence in this particular area of play. That wasn't to say he'd dwelled on the wager long the past few days; initially, he'd actually half a mind that it would never play out anyway, and in fact, had nearly forgotten about it until Nico had phoned. In his surprise, there ensued a rather prolonged discussion about whether she was indeed serious and really—tonight? He didn't mind that impulsive streak of hers (usually), as he shared in it himself, but he'd been wishing for a quiet night after a week of brain-meltingly tedious work. Though truth to be told, he wasn't wholly opposed to the idea either, especially after considering it a second time, since a night out would probably do for some stress relief, even if the circumstances under which he'd be going were questionable at best. It was at least a given that he would not be reaping what he sowed; this was, after all, a number game, which was a great pity under the circumstances if he were to say so himself.
Though how things would end that night was probably the least of his worries. Considering the entire nature of the bet, Nico was sure to be absolutely vicious, when and if she got to his house. He'd almost consider it a mistake to let her have free reign with his attire for the night, if it weren't a certain guarantee that she would do much better on the entire ordeal than he could possibly hope for himself. The prospect of having a good make-up job, however, didn't change the fact what was to come would likely be dreadful and that he would be suffering its aftereffects for awhile to come. He didn't doubt his ability to net a good number of interested folks—female or male—especially in the miserable digs that bars usually were (and the added twist would make things interesting to say the least) but the process of actually reaching that point would be a long and painful one. Of that, there was no question.
For the moment, he could only distract himself from what felt like impending doom with the flickering lights on the television screen. He tried to find something interesting—anything, really—that would keep his mind off the coming encounter that evening, because he sure as hell was not reconsidering that bet. Not at all. (More accurately, he was not giving himself a chance to, or even more accurately, that was his pride speaking.)
He was pretty sure he'd gone through all of his channels at least twice by now, none of them particularly catching his attention. Many of the running TV shows were boring, the news stations annoyed him for various reasons, there weren't any games worth watching on sports channels, and there were very few movies he actually enjoyed, so their reruns probably wouldn't be much better. Not even aimlessly channel surfing was bringing him a sufficient distraction, so he tossed the remote aside and left the TV to play an old cartoon as background noise.
He glanced at the clockwork piece sitting above the fireplace. Still no sign of Nico. Perhaps she'd gotten distracted by something else—at least, he could hope so, but perhaps that was a bit optimistic. Conflicting feelings arose as he wanted to get the entire ordeal over with already, while simultaneously hoping that Nico would simply not show; however, he had a sneaking suspicion that this would be one of the times when she did turn up, and completely prepared at that, and if that was to be the case he'd rather everything be completed as soon as possible, so as to lessen the duration his suffering.
At any rate, he'd wait it out for a bit longer before calling it quits (and at that point she'd have no one to blame but herself), and to aid himself in that endeavor, got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen for the second time in fifteen minutes or so. The bottle of wine from earlier was still out on the counter, and he poured himself another drink to pass the time. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to start getting drunk before the night had even begun, but hell if he didn't think he wasn't going to need it.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 22, 2013 11:30:16 GMT -8
Here by mandate. Hurt him grievously, please~ <3
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 20, 2013 8:36:18 GMT -8
That might be an exaggeration. But I better like what I hear or you'll also be getting the front end of an Impala!
(jk)
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 19, 2013 7:16:41 GMT -8
Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in.
Naw jk. Welcome to the board! We should plot. My characters are this asshole here, a Seychelles and South Korea.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Jun 11, 2013 22:02:09 GMT -8
I guess I did something. ;w; idk ;w; |
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Apr 13, 2013 0:25:39 GMT -8
Typetrigger again.
Good things come in threes, and after that, no more.
The first good thing was Peter. Although he ended up under Arthur's care due to some rather unfortunate circumstances, it didn't change the fact that the boy was something of a small blessing. Arthur had never been the best with children, but something about drinking tea in the evening, the TV turned on in front of them, was enough to earn him Peter's loyalty, though he couldn't imagine why.
The second good thing was Francis, who had come to him in the form of the worst pick-up line Arthur had ever heard. He couldn't fathom how he allowed that man into his life, but somehow Francis was always there, with a kind word or a gentle touch, and sometimes Arthur would find himself lost as he listened to the other's soft voice, with 'r's that clung to the back of the throat.
The third good(?) thing was Mihai, and Francis' pick-up lines were nothing after that. Arthur had known him before (or rather, known of him), but their paths hadn't exactly crossed until they ended up in an exploding building together. Funny, the way fate went about about these things, because their fleeting acquaintance(?), friendship(?), romance(?) ended in very much the same way.
After that, he thought that three was too good to hope for, and one or two of those good things would suffice. Three was the best the universe could do for anyone, and to hit that number meant the good times were drawing to a close. He wished he'd known before he allowed Mihai that kiss (slow and deliberate and honest), because after that all there was to do was to wait for the time to run out.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Mar 19, 2013 20:05:57 GMT -8
What Misso said! ;;; Good luck and take all the time you need.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Mar 19, 2013 20:03:23 GMT -8
Also interested in a plot. I feel like these two might actually get along before the entire FOL thing comes out.
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Mar 19, 2013 2:17:34 GMT -8
Of all the places his associate wanted to meet up, she really couldn't have chosen a worse place short of her own daughter's bedroom or perhaps the labs of the MI6 headquarters. Mihai had heard that the woman enjoyed Chinese food, but he had expected her to have higher standards than this cheap, run-down little shop tucked away in a dirty corner of one of the most notorious areas of London. It wasn't as though a woman of her status wouldn't be able to afford it—what was more, he imagined that someone as well-groomed as she would be thought of as easy target if she were ever spotted around Aylesbury, and thus cause further unwanted trouble.
In any case, said associate had not yet showed up, and it was well past the time she had agreed upon to meet with him (in fact, Mihai himself had arrived on scene some twenty minutes behind schedule). She wasn't the type to leave without having accomplished what she'd set out to do, and so, as the Romanian leaned back with a cigarette between his fingers, he contemplated if she'd had the misfortune of running into a few of the more infamous troupes that lurked around the sector. Of course, said misfortune would burden her attackers and her attackers only, as he knew her to be a rather disciplined woman in the realm of close-quarter combat—a former ace of the police force, if he had his information straight.
Allowing a puff of smoke to escape his parted lips, Mihai afforded his surroundings a cursory scan. The establishment was no fancier than he had expected, but luckily neither was it any worse. Other than the lingering smell of cooking oil that hung over the restaurant in a perpetual shroud, and the humidity of a terribly aired-out building, the shop was as decently clean as one could hope for it to be. The menu that lay in front of him, however, was another story altogether, and he found himself puzzled in regards to more than half of the entrées listed, rife with misspellings and foreign names. Curling his lip at some of the less tasteful sounding offers, he simply closed the menu and requested a can of beer from the waiter, who seemed to take some offense that Mihai wasn't properly appreciating their cuisine. To ensure that his waiter would not be returning every sixty seconds on the dot to ask again, whether Mihai had decided to order something else, he told the man (barely a man, more of a boy really) that he would order once his dining partner had arrived. He did hope she would be able to pinpoint the edible entries in the menu.
Once the waiter had returned (with a can of cheap beer), and left again, Mihai found himself left alone to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere of the restaurant. Yes, for all intents and purposes he was rather enjoying watching the dealings of a few of the shadier types that converged in a corner table, discussing whatever their interest may be over a deck of cards and cigar smoke. Though who was he kidding? Because in all honesty it was about as intriguing as watching a few ants converge upon a piece of discarded lettuce, which wasn't really. In fact, he was actually inconceivably bored, and he only hoped that his associate would arrive soon (or at least send him a text that she was indisposed and therefore give him a proper cause to leave).
The only other person who seemed as bored (or alternately just plain morose) as he sat across the room from him, a blond who seemed to be fruitlessly struggling with a pair of chopsticks in an attempt to eat his food. Mihai watched the other's actions in semi-interest, partly because it was funny watching someone try and fail to maneuver chopsticks, and partly because there wasn't much else to watch.
As he sat, idly observing the other man, he contemplated whether that would be a possible venue for relieving boredom. A quick glance at his watch revealed that his associate's tardiness was creeping towards half-an-hour, and though he thought it would only be courteous to give her another time-allotment of thirty minutes, he found little appeal in the prospect of spending that time watching the rain fall outside.
It took little mental argument to persuade him to find some form of entertainment, even in the form of someone he'd never met, and who he might eventually regret meeting. But it wasn't as though the great majority of his decisions had been made after careful consideration, and it was only luck that ensured that most of the outcomes had been pleasant. (Of course, there was also the other portion of which the outcomes had been unpleasant, but Mihai was rather good at ignoring the chances to learn from his mistakes, and simply hastened towards methods to keep himself entertained, consequences be damned.)
It was thinking thoughts along those lines that he unclasped the watch from around his wrist and dropped it into his pocket, then rubbed his cigarette out in an ash tray. If there was one positivity to this restaurant, it was that it was one of the rare ones that allowed any smoking within its premises anymore, yet it was still restricted to one side of the room. He left the can of beer mostly untouched on his table (it'd tasted fairly terrible anyway), and unobtrusively made his way over to the blond man's seat. The trick was, mainly, not to appear too demanding or as though there were any ulterior motive—and judging by the man's demeanor, certainly not as though any extended interaction were hoped for.
Stopping by the other's table, fingers of his left hand resting on its edge, Mihai allowed a smile to cross his lips. "Excuse me," he said, tone light and treacherously innocent. "You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you? I'm supposed to be waiting for someone, but it looks like she's running a bit late in this downpour."
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Mar 17, 2013 15:09:25 GMT -8
Luci=no
Mi and Soo=maybe?? if you want?? either in the past or future
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Post by Mihai Chimet on Mar 17, 2013 2:34:06 GMT -8
Mihai pursed his lips as they were showed off to the room he had requested. He would have left the group under other circumstances (two people looking after Arthur seemed more than sufficient, after all), but with a criminal threat looming over the soirée he could hardly justify leaving three officials unattended. So it was with resignation that he followed the group down the hallway and into the grandiose room where Arthur could take care of his injury.
He fell back and allowed the others to concern themselves over Arthur, waving the guard off and checking in with the security detail he'd posted. So far, everything seemed to be orderly even though Tachibana hadn't reported back yet. He allowed her a bit more time to connect back to him first, before he would call in for her personally. He still wasn't overly concerned about the direction in which the soirée was going, but a bit of wariness could make the difference between life and death.
He looked up at the comment from Kirkland, a slight frown on his brow. He wanted to know what had gone on to lead to such an altercation in the first place, but more than that, he wanted to tell the other to be more careful. He was quite certain that Kirkland had made the cut for being the first politician to have alcohol thrown in his face—most dissenters had learned after one of the American presidents had a shoe thrown at him, and the culprit had been promptly arrested and tossed into prison. He'd decided that he wouldn't make a move against Bondevik for now; the bad press would surely damage him enough, even if Mihai had to grit his teeth for letting an event pass by that would have gotten someone less well-connected arrested on the spot.
He looked back at the Englishman rather blankly, then sighed. The other really should know better than to let his mouth run loose around those who were accustomed to hearing exactly what they wanted to hear (though he really couldn't blame him for wanting to set the record straight). There was, however, a time and place to do it, and he didn't really appreciate the weak attempt at lightening the mood. After all, anything and everything that happened to the officials at this party could very well be reflected back to his own work, preventable on his account or not.
Funny thing is, none of the occupants of the building knew the irony of his sentiments, or the fact that their nights were going to get a whole lot worse real soon.
It happened at nine on the dot. He heard the tell-tale crackle of his earpiece coming to life, and then the message came through. "You're next," the voice said simply, and Mihai had just enough time to start before the transmission was cut and an ear-splitting rumble came from overhead. The sole thought to cross his mind before the building began crumbling around them was a fed-up curse of oh shit.
If he had to place money on what was currently happening, he would be betting on a bombing (and he would, by all intents and purposes, be absolutely correct and it was, therefore, a pity that this wagering was all purely theoretical). As the foundation of the building began to crumble, Mihai was invaded by many different emotions, one of them being the sense that he was completely and utterly tired of getting involved in rich people's messes. Of course, there also came with it a concern for his own life and those of the officials he was supposed to be protecting, as well as the vow that this had better not have been the work of his own group unless they wanted a reprieve of the Breckenridge case.
He stumbled with the force of the shaking building, catching himself on one of the walls. Bracing himself against it, he knew that the security detail he'd brought with him would be waiting for his orders before they acted of their own accord. Feeling his irritation rise further (because if he needed anything it was more responsibilities), he sucked in a breath and hissed a very much pissed-off "You've got to be kidding me," before he relayed his orders. Everyone had been briefed beforehand on the possible escape routes in the case of an emergency, and he hoped that Maximantics' own guards coupled with his team would be able to evacuate most of the guests successfully. As for him, he supposed that he had his charges in the room already.
He looked up at the others, silently thankful that none of them appeared to be hurt too badly aside from a case of badly shaken nerves. It seemed they were lucky to have chosen a corner of the building not situated directly below the blasts—he couldn't say that the main ballroom would be so fortunate. But that wasn't his concern now.
"Is everyone all right?" he asked, deeming it one too many times in the past half-hour that he'd had to ask after someone's health. He swore to himself that he was going to personally find and skin whoever had set up this entire spiel; for one, because he didn't take kindly to the idea that someone had attacked someplace he was in as he had a goal to accomplish and being dead was clearly not in his best interests, and secondly, because they had duly ruined his evening and he could foresee the ruination of the following months as well, being mangled in a thicket of red tape, bureaucratic maneuvering, and newspaper headlines.
Needless to say, that was a thoroughly unenjoyable forecast of the future, and he felt completely justified in taking the attack to a personal level. If (and really, "if" could just make a U-turn out of the situation and go screw itself on a rusty fork, because Mihai was friggin' pissed, and with that sentiment came the absolute certainty that some half-assed bomb plot wasn't going to get the best of him)—when he got out of the immediate situation he was going to make sure that the culprits spent a good half of eternity rotting in prison (or more preferably, the ground).
But that was something that could be considered once they'd actually made it out of this mess. His priority, as of the present moment, was to get the people with him (and of course, himself) out of the building and to safety, hopefully very much alive and in one piece.
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