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| Meeting with the Admiral | |
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| Topic Started: 25 Feb 2010, 12:05 AM (187 Views) | |
| Grayson Wolfe | 25 Feb 2010, 12:05 AM Post #1 |
Deckhand
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The black and brown carriage rattled down the main road that led into Kingston, clattering as it went. Inside sat Grayson Wolfe, Special Envoy of His Majesty, with his advisor Wesley Mead and minutes-taker Samantha Harrington; and all were engulfed in a deep conversation on the meeting that they presumed was about to take place. "I'm not so sure it was wise just turning up like this, sir," Wesley was saying as he flicked through a small sheaf of papers, "We didn't even give him time to reply to the letter." "That was the whole point," Wolfe replied with the air of explaining something to a child as he looked out the window of the carriage at the streets outside, "If he had time to reply to the letter, then he'd have had time to cover whatever dirty guilt tracks he's been driving all over this godforsaken town. I mean look at it, really, it's as if they've regressed to the bleedin' Middle Ages." "It's no London, I'll give you that." Wesley murmured. "So what's our brief on this St Montgomery?" Wolfe pressed on, "I mean, I've heard his name thrown around the Admiralty like it's a bloody lit grenade, but what's the real deal with him?" "I'm afraid I haven't been able to dig up much," Wesley replied, holding up the small sheaf of papers, "Just a skeleton outline of his service record and a few off-the-record comments that he's about as friendly as a shark that's lost its good side." "Well I'm not looking to have tea and biscuits with him, and comment on how the cricket's going back home am I? What have ye got on his association with Beckett?" The ill-tempered Scot urged, "Is there anything we can use?" "Nothing solid," was the Undersecretary's response, "But if those comments are anything to go by..." "Aye," Wolfe cut across him, "It means our good Admiral friend is not ye typical English pushover. Which means whatever the Company is up to can't have escaped his notice." "How are you going to approach him, then?" Wesley asked. Wolfe turned away from the window, with a grim frown on his features, "With my usual eloquent charm of course, Wesley. Why would ye expect anything less?" The carriage soon clattered to a halt and a footman opened the door seconds later, "We've arrived at our destination, sir." he said, "I've already informed the Admiral's staff of our arrival." |
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 3 Mar 2010, 02:50 PM Post #2 |
Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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“What?!” Demanded St Montgomery, letter clenched in his fist, his arm extended and shaking at the poor midshipman who had the misfortune to have drawn the short straw and been assigned the position of messenger. He turned his gaze upon the middy who was starting to look very much like he wished he could shrink down and melt through the floor to get away, and who was, somewhat obviously starting to lean back and flinch. St Montgomery turned and hurled the paper into the wall, the entire action rather ineffective as the crumpled form was quite the opposite of aerodynamic and failed to even reach the wall, let alone create and sort of satisfied breaking noise. Turning back to the midshipman, whether to give a reply, further orders, or to seize him and break him likewise, his eyes rested on a vase on a table. A gift from Lynette, but despite its status as being from one of his conquests, there was little attachment to it (or to the conquest for that matter) and he moved forward and seized it, throwing it with all his strength at the midshipman's head, who through luck, divine intervention, or just good reflexes dropped to the floor and narrowly avoided being hit with the flying glassware It smashed into the wall, creating a very satisfying smashing sound, and it's dozens of pieces fell to the floor. The midshipman, not willing to risk his life any further, was barely to his feet before he was on his way out the door, bolting and running as if the man he were fleeing was on his heals. The two sentries by the door of St Montgomery's headquarters didn't even blink as the blue coated boy dashed by, one deigning to shake his head at the sight. It wasn't hard to guess exactly what had happened. The walls were not thick, and St Montgomery had good lungs. His shouting always carried outside. As a carriage approached, the one who had shook his head called out for one lads who was “loitering” to find out what they wanted. No doubt it was another individual going to complain about civilian docks being seized for naval use, or someone to complain about the disturbing of the peace. The scarlet coated lad approached the carriage, addressing the driver. “Wots yuh business?” After a quick few words, the driver moved to open the door for the carriages occupants, and a runner was dispatched to St Montgomery to warn him of the arrival. It was only hoped that the previous issue that had angered St Montgomery was far enough from his mind that he would have some semblence of control over his emotions and thus be able to converse in a manner more befitting of everyone's stations. "I'll bring yuh to the Admiral," he said, glancing over the visitors as they emerged from the carriage. |
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| Grayson Wolfe | 3 Mar 2010, 03:13 PM Post #3 |
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Deckhand
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"Right, Samantha," Wolfe said as he pulled himself out of the carriage and straightened his waistcoat, "Ye best remain with the carriage. Wesley, you're coming with me into the lion's den." "Oh joy." Wesley muttered to himself. "I'll bring yuh to the Admiral," said whatever aide had be sent to bring them in. Grayson nodded and, leaving Samantha behind to fuss about the carriage, he and Wesley followed the aide into the building. As they passed the sentries, Grayson noted a certain tension amongst the on-duty marines; the sort that was usually only reserved for men who had been ordered to stand still and hold firm whilst knowing that any minute then a French cannonade was going to open fire on them. It was an air of impending dread. Wolfe was used to such reception from the guards around Whitehall - but for once it seemed more that the sentries were anxious over the presence of the man they were guarding, rather than the visitor. Wolfe managed to conceal a smile as he mused on the fact that it seemed either St Montgomery was a man after his own heart, or someone with whom he was likely to lock horns. Curiously, when they reached the Admiral's office itself, the two sentries on duty there seemed surprisingly relaxed; upright and disciplined, of course, but still missing that sense of dread that seemed to hang over the rest of the garrison there. No doubt these men were too accustomed to their Admiral's way to allow any tension to arise - or maybe their spirits were simply too broken to be afraid any more. Either way, Wesley on his right seemed to have been gripped by the tension in the building, as he was uncharacteristically quiet - usually Wolfe's advisor had no limit to comments, whether helpful or not, to make on whatever situation they were in. "Ye alright there, Wesley?" Grayson asked, half-amused. "Quite, sir," Wesley replied, "Just hoping the Admiral's bark is worse than his bite." "His bite? Ah, all the better to eat ye with." Grayson said as their guide passed the sentries, knocked on the office door and opened it to formally introduce them before they too would be allowed to step inside. Grayson briefly wondered how much their driver had told the aide. |
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 13 Mar 2010, 11:08 PM Post #4 |
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Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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"Come," St Montgomery barked gruffly. He had been informed by his staff as to who was about to be shortly entering the door to the room. Pity there wasn't time to have someone in and clean up the shattered vase, but such was life. He'd just have to leave out the evidence of the incredible incompetence of his staff. He only hoped that this was indeed a meeting with critical or important information. He'd hate to think that his time was about to be wasted when he could be fucking one of the maids. He watched as two visitors entered, one younger and the other older. He could certainly hazard a guess as to which one was the one who wrote the letter, and which was the one who was the one on whose behalf it was written. In the end though, who was who didn't really matter. As long as the point was gotten to, and quickly. And preferably an easy sort, easy to deal with and plot around with, given that his hand were quite full at the moment with the Navy just about ready to rise up against him, and his beginning moves to undermine the Honourable East India Company. "I received you letter," he said, "and I hope that you can be far more direct about what exactly is considered urgent and immediately requiring my attention. I am, after all, a busy man." He hadn't bothered to reflect on what he thought the matter might be that he would bring up, as reflecting on matters was not his forte, and other than being aggravated over the general matter of having to humour individuals simply because they held a title and duty delivered to them by His Majesty, he had had many other things to focus on. Like the pretty little redhead he 'questioned' down by the docks. |
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| Grayson Wolfe | 13 Mar 2010, 11:48 PM Post #5 |
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Deckhand
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Wolfe stepped into the office with the air of a man knowing he was about to catch a child with their hand in the biscuit tin, and his gaze immediately fell upon the rough-around-the-edges, simmering volcano that was Admiral Frederick St Montgomery. In contrast, Wesley next to him seemed to tense up even more - a feat Wolfe didn't think was possible - and busied himself straightening his spectacles and clutching his notebook like a gravestone. The poor man had no backbone when it came to facing alpha males, Wolfe mused, despite living and working in the political powerhouse of the Empire - if not the world. "I received you letter," St Montgomery said, "and I hope that you can be far more direct about what exactly is considered urgent and immediately requiring my attention. I am, after all, a busy man." Wolfe had been hoping for such an attitude from the admiral; there was nothing quite like making your mark in a new town than when someone made it so easy for you to cut loose on them. "Direct?" Wolfe echoed, his tone curious and light, "Ye want direct, Admiral? Okay. That's fine with me. We can do direct, can't we Wesley?" "Erm..." Wesley began, before Wolfe clicked his fingers loudly and pointed accusingly at the member of staff who had led them into the room. "You." He said loudly, the volume and authority in his voice rising as he did so, "When one of the King's senior advisors tells you to sod off, what do you do?" The member of staff seemed utterly taken aback to be spoken to directly, and flashed the Admiral a quick glance before replying with, "Uh...sod...off?" "You'll go far. Now sod off." Wolfe ordered with a jab towards the door. Once the room was empty but for St Montgomery, Wesley and himself, Wolfe stepped forward - his thumbs tucked neatly into his belt -towards St Montgomery, his gaze on the ground as if thinking deeply about something. When he reached the admiral, he rose his head and looked up directly into the taller man's foul features, "Now ye like things direct, do ye Admiral? I can respect that. I really can. But I'll tell ye something I can't respect, my powdered wig wearing friend, and that's officers of His Majesty's Navy who let little buggery-buckets like Cutler Beckett shit -" On that word, Wolfe suddenly swung away from Montgomery, kicking one of the chairs at his desk and sending it smashing along the floor, his tone and demeanour soon rising to match the violence and anger of such an act, "-all over the King's authority, do ye see where I'm coming from? I mean really!" Wolfe turned his back on the admiral, beginning to pace the room and only occasionally glancing back in order to wave an accusingly gesture his way, "How the hell have you managed to make such a colossal cock-up of this situation?! Ye can't move for East India Company tat in Port Royal! There's more Company flags in that bay than there are whores in Paris!" By the door, Wesley relaxed slightly; it was a lot easier to relax when it wasn't him on the receiving end of one of his superior's temper rants. Meanwhile, Wolfe showed no sign of losing momentum, "Now I've got two options before me, Admiral, and I'll tell ye what those options are. Either you're a worse excuse for a naval officer than my right bollock in a frock coat, or! Or!" And at this point, Wolfe closed the distance between him and St Montgomery - who by now Wesley guessed must be ready to burst - "Or that little landfill lord has cut you in on some kind of deal, hm? Now why don't you tell me which one it is?" Wesley, meanwhile, reached for a handkerchief as he was almost certain that one of the men before him's brains were soon going to be splattered all over his glasses. Edited by Grayson Wolfe, 13 Mar 2010, 11:49 PM.
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 14 Mar 2010, 01:05 AM Post #6 |
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Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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St Montgomery was in for a lesson in watching what he wished for. Thoughts and anticipation of dealing with the man quickly and returning to far more interesting business was quickly left behind as soon as Wolfe opened his mouth. Animated despite his age, with an attitude and confidence rarely seen, and perhaps balls worthy of Colossus, the man took the liberty of ordering around St Montgomery's staff, and criticising him to his face. And the accusations! And destroying what was only his to destroy! The Naval officer stood ramrod straight, straining and clenching his fists so hard the chewed nails bit into his palms. It was taking all the self control he had to prevent himself from decking the man when he danced in close enough. Had it been any other man who was devoid of the political 'importance' as he had, envoy from the King, then he would have sent him to lie flat on the floor, and then commenced in upon him with his boots. Seizing the only chair left intact in the room, St Montgomery used it to punctuate his reply to the odious Scotsman, hurling it with all his strength at the spot right next to him. "Your bureaucratic incompetence is the only reason things are as they aaaaaaaaaaaare!" Crash. Splinter. It weren't bad enough he had to inherit the fruits of Norrington's incompetence, but now he was being held to task for the results of England allowing the Company free reign? Inconceivable! "You think I have so little self-respect as to whore myself out to that little gobshite Beckett?" he bellowed. It was probably not the best thing to have this as a shouting match, since anyone within the compound was likely to hear some of the content of the 'discussion'. "Let me tell you how things were here, the Company expects obedience from the Navy, perhaps because they were given assurances that we would be, and perhaps because former Admiral Heyworth chose his favourite little lapdog Norrington, who would rather bend over and take it from the Company rather than risk his precious little life! The entire history of this goddamned fleet on this island has been one of gross negligence and incompetence, and you dare accuse the one person who is willing to do whatever must be done to straighten it out of...of...of..." St Montgomery spluttered, his anger robbing him of the ability to say anything different than simply repeating himself. "And you!" He sneered, making sure to shoot a glare at the silent and cowering associate of Wolfe, before leaning over the Scotsman, in an attempt to use his physical height to intimidate. "How pathetic that you get off on this! You, who knows nothing of having to live and keep things running on the frontier! I dare say you'd not to even half as well as I when having to deal with such a mutinous rabble!" |
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| Grayson Wolfe | 14 Mar 2010, 01:37 AM Post #7 |
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Deckhand
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Wolfe took a step back - all the while glaring daggers at the admiral -as St Montgomery hurled a chair across the room as he roared his response to the Special Envoy. The Scot watched as the piece of furniture smashed and splintered on the ground, and he waved at it dismissively, "Oh that's real mature, isn't it?" he said, already oblivious to the similarly-sized wooden wreckage behind him of his own making. "You think I have so little self-respect as to whore myself out to that little gobshite Beckett?" Wolfe's reflex was to give the honest answer; yes. Unfortunately, it was the Scotsman who had to take a step back as the admiral's own rant began to gain momentum, and he continued like a grapeshot through a crew of fleshy French sailors. "Let me tell you how things were here, the Company expects obedience from the Navy, perhaps because they were given assurances that we would be, and perhaps because former Admiral Heyworth chose his favourite little lapdog Norrington, who would rather bend over and take it from the Company rather than risk his precious little life! The entire history of this goddamned fleet on this island has been one of gross negligence and incompetence, and you dare accuse the one person who is willing to do whatever must be done to straighten it out of...of...of..." "Out of what?" Wolfe offered, "This epically scaled, Trojan Horse-style, shit wreck?!" "And you!" St Montgomery roared as he turned on Wesley, who once again turned stiffer than a corpse, "How pathetic that you get off on this! You, who knows nothing of having to live and keep things running on the frontier! I dare say you'd not to even half as well as I when having to deal with such a mutinous rabble!" Wesley looked too frighten to reply, and by the looks of his expression seemed to be weighing up in which order to scream and run away; Wolfe didn't have time for civil servant bashing, however, and he quickly stepped into St Montgomery's line of fire once more, "For the love of God, can we put the self-pitying drivel away with your bonnets and dresses for a few minutes?! You're an Admiral, man! You're meant to deal with these sort of problems! If ye haven't got more on your plate than a spinster at a wedding then you're not doing your job right! And you, my little flour-haired toddler, are most certainly not doing your job right." He turned his back and paced away from St Montgomery for a few seconds to disguise a brief wince as he felt a small sting from his heart; he wasn't as young as he once was, after all. This moment of physical weakness over, he soon returned to pacing the room and launching a tirade at the senior naval officer. "Ye know what your problem is, Admiral? You're too damn narrow-minded! You're so bloody dense that I can actually see the light bending around you. I'm not kidding, you can see it right Wesley?" "Erm..." A suddenly high-pitched Wesley managed, prompting a brief moment of Wolfe's temper to be redirected his way. "Oh go stand outside, ye daisy-pushing pansy!" Wesley was gone within seconds, leaving the two of them - the Bulldog and the Bloodhound - alone to battle it out. "Now if what you say is true, and ye hate that two-bit midget as much as I do, then perhaps it won't have been a complete waste of time me coming down here to stare at your snivelling horse of a face, and we can do business. But if you start getting clever with me again, sunshine, I'll rip your knackers off and fire them out of a sodding cannon, you understand!?" Edited by Grayson Wolfe, 14 Mar 2010, 01:38 AM.
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 24 Mar 2010, 04:07 AM Post #8 |
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Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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"And you, my little flour-haired toddler, are most certainly not doing your job right." Oh, how bloody typical! St Montgomery thought, ready to yell the words without running them through any sort of mental filter that most other use, or at the very least have. It's not my fucking fault to deal with this fucked up beyond all possible rational comprehension because some shite for brains dickless catamite can't run a place efficiently! St Montgomery was beginning to feel that the abuse of his integrity had gone on long enough, especially when the other '"man" felt the need to uneven the odds to two on one. Normally, he would consider two opponents against himself fair, but that was often with men whose intellects were far below his own. Not that this man even came close to surpassing half his own intellect, in his own estimation, but there was the principle of the matter. But now that that other one, Wesley was it? Goodness, with a name like that, no fucking wonder he was useless was it? Like that bloody poodle. Yap yap yap, a tiny dog barking at someone who'd have no trouble picking it up and punting it very far indeed. With him gone now...well, there would be no witnesses. And no one here would dare question him, or accuse him of any sort of...violent action towards another. Not one that wasn't a form of discipline, anyway. "But if you start getting clever with me again, sunshine, I'll rip your knackers off and fire them out of a sodding cannon, you understand!? "And if you think you can march in here and tell me what to do with my command, I'll give you a personal demonstration of how to work a gun starting with castrating you and then ending with you watching your flaming bollocks being fired off to knock the said midget off his horse and I'll be done with the lot of you cretins disturbing the relative peace this bedunged island has had!" |
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4:11 AM Jul 30
