Realistic or Modern 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙉.

[timshel]

 

[timshel]

Ciro Varricchio

mood dazed & more scared than he'd be willing to admit.

location carbon headquarters (geneva, switzerland).

tags none yet.

mention open.

With his personal history being what it was, Ciro was honestly surprised that his parents didn’t respond better to his sudden proposal.

This entire situation was almost laughable; never in his life had he wanted to be completely honest with his parents, but he didn’t even want to risk the possible consequences of blowing Carbon’s cover.

But what Ciro struggled to understand was why this was all so upsetting to his parents. This all could have been so, so much worse—it wasn’t like he was coming home, delirious and twitchy from staying up for two or three days in a row, or pulling the Ferrari into the driveway with a lot of new, expensive-looking scrapes and dents. He told them he took a job offer that required him to move on-premises, which was technically true.

So why did he get this resistance? Of course it was all a little bit sudden—he had just gotten that curious-looking flash drive in the mail from Carbon that morning, and now it was just past noon. But his parents had just sat him down the other day for a serious conversation about his future and his ‘appalling’ lack of ambition. Of course Ciro only chose to fixate on the wording, because that was rude, but he did feel like he was aimlessly drifting ever since he’d completed his secondary education.

But this opportunity literally fell in his lap, seemingly out of nowhere. His parents didn’t buy his lie that he’d already been pursuing employment in the prior months, though. That was the best thing he could come up with. How in God’s name was Ciro going to tell them anything about an independent, clandestine international intelligence organization that he hadn’t even heard of? What would happen if he did decide to tell them the whole truth? He decided he’d rather not take his chances.

The usually austere Varricchio manor was filled with pacing footsteps and rapid-fire, angry Italian. His father rarely brought the executive voice home with him, but there he was, trying to instill the fear of God in his son from behind his locked bedroom door. (Hadn’t they taken the lock off ages ago? How did Ciro even manage to do this?) At his side, Carmela was doing her very best to keep her composure, but she was a sculpture held together with Scotch tape. And their son was whistling as he painstakingly folded each article of clothing before putting it in his suitcase.

“I don’t trust you,” Vito warned lowly, pounding on the door. “How come you can’t tell us who you’re going to work for? Or where you’re going?”

The young man squeezed his eyes shut and sighed loudly, irritated with it all. I don’t even know. I actually kind of wish I could tell you. “They’re a fan of—erm,” Ciro paused, racking his brain for the right word. “… Privacy.”

Again, this technically wasn’t lying. Ciro had always thought the concept of lying by omission was bullshit anyway.

His mother’s voice was saturated with emotion, so much so that it swelled, just on the verge of cracking. “Can we please just talk to you about this?” She pleaded. “We’re not ok with whatever this is. Please, caro.”

Another sigh. “No, mom.” He was just about finished with packing. Ciro glanced over his luggage one more time before finally folding the top over his suitcase, zipping it up with conviction. “I told you—I have a plane to catch in like. An hour.”

He somehow made it downstairs through all the verbal assaults and tears and cursing. Ciro only started to feel guilty about the whole situation when he reached the front door threshold, and he turned back to face his distraught parents. They’d clearly given up on stopping him from doing whatever the hell it was he’d decided to do, yet again: Vito stood tall, silently fuming, arms crossed, and Carmela wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

Even Ciro couldn’t leave them like that. He hesitated a moment before dropping his luggage—usually never liked putting designer goods on the floor where people walked—and, uncharacteristically, pulled them both in for a brief, tight hug. Even his parents tensed up with surprise at the gesture before giving in.

“I’m sorry,” he told them simply before pulling back. “I can’t say any more than I already have. I can’t lose this opportunity.” He tuned back to gather his things, and then added, “Please don’t worry about me. I’ll call when I can.”

—​

He’d expected to spend a moment standing like a fool in his driveway while he waited for an Uber, but it seemed as if the moment he stepped out into the afternoon sun, a shiny black car pulled to a stop only feet away from him. Ciro hesitated, eyeing it suspiciously before breaking out into a full grin, the sullen sentimentality of his departure already far behind him.

“Shiiiiit. A chauffeur,” he crooned as he approached the car. He loaded his luggage into the trunk himself before settling into the back seat. Ciro clapped his hands together excitedly, ready to engage with the driver until he realized from his experience in limos that the divider was up. Odd for a small car like this. The confusion in his expression only intensified when the car pulled out of his driveway without any kind of announcement or direction and he realized the windows were so tinted he couldn’t clearly make out where they were headed.

It didn’t take them long to get out of the city, somehow. When the car finally pulled to a stop, Ciro stepped out onto what looked like a remote, private airstrip: it seemed just the slightest bit overrun with rocks and weeds, but the lone plane that apparently waited for him was black, sleek and gorgeous, unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

The gravity of the situation settled heavier on him in that moment. Carbon is the real deal after all, hm? The young man hadn’t even realized he’d been gazing at the plane in awe before the chauffeur, who started making his way towards the plane with his luggage, called out his name. Ciro snapped back to attention and followed after him hurriedly, still somewhat stunned. How did he know my name?

The interior of the private jet was just as plain and nondescript as the car he traveled in prior. Makes sense, Ciro mused, given how intent they were on maintaining a low profile. The only thing that stood out to him in the entire cabin was a perfectly chilled-looking glass of water, resting inconspicuously on the coffee table by his seat. He stared at it for a moment before taking his seat, and he then realized he hadn’t had much to drink that day. Eight glasses a day, or whatever it was, apparently kept your skin clear.

Might as well make up for earlier. “Cheers to Carbon,” Ciro murmured, barely audible as he raised the glass to his lips. It didn’t take him long to down the whole thing—something about it was especially refreshing.

A sudden intense drowsiness overtook him not long after he finished the drink, only probably a couple minutes later. He sank into his seat, enjoying the fine faux leather, grinning stupidly as he realized he was quite plastered from whatever was in that water—it was definitely drugged with something he hadn’t already tried. The plane roared and rumbled to life as he nodded off, thinking he’d only close his eyes for just a moment.

—​

When he finally came to, he woke up with a start eyes wide, taking in his surroundings with alarm. His luggage was placed nicely on one of two tiny beds probably no larger than a twin, in a relatively plain room without a window. He himself had woken up in a cheap chair that looked like something out of Ikea. Ciro had to consciously slow his breathing to keep the paralyzing panic at bay. Where the hell am I? There wasn’t anything he could recall from when he fell asleep in that plane until now—had he been sound asleep the whole time?

It seemed that way, the more he thought about it. His nerves finally began to settle the more he considered all of this logically. Carbon probably didn’t want him to know the precise details of where they were just yet. Likely nothing more than a preventative measure to keep people from blowing their cover. That much made sense, but Ciro still felt tremendously unnerved by the circumstances; he’d never had the rug taken out from underneath him quite like this before, and despite his age, there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen.

He slowly rose from his chair on weak, stiff legs before realizing there was a single door in this room, just behind him. Curious, he pushed it open, and stepped out cautiously into what looked like a nondescript hallway lined with other doors like this one. Ciro noticed another kid close to his age who looked just as confused as he was, also likely just getting their bearings in this strange place. He was reassured to know he wasn’t alone—this must be another member of the task force that the audio message had mentioned.

Ciro cleared his throat, offering a tentative wave to this stranger, whoever they were. “Ciao.” Who even was this person? What language did they speak—Italian wasn’t exactly spoken everywhere, but he had to think his greeting was universal enough.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[illegallyblonde]

Francesca Villa

mood uneasy and positively petrified

location geneva, switzerland (carbon hq)

tags timshel

mention open

outfit here

BACK, forth. Smooth and violent. The water rippled under the sunlight. It's rays produced a vast, glittering panorama stretched before her. It was high tide, the waves breaking nearer to the shore. The afternoon was good.

The morning had been sad, bidding Tristan farewell and watching his car slide down the gravel pathway, off towards a bright future. Towards his dreams that awaited him at the airport.

But this afternoon, it was good. Francesca was content. She was just peachy to be in good company, in Cudillero. To her left was Emilio, and to her right, Beatriz. The three straddled their guns- masterful surfboards crafted for big game and big fun. A wave began to rip towards them, peeling up from the ocean. The group shared a look, nodding between each other.

Fran took off to catch the wave. She aimed for the break, the deeper portion angled directly from the take-off point. Turning around, she faced the nose and paddled back to shore in the direction the wave was moving. The wave kicked up her board's tail, and she let out a hard breath as she used her last few durable paddles. The gun picked up, and suddenly she accelerated. Without hesitation, and in one swift motion, she popped up with ease.

She was carving into the wave; her feet planted firmly on the board. Shifting her weight about with the sea's motion, Francesca leaning forward slightly with her knees bent. She gulped in the salty air, savoring the short-lived moment. Francesca allowed the tail to slide along the wave's face, kicking up water in a sound, graceful movement. She was radiating with delight. This was the best feeling.

Francesca slid out from the wave towards the shore, and watched it sink back into the sea and dissipate. She slowed down and rode the tide back to the beach, eventually gripping with the board with both hands to sit down. Emilio and Beatriz let out a series of whoops and calls of cheer. Francesca responded by flaying her arms in the air, squealing with joy and fulfillment.

THE three laid out on the beach to dry and soak up the sun. Francesca was sprawled on her back on her striped beach towel, while Beatriz liberally applied sunscreen onto her legs next to her. Emilio was drinking red wine straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth indecently with the back of his hand before passing the bottle around. Beatriz’s voice interrupted the cozy quiet.

"You guys up for a sleepover tonight? Mi mamá has a late shift at the diner, so we'll have the whole house to ourselves."

"You know I am," Emilio replied eagerly, stretching out in the sand, particles sticking to his wet, curly hair. "What about you, Frankie?"

"Sorry, guys. Papá wants me to help him with the closing shift tonight. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Fine," Beatriz answered, annoyed. "But you're bringing the booze."

Francesca agreed, laughing a bit. She got dressed.

THE walk to the shop was short, though her feet rubbed raw in her sandals from the heat and sand. She passed by the bait and tackle shop's front entrance, towards the boat rental key drop box at the corner of the lot. She took the more significant key out of her pocket and began to unlock the slots one by one, collecting more keys inside. The keys used for the boats that had been rented that day were supposed to be returned at six o clock, and it was her job to collect them. The metal was hot on her fingers as she pried each slot open, and grasped the key, placing it on a key ring. She came to slot number five, feeling around for the little key. She felt something else.

Next to the little golden key was a shiny black flash drive. People left a lot of not-so-fun surprises in the dropbox, typically a piece of chewed gum. She didn't think much of it at first, but Francesca was a curious girl, and couldn't help but wonder what was on it as she turned it over in her palm. Francesca pocketed the flash drive and finished collected the boat keys.

She raced up the two wooden steps leading towards the front entrance of the store. Francesca admired the little neon signs that littered the storefront windows, the occasional ad for a missing pet, or an advertisement for fishing rods. Francesca opened the door, putting in a little brute force to help the old crickety door open. The familiar tinkle of the bell announced her arrival. Her father waved at her from behind the register.

"Hola, mija!" Her father greeted her, a smile plastered on his face, happy to see his daughters. Francesca kissed him on both of his rosy cheeks, leaning her surfboard up against the wall. She pulled down an apron the hung on a small hook on the wall, tying it around her waist with practiced speed.

"Gracias, sweetie. I'm going to go top off the tanks." He patted her on the shoulder as he maneuvered around her, making his way towards the door. She watched him through the windows walk towards the docks where the boats were parked.

FRANCESCA pulled the drive from her pocket, squinting at it curiously. She decided to try to find the owner of the drive. Beads that hung from the doorframe brushed against her shoulders as she entered a small back room. It contained an ancient computer- the kind with big buttons that clacked loudly when you tapped them- and a wooden desk strewn with bait orders and requests for supplies.

Francesca sat at the desk and ruffled through the boat rental records for that day, pulling up the latest time for slot 5, in which a group had rented a simple fishing boat for three hours. Oddly, there were no names marked down for the time slot, nor any phone numbers. In fact, there wasn't any information at all regarding the rentees.

Francesca scratched her head in confusion. How was she going to find the owner of the drive?
The more she thought about the mysterious flash drive, the more she felt compelled to investigate its contents. If she wasn't going to find it’s keeper, perhaps she would be able to find something on the drive that would lead to them? Besides, it was a trivial thing. Even if she couldn't find the owner, it probably wouldn't matter too much to them if she had a little look.

With a conclusive huff, Francesca plugged the flash drive into the USB port. A tiny window popped up. It was an audio message, lasting just under two minutes. Francesca clicked on the play button. A silken, sultry voice erupted from the monitor.

IT seemed unreal. Almost too coincidental. Unbelievable. Unfathomable. There was too much to take in. Carbon? The Seven? A task force of elite young people? This must be a joke. The rich kids on the island had a thing with the more indigent kids- both were always pranking each other, TP-ing each other's houses, spray painting their cars, and whatever. But even the rich kids couldn't pull something off like this. They were too sloppy, too stupid, and did not have enough time on their hands. This message was elaborate and organized.

Francesca quickly pulled the drive from the port and stuffed it into her apron's pocket. She was wasting her time. Francesca needed to stock up the rest of the store and close up shop. Her father would be back soon, and she needed to finish up her job. She decided that it would be best to ignore the message, the prank whoever had pulled on her and finish her shift.

FRANCESCA crouched by a small rack full of cork bobbers, stocking the hooks off with a few more. The bell sounded as her father walked through the door, back from maintaining the boats. He took off his cap as he spoke to Francesca.

"Thanks again, mija. It looks like we're all done here. Why don't we head home?" He said, nodding towards her. The dim lights of the shop allowed her to see a bit of a sweat he had worked up in the last bit of sun that was dipping below the horizon.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, Papá." Francesca said, a bit flustered. She couldn't get that drive off of her mind. Suddenly, her father came around the aisle and scrutinized her. Francesca looked up back at him, startled by his presence.

"Is something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Francesca didn't want to concern her father, so she responded nonchalantly, "No, Papá. I'm okay."

"Don't lie to me, mija. I know when something's wrong." Her father pressed on, not wanting the conversation to end so quickly. Francesca and her father were so close; nothing could ever get past him. Francesca sighed. There was no use in keeping the truth from her father. It wasn't a big deal. Francesca relayed the flash drive's contents to her father, and once she finished, her father's eyes were wide with disbelief.

Before her father had a chance to give his opinion, a honk of a car's horn came from outside. Francesca jumped, knocking off all of the cork bobbers she had just replaced. She and her father walked out to investigate. A suspicious car was parked directly in front of the storefront, glimmering under the Spanish sun's remaining light.

Francesca and her father looked between each other, and suddenly they had a realization. This was the contact they were waiting for, from Carbon. An elder man dressed in a plain, expensive suit stepped out of the car, his thin shades hiding his eyes. His gloved hands opened the rear doors and gestured towards the inside of the vehicle. Francesca was wary of this chauffeur, of this whole situation. But even the wealthiest kids in this town couldn't afford all of this, and they certainly didn't have the time.

Her father took Francesca's hands, explaining to her the depth of her situation. He told her that this was what she was meant to do all along. That this was God's plan for her, that this was her mother's plan for her. He became teary-eyed, and he pulled her close, whispering in her ear to go. Go, and take this chance. She would never have another like this.

Francesca was still unsure. But she loved her father, and if this is what he wanted her to do, she would do it.

She stepped into the car.

THE drive to the airport was quiet, save for her occasional questions. She asked her chauffeur if she could stop to pack. He had informed her that her belongings were already collected for her, stowed away in the back. She furrowed her brows, concerned that someone had gone through her room without her permission.

Francesca was finally convinced when they came to a stop at a private airstrip. It was the middle of the night, but a magnificent, sleek jet was parked at the end of the paved road. She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her- teasing her, even. Fran had never seen an airplane in her entire 18 years. She was shocked, rigid in her sandals, gawking at the plane. Her feet picked up, and before she knew it, she was departing.

Alone.

And suddenly she was feeling sad. Her face flushed pink with emotion, and her throat felt tight. Emilio, Beatriz, her father. She hadn't had a chance to say a proper goodbye to them. Francesca blinked back her tears, reaching for the crystal glass of water resting daintily on the table in front of her.

FRANCESCA'S eyes flew open at the sound of an alarm. She suddenly realized that she was not in her own bedroom, but a room she did not recognize- to an alarm sound that was not hers. Her back was stiff, her muscles sore as she pried herself from a twin bed with immense strength. Her limbs weren't the only feeble part- so was her mind. As if she had cotton stuffed into her ears.

She felt disoriented, and her head felt heavy. She dropped her head into her hands, waiting a moment for the fatigue to subside. Francesca swung her legs over the bed's edge and stood a bit too fast, the room spinning. She gripped the wall for support, pausing again for the pins-and-needles feeling to become more bearable.

She was stupid to let her guard down. Too hopeful- naive. She gritted her teeth in frustration. How could she have let something like this happen to her? She had been drugged and kidnapped, of all things. There must have been something in the water. I should have been more careful. How could I have been so ignorant?

Francesca had to get out of here and fast. She was on edge now, running on a sudden burst of fearful adrenaline. Her pace was sluggish, but she drew her feet across the wood paneling until she made it to the doorknob, turning it desperately. Francesca peered out into the hallway, terrified, yet cautious. She looked left, looked right. Spotted a boy, waving at her. Francesca jumped, gripping onto the doorframe for dear life.

"Ciao," He said. The tone of his voice indicated to her that he was just as unsure as she was. Confused.

"Hola," Francesca responded, her face half-hidden by the doorframe.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[oliver]

Bailey Brooks

mood weirdly comfortable?

location carbon headquarters

interactions ciro, francesca, and anyone else

mentions none

tags timshel illegallyblonde

The sudden knock on his bedroom door urged Bailey to pull out his earbuds, lean on the back two legs of his chair, and shout “Who is it?”

“Open up, mate!”

James. The one and only resident technician for Casey Station during the winter and the closest thing Bailey had to a friend. Scrunching up his nose in frustration, Bailey lowered his chair to the floor and pushed away from his desk to make room for him to get up. After swiftly making his way over to the door, he unlocked and opened it just enough to stick his head out. Immediately, he noticed the thick, yellow envelope in the other’s hands.

“That for me?” He prodded. Holding out a hand, Bailey silently asked James to give the mysterious package to him. “Is it from MIT? Stanford?”

Shaking his head, he handed over the envelope. “I doubt it. Uni’s tend to use this advanced thing called an email instead of spending a small fortune on sending an acceptance letter to this frozen shithole.” With a sigh, James crossed his arms over his chest and gave Bailey an annoyed glance. “All I know is that it was mail day, and this has your name on it. Must be important. It’s got a stamp of high priority.” Humming to himself as he considered his first piece of mail in months, Bailey turned around and shut the door on James with a mumble of gratefulness. “Bailey! Seriously? I want to know what it is!”

“Piss off, it’s my business. But, I appreciate the fact that you know I’d be accepted.” Walking back over to his desk, Bailey plopped himself down and tore into the package only to find that all that protection was for a flash drive. Curious, he plugged it into his laptop and an audio file appeared on his screen so he put his earbuds back in.

“THIS AUDIO MESSAGE WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TEN SECONDS.”

Bailey ripped out the flash drive and tossed it into the trash bin next to him. For a minute, he stared at the wall and for the first time in his life, found himself struggling to process the information that was just given to him. If it were some sort of sick prank, would the sender really go out of their way to get a tiny flash drive all the way to Antarctica? In the midst of the coldest month of winter? When only emergency mail was sent? James was right in assuming it had been a priority which wiped away any skeptical assumptions Bailey had been holding onto.

The sudden message had thrown him off the track he’d been focused on. He was supposed to be attending a world-renowned university, but the presented an off kilter and interesting opportunity. Hardly believable and incredibly rare. It stood out more than the path he had been following and devoting himself to.

Convincing his parents of his sudden abandonment of the station in the middle of winter was going to pose a problem. This year they were spending the winter back in Australia with the intentions to head back to Antarctica in December. It was a bummer he couldn’t lie to them and say his goodbyes in person. Perhaps that was for the best. His parents trusted him and had good reason to. That was what churned his gut the most about the entire situation—betraying that trust. However, Bailey found himself more worried about revealing something about Carbon that he shouldn’t have.

Lying wasn’t easy but rehearsing “I’ve the opportunity to take an important internship with a potentially permanent employer I’m deemed qualified to have but can’t say much about” ten times helped. The phone call went almost too perfectly, but his parents told him to do what would make him happy. Bailey was destined for great things whether or not those great things started at an elite university or working for an international private intelligence organization.

A mysterious plane in June taking advantage of one of the airstrips was something to gawk at-- So much for keeping a low profile in Antarctica. The 19 other people at Casey knew when Bailey left but had no actual idea where he was going. Then again, Bailey was in the same situation as him. There wasn’t any other precautions Carbon could take if they wanted him there now as opposed to hauling him wherever he was headed to from Australia in thirty weeks.

There were a lot of things Bailey hadn’t expected to happen on the plane. Being drugged with a glass of water definitely wasn’t on that list, but Carbon quickly proved the vast lengths they were willing to go in order to keep their desired level of secrecy. If being employed by Carbon meant all these unknowns, he was unsure if this was the type of work he really wanted to do. At the same time, he knew he was too involved already. If he backed out now, they’d probably bury him with what he already knew. Carbon seemed powerful.

Upon arising from a forced slumber, Bailey sat up and tried to rub the grogginess from his eyes before the gears in his brain started up again. Once, twice, three times he blinked before throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. On the ground, he spotted his luggage and propped it upright to grab the pair of black, square glasses from the front pocket. Knowing he was alive and well was as good as any narcotic he’d taken in the past when it came to easing his anxiety. Oddly enough, remembering Carbon was just as grounding for him as any other path his mind could have taken.

With a deep breath, Bailey slid off the bed. The room was reminiscent to the one he called home back at Casey Station minus the concerning lack of windows. Either way, it appeared that if better answers were what he was looking for, they probably wouldn’t be found in that room. Bailey excused himself from the room and poked his head into the hallway to look around. It seemed as if other people received the same offer and had the same ideas that he did. Others were emerging from the identical rooms that lined the hallway. They also were just as lost as Bailey was. So, fully stepping out of his designated room while shutting the door behind himself, he offered a wave as his greeting.

“Have any of you got the time?”

coded by weldherwings.

 

[triples]

Angel Lei

mood slightly muddled, slightly entertained

location carbon headquarters @ geneva, switzerland

interactions ciro | fran | bailey | open

outfit here

Angel's eyes flickered quietly over the two men across the table from him. On the left was a tall, blonde, middle-aged man; his expression was as stiff as his suit, but not out of any particular emotion. An occupational habit, perhaps, since he didn't look to be forcing it. The other one looked younger, more relaxed, but his smile was slightly sharp. He came off like someone who was thinking something different from what they were saying.

Carbon, the duo called themselves. If he was understanding that recording right, they were a secret intelligence agency, out to save the day, protect the world, et cetera. Some double-o-seven sort of deal, he supposed. Angel turned away from their figures to stare outside the door where the police officers that had driven him here were chatting with a couple of the men's companions, what looked like coffee in hand. He wondered if they even knew whose hands exactly they had delivered him into. Probably not. This Carbon seemed like a secretive bunch.

"So, you're saying," he began cautiously, not wanting to mess up his English — it'd been a while since he'd learnt the language, much less speak it, "that I have a choice?" Something he wasn't very used to being given by men like these, men who clearly thought they were above him. Not that he thought that was false, or even resented it. Wasn't it just natural to try cornering your opponent when you had the better hand?

"Yes," Blonde spoke up first, "but if you decide not to join us, you'll be sent to where you were supposed to go originally." His baritone voice was so carefully even, Angel almost couldn't make out the annoyance hidden within it. But why was it there? Maybe they had something else to do. Maybe he was just a side job for them. If they were going to come talk to him in the first place, there wouldn't have been a need for that tape they just played.

They might not have planned for his arrest, and these men were the unfortunate collateral of the organization trying to contact him on time anyway. This pair might've been nearby doing their own job and suddenly called in to hold a meeting with some delinquent kid on his way to juvie, hence the irritation. Angel glanced at the younger agent, who was in the midst of his fourth time leaning back into his chair in the past 7 minutes, and got a pleasant grin in return. He smiled back. Yeah. 75% to 80% — that was the chance he'd give himself of being right.

"Alright, I'll do it," Angel replied, not even 2 seconds after Blonde had finished speaking. He had intended to spend a while being detained so Mr. Cheung would forget about him, or at least forget about wanting to maim, cripple, possibly kill him. But wasn't this a way better method of keeping himself safe? It was a free ride out the country, after all, and he'd be under this uber secret, apparently omniscient organization. Also, he had always liked James Bond.

He caught a flash of surprise on the younger one's face as he gave his casual agreement, but nothing on his partner's. Blonde would make a good Poker player, he mused, if he could only chill out a little. Surprised or not, though, secret agents they really were, because they had given him what he needed and were gone in a flash, leaving no trace of having been here. Angel continued sitting in the empty room for a little while more. One-sixth of an hour, and he was abruptly on his way to being a spy. What a life.

— ♠ ♠ ♠ —​

As the car pulled up to his next mode of transport, presumably a private jet, Angel couldn't help but become slightly anxious at the sheer reality of this dream-like situation. The chauffeur they'd sent him made it to his luggage before he did, and declined when he offered to help. Angel didn't bother insisting. There was barely anything in there, since he didn't have much in the first place, so he didn't feel too bad about it.

Following the man into the plane, Angel quickly realized that there was almost nothing on there except obviously the pilot and one single glass of water. He'd heard that the flight was going to take approximately 10 hours, and this place sure was empty for that long of a journey. He stared at the drink provided with some suspicion as he took his seat. Why a glass instead of a bottle, when he would clearly need to drink more than this on a half-day flight? Why place it so directly in front of him? He'd give the chance of it being abnormal a solid 90%.

Angel had seen no shortage of people getting drugged in the backrooms of the casinos, though he'd always pretended not to notice or understand. It was usually followed by them getting their life ruined... but Carbon didn't really seem the type to fall into the same patterns as local gangs. Also, he wasn't exactly a threat to global security, so.

He leaned back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. It was the longest it had been in a while, and with the reddish tone he'd dyed it a while ago, it gave him a very grunge look. Didn't really suit his personality, he was aware of that. But it looked kinda cool, so he left it as is. He should probably cut it soon, still, and dye it a more typical color. Actually, would they make him do it? Was there dressing requirements for spies?

Anyway. The water. He was going off track, probably from the nervousness. Angel picked it up from the table, considering. 10 hours, there was nothing much to do, and the pilot didn't seem like much of a talker. He wasn't good at sleeping, either — even in general, much less on a random, unfamiliar jet. Hm...

He drank it.

— ♠ ♠ ♠ —​

He was lying down. He was lying down? Angel's eyes shot open, only to be greeted by a plain white ceiling. With a moan, he pulled himself up, hand going up to massage his way-too stiff neck. It took him a minute to absorb his new surroundings, which were, well, very different from the place he'd last been awake in. It really was drugged, after all. Ironically, that was probably the best sleep he'd had in, like, a year.

He stood up, stretching like a cat, perhaps a little too relaxed for someone who had no idea where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He strolled toward the door, brushing back the hair falling into his eyes as he did. He turned the handle and... oh, it opened! He wouldn't have been too shocked if it didn't. If they were willing to drug him, they definitely would also lock him in a room if they so wanted.

"Have any of you got the time?" A voice asked from down the hallway that his open door revealed, the accent one he couldn't quite identify. Angel stepped out of the room, and was greeted by three other people, all around his age.

"Hello," he opened, his tone bright, before continuing with a reply to the boy with the curls, "and no, unfortunately."

A pause, then he added a question of his own: "By any chance, does anyone know what we're meant to be doing?"

coded by weldherwings.

 

[erzulie]

Adunni Oyalode

mood confused & curious

location geneva, switzerland (carbon hq)

interactions: ciro, fran, bailey, angel

mention

tags: timshel , illegallyblonde , oliver , triples

outfit here

Above the frenetic city was a canvas that colors are thrown upon. The sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, during the heaven the color of a blazing fire. Hues of oranges and reds adorned the sky and mingled with the clouds, causing them to blush a beautiful pink. It was the colors of paradise and Adunni had never felt more at ease. The view from her seat near the upscale café window was truly magnificent, yet that was not the only thing that had her feeling serene. Her summer could be spent as she pleased, with no worrying about exams or assignments to take up her time. With the semester over and done with many of her classmates had returned home to be with their families. Adunni had no such plans. The letters sent back and forth between them was enough to appease both parties. It would be a long time before she ever stepped foot in the palace once again. She’d put it off for as long as she could, which would be until she would have to attend her eldest brother's coronation in a year or so.

Not wanting the thought of her family to occupy her mind any longer she instead focused on her upcoming year in medical school. To say that she was excited was an understatement. In the beginning her interest in the medical field had only been an attempt to impress parents and gain their favor. However, it turned into something that she adored without the need for praise and attention. Adunni was proud of herself for the first time and that had been enough, it had certainly gotten her to where she was today and for that she was grateful.

As she sat there, lost in her thoughts a waiter approached her table with her bill in hand.

The envelope sat innocently in front of the door to her penthouse apartment, rather than inside of her P.O. Box on the first floor, where she had just gotten her usual mail from. Adunni was immediately suspicious, she didn’t believe her parents would send anyone to spy on her. She doubted that they cared enough to do so. Nevertheless she looked around for any signs of who may have dropped off the envelope before picking it up and headed inside.

“THIS AUDIO MESSAGE WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TEN SECONDS.”

She yanked out the hard drive and tossed it onto the floor without hesitation. When she had plugged it into her laptop the worse that she feared was getting some sort of virus. It took a few seconds for her to gather her thoughts, staring at the place where she’d tossed the drive.

Surely this couldn’t be real but then she thought about how the hard drive appeared in front of her door. Adunni was going through a range of emotions, above all the others were curiosity and smugness. She glanced at the letter from her parents that lay on her bed, a small part of her wondering if her siblings had ever received such a letter. She was quite sure of the answer, just as sure as she knew that it was time to return to the palace for a short while.

Her arrival had been a surprise, with only her family and the palace servants knowing that she had returned once they saw her. As she stepped foot in the place where she was born and brought up Adunni felt no warm feelings that were often associated with returning home. Instead she only noticed how cold it seemed inside, how large and empty the place was despite the people inside. Her expression was just how she felt inward. Adunni’s face was still, eyes dead as she was escorted to meet her parents in the throne room.

By the time she had arrived her parents were already seated. Her siblings sat on each side of her parents in a row of decorated chairs. Adunni could feel them judging her, attempting to dissect her with their cutting gazed. But she wouldn't back down, not now or ever again. Standing tall and with all the grace and poise taught to her she opened her mouth to speak, her voice strong and firm.


“I’ve been accepted into a prestigious medical institute, I can’t tell you where but know that I will be going no matter what you have to say.”

Chaos began soon after.

“Is that so? Your time in America has caused you to forget your place daughter. I knew that it was a mistake to let you go.”

“Adunni, you must return home. You can continue your education here, with your family….and your husband to be. You are of marrying age after all.”

“Can’t tell us? Sounds like someone isn’t being truthful, little sister.

“I think she’s only trying to impress our parents once again, she was always desperate for their attention. Who says she wouldn’t lie to do so?”

Adunni stared out of the window of the plane, her mind playing the scene over and over in her head. She wouldn’t lie and say that she was surprised. She was used to her siblings and their behavior, her parents as well.

The argument quickly turned into a shouting match, and she had taken little part of it. It had taken everything within her to keep calm and let her family know how serious she was. She had refused to budge on the matter. To her surprise and the surprise of her siblings her parents had relented and almost seemed sad. Of course she was merely imagining things. Her parents didn’t have a remorseful bone in their bodies.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a flight attendant offering her a glass of wine. Not long after taking a few sips Adunni was out like a light.

Slowly she gained consciousness, her vision is a little blurry as she adjusts to the light in the room. A room that she realizes isn’t her own. Adunni slowly sat up from the bed she was laying on, taking a moment to remember just how she had gotten into such a situation. It doesn’t take long as she gets to her feet, looking around the room as she did so. When her gaze landed on the door she made her way over, half expecting that it would be locked from the outside.

To her relief the door opened with no hesitation and she stepped outside, taking note of the other people who seemed to be in the same situation as her. She guessed that they were also recruited by the mysterious Carbon. “No, but I assume that we’re all here for the same reason. They could be waiting until everyone has woken up, if there’s more of us that is.” She spoke up suddenly, her accent there but words easy to understand.

coded by weldherwings.