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Agent Mayday

Liberty and Death

0 · 150 views · located in The Wasteland

a character in “The Age of Gifted”, as played by MisterMagicMuffin

Description

Full Name: Mayday Lesauvage

Nicknames/Aliases: Agent Mayday

Age: Late 20's

Gender: Male

Gift: Control of Kinetic/Potential Energy through touch.

Loyalty: Liberty Agent, Special Division


Description: Lesauvage, at a glance fits the profile of a supermodel, soft features lined with masculine lines, everything in the right place for it to be enticing for the eyes. His body is tight with muscle gained from a strict training regimen, but nothing that would make his preferred clothing, a jumpsuit or women's cut suit, look grotesque or misshapen on his frame. He always keeps a neat appearance, but never spends too much time preening himself. Mayday's look is function over fashion, which the exception of his bleach blonde hair, which he leaves long.

Personality: Mayday is a cold, driven individual with a one tract mind, and standoffish personality that largely keeps people from getting any closer then arms length to him. He views personal conversations as largely frivolous, but will indulge in them from time to time, though the conversation is always, ultimately steered back to Liberty. He is a loyal individual who would happily give his life for Liberty. He is an easily irritated individual in a casual environment, and has no words or time for fools or foolishness.

Skills: Mayday is a skilled combatant, with exceptional situational awareness and adaptability. He excels in reclamation and subjugation, and is also a reliable espionage agent. He is highly trained in hand to hand combat, conventional, and unconventional weaponry, the latter being centered around weapons used to disable counteract Gifts.

Weaknesses: Mayday is loyal to the principles of Liberty, rather then individuals.

Brief History: Agent Mayday rose to prominence after playing a key role in the capture of Rick Ronin, earning him renown and promotion. He rarely speaks about his life prior to life in the Liberty Military forces.




Other: [/center]

So begins...

Agent Mayday's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Beretta Character Portrait: Agent Mayday Character Portrait: Mimic
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His outfit exemplified ridiculousness on such a grand scale that Mayday had nearly lost his composure to a wave of resignation that threatened to wash his eyes into the back of his skull. The mission, and its importance, were what kept him from expressing his frustration with his clothes, and by extension Erubescian culture. To express dissatisfaction would be an insult to the time and effort Liberty had taken to set up this undertaking. Something Mayday did and would not take for granted.

Ultimately, it had been his mirror that nearly did him in; when he saw the man reflected outward.

Pants, two toned, one side of lavender strippers, the other, a crimson red whose design was heavy, haphazard strokes.

The fabric clung to his legs, floating up slightly right before his ankles, exposing the skin from there down. His shirt was untucked, but designed to be so. His buttons lay open to the stomach, where a lavender waistcoat held its place. Over it all was a sleeveless coat, reaching down to his thighs.

"Look at me." Mayday's voice was filled with disgust.

"Look at me." The second voice, foreign to the first was a sultry tone, brimming with the self satisfied confidence he imagined Erubescians to have. Lastly, he placed a rather obnoxious hat on his head, complete with large rainbow feather. One side of the hat was tacked up, no doubt to add an element of roguishness to the piece.

Mayday, through training, had learned to be outwardly comfortable in such clothing; to swing his hips and blend in with the bloated upper class of the Kings men.

Inwardly?

Nothing could stop the hatred.

Tight lipped, with his nose pointed skyward, Mayday left his room, locking his cold eyes onto each and every person who crossed his path. Even the slightest smile would be subject to strict retribution, brought to you by the icy disgust of Mayday.

He crossed the hallways without snicker or incident. Which left him relatively clear minded for the task ahead.

He flashed his card, and the door opened minus the expected mechanical hum.

Now, he wasn't one for small talk, and outside of Liberty and work he had very little in common, as far as he was concerned, with anyone else in the room.

Looking at them both, he offered little more then a stiff pleasantry before he took his seat.

"Why. Is this here."

"We know these people are ridiculous, so why is it here."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Beretta Character Portrait: Agent Mayday Character Portrait: Mimic
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Beretta pushed herself up from her unladylike squat as the door whooshed open, and she turned to face the new arrival.

She beamed with excitement and then tensed as if stung at the sight of Agent Mayday, before finally settling into a pseudo-relaxed posture that involved leaning against the counter behind her in a way she hoped read as “I am at ease,” rather than “I’m putting my hand on this surface at an impractical angle because I saw someone do it in the magazines I’m supposed to be studying, and I figured that was better than letting it show that I am still very unsure as to how I should behave in front of you despite compulsorily sharing your bed for the past week.”

“Hello, Agent Mayday. Sir,” she greeted, and then looked down. “Or, not sir. Rather.”

She gave a thin chuckle, trying to ignore the knot that hat twisted in her gut at the mistake.

“Um… It is from Canvas. To show us. There is Pin-knot No-ear. And glitter.”

She took a stumble-step to the side so that Mayday could better see the bottles and nearly twisted her ankle before catching herself.

“And… he is a little off-time. I am thinking.”

The setting changes from liberty-base-alpha-a to The Wasteland

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Beretta Character Portrait: Agent Mayday Character Portrait: Mimic Character Portrait: Canvas Fajaar
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"Pinot noir, Beretta, dear. I am a little off time," Supervisor Canvas Fajaar admitted. The Supervisor usually had a pleasant demeanor, but he seemed extra cheerful today, his stride loose. He entered dressed to match the in-character Agents: A silver-gray tuxedo, black shirt, and a white tie that caught the low light in geometric bits of shine. "I nearly forgot a favorite." The Supervisor held up a smooth bottle of a pinkish, crystal liquid labeled 'Se Détendre,' and set it in a row of similar bottles bearing labels like 'La Félicité and 'L'aigreur.' It was already open.

"Did you know," said Canvas, half sitting against the table, "they've got emotional manipulators whose entire jobs are to add dashes of feelings into beverages with so much alcohol content, they could be adding dashes of hair bleach and you'd barely know the difference? Really, it's terrible. Ridiculous waste of resources. It's this sort of wasted talent that will lose them the war." The accusatory words didn't quite match his flippant tone, or the fact that he appeared to have had a taste of ridiculously wasted resources already. For educational purposes, of course.

"Have a drink." He paused. "That's today's lesson. All of you, have several." He made a sweeping gesture across the glittering array of multi-colored beverages. "If you can avoid it, don't get anywhere near inebriated on the job, of course, but it's nigh impossible to make it through a party without taking a sip or two, and we can't have you making faces and choking and such. In any case, you'd be wise to get familiar with your tolerance. I recommend you start at the table on the left and work your way to the right, because the best stuff is on the left, and I suspect you won't be noticing the taste by the time you get halfway. Try all of them. If you can." He smiled. "I'm not going to say this is strictly a competition, but I will say that I got a small head start to make it a fair one. Get on with it. Try to enjoy yourselves. It's easier than pretending.

Dark eyebrows drawing together, Canvas stood aside for a moment, casting critical looks over the trio, his eyes suddenly showing a clarity that his entrance hadn't let on. This team had not gelled yet. He had some major concerns about this mission. He looked at Mimic--still in her mask, not yet wearing the face of the Erubescan partner Canvas was trying not to imagine locked up somewhere in the base (pity, because he'd rather hoped he could get used to that on the drinking day). Beretta, still not steady on those heels. Finally he looked to Mayday (still-stiff-despite-sleeping-with-Beretta-for-days-Mayday) and, as if just noticing the Agent's colorful presence, Canvas broke his momentary seriousness and laughed aloud. "By the way, you look preposterous, Agent Mayday. You would stand right out. By which I mean you would fit right in. Lovely."