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Benjamin A. Wallace II

I won't tell if you don't.

0 · 307 views · located in The New World

a character in “The Lovely Ones”, as played by conspicuousconartist

Description

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    Name: Benjamin A. Wallace II, but he goes by his middle name; Atlas.

    Role:
Aristocrat Spy

    Age:
Twenty-four

    Occupation:
Security technician; it's his job to know whats going on in the mansion so naturally both sides want him to work for them.

    Class:
Commoner

    Personality: Driven by the desire for wealth and power, Atlas is willing to do just about anything to get what he wants. He is a compulsive lair, making it hard to tell what's really going on in his head, even if you can read minds. Loyalty isn't really in his vocabulary, and neither is losing. If you have him cornered, he can be very unpredictable, and there for dangerous. Confrontation isn't is strength so he avoids it when he can. Atlas can convince anyone his on their side with a crooked smile and a subtle wink. He is known to be a smooth talker, which has gotten him out of a lot of trouble, but also got him in even more.

    Likes:
    +Aristocratic women. He set a goal in mind to sleep with all the women in the mansion, but especially the Aristocracy. it's important to have goals.
    +Cigarettes, menthol to be precise. Atlas has been known to smoke cigars on special occasions, but he usually sticks to his black cloves.
    +Money. He's not greedy or anything like that, he just wants to be comfortable.

    Dislikes:
    -Arrogant bastards that think they know everything, they remind him of his father. They can go to hell, most of them of them.
    -Alcohol. He'll drink if he has to, but he prefers to have a sober mind.
    -Losing. Atlas hates losing with a passion. That's why he's on the winning side.

    Background: Atlas doesn't focus on what it was like before the bombs, when his mother was still alive. Son of a loan shark and black-market dealer, Atlas grew up with money by what ever means necessary. A little after his father legitimized his loaning business, he committed suicide;leaving the company to his business partner... Marcus Bennett, The High King. For a long time Atlas admired Marcus, his cutthroat business ways and womanizing attributes made him like a god in the young mans eyes, but recent evidence led Atlas to believe that his father was murdered and the Aristocracy was somehow involved. This opened his eye to the people behind the power and thought him a valuable lesson trust no one, especially  gods. Now, emotionally numbed, he made his way onto the security staff of the mansion to uncover the truth about his fathers death; not realizing he is stepping onto a rebellious plot.
   

So begins...

Benjamin A. Wallace II's Story

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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Behind, over, under, around and through the hole. Easy enough. Atlas didn't wear a lot of ties, not like his father did. Always with a business suit and tie, 'till the day he died, come to think about it, the old man was buried in a suit; a cheap one at that. For someone who always tried anything to get rich, he sure did die poor, but what do you expect when you make a deal with the devil. Fat bastard, he got what he deserved.

Atlas walked out his closet and looked at the naked girl one more time. With a smile he raised his hand and spanked the womans ass.

"Get up." He said with a laugh, barely audible over the loud squeal followed by a series cuss words.

Atlas continued laughing as he left the angry woman in his bedroom. Making his way down the long hallway, he loosened the red tie around his neck as it became uncomfortable. Maybe a bite to eat, or perhaps he should be reporting to his boss, the head of security. After all, Atlas was only just a security technician, the only one in the mansion. The rest were simple guards taking turns on gate duty and beating up poor bastards deemed traitors by the king. The head of security was an withered old dick of a man with half his face covered in scars and a unnatural deep scratchy voice that frankly creeped the shit out of Atlas.

No, the old man will have to wait; Atlas noticed Margaret walking in from the gardens and towards her bedroom with an amused look on her face. Thankfully, she didn't see him when she turned the corner. He smiled as he decided to follow her, quietly at first, but then he began to whistle a tune from a Disney movie that had dwarfs in it, an almost forgotten memory from his childhood. Atlas was in a rather good mood this morning, probably from fucking one of the maids last night, and he wanted to share is recent conquest with Margaret.

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Just as Atlas began to whistle, he heard a deep scratchy voice from behind him. "Benjamin, get over here. Now." Atlas stopped in is tracks, but didn't turn around, he didn't need to. It was the head of security, Edwin. What kind of name was Edwin? "Benjamin." He called for the technician again.

Atlas hated being call by that name. It was his fathers name, not his. Despite his annoyance, the young security technician turned towards the old man, "What is it Ed." He asked with an emphasis on the last word.

"It's Edwin you ungrateful brat. Where the hell were you during the morning meeting? It was mandatory." he asked Atlas looking him up and down like he was trying to guess his weight. "And where is your uniform? Ed was referring to a blue-grey jumpsuit with a matching hat that made Atlas look like a janitor.

"In the wash I'm afraid, I got a little blood on it when I had to beat up a little boy for writing graffiti on the outer wall." He lied. Atlas hardly ever told the truth so Ed didn't bother with his answer. Instead he walk right up to the young security technicians face. "You think yourself clever boy. Your father thought he was clever. Not clever enough though. Hung himself didn't he? Like a coward. I would hate for you to be coward too." Ed smiled, showing his yellow teeth.

"Your breath stinks like shit old man. Have you been wiping the kings ass with your tongue again?"

Atlas didn't see the punch coming. The old mans fist was deceptively fast as it made contact with his stomach. Knocking the wind out of Atlas and dropping him to his knees. A grunt of pain and anger was the only thing Atlas could express. If he had eaten breakfast this morning, he would be puking it out right now.

Ed stood over the injured technician. Smile still on his face. "put your uniform on and fix the damn camera in the main entrance. Report back to me when you're done." and with that, Ed walked away, leaving Atlas on the floor.

Fucking bastard, I'm going to kill him before the night is over. Atlas promised himself as he struggled to get up. Murdering the head of security, Atlas couldn't think of a better way to get a promotion.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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    The servants were bustling about, as per usual. Margaret glanced at them as they went by, wondering if she had ever met them before. If they had connected eyes before this cursed nuclear war came about, if they had bumped into one another in the street and mumbled an apology without looking at each other. It was a game she played, guessing the lives that they had once lived and loved or perhaps not loved. It was a game she played, creating a story for them. The disgust most of the aristocracy held for the working class was, in Margaret's opinion, a little overrated. They overdid it, that is. Margaret couldn't help but feel a curiosity towards them. After all, there were only so many people in the world left... Shouldn't survival be something to be glad for? The servants, on the other hand, looked miserable.

    Nevertheless, the game was a habit she'd formed. It made the walking seem like a much shorter distance than it really was; why was this place so immense? Her feet already hurt, barefoot as she was. She tried to ignore it, ignore the fact that these servants were seeing her in this state... hair loose and wild as it so rarely was, feet bare and soft, nightgown flowing, her face naked.

    It wasn't that she was ugly, or unattractive, or completely unappealing... Au contraire, darling. Margaret was a beauty, and she knew it. Not in vanity, but in simple truth. She wasn't ugly, and she sure as hell wasn't average. She had an exotic aura, one that even Marcus or Cyrus had. Her dark eyes and dark skin was enough to make her seem foreign, but her attitude was too refined, according to a few, to be of America. She did her best to defy the American stereotype; they were the most foolish of all nations, in her own opinion. She had taken Advanced Placement United States History, but it had only succeeded in irritating her. How foolish were they! It frustrated her to be part of such a country.

    Lost in her own thoughts and contempt, she nearly didn't hear the sound of a ruckus from a few feet behind her. The sound of falling to the ground startled her, and she turned sharply with a scowl, only to find no one there. Only Atlas, trying to get himself off the floor. A pang of sympathy pulled at the insides of her stomach, causing Margaret to grimace painfully. He was obviously in pain. The rare moment of pity took over Margaret's physical body, and she walked over to him and stood, calmly, looking down at him as if she was studying him. Really, she was stalling; she had no idea what to do. So she did what came to her first: she held out her hand and said nothing. What could you say to a man who has lost a fight? Whose pride is wounded? No, it was better to say nothing. She had learned that a long time ago.

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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Atlas was piecing together the possible details of killing Edwin when he noticed a hand reaching out to help him; a womans hand. His eyes followed her hand up her arm to her shoulders; her neck, her lips, and finally his eyes meet hers. Atlas forced a smile across his face as he said her name. "Margaret. I didn't see you there." He reach out for her, gently holding her soft hand as he brought his head in closer to her and kissed her slender fingers. Atlas never missed an opportunity to flirt with an aristocratic woman, even if he just got beat up by an old man in front of her.

To him, the women of the aristocracy were lake fine wines; only to be enjoyed in small sips and only on special occasions. Margaret was no exception, a strong, smart young beauty with an allure unlike any of the others. Atlas was always drawn to her presence and often enjoyed their conversations together, however brief they were. This attraction towards the high kings sister was unexplainable, unpredictable and therefore dangerous, so he never stayed in the same room with her for very long.

The young man released is soft grip on Margarets hand before helping himself up with an unexpectedly loud grunt. His stomach was tender to the touch, a pain he had felt before, but the embarrassment he felt from the presence of a lady was almost unbearable. Atlas solidified his decision to kill that old fucker tonight. There was no point in holding it off for this stupid dinner party. Ed was a dead man. The young security technician stood up and brushed his suit jacket even thought there was no dirt on it.

"Well, I'm glad to see your face. I was wanting to tell you about my night last night, but that's not really important anymore." Atlas said glancing at her breast and then back at her eyes. He had often bragged about his sexcapades to her, partly to annoy the woman, partly to keep himself uninterested in her. It was an odd strategy, but one he felt worked well enough. Atlas wanted to move up from sleeping with the servants to sleeping royalty, but Margaret wasn't ready for this jelly. Besides, he wanted his introductory-fuck into the women of high class to be with the Queen herself. Atlas was nothing if not ambitious.

"Did you enjoy your stroll in the gardens?" He asked Margaret before clearing his throat as he adjusted his sleeves of his dress shirt, unaware that his tie was loose, his collar was crooked, and his hair was a total mess, in fact his sleeves were just fine before he messed with them.

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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    Atlas wasn't 'royal.' He wasn't of high class, and he wasn't someone of her caliber. But Margaret had never been one for social classes, and Atlas had always been one of the more refined commoners in the estate. His good looks certainly help, Margaret thought playfully, allowing her thoughts to appear in the curve of her lips as she smiled. His voice reminded her of a purr, and his vocal chords seemed to twist around her own name until it was completely enveloped by it. He was one of the few who made her name seem... well, who made her name seem a little less elderly. Margaret was the name of a grandmother, not the young woman she was. Being flirted with was always rejuvenating, even if she did little to encourage it, and made it clear to each male that she was off limits. Atlas pressed his lips to her fingers, as gallantly and charmingly as a prince would be expected to, though the two of them knew very well that he wasn't anything close to a prince. In fact, it amused her how he acted so gentlemanly when he was little more than a commoner. He worked with security, for God's sake. But there was little harm in having fun and going along with his little act. He was something of a joke to Margaret, taking on such high airs and trying to integrate with the aristocrats. "Margaret," he said, "I didn't see you there."

    Well, of course he didn't. If he had, then he would have avoided making such a fiasco, such a scene, such an ass of himself. Margaret nodded her head at him and smiled wickedly, warning him of the teasing jabs that were sure to come. "I'm sure you didn't," she said lightly as he rose to his feet, taking note of the soft grunt that came from his lips, "or else you would have maintained your, ah, your cool." She raised her eyebrows at him and giggled in spite of herself. It was an uncharacteristic move of hers, but Atlas did look so silly at the moment, unkempt and untidy due to the little rustle he had encountered with another commoner. It contradicted his stately mannerisms so harshly it was humorous. She did find Atlas more interesting than some of the other commoners, whom she had attempted to speak to, but had been firmly bored by. Why did servants complain about being low class when they acted as such? If anything, Margaret longed to meet the maid who spoke her mind and asked her to stop throwing her lady delicates on the floor.

    Atlas was many things, some of them unflattering, but at least he could hold a conversation.

    "Well, I'm glad to see your face. I was wanting to tell you about my night last night, but that's not really important anymore," Atlas said. It was a compliment in its own right, Margaret knew, but its smooth edges were cut jagged with a single glance towards her bosom. Oh, he wasn't trying to look into her heart, she knew that. The fool thought he could undress her with his eyes. She calmly adjusted her nightgown so that it came to an inch below her neck, concealing the breasts she had been blessed with. It revealed more of her ankles and calves, but what man was fascinated by those? No, men wanted the goods, and Margaret took care to keep what they wanted from them. No man wants to join a club everyone is invited to. It was what made aristocracy so interesting; people only withheld themselves of a higher position because they found them unworthy, because they had been tricked by the aristocracy that they were better. Only Margaret acknowledged and readily admitted that it was nothing more than an illusion. Of course, no one knew that, though Atlas seemed to. He pursued aristocracy enough.

    "I am pleased to come across you as well, Atlas," Margaret said, saying his name for the first time. She made a point of not connecting with most of the hired, and someone's name, essentially someone's identity, was something very personal indeed. But seeing him in such a helpless position had softened her heart towards him. Atlas made a habit of boasting of his sexual encounters to her, and she often amused him lightheartedly, holding him at arm's length without dispatching completely. But anyone can make an exception whenever they feel inclined to, Margaret thought calmly. "And you're right; last night isn't particularly important, in light of the ball being held tonight," she continued lightly.

    "Did you enjoy your stroll in the gardens?"

    Margaret raised her eyebrows at him, trying to withhold her surprise. She didn't know anyone knew of her daily stroll. But of course, he was in security; he had all the cameras he needed to spy on the aristocracy. It sent a chill down her spine, knowing she was being watched. Before the nuclear war, she had been weary of surveillance, had wanted to protest but as a Bennett, couldn't express her opinions on anything for fear of offending some of Father's clients. But now, she was open with her mind, and her tongue, disregarding the line aristocracy often drew. "So you do know everything," she commented, making intense eye contact, conveying with her eyes that she disapproved. But she said nothing afterwards concerning her walk, or his duties, or his use of the privileged his duties came with, and instead held out her arm daintily.

    "Escort me to my chambers, Atlas; I'm going to need plenty of rest to be in the right state of mind for tonight's ball."

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Character Portrait: Margaret Josie Bennett Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II
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“So you do know everything.”

Atlas smiled at Margaret when she gave him a disapproving look. His cameras were, in a way, his one and only power and he so loved to remind the aristocracy of that fact. Of course his power was limited, the cameras didn’t have sound and they were in black and white, most of them were grainy images so it’s wasn’t like he could read lips or notes that were written. Besides, if anyone truly wanted their privacy, they just needed to simply unplug the damn things. That was probably what was wrong with the camera in the main hall.

“Well, I don’t everything,” he admitted, “but I do know a whole lot more and your usual commoner.” Atlas was angry that he just labeled himself in such a way, he hated that word. To consider himself ‘common’ was a bit of an insult to the young man. It reminded him of the dark ages when the royalty you live in their castles and the rest of the people were- who was he kidding; they were living in the dark ages and he was a simple serf.

“Escort me to my chambers, Atlas; I’m going to need plenty of rest to be in the right state of mind for tonight’s ball” the beautiful Margaret insisted.

Atlas, still smiling, dipped the upper half of his body in a low bow. “Of course my lady, it would be my pleasure.” In his mind, he hesitated to walk with her any further; her voice was so comforting it makes him forget where he is at times. Besides, he had a murder to plan. But he could manage to multitask. Atlas stepped beside Margaret and wrapped his arm around her hand, he had never been this close to her before; he could smell her sweet scent and in was intoxicating.

“So Margaret, do you actually enjoy this sort of events?” he asked her trying to remain focused as they started down the hallways. “I hear this one is going to be especially exciting."

As they walked around the corner, Atlas listed all the possible ways to kill somebody in his head. And once Ed is out of the picture, Atlas himself would be a perfect candidate for the position of head of security. And when it comes to it, he would blame it on one of the maids or a cook. There's going to be so many new servants, he just would need to find one who has a vague connection to the recent rebel and they would execute them the very same night. So now, not only does he need to find a way of killing someone, he also needed someone to blame it on. Murder is hard work.

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Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II Character Portrait: Chrysanthemum Keller
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Atlas stared at the at the night sky. The stars shined bright across the gentle blue heavens as strong winds danced above the small village. For a brief moment, Atlas imagined the painting pouring out of the canvas and enveloping reality. To see the world through the eyes of Van Gogh would be a treasure to the imagination. With a blink, the technician was back in reality, starring at a masterpiece by a man who couldn't take the cruelty of the real world. Atlas quickly dismissed the painting as he continued walking around the edge of the ballroom. He really didn't have time to stop and admire beautiful pieces of art. Just then he noticed her from across the room, a pretty little thing severing slop to a pig of a man.

Atlas always admired his own exceptional ability to pick out diamonds in the ruff. Without noticing it, The young man began to move foreword towards the attractive waitress. A new face, he realized with a smile forming at the corner of his lips. Atlas loved the opportunity to introduce himself to new female employees, And he wasn't about to skip out on this one. "You shouldn't forget to breath." He told the old man eating from the serving plate. "Or has your lungs evolved to inhale shrimp cocktails?"

The security technician looked for approval from the young waitress's reaction, ignoring the old heavy man who's face was turning red as if he was choking on some of the food he just stuffed in his mouth."How dare you speak to me in such a way" the man huffed, but said nothing more. Atlas wasn't wearing a uniform like the rest of the security team, instead he was in a pressed black tuxedo completed with a bow tie and the nicest shoes his salary could buy. At a glance, He looked almost like one of the aristocrats, except for his messy hair and second-hand shoes. The fat man huffed again before Atlas stared at him with a stern look, waiting for the man to leave. Feeling the pressure, the aristocrat huffed again before moving on, probably to the next poor server with food. A wave of relief filled Atlas as the man walked away, the young security technician was afraid the man was going to call his bluff. He looked back at the waitress and his smile quickly returned. "I've never seen you here before. What is your name?" he asked with false authority.

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Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II Character Portrait: Chrysanthemum Keller
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While the pig-like old man beside her continues to gorge himself on the delicious -although perhaps not to the extent that would make his disregard for common courtesy acceptable- snacks. There is a dinner, you gluttonous leech, Chrys thinks to herself doing her very best to not roll her eyes, merely standing there with a surprising amount of patience, forced of course, and wondering for the umpteenth time why the waitresses have to wear these blasted heels. Unless the young woman absolutely has to, she avoids the things, finding them to be more useful as weapons than as footwear. At the sign of needing to run, she would kick them off without hesitation, finding bare feet preferable by far. She typically sticks to boots and tennis shoes, unless she has been called to the manor in the night, because the top bitches upstairs have synced menstrual cycles or whatever other reason has prompted the king bastard upstairs to call her to his bed. There is little pride in being the king's call girl, and some would consider her to be lower than even the servants, certainly a lesser entity than people like Kent, who are servants but are the high king's assistant and such. This is fine enough for Chrys, though, because the very thought of being high-up in this corrupted, elitist society makes her want to gag. The only reason she works selling her body to the king, and occasionally others when ordered to do so, is because it gives her some sort of in with the manor. She can hear the whispers of the servants, and occasionally learn the secrets of the aristocracy. Besides, what sort of leader would she be if she allowed others to put themselves on the front line, in the home of the enemy, but hid away among the masses of the city by herself?

Out of the corner of her eye, Chrys can see a well-dressed young man walking towards her, but can quickly identify him as not being of the higher classes. Probably coming to eat more- oh, wait, her thoughts shift as she recognizes his face, despite the fact that he does not seem to recall hers. This is a matter of course, though- she is rarely around the Manor after dawn or before midnight. The call girl leaves the home as soon as the bastard king has fallen asleep, often beforehand. Others may see this action as an acknowledgement of her lowly place, but it is truly an effect of the repulsion she feels from the aristocracy- the high king especially. It is bad enough that she must sleep with him- she would prefer to be out of his company as quickly as possible. Besides, his ability to probe one's mind is very unsettling, even if she has become very gifted of lying in her thoughts and placing barriers to avoid any difficult situations.

The young man, Chrys recalls his name to be Atlas, similar to the titan who, in mythology, holds up the sky, stops in front of her and the slovenly member of nobility with a smirk and a mocking twinkle in his eyes. He appears to be in his early or mid-twenties, and Chrys knows that he is the security technician of the Manor. He could be a potentially key element for the rebellion, and hence she has somewhat kept tabs on who he is, but his allegiance is uncertain and, for the moment, he is more of a liability than a possible ally. "You shouldn't forget to breathe," he advises the elderly man, "Or have your lungs evolved to inhale shrimp cocktail?" At this quip, the young woman cannot help but smile very slightly, though the expression is not entirely without calculation. Ally or threat, she obviously cannot afford to be on the wrong side of the man before her. His eyes turn towards her, and he smiles at Chrys while the old man nearly chokes on his fifteenth shrimp cocktail before sputtering out an angry response, but not following through with it. Unlike Chrys, he doesn't know who Atlas is, and thus falls for the young man's clever bluff before angrily storming off, probably to dominate the platter of some other unfortunate platter.

Thank god he left, Chrys muses, His eating was making me sick. She returns Atlas's smile with one of her own, charming and pretty enough. Perhaps she is not as much a manipulator as he is, but she was raised in a world which required knowledge on how to deal with others. Now that she is leader of a rebellion, a position that could mean death for her and those beneath her should she mess up, that skill has come in handy several times. "I've never seen you here before. What's your name?" he says, sincerity confirming her suspicions that he doesn't know her. She is usually rather good at sneaking in when called, and otherwise blending in is no large challenge for her. Knowing this, she decides to play along as though she is new here.

"I'm just extra help for the event. I do believe, though, that common courtesy dictates that one should give their own name before asking for that of another. Chrys, though," she says with a playful smile, embracing the role quite easily. She has had to play many roles in her life, after all, and knows how to draw them out like cards.

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Character Portrait: Benjamin A. Wallace II Character Portrait: Chrysanthemum Keller
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"I'm just extra help for the event. I do believe, though, that common courtesy dictates that one should give their own name before asking for that of another. Chrys, though."

Atlas raised his eyebrows at her response. "Common courtesy is in short supply around here unfortunately." He said as he reached for a shrimp from her plate. "Isn't Chris a guys name?" He asked before biting into to shrimp. As far as he knew, is was still a mystery to her and therefore he held the power in the conversation. "Is it short for something, like Christina? Or did your father really want a son that bad?"

The technician examined the waitress's face, he found her full lips to be attractive, but her gorgeous eyes were what set her apart from the rest. If he was stupid enough to believe in love, he was sure he could find it in those eyes. "You're very beautiful you know that." He said simply. Atlas was no one to beat around the bush and although he really didn't have time to flirt with the new help, he couldn't break away from her just yet.

"My name is Atlas." he finally told her with a grin. but his smile quickly went away as he noticed his boss, Edwin walking around the ball room, [crap, if he see me out of uniform- wait, why do I care, I plan on killing him tonight anyways. Still, no need to have a confrontation with the bastard if i can help it.[/i] he looked around at all the security in the place tonight "Sorry, I got distracted by all the devils in this room, if I didn't know better, I'd say we were in hell." Atlas looked at his watch, it was almost time. "I really must be going soon, I have an appointment I really can't miss." He told Chrys, "but before go, I must ask, will I see you again?" Atlas asked with his smile returned.

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"Common courtesy is in short supply around here, unfortunately." Chrys's eyebrows shoot up at his response, her playful smile evolving into a smirk at his statement, which she naturally finds herself inclined to agree with. She has heard, of course, of the young man before her's tendency to go around charming the women who work -or live- in this wretched manor, and realizes that his words may be selected simply based upon the fact that she is of the lower classes, not because they reflect his actual opinions. He doesn't appear to have allegiance to any side but his own, she muses, not sure whether to respect or resent that. She can recall a quote that she has read before, which seems to apply quite well to the calculating young man before her: "The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality." Aligning only with one's own interests, though probably intelligent, is just the same as allowing horrors to continue, as far as Chrys is concerned. People like Atlas are part of the problem, in the end, even if they never technically order an execution or abuse the lower classes. Allowing it to continue for one's own benefit is a particularly spiteful decision, indeed. "So I've observed," she responds coolly.

"Isn't Chrys a guy's name?" the young man before her inquires whilst going for one of the shrimp cocktails on her plate, of which there are very few. The young woman, once more, must fight the urge to sigh. She has heard that too many times to count, and never ceases to be impressed by the attention people pay to obscure details. His next words are somewhat typical as well, badgering her for the full extent of her name. "Is it short for something, like Christina? Or did your father really want a son that bad?" Chrys smirks at both of these options, for both are wrong, though in varying degrees. The latter is even more inaccurate than the former, if only because her father, should he still be alive, is completely ignorant to her existence. For all she knows, he could be one of these filthy leeches, rubbing elbows and ignoring the plights of the poorer people. One of these days, they will regret taking so much and leaving so little for the rest of us, she promises herself, not for the first time, as her eyes slide over the disgusting opulence which dominates the scene.

"Wrong and wrong, sorry," she says, not giving her actual name for two reasons. The first would be because that would make things just a tad bit too easy. The second is simply because, ever since she began to realize how stupid it is, she doesn't disclose the full extent of her name to others. In fact, only a handful of people know it, and she refuses to respond to it when directed towards her, unless it is Kent, because he is her closest friend. Even then, the response is usually one of irritation. What kind of name is Chrysanthemum, anyway? Especially for someone who is supposed to be leading a rebellion against the corrupted bureaucracy of the current era. It sounds more like what someone would name a pet rabbit than a child, after all.

Then, somewhere out of the blue, he compliments her. "You're very beautiful, you know," he says bluntly, staring at Chrys relatively intently. Living the life that she did, Chrys is quite accustomed to hearing such things, despite the fact that -away from work- she doesn't exactly act the image of a lady. "Is that so?" she smirks, raising an eyebrow playfully. At least this gives her an excuse to not be walking about, and keeps many of the disgusting nobility away for the moment. Still, the distraction, though necessary because she needs to be on Atlas's good side, is getting in the way of her observation of the ballroom. There is a reason for her being here, and it is certainly not because they needed extra help, though that is her excuse.

"My name is Atlas," he finally gives away his own name with a grin, as though it is some fascinating fact.

"Oh? Taking a break from the sky?" she says, the jest probably overdone. She notices his sudden distraction, of course, and glances over her shoulder for a moment, noticing a Marcus on the move instead of the person that Atlas's attention is actually on. He looks back at her and makes an excuse for his distraction. "Sorry, I was distracted by all of the devils in the room, If I didn't know better, I'd say we were in hell," he comments, confirming Chrys's inaccurate belief that he had been looking at the top bastard. Well, it is a minor mistake, anyway.

"Don't be so quick to believe that you know better," she advises, "Anyway, aren't you just another one of them?" She is continuing with the act of believing that he is just another member of the upper classes with this little rhetorical question. He checks his watch and looks back towards her.

"I really must be going, I have an appointment I really can't miss," he says, something which should be an apology but doesn't really come out as one. She expects him to leave then, but Atlas lingers for a moment before smiling again, oozing charm. "But before I go, I must ask, will I see you again?" Aaaaand, there it is, Chrys observes at his question, viewing it as another may view a punchline to an extended joke.

It won't do to say no, of course. Still, can't be boring, eh? she reminds herself whilst smirking at him with a glitter, half real and half synthetic of amusement in her eyes. "If you know where to find me, I suppose," is the response she settles on in the end before wiggling her fingers in a motion of 'goodbye' and turning around to take the rotations of the platter, and to refill it. She can't just stand around all night, after all. After finishing off the platter, which only takes a few moments thanks to the gluttony of that elderly man from before, she disappears into the kitchen.

"I need more shrimp cocktails for the tray," she informs the cooking staff, before leaning against the counter while they prepare it quickly. Good thing I came: I've been needing to scope out that Atlas fellow.

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Atlas made his way around the room; his thoughts were still on Chrys instead of what he should be focusing on. The young man cracked a smile out of nowhere remembering her joke say said about Atlas taking a break form the sky. Although, now that he had a moment to think about it, Chrys was way too intelligent to be hired as simple extra hand. This made her more if a mystery to the young security tech, and therefore much more desirable in his eyes. He glanced once more around the room searching for his most recent desire but with no such luck.

He didn't waste anymore time as he made his was towards the head of security, Edwin. His heart began to race, the young man could hear it beating in his ears. Yet, despite his anxiety he appeared calm on the outside. This is no different than bluffing your hand at a game of high-stakes poker He reassured himself. Except that the stake in this game is life or death. Atlas was many things but a murder was not one of them, not yet at least.

Everything was setup and ready, Atlas just needed to convince Edwin to return to his office and find the "gift" left for him. The security technician didn't want to be seen with his victim any more than necessary. He needed it to look like the old man left on his own accord. Atlas walked to the side of the old man and waited for him to be finish speaking with a few guest before placing his hand on Edwin's shoulder. "Sir, It seems the someone has left you a gift in your office. A bottle of champagne from the looks of it. The cameras didn't get a good look of who delivered it. Do you want me to dispose of it?" Atlas spoke in a hushed manner, not wanting anyone else to hear.

"Nonsense boy, I shall retrieve it at once. the entire party must indulge." Edwin slurred, apparently already enjoying a few drinks on his own. Upon hearing this a slight panic struck the heart of of the would-be assassin. "Perhaps it would be wise to taste the bottle yourself. If the sparkling wine is poor in quality then you might be insulting our honored guest by offering them such a drink." Atlas watched as Edwin soaked in the words. A sense of relief came to Atlas as The older gentleman confirmed. "Perhaps." He said waving atlas off like a servant who was no longer needed. "If you will excuse me." He addressed the small crowd and he headed off towards his office.

Atlas watched carefully as his boss left the ball room. The young man knew he needed to prevent the bottle from getting to the hand of other people by what ever means necessary. He waited a few moment before following Edwin out into the hallway. Atlas kept his distance as he continued to follow Edwin to his office, waiting until the man walked in to shut the door and lock him inside. He didn't have much time to go down to his room and doctor the tapes so he hastily made his way through the mansion.

Once he arrived, Atlas quickly went to work looping recordings of empty hall ways and overlaying them to make it look like the Head of Security was alone. Once he got to the point of real time, his heart stopped. The door to Edwin's office was opened. How the hell is that possible?. Atlas quickly ran out of his room back to the party as fast as he could, only slowing down once he turned the last corner to avoid suspicion. As the young man arrived in the crowded ball room, he began frantically looking around for his victim.