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Arianne Drulovic

"Call me what you will, Ms. Shaw," said Drulovic, inclining her head almost dismissively... "I imagine I could be called almost anything, and it would be, at least partially, true."

0 · 2,760 views · located in Ĭtpraį¹½mĆ„r Prison

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Ylanne

Groups

Originally formed after the Tripartite Occupation of Terra, the TNG once controlled all of Terra. Currently, the TNG's jurisdiction includes most of Terra's territory, but not the entire world.
Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

In loving memory of Janet Newell, 1958ā€”2010. If a member of Janet's family finds this page and would like the image removed, please contact me and I will remove it promptly. I took the avatar photograph in 2009.

Drulović is a diminutive woman with a square jaw and Slavic features. Short, thick dark brown hair frames Drulović's severe lips and dark, piercing eyes.

OFFICIAL BIOGRAPHY:

Arianne Ljiljana Drulović became the first Director of the Terran Intelligence Bureau on 18 May 2011 C.E.. As Director, she leads the agency and manages human intelligence and open source collection programs on behalf of the Terran National Government and its armed forces. She is the permanent appointee replacing Interim Director Andrew Varona. Mr. Lelantus Haima appointed Drulović to the position in his capacity as Acting Head of State. Drulović has dedicated much of her life to public service. Before joining the TIB, she spent three years as the Special Advisor to the President on National Security under the administration of Charles Henry Maynard, Sr. From 2001 C.E. to 2008 C.E., Drulović served as a Deputy Director at the American Central Intelligence Agency. In the beginning of President Charles Maynard's term, Drulović was chosen as the liaising Deputy Director between the CIA and the President's National Security Council. She was responsible for reviewing and analyzing intelligence from throughout the CIA's divisions and disseminating that information to key stakeholders at top levels of government. Prior to that, she served as a National Clandestine Service Officer from 1964 to 1989. Drulović holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in international relations from Connecticut College and a law degree from Georgetown Law School. She speaks Serbian, Bulgarian, Russian, and English. She was born on 1940 C.E. in Fort Smith, Arkansas, where her Serbian immigrant parents operated a store. Drulović has two grown daughters and seven grandchildren.

RECENT HISTORY:

Unfortunately, I will probably never remember to update such a section, so you'll have to ask me if you want to know (or trawl the news feed, but those pieces are always biased to the IC author). You should also be aware that some of the information on the official biography above is actually misinformation, and that omissions are rampant and intentional.

Ylanne S. (24 October 2011)

Last updated on 28 January 2013

Personality

"El-ahrairah, your people cannot rule the world, for I will not have it so. All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed."
ā€” Richard Adams, Watership Down

"I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me."
ā€” Blackadder

"It is the function of the CIA to keep the world unstable, and to propagandize and teach the American people to hate and fear, so we will let the Establishment spend any amount of money on arms."
ā€” John Stockwell

"Ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process. Moreover, even when the destructive effects of their work become patently clear, and they are asked to carry out actions incompatible with fundamental standards of morality, relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority."
ā€” Stanley Milgram

So begins...

Arianne Drulovic's Story

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The brownstone sat on the corner of Luna and Liber. It was at least eighty years old. Illuminated by the soft yellow glow of streetlights by the corner, it was a quiet part of Wing City in an older, upscale neighborhood. Its traditional appearance belied the security system that had been installed, a sophisticated network of cables and sensors and signalling devices intended to ward off robbers and stalkers. Inside, it often smelled of Greek, Turkish, or Hungarian cooking. There was no need for a housekeeper. The home seemed bigger on the outside than it was in reality.

Inside the home, Greek and Turkish accents adorned the furniture. An icon of Christ hung prominently in the living room, with an electric lamp emitting a faint glow on the paint. Wooden stairs wound up to a small second floor. It was small. But it was home. Arianne Drulović did not care for fancy estates or manors. When she had moved to Wing City a few months ago, she did not waste time hiring a private contractor to build a custom home. She saw the brownstone, and it was love at first sight.

Outside, a light rain drizzled onto the sidewalks, obscuring the light of the streetlamps. Two white SUVs pulled over to the sidewalk in front of the brownstone. Doors opened and slammed shut. Two men wearing dark suits and tinted lenses stood on either side of the passenger door to the second SUV. A small, strong hand appeared, gripping one of the men's arms before Drulović appeared, dressed in a simple black suit with a patterned green pashmina draped over her shoulders. The diminutive woman waved off her escorts, squinted in the drizzle, and plodded up the stone steps. She turned the key in the door and stepped inside. Once she shut the front door behind her, the agents in the two SUVs gunned the engines and drove away.

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Arianne Drulovic 's fingers brushed against the light switch. The alarm beeped its warning. The familiar incadescent light shone on the hallway as she locked the door behind her. Drulović turned round, fingers keying the security code in the alarm panel. The beeping stopped. She set her purse on the hall tree and shrugged out of her overcoat, hanging it on the hook embedded in the polished wood. Drulović frowned, pursing her lips, little wrinkles forming around her eyes. Where had she put the book? Oh yes.

She was reading Faulkner's Sound and the Fury. Her copy, a hardcover special edition, was in the living room. Drulović thought vaguely that she might turn on the gas fireplace, heat herself some tea, and settle in for a long night of reading. She turned toward the living room, her fingers brushing against the intricately decorated panel over the light switch. The lights flickered on. When Drulović looked toward her favorite chair, she saw it was already occupied.

Her lips drew into a thin line as she stood by the archway, staring at the stranger in her seat. "Mr. Montgomery," Drulović said, drawing the man's name out as if to test the sound of it. "You could have knocked."

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Arianne Drulovic 's eyes scanned the room. She strode to the wall of the living room, beside George, sliding the switch so that the little lamp glowed on the Christ icon before turning back to George. "You certainly have mine now," she commented, her gaze coming to rest on the man. Not revealing anything in her expression that hinted of anything other than mild surprise, she settled onto the couch across from George, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She looked at George expectantly. "Well?" She was armed with a combat knife and a phaser, but she reached for neither, instead striking the pose of an attentive student.

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Arianne Drulovic smiled, but the expression did not travel to her eyes. "I like Terran coffee," she said, reaching with her other arm to dim the light of the lamp. "My family lives here, Mr. Montgomery, and my ancestors were born and died on this world. I bring flowers to my parents' graves each year. They were buried in Belgrade, a beautiful, old-time city." The soft lights in her house accented the deep shadows in Drulović's cheeks, her eyes seeming to peer directly into George.

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Arianne Drulovic crossed her legs, looking at George with something much like mild curiosity. "You've never tasted Arabian coffee? It's quite delectable; nothing else comes close." Her voice was laced with sincerity, without even a hint that she meant anything other than what she said. Drulović looked toward the upright piano on the other side the room, nestled into the corner with a few brown moving boxes. She had intended to unpack those the other day, but it seemed time had intervened. "I'm sure you didn't come for coffee or tea, though I thank you for giving that kettle some exercise. It's rather late, don't you think, Mr. Montgomery?" The grandfather clock on the piano said quarter til midnight.

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Arianne Drulovic chuckled. "Oh the security system's for robbers. It's not meant to keep you and your ilk out." She leaned to the side of the couch, staring at George with an unreadable expression. "Frankly, Mr. Montgomery, I'd rather not," she said with a sigh. "I have work in the morning. New job, you understand." She gave a knowing smile, but there was no warmth in her expression.

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Arianne Drulovic offered a shrug, uncrossing her legs. "How long do you expect this to take, Mr. Montgomery? Some of my underwear is still in the wash." She spoke with a small smile. Thanks to him, she now had a good estimate for the number of LDA agents in her house. "I'd also appreciate if you reminded your agents to wipe their shoes on the rug when they come in the hall. Washing the floor takes quite a while."

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Drulović's gaze slid over the men beside George before returning to him. "I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed with me," she said softly, and rose from where she had been seated. Beside the grandfather clock, on the piano, sat two framed photographs. In one, a black and white shot captured a younger Drulović in a bridal gown and a handsome man with Slavic features beside her. In the other, the man from the first photo stood next to a mangled deer on an anonymous road.

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"How familiar are you with recent history, Mr. Montgomery?" Drulović adjusted her pashmina scarf over her shoulder, following George's motion. She stepped through the kitchen, ignoring the kettle of tea on the stove. At the table, she paused, reaching slowly for her phaser and placing it on the kitchen counter beside her. With a wry smile, she said, "I imagine you'd rather I leave that here. This too," said Drulović, holding up her combat knife, which she laid beside the phaser. She continued toward the back door, unlatching it.

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"I bought it," Drulović answered with a shrug. She opened the back door, standing in the doorway as she watched George. The phaser, like many things, had been acquired via one of her thousands of contacts throughout the Terran side of the galaxy. Her fingers smoothed a few errant wrinkles in her dark green scarf. It appeared to have been hand-embroidered. Little matching jade earrings completed an otherwise unremarkable wardrobe.

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"Breaking and entering is a felony," Drulović said, without any trace of humor. She folded her arms, looking up at George. But it would have been a mistake for anyone to underestimate Drulović based on her height and build. "You wanted to take me somewhere, Mr. Montgomery?" Her voice suggested slight annoyance, if anything, the same sort of annoyance one might expect at the sight of a long line at the grocery store.

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"You'll find," Drulović murmured as she strapped herself inside the ship, "that I have no interest in criminal prosecutions." Less than a week ago, a young man had attempted to mug Drulović in downtown Wing City. When the WCPD had intervened, Drulović told them to let the would-be mugger go. "Nor," she said, with a mighty glance, "do I have any interest in wars of any kind, though Mr. Sun Tzu's little book is rather well written."

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"Once or twice," Drulović admitted, folding her hands again. At over seventy years old, Drulović looked remarkably healthy and fit for her age. The dark color of her hair was doubtless the result of a good colorist. She did not bother correcting George on her new title. Those petty things were inconsequential. "I can't say it's my favorite form of travel. I like an old-fashioned train."

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"My dossier is full of holes," Drulović said, inclining her head. "I should know. Maybe one day I'll have an intern fix it." As George might have guessed, neither Terran coffee nor her parents' grave were any real contributing factors in Drulović's decisions, but of course she would not reveal the truth. "You could call it irresponsibility, Mr. Mongtgomery, but there are more important things to be done than to review my dossier."

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"There is a word in my native tongue, called lojalnost," Drulović said, eyeing George without any hint of emotion in her voice. "In English, it is usually translated to mean 'loyalty.' It is a very powerful word, Mr. Montgomery." She twiddled her thumbs, watching Terra's gentle curve come into view. It truly was a beautiful planet. "I am honored that you came for me yourself, you know, instead of sending Miss Angel on your behalf."

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"You guess correctly," Drulović replied serenely. "But I trust you would have no need of guessing. You did say that you read my dossier... " She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked back at George. "I imagine you are taking me to Langara. Mr. Haima will be missing me in the morning." A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips.

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Drulović's frown deepened. She tugged at her pashmina, draping the scarf over herself. "I'm cold," she said in explanation, fingering the intricate designs.

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Arianne Drulovic is here

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"One of my college classmates went on to become a geologist," Drulović commented, nodding approvingly at the sight of the planet filling the window. "His parents disapproved. They would have been happier if he had become a doctor. He teaches at Stanford now. His father died in a bar fight, and his mother died of cancer. Occasionally, he calls and wants to see me for tea. His tea isn't that good, though. He's better off sticking to his rocks."

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"There are no accidents," Drulović said with a knowing look. Her dark eyes settled on George's face, as if she could trace each crevice and hollow in the man's skin. Her fingers adjusted her pashmina, folding the scarf so that it hung neatly over her shoulder. "You certainly have a way of introducing yourself to people, Mr. Montgomery. I don't imagine you enjoy conventional introductions. But no matter. You want to show me something? You could have sent a photograph in the mail. The postal service is reliable. It's certainly cheaper than the cost of space travel."

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"There are no accidents," Drulović said with a knowing look. Her dark eyes settled on George's face, as if she could trace each crevice and hollow in the man's skin. Her fingers adjusted her pashmina, folding the scarf so that it hung neatly over her shoulder. "You certainly have a way of introducing yourself to people, Mr. Montgomery. I don't imagine you enjoy conventional introductions. But no matter. You want to show me something? You could have sent a photograph in the mail. The postal service is reliable. It's certainly cheaper than the cost of space travel."

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"There are no accidents," Drulović said with a knowing look. Her dark eyes settled on George's face, as if she could trace each crevice and hollow in the man's skin. Her fingers adjusted her pashmina, folding the scarf so that it hung neatly over her shoulder. "You certainly have a way of introducing yourself to people, Mr. Montgomery. I don't imagine you enjoy conventional introductions. But no matter. You want to show me something? You could have sent a photograph in the mail. The postal service is reliable. It's certainly cheaper than the cost of space travel."

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"And would you do the same were I to ask it?" Drulović mused, watching the skyline of the city. It was, after all, a fair question. Drulović was acting as any half-decent spymaster would. She would neither confirm nor deny the existence of agents inside the Aschen government or anywhere else, and she would not feed information about her operations to anyone, least of all George Montgomery.

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Drulović folded her hands in her lap, staring out the window with an impassive expression. She might have been on a domestic flight somewhere in the continental United States for all the concern she appeared to have. "The fact that I am here tells me that I am not the least of your problems," Drulović said mildly. They drew closer to the city, the skyscrapers looming large in the windows. Drulović knew that George was slighted by her ability, so soon, to place people on Langara. It was testament to her capabilities.

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Drulović shrugged. "Your decisions are out of my hands, Mr. Montgomery. Their consequences are your responsibility." She slipped a pen and a small notepad from her pocket, jotting something in Serbian script with her tongue between her teeth. Her script was neat, without any fluorishes or embellishments, and highly legible -- to anyone who could read Cyrillic.