The Uninformed Informant

Joined: Aug 16 2013, 09:14 AM

Jan 24 2016, 09:03 PM #1

The silence was palpable in depths of district 13, where a tall, pale, black-eyed man sat in frigid anticipation in his cold, sterile office. Long, white, spider-like fingers of one hand were splayed on out the rich, polished mahogany of his desk, tapping in a wave-like rhythm in time with the ticking of an old grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the stone carved room. The other hand held a photograph, which the pale man studied carefully. An overhead light, contained in a wire cage, cast its sickly bluish glow, giving the man's skin an almost ethereal quality. There was a knock on the door and Dr. Noble answered it in a low voice. "Come in..." He murmured, placing the photograph face down and reaching for a switch that permitted his visitor's entry.

A decorated soldier appeared in the doorway. The multitude of badges adorning his vest signified him a man of status, but despite this he appeared to pale and waver before the doctor. "Mr. President... sir..."

Dr. Noble dismissed the greeting with a wave of his hand. "Sit." He commanded, gesturing to a chair positioned across from his desk. Swallowing thickly, the man obliged. Silence passed between them and, growing frustrated, Dr. Noble narrowed his eyes and drawled, "Your report, Commander."

The soldier jumped slightly in his seat before fumbling through some papers with shaky hands. Dr. Noble glared at him with his cold, black eyes as the man began to meekly deliver his news: "The fugitives, sir... we were unable to recover them. There was no trace of them sir... their camp abandoned... fuel shortage and inclement weather impeded efforts to track them down. The platoon decided to call off the search --"

"The platoon decided?" Dr. Noble interrupted, his brows drawing together as cold fury flashed across his eyes. "Your orders were very clear, Commander." "But the chain of authority sir-" "You'll find yourself in chains at this rate, Commander."

Both men fell quiet, only the rhythmic ticking of the clock perpetuation the tense silence. Dr. Noble stared across at the other man in thinly veiled disgust. At last, with a scowl of utter distaste, he waived his hand in dismissal. "Send for refugee #420-69 immediately. Bring him to me at once." The soldier left in haste, nearly toppling his chair in his scramble to exit the room. Dr. Noble was once again left in solitude to examine his photograph.
The young man was dirty, and smelt of horse and smoke and body odor. It would take weeks of daily showers to remove all of the filth. He'd been found just outside their doors, riding right across their borders on a patchy colored horse. There was nothing remarkable about him, per se, besides a certain name he had mentioned upon his arrival....

"You claim to know the wherabout of Dr. Herriot, and the rest of her accomplices?" "Yeh I know em, I know lotsa stuff. But if i tell yah... what's in it fer me?" "You're in no positioning for bargains, Mr. Valderiez. But depending on the quality of your information I am certain that a suitable incentive could be arranged..." "Babes," replied the young man, without missing a beat.

Perplexed, irritated, and yet also intrigued, Dr. Cain obliged. "That can be arranged," he placated, producing a holographic map that glowed above his desk. "Now show me..."

Joined: May 15 2013, 06:38 PM

Feb 22 2016, 10:43 PM #2

Denton didn't know why Auricula had hated District Thirteen so much. Mr. Dr. Prof. President Noble sure was a creepy fuck, but there were worse things to be. The guy seemed bent on reuniting with ol' Ricky, and Denton wasn't feeling altogether charitable towards the woman after she had given him the boot for the very minor crime of stickin' it to high-and-mighty Ren Wilde, so he decided that he would help the weirdo (as long as there was something in it for him.) As it turned out, there wasn't, not really. They made him shower a lot more than he ever had in his life, they stuffed him into some ass-ugly grey outfit that didn't show off his physique at all, and instead of supplying him with sexy underground mole-babes, they had sent him a few sad-looking, mousy ladies in their mid-twenties who were trying to have babies with their gross dried-up radiation wombs. If there were two things Denton knew about himself, it was that he wasn't going to be nobody's pappy and he sure as hell wasn't going to die of radiation-dick.

During the day, the man-child was largely trapped in his room with nothing to do, so he did push-ups, sulked, and made lovely paintings with a set of mushy watercolors that someone had left behind in his closet. Rowan and the others had obviously been stifling his potential by making him do menial labor all day when he was a true artist at heart. When they came for him on that particular day, he was just brushing a subtle pink onto the nipple of the enormous breast he was painting. The soldiers barged in without warning, disrupting the artist and almost ruining his work.

"Don't you fellers ever knock?" Denton muttered, throwing his paintbrush down in disgust. "Whatya want now?"

"President Noble requires your presence," one of them replied stiffly. Denton rose to his feet, stretched, and drawled,

"I guess I am purty important. Let's get a move on."

They led him up, up, into the highest echelons of the catacombs, where Noble was lurking somewhere like a weird bearded spider. They were buzzed into the dim office, where the soldiers made a hasty exit to a position right on the other side of the door, ready to assist if they were needed.

"So," Denton began, sitting down in the single unoccupied chair and putting his feet up on the desk. "Whatcha need this time, Mister President? You find them varmints you was lookin' for?"