Meet your Administrator.
Timothy Simon walks out into the centre of the dormitory commons of RED/BLU, having notified all of the mercenaries from either base to meet at the location during a specific time (morning for BLU, evening for RED.) He wore a long trench coat, and had a genuine look of worry on his face. With good reason, all of the TFI employees were to meet their administrator Agatha Crowley today. This part was never fun, and he always had to be the messenger for Mrs. Crowley, for she never found it fitting to ‘dwell’ among the workers, as she put it. But.. She had to talk to them one way or another. So, here we go.
When everyone eventually arrived, Suits offered up a tense grin then said in a hush voice, “Please keep polite, she will be able ta’ hear you.” Sheepish laugh, then he quickly glanced around the room. It was show time. He unbuttoned, then swiftly jerked open his coat (flasher style) but fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) for the mercenaries, what lie beneath was a small television set. The assistant cleared his throat, then introduced the woman whom was being broadcasted across his chest;
First impressions count, right? Consider the first impressions of Mrs. Crowley for the mercenaries of Well to be somewhat … shocked. Maybe a little amused. The woman on the screen is hardly beautiful. Clearly overweight with an eyepatch on her left eye, she sits and stares through the screen. It’s like she’s staring at you directly with her one good eye, the expression on her face hardly flattering. “So. I presume my nephew will have introduced me so I needn’t repeat him. Let’s cut straight to the rules of Well — your new home and workplace — so I can make things as easy as possible for you and, more importantly, me.”
She clears her throat, petting a fat, fluffy white cat on her lap. “First of all, you are to refer to me as ma’am or Mrs. Crowley. No little nicknames such as the one you’ve bestowed upon my useless assistant and, unforunately, nephew. Failure to do so can and will result in penalties. Second, you are my employees; whatever task I place upon you half-wits must be completed. Again, failure to do so will result in penalty.” Mrs. Crowley leans in a little closer, that cold stare almost sending a chill up your spine. “And these penalties will be much, much worse.” She leans back into her chair that squeaks a little under the strain of her weight. “Thirdly, I am watching you. I’ve read your files. I know everything about you: medical history, criminal records and even your deepest secrets. I have eyes everywhere, you won’t be able to hide anything for long and as long as I know and have this information I won’t hesitate using it against you awful bunch of imbociles.”
“Now that rules are out of the way I have very important things to say to you.” This is where the conversation splits, one for RED and one for BLU.
RED’s message: “RED team, you’ve done well, though I am surprised you were not beaten by BLU … they seem a much better team. By winning this week I am told I should offer you a sort of congratulatory gift, though I don’t see much point in doing so seeing as you’re only doing the job you’re paid to do …” She huffs a little but continues. “Regardless, I am giving you bonus rations of alcohol for the week. You did well.” The last part of the message is obviously forced. Praise doesn’t come easy with Mrs. Crowley.
BLU’s message: “BLU team, I am disappointed in you but not surprised; RED’s level of skill is higher than yours, by far! It was obvious from the day you arrived. For loosing, some rations of your alcohol supply this week. I expect to see you at least try and do a little better next time.”“For now, though, I must say farewell … enjoy your stay in Well.”
Liam eyes the television curiously, wondering as to why Suits had to strap it to his body and bring it over. Couldn’t they use their TV? He furrows his brow as the woman on the small screen begins to speak. She seems….pleasant. This was definitely a no-nonsense Administrator; any toe out of line would probably result in that toe being removed or…put in their rations or something gross like that. The loss of alcohol rations wasn’t too much of a downer, considering he didn’t drink all that much around the base anyways. Still, calling RED superior cut into him a little. Perhaps he did need a drink after all.