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Pulp Spycraft (FINAL UPDATE!) *Updated 04/15/03*
- Thread starter jonrog1
- Start date
Yellow Sign
Explorer
Everyone in my office just looked at me when I let out a big laugh at that! I am from Texas and I am wondering why I didn't come up with that. It's priceless! Adding this to my must read list which is getting longer by the day.
PULP SPYCRAFT
Warning: PG-13 subject matter
An hour later, the mismatched spies stood in Kriegstein's office.
"Miss Tesla, allow me." Kriegstein indicated the two men. "Captain Tom Houston is here courtesy of the United States Army, on a 'test run' of some of his new ... training and equipment."
"... and a bloodstream full of transgenic supersteroids ..." Nadia thought to herself. She smiled prettily, though, and said nothing.
"Mister ... ahh ..."
"Furio." Furio bowed elegantly. Nadia caught a glimpse of the .45's strapped to the small of his back. There was the outline of a back-up piece under his pantsleg, too. His accent was almost impenetrable. "The pleasure is mine."
"Mr. Furio is on loan from a Mister Luciano, an American ... businessman."
Furio sat on Kriegstein's couch and put his feet up on a three-century old table. "I do jobs for Lucky. His cousin wrote him and said he was in trouble, Mr. Luciano sent me to check on him."
"What will you do now that he's dead?"
Furio shrugged. "Kill whoever killed him. The usual." Before the others could reply, he asked, "Do you have any marijuana?"
"I ... beg your pardon?" Kreigstein frowned.
"Oh, sorry, British must have different word. Reefer. Mary-Jane. Smoke. That's how I got my nickname." Furio looked from face to face. "It takes the edge off the shooting and the killing and the begging for their lives while you do the hitting and the smashing with the crying ... you know."
(DM's Note: In SPYCRAFT tradition, each character had a codename. Furio's was 'Smoke' because of the smoke emnating from his gunbarrels. Denis decided to go another way, which is weird, because he doesn't partake. But historically intriguing ...)
Captain Houston decided to change the subject. "I'll tell you what-for, Krikey --" Kriegstein winced at Houston's tendency to give everyone annoying nicknames -- "we work together, this little lady better understand exactly who's in charge."
"I understand completely. I'm in charge." Nadia glared up at the blue eyes a good foot-and-a-half above her.
"Miss Tesla and I have a previous relationship..." Kriegstein began.
Furio arched his eyebrows. "You and her? Good job, Krikey --"
"-- Please don't call me that --"
"-- I mean, she's young and you're old and fat --"
"Not that type of relationship." Nadia sniffed. "Besides, I'm in the middle of experimenting with my orientation."
"Now little missy," Houston chuckled, ruffling her hair, "I don't think that word means what you think it means."
Nadia gritted her teeth and wondered if her father's monomolecular filament would cut through vibranium. She forced herself back to the matter at hand. "There is one name repeated regularly in Littello's journal -- Mountheim."
Kriegstein slapped a file on the table. "Lord Edward Mountheim. Quite the bon vivant, he hosts quite a few 'sweater parties.'"
"Now Krikey --"
"-- please don't call me that --"
"-- what exactly's one of these here 'sweater parties?'"
"The intellectuals living in London, working on the war effort, are quite popular with the social crowd. It's considered chic to host a group of the awkward fellows, introduce them around, pour a little wine into them. As they usually gad about in sweaters, the parties are called --"
"Please, we get it." Nadia finished speed-reading Mountheim's file. "He's got links to the Steel Eagles."
"Mmm, we've suspected him of Nazi sympathies before, but we could never prove anything. " Kriegstein spread out surveillance photos. "Mountheim built his mansion onto the front of a centuries old monastery here on the edge of London. Grafted the new building right onto the front of the old. Quite gauche."
"Well I say we swing on in there and bounce Mister Lordy-Pants off the walls a couple times until he tells us what for!" Houston adjusted his shield and waited for the universal accolades to rain down on that plan.
After a long silence, he frowned. No wonder these Brits were having trouble with a bunch of goose-stepping mama's boys. No git-up-and-go.
"Lord Mountheim is throwing a party this evening, a formal dinner party hosting most of the society, intellectuals and artists still staying in London," said Kriegstein.
"In that case, I just have one question." Nadia hitched a thumb at Houston. "Where do we get a tux tailored to cover that ridiculous shield?"
"This is Texas, missy," Houston grumbled. He was dead serious. "I'd ask you to kindly remember that."
Warning: PG-13 subject matter
An hour later, the mismatched spies stood in Kriegstein's office.
"Miss Tesla, allow me." Kriegstein indicated the two men. "Captain Tom Houston is here courtesy of the United States Army, on a 'test run' of some of his new ... training and equipment."
"... and a bloodstream full of transgenic supersteroids ..." Nadia thought to herself. She smiled prettily, though, and said nothing.
"Mister ... ahh ..."
"Furio." Furio bowed elegantly. Nadia caught a glimpse of the .45's strapped to the small of his back. There was the outline of a back-up piece under his pantsleg, too. His accent was almost impenetrable. "The pleasure is mine."
"Mr. Furio is on loan from a Mister Luciano, an American ... businessman."
Furio sat on Kriegstein's couch and put his feet up on a three-century old table. "I do jobs for Lucky. His cousin wrote him and said he was in trouble, Mr. Luciano sent me to check on him."
"What will you do now that he's dead?"
Furio shrugged. "Kill whoever killed him. The usual." Before the others could reply, he asked, "Do you have any marijuana?"
"I ... beg your pardon?" Kreigstein frowned.
"Oh, sorry, British must have different word. Reefer. Mary-Jane. Smoke. That's how I got my nickname." Furio looked from face to face. "It takes the edge off the shooting and the killing and the begging for their lives while you do the hitting and the smashing with the crying ... you know."
(DM's Note: In SPYCRAFT tradition, each character had a codename. Furio's was 'Smoke' because of the smoke emnating from his gunbarrels. Denis decided to go another way, which is weird, because he doesn't partake. But historically intriguing ...)
Captain Houston decided to change the subject. "I'll tell you what-for, Krikey --" Kriegstein winced at Houston's tendency to give everyone annoying nicknames -- "we work together, this little lady better understand exactly who's in charge."
"I understand completely. I'm in charge." Nadia glared up at the blue eyes a good foot-and-a-half above her.
"Miss Tesla and I have a previous relationship..." Kriegstein began.
Furio arched his eyebrows. "You and her? Good job, Krikey --"
"-- Please don't call me that --"
"-- I mean, she's young and you're old and fat --"
"Not that type of relationship." Nadia sniffed. "Besides, I'm in the middle of experimenting with my orientation."
"Now little missy," Houston chuckled, ruffling her hair, "I don't think that word means what you think it means."
Nadia gritted her teeth and wondered if her father's monomolecular filament would cut through vibranium. She forced herself back to the matter at hand. "There is one name repeated regularly in Littello's journal -- Mountheim."
Kriegstein slapped a file on the table. "Lord Edward Mountheim. Quite the bon vivant, he hosts quite a few 'sweater parties.'"
"Now Krikey --"
"-- please don't call me that --"
"-- what exactly's one of these here 'sweater parties?'"
"The intellectuals living in London, working on the war effort, are quite popular with the social crowd. It's considered chic to host a group of the awkward fellows, introduce them around, pour a little wine into them. As they usually gad about in sweaters, the parties are called --"
"Please, we get it." Nadia finished speed-reading Mountheim's file. "He's got links to the Steel Eagles."
"Mmm, we've suspected him of Nazi sympathies before, but we could never prove anything. " Kriegstein spread out surveillance photos. "Mountheim built his mansion onto the front of a centuries old monastery here on the edge of London. Grafted the new building right onto the front of the old. Quite gauche."
"Well I say we swing on in there and bounce Mister Lordy-Pants off the walls a couple times until he tells us what for!" Houston adjusted his shield and waited for the universal accolades to rain down on that plan.
After a long silence, he frowned. No wonder these Brits were having trouble with a bunch of goose-stepping mama's boys. No git-up-and-go.
"Lord Mountheim is throwing a party this evening, a formal dinner party hosting most of the society, intellectuals and artists still staying in London," said Kriegstein.
"In that case, I just have one question." Nadia hitched a thumb at Houston. "Where do we get a tux tailored to cover that ridiculous shield?"
"This is Texas, missy," Houston grumbled. He was dead serious. "I'd ask you to kindly remember that."
Last edited:
KidCthulhu
First Post
I'm sure he didn't do it this way, but I keep hearing this line read with a Jerry Lewis voice. "With the hitting and the smashing. Flameal!"
Or is that ruining the mood?
