A perky blonde spy from the 70s and an evil man with a beard (of some variety or another)
WHO: The Bionic Woman (iamjaimesommers) and the Master (masterous)
WHERE: The ArchAngel Foundation's City Offices
WHEN: Wednesday Afternoon
WARNINGS: None I can think of
SUMMARY: Having promised to look into "Adon Tierney" for Whiskey, Jaime walks largely unknowingly into the offices of one of the Universe's most dangerous men. What could possibly go wrong?
FORMAT: Graph, or whatever you prefer
Jaime arrived for her second visit to the ArchAngel Foundation, her first being for a brief conversation with the rather vapid receptionist at Mr. Tierney's office. She had managed to talk her into giving her "just ten minutes" with Mr. Tierney, though Jaime had begun to wonder at the wisdom of that. At least she could see the man face to face and get a sense of how saintly this man appeared to be. Most documented evidence was this man could do no wrong; Whiskey, however, had told her an entirely different story.
She sat patiently in the front office, waiting to be called in to the office, absently thumbing through the Archangel Foundation's pamphlet for the umpteenth time, wondering how language could be so praising and so empty at the same time.
WHERE: The ArchAngel Foundation's City Offices
WHEN: Wednesday Afternoon
WARNINGS: None I can think of
SUMMARY: Having promised to look into "Adon Tierney" for Whiskey, Jaime walks largely unknowingly into the offices of one of the Universe's most dangerous men. What could possibly go wrong?
FORMAT: Graph, or whatever you prefer
Jaime arrived for her second visit to the ArchAngel Foundation, her first being for a brief conversation with the rather vapid receptionist at Mr. Tierney's office. She had managed to talk her into giving her "just ten minutes" with Mr. Tierney, though Jaime had begun to wonder at the wisdom of that. At least she could see the man face to face and get a sense of how saintly this man appeared to be. Most documented evidence was this man could do no wrong; Whiskey, however, had told her an entirely different story.
She sat patiently in the front office, waiting to be called in to the office, absently thumbing through the Archangel Foundation's pamphlet for the umpteenth time, wondering how language could be so praising and so empty at the same time.