Harry Chattan

Agent of V.A.L.O.R. [RP] [BIO] [THREADS]

[codenamejunior-blog]

knight-to-queenside-pawn:

“I had an excellent teacher,” is all he says. Mikhail allowed himself a small smile. Isabella Vincent: sharp as a tack, one of the few who shared his talent for languages. A good agent and an even better friend. 

“Sit down, Harry. It is a beautiful day. Andrea Genovese is dead, have you heard?” The king is dead; long live the king. He frowns at the chessboard again.

Harry sat down opposite Mikhail, slouching and frowning. "Yeah. Leaving behind a large 'family' tottering without his steady support. I just wish I knew what it signifies to our red friends. When it comes to these guys, we only know what everyone knows. Omicron thinks we need a man on the inside. I'm thinking I agree."

He glanced at the chessboard. "Are you playing against yourself?"

[codenamejunior-blog]

david-whitehall:

David appreciated the matter of fact questions from the British man. “Two Russians coming from the dining car. They entered a private compartment. When I walked by, I could only catch a glimpse inside and I didn’t see a third person. They wanted the time, which means their meeting with our government official here on the train, not at the border.” Which also turned to the other’s task. “Any luck with your umbrella hunt?” He asked, with a smirk on his features, essentially asking if anything suspect came up while talking to the others riding the train and did anyone stand out.

“We should take care of our Russian comrades first. It’s possible we find the three together or something inside their compartment about who the mystery informant in. Either way…” He trailed off not needing to say it again. With the Russians taken care of there was nobody for the other to meet and being stuck on this train it would make them incredibly nervous to think they might be next. It might just be enough to spot the traitor who was selling out the US government.

Leading the way back into the train car, the cigarette seemed unnoticed and forgotten. It was easy to pass from one car to the other, looked like they were headed for the dining car. It was the middle car where the two agents headed. He stopped at one side of the private compartment’s door, pressing against the wall and staying back from the small viewing window that allowed a peek inside. He signaled for Junior to move to the other side of the door. It was a narrow space and they’d have to move fast in the public walkway before anyone came upon the scene.

David knelt onto his left knee, and leaned forward to reach his right ankle where he lifted the pant leg and sitting there in a holster was a Beretta 418, easily concealed as the “pocket pistol”, it was just as deadly and accurate. He upholstered the gun and got back to his feet. He looked over to the other and gave him a nod that he was ready. He knocked on the compartment door and called out to those on the other side could hear, “Train conductor, we are checking tickets.”

Harry was not entirely convinced by Eagle One's conclusion that the exchange of information would happen before they crossed the border, but if Russian agents were on board, they had not a second to lose. Any moment could be the decisive one and they could lose their man and the information forever as soon as the train pulled in at the next station. He nodded gravely. "No-one I can be sure of. And I had a very thorough look, I promise. But I agree. The Russians first. Without them, the information isn't going anywhere soon."

Harry kept glancing around as they made their way through the train, a last-ditch effort to spot the likely man, but no-one caught his eye. He'd admit to being distracted, but stress only focused his mind. The two determined strangers walking swiftly through several carriages on a moving train could not help but look conspicuous, which was a damn difficulty. He *hoped* their guy wasn't here to see them, or he might get cold feet and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the trip.

He almost slapped his own head. He hadn't checked the bathrooms. It was too late now. Eagle led him to the private compartments and signed for him to take the other side of the corridor. He passed the door and spun around, slipping his gun out in a single motion. The silencer emerged from his inside picket and he clicked it on to the nozzle, nodding to Eagle.

A Russian curse came in from inside the compartment. "We pay already!" Someone in the compartment stood up. Harry could see only the shadow through the textured window but he recognized the motion the man made. It was the same he had made himself.

No time for hesitation. They had been made. Harry kicked open the door and fired into the figure beyond, a neat triangle of shots in his chest. The clanking of the train wheels on the rail muffled out the silence bangs.

The Russian staggered back against the compartment window. Harry ducked as the dying man's fingers squeezed the trigger of his gun. The shot went wild, but with no silencer, it could bring them unwanted attention.

There was no-one else in the compartment. Harry groaned. "Fuck me!" With just one of two Russians down and no informant collared, he'd made a mess for them to cover without getting them any closer to completing their mission.

[codenamejunior-blog]

cravingpowerhlavin:

Hah. Clever. Dominika thought as she plastered a friendly smile on her face. “Yes, but the path looks different both ways. Things change in the parking lot and stuff you use as a landmark tend to get a little jumbled.” She had the urge to wave her hand dismissively, but she had successfully fought it so far. At his question she puckered up her lips, seemingly in thought. “Right, I believe. Yes, right.” She added the latter after a moment of pause. “It was the first exit, the one on the east side of the building.”

"Don't worry, darling. We'll find it." Harry nodded his head towards the exit. "Come on. Chin up."

He headed for the east exit, scanning the lines of cars on the right. It takes a special soul to go right if the left hasn't filled up, so he'd expect to see it in one of the first lines, close to the door into the building. It was a simple puzzle, but Harry enjoyed the opportunity to try and use his brain to make life easier. "You live in the building or work at the election office? Think back, did you drive it up all the way to the door or go for the first available space?"

[codenamejunior-blog]

david-whitehall:

Just as there was an opinion of being very American, there was also one thought of the posh Brit that was also assumed on David’s own part. Even though he very much should know better than to judge a book by its cover so to speak. It’s something he’d had to come to terms with and now was put to full advantage. His surprise though was watching the younger agent drop for a split second the act they played to offer a wink. There was a bemused chuckle on his part even as the other struck up conversations about his missing umbrella. He had a feeling the two of them were going to work well together. As fun as it might be to stick around and see the reactions play out as other encountered the Englishman, he had his own plan to carry out. Another quick glance at his watch and the mathematician couldn’t help but think that every second counted and was a missed opportunity to find the government official.

He stood from his seat and passed through the middle of the railcar without a second glance, he looked like just another passenger up to stretch his legs on the long trip they had to the Canadian border. He passed each row, quick to take note of any male that could fit the lack of description they had – a government official type or someone who seemed exceptional nervous about the trip. The agent was exceptionally smart but not even he could understand what it took to sellout your government for money. He would like to think it wasn’t as easy a decision as changing socks was but maybe he was overthinking it and the official didn’t care.

David passed from one rail car to the next, the train had nine cars it was pulling in total, but two were mail carriers and one for the engine and train operator. It left five cars for passengers and private compartments and one designated as the meal car for drinks and food on the journey. He was good at being inconspicuous as he made his way forward as the train moved scoping out not only the passengers but the layout. If things turned ugly it was not going to be easy with a bunch of civilians around. He curiously cast a glance into private compartments looking like he was just a nosy second classer who couldn’t afford the price of a ticket to sit so fancily. Maybe it was the ‘I heart NY’ shirt that helped but other than a few sneers to get lost he didn’t get any eyebrows risen.

He was entering the last passenger car before the food/drink one when the door on the opposite end opened and two men stepped through speaking to each in what was hard to miss, Russian. The two seemed just as surprised as he was to see them, their talked stopped, obviously being Russian in the United States wasn’t highly looked upon. David was silently cursing for being caught by surprise. Not every Russian person was out working for the KGB. It was even possible that two Russians just so happened to be on the train on their way to the Canadian border when there was a government official looking to sell government secrets, sure. But you didn’t survive in this job based on coincidence. But he didn’t let on and instead played the nervous American thinking ‘communists’ as he quickly shuffled by the two.

“You.” The Russian said a moment as David passed and in his mind, he was thinking ‘shit I’ve been made’. But as calm and as laid back as his cover Duran was he turned to look back to the others. “Can I bother you for the time?” The Russian asked tapping his own left wrist to indicate the timepiece that David wore on his own. “Of course,” he looked over to his watch, glad he had gone with just this old beat up thing he had bought from a pawn shop in college, it was so anti his family that he had had to have it. He kept it for moments like this. “Half past eleven. I’m going to rustle up some lunch before everyone else gets the same idea.” The Russian thanked him, probably the only time like that would ever happen. He turned and made to go through the door, but watched in the reflection of the glass window to see the other two turn their backs and head the opposite way.

David stayed on the catwalk between cars as the train rushed ahead, gripping onto the railing. Once he saw the other two leave the car and pass onto the other he re-entered into it and quickly hurried to the opposite end to pear through the window and watch the two Russians making their way through the railcar. They passed from the next forward and David followed and stopped again at the other end to see the two in the third car and enter one of the private compartments. The Russians had asked what time it was that could mean only one thing, they weren’t waiting until they got to the Canadian border to make the exchange. It was happening here on the train and that meant their time had been cut even more to find the government operative.

Hurrying back without seeming like he was hurrying back, David entered their rail car and made a sort of a nodded gesture with his head that seemed innocuous to an untrained eye. It was a ‘go the back we need to talk’ kind of nod and they couldn’t have the conversation there among families and possibly the government official. He stepped out through the door at the back of the train and stopped on the catwalk there waiting for the other. Once he was joined, the first thing David said, “We have a problem.”

Harry had been making his way towards the back of the train. His progress was slow by necessity. He had been offered one lost umbrella already, black and yea long, just as he had asked for. He'd taken it up, turned it around critically, and finally declare it was not his--could not possible be--the handle was all wrong. So sorry, but he simply had to press on.

Their man would have had advantages in choosing either a compartment or the crowd. One afforded breathing space and privacy, the other anonymity. Harry kept his eye for a while on a man trembling and looking at his hands, but dismissed him at last. Those hands had been far too work-roughened to belong to someone with a desk job. Metal-worker, if Harry had to hazard a guess.

He had been just about to turn back and continue in the other direction when he saw Eagle One came barrelling through. Well, that was unfair; for a big man, he was doing a good job appearing merely bumbling, harmless. Harry caught his nod. He made a show of patting his pockets and drawing out a pack of cigarettes before retreating back towards the final open-air walk-way between the passenger car and the mail coach.

Once they were both out, he tapped out a cigarette and caught it between his lips, offering one to his colleague. He dug out his lighter (damn, he'd brought the wrong one--the one with a technicolor Elvis, his Stantham cover's favourite) and lit up quickly. Even if he could only inhale one breath, it was always worth it to make it look good.

"Sudden shower of rain, huh? And me without my umbrella. I guess if you can't stop the rain, make it hail." He lifted his jacket to flash the smooth black leather of his shoulder holster. He smiled, but did not wink this time. Even he would have to agree that would have been paramount to not taking their mission seriously. "How many? Private compartment?"

Between the two of them, they could cover both sides of the narrow walkway outside the compartments, closing their enemies into their trap. Even so, it would get messy from here.

[codenamejunior-blog]

aryabhargava:

The words flowed easy of their tongue—almost as fluid as their moves, as languid as a predator in their own territory. She supposed they were. She supposed they all were, in some right of the word; there was a reason why they both were agents of V.A.L.O.R. ( All things ideal, there was to be more to her than that, but Arya had always measured her identity by the loyalties she owed—finding anything else was a journey uncharted for her. Though, you’d never think it if you looked upon the slopes of her face. ) 

“Stronger women than me have failed at keeping away from you, surely.” It was a reply woven in the same tone that played mirthful and effortless all the same. Their banter was amusing, yes; more so, even, given Harry was capable. Perhaps her patience would have run thinner had the charms come empty in tow when it came to skill to follow.

It was not the visibility she was afraid of. If someone were to set their eyes on making her their target, they would fail as many had before them—and many would after. In a world like theirs were uncertainty was the only certainty, Arya was all too comfortable in toying with risk.

“The booze—“ She replied, chin dipping as her gaze mapped the directed path towards the minibar so generously offered. “—and the view.” It was her explanation, as she turned once more to those open, wide-paneled windows. The city was a beauty because it was wholly unbothered with their agendas; it was the little things. “I’d rather not worry myself with our mortality while off duty.”

Turning once again to her companion, her shoulders rose in a shrug at their prompting. “Then I’m here to disappoint.” Lips thinning into another smile, the thinner kind that alluded to more to be said. “The mob’s been on my mind.” An understandable sentiment given the ruckus that was the city under its ministrations.

“We’re not doing all we can when we’re on the outside looking in.” A beat of a pause. “We’re not going to get through their safeguards from out here, are we?”

Harry touched a switch on the wall, the left one by the staircase. A string of lights lit up around the room, each faint, but together enough to give them a cozy kind of illumination. The city outside the windows grew darker by comparison, all shapes with glints of light in it, the moon hanging in the sky like a photograph.

"You're talking about a mole or a double agent. I've been thinking about that myself." They padded around the room softly, straigtening a lamp here, a cushion there. They dumped an empty beer bottle in the paper bin with a clank. They hadn't been expecting visitors. "They vet their soldiers, that would be a risky route. They lock up their wives, too. I'm not sure I'd recommend getting into bed with one of those guys. Not something I'd say was within a reasonable risk limit. That leaves the ordinary people. The mob, they like to pretend they're normal... or rather the protectors and kings of the little people. So they surround themselves with normal people. Serving staff from respectable homes. The paperboy they paid through college because his dad makes the best beefsteak in town. That kind of thing."

Their tour of the room ended at the globe and they selected a scotch for themself. They poured two fingers' width. "What's your poison, Arya?"

[codenamejunior-blog]

david-whitehall:

In a lot of ways, it was fun to cast yourself into an entirely new role, even despite the seriousness of the situations they found themselves in: like a government official willing to take a bribe to sell American secrets to the Russians. Duran Woodworth was his more casual alias, sort of the hippie without the long hair. He was a stark contrast to the posh Brit he now sat opposite to. Junior. He didn’t honestly know that much about the other passed his infamous V.A.L.O.R operative brother who kind of took the spotlight. But still there were good things said and the agency felt they were the best fit for this time crunching mission.

Talking about the weather was so commonplace that it was easy to weave into the conversation. “Good thing too. I forgot to pack an umbrella,” The response back to confirm that he also hadn’t seen any signs of a tail. It was good news, whoever the government official was, didn’t know that his phone call had been overheard. For David, it was like crossing it off the checklist but not dropping his guard - just because no one suspected their involvement in this didn’t mean that could change. 

The train started to pull away from the station and looked down his watch on his left wrist, he checked the time - the clock was now winding down on the time they would have to identify the government official and the confidential information he intended to pass on. Conversation in the busy carriage led to being able to talk more freely as the long journey began. “The last couple cars were mail transportation. I watched them loading a couple large deliveries but nothing that one person could handle on their own. I’m thinking one of the private compartments. Will make an initial sweep through the train.”

Harry had seen Eagle One before in passing and had made his initial judgment already, based on mere impressions and what little he had been told. Very American, was the gist of it, which for him implied a certain combination of an alien form of social subtlety and brute power. Neither was a bad thing in an agent. He meant to impress the man if he could.

Harry lowered his voice. His colleague would know how to read lips if the clanking and the babble proved too much, he was sure. "I think so too. They're less anonymous. If you go have a general look, I'll strike up some conversations."

They did not know what the man they were after looked like, so all they'd have to go on was instinct and observation. Breaking character for a fraction of a second, Harry winked, then stood up and stuffed his newspaper under his arm. "Excuse me!" he said to the next tangle of people on his row. "Terribly sorry... Have you seen my umbrella anywhere?"

A mother with two children and an elderly man in shabby tweed shook their heads. Harry moved on between the seats. "Apologies... excuse me... A black umbrella, about yea long?" He took mark of the men between twenty and sixty, looking for either someone who looked very much like a government official or was just as obviously wearing a poorly thought-out disguise. Nothing had suggested this man was anything but a civilian.

[codenamejunior-blog]

cravingpowerhlavin:

Dominika was not surprised that the photographer called out for her. It was her intention, after all, to spike a sort of a conversation with him. Prying out information, and people’s weaknesses while we’re at it, was one of her better skills and she was about to use it again. The man lingering in the lot after his rendez-vous had ended made her all the more suspicious - and intrigued. Domi had always loved a good intrigue; it kept her mind spinning, solving puzzles and mysteries.

For a moment, she pretended to appear surprised, if not distracted, and she frowned, squinting her eyes towards the far end of the parking lot. “It’s my first time in this parking lot. I know I parked behind one of these columns, but I might have misplaced the exact spot. Do shout if you see a pastel gray Corvette, will you?” She spoke, appearing distracted once more, for a moment not paying an attention to the photographer, even if she watched him closely with her periphery.

"Then it must be your second time," Harry joked. "Once to park it, once to come looking." He skipped between the cars to come stand next to her. Close up, she was even prettier. He really didn't have that much time to be hanging around talking to pretty girls, considering the news he'd just heard on that car ratio, but how hard could it be to spot a Corvette? Besides, he still leaned towards the idea that the bomb thread was only a distraction. "All right, let's think about it." He gave the hall a quick look, not really expecting to spot one car among the dozens that fit the description. "Which exit did you drive in through? Do you remember if you turned right or left?"

[david-whitehall-blog]

Closed Starter - First V.A.L.O.R mission assignment together for Junior and Eagle One.

Technology was changing. You never could know who might be listening to a phone call or intercept a letter that just so happened to be detailing plans to sell government secrets to the Russians. It was the height of the Cold War between the Americans and the Soviets and neither side was entirely innocent when it came to trading and buying secrets. But when an analyst overheard a phone call from a nondescript government official making plans to take a trip to Montreal where he had classified information to be sold, it tended to raise a few red flags. It was how the mission came to V.A.L.O.R. No mission too impossible, especially with what little information they had to go on - male government official with New England accent. 

It would take twelve hours for the trip from Penn Station to Montreal, where they would be stopped by the Border Patrol and if the informant hadn’t been found by then, it was mission failure. Time was of the essence. All of this came down to two agents or rather an American and British tourist heading to the French Canadian capital. 

Duran Woodworth proudly wore his ‘I Heart NY’ t-shirt that he had picked up as a souvenir in his travels around the Big Apple. He looked like your typical All-American as he boarded the train, duffle bag hanging on a shoulder with a newspaper in hand, ‘the sports section’. Handsome but forgetful face as he looked around the middle car for a seat. Penn Station, of course, was one of the busiest stops in the city and the number of families, other tourists, businessmen, and woman, it was damn near impossible to pick out anyone in the sea of faces. He walked down the aisle and found a row where two seats were on either side and would have to face each other on the long ride ahead. Someone already sat there and he waved to the empty row, “May I take a seat?” He asked though was already slipping off the duffle bag from shoulder and letting it drop to the floor. Shoving it with his foot under the seats he sat down in the aisle seat and made himself comfortable.

“This was my first time to the city, did a lot of sightseeing. Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building.” It was natural for him to start up a simple conversation with the ‘stranger’ sitting across from him. He sounded like your usual excited tourists to the concrete jungle. “Are you from the city or just visiting?”

@codenamejunior  

[codenamejunior-blog]

Harry dropped the newspaper he had been reading and flashed Eagle One a polite smile. He was going by his real name for once which, after all the time he had spent as ‘Arno Lutz’, felt just as much like an alias. He hadn’t resisted the urge to dress up almost as a comedy Englishman with a pinstriped suit and a bowler hat that would have made his old college friends goggle. “Oh, not from New York,” he said in his poshest accent. “A different city entirely.”

He was having far too much fun with the part, but then it seemed his colleague was, too. 

He folded the paper neatly and set it on his knees. “No rain for the whole week.” This was code to say there had been no signs they were being tailed. “Can you imagine? I wonder how Central Park survives.”

[knight-to-queenside-pawn-blog]

@codenamejunior

It’s a cheap plastic chess set from a shop down the road, but Mikhail finds it calming all the same. He runs his fingers over the smooth texture of each piece, identifying each of them by touch. Pawn, bishop, king, knight. Each goes to its proper place. 

A shadow falls across the board. Mikhail doesn’t even look up, squinting a little against the sudden dark. “You’re late, Junior.” 

[codenamejunior-blog]

Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Harry’s fine.” 

He’s getting a tiny pit fed up with Mikhail. He seems to be determined to find fault in everything Harry does. Then again, that makes impressing Mikhail a challenge, and Harry never could resist a challenge.

“Chess, huh? I hear you’re pretty good.” He’d heard he was a master, actually but a certain level of expertise no longer needs any encouragement.

[codenamejunior-blog]

aryabhargava:

New York was still unfamiliar to her. She’d been here once before prior to her transfer, but the trip had been short and under the canvas of night. An unmatched comparison, surely, because the city was a whole different beast come nightfall. So yes, the city was unfamiliar, and the faces in it even more so. This one, though, she knew better than most by chance of contracted missions. She’d ran a mission with Harry earlier on still in her time at V.A.L.O.R. A politician from the local circuits had gone missing, kidnapped by some intermediary getting bold with the ever growing presence of the mafia around New York; it had served as the dry run for her official enrollment into the organization. The mission in itself had been an easy bust with a capable partner to accompany her through it–that was as good as an ally got in her books. 

When their patrol for the election had winded out, explosion and all, she’d been heading home ( the apartment she called her own in this aftermath, stranger concept still ) after giving her briefing. Regardless of the circumstances, Arya’s watch had been uneventful–she’d drawn up nothing. It left her feeling antsy, the tightness around her shoulders growing at the itch to do more. Arya had thought better of it instead as she’d hit the inner alleys that would eventually take her to her doorstep, and had realigned her path to bring her to this abode instead. If she was going to be of true use in these missions, she’d need to know more. Harry seemed a good proponent for such a quest.

She didn’t quite have the patience to wait outside his door in decency, though if their banter had been any telling they didn’t seem to be the kind to mind. Still, she’d shown some precautionary respect and noted her presence along the way. A ruffled announcement on the scuffed carpet she left behind her, and a two-fingered dance along the wall where they kept a hanging picture of Churchill ( if they hadn’t revealed they were British before– ) until it hung a tack to the side, and up she went the stairway to wait along a window that had the best views in the place. Arya would rather be entertained in her wait, all things considered. 

She heard them sputtering around downstairs when they did come in, though she made no moves to descend in greeting. It wasn’t long until those footsteps headed upwards, unhurried and well-paced like Harry knew not to be worried of whatever lay awaiting. Arya supposed they didn’t–capability aside, anyone this careless without purpose would be no threat to them. When those footsteps hit the landing, she waited a beat or two more, resting her eyes on the view that served as oddly calming even as she began to speak and finally turned to greet them. 

“I did think about waiting outside for the sake of normalcy, if that counts for much.” Arya offered in lieu of a formal pretend at some welcome, head tilting in greeting.

"Omicron." Harry had not been tense as such, as tension would serve no-one in a fight, but they stood up straight from the low combat stance and let the muzzle of the gun drop. A grin spread on their face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

They set the gun down on a faux mantelpiece and strode over to her. "It's been too long. You must have been kept busy. There‘s no way you could have resisted the urge to come up and see me all this time." Harry winked. 

The cocky act was all the more absurd considering the magnificence of the woman they were saucing. Even lit only by the streetlights and the sky outside, she was almost too beautiful, the perfect planes of her face begging to be captured on camera; and beyond beauty, they knew what she could do.

"Are we standing in the dark for a reason? Downstairs has fewer windows, better if you're worried about being seen, but the booze is up here." They pointed their thumb at a wooden globe, opened up to show a minibar inside. "What's on your mind, Arya? Just please don't tell me it's work."

[codenamejunior-blog]

themadamebutterfly:

Evangeline nodded. She could still feel herself in a bit of residual shock and thought at this moment she wouldn’t be able to help with scaling the debris anyways. “Sounds like a plan.” She said half-heartedly, hoping to convince him either way that she was okay. Truth be told she wasn’t, but she couldn’t let that get to her right now. She’d have to think about it later.

She watched for a moment as he maneuvered skillfully around the rubble and to where the courthouse once stood. She shuddered slightly to think of what he might witness closer to where the blast originated, but then she decided to look about for any suspicious persons. Honestly everyone looked suspicious to her, panic in all of their eyes as they ran from the rubble or dug around for friends or loved ones. It was an absolute tragedy.

Suddenly something caught her eye, a blinking object. She almost touched it, but realized it looked like something that resembled a detonator, surely something that was hoped to be destroyed within the blast. Her eyes widened and she tried to whistle, but found herself sputtering instead. She decided to try and find Harry herself. “H-Harry!” She called, hoping he’d hear her, but moving closer to where she saw them walking anyways, unknowingly leaving the object behind.

The chaos was absolute. Among the weight of stone, concrete and beams Harry found pieces of smashed furniture and charred plastic. A corner of something black and metallic raised their hopes, but a moment of kicking and digging revealed only a typewriter smashed and bent by the blast. Even here, at the heart of the explosion, it was impossible to find and identify the bomb with so much of the courthouse collapsed upon it. It could take days, and far more people than one. What had Harry been thinking? Nothing, that was the problem. Emotion had run away with them.

Suddenly angry with themself, they stand up straight, close their eyes, and try to think. The bomb would have been planted low to cause this much damage, somewhere near a support structure. It was intended to hurt as many people as possible. Terror. Against the democratic process or to protest its perversion by mafia interests? Idealists were all the same, whatever their creed, but no, it did not seem like it. But why here, why now? And what would they do next?

Pick off survivors, then first responders. Keep the terror going.

It was a chilling thought, but that is what a general might order in a war. Harry glanced out towards the tops of the surrounding buildings, looking for the telltale glint of a sniper rifle. He saw nothing, but as his eyes swept the horizon they spotted Eva waving at him.  

He skidded and skipped down the rubble towards her. "What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice as they were rejoined near the foot of the hill of debris.

[codenamejunior-blog]

{ Open starter for V.A.L.O.R }

Harry turned on the light in the hallway of their apartment just off the Village. The pineapple-shaped ceiling lamp cast it's fractured light upon a mess of unsorted papers on the hallway stand under an old, ornate mirror. Both had come with the place.

You'd think an international spy would live in a penthouse apartment. Well, it was one, technically, two floors of rooms spanning the entire top of the building, with windows set all around the upper floor, but the house was a short squat home nearly fifty years old, facing the Hudson at the back and a brick wall on both sides. What efforts of modernisation it had suffered in the 50s were by now sadly out of date. In the summer, the river cooled off the worst of the heat, but with fall came the gnats. Harry had rented it for nearly twelve months now and lived in it for seven.

Harry set down his camera bag, stretched and hung up his jacket. They kicked off their shoes and padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was too late for coffee, really, but they wanted to develop the film roll without their eyes glueing together from lack of sleep.

That was what he would blame if anyone asked why it took him so long to notice the scuffs in the carpet by the stairs leading up, the ominous tilt of that hanging picture of Winston Churchill that always shifted when pressure was applied on the stairs. His camera bag was still in the hallway. Harry retreated a few silent steps into the hall, recovered the Beretta from the hidden side pocket, and padded his way upstairs to meet his guest.

[codenamejunior-blog]

cravingpowerhlavin:

It was not her intention to eavesdrop. Nor was it her intention to get caught in the middle of it, but information was information, and she could not help it, but to halt mid-step to her car, ducking behind it as she observed a man coming in a waiting for someone. She recognised him from somewhere, the man waiting, and she distinctly remembered it was the photographer she saw around the town. 

Dominika waited, for a long while as she observed them speaking, but the second man she couldn’t really see, no matter how much she squinted her eyes and tried. After a while, she felt the muscles in her legs starting to protest from all the crouching and she wondered for how long will she be able to endure it. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long, as the car containing the other man roared to life, and the blonde woman took the opportunity to stretch up and stalk a few steps backwards, as to appear she had just entered the underground parking lot. Her car was on the other end of the said parking, but her curiosity got the better of her, again, and as the car vanished from her line of sight, and out of the lot, she began walking in the direction of the photographer, appearing as if she was lost, looking left and right for her pastel grey Corvette.

Harry ambled from the car to one of the thick columns holding up the weight of the building above. From this position, he would not be seen from the entrance, nor would he look so much as if he was about to hotwire himself a Lincoln. He took a crumbled cigarette pack from their pocket and tapped one out. It hung unlit from his lips, the perfect excuse for lingering.

He would hear the door go. No need to keep glancing back. He heard the tap-tap of heels and stiffened for a moment... But no, a quick look confirmed she was coming from the direction of a second exit. She wouldn’t have seen a thing. His shoulders relaxed. 

He observed her as his hand went automatically to his lighter. A pretty blonde. What would Harold the photographer do? Flirt with her, of course. Hey, it was only wise to keep your alias’s personality close to your own, especially when you weren’t strictly working undercover. 

He stuck his cigarette unlit behind his ear, repocketed the lighter and sauntered closer. “Can’t find your car, huh?” he called out in is Arkansas accent. “What’s it look like? I got a good pair of eyes, maybe I can help.”

[codenamejunior-blog]

themadamebutterfly:

Evangeline nodded. He was right, after all. She let herself forget about what just happened before her as Eva Thomas, a simple florist, and let herself fall into the role of Evangeline Tate, agent of V.A.L.O.R. Moving right on into the mission is what would help her focus on the task at hand. “Right.” She answered.

She waved his hand away, blowing off the injury. “It’s alright. I’ve done a preliminary examination of myself, I’m fine. Superficial more than anything, I think.” Eva spoke fast, wanting to move on to their mission. “The courthouse is…was over there, perhaps we can start with the exact source of the explosion.” She looked at the chaos all around, people running, trying to help one another, large piecing of building and glass, amongst other things scattered about.. “Do you think we can even get there? We need to be careful of debris.”

Content warning: Violent death

He nodded. If something was really wrong, she should be able to recognize the symptoms. It was part of being a combatant. “We can try. The pieces of the bomb might be buried by now but it’s the best idea I have.” 

He gave her outfit a critical look. She’d be able to do it, he knew, but women’s fashion wasn’t exactly made for this kind of thing. “Say, if you stand guard, I’ll skip over there and have a look. Keep an eye on the crowd, see if anyone’s acting suspiciously. Give a whistle if you need me.”

He winked and smiled and before she could object he was off, skipping through the crowds and up what used to be the front of the courthouse and was now a hill of loose rocks and dust. They could not allow themself to think about  how many people would have been standing in this spot, how many might be buried under the fallen arches now. Find the blast site. Find the clue. Stop the person who did this. 

A part of the building still stood, and by judging the position of the remaining walls and the amount of damage, they located the source. They crouched down to shift wooden beams, pipes, and more rubble, kicking it out of the way. They found one body, a man in a suit with his face caved in. No time to think about that, who he had been, who had loved him. They dug further, looking for burnt and twisted plastic, for a mess of shattered wires. 

[codenamejunior-blog]

knight-to-queenside-pawn:

Mikhail shook his head. “It could just be a diversion. Everyone looks one way, the magician does something else in the other. I do not think it’s KGB, we would have been told. Just get back into the crowd. And do not be an incautious idiot this time.” 

He rose to his feet. There was no point in sneaking around if there was no one to see them. “Even if it is nothing,” he said, almost to himself. “I’d like to see what I can do to help.” 

Harry nodded. He could not argue with that last point. He did not think of himself as either incautious or an idiot but that the bomb was a hoax seemed more than likely. Why take such risks? What did they think to achieve? The Soviets liked to cause unrest for the sake of it, but if it wasn’t them... The votes were nearly counted already. A diversion seemed more likely. “I’ll check out one more thing and then... I’ll likely see you there.”

He’d wait out here for a little longer. Someone important went in. Maybe someone important would come out.

[codenamejunior-blog]

themadamebutterfly:

Evangeline had just left Artur some minutes ago when she was given warning about a bomb that had been planted. She wondered, dismayed, if he might have known and failed to give her that information. However she trusted him, to a certain degree, and felt she would’ve been given a heads up immediately. Now wasn’t the time to think about that, it was time to get people out of harms way.

“I saw Kowalski’s car about three blocks down.” She said loudly to no one in particular, hoping that would at least push some people that way. She then began seeing women, and more importantly, children. “Sorry you can’t be here, things are about to get ugly, please, you need to leave.” She began saying as she tried to guide them away. Some listened, some looked at her like she was insane, which was understandable. Still, she was doing what she had to. Nearer to the courthouse again, Evangeline began gathering who she could and leading them away. “It’s not s-” She started when a loud boom and shockwave sent her and everyone around her to the ground.

The first thing she could hear was a ringing as she laid there, looking at the clear blue sky above, masked with a smoke cloud and debri. Then suddenly, the ringing stopped, and screams and cries filled the air as she abruptly sat up. She quickly assessed herself: no broken bones, no major cuts or bruising. She was lucky. However, she touched her hand to her right ear and felt warm liquid that had seeped out. Still, that could be looked at later.

Evangeline, relative to V.A.L.O.R. was still a fairly newer agent. She hadn’t experienced such a chaotic event before her. Her first instinct was to check on others, and look around for any allies she knew, when suddenly she heard her alias being called. A surreal feeling of relief washed over her to see a familiar face. She pushed past people fleeing, avoiding as she could being trampled, before finding herself embracing her friend.

It was only for a moment, and possibly only for her comfort, but she felt so out of her depth now. She knew, however, they needed to find out who did this. “Th-there was an explosion.” She said aloud, barely recognizing her own voice. She gave herself just a mere second to compose herself. “Let’s go, we need to go get what evidence we can.”

Harry hugged her tight for that short moment of human weakness, nerves soothed to see at least one of his friends alive and well. How many had been here, observing? But she was right to withdraw so soon. They had work to do. 

“Forget evidence, we need a clue.” There was no more southern drawl in his voice, it was back to pure St. Saviour. “If that bomb’s pieces are still lying in the blast site, they could tell us something about who put it there. Likely dozens of people had access today...”

He frowned as he got a better look at her. “Eva, you’re bleeding.” He touched her ear. That could be very serious, or then just a burst vessel. “How is your head? Feeling dizzy?”

[codenamejunior-blog]

@themadamebutterfly 

A bomb threat was one thing. An actual explosion something else entirely. Harry’s leisurely saunter came to a stop as the impossibly large sound filled the air only three blocks away. He could see the dust rise like a cloud over the roofs of the city buildings and a cold fear rose to his throat. People were dying, likely dead already. 

Within seconds he was running, the camera bag in his hand to keep his precious Leica from bouncing on his hip as he ran. He burst into the scene of chaos, people running or standing stunned around the wounded courthouse. The rally had turned into a stampede. Citizens bumped into Harry as they scattered in every direction. A police whistle sounded somewhere, but it had not the slightest effect on the panic. Harry searched the crowd for suspiciously behaving people, for civilians that did not act like civilians. It might not be too late to find the culprit. 

There was one civilian who, like him, seemed to be running towards the damage rather than away from it. He knew her. The Butterfly. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd to her. “Eva! Hey, Eva! Over here!”