Read This Or The Gods Will Burn U With Their Gaze!, A Sentry Boys tale, by The Crass Coterie

[TheCrassCoterie]

The following is a pulp style novella for a man character of Sentry Boys, John Breton, atomic age spy. It's a prologue of sorts. We plan to release it in chapters. We hope you enjoy! This should spark some interest for the coming book and keep those awaiting the finished product sated. Cheers!
The Baker's Street Club

This post has been edited by TheCrassCoterie on Apr 12 2009, 10:46 PM

[TheCrassCoterie]

1/ HER MAJESTY’S HIRED KILLER




Never trust a Windsor knot, thought Mister John Breton as he stared unfalteringly at his spitting image in the mirror of his washroom. The door was closed and the lights were harsh on his brown hair, illuminating the beginnings of a white intrusion upon the sides of his scalp, a disappointing sight to Breton. Wrinkles intruded upon his eye lids and his once cut face began to droop. Age was not a friend to him. His eyes wandered from his perfectly manicured face to his tired hands, busily working on the knot of his tie. Breton had learned even by his second kill, a required step, never to trust a man with a Windsor knot. Too cut, too wide; too slippery and arrogant; the knot belied vanity and sowed mistrust in Breton’s mind. He much preferred the four in hand knot. It was slim, unnoticeable, and helped complete the gentlemen spy in more ways than one.
With a final movement he pulled down and tightened the knot to his liking. He went for the brass embossed door handle, only to stop and turn for one last look. His blue eyes looked attentively at the image in the glass, studying himself with an eye that had seen more things than he cared to remember. Any onlooker to the scene might have remarked that the look upon his face as he surveyed his visage one final time was perhaps forlorn. But the emotion soon disappeared from his face, replaced quickly by the tabula rasa shield of the consummate super spy, ever the stranger, ever the killer in the dark, a shadow in the steam.

* * *

[TheCrassCoterie]

The Chateau d'Etoges was a beautiful hotel, located in France’s beautiful Champagne region, the finest of the fine. It’s splendid halls and lavish accommodations were reserved for only the most important men of France and, often, of Europe in general. Built as a resting post for French monarchs while visiting their eastern provinces, it’s 17th century splendor has not died with age. Breton shared the honor of walking it’s extravagant halls with visiting kings, queens, ministers, and presidents from around the whole of the globe. If you needed to know the price tag on a stay at the chateau, then you probably couldn‘t afford it..
The bespoke gentleman in the pleated, pinstripe, midnight blue dinner jacket, with vest and suit pants to match had worked to create the character he inhabited today since his installation as Her Majesty, The Queen’s unspoken servant, some 15 years ago, and since he left the post behind three years ago. Nothing Breton was today had been created without purposeful and tedious mental discipline. As far as Britain was concerned, the John Breton of 30 years ago ceased to exist the moment he was pulled from the orphanage and into the naval core. Commander Breton served in the Queen’s Army in the second world war. His skills proved invaluable to the martial organization, and when the war came to a close, a new window was opened to him, military intelligence.
Breton moved silently to the bar, leaning heavily on it’s marble countertop. He looked the barman in the eye. Clearly attaining the attention he was looking for, he said something he hadn’t said in at least 6 hours. “I’ll take a vodka martini, shaken well.” He looked away for a brief moment, spying a white haired man, silhouetted in the morning sunlight before the vast window over looking the twenty acre fields, before turning his attention back to the bartender as quickly he had turned round “And if I’ve found you’ve stirred it I’ll make you eat the glass. It bruises the alcohol. “

This post has been edited by TheCrassCoterie on Apr 12 2009, 10:51 PM

[TheCrassCoterie]

“Oui, Monsieur!”
“Merci.” He walked off to the window The man dressed in the charcoal jacket was busily staring out into the vast expanse of Champagne. “Giancarlo! It’s been the longest time! How have you been old chap?” said Breton quite loudly, loud enough so, at any rate, everyone in the bar could hear.
“Quite well!” responded Giancarlo through a thick French accent. “You look good yourself! How’s Rex been doing, by he way?” A reassurance passed over Breton. Ten O’ clock in the bar at the chateau; code word: Rex.; code name: Giancarlo.
“Oh, splendidly! Listen, why don’t we make our way over to the salon. Perhaps we could join a game of baccarat.”
“Wonderful. . . .” Giancarlo looked away. “Baccarat Chemin De Fer, yes?”
“If you wish” Breton placed his hand on Giancarlo’s back and persuaded him in the salon’s general direction. He walked off discreetly to the bar as Giancarlo kept on walking. He picked up the martini, the barman cringed. He looked the man in the eye once again after holding the glass carefully up to the light. He stared angrily at the young man for what seemed like an eternity. He then quickly took a sip. The man was at this point positively white with fear. Breton smiled wryly and patted the bar. “Good boy.” He walked off towards the salon. The boy suddenly felt the urge to use the bathroom.
Breton sat down at the table with Giancarlo. The salon was empty. Although Breton thought this odd, he ignored it and returned to the matter at hand.
“Well, I suppose baccarat is out of the question.”
“I suppose, Monsieur.”
Breton placed his glass on the table, avoiding the coaster, and looked silently at Giancarlo. Giancarlo, now facing Breton, looked up for the first time. His hair was white, his face decorated by a short, finely trimmed beard. His eyebrows were bushy, and his hair, though tidy and kempt, fell down onto his brow. The white cascade created a striking streak down his face that seemed to lead an onlooker downwards, towards his tired eyes, his wrinkled face, and down to his collar. It was there Breton noticed something disturbing to him -- a Windsor knot. “So what is it you have to tell me, Giancarlo?” said Breton, betraying none of his mistrust.
“The question, Monsieur, is what do you have to tell me?” replied Giancarlo, the last syllable accentuated by the soft click of a door closing. Breton knew something was wrong when he saw the knot, but little could be done now. The door to the salon was certainly shut, locked, and well guarded, and he could feel the presence of two men entering the salon behind him. Reaching for the Walther PPK in the soft chamois leather shoulder holster of the left breast of his jacket would be suicide now. Not that he didn’t think about doing it anyway. Ever since Emma, thoughts like that had been common, but never acted upon.
“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean, Giancarlo.” He could hear the two men approaching his chair from behind.
“But you will, Monsieur, quite shortly.”
“Gian . . . .” A club came down on the back of Breton’s skull with enough force to send him both reeling into the table ahead, splintering the card table into pieces, and fling him into deep unconsciousness. As his vision left him and the blackness closed in like slithering vines across his periphery, he caught one final look at Giancarlo, who scowled at the writhing agent on the floor. Giancarlo spoke one more thing before Breton slipped away.
“Pathetic.”

This post has been edited by TheCrassCoterie on Apr 12 2009, 10:57 PM

[TheCrassCoterie]

Express your enthusiasm NOW!!! lol. If you like the idea here and want to see more, let us know, we'd be happy to oblige!

[kacangpool]

we'd love to see this released as part of the interforum illustrated prose project, guys. check out your pm or contact mick for more detail.

i'm really excited about this.

[Feral Female]

KC`s right, this would be a great addition to the Illustrated prose project we`re working on. Nicely done!