01-19-2016, 10:17 PM
Jacques took off his Landwarriors, and produced a case into which he placed them, snapping it shut with an audible clack. He studied the waiting politicians a moment before turning to Legionnaire Vanders with a ghost of a smile. "One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half. Never run away from anything. Never."
The quote was of Winston Churchill, "Wallace-Johnson seeks to intimidate me. He believes the Legion cannot function without me, as is the common belief of such men. That men fight only out of fear of their king. He believes that you will bow to him should he prove himself my better."
Jacques held the case with his Landwarriors out to Vanders to take, "He is wrong, of course. I need no armed men at my back to face so petty a creature. The first blow to out an entrenched foe is to their morale. The second shall be an iron-clad fist."
He brushed a fleck of dust from the brim of his white Kepi, and smiled to Vanders, Lesław, and Bartoš. "Of course, while I may be a gambler, I am also one that likes to hold all the cards. And I know something he does not."
With that, he winked conspiratorially to the three Legionnaires and stepped out of the vehicle, raising to his full height as he settled the Kepi over his face, then calmly shut the door, leaving the three men within.
He turned to face the pair of suited politicians, their jackets rumpled and poorly fitting, making his own pristine, well fitted uniform and vest all the sharper in comparison. Neither could meet his gaze for more then a few brief moments as they made hasty introductions, offering to lead him to the Interim-President's office.
In comparison, Jacques was charming, inspiring. He declared either man's name before they could finish their own introductions, commented nonchallantly on the weather and seemed to instantly take charge, strolling past the two men and forcing them to hurry after him.
Wallace-Johnson's soldiers in the courtyard found their gaze drawn to him; he spoke boldly, his voice carrying. Each step on the cobbles rang with an audible clop, sharp and precise movements, a seemingly casual pace which saw the two politicians in an awkward half-shuffle to keep pace.
The guards at the door nearly saluted as he barked a 'steady up, lads', but barely caught themselves from actually doing as the foreigner ordered. The hesitation achieved what he had hoped though, as he strolled past them without either remembering to take his pistol, as they had been surely ordered to do. Embarrassed at their instinctive reaction to the command, neither thought to chase after him.
Jacques walked into the building with only the two politicians as escort, but rather then be shown to some waiting room, where he would be summoned at Wallace-Johnson's behest to further display the man's believed power over the Legion, Jacques headed straight for the would-be king's command room. The location of which was judged by the bundles of extension cords running along the floor; the building's electrical wiring was not up to modern code, and no one room's breaker could handle the draw such equipment would require. So instead, they had cables running from other wings of the building, to spread the load on the building's old wiring.
Again two guards stood at the entrance, but seeing Jacques approach with the two politicians in tow, they wrongly assumed he was meant to enter, and one soldier actually opened the door for Jacques to enter, receiving the slight nod of a superior officer casually acknowledging a subordinate. A sort of familiarity between commander and rank-and-file that implied casual professionalism and respect.
Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson stood with some of his trusted officers and politicians, where the large man was berating them for the fiasco at Masiaka, a tirade which was cut short as he realized the targets of his anger were no longer looking at him.
"Who let him in here?!"
Wallace-Johnson was a large man; both in stature and, at least starting to be, in girth. His extravagant uniform sported sweat stains at the collar and pits, exposed as his uniform jacket was unbuttoned, the flaps tucked foolishly-looking into the back of the man's pants to keep the jacket open over his belly.
Jacques' smile vanished between one stride and the next. Gone was the charismatic cover-boy, replaced with a cold stare and martial air rarely seen. The battle of Jeddah was perhaps the last time he had truly dropped the mask. "I am not interested in playing your games. I will not cater to your ego. I will not shy from your threats."
Jacques' tone was sharp, pointed, and Wallace-Johnson was momentarily speechless as the smaller foreigner walked towards him. Then he swelled up, angrily tugging his jacket from his pants and tugging it tight against his shoulders as if to pull the wrinkles and stains free. "Guards! Get in here you damn idiots!"
There was a hint of fear in Wallace-Johnson's tone, as the man realized that Jacques still had his pistol strapped prominently to his leg. The would-be President grabbed one of his junior officers by the sleeve and pulled the younger man ahead of himself, pushing him towards Jacques as the foreigner drew to a stop not ten feet from Wallace-Johnson. "Arrest this man! Disarm him!"
Jacques had gambled that Wallace-Johnson wouldn't have been so easily intimated, and had come in strong and full of bluster; he had hoped to argue with the man in front of his command staff, belittle and undermine the facade he had erected. But he crumpled too fast, damaging enough on it's own, but not quite to the level Jacques had been hoping for.
The door opened, the two guards there stepping into the room in time to see Jacques with his pistol drawn and leveled squarely at Wallace-Johnson's face. He stood in a classic duelist pose, sideways to Wallace-Johnson, arm extended almost casually, his other resting in the small of his back.
There was a long moment of silence in the command room, interrupted only by unanswered radio communications as the staff manning those stations watched, stunned, as Jacques aimed a pistol at their leader's head. Jacques held Wallace-Johnson's gaze; the larger man at first sneered, a thin mask of bravado, that quickly crumbled as he stared in Jacques' eyes. What he saw there shook him deeply, and the sneer soon vanished to widening eyes and paling face.
And then it was over. Jacques casually reversed the grip on his pistol, slapping the weapon into the suddenly raised palms of Wallace-Johnson's chosen meat-shield, the junior officer staring at the old service pistol in momentary confusion.
And then Jacques simply turned his back on Wallace-Johnson, walking towards the two guards, "I will be wanting that back, son. You two had best see me to a cell. He'll order you to beat me. No hard feelings."
The two guards lowered their weapons in confusion, staring in disbelief at Jacques then to their sweating leader, who was still trying to come to grips on the situation, "And as for you, Wallace-Johnson? You should start carrying a sword. There shall come a time, very soon, when you will wish for one at hand, that you may fall upon it and take your own life. Because I much doubt my Legionnaires will give quarter, should you order your men to resist their arrival."
The quote was of Winston Churchill, "Wallace-Johnson seeks to intimidate me. He believes the Legion cannot function without me, as is the common belief of such men. That men fight only out of fear of their king. He believes that you will bow to him should he prove himself my better."
Jacques held the case with his Landwarriors out to Vanders to take, "He is wrong, of course. I need no armed men at my back to face so petty a creature. The first blow to out an entrenched foe is to their morale. The second shall be an iron-clad fist."
He brushed a fleck of dust from the brim of his white Kepi, and smiled to Vanders, Lesław, and Bartoš. "Of course, while I may be a gambler, I am also one that likes to hold all the cards. And I know something he does not."
With that, he winked conspiratorially to the three Legionnaires and stepped out of the vehicle, raising to his full height as he settled the Kepi over his face, then calmly shut the door, leaving the three men within.
He turned to face the pair of suited politicians, their jackets rumpled and poorly fitting, making his own pristine, well fitted uniform and vest all the sharper in comparison. Neither could meet his gaze for more then a few brief moments as they made hasty introductions, offering to lead him to the Interim-President's office.
In comparison, Jacques was charming, inspiring. He declared either man's name before they could finish their own introductions, commented nonchallantly on the weather and seemed to instantly take charge, strolling past the two men and forcing them to hurry after him.
Wallace-Johnson's soldiers in the courtyard found their gaze drawn to him; he spoke boldly, his voice carrying. Each step on the cobbles rang with an audible clop, sharp and precise movements, a seemingly casual pace which saw the two politicians in an awkward half-shuffle to keep pace.
The guards at the door nearly saluted as he barked a 'steady up, lads', but barely caught themselves from actually doing as the foreigner ordered. The hesitation achieved what he had hoped though, as he strolled past them without either remembering to take his pistol, as they had been surely ordered to do. Embarrassed at their instinctive reaction to the command, neither thought to chase after him.
Jacques walked into the building with only the two politicians as escort, but rather then be shown to some waiting room, where he would be summoned at Wallace-Johnson's behest to further display the man's believed power over the Legion, Jacques headed straight for the would-be king's command room. The location of which was judged by the bundles of extension cords running along the floor; the building's electrical wiring was not up to modern code, and no one room's breaker could handle the draw such equipment would require. So instead, they had cables running from other wings of the building, to spread the load on the building's old wiring.
Again two guards stood at the entrance, but seeing Jacques approach with the two politicians in tow, they wrongly assumed he was meant to enter, and one soldier actually opened the door for Jacques to enter, receiving the slight nod of a superior officer casually acknowledging a subordinate. A sort of familiarity between commander and rank-and-file that implied casual professionalism and respect.
Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson stood with some of his trusted officers and politicians, where the large man was berating them for the fiasco at Masiaka, a tirade which was cut short as he realized the targets of his anger were no longer looking at him.
"Who let him in here?!"
Wallace-Johnson was a large man; both in stature and, at least starting to be, in girth. His extravagant uniform sported sweat stains at the collar and pits, exposed as his uniform jacket was unbuttoned, the flaps tucked foolishly-looking into the back of the man's pants to keep the jacket open over his belly.
Jacques' smile vanished between one stride and the next. Gone was the charismatic cover-boy, replaced with a cold stare and martial air rarely seen. The battle of Jeddah was perhaps the last time he had truly dropped the mask. "I am not interested in playing your games. I will not cater to your ego. I will not shy from your threats."
Jacques' tone was sharp, pointed, and Wallace-Johnson was momentarily speechless as the smaller foreigner walked towards him. Then he swelled up, angrily tugging his jacket from his pants and tugging it tight against his shoulders as if to pull the wrinkles and stains free. "Guards! Get in here you damn idiots!"
There was a hint of fear in Wallace-Johnson's tone, as the man realized that Jacques still had his pistol strapped prominently to his leg. The would-be President grabbed one of his junior officers by the sleeve and pulled the younger man ahead of himself, pushing him towards Jacques as the foreigner drew to a stop not ten feet from Wallace-Johnson. "Arrest this man! Disarm him!"
Jacques had gambled that Wallace-Johnson wouldn't have been so easily intimated, and had come in strong and full of bluster; he had hoped to argue with the man in front of his command staff, belittle and undermine the facade he had erected. But he crumpled too fast, damaging enough on it's own, but not quite to the level Jacques had been hoping for.
The door opened, the two guards there stepping into the room in time to see Jacques with his pistol drawn and leveled squarely at Wallace-Johnson's face. He stood in a classic duelist pose, sideways to Wallace-Johnson, arm extended almost casually, his other resting in the small of his back.
There was a long moment of silence in the command room, interrupted only by unanswered radio communications as the staff manning those stations watched, stunned, as Jacques aimed a pistol at their leader's head. Jacques held Wallace-Johnson's gaze; the larger man at first sneered, a thin mask of bravado, that quickly crumbled as he stared in Jacques' eyes. What he saw there shook him deeply, and the sneer soon vanished to widening eyes and paling face.
And then it was over. Jacques casually reversed the grip on his pistol, slapping the weapon into the suddenly raised palms of Wallace-Johnson's chosen meat-shield, the junior officer staring at the old service pistol in momentary confusion.
And then Jacques simply turned his back on Wallace-Johnson, walking towards the two guards, "I will be wanting that back, son. You two had best see me to a cell. He'll order you to beat me. No hard feelings."
The two guards lowered their weapons in confusion, staring in disbelief at Jacques then to their sweating leader, who was still trying to come to grips on the situation, "And as for you, Wallace-Johnson? You should start carrying a sword. There shall come a time, very soon, when you will wish for one at hand, that you may fall upon it and take your own life. Because I much doubt my Legionnaires will give quarter, should you order your men to resist their arrival."