Andre's Agency

[Misheard Whisper]

This . . . really isn't meant to be taken seriously, as I hope you can realise. The main reason I wrote this was to make fun of Asty's neverending dislike of script fics, and to prove to those of you that say otherwise that script fics can be done well. (I hope?)

That sounded fancy, but really, I just wrote this for a laugh. I might be able to get my group to do this in Drama class some time. I'll let you know how that goes.

Andre's Agency

ACT ONE
SCENE ONE

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(The setting is a dark room. The only furniture is a large, oak desk and a comfortable-looking swivel chair. The tiniest hint of light filters through the Venetian blinds on the window, eerily silhouetting the man who sits in the swivel chair. His features are not visible, but he is tall and thickset. When he speaks, his voice is deep, calm and in control.)

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Andre Livingstone: Come in.

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(The door slides open, letting in a shaft of yellow light that reaches across the room, briefly revealing a painting of a woman on the wall. A man and a woman enter, hurriedly closing the door behind them. Lawrence and Virginia Washington are twins – both have long, blonde hair and slight builds.)

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Andre: You have failed me once again. Do you expect me to overlook this?

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(Lawrence and Virginia bow their heads contritely, but otherwise make no indication that they heard what Andre said.)

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Andre: Well, you are skilled, after all. You have talents that are useful to me. You will be allowed to continue working for me, but this most recent blunder will not go unpunished.

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Lawrence: Yes, sir.

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Virginia: Understood, sir.

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(Andre waves a hand dismissively.)

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Andre: Very well, you may leave now. I'll contact you if your services are required again.

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(Lawrence and Virginia leave without another word, the door snapping quietly shut behind them. Andre sighs and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.)

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Andre: Ah, those two. So annoying! They never say anything much . . . It's just a pity they're so useful. I would have gotten rid of them years ago, otherwise.

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(A sharp ringing cuts through the air, coming from the phone on the table.)

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Andre: Ah! It's about time those two reported in!

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(He picks up the phone and leans back in his chair once again, adjusting the angle of the back as he does so.)

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Andre: Good evening, Whittaker. You are making progress, I hope?

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Whittaker (from the other end of the phone line): Of course, sah! It's going jolly well up here, I say! We're currently tunnelling through the Arctic ice shelf!

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(Whittaker speaks with a heavy, clichéd, most likely affected British accent. It is clearly very cold, as his voice has a slight shiver to it.)

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Andre: Already? How did you manage to get your hands on the equipment so quickly?

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Whittaker: Ah, yes. A lovely old Russian widow let us take what we needed from around her place, what. Name was Mara . . . Moriv . . . Mirosk . . . Ah, I can't pronounce it. She was Russian, though.

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Andre: What, you expect me to believe that an old Russian widow had an ice borer lying around in her dining room?

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Whittaker: Well, sah, not as such, no.

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(Andre stands up and paces around the room, gesticulating bemusedly.)

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Andre: So how are you managing to tunnel through the ice shelf?

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(Whittaker hesitates.)

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Whittaker: Well, sah, we're, uh . . . improvising.

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(Andre frowns, even more puzzled than before.)

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Andre: Improvising? With what?

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(Whittaker is silent. He seems to be contemplating whether or not to speak.)

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Andre (dangerously): With what, Whittaker?

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Whittaker: Ah . . . a hair-dryer, two bendy straws and a rubber band. Sah.

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(Andre sits heavily back down in his swivel chair, dumbfounded. He runs a hand through his hair, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, but no sound comes out.)

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Whittaker: Sah? Are you still there, sah?

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(Andre roars into the telephone, slamming his fist repeatedly onto the desk as he does so.)

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Andre: You blundering idiot! What sort of joke are you playing? What do you think this is, some sort of comedy skit? Fawlty Towers? I know you're a British moron, but there are limits, Whittaker! Limits!

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Whittaker: Uh . . . no joke, sah. We are most definitely tunnelling through the ice shelf with a hairdryer, two bendy straws and a rubber band.

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(Andre buries his face in his hand.)

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Andre: You moron . . . Let me speak to Jones.

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Whittaker: I'm afraid I can't do that, sah.

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Andre: Why the hell not?

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Whittaker: Jones is gone, sah.

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Andre: Gone? Gone where?

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Whittaker: . . . Back to Russia, sah.

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Andre (shouting again): What the hell for, Whittaker?! You're on a mission here, not a goddamn date! Why the bloody hell would he need to go prancing off back to Russia?

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Whittaker: He's gone to pick up some more triple-A cells, sah. Can you imagine how many extension cords we'd need otherwise?

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(Disgusted, Andre throws the phone back down onto the charger and collapses back into his chair. After about five seconds, however, it rings again. Disgruntled, he picks it up and answers angrily.)

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Andre: Who is it this time?

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Whittaker: Oh, hullo, sah! Was there something wrong with your connection? I got cut off all of a-

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(With a frustrated roar, Andre hangs up the phone again before striding across the room and pulling the plug from the wall. Breathing heavily, he falls back into his chair once again.)

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Andre: Those bumbling British idiots! Surely they could have just broken into a Russian military base or something and stolen a proper ice borer?

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('The Girl From Ipanema' suddenly starts playing from Andre's pocket. He pulls out his cellphone.)

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Andre: Who could possibly. . .

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(He trails off as he glances at the caller ID. Without answering, he simply sits in dumbfounded silence for a few seconds while Sinatra warbles on. Suddenly, he throws the phone violently across the room, where it smashes against the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces.)

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Andre: Damned idiots!

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Fade to black. End of Act One, Scene One.​

 

[Miz en Scène]

I seriously Lol'd Whisper, I did. It almost seems like I'm the only one reviewing your fics, I could be wrong though…

(The door slides open, letting in a shaft of yellow light that reaches across the room, briefly revealing a painting of a woman on the wall. A man and a woman enter, hurriedly closing the door behind them. Lawrence and Virginia Washington are twins – both have long, blonde hair and slight builds.)

Based of the Kagamine Twins no doubt?

Andre: What, you expect me to believe that an old Russian widow had an ice borer lying around in her dining room?

Whittaker: Well, sah, not as such, no.
(Andre stands up and paces around the room, gesticulating bemusedly.)
Andre: So how are you managing to tunnel through the ice shelf?
(Whittaker hesitates.)
Whittaker: Well, sah, we're, uh . . . improvising.
(Andre frowns, even more puzzled than before.)
Andre: Improvising? With what?
(Whittaker is silent. He seems to be contemplating whether or not to speak.)
Andre (dangerously): With what, Whittaker?
Whittaker: Ah . . . a hair-dryer, two bendy straws and a rubber band. Sah.

*Bursts out laughing with glee* XD
Awesome. :D

Whittaker: He's gone to pick up some more triple-A cells, sah. Can you imagine how many extension cords we'd need otherwise?

(Disgusted, Andre throws the phone back down onto the charger and collapses back into his chair. After about five seconds, however, it rings again. Disgruntled, he picks it up and answers angrily.)

Andre: Who is it this time?
Whittaker: Oh, hullo, sah! Was there something wrong with your connection? I got cut off all of a-
(With a frustrated roar, Andre hangs up the phone again before striding across the room and pulling the plug from the wall. Breathing heavily, he falls back into his chair once again.)

Unexpected, which makes it seriously funny. XD

Andre: Those bumbling British idiots! Surely they could have just broken into a Russian military base or something and stolen a proper ice borer?

I just wanted to say that this sounded a bit racist, but that's just me though… I'm not British as you know…
All in all, a truly funny read, although the plot really hasn't shown anything yet. XD
Will be looking forward to more chapters. XD

 

[Misheard Whisper]

I seriously Lol'd Whisper, I did. It almost seems like I'm the only one reviewing your fics, I could be wrong though…

Hmm, it does seem that way . . . :(

Based off the Kagamine Twins no doubt?

Ah . . . never occurred to me. Most likely they are, subconsciously that is.

*Bursts out laughing with glee* XD

Awesome. :D

Unexpected, which makes it seriously funny. XD

Ah, good, my main worry here was that my sense of humour wouldn't be picked up by the readers (heaven knows I have enough trouble getting my drama class to pick it up).

I just wanted to say that this sounded a bit racist, but that's just me though… I'm not British as you know…

Hehe, poking fun at the British is fun. And my family's British as well, so the joke's on me.

All in all, a truly funny read, although the plot really hasn't shown anything yet. XD

Will be looking forward to more chapters. XD

plot
what plot

There is no plot. Not yet, anyway. I need to come up with one before I post a story, in future.

 

[Miz en Scène]

Ah, good, my main worry here was that my sense of humour wouldn't be picked up by the readers (heaven knows I have enough trouble getting my drama class to pick it up).

Some things are better read than said to be understood of as funny... You ever try to explain a joke from the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Yeaa, it doesn't work as well. You have to read it and it sounds funnier.

Hehe, poking fun at the British is fun. And I'my family's British as well, so the joke's on me.

Lol, I thought you were living down-under. Did you or your grandparents migrate or something?

plot
what plot

There is no plot. Not yet, anyway. I need to come up with one before I post a story, in future.

I should have expected this/saw this coming. XD

 

[Misheard Whisper]

Some things are better read than said to be understood of as funny... You ever try to explain a joke from the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Yeaa, it doesn't work as well. You have to read it and it sounds funnier.

I guess. My drama class are hardly voracious readers.

Lol, I thought you were living down-under. Did you or your grandparents migrate or something?

Yeah, my maternal grandparents (One Welsh, one Irish) came over some time, not sure when. I think. One of my paternal great-grandmothers (Again, Welsh - my dad's mother's mother) lives here also, and my paternal grandfather (five years deceased)'s family had been here for a while. I think they might originally have been from Norway or somewhere like that. Either way, I'm mostly of British descent, and most of my overseas family lives in Britain somewhere.

I have no noticeable accent, though.

I should have expected this/saw this coming. XD

^_^;;;

 

[Giratina ♀]

I, as a total sucker for stage plays and as someone who doesn't have a lot to do today except homework (Three projects! THREE!), felt like finally reading the first chapter of your story. And though I'm more used to reading stage directions in square brackets rather than parentheses, I can say that it could be a very good play! Some of the humor seemed sort of forced and without build-up, but that may just be because it's a play script and not an actual story. Andre feels to me like the usual "I'm surrounded by idiots" boss, but the idiots in question are all quite amusing. Though since this is supposed to be a comedy play, I think Lawrence and Victoria should have been a little... quirkier or more memorable. Life if they talked in a complete monotone voice without any pauses, like those "type in text and I'll speak it for you" ads that used to float around the Internet. The Sinatra thing was a good example of another common comedy flop; the jokes should usually occur within the story and not require going off on a mini-tangent to mention the part that makes the story funny. And since the cell phone ringing was a legit joke in itself, there's really no need to be mentioning that Sinatra is playing. Another example: the last line. I think that Andre was steamed enough by that point that he couldn't even bear to scream "Damned idiots!" and the scene would have been better if the last action was the phone crumbling to the floor.

Overall, though, it's nice to see a decent script story. Keep going! [salutes]

 

[Misheard Whisper]

Act One, Scene Two

Hmm, yes. Hopefully some semblance of plot will actually begin to emerge in this chapter.

WARNING: Somewhat graphic description of violence in this chapter.

Part of the Misheard Whisper Mass Fic Update, January 28th 2010.

ACT ONE
SCENE TWO

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(Outside the door of Andre's office. The Washington twins are crouched in the tastefully decorated hallway, listening intently at the keyhole. Now that they are in full light, it can be seen that they are both exceedingly beautiful – Lawrence included. Although different genders, the twins are almost identical, with long, blonde hair, delicate faces with high cheekbones and enormous blue eyes. They are grinning conspiratorially at each other as they listen to their boss raging. There is a crash, and Virginia jumps slightly.)

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Andre (from within): Damned idiots!

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(Lawrence takes Virginia's elbow and draws her gently away from the door. When they are a safe distance away, he begins to speak in a soft voice that is much like that of a woman's. He has no discernible accent, but his voice is clipped and cultured.)

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Lawrence: Sister dearest, do you believe we should be wasting our time with this employer?​

Virginia: We never should have joined this Agency, but at least the pay is good.

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Lawrence: Yes, yes, very good.

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Virginia: Is it time to move on, do you think, brother dearest?

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Lawrence: I think you may be right, but there's one thing I want to do.

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Virginia: What might that be, my brother?

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Lawrence: You know as well as I do, sister dearest. Your mind works in much the same way as mine does, after all.

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Virginia: You believe we should work to take down Andre's Agency, my brother?

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Lawrence: Indeed I do, sister? Will you help me?

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Virginia: I will, brother dearest. I will.

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Lawrence: Then let us go and hand in our resignation to our dear boss.

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Virginia: Yes, let's do that.

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(They stride over to Andre's office and push the door open, confronting their boss dramatically.)

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Lawrence: Andre Livingstone!

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Virginia: We have had enough!

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Lawrence: So we're leaving!

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Virginia: And mark our words!

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Lawrence: Your Agency will fall!

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Virginia: And we will be the ones to make that happen!

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(They leave, slamming the door behind them. Andre remains still for a moment, blinking.)

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Andre: Um, oh well. They were failing more and more often, anyway. Time to hire some new minions.

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(He picks up the phone in one hand and flicks through an address book with the other. On the front of the book is written '1,001 Assassins, Saboteurs and Secret Agents: The Evil Overlord Directory'.)

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Andre: Hmm, yes. Yes, I think this one will do.

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(He carefully dials a number and waits while the phone rings. After a few seconds, the call is picked up and a young girl answers, speaking slowly and in a low voice.)

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Girl: Hello?

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Andre: Good evening. Is Bloody Maria there?

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Girl: This is Maria speaking.

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Andre: Really?

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Maria: Yes, really.

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Andre: Ah . . . how old are you, Maria?

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Maria: Eleven.

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Andre: And are you sure you're Bloody Maria?

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Maria: Yes.

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(Andre frowns.)​

Andre: The feared assassin Bloody Maria, perpetrator of hundreds of kills all across Europe and Asia and one of the most respected figures in the criminal underworld?​

Maria: Yes. Do I need to kill you to prove it?​

(Andre is silent.)​

Maria: That was what I thought. Who am I speaking to?​

Andre: This is Andre Livingstone, CEO of Andre's Agency.​

Maria: Are you trying to scout me?​

Andre: . . . Pardon?​

Maria: Are you a talent agency? I know I'm cute, but I don't like being scouted.​

Andre: No. No, we're not a talent agency! We're an assassination agency. We kill people.​

Maria: That's good. I don't like talent scouts. The last time somebody tried to scout me, I had to kill him.​

(Andre tries to say something, but Maria continues speaking in her slow, monotonous voice. He keeps trying, but she will not be interrupted.)​

Maria: He came up to me and asked if I wanted to be famous. I told him I already was, and he laughed. He asked what I was famous for, and I told him I was famous for killing people. He told me that little girls shouldn't make up silly stories. He didn't believe me. I told him that if he didn't believe me, I would kill him. He told me that I was funny, and I could be famous.​

(Maria falls silent for a few seconds. Despite himself, Andre is morbidly curious.)​

Andre: And? Then what?​

Maria: I killed him. I used my scythe. It's my favourite toy. I used it to cut his fingers and toes off, one by one. Then I bandaged him up so he didn't bleed to death. Then I cut him all over until he was bleeding from everywhere, so it didn't matter. After that, I cut open his belly and pulled out his guts. I tried to make him eat them, but he was screaming too much, so I just shoved them down his throat and choked him with them instead. He was remarkably resilient, so I just slit his throat in the end.​

(Andre sits in dumbfounded silence for a second, before retching into the rubbish bin below his desk. He sits up again, pale and slightly worried-looking.)​

Andre: Well, I believe you.​

Maria: That's nice. What do you want?​

Andre: Well, I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to work for me and my agency.​

Maria: I get to kill lots of people?​

Andre: Yes. And get paid for it as well. Will you do it?​

Maria: I don't need money. But . . . I'll do it. Killing people is fun.​

Andre: Excellent. Can you come in to the office and sign some paperwork?​

Maria: I will come. Make sure you are free at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon.​

(The phone line goes silent and Andre realises that Maria has ended the call. He sinks into his chair, shivering.)​

Andre: Does she even know where the office is?​

(Still shaking slightly, Andre reaches for a pen and a piece of paper. He scribbles hastily. 'Note to self: Have bucket ready whenever Maria calls.')​

Fade to black. End of Act One, Scene Two.​