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 Chief Warden's Office

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Charlie
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PostSubject: Chief Warden's Office   Mon Dec 10, 2012 4:35 pm

This is nothing more than an office, and that is it. Not some secret control center where all commands are issued, or the fact a self-destruct button exists to demolish the entire facility within a press of a button, no, but a NORMAL OFFICE. As normal an office can be for an extreme drunkard misanthrope like Charlie Charlie, the current Chief Warden of Deadman Wonderland. His Penthouse Office overlooking every single detail from above of the prison complex itself, fully vigilant and aware. The office itself in NO WAY contains any incriminating information about the Deadman Wonderland, and anything important enough to be considered incriminating is shipped away somewhere more secure as a security measure. That somewhere is not to be known by anyone but the Chief.

It is quite huge for an office, with paperwork littering the floor everywhere, some paperwork messily organized and stacked on top of his desk, next to his holograph computers, and neatly stacked with careful and diligent attention to the side next to the book cabinets and in the book cabinets that lack books, are all kinds of booze from all over the world, in so many languages, that it is a hotbed of foreign cuisine in its finest. The office is 20 meters huge, and seems to be capable of sustaining life in solitary stay for perhaps 2 months, if such a life is that like Charlie. There is also a TV that's in fact considered primitive by today's standards, given it is an olden boob tube, but has digital connection.

The desk itself, which is way ahead of the entry way into the office, is by the thick bulletproof/blastproof window, as the entire thing is built more akin to a bunker capable of surviving explosions if necessary. Them Human Rights Extremists tend to be a hassle to Deadman Wonderland, having killed three Chief Wardens before in the past as a result of some momentary lapse of weakness. They were really tenacious like that.

And so, Charlie sat behind the desk, facing the door, with stains of grease on his unshirted belly, and his mustache wet with booze, as he reeked of Tequila. Drinking Loco, as his bloodshot eyes forever stared in great and eternal rage at the door which was the only entry way into the office. His booted feet on top of the desk, using the paper stacks as cushion. He was even using the paperstack to wipe the tequila stains from himself and discarding it into a corner, despite the immediate presence of garbage in his vicinity. His door meanwhile... it's hastily constructed together with duct tape. Obvious signs that Charlie burst through the doors in his bouts of angry fits that possesses him whenever time comes to be the case.
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Anima Cremisi
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PostSubject: Re: Chief Warden's Office   Mon Dec 10, 2012 8:27 pm

Knock, knock, kn-creaaaaaaa-THWAM.

And so his second visit to the Chief's office ended just as it had done the first time. With him politely knocking the fairly nice looking door and having it fall inward since the duct tape keeping it together also didn't keep it attached to the door frame. So, naturally, it fell over and shattered back into it's dozen of wooden components.

And the blond crimson-eyed prisoner looked on with an amused expression, staring at the ridiculous man who did his ludicrous job of maintaining this insane prison. And the mess of an office he had, eeessh. I mean, really! Would it kill a man to throw out the trash on a regular basis then let it start heaping up everywhere? And maybe aerate the room, or at least get some air fresheners since it smelled like some ... one died and then promptly emptied their bowels all over the place.

But still, he wasn't here for the sake of having fun. Oh, no. He only came here once on official business, and ever since then he promptly decided as much as he would like to murder the chief ... to never return unless he was summoned for OFFICIAL business. And he got many an informal summons too, which he just promptly ignored (and strangely never punished for).

Anyway, the stench was not at all pleasant. In fact, it seemed to have gotten worse than the last time he came here about a year ago! Which seems strange, considering the disinfected, stale surroundings of the prison. Did that mean that the Chief didn't even let the cleaners inside his office too?

'That would explain the smell at least, ugh ...' the prisoner mused to himself before stepping in and politely greeting the Chief. Politely being first lifting up whatever was still intact of the door and gingerly pushing it back into it's frame. Sure, it was pretty badly broken and there were now some holes to the outside, but at least there was a door again.

"Yo, Chief. Sorry about your door."

Yep, that was his greeting. Considering the last time he was here involved flipping off the Chief and calling him a cocksucking son of a faggot bastard who leaks cunt juice from his nipples or other, this was far too polite for him. Probably because his 'salary' was now dependent on his boss, the Chief. Even then, that didn't stop him from taking a seat on the couch not too far away from the door and as far away as possible from the Chief with an emphatic sigh. Why the hell was the Chief so isolated in the first place? It made it too difficult if he was summoned on a moment's notice to drag himself here and into his smelly pigsty of an office with paperwork on the floor, some old stains from god knows what (his first guess is alcohol ... his second guess is blood), a bit of trash here.

Amusingly, the stack of paperwork that HADN'T been knocked over or stained with tequila sat on the desk of the mountain gorilla bandit Charlie Charlie in a stack ... suggesting someone OTHER than Charlie placed it there and it was only a few moments before it joined its brothers and sisters on the floor to sit there forever. Forgotten.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of the great Chief of Deadman Wonderland to summon me into his office after I last jacked one of his bottles of tequila and flipped him off all the way?" He really was playing with fire here. He knew the shirtless ape loved his booze, and it was just sort of instinctive to hate him with his guts and insult him as much as possible. Or torment him by defiling his precious collection of alcohol. Whichever worked best.

"Love with what you've done with the place by the way. Can't take a leisurely stroll down any hall anywhere now without some thug trying to extort me for Cast. Or try to shank me. It's just gives me the jitters!" A pause as he found himself looking at the ceiling. So he brought his attention back down to the Chief and there was a smile. He had smiled to the Chief before, dropped the mask for a moment and it seemed to have pleased the Chief that his newest Undertaker was a man who appreciated his work.

"The weak die and the strong survive. Such is the face of reality, and it's more than appealing that you've managed to let that law seep into this lawless world. Kudos, oh masterful one. Much kudos and ovation, jubilation and celebration from the Predators at their newfound and abundant prey. And of course, all of us Predators must heed a hierarchy ... and pay our respects to you. The Top of the Food Chain. The Chief. Hah hah hah hah!"

A grandiose speech, considering the Chief wasn't saying anything. Either way, now he had his fun and was stretching back lazily resting his hand on the armrest of the couch ... which fell apart, revealing that the couch was no ordinary couch! IT WAS A COUCH! MADE! OF! PAPER! WORK!

"Dude ... you need to do your office job a little better . . ."
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PostSubject: Re: Chief Warden's Office   Mon Dec 10, 2012 10:40 pm

He grabbed his tequila and drank it down his throat by gulping it in a process known as drinking. His body was red with mad rage as his eyes tensed at what destroyed his door, forever angry and forever wrathful. He was having the equivalent of snu-snu time with his devil's finery, till some blonde little shit strolls into his room, and then tries to impress him like hew as his dear old alcoholic dad. Whomever it was, Charlie slams his Tequila on the table as it burst, being covered in powerful fumes as the computer electrecuted and fizzled out. The fiftieth one this year to have to be replaced by Charlie, not that he does anything on it besides order large stacks of Brawndo because IT'S FUCKING MANLY AS FUCK. WELL FUCKIN' A.

"WHO THE FUCK CAME INTO MY OFFICE UNINVITED?!" He looked at the newcomer with more details as his vision settled from a blur to an actual realization of who it was... Charlie's disposition didn't change, "YOU COCKSUCKING SON OF A FAGGOT BASTARD WHO LEAKS CUNT JUICE FROM HIS NIPPLES, WHO TOLD YOU TO COME HERE UNANNOUNCED AND SPREAD YOUR FAGGOT DISEASE EVERYWHERE BY BEING AN ASSMONGERING DICKMUNCHER?!"

Charlie then produces a somewhat moist cigar with fungus growing on the side from his pocket, with some moss that settled within the tobacco as well, only to place it on his mouth, pull out a match, grinding the ignite-ready top against his very rough beard, only to light the match on fire, as he placed it on just below the cigar tip, lighting that little bitch of a phallus representation of SMOKING up, and finally he squishes out the fire with both his fingers. Flicking the kindled and now unkindled match away to the ground as it still smoked to some corner of a room where a stack of matches tower over each other.

"Don't spill your ovaries over a fucking door, ass monkey, you can replace those, just like your non-existent ballsacks, ungh." He scratches his ballsacks after his sentence, as they bulged like two large apples being barely contained in his pants. Whenever he walks around, they actually rattle like metal, but in reality, his balls are in fact so hardened to resist trauma, blunt as they may be, that they actually clash and make thudding sounds. It was so distinctive, that it was obvious about the Chief's presence being known to those attentive enough to tell the nuanced sounds the Chief makes when trotting his way through prison. That's why he cannot stealthily go around places as a result of his swollen ballsacks, either swollen, or naturally born this way balls of adamantium.

His eyes narrowed for a moment at the visitor, as the soothing noxious fumes of the cigarette begins clouding the room to a point that one could mistake fire has been made. It would pass a normal man out, but Charlie inhaled it without anything to really faze him. Perhaps the only two people to actually be capable of breathing in carbon dioxide in its pure unadulterated form are the two in this room right now, inhumane monsters as they are.

He listened to the whole sycophant praise from the sycophant praiser that praises like the sycophant he was, as he inhales the cigarette till the entire front was ashes, (im)properly deposits the already spent cigar out of the window as it dropped on a prisoner below unlucky to be standing below, being set on fire as it were, as his skin turns red with rage. Or was it just turning red as a result of discoloration and blood flowing faster than usual as his brain actually is processing information fast? As usual that is. He is the most intelligent being in the entire world.

"OH YOU DIRTY BITCH, WORK THE SHAFT." He clears his throat, "Oh, I am sorry, it's just that I like the dirty talk when someone's SUCKING MY DICK."

When he spoke, fumes of smoke actually blew out in such huge amounts that would put the most experienced smoker to shame, fifty times over times ninety times the distance of Japan from the real United States of America. Then came the whole do your office statement deal.

"And you need to clean that smear of shit underneath your nostrils BITCH FUCK APPLESAUCE." His boots weighed down on the desk, as it broke in half, which was considerable given that the desk was made out of metal. It was no big deal, da Chief just stood up, as he dusted his bare chest, which had 18 packs of intense muscles on it, but it was also dusty, and somewhat hairy. Not as hairy as his arms though. The man's fur.

"I'LL CUT TO THE FUCKING CHASE, I WANT YOU TO WALK OUT OF THE OFFICE INSULTING ME, BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW THAT YOU ARE MY BITCH, AND BITCHES DO WHAT MASTERS TELL THEM. BUT ANYWAYS, THAT'S NOT THE POINT, BITCH, THE POINT IS, BITCH, IS TO NOT BITCH, BITCH, BUT TO REPORT TO ME ABOUT ANY INVOLVEMENTS ABOUT REBELLIONS IN THE FUCKING PRISON, BITCH, SO THAT NOBODY BITCHES ABOUT THEM BITCHES, BITCH, BECAUSE EVERYDAY EVERYONE IS A BITCH ABOUT THE PRISON, BITCHING ABOUT PRISON SHIT AND RULES, AND HOW THE BITCHY THINGS HAD HAPPENED, SO I HAVE TO PUT THESE ASSHOLES DOWN SINGLEHANDEDLY, AND FOR SOME REASON, THIS WEEK HAD NO BITCH UPRISINGS AT ALL, BITCH, WHICH I AM NOT INCLINED TO BELIEVE AT ALL. SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE DICK SUCKING, THEN DON'T BOTHER COMING IN HERE, I LIKE MY BITCHES WITH BOOBS, GOT IT, YOU SLUT BITCH DOG SON OF A DONKEY'S ASSHOLE CUMBUCKET PIECE OF SHIT?!" And so started the legendary saga of how Charlie had become the patron saint of all sailors in the world, his masculinity matching the vulgarity of his mouth.

Though suddenly, he turned around, opened the window, after unsealing several parts of it, as it was pressure sealed, climbed out, and started climbing down from the 2 inches of frame, closing the window after him, and then he starts scootching to the side until he disappeared from view. Running around on the rooftop, getting down the service hatch, and making his way WHEREVER. Not strange for the Chief to take unconventional exits like these, he was like an Ezio on steroids when it comes to climbing.

[EXIT]
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Anima Cremisi
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PostSubject: Re: Chief Warden's Office   Tue Dec 11, 2012 1:37 am

And so the madman known as the chief went a-tumbling out the window of his office, most likely to commit suicide! Ah, yeah right, as if that monster could have done such a thing.

Not that he cared, really. This was just like last time they had met, except it had more curses from the chief (like ... twice as many, strangely ... still a lot this time, though) and a lot more rudeness from him. So, all in all, they had made some progress, in the loosest sense of the term, between civil discourse. Although something told him that if they met again like this, the Chief would probably have him executed within moments. So, he mentally prayed that a meeting would never be necessary again between himself and that madman.

Still. It went well, bit of smoke, but that was fine. There was a luxury in that smell as opposed to the reeking filth that cluttered inside the office. Lots of insults, but that was to be expected. Contradictory orders, but this was the Chief, the contradictions would negate each other and generate sensible orders. Which they did, keep his eyes open for trouble and report, before attempting to neutralize. Only neutralize if serious and needs to be taken out NOW, otherwise ... wait to see if the Chief wants to beat the shit out of the idiots responsible. Though, these orders were more rebellion specific rather than in general.

And then he took off via window.

Yep.

Not too bad.

And so Anima Cremisi calmly exited the Chief's office, but not before leaving two forms for request for Cast and some ample proof that he had put down two different incidents of dumbass convicts trying to pull stupid shit (an ear, a finger, some specific rings, a Cast card and a few names for witnesses) as part of the job contract for the people in his line of work. And off the man went, past the receptionist who worked all on her lonesome this floor past the byzantine labyrinth of mazes upon mazes, secret passages and traps. And only those who knew the right way could make it to the Chief's in five minutes and not die. Those who did not, even if lucky, would die at the end of three no matter which route they took.

Ah well. It was time for a nice long day, today. With nothing to do at all! God he was going to be so bored. Maybe he should sneak into G ward?

[EXIT]
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