Post by effinfitz on Aug 2, 2012 21:40:31 GMT -8
((Employee snapshots are just short write-ups of the otherwise faceless Ægir employees that the team might interact with. Go ahead, use 'em! Or just soak up the lore.))
BORN Miriam Laundy, 12/18/1974 at the Montefiore Medical Center, the Bronx (New York, New York, etc.)
GREW up in Norwood (Bronx (etc.)), surrounded by enough Irish-American family members and neighbors and friends to fill out a fairly decent-sized street scene in a mob movie. Graduated The Bronx High School of Science (Bronx (Solar System)) with a 3.3 GPA, her dreams of academic perfection marred by a complete lack of academic temperament. Took two years college at the nearby Texas A&M (Corpus Christi (Different Solar System)). Dropped out third year. Just finished paying off student loans 2008.
RELATED to two sisters, one older and one younger, all equally neurotic. Has two parents, like most people. More bizarre, they still live together happily. No one ever talks to Mary on account of her husband.
HUSBAND Humberto Gutierrez is not Irish. Her parents pointed this out to her once they discovered Mary and Humberto had been "going steady" since she left for college. This was unthinkable. She had clearly mistaken her boyfriend for someone else, yes? Just look at the baby (which they didn't, but they see the family pictures that she still sends to them every year for Christmas). Looks nothing like the father. Also acts nothing like her mother, despite her mother's insistence to the contrary. This should not be taken seriously. Mothers are like that.
THAT'S a fact.
Miriam joined Ægir almost immediately after entering her second trimester with child Marguerite ("Maggy"). The Director of HR at the time was a horrible tyrant, not at like the dour banshee who roams the halls today. He pointed out that it made no sense -- none! -- to hire an employee whose only job experience came from volunteering at the soup kitchen.
Especially if she was going to have to take three months leave not too long from now.
But Mary insisted. She persisted. And when the horrible tyrant had enough and made her wish she had desisted...he smelled her lunch. Horrible tyrants love chimichangas. Troo fax.
One delightful working lunch later -- which Mary was not invited to, no, she had left her number and told to expect a call -- and the Director of HR was sold. He even call Miriam himself. "Priscilla," he said. "You make food like that every day, you got yourself a job!"
She was so happy she didn't even correct him to say that her husband had cooked it.
So she started working to death. Ægir had always had its own way of operating, and, as she should've learned from dealing with HR, not all of them were entirely "legal". Their needs were obscure. Their methods were bizarre. Their patience was nonexistent. Well into her third trimester she found herself working twelve to sixteen hour days. Her only joy was that Humberto visited her every day at work. Such is the advantage of working a food truck, yes?
Years passed. The horrible tyrant died an obscure, unlamented death after some particularly delightful ceviche. Mary spoke at his funeral. She had, by that time, already built a reputation so cemented that she couldn't break out of her OT routine if she'd tried. Everyone knew Mary's Office. It was built for four people. The other three stayed in the back and gave her the full space, flitting from phone to phone like a famished ferret starving for a sale. She paces while waiting for reps to call back. If they need to to get approval, she tells them to call and get it. Then gets the name and number of the person they're calling. Then calls them at the same time to explain to this person that if they don't hang up on her right now and get back to giving permission to the rep on the other line that they'd lose a very important, very respected client and she's not sure how their business would ever recover after that.
It's a beautiful thing to watch. Like a nervous train wreck in slow motion that, somehow, still manages to make every stop on time.
By the time Ægir moved its headquarters to the Solvall all the "special" agents knew she was the one to ask if you needed two units of AB-, a pallet of crates marked 7.56mm but filled with men's dry cleaning and a rare, fully-rewound VHS recording of the Star Wars Christmas Special -- all of it overnighted to Bolivia before sundown. No one's quite sure exactly, but she makes Things Happen.
Using in-game, or, RP notes.
Mary's the Requisitions and Armory lady for Ægir's superpowered agents. She herself is totally mundane, both in ability and in interests. She realizes that she's asked for some very odd things on a regular basis, a great number of them violent in nature. Still she remains a forcibly cheery personality, almost refusing to look at anyone's negative or even questionable aspects. "Miss Rystaad? Oh, sure, she's no Solveig. But she's a Great Boss and she's gonna do a Good Job! Right guys?!" -- cue crazed look. There's a right and a wrong answer to this.
Unwavering denial is key to being Mary. Acknowledging it as an unstoppable force and staying the heck out of the way is key to dealing with her.
Mary's husband, Humberto, still makes a daily stop at the Solvall around 2pm, since Mary always takes lunch late if at all. His fare rotates based on what's available, but is always, always Tex-Mex. As the former Director of HR discovered and enjoyed until his eventual heart attack, it's surprisingly good and non-poisonous.
Their daughter, Maggie (please don't call her Marguerite), is just applying to colleges this year. Mary's even more stressed. Cue forced smiles and hyper-caffeinated ramblings about scholarships and which schools have the best lacrosse teams.
Regular hours are 7a to 7p, though she's been known to work later on occasion. In-game, we usually put her office as the small inside office just off the Agartha tunnel in NYC. You can't get into it, but there's a small window there for checking in guns.
Officially, Ægir really hates it when their employees walk the halls with military hardware.
BORN Miriam Laundy, 12/18/1974 at the Montefiore Medical Center, the Bronx (New York, New York, etc.)
GREW up in Norwood (Bronx (etc.)), surrounded by enough Irish-American family members and neighbors and friends to fill out a fairly decent-sized street scene in a mob movie. Graduated The Bronx High School of Science (Bronx (Solar System)) with a 3.3 GPA, her dreams of academic perfection marred by a complete lack of academic temperament. Took two years college at the nearby Texas A&M (Corpus Christi (Different Solar System)). Dropped out third year. Just finished paying off student loans 2008.
RELATED to two sisters, one older and one younger, all equally neurotic. Has two parents, like most people. More bizarre, they still live together happily. No one ever talks to Mary on account of her husband.
HUSBAND Humberto Gutierrez is not Irish. Her parents pointed this out to her once they discovered Mary and Humberto had been "going steady" since she left for college. This was unthinkable. She had clearly mistaken her boyfriend for someone else, yes? Just look at the baby (which they didn't, but they see the family pictures that she still sends to them every year for Christmas). Looks nothing like the father. Also acts nothing like her mother, despite her mother's insistence to the contrary. This should not be taken seriously. Mothers are like that.
THAT'S a fact.
Miriam joined Ægir almost immediately after entering her second trimester with child Marguerite ("Maggy"). The Director of HR at the time was a horrible tyrant, not at like the dour banshee who roams the halls today. He pointed out that it made no sense -- none! -- to hire an employee whose only job experience came from volunteering at the soup kitchen.
Especially if she was going to have to take three months leave not too long from now.
But Mary insisted. She persisted. And when the horrible tyrant had enough and made her wish she had desisted...he smelled her lunch. Horrible tyrants love chimichangas. Troo fax.
One delightful working lunch later -- which Mary was not invited to, no, she had left her number and told to expect a call -- and the Director of HR was sold. He even call Miriam himself. "Priscilla," he said. "You make food like that every day, you got yourself a job!"
She was so happy she didn't even correct him to say that her husband had cooked it.
So she started working to death. Ægir had always had its own way of operating, and, as she should've learned from dealing with HR, not all of them were entirely "legal". Their needs were obscure. Their methods were bizarre. Their patience was nonexistent. Well into her third trimester she found herself working twelve to sixteen hour days. Her only joy was that Humberto visited her every day at work. Such is the advantage of working a food truck, yes?
Years passed. The horrible tyrant died an obscure, unlamented death after some particularly delightful ceviche. Mary spoke at his funeral. She had, by that time, already built a reputation so cemented that she couldn't break out of her OT routine if she'd tried. Everyone knew Mary's Office. It was built for four people. The other three stayed in the back and gave her the full space, flitting from phone to phone like a famished ferret starving for a sale. She paces while waiting for reps to call back. If they need to to get approval, she tells them to call and get it. Then gets the name and number of the person they're calling. Then calls them at the same time to explain to this person that if they don't hang up on her right now and get back to giving permission to the rep on the other line that they'd lose a very important, very respected client and she's not sure how their business would ever recover after that.
It's a beautiful thing to watch. Like a nervous train wreck in slow motion that, somehow, still manages to make every stop on time.
By the time Ægir moved its headquarters to the Solvall all the "special" agents knew she was the one to ask if you needed two units of AB-, a pallet of crates marked 7.56mm but filled with men's dry cleaning and a rare, fully-rewound VHS recording of the Star Wars Christmas Special -- all of it overnighted to Bolivia before sundown. No one's quite sure exactly, but she makes Things Happen.
Using in-game, or, RP notes.
Mary's the Requisitions and Armory lady for Ægir's superpowered agents. She herself is totally mundane, both in ability and in interests. She realizes that she's asked for some very odd things on a regular basis, a great number of them violent in nature. Still she remains a forcibly cheery personality, almost refusing to look at anyone's negative or even questionable aspects. "Miss Rystaad? Oh, sure, she's no Solveig. But she's a Great Boss and she's gonna do a Good Job! Right guys?!" -- cue crazed look. There's a right and a wrong answer to this.
Unwavering denial is key to being Mary. Acknowledging it as an unstoppable force and staying the heck out of the way is key to dealing with her.
Mary's husband, Humberto, still makes a daily stop at the Solvall around 2pm, since Mary always takes lunch late if at all. His fare rotates based on what's available, but is always, always Tex-Mex. As the former Director of HR discovered and enjoyed until his eventual heart attack, it's surprisingly good and non-poisonous.
Their daughter, Maggie (please don't call her Marguerite), is just applying to colleges this year. Mary's even more stressed. Cue forced smiles and hyper-caffeinated ramblings about scholarships and which schools have the best lacrosse teams.
Regular hours are 7a to 7p, though she's been known to work later on occasion. In-game, we usually put her office as the small inside office just off the Agartha tunnel in NYC. You can't get into it, but there's a small window there for checking in guns.
Officially, Ægir really hates it when their employees walk the halls with military hardware.
