Page Notes
Episode published on Thursday 1st of November, 2018.
Mr. A's taste in face-covering blinds is ripped straight out of Thunderball. Clearly Grünveldt is yet to catch up to his James Bond counterpart on that front.
As for Mr. A himself, he's the obligatory shadowy figure for our little webcomic. He may or may not be named after a certain Hoosiers song, which in itself was named after an obscure comic character (he was a bit like an extreme version of Rorschach from Watchmen written and drawn by the original Spider-man artist Steve Ditko).
Tagged:
The Captain,
Hydric Goldfisher,
Jason Mallet,
Jasper Fattmunn,
Kunz Cruci Grunveldt,
Location - Consortium Meeting Warehouse,
Mara Kyler,
Max Valerion,
Mr. A,
Number Zwei,
W.R.A.I.T.H.
Comments
Transcript
Title - 133: "The Consortium"
Subtitle - xv. "The Mysterious Mr. A"
Narrator: Another 30 minutes later...
(Mara seems pleased, rubbing her hands while addressing the conference table of criminals. The room is still dark.)
Mara: Well that about wraps up the presentation, does anybody have any questions?
(There's deathly silence around the room, aside from one awkward cough and someone clearing their throat. At the other end of the table Grünveldt's fat tabby cat is annoying one of the other villain's cats. Mara beams, glad the presentation is over.)
Mara: Okay, I'm sure everybody would like to take-
(Mara is interrupted by Pain, who looks serious. This annoys her.)
Pain: -Alright, yeah, if nobody else is going to ask I've got a few questions.
(There are general groans from everyone in the room. The other criminals at the table express frustration.)
Voice in the Crowd: There's always one...
Jason Mallet: Urgh!
Voice in the Crowd: Seriously?
Goldfisher: Oh come on!
(Pain taps his finger on the table with authority.)
Pain: Sorry, but I'd quite like some answers!
(Mara fixes a stare at him, barely containing her frustration. She is trying to hint that now is not the time to play up. Pain just ignores the stare.)
Mara: I'm sure we can have a quiet chat and I can answer-
Pain: -No, I think we'd all quite like to know who's running the show here!
(Mallet addresses Pain, who makes a mouth-chattering motion with his hand.)
Mallet: Did you not just sit through an hour of the lady explaining it?
Pain: Yeah, yeah, it's a bunch of networked shell companies feeding into each other. But you've got to have someone at the centre of things orchestrating everything! It wouldn't work otherwise!
(From the other end of the room, a voice speaks out from behind a panel on the wall.)
Voice: You're quite right, my friend.
(The panel raises upwards, revealing a man in a dark suit sitting in a comfy leather chair. The room thge man sits in is furnished like a study, with a roaring fireplace, a bookcase, and an old-style globe. The man's face is obscured by the panel, which stops moving just short of showing his face. The man swirls a brandy glass in one of his gloved hands.)
Man: Ladies and gentlemen...you may address me as "Mr. A". I am the founder of the Consortium. Thank you all for attending.
(Grünveldt leans in towards his right-hand man, Number Zwei. He seems slightly awed.)
Grünveldt: I want a window like that. Make a note.
Mr. A: If any of you have any questions, I am most willing to answer them here and now.
Grünveldt: Mr. A, how do you acquire the capital to fund your enterprise?
Mr. A: Mr. Grünveldt, I am honoured you could make it in person today and I shall be happy to provide an answer. A majority of our resources are sourced from Latin America...
Narrator: 20 minutes later-
Mr. A: I hope that answers your question, Mr. Fattmunn. Are there any other questions?
Pain: ...Oh what the hell, go on then: why am I here?
(A voice calls out from somewhere in the room behind Pain.)
Voice: Because you're banging the hostess!
(The room fills with laughter from the assembled criminals, including those around the table. Pain seems unimpressed and annoyed at the display. At the head of the table Mara just shrugs at one of the Consortuium guards, who is approaching her with a plate of food.)
Mara: (whispering) Well, they're not wrong...
(Pain leans on his hand and drums his fingers on the table while Captain rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward.)
Captain: Aheh! Awkward!
