๐๐ก๐ ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ญ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ๐ฐ ๐๐ข๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ ! A proud, family-managed enterprise operating outside the boundaries of narrative stability, the Felt is looking to renew an expansion initiative under the continued supervision of myself, pending direct oversight by Lord English of multiversal destruction fame. Applicants are encouraged to review the following qualifications before submission. Our standards are exacting. Applicants are expected to exhibit a certain cultivated flair. We are not interested in recruiting common goons who grunt through their problems akin to bovines wandering into traffic. We seek individuals with presence. Those among you who understand that presentation is not ancillary to violence, but rather violence's elegant twin sibling. A proper Felt operative should be capable of entering a room and causing discomfort or envy without speaking a single word. The best among you will manage it without even entering the room. Experience with temporal anomalies, organized tactics, occult practices, cue sports, assassination, extortion, psychological warfare, or narrative manipulation is preferred. Applicants capable of violating causality in a pleasing manner are especially encouraged to apply. Do not be embarrassed to specify your supernatural or otherwise absurd gimmick. Naturally, some may inquire as to workplace expectations. The only real requirement is professionalism. The Felt is an institution that values decorum, punctuality, and loyalty. One should arrive to assignments properly dressed, armed, and psychologically prepared for the possibility that one's coworkers possess foreknowledge of one's own death. Such circumstances should not interfere with productivity. You will find the work stimulating. At times, literally so. Gunfire is common, alongside paradoxes, doomed timelines, eldritch encounters, internal betrayals, and long stretches of deeply uncomfortable silence shared between dangerous individuals in suits so expensive entire civilizations had to culminate and work themselves to death to produce them. The benefits package is exceedingly generous. Employees receive a wardrobe stipend sufficient to maintain the organization's dignified chromatic standards. Resurrection leave is provided where applicable. Dental coverage remains available in stable timelines. You will enjoy access to private galas, exclusive social functions, and networking opportunities with aristocrats, immortals, and monsters of social standing. Few organizations offer advancement opportunities capable of transcending time itself. Some applicants may express concern regarding upward mobility. You will discover the Felt embraces meritocracy with admirable sincerity. Demonstrate your competence, survive impossible odds, assassinate your targets in a stylish manner, and your ambition will be rewarded. Of course, failure is punished. You will be guided, observed, curated, and cultivated with the same care one might apply to an ornamental species in a gilded laboratory. The Felt does not inherently promise safety, morality, or psychological wellbeing. What I offer is vastly more valuable. Importance. After all, obscurity is the closest thing your species has to true death.
I AM RESCINDING MY HATE REACT JUST SO THAT YOU *REALLY* FEEL THE FULL BRUNT OF THE ATTACK WHEN I SAY THAT I AM "CLUBBING YOU" SO FUCKING HARD RIGHT NOW.
(psst where are they applying? think i could be of use.)
HEโS FUNNY. @SCRATCHDOCTOR CAN WE HAVE HIM. HE CLEARLY HAS MANY DESIRABLE TRAITS. INCLUDING RAGE. JOKES. LOUDNESS. AND VOLUNTEERING TO BE THE JANITOR. MY LEAST FAVORITE HANDMAID TASK. PLEASE. PLEASE. HE CAN BE ON CHEW TOY TIER. WITH @ARQUIUSPRITE. ONEGAI.
WITH THE ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH AS MY WITNESS. YOU WILL BE THE ONE. IN THE MAIDLY MINISKIRT. BEFORE LONG. IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. YOUR FATE IS SEALED. PENDING WORK APPROVAL.
You may inquire within my direct messages.
I will, of course, pay some mind to a recommendation from my trusted Handmaid.
:o) I second this. :o) I would very much like Mr. Vantas around :o) For a variety of reasons.
> hmm <
OH *HELL* FUCKING NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. WE ARE SO FAR BEYOND THE PALE OF WHAT EVEN *I* AM WILLING TO DO FOR A SHITTY BI-SWEEPLY PERIHELION JOB THAT NO ONE CAN *POSSIBLY* THINK I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO DO THIS. CASPER PROBABLY ISN'T GOING TO APPLY, ANYWAYS. WHICH MEANS THAT THE ONLY THING TYING ME TO THE GASPING DEATH-RATTLE OF A POSSIBILITY THAT I LIST "GREEN DUMBFUCK TIME MAFIOSO" AS MY LEGAL OCCUPATION IS THE SUDDEN AND BEWILDERING ENTHUSIASM FROM NOT ONE, BUT *TWO* OF THE FELT'S PREMIERE PSYCHOTIC GLOWY-BULBED TURBOFREAKS WITH WHOM I HAPPEN TO SHARE A SPECIES. WHICH FEELS LIKE KIND OF A CULLBEEF CLEAVER IN THE BACK, BUT WHAT THE FUCK WAS I EXPECTING FROM EITHER OF YOU TWO IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU CAN'T JUST GET ME HIRED BY TELLING ME THAT *YOU* WANT IT. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU MURDEROUS SYCO-FUCKS VOUCH FOR ME. THAT'S. NOT HOW IT WORKS. RIGHT?
:o) Aw. :o) Cute. :o) @scratchDoctor May I keep him?