Hi! I'm Anda and welcome to my SCP Sandbox page. Currently all I have going on here is the Blank Flag SCP (and now the Seasons SCP! Yay!), but feel free to send me a PM with any comments and criticisms! They're always appreciated! :)

Blank Flag SCP

rating: 0+x

The Four Seasons SCP

rating: 0+x

Wondertainment Noisemaker

rating: 0+x

[[collapsible show="+ CotS Tale: Flowering Profits" hide="-click to close"]]
There were rats here. I could see them crawl from the filthy rags on the floor. Dirty things, not suited for a person of my high class. Oh, who was I kidding. I was here because I was sick and tired of the bullshit that the government heaped on me. Thirty years of translation work between the United States and Peru, thirty years of mindless conversions. I wanted some comeuppance, something in return for my years of service. All I got was a 'thank you very much' and a check that wouldn't have covered a single payment of my mortgage. Fucking hell. I wanted some actual money, something that would make me happier, not this token of thanks. That's when I started looking into faster ways to make money. Many of them were scams or people trying to make some fast cash as well, but there were a few highly valuable, shall we say, acquisitions.

The man who smelled of rot had told me to visit this slum section of town with a particular set of instructions. Show up at this address, yeah, but also bring a flowerpot and soil? What in blazes? I had them both tucked under my arm, leaving my other hand to cover my nose with my handkerchief. The stench in this district was horrendous. What I wouldn't do for an extra bit of money now. I was told to enter this apartment complex, the Sunset Court. It must have seen better days, as the paint on the front doors was peeling and next to non-existent. I had pushed the cracked doors open and gone up the dusty stairwell. Nothing here but ants and mold. Why would anyone in their right freaking mind hold a rendezvous here? All the man said was that 'he had something of major importance that would assist you in your goals', which is probably a giant-ass rocket launcher, what with the bitterness I've got.

"Over here," whispers a voice to my left. Ah, yes, obviously this meeting is taking place in the abandoned run-down meeting room. I should have known. The voice is quiet but tense, most likely that of my correspondent. I hold the clay pot in front of me like a ward and cautiously advance into the room. There, in a musty old chair, sits an aged man with a bandanna 'round his face. I laugh at his stupid theatricality. Does he think we're in some sort of war here? Nah.

"What do you have for me, old man?" My voice is impatient, my fingers tapping rapidly on the side of the pot. There are two other people seated at the dirty table. One's a tall and handsome man, vaguely familiar, perhaps I've seen him on the television before? Very likely, he has that confidant air about him. The other's, well, probably a scientist geek or something, she's got these fidgety hands and a blank look on her face. Not sure why the bandanna man has gathered us all here together like this. He gestures for me to take a seat. I reluctantly place myself on a rickety wooden chair, making sure to brush the dirt off of it before sitting down.

The man introduces himself as "Senior Solar," which I'm pretty sure is a pseudonym. No one would name themselves something as stupid as that. He brings out a briefcase, how cliche, and opens it. There in the middle sits a large wad of cash, probably enough to last me for the rest of my life.