Post by Arsen Goodstone on Aug 27, 2018 17:59:09 GMT -5
"3 cheers for Arson Goodstone!" Proclaimed Arsen Goodstone, and with a flick of his wrist the shot went down like candy.
The entire bar gave a their three cheers whole heartedly, also throwing back the whiskey with as much enthusiasm as they could muster. The chairs and barstools were lined with hard, scarred fellows and ladies, all of them under the direct or indirect employ of Goodstone himself. To not raise a glass when they boss called for a toast to himself would have been near sacrilege. The man himself sat in the far back corner of the smoke filled den, his jacket and cane set next to him in the booth, making him look uncharacteristically casual. Even with the slightest hint of a smile on his face, the room seemed to only move when Arsen wasn't looking directly at them. It was a show of power; pay attention to the boss, or he'll pay MORE attention to you. Unwanted attention.
To Goodstone's immediate left of Johnny Bags, who was fruitlessly trying to squeeze a glass bottle to the point of breaking with only one hand. Arsen raised an eyebrow at his right hand man, who still bruised and patched up from the beating he receieved at the hands of the former. "Hell, Johnny...I told you, those powers were a one time gig. I also fuckin' told you not to try and bring it up again; no telling what kind of problems they could cause us in the long run, if the wrong people found out we weren't regular, law-evading criminals."
"How do you know? I punched a guy so hard I shot out lightning! How do you know I can't break this bottle with my bare hands?" Bags shot back, only able to glance at Arsen with one eye, seeing as the other was buttoned shut. Johnny wasn't a quick learner.
In one fluid motion, Goodstone snatched the bottle from Johnny's hand and smashed it over his skull, quick as a whip. The bar crowd roared with approval at the sound of breaking glass, once they saw it was Goodstone administering the violence. Johnny Bags slumped over the table, and was knocked off his seat unceremoniously with a boot to the ribs. "That's how I know, Johnny. That's how."
Upon seeing the crowd fixated on him fully, Goodstone stood up from his chair and stretched his arms out wide. "Anyone else want to take a shot at my intelligence? Anyone? Some people questioned me taking a loss to The Monster just for a paycheck, and a subpar one I might add, but it got our agencies foot in the fucking door!" A murmur of approval from the crowd. "And the next few matches after, against the one and only benevolent Mr. PURE...well, add two more notches to the L column, I suppose. But look at us now! We have a higher payroll than we ever did without PCW, and that's because I get...the job...done."
Seeming to work himself into a fury, Arsen grabbed up his cane and menaced it at the braver folks sitting closer to him. "Every decision I make is for the best possible reason...THE. FUCKING. MONEY! And that was proven, as at the big show Return to Glory fucking NINE, we beat the dog piss out of Mr. PURE and secured out contract. I KNOW who's tough enough to break a bottle with one hand...besides most people...I KNOW the best course of action to fill our pockets with money. But what I don't know is...who trusts me. Show of hands, who trusts me?"
Hands are held high all across the bar. "Fuck me, are we in fuckin' grade school? I ASKED WHO THE FUCK TRUSTS ME?!?" This time a roar erupts from the crowd, with people stomping their feet out of either enthusiasm or fear of retribution. Arsen surveys his employees with a ferocious look in his eyes. "Well, all right then. So let's see what our next contract is, eh boys? Bring him in."
All eyes turn towards the kitchen door, which is pushed open by two burly men carrying a protesting suit by either arm. The suit, a well-kept man in his twenties with jet black hair, is plopped in a chair across from Goodstone. He looked at his surroundings as the air began to feel as heavy as a rock, hanging in the air and waiting to fall. All eyes were on the young one placed in front of the terrifying Mr. Goodstone. The latter had long since regained his seat and now let his gaze bore into his quarry from across the table, not saying a word.
At this moment, Johnny pulled himself back up into his chair, blood flowing from his headwound. Wobbling a bit, Johnny jabs a finger at the newcomer. "Talk, now. Or I'll kick your fucking ass, what do you want?"
With all eyes still firmly on him, the man gestures towards Johnny's head. "You...you know you're bleeding, right? Jesus Christ."
An elbow to the bridge of the nose sends Johnny back down, courtesy of Mr. Goodstone. "I'm not bleeding, will you answer MY questions? What do you want? People don't just walk into this bar asking for Arsen Goodstone unless they need me for something...specific."
"Just call me...Graves. That'll do, I like that." The man adjusted the cuffs to his suit, and pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. "I won't waste much of your time, Mr. Goodstone, but I will say that what you did to Mr. PURE...beautiful. A work of art. But more importantly, exactly what you were paid to do. Your employer sent word to everyone he knew, who might have a problem, exactly how efficient you were. We have something just like your last job in mi--"
"Not interested."
Graves stuttered, and gave Goodstone an incredulous look. "You don't even know who I want you to fight, or how much I'll give you, and the answer is no?"
Goodstone nods once, and pours himself a shot of whiskey. "I'm not talking the fall again. I'm sure you could hear me, fuckin' yellin' about this and that and the other thing, but most importantly I know what's best for business. I'm not a fall guy, and the next contract I take is going to include me getting the win. Because that's good for business right now. Get him the fuck out of here!"
The two burly chaps who hauled Graves into the bar by his arms pull him out of his chair in the same manner. "Wait! Wait, god damnit! I never said you had to lose!"
Arsen snorts before taking the second shot. "Thank you for allowing me to win. You should thank me I'm letting you out of here without a broken bone or something menacing like that." The patrons let forth a good laugh, knowing full and well the truth behind that statement.
"SIX FIGURES!"
Just like that, there was silence. Once again, all eyes moved to Goodstone, and the thugs stopped hauling Graves away just for a moment, looking to see what their boss had to say about the staggering number. He only raised an eyebrow, let the tension hang for a second, then motioned for Graves to be brought back. "Six figures for a win, huh? I like the sound of that...I don't know anybody who WOULDN'T like the sound of that music."
Relieved to have been heard, Graves hands the paper over to Goodstone. "It's a fair amount, given the contract."
Arsen eyes the paper up and down, scrutinizing every word...before a large grin grows over his hardened features. He stands up and starts to laugh, slowly pacing towards Graves. "In our line of work, we only deal with one thing...cash. I know, I know, it must be disheartening to think of such a well-learned man like myself to be so callous and shallow, but money makes the world go around and it makes me happy. It makes me happy knowing I can buy whoever and whatever I want..." Goodstone feints a punch, his fist stopping just an inch from Graves nose. "...using only my hands, mate. But even for this amount of cash..." Arsen crumples up the paper and drops it in his would-be employers lap. "...I have to say fuck you."
Fear can only hold certain emotions back so far, as the din of the bar grows almost unbearable with curses and groans of contempt. Arsen raises his voice over all of them. "What is more important than cash, then? What currency never falters, and can always be turned INTO CASH?! GOLD, you fucking imbeciles! Gold!!"
"Can't buy liquor with gold, Arsen!" One voice cries out.
"So you turned down six figures of gold instead of cash, is that what you're saying? What gives, who gives a fuck?" Another protested.
"Oh, there's gold all right. Enough to strap around my waist and be paid just for beating the shit out of peons while making money off contracts at the same time! Once you control the gold, you control the world! This fuckin' asshole came into my place of work and offered me one...hundred...thousand...to defeat Dominator for the Underground Title!" Arsen leans down, directly in front of Graves face. "...and while that money certainly entices me, nothing gets me more excited as to proving my worth to the world by taking down the Underground Champion."
Arsen motions with his hand, and once again Graves is being carted off towards the door. This time, Goodstone follows. "You tell your man that next time he comes to me and asks for such a lofty accomplishment, I want double of what he offered today. As for this contract..." Arsen grabs Graves by an ear, and pulls it hard enough to make him wince. "...tell him this time, it's Pro Bono." With a kick to the chest and a helping heave from the thugs, Graves is ejected out the front door.
The entire bar gave a their three cheers whole heartedly, also throwing back the whiskey with as much enthusiasm as they could muster. The chairs and barstools were lined with hard, scarred fellows and ladies, all of them under the direct or indirect employ of Goodstone himself. To not raise a glass when they boss called for a toast to himself would have been near sacrilege. The man himself sat in the far back corner of the smoke filled den, his jacket and cane set next to him in the booth, making him look uncharacteristically casual. Even with the slightest hint of a smile on his face, the room seemed to only move when Arsen wasn't looking directly at them. It was a show of power; pay attention to the boss, or he'll pay MORE attention to you. Unwanted attention.
To Goodstone's immediate left of Johnny Bags, who was fruitlessly trying to squeeze a glass bottle to the point of breaking with only one hand. Arsen raised an eyebrow at his right hand man, who still bruised and patched up from the beating he receieved at the hands of the former. "Hell, Johnny...I told you, those powers were a one time gig. I also fuckin' told you not to try and bring it up again; no telling what kind of problems they could cause us in the long run, if the wrong people found out we weren't regular, law-evading criminals."
"How do you know? I punched a guy so hard I shot out lightning! How do you know I can't break this bottle with my bare hands?" Bags shot back, only able to glance at Arsen with one eye, seeing as the other was buttoned shut. Johnny wasn't a quick learner.
In one fluid motion, Goodstone snatched the bottle from Johnny's hand and smashed it over his skull, quick as a whip. The bar crowd roared with approval at the sound of breaking glass, once they saw it was Goodstone administering the violence. Johnny Bags slumped over the table, and was knocked off his seat unceremoniously with a boot to the ribs. "That's how I know, Johnny. That's how."
Upon seeing the crowd fixated on him fully, Goodstone stood up from his chair and stretched his arms out wide. "Anyone else want to take a shot at my intelligence? Anyone? Some people questioned me taking a loss to The Monster just for a paycheck, and a subpar one I might add, but it got our agencies foot in the fucking door!" A murmur of approval from the crowd. "And the next few matches after, against the one and only benevolent Mr. PURE...well, add two more notches to the L column, I suppose. But look at us now! We have a higher payroll than we ever did without PCW, and that's because I get...the job...done."
Seeming to work himself into a fury, Arsen grabbed up his cane and menaced it at the braver folks sitting closer to him. "Every decision I make is for the best possible reason...THE. FUCKING. MONEY! And that was proven, as at the big show Return to Glory fucking NINE, we beat the dog piss out of Mr. PURE and secured out contract. I KNOW who's tough enough to break a bottle with one hand...besides most people...I KNOW the best course of action to fill our pockets with money. But what I don't know is...who trusts me. Show of hands, who trusts me?"
Hands are held high all across the bar. "Fuck me, are we in fuckin' grade school? I ASKED WHO THE FUCK TRUSTS ME?!?" This time a roar erupts from the crowd, with people stomping their feet out of either enthusiasm or fear of retribution. Arsen surveys his employees with a ferocious look in his eyes. "Well, all right then. So let's see what our next contract is, eh boys? Bring him in."
All eyes turn towards the kitchen door, which is pushed open by two burly men carrying a protesting suit by either arm. The suit, a well-kept man in his twenties with jet black hair, is plopped in a chair across from Goodstone. He looked at his surroundings as the air began to feel as heavy as a rock, hanging in the air and waiting to fall. All eyes were on the young one placed in front of the terrifying Mr. Goodstone. The latter had long since regained his seat and now let his gaze bore into his quarry from across the table, not saying a word.
At this moment, Johnny pulled himself back up into his chair, blood flowing from his headwound. Wobbling a bit, Johnny jabs a finger at the newcomer. "Talk, now. Or I'll kick your fucking ass, what do you want?"
With all eyes still firmly on him, the man gestures towards Johnny's head. "You...you know you're bleeding, right? Jesus Christ."
An elbow to the bridge of the nose sends Johnny back down, courtesy of Mr. Goodstone. "I'm not bleeding, will you answer MY questions? What do you want? People don't just walk into this bar asking for Arsen Goodstone unless they need me for something...specific."
"Just call me...Graves. That'll do, I like that." The man adjusted the cuffs to his suit, and pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. "I won't waste much of your time, Mr. Goodstone, but I will say that what you did to Mr. PURE...beautiful. A work of art. But more importantly, exactly what you were paid to do. Your employer sent word to everyone he knew, who might have a problem, exactly how efficient you were. We have something just like your last job in mi--"
"Not interested."
Graves stuttered, and gave Goodstone an incredulous look. "You don't even know who I want you to fight, or how much I'll give you, and the answer is no?"
Goodstone nods once, and pours himself a shot of whiskey. "I'm not talking the fall again. I'm sure you could hear me, fuckin' yellin' about this and that and the other thing, but most importantly I know what's best for business. I'm not a fall guy, and the next contract I take is going to include me getting the win. Because that's good for business right now. Get him the fuck out of here!"
The two burly chaps who hauled Graves into the bar by his arms pull him out of his chair in the same manner. "Wait! Wait, god damnit! I never said you had to lose!"
Arsen snorts before taking the second shot. "Thank you for allowing me to win. You should thank me I'm letting you out of here without a broken bone or something menacing like that." The patrons let forth a good laugh, knowing full and well the truth behind that statement.
"SIX FIGURES!"
Just like that, there was silence. Once again, all eyes moved to Goodstone, and the thugs stopped hauling Graves away just for a moment, looking to see what their boss had to say about the staggering number. He only raised an eyebrow, let the tension hang for a second, then motioned for Graves to be brought back. "Six figures for a win, huh? I like the sound of that...I don't know anybody who WOULDN'T like the sound of that music."
Relieved to have been heard, Graves hands the paper over to Goodstone. "It's a fair amount, given the contract."
Arsen eyes the paper up and down, scrutinizing every word...before a large grin grows over his hardened features. He stands up and starts to laugh, slowly pacing towards Graves. "In our line of work, we only deal with one thing...cash. I know, I know, it must be disheartening to think of such a well-learned man like myself to be so callous and shallow, but money makes the world go around and it makes me happy. It makes me happy knowing I can buy whoever and whatever I want..." Goodstone feints a punch, his fist stopping just an inch from Graves nose. "...using only my hands, mate. But even for this amount of cash..." Arsen crumples up the paper and drops it in his would-be employers lap. "...I have to say fuck you."
Fear can only hold certain emotions back so far, as the din of the bar grows almost unbearable with curses and groans of contempt. Arsen raises his voice over all of them. "What is more important than cash, then? What currency never falters, and can always be turned INTO CASH?! GOLD, you fucking imbeciles! Gold!!"
"Can't buy liquor with gold, Arsen!" One voice cries out.
"So you turned down six figures of gold instead of cash, is that what you're saying? What gives, who gives a fuck?" Another protested.
"Oh, there's gold all right. Enough to strap around my waist and be paid just for beating the shit out of peons while making money off contracts at the same time! Once you control the gold, you control the world! This fuckin' asshole came into my place of work and offered me one...hundred...thousand...to defeat Dominator for the Underground Title!" Arsen leans down, directly in front of Graves face. "...and while that money certainly entices me, nothing gets me more excited as to proving my worth to the world by taking down the Underground Champion."
Arsen motions with his hand, and once again Graves is being carted off towards the door. This time, Goodstone follows. "You tell your man that next time he comes to me and asks for such a lofty accomplishment, I want double of what he offered today. As for this contract..." Arsen grabs Graves by an ear, and pulls it hard enough to make him wince. "...tell him this time, it's Pro Bono." With a kick to the chest and a helping heave from the thugs, Graves is ejected out the front door.
Goodstone turns to face his minions, bellowing. "Drink up tonight, boys! We have work to do!" Yet another cheer, but this time with a bit of hope in it. Every man and woman in that room enjoyed a payday.
Johnny Bags pulled himself up onto his chair for the second time, groaning. "You should have taken the six figures too..." A chair thrown from across the room connects square into Johnny's skull, dropping him yet again.