05-28-2020, 07:14 PM
"I must thank you, Mr. Rollo. You truly know your hospitality. The cognac is delicious." Cats Meow sat back in the leather chair Giuseppe Rollo had offered him.
"My pleasure, Mr...Meow." Cats' name fell from the mundane crime boss' mouth like a rotten tooth. Cats didn't miss it, or any of the cautious details of the man's insults and condescending offerings. He'd gone through the proper channels, made the proper respects when he pushed for the meeting. But there was no greeting at the front door, or even the respectable caution of meeting at vetted neutral ground. Instead, it was an invitation to the man's house, but direction to a side entrance. And then, once he's inside, out comes the cigars and the cognac and the respectful words.
Cats smiled at Rollo, letting his fangs show.
"But, fine drinks aside, my proposal. I'll keep it simple. I have already, as you know, been establishing a humble operation here. This city is a unique environment, one that offers all manner of opportunities. I've already begun to expoit some of those opportunities."
Rollo nodded along, doing a poor job of hiding his disinterest.
"Ya, bootleg movies, right?"
"Exactly. And there's more than just that to be had. All manner of valuable merchandise can be brought into this city from other worlds, through the doors that seem to cover this city. And I'm not the only one to notice. Someone else has started to move on the movie business. I don't intend to be loose out on this market Mr. Rollo. And I don't see why you should either. You control enough of the business in this town, you have the infrastructure I need to corner this thing. If we partnered up on this, we could both come away richer than any of those cads featured on Forbes."
"So...why do you have a British accent? And uh...what's with you looking like a cartoon?" Rollo took a sip from his drink.
So, that's what this meeting was to be then. He'd been hoping that this would be easy, but it was what it was.
"Well, Guiseppe. I suppose it is because I am British, and a cartoon. I am also a cat, if that hadn't been observed yet. So, yes, a British Cartoon Cat. No doubt not the sort of person you ever expected to be in business with, but there it is."
Rollo smirked, nestling his body deeper into the plush chair.
"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Meow. But fact is, it isn't for me."
"I would ask you to reconsider. You are a businessman, you want to make money. This is a way to make money, and a lot of it."
"Maybe. But this is...weird. And I don't do weird. This city doesn't do weird. And we've both done well because of that. If I work with you, no offense a freak, then I might as well put up a sign for all those costumed fucks out there that I'm ready to join the club. Soon you'll have MOURN, or those Immortal cocksuckers in here, disrupting my city, and telling me how to run my business. No. I make enough money and I'm happier avoiding the headache."
Insults and stupidity. Back in the old days, back home, this man would have already have had an anvil dropped on him, and one of the erasers would be on the way to make sure it stuck. But it would be easier to work with him than take over.
Cats straightened up, draining the last of the cognac from his glass.
"Mr. Rollo. You need understand. Weirdness is already here. It has been. Have you seen the rather amazing poison being pushed on your streets? None of that is normal, but it is profitable. You have a chance here to get in on the ground floor of a grand opportunity. You are a businessman. You don't like me? Fine. I don't care if you like me. It. Is. Business. Money and power, that is what matters. I don't care if you invite me to parties, or if I am on your Christmas card list. We both stand to make more if we cooperate. So please, Mr. Rollo be a fucking businessman."
He kept his eyes on the complacent, fat fuck. As the words issued from his mouth, a few of Rollo's men entered the room, discretely they thought. Cats didn't pay them mind; he'd heard and smelled them coming long before they opened the doors.
To his credit, Rollo didn't get angry, or at least he didn't show it. Instead, he glanced around the dark corner of his room, making quick, telling eye contact with his people before refocusing on Cats.
"Here is what I will do, Mr. Meow. You're right, I don't like you. But I am a businessman, and I am reasonable. I'll let you run your little smuggling ring, for a while. Long enough to make some good money. And then I'll help you out, open some doors, make some recommendations. So that you can set up shop in a different city. A city where your kind of bullshit will flourish. That's my offer. You can take it, or my people can take you."
"Alright. You win, Mr. Rollo." Cats sighed, letting his gaze move to the study window, to the night sky.
Is everyone on this world this fucking stupid?
"But, before I go? Have you ever heard the phrase, to cut off your nose to spite one's face?" Cats allowed himself to smile, and unsheathed the claws on the hand not holding the glass. "'Ave you, you idiot, fucking cunt?"
No point trying to class it up. It's blood and guts and tears now.
Rollo nodded, still calm, and motioned to his men.
"I have."
Cats stood up, just as the various enforcers pulled out their guns. Rollo raised a hand, and so while guns were out and trained on Cats, no bullets were fired. Yet.
"So before this turns into a real show, let me tell you a story. See, awhile ago, there were some businessmen. They were looking to start something new. They were looking to the skies. Commercial airlines. Fly people, from place to place, half the time. But they needed funds to get it off the ground? Pun intended. And so they wen to the people they knew, they thought would be inclined to help 'em out. The old railroad tycoons. And so they went to 'em, gave the pitch, and all those old money bastards put their heads together and said, nah. No thanks. See, we're not in the flying business, we're in the train business. Do you know what the moral of that story is, you twats?"
No response, other than Rollo's hand lowering, and the bullets getting fired.
Cats waited until they were done. He waited until the last shell casing went tippy-tap on the floorboards, and then just for effect, just to fuck with them, he reached over and poured himself another glass of the fine cognac.
He raised the glass, and poured it down his throat. Brandy poured out of a dozen or so holes in his chest and midsection and one from his neck. A shameful waste, but stupidity breeds waste.
"The moral is that the old tycoons weren't in the train business. They were in the fucking transportation business. And because they couldn't see that, they faded into cobwebbed obsolescence, and the airlines gobbled up their kingdoms, one by one. Now all they do is shuttle coal around. So, back to an earlier point in the conversation. Back to cutting off your nose, Mr. Rollo. Seeing as you've been so hospitable, and so polite, I thought I'd help you out. And why stop at the nose? I'm generous, sir. I'll keep cutting until you say when."
Too bad you're losing your tongue second.
Cats closed the distance. The rest was blood and guts and screams.
"My pleasure, Mr...Meow." Cats' name fell from the mundane crime boss' mouth like a rotten tooth. Cats didn't miss it, or any of the cautious details of the man's insults and condescending offerings. He'd gone through the proper channels, made the proper respects when he pushed for the meeting. But there was no greeting at the front door, or even the respectable caution of meeting at vetted neutral ground. Instead, it was an invitation to the man's house, but direction to a side entrance. And then, once he's inside, out comes the cigars and the cognac and the respectful words.
Cats smiled at Rollo, letting his fangs show.
"But, fine drinks aside, my proposal. I'll keep it simple. I have already, as you know, been establishing a humble operation here. This city is a unique environment, one that offers all manner of opportunities. I've already begun to expoit some of those opportunities."
Rollo nodded along, doing a poor job of hiding his disinterest.
"Ya, bootleg movies, right?"
"Exactly. And there's more than just that to be had. All manner of valuable merchandise can be brought into this city from other worlds, through the doors that seem to cover this city. And I'm not the only one to notice. Someone else has started to move on the movie business. I don't intend to be loose out on this market Mr. Rollo. And I don't see why you should either. You control enough of the business in this town, you have the infrastructure I need to corner this thing. If we partnered up on this, we could both come away richer than any of those cads featured on Forbes."
"So...why do you have a British accent? And uh...what's with you looking like a cartoon?" Rollo took a sip from his drink.
So, that's what this meeting was to be then. He'd been hoping that this would be easy, but it was what it was.
"Well, Guiseppe. I suppose it is because I am British, and a cartoon. I am also a cat, if that hadn't been observed yet. So, yes, a British Cartoon Cat. No doubt not the sort of person you ever expected to be in business with, but there it is."
Rollo smirked, nestling his body deeper into the plush chair.
"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Meow. But fact is, it isn't for me."
"I would ask you to reconsider. You are a businessman, you want to make money. This is a way to make money, and a lot of it."
"Maybe. But this is...weird. And I don't do weird. This city doesn't do weird. And we've both done well because of that. If I work with you, no offense a freak, then I might as well put up a sign for all those costumed fucks out there that I'm ready to join the club. Soon you'll have MOURN, or those Immortal cocksuckers in here, disrupting my city, and telling me how to run my business. No. I make enough money and I'm happier avoiding the headache."
Insults and stupidity. Back in the old days, back home, this man would have already have had an anvil dropped on him, and one of the erasers would be on the way to make sure it stuck. But it would be easier to work with him than take over.
Cats straightened up, draining the last of the cognac from his glass.
"Mr. Rollo. You need understand. Weirdness is already here. It has been. Have you seen the rather amazing poison being pushed on your streets? None of that is normal, but it is profitable. You have a chance here to get in on the ground floor of a grand opportunity. You are a businessman. You don't like me? Fine. I don't care if you like me. It. Is. Business. Money and power, that is what matters. I don't care if you invite me to parties, or if I am on your Christmas card list. We both stand to make more if we cooperate. So please, Mr. Rollo be a fucking businessman."
He kept his eyes on the complacent, fat fuck. As the words issued from his mouth, a few of Rollo's men entered the room, discretely they thought. Cats didn't pay them mind; he'd heard and smelled them coming long before they opened the doors.
To his credit, Rollo didn't get angry, or at least he didn't show it. Instead, he glanced around the dark corner of his room, making quick, telling eye contact with his people before refocusing on Cats.
"Here is what I will do, Mr. Meow. You're right, I don't like you. But I am a businessman, and I am reasonable. I'll let you run your little smuggling ring, for a while. Long enough to make some good money. And then I'll help you out, open some doors, make some recommendations. So that you can set up shop in a different city. A city where your kind of bullshit will flourish. That's my offer. You can take it, or my people can take you."
"Alright. You win, Mr. Rollo." Cats sighed, letting his gaze move to the study window, to the night sky.
Is everyone on this world this fucking stupid?
"But, before I go? Have you ever heard the phrase, to cut off your nose to spite one's face?" Cats allowed himself to smile, and unsheathed the claws on the hand not holding the glass. "'Ave you, you idiot, fucking cunt?"
No point trying to class it up. It's blood and guts and tears now.
Rollo nodded, still calm, and motioned to his men.
"I have."
Cats stood up, just as the various enforcers pulled out their guns. Rollo raised a hand, and so while guns were out and trained on Cats, no bullets were fired. Yet.
"So before this turns into a real show, let me tell you a story. See, awhile ago, there were some businessmen. They were looking to start something new. They were looking to the skies. Commercial airlines. Fly people, from place to place, half the time. But they needed funds to get it off the ground? Pun intended. And so they wen to the people they knew, they thought would be inclined to help 'em out. The old railroad tycoons. And so they went to 'em, gave the pitch, and all those old money bastards put their heads together and said, nah. No thanks. See, we're not in the flying business, we're in the train business. Do you know what the moral of that story is, you twats?"
No response, other than Rollo's hand lowering, and the bullets getting fired.
Cats waited until they were done. He waited until the last shell casing went tippy-tap on the floorboards, and then just for effect, just to fuck with them, he reached over and poured himself another glass of the fine cognac.
He raised the glass, and poured it down his throat. Brandy poured out of a dozen or so holes in his chest and midsection and one from his neck. A shameful waste, but stupidity breeds waste.
"The moral is that the old tycoons weren't in the train business. They were in the fucking transportation business. And because they couldn't see that, they faded into cobwebbed obsolescence, and the airlines gobbled up their kingdoms, one by one. Now all they do is shuttle coal around. So, back to an earlier point in the conversation. Back to cutting off your nose, Mr. Rollo. Seeing as you've been so hospitable, and so polite, I thought I'd help you out. And why stop at the nose? I'm generous, sir. I'll keep cutting until you say when."
Too bad you're losing your tongue second.
Cats closed the distance. The rest was blood and guts and screams.