Description: Mike Haggar finally puts his plans for King of Fighters - and beyond - into action.
It's not a long journey from the Division 8 Special Precinct Building to City Hall, where Haggar has called Sho and Carmine for an important meeting. The sun is setting on Metro City, Mayor Mike Haggar standing in front of his giant, assassin-daring windows, his back to the door, watching it go down. Ice sits in three glasses sitting on Haggar's desk, a bottle of Evan Williams Black Label near the Mayor's own, two chairs already prepared. Haggar pulls in a breath - he's been working up to this for a long time, now.
Five identical sealed envelopes are stacked on Haggar's ironwood desk (he needed something he could pound freely), and its these Haggar turns his attention to in the few moments he has before Sho and Carmine are scheduled to arrive. He takes them, counts them again, and fans them out dead-center, nudging a few things aside to give them more gravitas. Even though he hasn't been a wrestler for years, Haggar will never lose that sense of the dramatic.
Haggar's current assistant - always a college intern, and refusing to be called secretary due to because this year it's a young man - lets Sho and Carmine in the moment they enter, without even buzzing them in.
It isn't a long trip from the precinct down to City Hall. It was, however, in the middle of pumping iron that Sho Easten got the call. And when he saw who the caller was, he had to pick up; he can't deny the Hagman. Not now, and not ever. Brothers in muscle until the very end, all that jazz.
"Sure, I'll be right down. Just need to towel off. You missed this session, you know that, right? Of course you do. No, I'll just walk over. I'm not going to fly. I'm not wasting the rocket fuel, alright? I know how expensive it is. Look, I'm already here in the time I've spent talking to you on the phone. I'll be right up."
So when Sho puts his phone away, he's already entering City Hall. Somewhere in all of that talking on the phone with his boyfriend, he gestured to Carmine to come along. Presumably the other member wasn't working out, but who can tell?
The secretary leads them in, and Sho is the first to enter, giving the Mayor that usual nod of his, which for any other man is a broad smile and mild excitement. "Mayor," he greets, perhaps sensing that this is a formal occasion and not a 'come on over and let's play some Wii.'
Carmine has only the dimmest idea of what's going on, and is honestly probably glad for it; he has a tendency to get nervous before meetings with the big man, even though he seems to be kind of the teacher's pet. (It's not an unfamiliar role for him. He was like this when he was on math team, too.) He reaches up for a moment, deciding to adjust his tie and feel at least vaguely together as he heads into City Hall with Sho.
It is Thursday. Thursday means Donatello tie. No one likes Donatello because he's got the shittiest weapon. Carmine likes Donatello because he is the genius. Fuck Michaelangelo, right?
Heading into Haggar's office, Carmine takes a few steps up, putting his hands on the back of one of the seats. Eyes tracking for only a moment to the envelopes, then to the bottle of Black Label, he chews at the corner of his lip once before looking back up to Haggar. "Sir," he says, nodding firmly, once. Maybe he's picking up on that previous little intake of breath, on the shifting and adjusting... despite not having been there for any of it. Of course, maybe it really is just his own nerves going.
Carmine would totally play some Wii. Carmine is amazing at Wii Baseball.
Haggar doesn't bother asking if the others want any - he picks up the bottle of Black Label, pouring a generous portion of bourbon for the three of them. For him, it's like drinking a beer. For Sho, maybe closer to a couple shots. Carmine might die.
Haggar likes doing that yoga stuff on the Wii Fits.
"Glad you could both make it." He picks up his bourbon and takes a sip. Carmine can feel it easily, and he likely can't even hide it from Sho - he's nervous. Deeper, though, is the reason why. "I've been reading your reports. Good work, especially with that, whats-is-name, Abe Arbie or whatever. You're having an immediate effect on crime rates - I knew that Division 8 would be an excellent deterrent." A half-grin. "People just ain't up to knocking over convenience stores now that we got the fireballs too, eh?" He glances at his assistant, and gives him a nod - he discreetly steps back outside, ready to play linebacker for anyone that tries to talk to the Mayor until he's done with this.
Once he's gone, Haggar sags a bit. He doesn't have to look like The Invincible Mayor for a few seconds, and he sure doesn't feel like it. "But I didn't call you boys up here just to gladhand at'cha. I've got..." He hesitates. Make it an order, or make it an assignment? "...an operation for you."
It's hard to get a lot past Sho. He may not have the years on the force that Miracle does, but he brings a whole different kind of experience to the department. The kind that he can't even talk about, since he'd likely end up in a cell if he did. Taking up a drink, he simply holds onto it, not so much as sipping it for the time being. Not until he knows what this is about.
When the secretary is dismissed, he notices it, glancing from his peripheral as the man leaves. Then his attention returns to Mike. He's about to say something when the man himself sags, and the talk turns serious. From the posture of the Mayor, very serious.
"Go on," he instructs Haggar, almost as if this were an interrogation and he knows the suspect needs to get something off his chest. But his interest is piqued now. What is it that has Haggar in such a state? Another Hamburgling? They dealt with that guy too, the dirty cop killer that he was. He glances over at Carmine, to see what the sensitive may be showing.
Carmine sips at his bourbon; after a delightful hazing prank involving a lot of tequila he knows better than to ram his face directly into any significant amount of liquor. He does give a momentary smile at the mention of 'Abe Arbie' -- he definitely played a part in that, even if it consisted entirely of getting one good shot on him before getting his ass handed to him. It's good to be recognized.
Nodding once to Haggar, he says, "Yeah, I figured it was a little more than a self-esteem builder." The envelopes make that kind of obvious, and Mike's mental state certainly doesn't hide it either. He thinks on it for a moment -- him and Sho being here together makes him wonder if it's a crypto assignment rather than assbeating... but no, Haggar wouldn't be spraying nervousness everywhere if it were a desk job.
Glancing to Sho before turning back to Haggar, Kolodzik decides to take the first guess that pops into his head. "Something dangerous," he says, as if that much was obvious. "... that or high profile. Or both." Bodyguards, maybe. National security, maybe.
Haggar gives Sho a glance, recognizing even now that he's using the interrogation tricks of his trade. He holds the glance for a moment... then to Carmine, inclining his head slightly. "Definitely both." He sips at the bourbon again, letting it settle him, and reaches for the fanned envelopes. He takes two of them up, and holds them out, mouth in a thin line.
"I've already discussed this with Miracle, and there's another recently graduated candidate assigned to this, Sorsha Carcetti." Big woman, loud, angry. Lots of police brutality, which made her a good choice for Division 8. "Historically, the King of Fighters tournament has been a hot bed for... just about everything, from mundane shady dealings to the really weird stuff. There's no telling what'll happen this year."
Haggar suddenly holds up a hand. "Do not open those invitations unless you're willing to go." He looks right at Carmine. "You're still just a candidate, but your unique talents might make or break this investigation... but it's gonna be dangerous. On the surface it's just a tournament, but I want you all digging deep. I want to know what's going to happen before it happens, and I want to be able to have a shot at stopping it before we have another Southtown upheaval, or god forbid, Taizhou incident, right here in Metro."
The former Agent takes the offered envelope, taking the time to put his glass of bourbon down on the Mayor's desk. On a coaster, of course. He listens, about to rip the envelope open when the Mayor holds up that hand and adds the stipulation.
That gives him thought. The King of Fighters tournament is more than just front page news. It's the big lights, the cameras, the media, the fame and glory. It puts his face back out there, when certain elements of the world think he is dead. He's sure that Haggar recalls that tale, and that the Mayor is aware of that factor, and weighed it in light of what's being asked of him.
"That's not exactly within our jurisdiction, unless you want us concentrating on the events here in town and those alone. You're escalating the Division?" It's only half a question. He's drawn the conclusion. Is Haggar making a play for the world stage here, with his motley crew of justice-seeking misfits? His envelope remains unopened, and he again glances towards the junior officer to see if the younger man has slipped a finger in and puffed it open.
The rookie officer looks at the envelope for a moment, feeling Haggar staring him down. He knows full well that this is dangerous /as shit/ now; he used to watch the King of Fighters tournaments, and as part of the Internet Fighting Community (tm), heard a handful of the rumors. Before he'd dismissed them a little, but with Haggar giving him that look, he knows at least some of them are true -- and that's a pretty terrifying thought.
"Carcetti? Jesus," Carmine says, still not opening his envelope. He knows she's pretty much a perfect candidate on reputation alone, but -- Carcetti? Jesus. "I guess we need the raw muscle, though, if we're doing this..."
He looks at the envelope for a long time, tilting it back and forth, letting Sho ask the harder logistical questions while he weighs this one in his head. He knows he's willing -- but is he ready and able?
Haggar takes some time to let Carmine get momentum on his thoughts until he continues. He faces Sho, most savvy of his current crop of D8 Instructors in regards to intrigue. There's nothing to gain from being dishonest or evasive, especially in the presence of Carmine - despite being a politician, lying has never come easily to him. "Yes, I am. I'm aware of the particular difficulties this could cause for you, and all I can say is that Division 8 protects its own." He takes another pull of bourbon, formulating his words, and finally pulls his heavy chair out. Also ironwood, it accepts his legendary bulk without creak or complaint.
"For too long, we've had leeches like Shadaloo, R, NESTS, and the Syndicate running roughshod over the world. People like Howard," Betrayal, Haggar has worked with him in the past and never knew, "and /Bernstein/," for a moment, Haggar flares with absolute white-hot rage as Carmine has likely never felt - his hand tightens on his glass, and his eyes burn for an instant. "Have done nothing but profit off the pain of good men. There have been groups that have tried to stop them in the past... Ikari does what they can, Interpol tries... but when the only other group people can count on is headed by a /Bernstein/ themselves, there's gotta be more."
Haggar finishes his bourbon. "I should've been up front with this, but I never intended Division 8 just for Metro. I'm nearin' 50." Scientists have speculated that Haggar seems to have been frozen at 49 for years now. "I've gotta leave somethin' good behind, somethin' that'll change everything."
Carmine decides to take another sip of bourbon. Ughn, that shit is way too strong for him. He needs a beer or a fruity girly drink or something. Maybe he'll have one if the bourbon doesn't instantly kill him, he thinks, as Haggar gives Sho some assurances. Sho is always hard for Carmine to read... but it's hard not to tell that the exposure has made him a little bit worried.
Carmine is tangentially familiar with the various criminal syndicates, if only due to MCPD dossiers on some of their street level thugs. Sometimes he gets the urge to actually map out the entire organization... but that would be a monstrous undertaking, and doing it in a way that'd hold up in court even moreso.
Looking down at the envelope as Haggar pleads his case, as the big man explains why what they're doing is so important... Carmine just opens the envelope. Feeling that much rage coming from a man who he grew up thinking of as 'Metro City's coolest and most righteous dude...' it's hard not to take action in the face of something like that.
Looking back at the Mayor, the former Agent weighs it all in. He also observes, noting the hand on the glass, feeling the shift in the room. He doesn't need to be a psychic to feel that anger; he's been around enough angry men in his life to know what's going on. The tremble of the hand, the anger. It must be the Past. Ghosts of it haunt more than just himself, he reminds himself. Finally, he takes that glass up, giving a too-toothy Easten grin as he takes a sip.
"Well, I may have been burnt out of my last agency, but I guess they're going to know I'm still kicking eventually. Why not have it be helping a friend make a legacy? Although for the record, I don't like that kind of talk from you, Mayor. It sounds like you're preparing to step down from office, or worse, die, anytime soon.
"And if that happens, who's going to spot me? The kid here can't support that kind of weight."
A friendly enough nod is given to Carmine. It's all a joke, really, an attempt to lighten the mood just a touch. A rare thing, from a man as straight-laced as Sho. Taking a healthy gulp of the bourbon, he makes that 'ahh' face, setting the glass down. Then he shoves a finger into the envelope, running it along the side, and gives it a good puff to make for easier exit of the contents. "You gonna be joining us for this 'Team Cop' you've put together?"
"I got no intention of doin' either of those any time soon," he grins. "But at my age, certain things become inevitabilities." Or, at least, he thinks so. But then again, Oro is like 3,000 years old. He feels a rush of pride as Carmine and Sho open their envelopes. These were the two he was worried about. Carmine had every right to refuse - he's young, still in training. Sho... even Haggar can't read Sho all the time. "But... no."
Haggar reaches down, spreading two of the envelopes away, picking up the middle and opening it himself. "I'll be running with Team Oyaji this year," A King of Fighters institution - a team composed of the masters of some of the world's most powerful fighting styles. Kyokugen, Kusanagi-ryuu, two different Ansatsuken styles. Haggar's particular blend of brutality is an odd addition. "...but I'll still be there. Come to me with anything you find out that you can't handle on your own." He reaches down, and taps the envelope to his right. "I've cut a deal with Interpol, to dodge certain jurisdiction issues and to make sure you've got some more experience on your side. You'll be paired up with Hon-Fu, one of their top agents, and /technically/ working under Interpol's say-so, but Miracle's registered as team leader. The last invitation's fer Sorsha, who couldn't make it tonight. She found an old Syndicate remnant underground fighting ring."
ELSEWHERE
Bodies continue to pile up outside of a door. It doesn't stop.
"Right. Well, I'm sure it'll be an interesting learning experience for the new guy all the same," Sho says, as if he had been to previous tournaments. Perhaps he has, but no doubt under a very different capacity than what he's about to.
Taking the invitation out and whatever else is inside the envelope, he gives it a cursory glance before simply stuffing it into his pocket. "Not sure why you were so worried in calling us down here though, Mayor. This is just an assignment like any other. Or are you more worried about your little baby potentially outgrowing the nest?" There's no barb in the joke, just the slightest of grins. They're very rare, from this man.
Tossing back the bourbon, he sets the finished glass down. "Anyway, I'm halfway through my session if you wanted to come down for a few sets. Not sure what Carmine here was working on when you called us in, but I'm sure he could use a workout as well." That's right. With the business out of the way, it's Muscle Time.
Carmine breathes a sigh of relief as that oppressive intensity of Haggar's starts to filter out of the room at last. It gives him a little more space; despite his fairly significant /physical/ stature (especially in the largely Asian fighting circuit, if not among the Metro PD), he has a hard time finding the 'social space' he can take up in a room. Nodding once as Haggar explains his own plans for the tournament, Carmine finds himself furrowing his brow.
In fact, he decides to speak up about it, after a second. "Kind of a weird Oyaji team," he says, tilting his head. "Aren't they usually technicians, not brawlers? I mean, it's a big name, it's good for you, but..." Still kinda weird.
The logistical side makes sense enough to him that he doesn't ask much about it, though, instead pocketing his invitation now that he's made it clear that he's accepting. Turning to Sho and downing a little more of his own bourbon (still not even halfway through the glass yet), he says, "I could go for a workout." Maybe not the kind of workout Sho is thinking, though -- Carmine's lately tend to involve psychic focus and crosswords.
Haggar clinks the ice in his glass once, drinking what manages to melt. It's ritualistic for him, something he's always done. He sets the glass and his own invitation down, and spreads his hands at Sho. The intensity is fading, now, the usual affable charisma coming to the fore. "Hey, it's King of Fighters, deserves some ceremony! Get a little fame, get a little money. Nobody says you can't have a couple extra sources'a income outside of D8, eh?" He leans over and thwaps Sho on the shoulder, an easy move for him over the huge desk. "City gets a cut of any endorsement deals, though."
He's still grinning, but he wasn't joking.
Haggar digs a key out of his pocket and starts locking desk drawers. He doesn't like to leave them open when he's out of the office, and he could use some muscle-burning effort. He pauses midway through, though, looking at Carmine. "Oh, y'didn't know? The main prerequisite for gettin' in the Oyaji team is havin' a kid." The camera pans to the little table in the corner covered with pictures of Jessica, set so Haggar can turn and look at them whenever the mood takes him - except the picture of Jessica and Cody, angled carefully away.
Anyone looking at the table, however, suddenly gets Haggar'd as he looms past the desk, grabbing Carmine's shoulder. "C'mon, kid, look at these delts. We need to get you on some machines." Once Haggar's hand is on you, you're probably not getting away.
"It's not like money's a huge issue for me," Sho says, which is more along the lines of him just not caring as much for money as he does for, say, revenge. But that's another story, for another time, with another drink altogether. Still, he seems dour at the prospect of the city taking its cut. He's not surprised though, especially not if they're going to be flown about at the taxpayer's expense.
He follows the camera towards the little table. He's heard a lot about the Mayor's daughter, even met her once or twice, but he knows better than to try and cross those streams. The last thing he wants is a father to be his spotter at the gym.
"Daylight's wasting," he says, as Haggar gets a grip on Carmine. He heads out the door. First in, first out. It's the SWAT code. It probably isn't, but. "Personally, I think he needs to start with the core and then work back. You're not too soft under all that clothing, are you, Carmine? Guess we're about to find out."
Endorsement deals? The city gets a cut? Holy balls, Carmine thinks -- this isn't what I expected going into this gig. ... not that it's a /bad/ thing by any stretch of the imagination, though. He'd like to get the kind of money you need to pick up a house and not be ass-deep in debt, maybe stop taking public transit every day. (You take your life in your hands on a bus or a taxi in Metro.)
This is not going to be a psychic workout, Carmine realizes, as Haggar grips his shoulder. This is going to be hours upon hours of muscle-burning terror followed by days of being sore as hell. Closing his eyes once and taking a deep breath, then gradually opening them, he says, "... okay. Okay."
Sho's right -- daylight's wasting. Standing up slowly, Carmine does his best to suppress a grimace. What is he even getting into?
Log created on 21:07:13 01/06/2011 by Haggar, and last modified on 00:36:17 01/07/2011.