Description: The once-thief, a confessed street rat back in the day, is shown a little bit of the high life as he's wined, dined, and suited up for a televised interview with the kind-of-lushy Sterling Pamperton. Is the jarring shift in lifestyle just a trick, or will he enjoy being spoiled as if one of the economical elite?
Early in the day, Aranha got The Call. Perhaps too early, but by the sound of the woman's voice once he'd finally answered, it wasn't early enough. Not for her. Curt and obviously high-strung, her voice cut through the phone like freshly-sharpened cutlery. "Mister Aran/ha/?" Extra emphasis is put on the last syllable as she reads from the card she's given. "Are we still on for your interview this afternoon?" All it takes is either the beginnings of a 'yes' or one and a half seconds, whichever comes first, for her to continue. "Your spot's scheduled for this evening down in..." There's a bit of paper shuffling through the earpiece. "Southtown? There's a Community Center there. Please, don't bother dressing up. We'll have everything taken care of." Just as a final point on the 'pleasant' encounter, she adds in a voice as sweet as honey: "We'll see you soon, then~."
So... He's supposed to walk? Wasn't he supposed to be pampered? Driven around? Maybe this sort of thing is normal for celebrities? Who's to know? Only silence, and then the blaring, repeating error tone comes from the phone.
The rest of the morning comes and goes without further interference. That changes, though, right at lunchtime! No matter where, no matter when, no matter how... As soon as Aranha brings the first bit of food to his mouth, a loud, boisterous voice will come booming across. "SIR! Sir!" A slim man that belies the sheer bass in his greeting, adorned in a fine fitted suit that shines -just- enough in the light to make one think it might actually be made of pure, charcoal-stained silk. And he's heading right toward Aranha with this just...incredible power walk. Who DOES that anymore?
When the Dancing Spider got the call, he was tempted to toss his cell phone out the damn window. The only thing that stops is the fact that getting his phone replaced would be a pain in the ass and the some of the numbers on the sim card are kind of sensitive. A cringe is given when he hears the voice on the phone and rolls his eyes when this particular administrative assistant over emphasizes the last syllable of his nickname.
He never really managed more than a fatigued grunt before the woman continued. Being only half awake at the time, he didn't really care that he was going to have to make his own way towards the destination. All he cared about was how he could get this woman to finish up so he can get back to sleep. Aranha did not do early mornings very well.
After he got back to sleep he was able to process that conversation in his dreams the end result was still indifference to the fact that he had to walk to the YFCC. He does more than that in his usual daily routine... In a run.
Eventually he goes there dressed in in his denim jacket, jeans, t-shirt and black bandana with spider-web motif waiting around right before he gets a hold of a cherry cheese danish. That's when hears the voice of someone calling out to him and power walking in direction. "Huh? Oh hey. 'Sup?"
Sure, the big, tough fighter might be used to that kind of job, but the slick-haired blue-eyed, blonde man rushing toward him? Not so much. "Oh, finally! Thank goodness." His words are a little breathy as he comes to stand within arm's reach. Instead of hunching and huffing, he draws in a deep breath and straightens his posture. Both hands come up and smooth out the front of his suit, his eyes close, and he seems to gather himself admirably in that one breath.
"Sir, I'm so, SO sorry for being late." He's not late. In fact, he's early, but will Aranha tell him so? "The limo is just getting fueled up, and I--" He pauses, blinks, and looks both surprised and aghast. "Where ARE my manners?! Here, let me take care of that." If he's not stopped, he'll plug that danish right out of the man's hands, set it on a plate, and have it cut into eight identical slides in a heartbeat.
Aranha is not used to being pampered or catered to. He came from very humble beginnings and even after becoming famous as a fighter he lived frugally on his paydays and even did a bit of side hustling by going to fight halls to keep his ears on the street to find people who may end up competing against him in the future. He also comes from a school of thought that he's better off doing for himself than let others do things for him. Which is one of the myriad of reasons he tended to work by himself in his thieving days.
All of that is to explain why he doesn't quite understand why the man is reaching for his danish and with a move that had been trained as a reflex due to having Wing, Naerose, and Varvara on his King of Fighters team pulls the danish away from his grasp before remembering that he isn't dealing with any of those three. "Uh... Was I supposed to wait before eating?"
Tsk. So close! The man wiggles his fingers and brushes the tips off on a kerchief that he'd had hidden in his breastpocket. "Oh no, by all means. If you want something like that, that's fine!" Carefully folding the bit of white fabric into a neat triangle, he stuffs it back into its pocket with measured grace. "I mean, it's not often that one has reserved seating at L'Argent."
L'Argent? There isn't any sort of place like that in Southtown, is there? It doesn't even SOUND Japanese.
"We'll be fine so long as we arrive at the airport in..." Words trailing off, he lifts an arm and tugs his sleeve up a few inches. The most exquisite watch that most people have ever seen glistens spectacularly in the light, its gem-encrusted face ticking with immaculate precision. "Under an hour?"
It's at this point that a slick black limo comes slinking down the road, stretched to something pat thirty feet from tip to tail. Windows pass oen after the other before it comes to a stop just behind the as-of-yet-unnamed sycophant.
If there was a place like that in Southtown, Aranha would've known it. Aranha's feet have touched every non skyscraper rooftop in Southtown just as a training method for keeping his parkour skills sharp. That's the reason the ex-second story man ends up raising an eyebrow at the name of the restaurant but stays quiet when the man continues. Airport? Ok. They're throwing down serious money and with someone with as many enemies with massive amounts of resources as he has made, it's enough to make him a bit suspicious.
The limo pulls in and yes he's seeing more money thrown down on this and he cannot help but quip with his tone being obviously tongue in cheek though it carries an undertone of suggesting that the unnamed sycophant should name himself, "Mommy always told me not to get in to cars with strangers. Anyway, what's this L'Argent like?"
He then moves by the door and begins mentally gathering information about the people and the general environment. All these years spent both in Metro City and Southtown plus dealing with ninjas have caused the young fighter to develop a sense of paranoia.
Paranoia is a good reaction to have when dealing with people high up in the entertainment industry. The blonde man half-turns and opens one of the limo's doors. This one opens backwards, with the hinge toward the front of the vehicle. The windows are all heavily tinted, of course; what sort of person would pay out all this money for a ride like this without going full cliche? Seriously, now.
"It's something you won't find in this dump of a city, let me tell you!"
This time, the voice coems from inside the car. Opening the other part of the double-door from the inside, an older gent comes into view. Unlike the blonde man, this one, with his graying hair and slim-rinned glasses, bears a thick, frumpy peach sweater and denim jeans. He really doesn't look like he blongs in there!
"Lauritz!" The older guy yells sharply, drawing the first man's immediate "Yes sir!" "Stop messing around, get his things and get in the car!" Dull brown eyes look at Aranha from the dimly-lit interior. "You DO have things, right?"
Though Aranha truth be told, doesn't look like he belongs in there unless one viewed his current clothing as modified hip-hop chic. His clothes, while they could be considered fashionable are also more practical than the stereotypical urban wear worn by those of that particular industry.
Aranha then peers inside of the limo first at the man that opened the door for him then at the person in the frumpy sweater, then looks around to see if there are anymore people around inside before he steps in.
"Of course I don't have things! They're at my apartment because /no one/ told me I was going out of town nor going to an expensive restaurant. And in fact I was told to not even bother dressing up."
Thankfully, Aranha at least has the means of pay to get some things once he gets there because of his previously mentioned frugality. "Though... If there was one thing I'm good at, it's adapting."
In this part of the vehicle, there's no one else, at least. So thankfully, even if things do go sour, how much danger could Aranha honestly be in?
"They didn't?" The question is asked with an arched brow and an increasingly dour frown. It's apparently one that poor Lauritz is quite familiar with, because the well-composed man hunches his shoulders and looks immediately cowtowed. "I'm--I'm sorry, I thought that Anita would have--" He's interrupted by a wave of the other guy's hand. "Forget it." Dismissing his assistant, he looks back at Aranha himself and extends a rough hand. "The name's Sterling, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm sorry for the confusion these -idiots- have caused you." The sheepish blonde follows the fighter into the car, closing both doors behind him. Immediately, there's the sensation of the vehicle moving, but without wheels directly underneath, there are no bumps or anything; just the smooth feeling of travel. Two wide seats face one another in the compartment. On Sterling's side, there's an armrest with a half-full glass of what looks like gingerale, but has the distints scent of scotch whenever it's lifted up and swirled about. "Anyway, L'Argent is only up in Hokkaido, it won't take long to fly there." He pauses for a second, his lips curling up into a grin. "We're not just going to pick you up and take you out somewhere like France, right? There are the passports and everything, ugh. It's too much!" As he shifts in his seat, he continues: "It's a really nice place, though. This restaurant, I mean. Have you ever had French food? I mean, REAL French?"
There's a bit of sadism in the young fighter that allows the capoeirista to wear a bit of amusement at Lauritz's dressing down. After all, neither Lauritz nor Anita, had been too forthcoming with the details of the interview though Aranha could partially blame early morning grogginess for not having the alertness to keep her from hanging up before he could ask any more questions. "I've had French cuisine when I had a Saturday Night Fight in France for a fight on the Maginot line. It was early in my career so I couldn't afford the higher rated restaurants then. Haven't had any other fights in France since and as a result no opportunities to try as you put it, 'Real French.'" You can almost hear the finger quotes in the capoeirista's tone of voice.
Sterling's nose wrinkles at the mention of Maginot. Whatever the reason for his distaste, he doesn't explain it. He doesn't get the chance to, either, as Lauritz clears his throat. "Mister Pamperton... The interview?" At some point, the assistant had pulled out a pad of paper and pencil, looking expectantly between the other two men.
"Oh...right." Sterling's shoulders droop as he realizes that he has to do actual WORK. All it takes is a pull of his drink to put the smile back of his face. "Okay. Aranha--should I call you that? We need a couple things we need to know before we start, so this is fun for everyone." He leans back in his seat, hardly noticing as the limo takes its turns toward the airport. His arms fold across his chest and his eyes close. For a few seconds, he's silent, mentally sorting things in his mind.
"First off, if there are any...SORE subjects, you should let us know before we start. I know SOME people like to see guests get all pissed off, but believe me, we're not one of those daytime tabloid, white trash kind of shows."
The look of distaste. It's not something Aranha would ignore. Though Aranha will probably never ever know the reason why that would cause such a reaction, he mentally notes it before Lauritz indicates that things should continue. And it's the point where everything actually seems legit though it's not enough to make Aranha completely lower his guard.
And then Sterling gets right to business giving him an indication of what he needs to know before they conduct the interview. The fact that one of the items is an off limits topics list gives Aranha a bit of a pleasant surprise. It gave him at least some control of the interview which was a bit comforting.
He pauses for a moment before he finally speaks up. "I'd like to keep my family and family life off limits, as well as anything relating to my fights in the Seventh Circle." That gave him a way of protecting his sister by not drawing attention to her, protected himself from having anything relating to the death of his parents coming to light in a public forum and had the potential(but not a guarantee) of keeping his enmity with R going public because one public link to it came from one of those Seventh Circle fights.
As Aranha begins to speak, Lauritz begins scrawling furiously. Every word is taken down verbatim, just in case. Sterling himself nods his head a couple of times in understanding, of course. "Right, right. Well, lots of people are going to want to know what your parents are like, if it's that big a deal, I'm sure we can work around it." One arm crosses over his chest, its hand cradling the other elbow. THAT hand is lifted up, rubbing at his cleanly-shaven chin with soft strokes of a curling index finger.
"As for the Circle--whatever that is--we won't bring it up specifically, but we're going to ask a little about your history, so feel free to sidestep that subject." More scribbling can be heard, and in the meantime, the smooth ride starts to come to a stop. "Secondly!" The older gent's arms come to rest in his lap as he swells his chest with breath. "Try to relax a bit, okay? I know this is might be kind of overwhelming, especially since you weren't informed of everything beforehand." Again, he gives the blonde a fresh scowl before turning back to Aranha. "But we're professionals, and most of us are big fans! All the...woosh, and the pow, and the hah doo kens, it's amazing! We want to show everyone that, no matter what those commies are telling everyone, most of you are really decent people."
There were a lot of things that Sterling's response revealed or rather, appeared to reveal. Though Aranha was good at reading most people, he wasn't perfect and even he could be fooled some of the time. Based on what was readily apparent, Aranha realized that first, this interviewer did a lot less research on him than a standard interviewer would.
Secondly, Aranha realized that Sterling didn't know anything about his parents dying due to his use of 'are' as opposed to 'were' which meant there was a good chance that he didn't know anything about his late sister Karen nor his currently living sister Kelly. Probably due to that previously mentioned lack of research.
There were a lot of things that Sterling's response revealed or rather, appeared to reveal. Though Aranha was good at reading most people, he wasn't perfect and even he could be fooled some of the time. Based on what was readily apparent, Aranha realized that first, this interviewer did a lot less research on him than a standard interviewer would.
Secondly, Aranha realized that Sterling didn't know anything about his parents dying due to his use of 'are' as opposed to 'were' which meant there was a good chance that he didn't know anything about his late sister Karen nor his currently living sister Kelly. Probably due to that previously mentioned lack of research.
Then there was the fact that he mentioned hadouken, and nothing that he was capable of except for the woosh and pow. If he was indeed fan of fighting it also meant he probably wasn't a fan of /him./ Because of that, Aranha found that he had more questions about this guy than he figured he would. "Before we get started, I want to know somethin'. Why me specifically for this interview?"
Research is for the weak! ...Or truly professional. However, that doesn't change the fact that Sterling is here for one reason and one reason only.
To talk to Aranha for a while and give him money.
Still, he seems pleased at himself over the little 'confession'. With a broad smile on his face, he pulls down the last of his drink and holds the glass, swirling the cubes about with a tinny noise. "Anyway, enjoy yourself. Or don't! Everyone gets paid, right?" The offhand comment draws a clearing of Lauritz's throat, which in turn causes Sterling to roll his eyes. Whatever.
It's not long until the limo finally comes to a stop. Without pause, someone opens the door from outside to reveal...tarmac. A plane. It's a jet; a small one, to be sure, but a jet nonetheless. Its ladder is pulled down, and from its foot, a thick red carpet runs all the way to the limo's door. On either side, two lines of attendants dressed identically to Lauritz, though of mixed gender and nationality.
"Go on, after you." The older man gestures with a wave of his hand.
Aranha shrugs and decides to keep it moving. Because of the lack of he would expect from the standard issue and general (often justified) parnoia, Aranha is resolving to be incredibly guarded. Carefully about being baited into statements that could ruin his image.
When the Dancing Spider arrives at the destination via limo, he raises an eyebrow at the incredible display of wealth. He then shrugs and steps out the limo feeling no need to comment, though overall, he finds this a bit much. Aranha has to note hoever this is one of the cases where his fame from being a fighter is at odds with his sense of practicality from being a cat burglar. Even though he himself is capable of gaudy displays of wealth(though not to this magnitude), he doesn't want to put a target on himself either.
Aranha doesn't give the line attendants another glance though his ears are listening for the odd step, or an odd ruffle of clothing from them. No point in letting your guard down. That would be stupid.
It's kind of creepy how still and statuesque the lines of people are. Granted, there are no more than half a dozen of them, and one of them is even adorned in his pilot's uniform, now that one can get a better look! "What are you waiting for?" The older man steps out of the limo and walks right past Aranha, not even waiting before walking down the carpet. His glass is still in his hand, but when he reaches out to the side with it, one of the waiting men comes to life! He takes the glass without standing upright, leaving Sterling to flick droplets from his fingertips. He walks right up the steps into the jet, but stops right at the top, looking back behind him.
"If you wait too long, we'll never get you fitted, and they'll never let you into the place like -that-." And then, he's gone, fetching a seat in the private aircraft.
Back outside, Lauritz is left with the fighter, to whom he looks and shrugs briefly. "We have a tailor, you see. She'll be fitting a suit for you on the way." He pauses, then, slightly unsure of what to do with himself. "Or...is the jet too small, sir? Shall I have them taxi over something larger for you?"
"Greatly appreciated. I personally would've liked getting a heads up on that type of thing though. Then again that's mainly because... Well I consider myself the independent type." He shrugs before waving that particular line of thought aside, "Eh what the hell. I'm getting free clothes out of the deal." Though he mentally adds that he probably could've paid for something like that himself even if he wouldn't because it wasn't practical.
"I'm fine, Sterling. Shall we get this show on the ro... In the air?" Aranha's own footsteps pick up speed until he's side by side with the older man. "Besides lets stick with this plane. The sooner I'm in the sooner you can fit me."
A soft sigh of relief comes from Lauritz's lips. Sterling himself is already in the plane, nestled in one of the giant, plush chairs that run down the cabin walls. There's only one row of seats running down either side of the aisle, and the seats swivel about! It looks like almost a dozen people could fit in the plane, outside of the meager staff needed to actually fly it. An attendant is on board already, tending to the old gent already, doing all the things flight attendants usually do. The rest of the people follow in behind Aranha, busily taking their places and introducing themselves one after the other. Names fly by quickly, but he should at least be able to catch their general roles. The tailor, especially, spends no small amount of time looking the man over, already running numbers in his head. There's a manacurist, a hairstylist... Just how much do they plan on making him up, anyway?
As promised, the flight is short. Everyone's seated and secured before takeoff, but the moment that the pilot says it's safe, everyone's up again! There are things to be pulled out of the storage compartments, shirts to be pulled and hung. Not a moment is given to waste as no less than two people try to measure their guest at any given time.
Aranha in his case is able to catch the names. But while he's doing that, he's crunching his own numbers on the attendant staff, mentally filing away details about them as he does so. He does this type of thing regularly in his fights. The only difference here is that he's being forced to gather info at a faster rate than he usually does because he's gathering info on several people at once and as a result he's not quite as accurate as he'd usually be.
Aranha takes off his bandana revealing closely cut hair cut into a fade with his outlines even. There won't be much for the hair stylist to do. The manicurist on the other hand has their work cut out for them. Parkour is hard on the finger nails. "Wait. Is that necessary." Maybe there's a bit of worry for the image of his masculinity being endangered by the manicure.
"Necessary?" The manacurist looks up at Aranha with a crooked brow. She then looks over at some of the other stylists, who respond with nothing but a shrug. With a deep, drawn-in breath, the woman puffs out sharply. "Don't worry, I'm not going to paint them or anything. I'm just going to make them...even." She has a metal file in one hand, eager to use it to try and smooth out some of those jagged nails. She never files down too close, but even bits that might be broken to the quick are, if nothing else, smoothed down.
While his nails are being done, others look over his hair, pressing and testing here and there. There's not much to work with, so they don't, really! A few bits are clipped here and there, just to even everything out. In all honesty, these people are -good- at their job. By the time Aranha's made up, his skin lotioned and powdered up to prevent sweating under the lights, he looks...well. He looks as good as he'd ever looked before, and they didn't even use any REAL make-up. He looks clean, presentable. And then...
"Sir, if I may?" The tailor gestures toward the back of the plane, where a privacy curtain has been pulled open. "It's time for your fitting, now."
Ah, the fitting. Behind the closed curtain, it's a humilation that most men simply loathe. Having another guy run his hands dangerously close to upper thighs, tugging on pants to see how his butt looks, it's not natural. But the silk-and-cotton blend of the suit feels -so- nice, like some guilty pleasure. Would Aranha really want to pass that up?
Aranha's eye twitches several times due to the placement of hands in uncomfortable locations. There are points where the capoeirista feels as though he's been violated. From the curtain all is silent except for one, "Only my groupies touch there!"
Aranha shudders at a few points and at others wonder if Ayame performed an incredible series of incredible heists just to bank roll this humiliating practical joke just so that his last thoughts before death were of embarassment, and helplessness before he died. That gets waved off. That was too damn far fetched even for her.
Even if Aranha had brought up Ayame's name, the tailor wouldn't know what to do with it. At the outburst, though, Sterling can't help but crack a giant grin. Now that their jobs are done, the rest of the attendants don't have much to do! After packing their things and putting things in order, they take their seats and rest out the weariness of the flurry of activity.
Behind the curtain, the tailor lifts his hands defensively. "Sorry sir, so very sorry! If you could hold your own finger there, that's the /very/ last measurement I need!" After all, the crotch cut is VERY important. It shouldn't be tight, but neither should it be baggy. When all is finally done, though, it's time for the tailor himself (and his own apprentice) to snip and sew and cut and seam. It's actually rather impressive how the slight bumpiness of the flight doesn't deter them in the least. They -are- professionals, after all! The guest is free to roam about the cabin for the next five to ten minutes, at which point the pilot's voice comes over the intercom. Hokkaido is on the horizon now, and they'll be landing shortly. That couldn't have been more than...what, an hour? Maybe an hour and a half in the air?
Aranha does as he's told, after all he's being thrown a bone here and allowed to keep what precious little of his dignity that remains. In the meanwhile, Aranha's taking stock of his improvised lockpicking tools he stored in a small pouch in his boxers. He doesn't think he'll need them because Sterling's shady anymore. Too much money was being spent on pampering him/the embarassment of the tailoring process to throw it away on killing/kidnapping him.
No his suspicions are now Sterling throwing so much money down on fighters enough of which think like thieves(Ayame and Reed come instantly to mind) to see Sterling as a big fat whale and will want to take advantage of such an interview to steal said money. And will see it as an opportunity to get money off of/brutally beat him as well.
Aranha finally lets himself physically relax in his seat and then waits for the plane to arrive.
The plane pulls in and parks in no time at all; there's no waiting for it to taxi, no sitting on the runway for clearance. The tires screech upon the pavement and everything feels the forward tug as the craft slows down. There may be half a minute between landing and the hatch opening again, but it's in that small frame of time that everyone tries to do their last-minute checks! Three people try to usher Aranha back into the back to change, and once he's in his new suit, he's given his old attire. Everything had been folded and placed in a sort of gift box, the thing wrapped with a wide red ribbon to keep it closed.
Sterling himself, as he gets up, brushes his hands down the front of his shirt. At some point, he'd been changed into -really- nice slacks and a button-up shirt himself, a baby blue thing with crisp cuffs. He IS putting a lot of money into this, isn't he? "Well! Now you look pretty presentable, if I do say so. Like a new man, almost!" Outside of the plane is another limousine, and as before, only Sterling, Lauritz, and Aranha himself are allowed to ride. "Oh, one piece of advice, while we're there..." The older man leans in and speaks in low tones. "I don't know what you drink, but if you want a beer, I'd suggest you get one now. French people are all snooty about their alcohol." He sits back up, and as though prompted, Lauritz slides open the panel that, at first, appeared to be a seat. In reality, it's an ice chest below, with a small collection of shelved liquor and beer set into the hollowed-out cabinet behind the false seat cushion.
Aranha is given the bum's rush to change and he does so with the quickness. Other than the lockpicks carries no secret items. Aranha needs no weapon. He is one.
"No thanks. I don't drink." Which once again goes back to Aranha's paranoia. That last thing he wants is for someone with a real hate-on for him catching him when he's somewhere between tipsy and floored and just ruin his day/end his life. Plus he places too much value on his judgement. Not that he'll say all of that though that would probably make for interesting response if questioned.
Eventually Aranha glances back at the attendants that the trio are leaving behind and then sits back his seat.
"Really?" Sterling looks genuinely surprised as his offer is rebuffed. "Very well." He gets a glass for himself, tugging out a small bottle of some sort of brandy. As he turns it up over his glass, he looks back at Aranha himself, his lips thin and slightly spread. From head to toe, he looks the man over, his own head canting at the look of the street rattish-man all dolled up in fine clothing.
And then, he smiles.
"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense. Some people forget that fighting is like a sport for some people, and what poisons the body poisons the mind, yada yada." He makes a swirling motion with his hand, bending it at the wrist as it holds the now-empty mini-bottle. The aroma of the drink is a bit potent in the smaller vehicle. "How's the suit fit?" he asks between tugs at the glass. "You can sleep in something that comfortable, I think."
The small talk continues--if not between the two men, then the constant, one-sided commentary. Now well into "loosened up" mode, Sterling is hard to silence. He paints pictures of the extravagant restaurant in his words. Instead of a dull, flat ceiling overhead, there are strands of gold-threaded silk! Glasses made of pure crystal! Flatware of pure silver! And the seats, jesus! A man's rear will never want to leave its comfort. All this may well be taken with a grain of salt, but as the limo nears the restaurant itself, one of its heavily-tinted windows rolls down, apparently unbidden. The vehicle had actually come to a stop, but so smoothly that it was hardly felt at all.
"Welcome to L'Argent, Mister Pamperton."
The voice outside comes from a man in a most cliche butler's attire. His white-gloved hand pulls one of the doors open, while another pulls on its twin. A fine red carpet is run from the front door of the restaurant to the car itself...to Aranha. Red satin ropes divide the walkway from the commoners waiting to get in--"commoners" dressed in silks and pearls. Once Aranha steps out, he'll be met with a flurry of flashing lights as camera after camera try to catch Sterling on film with his astoundingly incomplementary guest as the small entourage are guided in to their own, secluded table.
The capoeirista wishes he thought of that as a response but after spending so much time as something that would not be considered a role model, those types of responses wouldn't have occured to him but now that Sterling had given voice to them, Aranha may end up cribbing that answer in the future.
Just before he's asked about the fit of the suit he glances down at it as if on a subconscious level he knew that Sterling was going to ask that question. "Yeah, it feels good. Can't say I'm used to wearing so much money." So comfortable that if it wasn't for the fact that he would have trouble with seeing so much money go down the drain, he could see himself wearing it to a capoeira roda or doing a parkour run in them.
The small talk continues and Aranha contributes occasionally but for the most part does more listening than talking hoping to gain more information on the man who is interviewing him. As for the picture being the painted, Aranha remains skeptical. In these times Aranha has a hard time believing that a restaurant could that much money into it and still make a profit. Those thoughts are kept to himself.
They arrive and the capoeirista keeps quiet the entire time as he makes his way into the restaurant however he still makes sure he smiles and waves for the cameras. He runs under the philosophy of giving the media the easy pictures. It makes the value of his photos drop which in turn make it easier for him to live privately.
Any and all doubts as to the profitability of L'Argent are, likely, dashed when Aranha SEES the place. No expense has been spared at all: the art decor is certainly modern and things are shimmering everywhere. Every last employee is dressed to the nines in elegant finery. The seats are made of cherry wood, with overplush, pure cotton threads stuffed with what certainly feels like /down/. The central chandelier, in particular, is absolutely exquisite in its size, made of countless bits of crystal carved to look like diamonds all strung against one another.
And if that doesn't convince him? Glasses of wine start at $45.
And that's to say nothing of the food. The group is greeted, welcomed, complimented--even Aranha himself. An 'honored guest and gentleman', he's called! Sterling is quick to explain the details: basically, from the sound and length of it...the fighter is ordering for five people. An entree, a light course, a main course, a salad, a second main course if he so desires, a dessert course, a cheese course, a coffee or wine course. There's a 'page' in the menu for each course, all written in fancy, nearly-unreadable script. What /is/ written clearly, however, are most of the course's multi-hundred-dollar prices.
Hey! Let's be fair here. Aranha's more than capable of being a gentleman when he puts his mind to it. Whenever he isn't, it's usually because a dislike if not out and out hatred is involved. Honored guest though isn't as likely considering what he usually wears.
As the capoeirista looks around, he finds it even harder to believe that the place is turning a profit. There's nothing subtle about the level of extravagance in this place. The more he sees, feels, and hears the harder he finds it to believe until he looks at the menu. That's about the point where it starts making sense to the young fighter even if he realizes that it puts the prices out of the range of most people. The obsenely rich are what keep this restaurant's engine running.
After looking over the menu, he makes his decisions and when the waiter takes his order, he orders from each of the pages.
Not much is often said about Aranha's abilities to pack food away but that's mainly because he's overshadowed by the eating abilities of his King of Fighters team mates, Wing, Varvara and Naerose. Aranha does eat more than the average human but that's mainly because his training regime is so highly demanding.
When a full mean is tipping past a grand, then yes... This place has no trouble turning a profit.
Thankfully, Sterling and Lauritz are quiet while eating. Everyone is, in fact; there's not a lot of loud speaking, and never is there any commotion made about anything! Most guests seem to fetch their waiter's attention with little more than a lifted hand or a turn of their head, for they've always got their attention. The man serving Aranha's table even sets the pristine cloth napkins on the man's lap for him! Why, he's just shy of cutting the food for him and feeding it to him by hand.
Now it's apparant as to why Lauritz himself is so strange.
Course after course after course come and go, and when it's all done, Sterling is scooted out of his place at the table. He doesn't have to push his own seat out; there's someone tugging on it so he doesn't have to put in the effort. "When you're done, Lauritz will show you to the stage. I have just a few more things to prepare, if you don't mind." With a wave of his hand, he's gone, disappeared into the back. The blonde man that Aranha's left with already has the bill, laying some obnoxiously-artsy credit card to cover it all. That leaves the ex-criminal time to wander about outside! He probably won't find much comfort there, though, with all of the glamorous people giving him strange looks. He has the clothing, but...without Sterling at his side, people just don't find that he belongs! Most of them give him a wide berth as they walk past...
And when it's time, it's back into the restaurant. Apparently, the entire back half of the building is a "party room" sort of affair--no, ballroom. Its 'wall' is a set of crystal-clear windows that look out over the ocean, and as late as it is, the moon is clear both in the sky and reflected on the waters. The restaurant is far enough away from the actual city that the stars are bright and innumerable, leaving the sky more spotted with white than black. On a raised section of the room, a backdrop has been set: a green screen, one used for placing CG on. Two thick leather chairs are set on either side of a squat table made of black metal framing and a glass top, already decorated with a vase and flowers. Grips and cameramen are getting their things in order: lighting, boom microphones, the cameras... Lauritz is quick to try and usher Aranha to his seat on stage left so that the makeup artists can touch him up with light powders and the like.
Aranha raises an eyebrow at the looks he gets but he brushes it off. He doesn't feel as though he needs to waste energy on them unless they mean him physical harm and none of them seem to want to actively harm him. Part of him wonders if they would be doing the same to fighters with vast fortunes like Geese Howard(pre fall), Ken Masters, Robert Garcia, or Karin Kanzuki. Either way, it gives him an opportunity to practice what he once preached to Wing. His behavior is not thug like in anyway, and those that who continue to look down upon him he smiles at them almost serenely, secure in his belief that the only reason they continue to have money is because he no longer has the need to steal it from them.
In spite of everything, he still find comfort in being able to breathe fresh air and relax in the evening. Eventually it comes to an end when he's finally ushered onto the stage and he's prepped by the makeup artists and then he finally settles in and prepares himself mentally for the interview for either the Sterling that was presented earlier, or for a Sterling that was hiding behind a facade, waiting to spring out for the interview and catch the fighter unawares.
How odd. When smiled at, most of the people return a small, if uneasy smile themselves. Nobody here is looking for violence; they're wealthy and docile, not bulky, bulging scrappers. The staff, however, keeps their pleasant appearances up, never once batting an eye at Aranha's attitude or appearance. They greet graciously and make polite small talk, but little more; they've work to do, after all!
As the man is primped and preened upon, Sterling comes out in a different suit than he came in with. The style is similar, but it's a sleeker black and cheaper-looking. By comparison, Aranha's suit is really amazing, especially how it catches the immaculately-placed lights to make him look dazzling in front of the lens. Sterling himself gives his guest a smile, wide and easy. In his hand are a number of cards, things that he immediately takes to studying. On some of them, he scribbles. On others, he scratches off and erases. They're obviously notes for the interview, but he's holding them in such a way as to make them impossible to read unless standing over his shoulder.
The time finally arrives, though, and the call to clear the set comes out! Most of the lights dim as the countdown begins. Three, two, one...
The lights brighten considerably then, and everyone in the room is hushed. Sterling makes his presentation (without his cards now; they'd been taken earlier in the darkness) for the show: his introduction, a short recap of the world today, a segue into combat and fighting... It all seems exactly like one would hear on any legitimate talk show! The camera is focused on him for a few minutes as he goes off his script, how the man he's honored to have tonight is a veritable veteran in the fighting world, how he's appeared in a number of the Masters-sponsored circuits. He even has his official win record, but he doesn't tell how many fights he'd lost. All in all, he's painting him in a rather positive light.
When Aranha is finally introduced, two of the cameras swing over to get a full-body shot, another one zooming in on his face from another angle. He's there, he's been introduced, and he's given his chance to return the greetings, to speak his mind. There's one question from Sterling early on, though...
"So, is there anything you'd like to tell our viewers about yourself before we get started? And recent accomplishments, upcoming matches we should look forward to, anything like that?"
Painted in a positive light even before the interview? Aranha keeps visibly calm however deep inside, he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even still he has to deal with that one question put in front of him. Some of his accomplishments can't really be mentioned on TV. No one will ever know the part he played in that. No one would believe what had happened at the end of KoF, and hasn't really accomplished much in the SNF or NL lately.
The only out he has is completely and utter BS. "To be honest, I'd rather look back on the accomplishments of the past but rather strive for the improvements of tomorrow. Unfortunately, I haven't haven't done as much within the Neo League as I would like, and rather than announce a specific matchup, I'd like to announce my availability to take on challengers within the Neo League."
Crafty bastard. To state outright that the viewers won't get to hear anything about the man on television? Oh, there won't be any of that. There's a slight tick in one of Sterling's eyes, right at the corner--right on the eye that's hidden from the cameras as he's facing the man seated next to him. However, he seems to concede, for the moment.
"I'm always hearing from my kids how they can't wait until the next week's fights, so let's start there! Now, to someone like me, who's never been in a fight in his life, the whole...punching and throwing, it really looks like it hurts. And yet, some people are in week after week after week, beating to what looks like an inch of their life and yet they always come back just right as rain. Can you tell us, are these fights actually fixed, or are we seeing some sort of...I don't know, some group of superhumans going at it for our entertainment?"
Aranha would be happy to share if not for the fact that his recent accomplishments weren't either so insanely unbelievable, or barely worth noting. Getting eliminated in the second round of the King of Fighters? Not worth noting. Consistent appearances in the top 10 or 20 of the Neo League... Barely worth noting. Either way, he had to dodge that particular question like he dodges kicks in the roda or else he'd look like some ham and egger.
"I can tell you most assuredly that the fights I've been in have been legit. I can't quite speak on the fights I haven't been in though. I've been battered and bruised. I've taken a lot of punishment both in the famous leagues and in underground fighting circuits. But I must say that I'm lucky in that it doesn't take me very long to recover. I assume it would be the same with most of the other fighters."
"You /do/ look really resilient!" For what it's worth, Sterling actually SOUNDS sincere. He's a man that's used to being on camera, so it's all but impossible to tell if he's truly impressed or just putting on a show. "I guess you'd have to be, though, judging by some of the popular fighters that you'd be up against; people like Ryu, or Kyo, or Chun-Li, any of those people."
But enough about that. Aranha's given a reprive in the form of filler questions: "What do you feel when you step out into those arenas? Are you excited? Scared? Do you ever feel like your life is in danger?" Oh, and it goes on. "What about insurance? Do you pay your own medical bills, or is there someone out there generous enough to insure people whose job it is to beat people up?" And then, some joke about it costing a fortune if so.
If given time to respond, Aranha would've mentioned that he has fought two out of those three and in both cases he needed his natural resilience. Chun-Li and Ryu both hit hard.
Instead Aranha has to answer the filler question. "It depends on the venue and who I'm fighting. In the televised fighting circuits, they tend to be less approving of televising death and so they're more likely to bring the hammer on someone killing other fighters during competition. Underground fighting tends to have less oversight and tends to attract bloodthirstier fans so death in those cases is a legitimate concern. Then there are some fighters out there I'm pretty sure would try to kill me on live TV anyway."
He pauses for a moment to ponder further response. "Even still I tend to get pumped up during a fight, I love the idea of performing for the audience and I love matching wits with my opponents. Some of which don't really have wits to begin with but those tend to be the less fun of my opponents. As for insurance... Oh man what a pain and incredibly expensive. If you make it far enough in the fight game though, you can usually afford to get the insurance and have plenty left over."
"Really." Sterling has this genuinely surprised look on his face. "You know, I thought most of your money would go back into health care or something. Tell me, what does an average fight get you if you win? Or for that matter, if you lose?" The man sits back in his chair, lifting one leg to cross over the other one. His lifted foot wiggles a bit as his toes are starting to feel the crimp of the thin leather shoes he's wearing.
After giving Aranha a bit to answer, he turns away from the topic. "You're known as a capoerista, as I understand. For the people watching this, can you... Can just anybody pick up something like that and take it to the streets? How did you start fighting like that, instead of, I don't know, Tae Kwon Do or a more traditional martial art?"
"Indeed, when you're paying your dues as a fighter, it's true that most of your money would go back into health care but once you've paid your dues, gotten the endorsement deals and get in the higher ranks in the Neo League or a belt in the Saturday Night Fights when they were still doing that, you tended to get more money."
He shrugs. "Well you have to remember that while it looks like a dance, the people utilizing it used it to free themselves from slavery and used it against people who had guns. Though I don't think everyone could take it to the streets as it were. Part of it comes from mindset and part of it comes from how you were trained. Some groups were trained more in the dance or acrobatics of the art where some are trained in the more combative aspects of the art. But it's similar in a way to how some people train in Tae Kwon Do. Some teachers train more towards point based fighting where others train more towards practical usage. Then as for the mental aspect some just aren't mentally ready to use what they learned in a practical setting."
Sterling nods as apporopriate, and at one point, takes to curling an index finger around the front of his bushy lip, the rest of his hand obscuring his mouth. It's a great relief to him, at least, that the other man is talking so much now! For a while, he thought he might do some horrible Corbin Dallas thing where his monosyllabic answers would make the interview a chore. Ah, but instead, he's getting somewhere!
And all this time, he hasn't brought up family once.
"I see, so there are really just an awful lot of styles out there to choose from. Tell me then, how did you get your training? Did you have a "master" as it were, or did you learn it on your own? Would you say it was more difficult than other types of training?"
While he gives Aranha time to answer, he reaches out and picks up a glass of water set on the small table. Well, "water"; the smell of vodka is unmistakeable, but it's very light, like the alcohol was cut with actual water. "And while we're at it, what would you say the strangest--or most incredible style or fighter that you've ever faced? Which one really sticks out in your mind?"
"It was back when I did some things I'm not exactly proud of." There's a pause as Aranha considers how he should put his answer and based on that pause, one may infer that he's intentionally broadcasting a tell that the circumstance may be somewhat related to one of the off limit topics. "It was a time of desperation for me and I used to be a thief. I ended up meeting the person I would later call Mestre in an attempt to rob him, it didn't turn out too well for me." He lets out a slight laugh. "He offered to teach me in exchange for giving up a life of crime. I used parkour before I met him and I learned that on my own. And I combined them together on my own. Difficult? I would say so. Both Capoeira and Parkour are physically demanding. With both, you're getting a full body workout, strength training, and cardio. From a mental standpoint I'd say parkour is difficult as well. You have to face your fears of leaping from one location to another, plan your routes on the fly so you're not only being as efficient as possible, you're making sure you can get from point A to point B without injuring yourself in the process."
Then he's asked about the strangest-- or most incredible style he has seen. "There's so many that stick out in my mind for so many reasons. There's the students who use sports as a fighting style like Ichiro Oe who used Lacrosse or Shoma Sawamura who uses Baseball. Those were different experiences. There was fighting against Ryu, who is incredibly skilled." He pauses for just an instant before adding as an afterthought "To the point where I had no hope of ever keeping up with him. I'm not ashamed though. There aren't that many who could."
Jackpot.
The smile that spreads across Sterling's face as Aranha's story--or part of it--is told is like nothing the man had ever seen before. The corners of his mouth tuck into the bushy edges of his closely-trimmed beard and his eyes are bright and attentive, despite all the booze he'd been drinking over the day. He's silent and patient as the man talks, nodding here and there. One of the cameras swivels around to get a profile of Aranha, zooming in slowly in the process.
"If you don't mind, let's go back to that previous topic for a moment." He sits up in his seat, shifting to right his posture and finally lean forward a bit. His hands rest just on the inside of his knees, both clasped with fingers intertwined. "Let me get this straight. You've managed to turn over a new leaf for the BETTER. You know, a lot of people out there are trying to blame mankind's violent urges on people like you, who go out and provide us with night after night of brutal, thrilling entertainment. And yet, at least in your case, it's quite the opposite! Sort of the...discipline it takes to make it to the top, not unlike some sort of soldier." He lifts both hands and rests his knuckles against his lips, looking expectantly at Aranha, obviously waiting for his response.
"To be honest. I did take the training but I ended up breaking that promise. Another thing I'm not exactly proud of. Which cut off my training and forced me learn things from the school of hard knocks. I was fortunate in that I had good base to work with. The so called turning over a new leaf didn't happen until much later though."
Aranha adjusts his suit slightly as he continues. "The physical and mental self-discipline. The work ethic was always there though. Even when I wasn't exactly on the side of angels. Hell to be honest, I still don't like the idea of playing hero. When I get involved, it's usually because I'm getting provoked into involvement."
"I think most people can sympathize with that, though!" Sterling sits back again, resting comfortably in the chair. Again, a leg comes up and rests over the other one. "But here you are, you've persevered and made something of yourself. I have to say, it's really very admirable, to struggle through those sorts of problems and just come out on top." It's lip-service, of course, but the game seems to be promoting the man's more positive aspects.
"So you've fought Ryu himself, have you? That in itself is telling of your achievements; it's like...having a match with the Yokozuna or getting the starting quarterback spot in the Super Bowl." Again he shifts, though not out of discomfort. He moves almost constantly in some fashion or another, trying to keep from becoming a static, stale image on-camera. The next ten or fifteen minutes return to more mundane topics: how much can Aranha lift? Is his diet the same as most people's, or does he just eat whatever he wants? Do store owners offer him discounts and special items when he steps through the door?
Soon, one of the stage hands off to the side starts waving. Sterling's eyes lift briefly, looking behind Aranha, but only for an instant. "Most importantly, though... What would you like to say to people about yourself; if there's just one thing that you'd like every man and woman out there to remember yourself by...what would that be?"
Aranha gamely answers the questions about various aspects of himself but always being careful to keep from getting overly long winded. But surprisingly Sterling has handled the interview gamely and stuck to the stated agenda.
Aranha's note the slight lifting of the eyes which means there's some type of signalling going on behind him. Soon this is confirmed when he receives that lead in to a final question. "Well, I'd like to be remembered as someone who is not only fun to watch but also capable of almost anything."
"Almost anything! Well, I'll certainly be keeping an eye on your future matches, as will many, many more." Sterling leans forward and extends an arm, hoping for a handshake before the sound off and the cameras wind down.
Finally, the interviewer is able to stand up and stretch! He's immediately set upon by Lauritz with a fresh drink, this one not quite so watered down. Another man comes by with a thin book in his hand, already scribbling in it. "Hey, thanks for the interview. I admit, I was afraid you were just going to clam up on me, but you opened up pretty well in front of the camera." There's a pause. "Then again, we're both kind of used to it, huh?" He grins at the other man, and with his free hand, gestures toward the book-bearer with a roll of his wrist. "Jaston, pay the man already," he commands, muting himself with his glass. 'Jaston' looks up from what he'd been doing, looks at Sterling, and then looks dead at Aranha. "Who should the check be made out to?" he asks with a heavy sigh, snapping his book shut and slipping it into his pocket. He, in turn, finds himself assisted by another man carrying one of those big check binders that businesses usually use, the thing nearly empty save for the record stubs and a scant few pages of ornately-printed, but otherwise blank checks.
When the interviewer stands up to stretch the capoeirista follows suit leaning back to the point where his flexibility is fairly obvious. "Sorry about that but I just didn't think that my more acomplishments were all that great, eliminated second round of the King of Fighters doesn't seem all that great on paper, even if it was to the eventual runner up of the tournament."
He looks around rolling his neck as he looks around. "As for who to make the check out to, just make it out to Keith Mason. My real name is public knowledge."
He also has admitted to his crimes in a public forum. Thankfully, the statute of limitations ran out on those crimes. And thankfully Sterling painted him in a positive light, even at times going out of his way to do so.
"Well, you never know..." The check is written out in short order: ten grand, written and signed, then peeled off of the perforated sheet and put in Aran--Keith's palm. "Thank you for your time, Mister Mason." So too does Jaston go for a handshake--hell, most of the crew come up looking for handshakes, autographs, you name it! They leave Sterling outside of their little crowd, who just looks on the group with a big, shit-eating grin.
"Remember, the limo's yours for the night! Anywhere you want to go, you just get Lauritz to take you." He lifts his glass over the other people's heads. "As for me, I've still got a job to do. See you on the screen, now." And with that, he turns to leave, disappearing into the restaurant again.
That wasn't terrible, was it? Some hours of being put upon, but the man guy money, a new suit, and some fans out of the deal!
Log created on 19:24:36 10/30/2011 by ED-209, and last modified on 11:18:43 11/10/2011.