Description: Bethany has declared war on the establishment of the fighting media. With the first salvo of shots fired and clearly in favor of Ken Masters, Bethany is preparing the second round where she might make a more concerted mark. To her surprise, however, this is not a fight that she necessarily needs to undertake alone. Approached by a mysterious benefactor, Bethany is not so foolish as to believe that he is sharing everything, or that he has her best intentions at heart... but his involvement seems to promise another interesting variable. How can she turn him down?
Bethany Cale is not a difficult woman to get ahold of, especially recently. A sensible person would realize that she'd planned all this; and a sensible person with insight into the seedy underworld of fighting would understand why. Yesterday, Bethany mouthed off against Geese Howard and Heihachi Mishima. This morning, if she wants to mitigate any potential backlash, she needs to seat herself very firmly in the public eye.
The Cale Group offices have been hastily assembled, just one in a vast office building seated in downtown Metro City. The office is open-plan, though with a private office (soundproofed) for Bethany herself to the left side. It is bustling with people hastily trying to arrange arenas, fighters, agents and prizes, not to mention fielding a raft of phonecalls from the media in general and also the public, fans and ... of course ... fighters. It is, in a word, chaos.
But Bethany is available, and she needs to meet sponsors and organizers if this project is going to come to fruition. Mr. John Smith is ... an interesting case. A man she's never heard of at all, but insistent that he wants to meet her? Fine. She's willing. She also, despite the chaos, looks absolutely impeccable. Unflappable in the eye of the storm, this is her element, and it actually feels ~good~ to be doing something again.
The meeting happens without any particular incident. They do not arrive early, and they do not arrive late. When the clock rolls over to a fresh hour, Bethany would be informed that John Smith and his entourage are waiting to come in. Three total slip within her office; both the guards are black suited, wearing sleek shades and stoic expressions. Built well and seeming to know how to carry themselves, Bethany would also immediately pinpoint they are nothing special. Strong by the standards of a street thug. She could likely destroy them both in a fight. Not effortlessly, but nothing fun in life is effortless.
John Smith himself is feeble and old, carrying a briefcase that seems rather too large. Slowly he shuffles along, flanking bodyguards keeping step as if walking in slow motion. He seems perhaps late seventies or early eighties, thin with skin wrinkled like a prune. His suit is grey and finely fitted, given how thin his body is. Eyes, however, lack intelligence and awareness. One of the bodyguards has to actually point to the seat opposite Bethany's desk before he manages to settle down.
John Smith says nothing. With the aid of his other bodyguard, the large briefcase is settled facing him, and he starts struggling with the wind-around locks as the imposing suits settle into loose stances, one looking around the room assessingly, the other -- presumably, due to the sunglasses -- straight at Bethany.
Bethany stands up and smiles her best winning smile. "Mr. Smith, a pleasure to meet you. Apologies for the state of the place, as you can imagine, my little announcement this morning has put the cat amongst the pigeons, so to speak."
She'd rehearsed the line, and she delivers it in spite of the insensible nature of her apparent guest. Her eyebrow does twitch upwards a little. The guards themselves are noted, but, not really dwelt on. She herself doesn't bother; life is more fun with a little risk, even now, and honestly, she knows enough to realize that the kind of men she'd need on side to take care of anyone she couldn't deal with herself... are beyond the reach of even her extraordinarily deep pockets.
Sitting down, she clears her throat, and folds her hands onto the table. "Perhaps you'd like a drink." She decides, persisting in her attempt to obtain and keep the attention of the small man, whilst blanking his staff. "Coffee? Water? ... Vodka lime tonic?"
Absolutely no reaction was made by John Smith. He actually looked a little confused and paused when spoke to, but otherwise completed the same ritual. Again he blinks with scrunching eyes, trying to focus his attention on Bethany before giving up. Neither bodyguard seems confused or concerned. Finally Mr. Smith's briefcase pops open, and then a very loud BEEP comes forth. The sound of a few buttons being pressed. Is this a bomb?! Has Geese or Heihachi decided to just completely destroy her office because she was confident enough to accept a completely random, non-verifiable visitor?! Well, if the suits are on a suicide mission, they seem entirely okay with this.
Bethany clenches her teeth together, and stiffen as the beep rings out from the briefcase. She isn't immediately atomized, and ... maybe it is arrogance, overestimating how important she actually is in the grand scheme of things, but she doesn't /think/ that they would want to finish her off with a bomb; unreliable at best. But she's definitely freaked out.
"What." She says, in the slow, loud voice that people use when attempting to communicate with foreigners. "Do You Think You Are Doing, Exactly?" And she stands up... because sitting down is never good when you're in a dangerous situation.
Mr. Smith does not react to Bethany's understandable apprehensions. But both of the bodyguards step forward, obviously willing to intervene if she takes an aggressive action. But she's a mundane girl; would they really expect any issues? They obviously have bullet proof vests, and are genuinely capable bodyguards overall. But suddenly, a crisp, clear voice echoes from the briefcase. It is smooth. Something a touch sardonic to it. And young; early thirties, perhaps. "Ms. Cale?" John Smith would then maneuver the briefcase around so it faces her. A disturbingly sophisticated number of electronics are present inside. It's a satellite radio, capable of even perfect reception in a building. There is a camera to view her, but no monitor to see the man himself.
"Hmph."
That is the well-considered response of the redhead as she sits back down, now, visibly playing up how shaken she is. She makes herself smile, and shakes her head. "Yes, I'm Bethany Cale." She says, "You can understand why I'm a little, touchy, given recent events."
She peers in to the camera, shooting a questioning glance to the two bodyguards, who definitely seem like the more coherent of the other individuals present. "I assume that you are the actual man who wished to speak to me. You, have me at a disadvantage, Mister...?"
"Oh, yes. You are a woman not afraid of making powerful enemies. Heihachi Mishima... Geese Howard... and Ken Masters. I would consider him the least of those three, but still as your court proceedings proved, far from harmless. With Geese out of the picture and Mr. Mishima's obvious insanity regarding the... 'Kuma League', there seemed to be no other voices of reason in this world until I witnessed you on the news." mulls the voice of whoever is on the other end. Both bodyguards are obvious American, and likely understood everything she's said thus far. "Here." repeats the briefcase.
A whirr, and then a small keyboard is popped out of the briefcase. At the top is a basic LCD screen. Appearing on it in green text, for her eyes only, is a simple phrase.
'And I know who you truly are as well, Bethany Cale. But do not worry. Unlike those three, there is no reason you need to be an enemy to me.' Even if who he is, or whether he's an enemy worth a saltlick in a Donkey show, remains unknown. 'Mr. John Smith is simply my public face. He technically is a very rich man who legally owns a successful media firm in Japan that even Ken Masters has employed for advertising. By technical, I mean it is legally his. But given he barely has the capacity to tie his own shoes, I have anticipated little problems. He can understand you... in terms of speaking English, that is.' So the elderly figure's confusion was related to his mental state, and not a breach of language.
Bethany runs her fingers back through her hair. To her credit, there's little external sign of her concern. Who she truly is, is a question even she isn't sure she knows the answer to. She's much more violent and capable than she lets on in public, true... but he could also be referring to any one of a dozen 'embarrassing' romantic trysts that she's perpetrated in recent memory. Or just the fact that, much as he is using this man as his front, her own family are far too intimidated (and weak) to make a bid to stop her doing whatever she wanted with their assets.
He could even know that she actually DOES have ties to Mad Gear, and through them, to the Syndicate itself - even if those are strained at the moment. But that seems... unlikely.
There's an easy shrug, and she smiles. Best to assume the worst, all things considered.
"I'm going to be honest." She says, "Mostly, I find Mr. Masters ... disgusting, on a personal level. His Mom-and-Apple-Pie version of what it means to be an American makes me sick. Heihachi? He's insane, pure and simple. Dangerous, but like a clown with a bazooka. God only knows what Howard is up to. He's the one I have the most respect for, admiration even, but he's ... coasting, at best. The man has no drive or ambition that I've seen."
"The fighting world needs someone to shake it up, direct it, or it just becomes ... dull. And I, loathe, dullness. I'm pleased there's another person out there who sees things the same way I do."
The unknown man continues to speak through the LCD monitor attached to the keyboard, apparently not wanting the two bodyguards and the absent-minded Mr. Smith to notice anything untoward. 'Stagnation is the absolute opposite of what I need, Ms. Cale.' Assuming he isn't using voice to speech, the person is incredibly fast with his fingers. 'My concern is the rote manner in which fighters battle. There has been nothing new and dynamic as a result of public leagues for too long. Not enough, that is, for me to continue to allow that to happen.'
Click. Now, the voice is coming from the briefcase once more. "I am going to implement a rather simple system. It is called 'Global King of the Hill'. The short moniker will be called G-KING. But rather then use the same pool that has been around for so long, I am going to find those hidden in this world. Long lost masters. Figures who otherwise have no interest in publicly fighting, or in some cases, fighting at all. These unique individuals never seen by the public world will then stand against those who believe they stand at the top of the globe, instead of merely the top of Japan and America. Thailand is a small country, and it produced the great Sagat. The Krauser line. The Bernstein line. The Mishimas. What other bloodlines and fighters might be hiding...?"
Bethany listens, and nods her head slowly. She's not particularly interested in cloak and dagger at this stage - but, he's interesting. Interesting people are very rare, and more interesting still are people who can be interesting without even looking her in the eye. She purses her lips thoughtfully.
Leaning forwards, she types, first. Incidentally this gives the camera a wonderful view down her cleavage, but this is /probably/ not the intended effect, as she taps out the message.
'I would like to know a name. Kindred spirits are rare.'
What she /says/ is rather different. "Of course. That's the problem, isn't it? We've overexposed common genius and the unorthodox have better things to do than play pretty for the cameras. Terrorists and warfare have shaken things up in the past, but, it all settles back down again..."
She leans back, and tuts thoughtfully. Her own initiative is, obviously, based on consent - limited by the fact that she can't /force/ people to participate. The impression she's getting is that this is, subtly different. And all the more interesting for that.
"You've got my interest, Mr. Smith." Because that name is as good as any. "I'd like to see it. You've laid out what you can offer me. The question then becomes, I suppose, what can I, do to help you?"
'I'm afraid just yet, you will have to refer to me as a codename... Aegis shall work. If we have good relations, then you might be entitled to knowing more about who I am then just my name. As I said... it is a big world. There are other allies you can have then Mr. Howard's syndicate...' Proving her worst fears, although there is not the slightest hint of blackmail. This unknown man, it appears, has no interest in such things. He revealed that card to prove his station. And once you play a card, you can't take it back and use it again. That's just not how a game works.
"I would like to hire you to help advertise this league. You understand the potential it has. Brand new talent far beyond the simplistic newcomers who flock in every month. Something new, and new is very rare. And, I can trust your fearless nature and dislike of Masters, Mishima and Howard to ensure this would not be lacking, correct...? In return, I will not only provide funds for the advertising service, but also for your own upcoming League."
And then the keyboard LCD again. 'On one condition... every fight in your League would be recorded by a proprietary device. Unknowingly, of course. If this is agreed upon... I will fund 50 percent of the startup cost for your league.'
Bethany masks her displeasure expertly. The fact is that she herself doesn't know where her own standing will be in a few days or weeks time. She's been loyal to Geese, she's helped Billy as much as she easily can, she even got her hands dirty clearing out the casino ... but all of that could mean absolutely nothing, given that she chose to simply plunge ahead with her own designs without getting them cleared first.
More allies can't hurt. And it would be the easiest thing in the world to hide additional devices amongst the recording equipment. Who is going to notice? Now would be the perfect time. It isn't as though she particularly cares about the money. Shaking Ken Masters is all the payment she could ever need, and of course... well. She could always stab this man in the back if he proved too uppity.
She's curious about what the point of all this is, though. It sounds, exciting.
"I'd be delighted to assist you. A mutually agreeable business proposition. We small startups have to look out for our own, after all."
"Of course, Ms. Cale. Draft up an outline of your approach, schedules, and other such arrangements for promoting G-KING to the world. When approved, we will provide you with a fixed fund to spend for advertising. Outside a flat fee, many incentives and bonuses will be included. Send us the itemized cost for beginning your league, and after verifying it, we can work on disimbursing the funds presuent to successful advertising." Simple talk. Neither likely cares about those kind of specifics.
There is a last whirr, and then a peculiar looking phone is sent out of the briefcase. It looks sleek and silver, rather... futuristic. Instead of buttons is an LCD screen -- it appears to have all the functions of a smartphone. With a sudden whisk, the keyboard retracts back within. "I look forward to working with you." the briefcase finalizes, before snapping shut on it's own and heard locking. This startles John Smith out of his reverie, and he twists the briefcase around before pulling it off the desk with a grunt. He gives a submissive, respectful bow that no proper CEO would ever do, before turning to shamble back towards the exit with his two bodyguards in tow.
The peculiar phone beeps, and a message appears on it. 'With this, we can keep in touch. There is a false memory within it. The sensitive memory is destroyed then shuffled into the fake memory in but a keystroke as needed. It contains an account with a global cellphone service. But to call me... simply dial my codename forward, backwards, then press pound three times. And feel free to try to use it to identify me, if you would like... a little game. Just make sure not to break it...'
Then it powers off.
And so Bethany experiences her first taste of what it is to be taken seriously in the world of professional fighting. Bethany Cale has always enjoyed being a large fish in a small pond; bullying those weaker than her and trying to stay out of sight of those stronger.
Now, though, she actually feels energized. A small fish in a much larger pond, perhaps, but what is life without excitement? And what does she care if her decision today jeopardizes the lives or careers of the people whom place their trust in her as a reputable alternative to Ken Masters?
Standing up, she takes the phone and slides it into her pocket. "I'll have my people contact your people." She says, with a genuinely amused smirk tugging onto her lips. She nods her head to the man who bows; barely respectful but, more, to her mind, than the lackety deserves. "Good day gentlemen."
When she's quite certain that she's alone - or as alone as she is going to trust she is with a phone from a man whom apparently has access to highly impressive surveillance equipment about her person - she sits down again and exhales. "Perhaps." She muses to herself, "I ought to invest in some sort of secret base. Heh."
Log created on 13:27:32 07/20/2012 by Bethany, and last modified on 15:55:06 07/20/2012.