Description: As her first action as the Duke's new lieutenant, Layla sends invitations to the other tournament goers in an effort to get some recruiting done. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, only the ex-Yakuza Katsuya Ishikawa has the gumption to attend. The two discuss plans, banter about 'business philosophy' over drinks, and Katsuya departs to reflect on what he's been given. Perhaps these two will work together as well as they fight? (Hurray for lazy log naming).
Metro City Slums, Abandoned Warehouse -
The tournament attendees had all received their various invitations, whatever forms they took, and tonight those who accepted the invitations would have been brought here to this ancient warehouse nestled deep in the heart of the Slums. One would have to cross into heavily Mad Gear controlled territory to get here. But these chosen few would find no resistance, no trouble, as if they were already practically Mad Gear.
It's late in the evening, and the sun is low in the sky. Depending on one's angle of approach, it could well be hiding just beneath the roof of the warehouse. This place is truly ancient... a massive steel and concrete structure that's been near completely rusted over one the outside. Several of the windows near the roof of the warehouse are busted, and the brick chimney has long since ceased to emit smoke. It's sitting in what would be a completely empty, gated off, lot covered in gravel. There are few cars here though, many of them old and beat-up, but still visibly functional. There's even... a singular, blue and white, patrol car bearing the Metro City Police insignia? ... And the interior of the warehouse looks far from dead itself, with lights spilling out from the wide open entrances... the sounds of activity are coming from within...
Inside, the actual overhead lights of the warehouse have long since been turned off. What's emitting light is, infact, an array of portable lights strung up across the ceiling area as well as work lights set up strategically across the floor. The warehouse is a vast, almost empty, stretch of concrete with three floors - all of them connected by metallic stairways and walkways that wind around the interior. What's taking up the rest of the space inside? Mad Gear. There are thugs all over the place in here, fighting, playing card games at portable plastic tables, drinking, dancing to music from a stereo system placed on the floor. And it's loud. There are distinct smells of pizza and chicken in here...
...and they're all just waiting, waiting for potential new recruits to show up...
The area is a bit run down for Katsuya's tastes, but it wouldn't leave him particularly nervous even if he hadn't been invited. He certainly looks out of place, though, with his expensive looking suit, silk shirt, and shiny shoes. Even if they aren't going to stop him, Mad Gear eyes are surely going to follow him as he weaves his way through the slums, leaving a thin trail of smoke behind him from his smoldering cigarette.
Eventually the gangster reaches the warehouse. Double checking the address isn't really an option, since the last few street signs have either been missing or defaced, but it's not too hard for Katsuya to figure out where he is, even without being too familiar with the city.
Katsuya observes the warehouse for a few moments, then shrugs. If it's some sort of trap it could be a problem, but he's fairly confident in his ability to either beat down or get away from most people who might mean him harm. And so he strides into the warehouse, a cocky smirk on his face.
As Katsuya strides in, looking like the fat cat he happens to be, various Mad Gear mooks turn to see. And, he would find, no one dares to jump him. In fact, there isn't even a minute amount of aggression or tension to their expressions. Because they all /know/ who he is. As he walks through an open entryway of a roll up industrial door that is as rusted as the rest of the building, a tall caucasian thug with a bald head eyes him curiously. The thug is leaning against the wall, wearing only a pair of forest green work pants and no shirt, right by the entrance. His body is carved from marble, tattoos stretch over his naked flesh as though he were an art canvas. An art canvas that just might kick people's ass, if they were the wrong people.
As soon as Katsuya enters, a mook by the stairs at the back stands up from his card game, and places a bottle on the cheap plastic table he was seated at. He then proceeds to turn and dart up the metallic stairway the leads to the second floor.
Katsuya would be made to wait, for a minute or two, and he'd have to occupy his own damn self. But, after about two minutes, from somewhere above, stomping across the metallic pathways come. And a famiiar, female, voice shouts to the entire warehouse... attempting to drown out the loud rock music blaring from the stereo system by the stairs, "TURN THAT GOD DAMN SHIT OFF! NOW!"
And before the source of the voice comes barreling down the stairway, about five or sex mooks near the stereo system all jump up at once and leap for it as though it were their last chance at survival.
And maybe it was.
"Okay...", comes that rough voice again, the recognizeable woman coming down the stairs across the warehouse is the apparent source. She's not dresed in that silly, frilly, dress Katsuya might remember. Now she's wearing a rather nice pair of curve-hugging black leather pants, a plain red T shirt tucked in and pulled tight to her breasts, and a dark blue denim jacket. Her earthen hair tinged by fire is tied back in her usual braid, and the subdued rattling of a hidden chain comes from somewhere beneath the jacket.
When she hits the floor, there's a minor look of disappointment from the Brazilian woman. Guess this meant she still had more work to do... "...Just you, huh? ... Well, okay, whatever. ... Welcome to the jungle, I guess.", she says, listlessly. And it draws soft chuckles from the background, "...You know why you're here?"
After asking this, she casts her gaze about the warehouse momentarily, "Hey! Let's show our guest some hospitality!" before looking toward him again, "You hungry? Thirsty? Might as well settle in, I got a story to tell..."
Katsuya doesn't have too much trouble amusing himself for a few minutes, since he hasn't finished his cigarette yet. There's not too many people here who are going to complain about somebody smoking indoors. He lets his gaze wander around the warehouse, taking in the inhabitants; some of them do actually look pretty nasty. And there's a lot of them. He doesn't show any signs of nervousness about it, though.
When the shouting starts, the yakuza's gaze drifts up toward the stairs. When Layla starts coming down he drops his cigarette, then moves one foot to crush it out. Manners, you know? He gives a nod in response to her less than enthusiastic greeting. It irks him a little, but hey, as long as he's going to get some money out of this, he'll put up with a little of that. "Thanks. Yeah, I could use a drink."
"Get this guy a drink. Now." comes a barked command, and it is heeded immediately. At least three men stand up, but one of them fetches a glass bottle from a portable refridgerator in the back. Whilst he's doing that, Layla motions to a mostly empty table nearby. "...Have a seat, huh?" And then turns to approach it herself. The mooks sitting round the table migrate across the room, finding another place to sit. Layla doesn't even bother to pay them heed, she doesn't have to. She just pulls out a chair that was previously warmed by a rather rotund man with neon green mohawk, and spills into it like the unmannerly thug she is. Waiting.
The warehouse is quiet now, most conversations have been hushed to just above a whisper. Perhaps the only real racket still is the sound of two thugs playing a game of fisticuffs somewhere near the stairs.
Whether Katsuya takes the invitation to sit or not, a lanky thug wearing torn up jeans and no shirt, with a messy brown mop, would bring him a bottle and a glass. It's not cheap stuff, it's pretty damn top shelf vodka. It's doubtless the mooks drink it, probably a new indulgence of hers. Once that's settled, she starts, "...Don't misunderstand me.", and reaches back around to flip her braid over the back of the chair. "..You're better than the rest. The Duke was keen on you. I am told, if I hadn't won, you'd be in my position right now. ... And with your background, I can see why." She's pretty honest, obviously. "...I'm just disappointed that I'm going to have to crack some heads open now." She turns her eyes away from him toward the door, momentarily, eyeing the still empty doorway. ...
And then turns her gaze back toward him again. "Well, whatever...! Here's the deal: the don wants talented people for a very special thing. The don, he goes by 'Duke', is the owner of this city. But, he wants more. Apparently, Mad Gear is only one piece of a much larger Syndicate." She may be telling him stuff he already knows. But she's telling. "...Originally, the Southtown Syndicate. ... The Syndicate has lost its territory to another don. And Duke isn't happy with it..." She then eyes him momentarily, letting him absorb the info thus far, before coninuing, "...You follow me?"
Katsuya eyes the label on the bottle appraisingly. Pretty impressive, though it's not until he actually gets some in a glass that he starts to believe it's not just a fancy bottle being used for some moonshine. Or possibly gasoline. With a nice full glass, Katsuya hooks one of the chairs with his foot, pulling it out so that he can sit down in it. He listens to Layla as she talks, downing his drink in the process. He's not entirely unfamiliar with the story that she's telling. Certainly if you're a criminal in Japan, you know a bit about the Southtown Syndicate, and probably about what ended up happening. He frowns as he follows Layla's gaze to the doorway, but doesn't spot anything particularly interesting. "Yeah, I follow."
"So...!", she says with a tone that suggests she's coming to the point of the story, "...you're being offered a generous amount of money and a position of trust and influence for your services. The don's pretty damn generous..." But it goes unsaid that he expects to be repaid in spades. Between two experienced criminals, it doesn't need to be either. "...if you can do the work." And do it well. "You'll likely be working with me, and have the same amount of authority..." If not moreso, in some areas, given his 'talents'. "...I know I'd want someone with your kind of experience having all the flexibility they need."
She lifts her right arm, previously draped over the back of the chair, before dropping the hand in her lap and drumming her fingers on her right leg quietly as she turns her gaze toward a nearby card game, "...these guys have the brains of rocks, good for pushing people around and breaking things but not much more. And, I'm not much of a thinker myself... if I can't break it over my knee... I don't care too much to mess with it."
Well, money is definitely something Katsuya is interested in. And it's not like he has much else going on at the moment. The appeal to his abilities doesn't hurt, either. "Well, I find that most problems can be broken if you hit them hard enough." He downs his drink. "But yeah, not all of them." He looks over the mooks who make up the majority of the foot soldiers. A bit more... colorful than most of the yakuza he's worked with in the past, but hey, they can probably hit people quite hard.
Katsuya stares up at the ceiling for a moment, then nods. "I think I can work with that." Old habits are hard to break, and having a power structure to make use of works much better for criminal activities than just thumping people to take their valuables.
"Hehe...", she chuckles softly as he remarks about most problems being solveable by applying force. They were in agreeance there. "...Aye. A good punch solves a lot of problems, and bribery can solve just as many." Both of them were proof of that. "...But there are stubborn things that can require a bit more work. And I hate those things."
After having said this, she reaches across the table and takes a glass. Not Katsuya's, probably a glass used by one the mooks who left, and pours herself a drink. ... Before downing the thing in one go. ... She doesn't seem to give a shit.
Clinking the glass back on the cheap table, she exhales, and then leans back again. "...Alright then. I got something for you...", and she points a calloused hand at a mook sitting at a table nearby, forcing him to stand and run to fetch something. "...it's a pretty simple thing. A document detailing plans for the upcoming weeks and the boat that'll be shipping the don's 'armies' to Southtown. You'll need to be on that boat..."
..And within moments, that mook's footfalls come. Layla doesn't bother to look at him, simply holding an expectant hand out for him to place the folder in. It's a manila folder filled with papers. She offers it to Katsuya immediately. "...And that's about it. I'll get in contact with the don, let him know you're onboard in case he has any particular plans for you." She shrugs, if he didn't she might eventually. Obviously, though, he may well be able to find where he fits in on his own. "...Feel free to look at it. ... And ask if you have any questions."
Katsuya takes the folder, but he doesn't open it just yet. He pours himself another shot of vodka and downs it, then picks the folder up and briefly flips through it. "Understood. Is there someone I can get in touch with if I have questions later? I'll want to look it over more thoroughly later on." It'd be rude to comment too much on the warehouse here, but it's not exactly the kind of place he wants to kick back and relax while reading up on what he's supposed to be doing. Kick some heads, sure, but when he's not doing that Katsuya likes a bit more luxury.
"...Yeah." Phone numbers, right. Those things. She wasn't used to having one. "...Let me see...", she reaches down and fishes around for something in her pocket. Within a moment or so, out comes a crinkled piece of paper. It's an old receipt from the looks of it. A helpful mook wanders in to hand her a pen, and she stares at it a moment before taking it. "...Thanks."
And she smoothes the receipt over the table, before scribbling her hotel information including the land line number on the back. "Call me and we can, uh, meet up. I'm not sure how much I trust phones." It had more to do with unfamiliarity than security, but she knew enough to know phone lines could be damning for certain conversations. "...Also... I arranged for some incentives for the attendees. You can take your share. There'll be more later. ... That tattooed statue over there by the door...", she thumbs over her shoulder at the familiar bald guy, "...will give it to you." It's small, about ten grand, but it'll do. "...Nice talking to you. Looking forward to doing future work with you."
Log created on 18:29:45 06/15/2013 by Layla, and last modified on 02:42:59 06/16/2013.