Description: From a gang wars-related TP where Rust meets up with King and discusses goings on, sadly incomplete.
As early as it is, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that the lounge is more or less empty. There's only two peaks throughout the day, barring those occasions where there's some event worth showing on the large screens mounted on the walls, and even then, those tend to be fairly low key in comparison to, say, a sports bar.
The upstairs lounge, as a result, is vacant - walled off by a velvet ropeline and a friendly 'Upstairs Lounge Opens At 8pm' sign - leaving King the opportunity to go through the ledgers that had been kept during a much-needed - and much-extended - vacation. On the downstairs level, Sally and Elizabeth are trusted to keep things running smoothly, much as they have throughout her leave of absence.
The only addition to the main floor at this hour are a pair of guards to either side of the door, hired as much for their intimidating stoicism as their bulk. Given the news that's been floating around lately, one can never be too careful.
There's a faint sound of (well, from King's vantage point) a popping noise, and a low grunt. Much less faint in volume is the clanking of a few good tools and a slight scrape of polished metal against a rusted length of pipe. It probably turns the head of at least one of the hostesses towards the front door.
Howard Rust, aging prize fighter, unlikely war hero, and someone who has come to a respectful understanding that the toolbelt and rusted length of pipe - one confirmed weapon and many potential ones - should not be allowed all the way inside. Residing upon a coatrack, the length of pipe would seem to sag in a great sulk from the ripped toolbelt pocket it resides in as though it were actually a thing with feelings. (It is not.)
With a brief bowed head and raised hands, he heads along inside King's establishment with seeming purpose and expectation that belies a slower gait. A bit of a limp. A subtle bruise around his jaw and the smell of sweat speaks plenty of what this man got up to not long before.
"Uh, hey," he clears his throat into a small cough, "'scuse me, something's been just, ah, just... jumpin' down my lungs all day. Sally?" He asks of Elizabeth - absolutely not the first time he's made this mistake as he brings one of his hands to the back of his head. "Uh, this is, ah, this is kind of sudden, but, is... is King here?" He holds back another cough. He could swear it has somehow become allergy season all year as of late.
As is, the sound of a pipe scraping against the ground as the doors opened aleted her attention immediately, the, "Sir, if you don't mind--" from one of her guards - suddenly muted - piquing her curiosity in turn. She doesn't raise immediately; hears the question, and waits for one of her two hostesses to gauge the threat on their own. Regardless of how they look, they know enough to say whether or not she's around.
Needless to say, she's surprised to hear, "Yeah," said so quickly. "Just a second."
More surprised that it's Elizabeth taking orders under the false name. Must be someone they both know.
She's already on her feet by the time she hears the pitter-patter of the blonde ascending the staircase, "I heard you," said before Elizabeth can so much as open her mouth. Gesturing to the pile of papers for inventory and other ledgers, she says, "Deal with the mess, will you?" and unrolls her sleeves of her dress shirt, buttoning the cuffs to look a little more presentable, the typical gloves drawn on for the sake of decorum. Only thing missing is the tie.
"Something I can help you with?" she asks the newcomer casually, unhooking the ropeline to step out from behind it, gaze lifting to note the toolbelt.
"Ah. King! Hey, it's, it's Howard, from, ah, the Kyokugen Dojo." The pauses in his tone of voice aren't of a man fumbling to think of a way to phrase a lie. He's a man who almost always comes off as... tired. Like he's part of a long, unending work day and has yet to have a coffee break.
One of his shoulders may well attest to this as he flexes out a kink in it.
"Sorry to just, just tug your sleeve like this, but," he starts to move his hand from the back of his head to scratch along the side of it, "thought to check up on you, I mean... a student's dad who worked the docks? Said he hasn't come home, 'n, uh, the brother of a friend of mine, a fisherman, said somethin' along the lines of, ah, well, he wasn't specific, but, said it was nuts for a while, I mean--"
He clears his throat again as his voice starts to trail off towards incomprehensibility. "'Scuse me, sorry. I mean... that, 'n, some places're just goin' under renovation or something, left, right, and all that. Like, right near this street even, almost all at once. So, thought I'd just... just, well, check in, I mean, if you're not too busy."
She nearly interrupts the man before he says who he's affiliated with. At that point, it takes all of a simple "Go on," before the explanation comes out.
Her expression is curious, but guarded - practised - watching the man's face, his gestures, throughout everyhting he has to tell her. All of it has her full attention.
Even then-- "Get him a table," she says to one of the girls. "Give him a round on the house. I'll just be a moment."
"I, uh--" Rust looks off over to the door for a second, and lightly touches the bruise on his jaw. Whatever this gesture has just reminded him of removes whatever sort of reluctance he has to the offer he might initially seem to have.
"Ah... thanks, appreciate it." He lets himself be guided to whatever table he will by whichever twin he is almost guaranteed to improperly identify the next time he speaks to them.
The gesture doesn't go unnoticed, at least one of the twins hanging by the door King disappears through to murmur something to the proprietress once she makes a reappearance, a good two minutes later. At that point, she makes her way to the table Rust's been sitting at, one that's noticeably out of earshot of what few other patrons are present.
"Sorry about that," she says, tone Americanized, but not without the lilt of a fading French accent. "Just had to finalize a couple things." A beat-- then, "What did you say your name was?"
"It's, ah, Howard. Howard Rust." He winces a little as he settles into his chair. It takes him a bit to settle as to just how much of himself is hanging off the side of the chair to not put pressure on one of his more recent injuries. "And, uh, as I said, I'm from, from over at the Kyokugen Dojo," he gestures with his thumb in a direction that probably isn't actually the geographically correct way to point in the strictest terms.
"Thanks, ah, for the, the table," he stammers a bit as he exhales loudly. "Kinda had a, a hell of a day."
"Rust," King repeats, as Elizabeth arrives with two drinks - a Pabst for Rust, a martini for her. "You train at Kyokugen?"
"Thanks," Rust raises the Pabst to Elizabeth briefly as he brings an elbow to the table and hand to his forehead, those gloved fingers pressed against that... thing... on his head that he continues to delude himself into thinking is perfectly believable hair. That he's saying 'thanks' to Pabst Blue Ribbon probably explains many things about this picture from the get-go.
"Yeah, I do. Brown belt... currently." He flicks at the tab a few times with his right thumb without much success, a low grunt as he removes his left hand from his forehead to open it. He probably shouldn't be wearing work gloves in the delicate art of pulling drink tabs, but here we are anyway.
"'n I help out too, I mean... today, Ryo - ah, he says hi, 'n so does the sensei - was showing some of the, the green belts the Zan'retsuken." Considering his stuttering and such, it's kind of a wonder he can say that word straightforwardly. Maybe they beat that lesson into him very deeply.
"Guess how many that, that, uh, I got hit by today as, as part of the demonstration. I mean... not, single punches," too fast to count, "how many... whole reps of it."
She doesn't react much to the mention of Ryo, save to glance briefly at the guards at the door, not entirely certain if that's a reason to be trusting, or...
She takes a sip of her drink regardless, entirely too used to the likes of, say, Benimaru, to be put off by the dead purple animal that passes as hair, but still suspicious. Given the state of the town, who could blame her?
"That you came to me to 'check up' at all... I'm sure you know why I'm not that willing to talk too openly," she says, bluntly enough, raising her drink to take another light sip. "What can you say to make me believe you're not another one of Geese's prospectors?" A beat. "Aside from the hair." Another sip. "There's been enough of them around town lately."
"Is something, uh," he mutters almost inaudibly as he halts short of bringing the Pabst up to his lips for a good (...for a given value of good) swig of it, unable to really speak over King to complete his sentence as she expresses some of her suspicions about the whole matter.
"Geese?" Everyone knows about Geese, of course, about his fall from grace over a great offensive by the shadiest superpowers of the underworld. Ken talked at length some time back to him about Geese's continued being... the seeming idea that he might be making a move again is not exactly a warm thought, as he lowers the can back to the table. He's only heard bits and pieces about the Sakazaki family's own particular woes with the fallen crime kingpin. Nobody's ever really confided the full history of what's gone on.
The thought is so scary on its own merits, thinking about what transpired back in 2009, that he nearly forgets to take into account her particular accusation.
"Well," he thinks out loud after a suspicious pause, and removes the glove off of his right hand to reveal a particularly nasty combination burn and laceration scar that goes up from just his wrist and into his palm, "wouldn't, wouldn't work for a man who... who kinda, uh, indirectly, nearly cost me my fighting career. For one."
He hasn't thought of a 'for two.'
She can't help but arch an eyebrow at the behaviour, still calmly sipping her drink in spite of it, a sharp contrast to the... more, it could be said, twitchy demeanor of the man she sits across from.
"Would you give me just one more moment?" she says, raising from her seat. And though she goes behind the bar, she's not far out of earshot, either for the sake of intimidating the man, or-- well. Given that at least one of the hostesses is glancing at him on a regular basis, saying nothing of the guards, it's likely that it's intimidation related.
Even then, "Ryo, no, I'm not calling to--" can be heard in a moment of frustration. Then-- "Yes. Just to get some confirmation. That's it." A beat. "For God's sake, will you please stop--" Forcible pause. "I have--" Another pause. Then, something that sounds like it should be wildly inflammatory, spoken entirely in French. "That's answer enough." And-- click.
Stalking back towards the table, she takes up her drink, and says-- "Wait here a moment, then join me in the back room, please," not necessarily flustered, but-- irritated. Thankfully, the irritation doesn't seem to be directed towards Rust, specifically.
"For two, ah," he finally thinks of a 'for two' by the time she asks to be excused, and he just nods his head as she rises up. He doesn't really pay much heed to the stares in his direction by the staff keeping watch of him. A mental and physical shrug later, he finally enjoys himself that Pabst.
Somehow. How can anyone enjoy a Pabst? It's not something that lasts long (it would be mercifully short for anyone else drinking this), letting the phone call's contents go by with... well, not without any care in the world. Geese is a heavy name to drop, a drop with such a great splash that it could drown out the contents of an entire casket of whiskey in sheer volume. Still, he's thirsty. It'd take the edge off. A... very, very tiny edge. It's Pabst.
"Ah, all right," he says as she heads back to the table to retrieve her drink and deliver that request, clearing his throat once again. King's staff almost certainly does a good job keeping this place clean, so why does he have that persistent cough going on anyway? "So, uh, do I just... wait here 'till someone tells me to, ah, to come, or--"
"It'll just be a moment," she says, "and you'll know when," distractedly, taking her drink back to the room she'd emerged from the second time, one of the hostesses quickly mixing up another - apparently necessary - drink, and pouring it out, before pointing somewhat nervously at the door. Sure, King didn't look terribly agitated, but, apparently, outward agitation is a bad sign, period.
Either way, he gets his signal.
Once he's in the back room - which looks more like a bookie's office than a cash cage, though there might be reason for that - he's given a brief gesture to sit down, a renewed martini on the desk as she nurses at the one she had before.
"Ryo's vouching for you," she says, finally. "So tell me what's going on. Start to finish. Keeping in mind that I already know about the buy-outs." She finishes off the remainder of her first martini, setting it down. "Maybe even more than you," she amends, though it's speculative, not damning, the second drink taken up smoothly.
He still manages to misinterpret the signal and create a few extra moments of humorous awkwardness before he heads along to the back room, idly putting his glove back on his right hand along the way. There's at least one loud pop of a locking-up joint as he gets in there, which may well be disconcerting for pretty much all parties involved.
"Guess I, I could've, uh, thought that," he sheepishly concedes to the vouching as he moves to take his new seat with that same bit of limping he's expressed before. His hairpiece slides a little to the left as if it were acknowledging the particular awkwardness of the situation. (It does not, for it is an inanimate object. Probably.)
"Maybe more 'n me? Sounds like, ah... definitely, but... but, from the top," he sits with his right arm against the desk unless she shoos his arm off of there. "it's... it's, mostly... 'bout the same as I said comin' in. Kid's dad who, who works the docks hasn't come home, I mean, one of the dojo students." He clarifies this point needlessly as he pats his chest with his other hand. "I mean, it sounded like, like something happened over there. Never, ah, never got a chance to look yet myself. Just got... just got his word, and, and the word of the brother of a friend of mine."
He exhales loudly as he brings his left hand to his head, as if to try and recall more important details about it. More specific. "Friend in question, we were just makin' small talk. He mentions that, that his brother, I think I said already, that, that he fishes for a, a living? Yeah." He nods. "Said he came home freaked out 'bout something or another one night on the job and that, that it was just crazy, watching... watching a lot of people move in, move out, and... well, kinda, kinda got me thinking, and that was before the, ah, the other thing." He takes his hand off his head and starts to wag a finger at pretty much nothing in particular.
She takes her time to listen to all of it, sipping her renewed drink, the levels of agitation going down, though not significantly. Not with what she's hearing, at least.
And once it's done... She says a few words in French, none of them friendly, then-- "--Seems like too much of a coincidence that these... dock raids came right before the buy-outs," as much to herself as to her new... well. Guest. "It just seemed too methodical," she adds, speculative, making a grab at a piece of paper she'd been looking over before.
"I can only assume you've got the same suspicion I do," she says, then, looking up at Rust. "You said it yourself-- you're 'checking up' on me." Another sip-- she straightens in her chair, then said, "Got any theories?"
Rust nods along, if not too eagerly about it all. "Yeah, it's... it's kinda... well, what you just said. Too much coincidence," he more or less agrees along without adding any valid ideas of his own as both his arms lie on the desk as she goes over a piece of paper. He's probably not exactly private investigator quality material.
"Yeah, I am, 'cause of all the, the nearby stores acting up. Uh. Not, not all of 'em, but, pretty close," which is once again repeating something without adding anything new or interesting to the theorizing. He slumps a bit further as an actual, honest idea comes to mind when prompted.
"You mentioned Geese. Do you... do you think it's him? Making moves in these parts? After... after twenty oh-nine," he shakes his head, "when, when this city got overrun? I mean, if it's Geese... shit, they might be comin' back."
"It's good timing on their part," she says, looking over the paper, though she isn't looking all that closely at it. "Revenue's down, new investors are welcomed with open arms..." She purses her lips for a time. "Even got an offer on this bar," she amends, setting the paper down. "A good one, from a company that seems legitimate enough, but..."
%She pauses again, taking up her drink to take another slow sip. Then, "I think it's him," she says, eyes raising to Rust's own.
Log created on 22:41:04 01/30/2014 by Rust, and last modified on 10:59:54 10/20/2014.