Southtown Syndicate - New Ventures

Description: Geese and Yamazaki meet in a swank villa on the Metro shoreline. They discuss life, relationships, and Ryuuji's five year plan.

Wherever Yamazaki happened to be, the message wound up basically the same, delivered with a statement of sorts. A brand new, sleek black luxury sedan with all the reinforced amenities and Syndicate security showed up to escort him - with his choice of vices, most likely - to a private pad off an airfield, owned by some faceless corporate venture channeling and re-channeling the rich fruit bore within the rebuilding of Metro City. From there, it's a black helicopter that's quite fast straight to the aforementioned urban utopia. There's a second car and chauffer offered on this stretch as well, of course.

For a man with a single throne, a centralized power, for decades... Geese sure has moved around a lot, of late. Never in one place too long, never exposed to the public eye, moving through his agents, watching, but never waiting. Businesses were subtly grasped back up, and in the shadows, the remnants of an empire were channeled into forging ahead under the new circumstances... with a nod, of course, to old debts. Just now, Howard's safehouse is a three-level vacation home along the Metro coastline, presently occupied only by the exiled King of Southtown and his closest staff - Ripper and Hopper would meet Yamazaki at the garage. ... dutifully, and (if they're lucky) tactfully, neither 'bodyguard' pushes much more on Ryuuji than a set of directions - up the central stairs, top floor.

The top of the modern, futuristically styled beachhouse is presently half open to the cool sea air, the chill seeming of little concern to the long-haired figure sitting near that terrace overlook, eyes out over the blackness of the evening sea. Considering. Half of the open space is a well-furnished sitting area, while the other is a simple, empty space with an ornate tatami mat spread over much of its surface.

Well, they know one way to make sure Yamazaki's not grumpy.

Generally speaking, most folks in business have to come meet Yamazaki for jobs. That's just the way things worked. Yamazaki isn't any normal thug, you don't just call him on tap. You're going to sit and have a drink or two with him before he even thinks about talking business on most occaisions. The whole 'your car sir, you've been summoned' jag tends to get him riled up for a fight more than anything else, and by the time a chain like this was concluded, Yamazaki would probably just greet whoever was at the end of it with a good solid punch in what was assured to be a glass jaw.

Of course, this particular client knows how to handle people like Yamazaki.

And certainly, at the gangster's insistence, he's probably handled all the way out to the beachhouse. After all, he has a good idea of who has the kind of scratch to make sure he's not too sore about the syndicate team's loss in Southtown to come out. After all of it, he's even polite enough not to cave in the local stiffs' jaws before taking their instructions kindle. The person in question, of course, is presently standing on the terrace as Yamazaki climbs a set of stairs to the top floor.

"Looks like fuckin' Iron Man in here..." Yamazaki mumbles, looking around at the open sky and the (likely mechanical) roof. "Heh! You got a taste for the outdoors, cap," Yamazaki greets, even and a little louder than before. "Gotta get me one of these for Southtown." Maybe one of those security broads, too.

It's safe to say that -most- people seeking the services of a fellow like Yamazaki don't have quite the... appreciation for the finer points of such arrangements, like the fully stocked wetbar off beside the sitting area, which is the first thing Geese gestures to. "Help yourself." Is offered with full awareness of the potential repurcussions. "A cigar, if you like." A box of the finest, possibly accompanied originally with a note from Castro himself, rests atop the indicated bar. Yes, a drink or two is certainly possible. Not that the servants and operatives bringing Ryuuji here lacked for hospitality, either. Somehow, the ocean view makes it better.

"You put up a good fight, in the tournament. Really hurt them." There's a slow, predatory smile that accompanies that. Apparently, Geese can appreciate this. "The rest of the scenario is just Kagura getting desperate.. doubt I have to tell you there's bigger things at play here." It's a gentler segue to the business end of the meeting, entwined with the mulling of the Syndicate lieutenant's faceoff with Shadaloo's deadliest femme fatale.

The first thing he notices about Geese is the longer hair. "Thought you'd go bald first," Ryuji observes in that haggard voice, smoothness worn rough by a decade of alcohol and screaming. "I'll send you a text message when I decide if I like it or not," the gangster notes, stepping over to the wetbar once Geese gestures to it. As for helping himself, Yamazaki certainly does. He's not too particular about where his drink comes from, so long as it comes. It's just the little things, you know? That's the sort of reason why he agreed to this whole business with Geese.

Guy knows how to handle business.

"An'," Yamazaki adds, peering through the etched facets of a fine crystal shotglass appreciatively, "I put up a fuckin' SPECTACULAR fight." His correction comes at the end of a long pour of vodka into a short glass. He takes his shot straight--only thinking to add something more deliberate to the next after his second. It takes quite a few before the massive man's metabolism even starts to feel a thing. He's eaten midgets before. Thinking on it, Yamazaki adds, "You tell the sweaty marshmellow and sticks-with-chicks they're both in for a fucking beating from me when they crawl out of whatever dirty ass-crack they hid themselves in."

He pauses again.

"Funbags McDrapes isn't really any interest of mine, and same goes for the little dorks running around trying to recruit people. No reason to worry about fucking chumps and dunkasses, less you give one. Guessin' you got a plan, if you drug me all the way out here." He drowns down the next shot. "Unless there's something a lot nicer in this cabinet you ain't tellin' me" He grins.

"Hardly." Geese notes with a momentary smirk, glancing down and back towards Yamazaki thoughtfully. "Hasn't been a concern for the.. sort of business I've been conducting." The Syndicate boss doesn't immediately elaborating on that, preferring, for a moment, a dry chuckle at Ryuuji's words. "/Spectacular/ would have been tearing them all apart, one by one. Grinding them apart without even showing our actual hand." Not that Howard seems /disappointed/ by the outcome, at all. He's never quite been a man who set a low bar, however.

For his part, Geese sips an elderly single malt - straight, from a crystal glass not unlike the smaller cousing Ryuuji utilizes. "If you /do/ decide you want a little.. souvenier, from any of the other teams..." Geese offers with a slow arch of one brow, gone almost as it begins, "Just ask. I could use the workout, and the time for lurking in shadows is all but over. With your... own little quirks..." Geese and Yamazaki -did- discuss his Orochi blood, years ago now. "Can you sense them? Could you bring them to me, all those touched by this power?"

There's a shift, thoughtful, back towards the ocean, "The rest involves reseating ourselves in Southtown, along with the foothold we've gained here... the invasion can be put off on the invaders, on a darker overlord stripping Southtown of safety for his own gain. Whether Kain topples himself... or just grows very uncomfortable, I don't care. But we need to sell it."

"che..!" Yamazaki stews just a touch over Geese's evaluation over his performance.

And by a touch, that means he cracks the drained crystal in his giant meaty claw of a hand. He's not a dumbass, though--though Yamazaki is someone that doesn't really have limitations or considerations or a big enough condom size or anything like that, he's not going to start a fight over something small like that. Which might tell you the kind of faith Yamazaki has in Geese's ability to stay on top.

"So I kind of overdid it on the first one.." he grumbles, idly slamming down the now useless shot glass and digging around for another. Eventually the veins in his left eye and head recede. "I like chicks who can handle a little pain. IT's been awhile, the last one you fruits coughed up wasn't even a chick!" He glares at Geese accusingly, clearly a little sour about this.

Not that that's stopped him in the history of ever.

urgh-- "DAMN!" Yamazaki curses, slamming another shotglass down on the wetbar to fill it messily. "That's a damn good idea." He can't /stand/ Kain, that poncy fuck. "But there's a lot of those scaleasses crawling around. I can smell their stink. Stepping on them all sounds like a big pain in my ass..." he complains idly, shaking up some sake in probably what is the worst irreverence to alcohol on the face of this Earth. Thirty geisha just fainted on the spot. That's the way Yamazaki likes it.

"So," he grumbles, sounding like a washing machine slowly falling down a set of stairs, "I'm gonna consider making cult jerky a favor to ya.. But beyond the usual, I'm gonna have to expect somethin in return.."

There's a certain smug satisfaction, or perhaps smug approval, at Yamazaki's reaction. There certainly doesn't seem to be any love lost for the shotglass, or particular concern over what would happen if Ryuuji -did- decide to flip his proverbial shit. That's half the fun of working with the half-feral enforcer in the first place, isn't it? Geese plucks one of the aforementioned cigars off a side table, clipping it and popping it into his mouth, where it's lit casually with the flick of a match, the smoke puffed in rhythmically as icy eyes consider Ryuuji over the glowing ember.

"Yamazaki. You can't expect me to provide a steady stream of women who can handle /you/ on any consistent basis, not in the sense you're talking about. I'm only.. mostly human." Cue the smirk, as Howard trades cigar for Scotch and finishes off his glass, setting it aside purposefully, if not with the exaggerated fervor of his cohort.

"I don't want them squished. They're the product of power, power we could only barely understand when it lay silent. It's been sealed before, used. I want to know what they're after, I want to know where they're after it, and I want to... study them. I've had archaeological teams on this for.. a long time." Long enough not to take rash action. Mostly.

"The other thing I need is evidence. Get the others to talk about their deal with Kain, by name or implication, doesn't matter... get anything you can find on it, as I convince.. certain people to look into it. What do you want, aside from your usual stipend?" There's not so much /apprehension/ in the query as there is... anticipation?

"Heh!" Yamazaki can't take that as anything but a compliment. "Empty out one of Big's houses, then. I bet he's not using them," the gangster snickers. Notably, he seems not to be a big cigar man, eschewing the thing for his empty shotglass. By now, he's probably a good five or six shots in. That's good enough to get him to sober. Enough to talk business, anyway.

"Power? Power is cheap," Yamazaki spits, angrily. "Power ain't got nothin' on the people what know how to use it. Fucking pricks, skulking around in the dark all day waiting to give head to the first person who flaunts just right. That ain't fuckin' strength. Five minutes with me, and I'll change their religion." He slides the shot glass across the wetbar between two fingers slowly without releasing it. "See. That's the difference between power and strength. Power is just some word. Strength is what punches your face in until it's tomato soup...." Yamazaki's left eye widens, his pupils contracting to needle points. You can hear his teeth squeal as he grinds them. He doesn't really ever seem to get agitated, though--as if bonelessness were just a state of being.

"I can't.. /stand/ .. people who don't know how to use what they got."

After all. He's kind of an authority on the subject of using what you got. But he seems to calm, becoming even if only briefly, lucid. "But if it's live fish you want, it's live fish you get. I can't guarantee they won't be squirming on my hook, though..." There hasn't been many people yet who Yamazaki hasn't gotten to talk or go where he wants simply for the fact that the last word they'll ever say to him is 'no.'

"But," the mercenary becomes a little more somber in that moment, waving a hand. "I want another crack at the yogurt-head." Who? "We get another shot at asschin's party, I want the broad." That simple. Yamazaki seems to have taken a particular fashion after Juri. "Gimme another shot at crisply folding that bitch over something hard and bone-breaking.." he wags a grimy, alcohol-soaked finger at Geese knowingly, grinning.

"I'll give you whoever the fuck you want, gift-wrapped and ready to talk."

"Sounds like you've already got your eye on one." Which is a fucked up conclusion to come to, all things considered. Still, Geese seems to think he has a point. The tall American in the white kimono and split hakama turns to face Yamazaki more fully, sweeping one powerful arm through the air and seizing a fist, the strength of it all but tangible as Howard smirks, "Power is what men with strength acquire from fools without it." There's a dangerous flash in the blonde's pale eyes with that declaration, "I have no doubt they are puppets on a string, and make no mistake Yamazaki - this is /our/ world, and I've no patience for it." Howard pauses, appending thoughtfully, "But that doesn't mean we need to simply slap back at it sloppily. At the least, we can point the agents where I want them to go. One way... or another."

No, the exiled King is not particularly concerned about having to do it the halfblood enforcer's favored way, at all. Can't expect everyone to cooperate, after all. Oh, yes... Vega's little blonde weapon showed up unexpectedly at the Casino's underground pitfight. I... may have made a bit of a mess of her. I wouldn't be surprised if Juri's already coming back for us. Or better, soon. Shadaloo's elite were involved in the attack on Southtown when Kain made his attempt on my life - we may be able to expose them as allies of the fellow who struck at us. ... or 'convince' one of them it would be best to help us prove that."

There's a sly, wry smile with that, brief but amused. "As far as I'm concerned, the two of us can tear that 'team' apart any time you'd like. Perhaps shake a few secrets loose while we're at it. Or perhaps you'd prefer if I brought Juri back for you?" Geese is a flexible, accomodating, magnanimous sort of fellow. "Strength, indeed. All of this has only made my vision clearer... and our foundation stronger. All these events can be made to serve /us/. Just keep your own eyes open - we don't know what other tricks this cult may have left."

"Knew there was a reason I worked for ya.."

By now, Yamazaki's frowning into the end of an empty shotglass with some measure of sourness. Geese's words grate on the inside of his skull like some bug that won't get out. Can't say as Yamazaki prefers the art of conversations, but such as it is, Yamazaki kind of likes the part about the world being his. Ultimately, he shakes his head at Geese. "No..." he hisses. "I don't have my eye on one of 'em."

He grins.

"I have my eye on 'em /all/."

Yamazaki isn't one to take half measures. He has two settings: off, and on. That's that strength thing we get back to. Yamazaki has it. And won't hesitate to use it at every step of the way. People understand this. And so long as they do... peace is maintained. Makes things a lot easier when you're dealing with people. 'd be amazed at how many politics issues get resolved when you send the head of the last guy who crossed you first. At the very least, Yamazaki is pretty sure that's a principle Geese can understand.

Just good business, after all.

"I don't care how it happens. Just that I happen in that bitch's face. See, I haven't had the pleasure of breaking blonde," Yamazaki remarks. "She ain't really my type. Too flat. Didn't think the broad or Mount Facelump had any kind of interest in bein' the avengin' types, tho. Those types I like the best..." He grins, laughing a little too unnervingly to be strictly humorous. "Yeah, they all think they're tough until they lose an eye."


"Speaking of. If you want that whole team to pipe the fuck down, what's your plan for ol' Cyclops? If Big's fucking whining was of any account, that goddamn animal is gonna have the loudest bark." Seems like Yamazaki is intrigued by the prospect of fighting someone who might actually avoid being torn in half by him.

"I'd like to think..." Geese muses, almost absently, "That there are a great many reasons." The Syndicate boss takes a few puffs from his cigar, blowing the smoke out into the swelling winds winding their way off the water. Howard? It's possible the guy never /really/ flips /to/ 'off'. Granted, his 'on' is rather different from Yamazaki's. ... at least, in some situations. Other times, well. "If you want the other one's number, the blonde... I can get you a copy of the footage from the Capital 7. I expect you can see how to take her apart aptly, one way or the other. But Juri, yes... I haven't had the pleasure. Maybe it's time I... invited her to meet with us." There's a dark, deep chuckle of his own on Geese's part.

"At the least, always good to keep them in their place. Predictable, after a fashion." Yes, it's most certainly a principle that Geese can understand. At the query about Sagat, however? Howard just lets out a disappointed, "Hmph." There's a moment's pause, as Geese smokes once more, and shakes his head as he turns to look out over the water, "Sagat doesn't concern me. If he wants to stand against us, we'll rip him apart. Same as any of the rest. It's all about striking true.. at a vulnerable moment." A little bit of bitterness in that observation? Maybe a tad, within the cynicism and brutal efficiency. "The man's only a shell these days, anyway. Formidable, but." Geese seems almost bored by the observation of one of the undeniably strongest fighters in the world, it's worth noting.

"If anything, he and Juri will be the vulnerable links in Vega's own defense. We may be able to... convince them the madman will dispose of them one way or another. The trick will be undoing whatever surprises the psychopath leaves in their heads." Hmph, once more. "I hope you told Big to stop his fucking whining."

"'re a couple," Yamazaki notes distinctly. "Damn sure you're the most interesting client out there, at least." He squints at Geese. "Which reminds me. You /ever/ fucking planning on dying? Got more lives than a lucky cat."

Suddenly, Yamazaki sets the shotglass down, standing abruptly. He's sort of strange for a Japanese--at his full height, he rivals even the largest Americans for sheer size. Even worse--the altogether boneless way Yamazaki pops every knuckle in his hands by steepling his fingers and giving a good stretch probably means the half-blood could limber up a few more feet in any direction, if he really wanted to. Not that that sort of thing concerns people like Howard, but--well. There's reasons why Yamazaki works for Geese. And there's reasons why Geese pays Yamazaki.

Good arrangement, that.

Of course, then Geese starts contemplating possibilities, which earns a noncommital grunt from the berserk mercenary, and a grin a bit bloodier than perhaps should be intended.

"See..." Yamazaki starts, "you ought to know by now..I'm not big on those kinds of details."

"Like I said. I don't care how it gets done. Long as this hand--" he holds it up for emphasis, "--caves in the right side of her face, the how, the why, the where? Don't matter, baby. Time's money, and if you've got the rest handled, however you want to sell it from there...well. I guess I can't help but play along, right?" Heheh. "Now--"


A switchblade larger than some butcher's knives splits some very delicate-looking mahogany, as Yamazaki drives it into the wetbar. "--Who do I have to skullfuck to get a good bed in this dive?! I fly around any more today, I'm gonna start eating birdseed," he seethes at no one in particular.

"It's kept me in business this long." Geese observes drily, contemplating the further question - and Yamazaki's own assessment - with a smirk, a little /too/ relaxed about it, by most people's estimations. Not that Ryuuji is most people, by any stretch of the imagination. "Same as it is for all of us with any measure of strength at all, I think. Not any sooner than I absolutely have to." It's a simple enough equation, if tied up in a hell of a lot more esoteric and personal pursuits.

For all his sudden movements, all his strength, Geese Howard doesn't seem particularly bothered by Yamazaki's dangerous nature, no. Perhaps not entirely /at ease/... but few if any actually see the crimelord /truly at ease/. It's that 'always on' problem.

"Fair enough." The Syndicate boss seems plenty glad to handle the details. Some would say it's kind of his thing. "I'll make sure you get your shot." At the irritation, Howard notes in even deadpan, "Actually, I've a bead on the first of your targets. We'll be flying you by single-engine to South America where..." Geese clears his throat, "The Sunrise and Sunset suites are prepared, your choice. Down the stairs, right or left, end of the hallway." Simple, efficient. Not to mention the rewards involved in the lifestyle. "I'll have Ripper send up a... masseuse."

"What the f--"!!

No, seriously, for a full fifteen seconds, Yamazaki is literally frothing angry at the prospect at having to fly more the fuck miles out to more bullshit destinations and at several points during Geese's short-lived exultations Yamazaki is probably fully capable of punching an elephant straight to death in rage. He almost shoots blood out of his tear ducts, that's how angry he is.

It takes him a few seconds to calm down.

"h..heh. Hahaha... ... that's not fuckin' funny," Yamazaki growls, leering.

Yanking the switchblade out of Geese's wetbar, Yamazaki snaps the thing shut before sliding it into a pocket. He steps away, long legs still twitching from a sudden spike in adrenaline as he thinks on it. "You know, I think I'll take both," he finally decides, before disappearing down the stairs. Not that he needs it. He just doesn't want someone else to have it. Both rooms will get used.

And if his adrenaline doesn't bleed off, they'll get used thuroughly.

Log created on 23:24:35 03/31/2011 by Geese, and last modified on 12:10:13 04/01/2011.