Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort & Rogued1)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Rogued1 on 20-06-2012, 07:30:20</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort &amp; Rogued1)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>20-06-2012, 07:30:20</strong>
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				"Mr. Douglas, Mr. Smite will see you now." The secretary said in a most uncaring way to the little man gripping the black briefcase like a man going over the falls with nothing but an airline floatation device. When he didn't immediately stand, she sighed and glanced over at him, her short black hair and dark brown eyes matched her black suit perfectly. It was cut to be slimming, and was likely of Italian origin. <br><br>Mr. Douglas stood quickly and hustled into the room at the other end of the solid black door. Another waiting room of sorts, this one with two small black leather couches and a modern sculpture that looked suspiciously like something unpleasant and tentacled ripping the still beating heart out of a man. Mr. Douglas took a seat on one of the small leather couches and waited. A moment later the door opposite the one he had entered, also solid black, opened and four Asian businessmen departed, being followed by a stooped man wearing a leather mask. He had to be ancient by now, Johnathan Smite had begun his company even before Mr. Douglas had been born, and if anything was a test to age, and perhaps stress, the Mr. Douglas' hair was now stark white. The old man ushered his guests out the exit door with several salutations in Japanese, then turned on his heel and regarded Mr. Douglas through humanless glass lenses. The mask was simply that. A leather oval stretched across the mans face, without even holes for the nose or mouth. A pair of steel circles held a pair of glass lenses over the eyes,&nbsp; but the lenses were mirrored, so instead of seeing the mans eyes, you simply saw the terror in your own reflected back at you. He had a shock of white hair that stuck straight up and was slicked back as if he had opened a box containing a bomb and had his hair blown back in an almost cartoonish way. On any other person the look would have been comical. Mr. Smite wore it with a certain alien malice. The fact that he wore a large robe of black cloth, a black suit also likely having originated within Italy, black shoes that would have cost Mr. Douglas his company to purchase, and perhaps most disturbingly, tight black gloves with metal bands at the joints. The gloves gripped a silver headed cane that the man used to aid in walking, but he did so in the manner or someone who walked with a cane so he would have something to beat people with should the mood strike him. <br><br>"Ah, Mr. Douglas." The soulless mirrored eyes seemed to tug at Mr. Douglas. His voices was soft and somewhat papery, but that could have been an effect of wearing a leather mask with no air holes. How did the man breath?<br><br>"Mr. Smite." Mr. Douglas replied and just managed to keep the tremble out of his voice. "I... I have brought the papers you requested." <br><br>"Ah, wonderful. Please, come into my office." What should have been a relatively small room, considering it was an office, was in fact a space so huge it could have been occupied by a small mansion. The roof soared thirty or so feet above them, and Mr. Douglas had a hard time imagining why the man had wasted three stories worth of office space on a single room. Or rather, he would have had he been a more architecturally inclined. As it was he was staring up at the titanic metal creation that occupied the central space of the office. It was a work of maddening beauty, several thousand consensual rings of various sizes and colors, slotted perfectly to fit within one another at varying chaotic angles. There was perhaps a metric ton of metal up there, brass and copper and steel and bronze. As he watched, the rings rotated slightly, each at a different speed, and intricate dance of varying impossibilities. <em>Some of them had to collide at some point surely?</em> Mr. Douglas thought as he watched the clockwork impossibility moving.<br><br>"Mr. Douglas." Came a dry voice from just under the massive mobile. "Oh, beg pardon sir, I was admiring your taste in decor." Mr. Douglas sat in the black leather chair, very modern, on the other side of Mr. Smite's desk. The desk itself was also very modern. Carved of black marble to resemble a glacier about to come crashing down on the unfortunate soul sitting in the chair in front of it, the whole thing gave one the impression of impending doom, like watching a tidal wave beginning to curve towards you. <br><br>"<em>Decor</em> Mr. Douglas?" Mr. Smite spent a moment settling into his own chair on the other side of the desk and rested his cane in a notch next to it. <br><br>"Um. yes... The papers!" Mr. Douglas dug the documents out of his briefcase and, quickly as he dared, set them on the black glacial desk. "Everything you requested." The man gave the featurless black leather face what he hoped was only just a pleading look.<br><br>"Very good." Mr. Smite slid the papers towards himself and began pawing through the pages. "Yes, this is what I requested. You may go Mr. Douglas, I can see your eyeballs beginning to sweat." <br><br>"Th-Thank you Sir. Good day to you." Mr. Douglas stood, and with inhuman effort managed to cross the room without breaking into a run. Well almost. There was a splash, a scream, and a moment later the floor was lit from below. Mr. Smite leaned over his chair and watched as the glass plates that covered the piranha pit slid noiselessly into place. Everyone spent so much time looking up, they never thought to look down. Nearly half of the room was occupied by a massive fish tank just below the floor. Thick glass panes separated the occupants of the office from the occupants of the fish tank, a massive swarm of piranha that were used to regular, solid meals. Granted, you couldn't really tell the tank was there when the pool lights weren't on, but a more clever observer would see shapes darting along behind them through the floor. <br><br>"Hur, hur, I like it when you use the fish." Mr. Smite glanced up from his papers and rolled his eyes behind his mask as a man that could only be described as a shaved mountain gorilla stuffed in a suit walked over to the place where Mr. Douglas was soundlessly hammering on the glass. The tank was specially designed to remove the air as quickly as possible, this meant a death that could take the piranha hours usually occurred in a matter of minutes. <br><br>"Doble." Mr. Smite said from his desk and switched off the tank lights. The floor returned to looking like black glass with just a few fleeting images of movement below it. "Do have the piranha tank cleaned out at some point, I think between the late Mr. Douglas and that girl scout troop that managed to bluff their way past Ms. Hellen last week, it's probably getting a little full."<br><br>"You... you fed the girl scouts to the piranhas? I bought cookies from them..."&nbsp; Mr. Smite smirked under his make, lies were so much more amusing when told through leather.&nbsp; <br><br>"No Doble, even I have my limits, but get it done none the less." <br><br>"Yes boss." The man nodded and left through the only door into the office. Mr. Smite sighed and rubbed his face, or tried. After a moment of frustration he pulled off the mask and set it next to the papers on the desk. He was not in fact an ancient entity of corporate evil, but only Ms. Hellen, the secretary, knew this. He was in fact a relatively young embodiment of corporate evil. He had short black hair that was slicked back from his face by the mask, and sharp blue eyes in which sparkled a certain brilliant intelligence. His face was sharp and hansom, with just a touch of something that put one in the mind of a bird of prey. He pulled off the black robe and stood with a stretch twirling the cane in one hand as he walked across the room, the late Mr. Douglas having been all ready forgotten, and at any rate, reduced to a set of 206 cleanly picked bones by a family of very well bred piranha. It was amazing the meticulousness with which super villains bred piranha like champion dogs. Alexander's father had taken a rather deep affection for the flesh ripping fish in his old age, and despite the fact that Alexander felt the fish were a tad theatrical, he kept them well fed in honor of his late father. He also kept the outfit and the mask with the shock of white hair, mainly because it was far easier to ride his father's reputation than it was to build one of his own. <br><br>Alexander Smite crossed to the tinted windows of his office and looked out from the top floor of the tallest building in the city, out over the landscape that he more or less controlled. He had done nothing really productive that day, save secure the zoning rights for a building that would have been taller than his, an evil genius had to have his principles, and done away with the civil servant who had made the mistake of letting the plans get as far as they did in the first place. <br><br>A plan should have been bubbling in his mind just then, as they always did when he had removed one more useless, spineless, slug like man from the world, but for some reason the pleasure at seeing such a sloppy individual wiped from the world didn't spark him to thought. Mr. Douglas had been useful simply because no one liked him, and he always believed everyone was out to get him anyway. Well in the end someone simply had. He had been a worm, a parasite on what might actually be a serviceable council, his leaking of plans to Alexander had only been his most recent crime. Alexander held human life in high regard, but those individuals who chose to waste theirs made him want to show them just what they had missed.&nbsp; <br><br>He felt good for having eliminated the lout, but at the same time the action hadn't got the gears turning. Instead he felt restless, and just a little bit.... what was this feeling? A feeling that made him want to call Ms. Hellen into his office and tell her to take off her clothes. Alexander dropped the cane when he realized what it was. He felt lonely. With a sigh he called Ms. Hellen to hold his calls and stripped off the black leather gloves, more of his father's theatrics. He slipped out the little known side passage, naturally every evil genius had to have a secret exit, and stepped out onto the street in the same way any young man pumping corporate america to make ends meet would. He rubbed the sweat from his brow where the mask usually left a mark, and headed for a local bar, wondering just why it was he was craving the company of other intelligent, attractive individuals.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort &amp; Rogued1)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>VNConsort</strong> on <strong>21-06-2012, 07:16:46</strong>
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				"Afternoon, Marty! Need a hand?" Liliana's smooth contra-alto echoed off the brick and stucco walls forming the wide alleyway. The surrounding buildings were at least eight stories in height. Many were apartments and condominiums on top of commercial establishments of sorts. She came up to the back loading dock of a dark-green, wood paneled, and brick building. The intersection it sat on was busy at most times of the day and continued to bustle into the night. In a classy iron-rod design, the establishment read "McKellan's Pub". A small delivery truck was backed up into the dock; it's overhead door opened, and a woman and man moved crates of glass bottles off. The man, aged with a rough mustache graying on his face, waved at her quickly approaching figure after he leaned to stretch his back muscles. <br><br>It was late afternoon and the sun was still out, beating strong for its last moments before it began to fall to the horizon. Even in the shadowed alleyway, though, enough light came through to shine the odd blend of Liliana's very light blond hair. Her hair came to her shoulder in gentle waves that curled into loose ringlets at the ends. She was dressed simply in dark tight jeans and a black collared shirt unbuttoned to show a bright green tank top underneath. Her clothing was just <em>slightly</em> too big, as if to purposefully detract from her tight form and lean muscles. The attire for her workplace was very lax, though, which was not uncommon for certain sections of the computer industry. Many of her coworkers would roll out of bed and throw on last Friday's T-shirt and pants and come to work. The substandard personal hygiene sometimes bothered her, but the same coworkers were near genius in their programming and very efficient in their work. Liliana Stafford worked for Firebird Omnivision Incorporated, a large video game company, and its headquarters was based in this bustling metropolis. Its towering building was just a few blocks from McKellen's. There, the young twenty-five year old, worked as an underpaid and overworked intern in a software programming team. The hours were brutal for the meager pay, but the company was held in high regard and those who managed to work their way into the system were well rewarded. That would be still a couple of years off for Stafford though, but she knew being a female in a mostly male work environment tended to work in her favor. Overtime usually came in the form of early-morning hours, which, in her opinion, beat the late-night work hours. She preferred something less...dreary to pass her time in evenings. <br><br>McKellen's was a place she had frequented often in her last three years of working at Firebird, due to its proximity and popularity among her coworkers. She would drop by a few times a week, usually towards the weekend. The back alley was also part of a shortcut she took to get to and from her residence— still a handful of blocks off. It was not really the average man's tavern and catered to a more white-collared crowd from the surrounding business and commercial skyscrapers. Still, like its owners, it was warmly welcoming to any and all patrons. Liliana rolled up the sleeves to her black collared shirt and grabbed one of the crates pushed to the edge of the truck's ramp. Marty, the portly older man, stepped back and took a breather. Twelve to fifteen large bottles per crate added to quite a bit of weight, but it was effortless to Stafford. The young woman also unloading was Marty's daughter, Becca, who delivered merchandise to all of Marty's four well known bars and nightclubs. Even she was breathing heavily and in obvious physical exhaustion. No doubt she had been at this all day. It made Stafford feel good to be able to help. It may have been somewhat corny to others, but acts of good helped Stafford feel more rejuvenated, especially after a long day of work. <br><br>"Excited for that three day weekend coming up?" Becca asked jovially as they unloaded the last few crates into McKellen's where Marty would take inventory once more. Stafford closed the delivery truck's overhead door with one swift movement and looked up to the cloudy sky above the brick buildings overhead. Swiping her hand over her brow in a feigned gesture of being exhausted, she laughed and said, "I have absolutely nothing planned. Though, I'll find enough trouble to get into, I'm sure."<br><br>It was a light joke but not far from the truth. She was rarely bored in a metropolis filled with problems and trouble. Marty, who never really spoke much, just waved her in as Becca departed for her next destination. Following him into the actual establishment, McKellens was filled with dim lighting and the heady scent of rich foreign cigars. There were several areas, including a more private dinning area and a smoking lounge, but the area occupying the bar was the largest and most popular. People were just getting off work and beginning to line the bar for the early happy hour. Marty let his other barkeeps tend the patrons as he quickly put together a drink Stafford knew all too well. <em>Blood and Sand</em>, a mix of whiskey, brandy, vermouth, and orange juice. Placing it in front of her, he smiled and grunted before moving along to other business. Taking the drink to the corner of the bar, she moved to where she could see most of the other patrons in one glance. It was just a habit of hers not to have her back openly exposed, if she could help it. <br><br>Just as the heat of the first sip of her cocktail slipped down her throat, a presence entered McKellens. It was a man in a skillfully tailored black suit. Stafford thought it was the suit, the detailing giving its high price-tag away, that initially drew her attention. With each second she continued to watch him as he entered McKellens, her attention was less fixated on the suit but more on the man. His dark and sharp features had her forgetting her drink, as she subtly watched him. She couldn't place her finger on what intrigued her so much about him and that was, quite frankly, annoying. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort &amp; Rogued1)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>22-06-2012, 05:29:55</strong>
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				Alexander entered the pub like a tiger entering a pen full of kittens. He regarded the other occupants coolly and wandered to the bar with all the elegant capability of oiled silk. The ironic thing was that Alexander never really tried to do any of these things. Something about growing up with an evil genius in the house sort of trickles into the way you regard the world, and as Alexander ordered a white Russian, the occupants were beginning to take notice. <br><br>Well, half of them were taking an extreme interest, and the other half were trying to ignore him. The primary dividing line was whether or not they were female. Several women attempted rapid seductive approaches, but he batted them out of the air like a cat hunting flies. He turned to watch the fading light of the evening filter through the windows and sipped quietly on his drink, seeming to bask in the glory of himself. In truth Alexander was wondering what the hell one actually did in these sorts of situations. He was not interested in sex. Well, okay perhaps he was, but it wasn't his primary interest. Well, okay that is a bit of a lie too, but he was not interested in women throwing themselves at him in an ever so classic act of desperate desire. <br><br>As such any woman who came at him with her neck line dipping and her hips swaying like a belly dancer received a calm and uninterested look that stopped the words in their throats. It was a wonder no one had required CPR to dislodge a poorly conceived pick up line. Alexander sighed a little and ordered another white Russian. In reality he would have preferred a brown Russian, something with a little more rum-to-vodka ratio and a little less coffee and milk flavor, but to Alex brown Russians were a drink one made in the privacy of one's own home. White Russian had a classy, almost sexually charged feel like something a high dollar prostitute would do to an attractive businessman. Brown Russian sounded more like a street slang for bowl cancer or cheap corner store tacos that required that you sat on the toilet as you ate them. <br><br>He detected eyes on him. Not that he hadn't felt this all evening, the suit was probably worth a month's salary to half of the people here and money like that tends to show itself, but this felt like a look at the back of his head and not the back of his jacket. Or more specifically his right ass cheek against which was a leather wallet with a plastic card that could buy half the city on a whim. Not that Alexander didn't have a nice ass either, but it was hard to think about that when you are say, a single attractive woman who is looking for someone else's money to spend.<br><br>No, this felt like someone was trying to read something shaved into the back of his head, perhaps projected on the inside of his skull. He turned slowly, more out of a pleasant curiosity than anything more malicious, and locked eyes with a woman on the other side of the bar. She was not an unattractive person, Alex had little trouble detecting the athletic body under the slightly over sized clothes, but he was far more interested in the way she held his gaze despite the amount of pressure he put into it. A small smile graced his lips, he had an oddly charming smile for someone who had just dumped a man into a tank of piranha.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort &amp; Rogued1)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>VNConsort</strong> on <strong>22-06-2012, 06:08:01</strong>
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				She was surprised when his gaze met hers and held it.&nbsp; It was then that she realized she was tracking him like she would...when she tracked her suspect through the night.&nbsp; When he smiled, Liliana stilled her gently drumming fingertips, amazed that he would smile at her.&nbsp; She was not the only one who noticed him and she had watched him go through one drink already while rejecting advances with ease.&nbsp; The man was very good at being able to convey his disinterest with poise and efficiency.&nbsp; There was little room for question when he turned down the women that approached.&nbsp; She had seen lavish looking men come into McKellen's to pick up a quick, educated fling but they were not very picky in their choice.&nbsp; Usually the first couple of women to approach them would do.&nbsp; This man, though, seemed to be taking his leisure time.&nbsp; Perhaps he was here for the atmosphere?&nbsp; <br><br>The corner of her lips lifted in a small smile, acknowledging his attention.&nbsp; She kept his steady eye contact, but her look softened, not so penetrating. She had seen him turn down a very beautiful woman just before, so she did not hold up any hopes that he was interested in her.&nbsp; She finished her whiskey cocktail, seeing the sun had retreated through the frosted windows.&nbsp; The alcohol was already working quickly through her system and the new night brought a surge of motivation and anticipation.&nbsp; She needed to stretch her limbs and get her blood racing before she ran out of time.&nbsp; Time, it was always about time, for her.&nbsp; There was never enough to do everything she wanted.<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Archnenemies Make Strange Bedfellows (VNConsort &amp; Rogued1)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rogued1</strong> on <strong>26-06-2012, 05:33:13</strong>
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				Alex glanced away from her and thought for a moment. Living dangerously was a mixed term to him. In reality he always lived dangerously, as was the nature of running an evil corporate empire, but he never physically put himself in danger. Despite A fairly extensive education in hand to hand combat, something he father had always insisted on, Alex was a bit of a coward when it came to direct confrontation. <br><br>What the hell, it wasn't like his secretary wouldn't jump at the opportunity at half the chance, it was simply that, he liked to think he could actually meet someone because of the overwhelming charisma that everyone who worked for him seemed to insist he had, as opposed to the knowledge that he owned one of the most profitable, and least moral, companies in the world. <br><br>Alex called the bartender over to him. Despite the fact that the din in the bar had steadily increased to a nearly overwhelming volume, he had little trouble catching one's attention. The man stopped mid pour as he prepared a drink for a middle aged corporate playboy, and hurried over to Alex. "That young lady drinking the Sandy Blood. What's her name?"<br><br>The bartender, who had had several conversations with Liliana in the past, gave him a look. "You mean the Blood and Sand?"<br><br>"Her name is The Blood and Sand?"<br><br>The bartender regarded Alex's amused smile and realized the conversation had gotten away from him. "No no, Her name is Liliana, and the drink she has is a Blood and Sand." Alex considered this for a moment and nodded. "Send her another one my tab." <br><br>"Yes sir." People felt it nessisary to reply with the term "sir." Alex could have dressed like a woman and ordered a group of men about, and the term "sir" would have likely made it's way into the conversation. The Corporate playboy shot Alex a glare and regarded his half filled drink longingly. Alex returned the glare with a fairly sharp smirk and got up from the bar. <br><br>"Hey Liliana," The bartender brought her a drink, pointedly ignoring the people around him. "The suit over there sent this for you." <br><br>"And if you could do the suit a favor, he would like another White Russian." Alex was suddenly leaning against the bar next to her, an empty glass in his hand and a smile on his lips. The bartender jerked a little but managed to get Liliana's drink on the bar before he quickly ducked off. "I suppose you could keep calling me the suit if you like, but my name is Alex." 
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