Post by Staff on Oct 29, 2016 20:05:06 GMT -5
Saturday October 22, 2016
Kassandrah sat in the high-backed chair big enough to fit two of her and rested her bitten fingernails on the rosewood conference table. She’d arrived secondand been welcomed by the well-suited man at the end of the table who watched her fill the void of silence between the others in the room by flicking her thumb across her twitter timeline and snicker momentarily at incoming tweets from her boyfriend, Tony Chu, who'd taken to claiming he was now Rocket Raccoon. Shortly afterward, her eyes lifted and watched the third enter. A brunette whose purse strap inexplicably caught on the door handle and drew frowns from others in the room as she awkwardly struggled.
“Sorry,” the woman said with an apologetic smile and glance to Kass and the two men seated on opposite ends of the table.
The man in the suit at the far end of the table smiled politely and motioned for her to sit down once she’d unhooked herself from the doorknob.
Kass recognized her as her eyes fixed on the well-put together brunette as she brushed off the embarrassment of her entrance like it were par for the course and picked the seat immediately across from Kass at the conference table. Thirteen; a dubiously named former wrestler who’s reputation seemed to suit based on this early first impression. Kass had only heard of “Thirteen” in passing, or through momentary mention on social media. Kass’ eyes flicked to the man seated immediately to her right who snorted at Thirteen’s clumsy entrance and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Thirteen asked as she situated herself.
“You’re Thirteen.”
Francis Ford Cuppola, a man whom Kass was far more familiar with, sat looking classy and officious. He’d brazenly stumbled onto the Pure Amusement scene a few months ago and had made bumbling waves in the wrestling industry ever since. Kass knew of him through her own association to that park. He eyed Thirteen accusingly. She hadn’t slipped her jacket off, now sitting in mid-attempt at getting comfortable in her seat eyeing back at Francis.
“Okay… and you are?”
Francis ‘hmphed’, with a condescendingly slow shake of his head.
“I’m Francis Ford Cuppola. This is my hetero life-mate, Rodney P.”
Francis chuckled and gave the well-dressed black man from Leeds, England beside him, Rodney P, an impromptu, over-indulgent noogie. Rodney, like he’d caught a sudden plague of discomfort, hurriedly pushed Francis off.
“I’m his assistant. Francis, I warned you about that shit.”
Rodney pointed disparagingly at Francis, gaining some distance between he and his employer. Francis let go with a snicker, lifting his arms like a white flag of surrender before focusing once more on Thirteen.
“Right,” Thirteen intoned, having bemusedly watched the exchange before finally slipping off her jacket revealing toned forearms. “And the clowns?” She asked, motioning with her eyes to the face-painted men in berets, suspenders and white and black striped shirts standing directly behind Francis’ chair.
“Those are the French Mime Assassins.” Francis stated flatly.
“…okay…?”
“And the big Indian behind me is Mr. Mississagi.” Francis smiled proudly, motioning to the large man behind him with arms folded in front of him nearly blocking the sunlight streaming through the full windows looking out onto New York City below. “He’s my maple syrup dealer from Canada.”
Kass cringed and watched Thirteen grow visibly annoyed.
“What are you even doing here?”
She glanced from Kass to Francis with confusion.
“Well, not that its any of your business but I'm here waiting on a man named Smith to finalize an acquisition I’m making.”
Kass’ eyes drifted with interest to Francis who straightened his shirt collar smugly.
“What are YOU doing here?” Kass could sense a tensing in Thirteen’s shoulders from across the room.
“Well, coincidentally, I’m also here to meet with a Mr. Smith about an acquisition I'm making.” Her words caught up with her as she spoke them. A frown dawned on Thirteen’s face as she glanced to Kass who wordlessly nodded her acquiescence.
“Well,” the man at the end of the table intoned loudly. “I guess we can get started.”
“You Smith?”
The coiffed, suited man smirked at Francis' question.
“No, I’m afraid I’m not. My name is Thomas Shane Elliot, I’m—“
“Well, where’s this Smith? The sooner he gets here the sooner I can buy my company and run it into the ground.”
Kass smirked and watched Rodney’s elbow prod into Francis’ side.
“Eh—I mean, what’s with the two females, T.S.? Heeeey, T.S. Tough Shit. Haha! Did you know--”
Kass watched Rodney jut another hard elbow into Francis’ side to shut his employer up.
“I hadn’t heard that one, Mr. Cuppola.”
Francis lorded a smirk over the others at the table like a boastful child in spite of the deadpan sarcasm Francis had, as per his usual, conveniently overlooked.
“With all due respect to the others at the table I was wondering if, maybe, these proceedings could be done in private?”
“This is private.” T.S. remained straight-faced.
“I don’t follow. I’m here to finalize the purchase of a company…”
Francis chuckled haughtily as he rested his elbows on the tabletop and leaned toward Mr. Elliot.
“Hey, Tommy, did you realize our girl Thirteen here is notorious for losing a championship belt after she won it? HAHA! And don’t even get me started on her so-called ‘showings’ on 4CW brands!”
“Puta que pariu,” Thirteen shrunk in her chair with a sigh and roll of her eyes at the mention of what she’d hoped had been long forgotten history. She promptly sat up into combat mode with a glare at her makeshift accuser.
“Okay, look, first of all I didn't lose that title, it fell behind a dresser.”
“Ha! My mimes never lost their titles.”
“Not if you’re counting failed title defenses!”
Kass snickered as the volume of the two voices lifted.
“I’d watch what you say, DIRTteen, my mimes are still capable of cracking skulls!”
Thirteen gritted her teeth and flexed a bicep.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, who let you in here anyway? What kind of company they going to let some dumb, unlucky ex-wrestler run?”
The two of them had partially risen from their seats before the voice cut through the noise like the white hot blast of a laser gun.
“I think we’ve heard enough.”
Silence. All eyes turned towards the end of the table where just now within notice beside T.S. Elliot was a stationed speaker. Francis slowly sat down and leaned in to fearfully whisper to Rodney.
“Is that box talking to me, Rodney?”
Rodney’s eyes rolled.
“Yes, Francis.”
“Oh, good. That's some killer syrup, Mississagi, you done good--“
“Silence.”
The voice, somewhere between mechanical and human, intoned loudly through the speaker on the table, interrupting Francis before he could high five the tall syrup maestro from Canada. Francis looked offended as Rodney hid his face in embarrassment.
“Now, just who—“
“My name, for those of you who hadn’t figured it out yet, is Mr. Smith.” Kass silently scanned the other two for their reaction, watching with interest as they sat rapt near fearful as the speaker projected the stentorian voice at them.
A moment before Francis, awash in confusion, looked to the others in the room.
“How is that box talking right now? It doesn't have any arms.”
“It’s a projected voice, Mr. Cuppola. The person it belongs to can not be physically present at this time,” Thomas Shane Elliot stated calmly.
“Thank you, T.S. You’ve all met T.S.? T.S. is effectively my right hand when it comes to this particular venture. A venture all three of you have been willingly invited to take part in.”
Frowns abound around the room. Even Kass found herself looking at the speaker box with a sidelong uncertain glance.
“Have you been listening the whole time?” Francis asked nervously as though encountering a burning bush in the desert.
“Yes, I have. And I assure you, I’m not here to regulate your behavior. I’m here, as you’ve all stated in one way or another, to finalize your acquisition of interest in a company I own; The AWE.”
Three sets of eyes, Thirteen’s, Francis’ and Kass’, darted to one another. A snicker through the speaker box.
“I’m sure you’re all quite confused by now, so I’ll explain. Years ago the first AWE opened its doors with the financial backing of a… former colleague of mine named Sean Fuller. The company, in the wrestling industry as you may have guessed, went through two iterations before finally folding, never to be opened again. That is until now. You see, Mr. Fuller died a short time ago and I was the lucky purchaser of the proprietary rights to the company he never fully got off the ground.”
“In the turnaround I took the company public on the New York Stock Exchange through an IPO to raise working capital. Amidst that process I invited, through private brokers, three particular individuals to purchase voting shares in that company. Three individuals I’d, in one way or another, had my eye on over some time.”
Francis glanced around in a sudden fit of anger.
“Well, why the hell are we—“
“Because, Mr. Cuppola, those three happen to be the three people seated around that conference table, not including Mr. Elliot.”
“Oh. I knew that.”
“Of course you did. You’re a smart man. Each of you, in your own way, bring something to the table I feel will be invaluable to the company I’m forming.“
Thirteen itched the back of her neck with a frown.
“I don’t understand, so we own shares in your company, but--”
“It’s truly not complicated, champ. You own shares in my wrestling company. You effectively bought seats on the AWE’s board of governance. A select club, if you will. You get what you wanted, albeit in a more limited capacity than you initially expected, and I can begin building the company Sean Fuller never could.”
Kass watched Thirteen and Francis seemingly warm to the idea as it became clearer in their minds.
“My own company, eh?” Francis philosophically scratched his beard and day-dreamed, Thirteen’s smile dwindled in the wake of Francis' musing.
“No. Thomas Shane Elliot will be in charge of the actual operation of the AWE. You three are perfectly able to do whatever you’d like and take in your cut of the profits we make on your share of the company.”
“What if… we want to take an active hand?” Thirteen asked eyeing wearily Francis’ turn to glare at her.
“You’re perfectly free to oversee. But I don’t trust any of you to do what I trust Thomas to do. He has experience, he’s better educated, and quite frankly, he’s not lacking in the areas the three of you are. Best leave the company to a professional and watch it take off.”
The wind eased out of their three proverbial sails as the speaker continued.
“Take heart, friends, you’re being welcomed onto the ground floor of the birth of a wrestling empire. Thomas has already begun drawing in talent as we speak, and he’s got tremendous plans for the AWE’s inaugural show and beyond. You leave everything up to him and you’ll get a chance to be near the industry each of you, in one way or another, seems to naturally gravitate towards. How does that sound?”
Reluctance and hesitance from each of them. Thirteen frowned.
“Okay, I can accept all of that, but one thing I would like to know is who are you, exactly?”
There was a pause of thoughtfulness on the other end of the speaker.
“At this time that information is on a need to know basis. And nobody in this room needs to know.”
“Does T.S. know,” Francis asked with a conniving snicker.
“T.S. knows better than to ask. Now leave it at that. Sound fair?”
Nods around the table.
“Good. Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the beginning of the AWE.”