A Meet With Victor Creed

May 16, 2015:

Victor Creed meets with Senator Dixon and an unknown backer. (Emits by Phoenix)

Milwaukee, WI

Characters

NPCs: Senator Dixon, Unknown Voice, Council members

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN:

Senator Dixon stands near the window at the highest floor of the Municipal Building, hands clasped behind his back as he looks on to the horizon of the downtown tracked. There were buildings there, taller than the one he currently stands, the building an apex to a hub of nightlife as well as corporate living.

To the left, he could see the cranes hard at work, creating a tiny little condominium for those who are in need of affordable living that currently work for the city. Ahead of him was parts of the City Hall itself, as well as a couple of banks that calls some of the other towering buildings, home. Not too far off, Big Ben. The large clock that barely rings yet keeps time down to a minute, and far towards the right? More cranes, more construction, the biggest highrise yet that the city itself has seen.

"Is Victor Creed on his way?" Dixon finally manages to ask, turning to look behind him towards the rows of gathered men and women.. no. It wasn't rows. Four men and two women, those who sit upon his personal council.

"Yes Senator. Mr. Creed should be arriving shortly.
"Give us the room. We're not a threat to him."
"Certainly not Sir, but he's a threat to.."
"I am not afraid."

The council slowly stands, lining up to shake Dixon's hand, patting him upon the shoulder as they leave out of the side door. But it was there that he waits, still gazing out upon the streets below, slightly proud of the work that was accomplished under…

Creed actually wears a suit on occason - he doesn't give a crap about formality, but there's nothing wrong with looking a little classy. Plus, people didn't expect it, the contrast between the uniform of modern civilization and a creature who loped out of the darkness of the primeval imagination. He liked taking people off guard, even just a little bit.

He can smell the fear on a few of the flunkies, always a pleasant perfume, letting it waft over him as he's lead into the room with the Senator. Even with his claws retracted, his nails are sharp, letting him trace an index finger along the surface of the table, leaving a scratch in the buffed wood. Might as well say 'Victor Creed was here'.

"Ladies, gents. We prolly better get down to business 'fore the fella down there pisses his pants right at the table.

Dixon turns as the last of the 'flunkies' filter out of the boardroom, his jaw set, the smaller man taking in the visage of Creed which was a far cry of what the Senator was used to seeing. The flunkies themselves? They weren't sticking around for this, even though they were upon his council, Dixon answered to something a little bit more higher than simple politicians and governers and even the now deceased President.

"Thank you for coming on such a short notice, Creed." The man states, gesturing towards the chairs, allowing him to pick whether he should sit or stand. Upon the board table itself was a single all in one computer, the monitor off for now. There was also a tray, fitted with tumblers as well as a crystal bottle, filled with scotch.

"Our employer will be joining us shortly."

Creed snatches a bottle of Scotch whole, not bothering with a tumbler, pulling the crystal orb off the top and taking a sip straight from the snifter. "Mmmmmmmmmmmm, this is some pretty good shit. That government mule must be gettin' awful tired carryin' your fat ass on his back," he says, taking a seat with a grin.

"Yeah, the money usually likes to come in last. Makes an impression an' all that shit," he says, taking another swig. "I don't wanna hear any bitchin' about Africa - nobody told us to expect superhuman interference an', even if they did, those mercs they hired were bottom of the barrel shitheads that I'd have ripped apart myself when it was over, win or lose. Come to think of it, I -did- rip a few of 'em apart, 'fore I got on the plane. But I was in a bad mood when I climbed out of that lake - things were a bit hazy for a while."

Senator Dixon settles down within the chair across from Creed, but he doesn't say a word about the money or anything else. The only thing he does, is reach forward to press the power button so that the computer could boot up; tapping in a password which brings the desktop into view, double clicking the app and.. call placed and set.

"Government work is trying at times." He admits, a little faint smile given.

While the call is open, there was no video, only a voice that plays out over the speakers.

"Africa was just a little setback, a small wheel that serves the bigger cogs that allows those to turn, so on and so forth." The man speaks. "We didn't expect there to be superhuman interference either, but you.. obviously serve as our contigency plan."

"However, infortunate events and businesses aside, we do believe that there is a possiblity that we may have drawn unwanted attention to our causes. With that fact made known, we would like to hire you for the long run."

Victor Creed shrugs, taking another hit of the Scotch, "Standard rates apply, but I ain't got nothin' on my plate, so that's fine. Outside of a little extracurricular vengeance and if you had a problem with that sorta thing, I pretty much presume you wouldn'ta hired me in the first friggin' place," he say.

The voiceover thing is silly to him, since his hearing is sensitive enough that he could easily identify the guy by voice if it came down to it. Admittedly, he hasn't put a face to it yet, but even voice distortion software doesn't do much against Creed. Still, the guy wants to play all Mission: Impossible, he can do that shit. AT least the laptop probably won't self-destruct.

The voiceover was necessary, it may not have been for Creed, but for other members of this shadowy party, to prevent blackmail and other unsavory and legal things the organization wishes to evade. The standalone itself wouldn't self-destruct, and there would be no possible way for Creed to meet the man behind the voice unless it was set up and arranged. This, was a courtesy call.

"Ah. Vengance." The man coos, "I remember a time in Italy where I had engaged in some minor flirtations with a baker there. Short and fairly hefty. Smart as a whip, yet old as the day Jesus was born. She could make a ricotta cheesecake like you wouldn't believe! But anyways."

"Some old gangster tried to topple her business, threaten to kill her and set fire to the bakery. So I had a few friends drop by to murder his entire family and.." There was a smack of his lips. "Stories for another day I suppose."

"Standard rates with a slice of vengence. I have no qualms with the things men do. And you do come highly recommended and even though there were mishaps of what we've seen so far, I'd like for you to gather intel of those people who are currently aiding the Lwak'ian efforts."

The man at the table finally moves, leaning down to grab a briefcase to lay down upon the table, flipping it open so that what was inside was only for Creed's viewing.

"Since our source in Lwak is currently indisposed, I'd like for you to take his place and find out for me just who these people are, what they can do. Afterwards, take a day or three. Have a little fun. Then catch up to Warlord Wahile in the next town over for further instructions."

"You'll love the man. All my people my people. But he wouldn't hesitate to sell his people down by the river and leave them without a pot to piss in and a bucket to throw it out of."

Victor Creed chuckles, "Sounds like most people, when it comes down to it. Morals usually last about as long as the rope they put around yer neck, in my experience. Yeah, ain't no thing, I've done plenty o' spy shit in my day…an' I got a few good leads already. Mutants, I'm bettin', an' mutants like to talk an' gossip - they even got a little community down in New York nowadays. I go there on occasion - good tacos, lotsa whinin'. 'course, bein' a mutie myself, I blend in perfect, although enough of 'em know who I am that it puts the proper fear o' claw into 'em."

"But I'll find these fuckers an' what they know and how they knew it…an', I'm sure, deal with 'em if that's what you wanna do. Still plenty o' open space fer shallow graves in this country."

"Mutants?" There was a cackling laughter just at the mention. "Didn't the Smooth take ca.. oh hell!"

"Grab the intel and head back to Africa as stated, Senator Dixon here will serve as my proxy should need arise, which I'm suspecting it won't." The man was trying to choke back a laugh, he actually appreciated a good story and a good telling of what was what.

"Creed. You're a true class act. A /true/ class act! See Staci on your way out. I have a hot little number arranged for you at the Pfister a couple of blocks over."

And then the call was ended.

Victor Creed smirks and rises from his seat, "You got all my contact info. I'll be in touch when I got somethin'," he says, rising from his seat. He heads for the door, the cut glass bottle dangling in his hand on the way out, "Oh, thanks for the booze," he says, taking it with him and taking a sip as he walks out of the office, heading towards the secretary to pick up the details of his 'bonus' and to give her a little thrill. Some girls liked dudes who scared the living shit out of them.

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