07-04-2017, 09:30 PM
Bobby Stabs and Jim the Gangster stood in front of Mr. Higgs' desk, shuffling their feet and trying to avoid the gaze of one Mr. Charlie Versben, currently Acting Boss while Harlan was away at Dante's Abyss. The bald majordomo steepled his fingers over a manila sheaf of photos, and let out a long sigh. "So. Boys. You're new to the scene, that much is obvious. You're not incompetent, which is also obvious. Did a good job on that Twilek slinging the Amaranth to kids." He pulled out a photo showing Bobby Stabs with blood all over his suit getting dragged into a car while Jim returns fire at an unseen target. "Apparently you get involved in a very large mix up that results in what looks like a near fatal wound for Stabs, here. How is it that these events came to pass when neither I nor the boss had ordered you to go out on your own and do these things?"
Neither besuited youth spoke for a good moment. Charlie raised his voice only slightly. "You tell me everything that happened, or you'll be on bartending duty for four months. And no Studebaker priveliges. Your supply of steady dames will dry up if you can't parade around like the wise guys you think you are."
Jim took his hat off and began. "Well....see...it started with..."
He fell silent, and Charlie filled in the blanks.
"It started with a fuckin' dame, didn't it?"
Charlie shakes his head. "Un-be-fuckin'-lievable. You pick up these alien broads, then go DEEP into fuckin' Westside turf, then you take a motherfucking JOB from the teddy bear? Which leads you two fuckin' meatheads right into tussling with the tuskfuckers. Christ. No wonder Bobby got fucked up, hitting orcs with no backup. I...just.....ugh. Go on, kiddies. Uncle Charlie's got all the time in the world."
The boys continue their story.
There is an audible smack as Charlie facepalms his own mug. "You dragged Audrey into this as well? Great, well, that's no skin off my nose. She does whatever the hell she wants, and the Boss is sweet on her so he allows it. But goddamn, you two idiots have gotten us mixed up with the Westside entirely by yourselves? Fuck."
Charlie slumps back in the padded leather chair behind Harlan's desk and slides the drawer open. "Guess it's not all bad....at least now we got ourselves a couple of fuckin' ambassadors if we need 'em. Now get the fuck out, and you better pray to whatever gods you believe in the Boss don't flip his lid when he gets back."
The boys hurry out of the room, and Charlie pulls a cigar out of the drawer, lighting it up with slightly shaky fingers. There were perks to being a consigliere.
Too bad they came with responsibilities like sorting out this fuckin' mess.
Neither besuited youth spoke for a good moment. Charlie raised his voice only slightly. "You tell me everything that happened, or you'll be on bartending duty for four months. And no Studebaker priveliges. Your supply of steady dames will dry up if you can't parade around like the wise guys you think you are."
Jim took his hat off and began. "Well....see...it started with..."
He fell silent, and Charlie filled in the blanks.
"It started with a fuckin' dame, didn't it?"
Quote:Starting With A Fucking Dame
Charlie shakes his head. "Un-be-fuckin'-lievable. You pick up these alien broads, then go DEEP into fuckin' Westside turf, then you take a motherfucking JOB from the teddy bear? Which leads you two fuckin' meatheads right into tussling with the tuskfuckers. Christ. No wonder Bobby got fucked up, hitting orcs with no backup. I...just.....ugh. Go on, kiddies. Uncle Charlie's got all the time in the world."
The boys continue their story.
Quote:Well, You See...
There is an audible smack as Charlie facepalms his own mug. "You dragged Audrey into this as well? Great, well, that's no skin off my nose. She does whatever the hell she wants, and the Boss is sweet on her so he allows it. But goddamn, you two idiots have gotten us mixed up with the Westside entirely by yourselves? Fuck."
Charlie slumps back in the padded leather chair behind Harlan's desk and slides the drawer open. "Guess it's not all bad....at least now we got ourselves a couple of fuckin' ambassadors if we need 'em. Now get the fuck out, and you better pray to whatever gods you believe in the Boss don't flip his lid when he gets back."
The boys hurry out of the room, and Charlie pulls a cigar out of the drawer, lighting it up with slightly shaky fingers. There were perks to being a consigliere.
Too bad they came with responsibilities like sorting out this fuckin' mess.
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”