charls is a job juggler (arithmetician) wrote in willowbrookrpg, @ 2013-12-17 14:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, charls goodwyn, day: october 23, player: liv |
Who: Charls Goodwyn (Narrative/+ Anyone from the Syndicates!)
What: Mission~
When: Morning of 2013 October 23
Where: Tribeca Park
Rating: PG/tbd
Status: Finished/tbd.
"How are we doing this fine Wednesday morning, Mr. Greyhound?"
Mr. Greyhound was obviously not the Italian businessman's real name but that was what was recorded in their system. Charls didn't mind, at that point in the mission he didn't need a name.
Mr. Greyhound, after all, was like an open book. Sitting upright in the bench like a corpse out of the morgue, dressed in a ridiculous checked coat and a matching khaki beret, his nerves were enough to leave him unguarded...more unguarded to Charls' specialty. The mutant took his time to walk around the bench and sit himself in the middle of it. He would have wanted to occupy the other end but he didn't want to risk someone taking the space in-between them. Besides, a shorter distance would probably make this negotiation much easier.
He turned slowly towards the man, looking at his eyes although Greyhound refused to meet his. "The fact that you actually came here tells me that we've reached an accord. I'm glad you've agreed to my conditions."
Greyhound only grunted, glancing to him with briefest second he could afford. He had no choice, after all. The e-mail he sent was attached with a worm which would steal all his credentials if it was moved anywhere outside his inbox. Even if Greyhound chose to ignore it, the fact that he'd opened it alerted Charls who could set his little code of from a distance. Charls was proud of it and confident -- he was nothing but thorough, after all.
"So then," Charls began to remove his black leather gloves. "The amount agreed, I believe, was 750-thousand--"
"Six-hundred," Greyhound gasped and finally turned to Charls, driven by shock and fear, the very shape of his eyes saying it. Charls didn't hide his smile. "You said it was 600,000!"
"My e-mail was pretty clear, Mr. Greyhound," Charls said calmly. When he looked at Greyhound's eyes, though, it was no longer his wide brown orbs that he saw. It was the stream of memories as he dove through them -- like a speeding train through a colorful tunnel. It gave him everything he could need and he had the luxury of choice. One second was all he needed to make a choice. "Or were you thinking about the 600-thousand dollar watch you were going to buy for your mistress? How is Mrs. Blanco, by the way? Enjoying the alps, I imagine?"
Greyhound's gasp was stunted as he turned to look away from Charls, towards the pair of children kicking balls at each other in the distance. Not a second more, he slipped his hand inside his coat and brought out a checkbook. His movements were remarkably smooth, long fingers filling in the needed details with no pause or mistakes whatsoever. It was admirable.
He ripped the check from its pad and handed it to Charls. Charls accepted it with his bare right hand, read through the writing, then slipped it inside his inner pocket. He then stood up, and offered his hand to Greyhound who followed after him. "Happy to make business with you as always."
Greyhound nodded eagerly and grabbed that hand to shake. What he received was a spark of electricity, and he yelped as he stumbled back, running his hand down his coat to itch it.
Charls tried not to look at his hand and did better on not apologizing. Grounding Greyhound was not his intention but that was a nice touch. With nothing more to discuss, he turned and left the man in his spot, making for his companion waiting for him in a distant bench. He afforded himself a congratulatory smile as he walked, he was extra proud of himself for being triumphant on something he didn't always do. He wasn't so limited in his capabilities, after all.
"Mission accomplished," he said proudly.