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The dull clunk of feet on pavement, followed a dull and unimpressed snort, were drowned quickly in the clamor and lights. The place was swanky enough, to be sure of it, not quite as run down as other locales on Westside, but the garish bright lights were sure to give anyone a headache after long enough, were they stuck wandering around.
Luckily, Murdoch was not stuck wandering around. Always straight-to-the-point, he had been told to go to the tallest hotel he could find in the area, and he was fairly sure he wasn't mistaking the building he stood outside of now for anything else. The tasmanian devil, arms folded, muttered something about 'compensating for something', and pushed his way inside.
Elegant and sophisticated, the whole hotel lobby was naught if not extravagant; fountains every way one turned, real chandeliers, cushy carpets and everything positively reeking of posh.
A normal man in Murdoch's shoes may have been a little self-conscious; straggly fur, clad in beat-up leather, and a lingering smell of cheap beer, he stuck out like a messy teal thumb. Murdoch, again, being who he was, was absolutely unbothered.
He may have paused a bit to cock an eyebrow at the half-a-dozen or so high-class portraits of a red porcupine, but he wasn't bothered by the fact that he may as well have looked like a beggar in comparison.
Striding straight up to the counter -- and quite a walk it was! -- Murdoch politely escorted (read: forcibly threw) another patron out of the way (read: in the direction of the nearest fountain).
"'Ey. I was told to come talk to some..." he paused, and pulled a crinkled scrap of paper out of his coat. "... 'Vince' guy. Where is he?"
A spotted canine was the first to take notice of Murdoch's most genteel presence, the secretary ignoring the commotion of a nearby patron drowning in what could be noted as roughly six inches of water.. "Why, good evening to you, sir! We are so very pleased to welcome you to the finest hotel on Westside Island!
That smile was.. almost glistening like diamonds.
"You wish to speak with our founder? I can most likely assume that this is about the latest announcement relating to our exciting and thrilling boxing campaign, yes?" The canine simply motioned off to the elevators with a wave of her gloved hand. "He can only be accessed via the elevator, taken straight to the topmost floor -- His office, in the penthouse suite! But you can only gain access if you have an attendee such as myself give you an escort."
Off to the left did her head tilt, that same wide smile remaining on her face... "If you wish to see our Founder, I must ask you to wait patiently while I gain clearance to take you to his office. It shouldn't take me very long at all, sir! In the meantime, may I interest you in the possibility of partaking in our Sweet Sweet Suite package? For a discounted price, you can stay with us and enjoy the view from the second-highest floor in our fine hotel for up to a week, with the best hotel service money can buy!"
The whole while, she was busily composing, most likely, a message on the front desk computer to the top dog of the business.
The tasmanian devil cave the secretary the blankest face he possibly could. To say it was an "unimpressed" expression was to say oceans are a little bit moist... but there may have been a bit of a gag at the name of the hotel package.
"No."
Not 'no thanks', nothing even remotely civil, just a completely flat no. Damn it, he was here to get some business going, not to be patronized by a dog who probably took car-varnish to her mouth each morning. "... this'n, right?" he asked after a moment, jerking a thumb towards the closest elevator.
Murdoch didn't wait for an answer, departing from the desk and pushing the first elevator control button he set eyes on that he figured would bring it down. Despite what may have been assumed, he then walked back to the desk, though characteristically gruffly.
"Cuttin' down on time," he explained, hands in pockets. "Now 'r you gonna shill another hotel package t'me, or can I go see whatsisface?"
Deep inside that candy-coat of pure and utter hospitality, the miss in question was probably quite taken aback -- maybe even slightly offended -- by the tasmanian devil's gruff, impatient attitude. After that whole spiel, he didn't even take the time to consider anything. However, it was clear that she was not going to let that ruin her bright, shiny spirit, so onward she went.
"N-no, sir, that's the only special we have on track at the moment. While you were tending to our elevator, the Founder gave me the go-ahead to take you up to see him. Please, right this way!"
Equipped with a card key, the secretary took her leave from the front desk, and escorted Murdoch to the elevator. Once the two were inside, she most gingerly pressed the appropriate button, and stood rigid, at attention.
...
And of course, soft jazz drifted from the speakers above to help soothe the impatient beast of the elevator shaft. The class, it continues to astound and amaze...
Almost like a carefully-calcuated bid at looking nonchalant, followed the woman into the elevator, hands in his pockets, and he proceeded to lean backwards against the side of the elevator, one leg bent so his foot was on the wall, almost sure to leave some kind of mark.
He looked over at her through a half-hooded eye, blinked a couple times, and said:
"Yeh look like yeh've got a stick up 'yer--"
And then the soft jazz started up, and Murdoch's forehead met his palm very quickly in an exasperated slap with a bit of a hiss. Of course.
"This better not take long."
"Yeh look like yeh've got a stick up 'yer--"
He might have been cut off abruptly by the wonderful world of jazz, but the secretary most certainly got the gist of it. With the classiest smile she could muster, she simply replied, "Yes, and it looks like -you- were beaten with one. Please refrain from making snide comments until after you have seen yourself safely off of the elevator."
Ignoring any following remarks, the dalmation took a step towards the main panel, inserting her key card into the appropriate slot. Once clearance had been given, the doors opened up, and she motioned with a gentle wave of her hand towards the corridor leading up to Vince's office.
Oddly enough, there was a stairwell leading about one more story up, the opposing walls lined with more portraits of the Founder...
"Master Vince will be seeing you now, Sir. See yourself off, and have a nice day."
Murdoch had snickered a bit. "So 'yeh've got some sense'a humor!" However, sensing the tension, he had elected to shut up for the remainder of the vertical trek, hands behind his head.
As the elevator doors slid open, his eyebrows raised. Stairs. ... ... and more portraits. Humility, thy name was... well, anything but Vincent. He merely gave a gruff "Thankee" as he stepped out of the elevator, knocking the tips of his boots on the floor a couple times. Murdoch sighed, shaking his head. At least the guy had money (he had made that much abundantly clear in the decor), and there was something to that.
Like a short, stocky teal bulldozer he treaded on-- not quickly, but surely solidly. With some deliberation, he reached the porcupine's office. He considered, for a moment, being completely true to character, banging solidly on the door, possibly even punching through it, with a nice loud "oi!".
He instead chose to go with a normal rapping on the door with his hand and a moderately loud "Oi!".
Mark the difference!
A pleasant voice greeted the tasmanian devil from the opposite side of the doorway. "Ah, welcome, sir. Come in, come in. I've just got the fire going!" On cue, the obstacle shifted itself off to the side, leaving the doorway open for Murdoch to amble through. If he were to saunter inside, he would notice that, yes, this very clean, very classy office differed none from that which was shown in the television advert.
Vince himself was seated at his desk, chair facing the open fireplace off to the corner. The porcupine gave a dying cigar one last huff before tossing the remnants into the flames. Vince slowly turned himself to face Murdoch, placing clasped hands onto the wooden surface in front of him.
"Well, well, how do you do, sir. You wished to see me personally over the matter of the boxing tournament?"
Murdoch strode through the doorway, and his eyebrows shot up. "Heh. Posh," he remarked as he looked around, a little smirk played its way onto his face.
"Yeh, I did," he answered after a moment, flexing his fingers a bit, clenching and unclenching fists a couple times. He cast a few more looks around the room, quietly appraising the monetary value of whatever caught his eye. He caught himself, however, and turned his attention to Vince.
"Yeh got that emerald thing, yeah?" He didn't pause for even a beat, and the rusty gears could almost be heard kicking into motion into the marsupial's mind. "Me, I don't care about the jewel." Murdoch waved his hand dismissively at the very idea. "Too much crap 'round it. Something about a hedgehog who turned intah rock candy a while back."
He put his hands in his pockets, turned at a ninety-degree angle from Vince. "But 'm' not 'xactly planning on losin'. And I know've you, a bit. Red Wasp, or somethin', right?" He said, looking out of the side of his eye.
Upon being called out as the Red Wasp, of all names, Vince simply gazed over the tasmanian devil with a curious expression... And it wasn't long before a cold smile washed over his features, his eyes turning just as icy as the porcpupine laid back in his leather chair, bringing out another cigar from his shirt pocket. "Heh... I guess there's no true need to put on the Mr. Nice Guy facade around you. You're pretty sharp, fella..." After a quick light, Vince was already drawing steadily from his smoke. For someone who regularly partook in the act of smoking, he looked quite healthy indeed...
"Well then, let's go ahead and cut to the chase, then.. Indeed, the emerald itself is a pretty huge deal. News gets around to me fast..." Huff. "Needless to say, I'm rather partial to that rock.. I would prefer that it stayed here with me... And that is where you make this easier on me." Vince turned off to the side to face the humble flames crackling in the fireplace, taking another drag from the quickly deterioratig cigar.. "You have already made your intent clear -- you merely wish to knock some heads around, live a little bit... come out on top against the rest, right...?" Those violet eyes gazed towards the marsupial from the side.. "But if you don't wish for the jewel, surely you would prefer something else just as valuable, yes...?"
The porcupine pulled a suitcase from behind the desk, placing it upon the sturdy surface with a sound thud. The latches promptly undid themselves, allowing the case to open and reveal its contents to the tasmanian devil.
That is to say, lots, and lots... and lots... of cash. Funds. Moolah. The works. Those weren't small numbers covering those bills, either...
"You seem quite strong, formidable... In a contest such as this, that may not still be enough. But I have plenty of well-meaning contacts who would be more than happy to give you a hand, so to speak, to help you jump ahead of the rest... To ensure your victory, nice and easy."
Turning back towards Murdoch, Vince gave him as warm a smile as he could muster.. "The rock, you do not want, so that can stay with me. We'll just give you some hammy little speech about letting us keep the emerald, to give the crowd that warm, just-what-ma-used-to-make feeling, and then quickly move on from there. In return for this... the contents of that case will belong to you. Merely a drop in the bucket to me..." Huff. "Hehh... not to mention, my sources inform me that we are most likely to see some very, very top-known individuals partake. If such is the truth, you might just have a rise to fame yourself, some no-name marsupial from the outer reaches of Westside Island, for being the champion against all-odds...! And that could open up a hundred doors of opportunity for you all on its own.. And all I really ask is that you help me in this little endeavor. In short, if you wish to do this for me... I can guarentee you a much better, wealthier life in the long run."Tossing the remnants of his latest cigar off to the fireplace, Vince leaned upon his desk, elbows propped, and hands clasped neatly under his chin. "So, what say you...? Do we have a deal on this matter? Any input would be most gracious..."
Murdoch had stood stoically through this speech... until the money came out, whereupon one could swear that his yellow eyes flashed with green. He stood silently through the rest of the speech, tapping the tips of his boots on the floor idly. As soon as the porcupine asked what he said to it, he had only one rather unrefined reply:
"Hell yeah, boy."
He accented this with punching one fist into the other palm, which elicited the rather curious sound of his palm hitting solid metal. It was, in fact-- metal plates sewn into the backs of his gloves. After all, he didn't get forcibly ejected from numerous Mixed Martial Arts leagues just for a bad mouth... "Though yeh almost sound like yeh were anticipating this." He didn't sound malicious, more amused if anything.
Regardless, he held out one hand as if to shake, the first polite thing he could recall himself doing since he got here.
Vince chuckled softly as he stood, an outstretched hand grasping the marsupial's for one firm handshake. "I must admit, I was just about to get started on working through this particular conundrum.. But then I was given word from downstairs by my lovely assistant that a rough, surly individual had wished to see me about business in relation to the tournament. Everyone else happily called us on our hotline about signing up. You're the only one who actually came straight to -me-.about it... It only further made the air somewhat more comfortable when you called me by my usual alias..." After pulling away from their deal-sealing shake, the porcupine retrieved another cigar from his coat, motioning it towards Murdoch, as if he was offering the 'treat' to the marsupial. "Here - I have plenty of these."
Whether Murdoch accepted it or not, Vince sauntered over to the large windows overseeing his major casino districts, hands held behind his back... "I am grateful that you have accepted my offer -- put on a convincing performance, with our aid or not, and I just may feel generous enough to double my offer..." His steely gaze peered over to the marsupial from the side, that cool grin growing upon his features.. "Of course -- I expect a most convincing display out of you, regardless... mister...?"
It was quite odd, really, why he had yet to inquire about this mysterious person's identity before now.. Perhaps it was only now that the opportunity had presented itself, as late into their meeting as it was..
Murdoch looked at the cigar for a moment and made a promise to himself to smoke it later (he was no man to turn down nor waste anything that he got for free-- because that meant he didn't have to pay for it) as he slipped it into a pocket. "Yeh got it. And 'm no fool to the underground, yeah?" He smirked a bit, a little nastily. "I take highest bidder. Honor an' the above-ground ring sortsa things-- not my style. And yeh've got the highest bid."
Oh, of course he would turn on a dime if it came to that, but even he doubted that anyone could pony up to the porcupine. "Yeh give me the money, I'll tell 'em me ma's got cancer for the sympathy, if yeh want."
He returned the porcupine's cool grin with one of a much more animal nature-- feral, wide, and filled with menacing teeth, set in a jaw that -- even in a smile -- threatened crushed bones. "Name's Murdoch," he said, doing a bit of a half-bow. "Add Johnson t' the end of that, if'n yeh're gonna be picky about last names."
He paused, and for a final time tapped the toe of his boot on the floor. "'M thinkin' this oughta be damn good."
"Aye -- It's going to be a night to remember. Ah heh heh.." The porcupine sighed, and gazed upon his city of nightlife... "... Well, Mr. Murdoch... Just leave your details at the counter with my secretariat so that we may get in contact with you as things begin to draw near... Certain preperations must take place, after all."
He began lighting up another cigar, his gaze unwavering from the window... "Oh, and if you would, do tell her before you leave that we are definitely set for dinner at C'est la Vie tonight. She'll be happy to hear that..."
Huff.
"Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Johnson."
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