AKA -- dis gon be gud.
And, here are the battles:
Business Exams by Alphaeus
Transcendence by SaulMurhpy
And in case Gdocs don't work for you (as someone just told me)
Spoiler (Click to Show)
He tapped his foot contemplatively, then slid the phone Altaer had designed for him out of his jacket. He tapped on it for a few minutes, sighing irritatedly at the necessary evil of using such an irritating device. Eventually he found what he was searching for, and lifted it to his ear.
The voice on the other end sounded impossibly stilted, and offered no greeting. “This is the Prince residence.”
David responded in his usual tone, professional and refined but retaining the disarming warmth he personally valued. “I wish to speak with George.”
The man whom David presumed to be a butler responded curtly. “I’m afraid that is entirely impossible. I can take a message and give it to Mr. Prince after lunch. First I would like to know who is speaking.”
David smirked. “My dear butler, I would advise you to transfer my call to whatever line on which George Prince will be able to converse with me immediately. My name and my messages are not intended for the ears of well-meaning but imposing servants.”
The butler blustered back his response. “This is preposterous! You cannot simply – ”
David did not heed the man’s tirade. “Give. Me. George. Prince. Now.”
The man remained silent for a moment, apparently contemplating something he heard behind David’s tone. There was a click, and then another phone began to ring. The man picked up promptly.
“I have ensured that it is imperative for my servants not to disturb me while I am eating, therefore I will take the liberty of presuming that this is of the utmost importance.”
David chuckled to himself before replying. “I assume you have received your summons.”
George hesitated before acknowledging him. “If by ‘summons’ you mean the RHG battle notice, then yes, I have. Might I ask who is inquiring into this?”
“Your opponent.”
David heard George rifled through some papers, then pause, presumably to read at the name written on them. “Ahh. Dr. MacBeth. I must say that I find it highly unusual to interact with my opponent before the battle.”
David waved him off, then realized that the man could not see his gestures when they were only speaking by phone, and laughed. “Hah, indeed. Still, I don’t want this to get…out of hand, shall we say. I have no personal vendetta against you – rather, I have followed your family with interest for years. You have – what’s the right word – potential.”
Mr. Prince sounded a bit wary when he responded. “I am uncertain how to properly take that statement, Doctor, nor am I wholly certain that I am fond of its implications.”
David ignored his comment. “I understand that you enjoy tea. There is an excellent café on the corner of Jackson and Eighth. Meet me there at three.”
He hung up before George had a chance to respond. The man would be there, because of curiosity if nothing else. He stretched, and adjusted his schedule accordingly.
___________________________________________
George was at a street-side table when his pocket watch indicated it was precisely three in the afternoon. He fiddled with his mithril combat umbrella -- Umbra -- casually, politely waiting to take his tea until Dr. MacBeth arrived. He had heard of the Doctor – few in this city had not by now, but it was doubly certain that such a prominent member as one of the Prince family always was kept aware of anything and everything noteworthy. The man was a regular Doctor Pretorius – universally loved by all positive factions, a medical wizard, and a polymath of multitudinous talents. More importantly, he was apparently sourced from the crème de la crème of society, and had the money and culture to show it. George, at least, appreciated that the Doctor had picked the appropriate time for afternoon tea.
David soon strolled down the sidewalk, and George nodded slowly to himself. The man was as impressive as the rumors held him to be, he admitted to himself. Quite tall and built with a serpentine power, he bore himself like a benevolent king. His style was bold without being flashy or gaudy, his features flawlessly refined without being even slightly effeminate. His eyes probed the people on the sidewalk, acknowledging their gaze with a beaming smile and a nod of his head. He stopped and squatted to speak with a young boy who seemed to recognize him. After ruffling the child’s hair, he rose and spoke a few words to the young mother, who smiled and blushed and shooed her boy forward. Eventually he reached George’s table, and only then seemed to be aware of Mr. Prince’s presence.
“Ahh…good afternoon, George. We will attend to business in a moment, but first – tea.”
George himself at attracted a bit of notice from the other customers and staff for his signature posh style, but after he had not ordered they had moved on to other business with only an occasional glance at the quiet and wealthy man. David’s presence, on the other hand, drew blatant stares. His white suit with crimson highlights was clearly crafted from some exotic material specifically for his body, and the massive emeralds that dangled from his ears spoke of the riches of dreams. If one man of subtle wealth attracted a bit of attention, him being joined by a well-known symbol of mysterious money and social prowess turned them into the absolute center of attention. An obsequious teenage waitress was the first at their table. “May I get you gentlemen anything?”
Though she addressed both of them, her gaze was clearly directed towards David. He waved her towards George. “My associate, first.”
Mr. Prince thought for a moment. “Darjeeling, please.”
She noted his order then turned back to David. “And you, sir?”
He heaved a sigh that exuded relaxed influence and smiled. “How about some Lapsang Souchong? And a platter of your cucumber-watercress sandwiches, as well. Enough for both of us.”
George gave him an apprising look. “I see you know your teas, my good fellow, although that is quite the potent brew you have ordered.”
David shrugged. “I am an American by birth, so the drink of the culture is coffee. I certainly appreciate an excellent roast, and even occasionally enjoy your standard black ‘cuppa joe,’ largely due to my days in the field. But by family and heritage I am a highland Scot, and will always prefer my teas. Such is in my blood. As for the lapsang, on days of late Fall’s indecisive middling heat I enjoy its rich, airy smokiness with subtle floral qualities.”
George nodded. “Ah. MacBeth. The name certainly gives away your ancestry. I should have guessed. So –” The waitress arrived with their tea, food, and the daily news with surprising promptness, then hovered nearby until David politely declined any further service. They both took a sip of their teas before George continued. “So, as it is my impression you did not request this tête-à-tête so that you could attempt an assassination or sabotage of our battle tomorrow, what is it you wish to discuss?”
David leaned back in his chair, smiling enigmatically. “Plans, Mr. Prince.”
He leaned forward, a sudden surge of his unnerving personal energy seemingly electrifying the air between them. “Your family is inarguably the resident royalty of the local scene, and maintains a noteworthy presence internationally in the business realm. As you may or may not have heard, I have spent years converting my family’s diminutive fortune into a vast warehouse of wealth – more vast than you can imagine. I, personally, use most of it in sociological and political endeavors I do behind the scenes. But by extension I am the founder and head of what you might call a union of humanity. We cover the globe, and number far into the millions. I seek to add those I can to our union, and such can be possible with you. Even if you do not become one of us, however, I could see us being allies to our mutual benefit.”
George had sipped his tea intermittently through David’s speech, and now set his cup down gingerly on the tiny saucer. David relaxed, took a sip of his own tea, and then casually snatched up a sandwich. Mr. Prince released his habitual grip on his Umbra, letting it lean against the side of the table, and spoke his mind.
“I perceive the purport of your words, and you have definitely aroused my interest in investigating this venture. Tell me, though, Doctor, why we should ally.”
David waited until he finished his sandwich to respond. “We – myself and my ‘union’ – do not per se need more allies, yet it is in this manner that we can continue to grow and thrive. In this city, though, we are woefully short on members and allies of influence. Our efforts have been remarkably successful in the middle and lower classes, as always, but the upper echelons here seem exceedingly difficult to penetrate. I have had the blessing of finding footing within the RHG itself, but nowhere else.”
George gave a self-possessed smile. “Of course you have had trouble. That is because most of the business in this city is owned and run personally by my family, and what we do not directly own we influence significantly, such that we might as well own it. To ‘gain a footing’ as you say in the elite of this city requires you to get a footing with the Prince family.”
David finished his tea and clasped his hands. “Precisely such a fact has been apparent to me for quite some time. I have patiently awaited an opportunity for our paths to cross, and while a battle is not exactly what I would have preferred, this will have to suffice. Now, I must add, that while obtaining your support would certainly be a wonderful boon to me, you yourself would not go unrewarded. I could certainly guarantee the members of my organization as consumers, as well as trade benefits with any businesses and political entities under my influence. That is precisely my offer.”
George tugged on his mustache thoughtfully and mentally measured the man that sat across from him. Though certainly not the kind of professional that might be hired by the FBI, when deeply involved in big business one tends to learn how to read others. His eyes narrowed fractionally. He did not like what he read – the man was a blank slate. Well, there was that strange aura that seemed to encourage implicit and complete trust, but attempting to look deeper beyond that was as useless as trying to peel layers off an iceberg. David was good. Far too good to make into such a close partner. A mockingbird sang its remix of stolen sounds as if to emphasize some hidden duplicity. George contemplated what he should say, but froze. David’s face had shifted ever so slightly. So slightly that he could not in fact pinpoint any precise change, yet it was there. In the eyes. Like he already knew George’s thoughts and feelings about this. Like he not only knew them, but had anticipated them. Like he was expressing some hidden level of contempt for Prince’s choices. The businessman shrugged off a sudden chill as the shadow of a passing cloud danced over them for a moment. He rose, his hand reaching for his Umbra.
“You, sir, are trying to buy me. If you find yourself at a disadvantage against me within this city, I say good! Leave it that way! Take your smiles and silver tongue to someone else. The Prince family has no business with devils likes yourself.” George started to leave, then turned, leaning in closer to David, who had not so much as moved or changed his expression. “Now let me tell you something. There are those who are aware of my influence and have posed queries about you. Those who do not precisely seem to be friends of yours. If you had been upstanding enough to fight me like a man, they would have continued to ask in vain. But since I find it dubious that you would allow the RHG to deal the punishment you deserve if I were to report your misconduct, I will see to it that others will wield the staff of Justice. Good-day!”
Mr. Prince stormed off, furious that anyone would attempt to buy his partnership. As soon as he returned to his house, he picked up the foyer phone. The polished brass handset felt cool to his touch as his fingers deftly dialed the number printed on a simple business card. The faint sound of his own breathing echoed faintly in the vast chamber of marble.
The person on the other end of the line answered lazily, his words even further slurred by an accent that was a mix of French and Arab. “I suppose my offer was more appealing than you led me to believe, no?”
Prince caught himself before he spoke, taking the time to regain his composure and remain ever the businessman. “Your offer has nothing precisely to do with my alteration of intent. I will ask, however, to keep this professional. You will make a payment of adequate valuation – preferably in precious metals – in return for my information on Dr. MacBeth’s current location.”
The man remained silent for a moment, then gave a harsh chuckle. “You have a deal, Mr. Prince. Now, tell me what I need to know…”
________________________________________
The silken embrace of his sheets welcomed Prince as he slid into his massive mahogany poster bed. He heaved a sigh as he let his body sink into the billowy eiderdown mattress, but could not relax. He remained tensed from what he had just seen. An email from the contact in Marseilles he had called earlier had arrived just as he was finishing his nightly business. It contained the picture of Dr. David MacBeth with his face and neck ripped apart by bullets, paired with a simple caption:
“Thank you, monsieur, for your compliance. I will see to it that your payment is delivered promptly. I suspect your battle tomorrow will go splendidly in your favor. Adieu.”
The image haunted him. All he had wanted was for that arrogant Doctor to be punished…not murdered. The contact had insinuated in previous conversations that he had merely wanted to hold David accountable for certain business dealings, not kill him.
George turned out the light, and stared at the patterns on the hand-woven draperies that covered the top of his bed and hung down in luxurious folds along each of the posts. The deep russet hues seemed to him the color of blood, blood that he had shed. Whatever MacBeth might have been, he did not deserve what had just happened. Still, he reminded himself again that he didn’t know what was being planned, and that it was not his fault.
The moonbeams that streamed through the tall glass doors of his balcony slowly curved across the room as their lunar progenitor worked its way ever across the starlit sky. Rest came to George, but it was the troublesome rest of an unsettled soul….
When he first heard it, the voice seemed to be nothing more than his own conscience. It was a soft as the whisper of sand slipping into the tender waves of a becalmed night.
“Betrayer…betrayer.”
He pinched his eyes closed more tightly, pulling himself further into his covers as if he could somehow vanish into the bed and escape his problems. It did not stop.
“Your hands, betrayer…can you feel it?”
George pulled his hands up over his ears, trying to turn away from the sound. The instant they touched his face, though, he realized they were covered with something cold and wet and sticky. He jerked them off his face, eyes snapping