savetheearth | ᴏɴᴇ. [ video; later afternoon ]

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ᴏɴᴇ. [ video; later afternoon ]

[ Despite his reputation as a prominent figure, Casval Mass still held a certain aversion to showing his face in public when he deemed it unnecessary. The fact that he's doing so to what he's deduced to be a bunch of strangers, seemingly picked at random by some outside force, makes him all the warier.

But what Casval likes even less than an overabundance of frivolous contact is a serious lack of answers. And answers were nowhere to be found, in this situation. Those strange lights, those strange numbers connecting him to faces and places he didn't recognize, but above all else, that haunting name, Char Aznable, which plagued his dreams and stole away what little sleep he managed to grasp at night.

So even though anxiety prickles through his consciousness, he figures a straightforward effort on his part may be the only way to find those answers he's seeking—and with a click of a button and a flurry of digits he couldn't discard from his memory even if he tried, Casval makes his first appearance on the network. ]

Greetings. This is Captain Casval Mass, though I'm sure that name means nothing to any of you. In fact, from what I've gathered so far, none of our names mean anything to each other.

[ Leaning back in his office chair, Casval folds his hands, staring sternly at his monitor and speaking with a swift, sure tone, lightly accented, the mark of a tested politician. ]

While some of you appear to have written this off as some kind of joke or hoax, I would advise you that such a possibility is highly unlikely. I am no believer in gods or the mystical forces surrounding them, but for now, we have to accept that what's going on is beyond our present capabilities to understand.

And I would like to understand.

Therefore, I would request—merely for the purposes of resolving this matter, mind you, I've no true personal interest in how you may spend your time—that you all tell me a little bit about yourselves. More specifically, any recent happenings in your lives that have stricken you as odd, or out of place, something that you saw, heard, or felt, anything that can might be interconnected. Because we are all accessing this same "network", we must all then share something in common, even if it isn't immediately coming to mind. I, of course, will disclose whatever you wish to know, within reason.

As a final note, I am currently stationed at Fort Turner, on a joint military venture with your country. I don't expect to be staying very long, so if you would prefer to discuss matters in private, feel free to stop on by; just ask for Captain Mass at the gate and they'll wave you on through. [ His face twitches, briefly, as if to say any juvenile jokes regarding my name will result in painful strangling, courtesy of myself. ] We could always use an extra hand or two around the base, if you've skill with a wrench or some related field.

[ Casval bows his head to his audience and offers up a polite smile. ]

I look forward to working with all of you to arrive at a logical, and mutually beneficial, resolution.

[ And click! goes the feed. ]

(( Respond however you like here! Casval will be sitting at his computer ~~drinking tea like a boss~~ or I left it open to anyone interested in some action for swinging on by the base. Public areas only, obviously, since they're not going to let just anyone go wandering around, but other than that have at it. Casval is NOT wearing any mask whatsoever, so you can disregard that in my icons ~~for now.~~ ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Willickers, he sure can tell! And did somebody say scotch? Because it sure as hell sounded like someone said excuse to get drunk on the job. Err, scotch. ]

I have the best scotch, in fact. [ Admitted with no small amount of pride. ] However, unless we've something in particular to discuss, I'm afraid that's a date for another day.

[ Men like Richard had angles. They always did. He wanted to know what he was getting into before diving headfirst into any proposals, comforting as the thought of the soothing caress of intoxication may have been. ]

[Such a tease. You don't just tell a man you have good scotch then deny him. Ah well, the military is full of men lacking in hospitality. Maybe Goldifucks will be nicer once Big Dick sends him a little gift. His girls had a way of turning the hardest of men to putty in their hands and mouths and...you get the point. Collections of profitable holes, the lot of them. A lot more fun than a golf course, too.]

I have something very particular to discuss, actually. Would the lion care to show me his den?

[Let him see your throne room, princess.]

[ All's fair in love and alcohol, dearest. It's not so much a matter of hospitality as it is a matter of delicacy; he's already paid off more than a few officers behind the scenes to bring his personal stash in, so offering it to every stranger that comes knocking at his door isn't something he technically should be doing. He doesn't like that clever edge to his tone, either. It smells like trouble.

Still... maybe this could prove worth his while. He can show him, at least. Right this way, he gestures. ]

You sound suspiciously eager to throw yourself inside of it.

[ You did hear about those rumors, didn't you? ]

I enjoy going on safari.

[Also long walks on the beach and sunsets and fucking people over.

Yes, he's just going to plop down on the chair by his desk without being asked to sit like any rude American douche drunk on power would. Heck, he'll even slump down in it. It's good to get comfy.]

You should try IKEA.

[ Hey, so does he! Except just the fucking people over part, and probably not nearly as much as you. But he's gotten a good laugh or two from the family business, let's just put it that way.

And alright, fine, he was about to offer the seat anyway after he shut the door behind them. Casval takes his own, the plush executive's chair in front of a no doubt expensive computer setup, doesn't pass go, doesn't collect x number of dollars, just skips straight to the point. ]

The floor is yours, Mr. Baelish.

[ An accommodating flourish of his hand. ]

Earn your scotch.

Edited 2013-04-03 14:47 (UTC)

It looks like your boys could use a good time. I want to help with that. There's a sizeable lot near Fort Turner that's up for sale. I'm looking to build a gentleman's club. Cigars, fine liquor, good company...

I don't need your endorsement but I thought it'd be polite to ask.

[A gentleman always asks a lady before shoving anything up her skirts. And if he doesn't, he makes sure to toss a sizeable wad of cash her way once he's done. He's just such a charmer that way.]

I see.

[ Oh, he's putting on his thinking face for this one. Look how seriously he is considering this proposal. He's giving it all the worthwhile thought in the world and not at all groaning on the inside.

Alright, here's your answer. ]

So you want to open a whorehouse. Beside a military installation. Did I surmise that accurately?

[ Hey, we were skipping straight to the point, remember? ]

For shame, prostitution is illegal

[He's not about to incriminate himself. If there's one thing he's good at, it's manipulating technicalities. Nobody ever goes after his "escorts." They're far too good at hiding what they actually are once they're out in public. Teachers, mothers, nurses, sorority girls... The economy brings them all to their knees. Heck, some of them do it just for the sake of the thrill. The ones hitting their quarter-life crises tend to be the best of the lot. The "oh daddy never loved me" girls.]

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a feeling you don't let technicalities such as legality get in the way of your business ventures.

[ And neither does he, honestly. He tries to keep it on the books, really, he does, but daddy's business came with a lot of baggage, some of which he couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to. And in a few cases, he definitely wanted to.

But in others... well, every man had their weaknesses. Their trespasses. Their sins.

He just happened to have more than most. ]

You don't need my endorsement, true, but it would be wise to heed my advice. The citizens of Locke wouldn't look too kindly upon your pursuits. And with the current presence of the international press, it's likely to draw precisely the wrong sort of attention.

[ To himself, mainly. The old adage of no press is bad press is one he took qualms with. He's felt the burn of scandal before over mishandled diplomacy and he's not eager to experience it again. ]

Which is why I'm doing you this kindness. Regardless of your advice, I intend to pursue my venture. The subtlety with which I will wield my [~~pimp cane~~] influence is entirely dependent on you. Back me up and you'd be looking at something akin to a 1920's speakeasy. Old world charm. Cross me and I might very well be tempted to put up a flamingo in neon lights.

[Your move, Your Highness.]

[ Casval's eyes thin. This man... ]

Forgive me for not seeing much kindness in what, from where I'm sitting, appears to be a poorly veiled threat.

No, a threat would be "hey I have pictures of you looking down the shirt of a pretty young thing after midnight."

[Coffee shop managers with grudges keep iPhones you know.]

Context is everything and tabloids sure do love captions.

Edited 2013-04-03 15:21 (UTC)

[ ...what? ]

I beg your pardon?

[Pulling his phone out from his shirt, he displays a slideshow of pictures from the coffee shop last night. Big Dick doesn't know the girl, just sees her opening her blouse for Casval before following him out. Of course, he's conveniently neglected to show pictures of the girl buttoning her blouse back up.]

Your dirty little secret looks promising. Nice mouth.

[ To his credit, Casval doesn't flinch.

He does, however, drop his smooth persona in favor of a far crueler one. ]

You know as well as I do I'll just bury the story before it ever hits print. And even if it manages to make it there, who cares?

[ He lets the matter drop, but his cocky sneer of a grin reads you think she was the first? Come on, Richard. Don't bullshit him with amateur hour. He expected more from you. ]

You're going to have to offer me better incentive than that to back your slimy little operation, Dick. I never said I wasn't interested.

[ Leaning back, he throws the figurative ball back in the other man's court. ]

I just said it wouldn't be easy.

[There's an undignified snort followed by a laugh. Oh, you're a fun one. He'll definitely have to dig up more dirt on you. The best way to move a man is to know what they want. It's easier to get a knife under a man's skin if he's to busy thinking with what's between his legs. Or worse: what's in his chest.]

Hardball, eh? It's such a sad thing; the tragedy of your mother's passing. Bet you'd love to have that put to rest.

[To his credit, Big Dick does his research. He doesn't go in with just one bullet in the chamber. One miss isn't going to keep him from firing at the target again.]

Edited 2013-04-03 15:46 (UTC)

I did. Years ago.

[ Personally, that is. He'd never managed to ferret out the party or parties responsible for it, though plenty of blood and tears and sacrifices he preferred not to dwell upon had been shed in the process. Richard gains the brief advantage of surprise but loses it just as quickly; occasional sentimental moments aside, he is not an easy horse to break with emotional blackmail alone. Which isn't to say it couldn't be done.

It just wouldn't be easy.

Let's see how many bullets you've got left, Big Dick. ]

Sweeten the deal, or you're not getting a lick of any favors from me.

[ He winks. ]

Or a lick of my scotch, for that matter.

[Still no cigar? Looks like the princess wants everything he's got to offer.]

You drive a hard bargain. Very well then. This base associates with Antebellum Industries, yes? Many of my finest patrons work for Antebellum Industries.

[They tend to get chatty after a good lay. And, of course, the girls in Big Dick's employ tell him everything to earn his favor.]

A lot of closets. A lot of skeletons.

[That's three wishes. He doesn't fancy being more generous than a genie.]

[ Oh, but you are the true master of fun here, sir. Casval hums aloud after hearing him out, leans on his arms, rubs an imaginary bit of dust between thumb and forefinger as he considers this latest attempt of dragging him down into the doldrums of scandal. Richard was determined, he'd give him that. And determination was something he could admire, even in his enemies. Especially in his enemies.

Maybe he could still work this to his favor. It was worth a shot... so to speak. ]

Dicier, admittedly. I'd rather not sink my own investments within the company by cutting ties, as skeletons aside, it's proven a reliable performer, even in times of financial crisis. I'd be a taking a hit, if a manageable one.

[ Casval glances back up, fingers pausing. ]

But this fort could burn to the ground, for all I care. Politically. Literally. I have no more affection for it than I would a rat... and rats with large egos I like even less.

[ Not that he's naming any names, of course. Oho. Now, let's talk numbers. ]

I want a cut. Thirty percent.

Unless you intend to service patrons by sticking your pretty golden head between their legs, you'll settle for five.

[So he wants to dance, huh? Let's dance.]

You're prettier than most of my girls anyway.

[Big Dick doesn't like being slighted. He's already put more on the table than he originally intended.]

[ Even better than that, sugar. He's British. And not fond of where you're leading this conversation, but if it gets him what he's after, you can make all the snotty little comments you'd like. The wry smile remains. ]

Twenty.

[ Eh, he's fine with a lower number. He's just delighting himself in dicking the Dick around, at this point. ]

Don't underestimate the sway of a decorated captain amongst his fellow kind, Mr. Baelish. They're all about as yippy as that boy when I'm in the room.

Ten. I'll make it fifteen if you promise to pay a visit or two. Everything will be on the house for you, of course. A shareholder is owed privileges.

[Sure, wave your influence around like a bitch in heat. As long as you can send the hounds running, he doesn't really care all that much. He's just intent on getting his base of operations established. Once that's done, all the city's secrets will be at his disposal. Including yours, Goldifucks.]

[ His brow lifts at fifteen... with conclusive interest (it's a solid enough figure to pad his accounts), though more notably at the stipulations behind it. ]

Is that truly necessary? If it's all the same to you, I'd much prefer to profit from the sidelines than, [ clearing his throat ] ahem, dirty my hands. I'm sure you understand.

[ Yes, understand and understand fast so he doesn't have to waste anymore time contemplating that gross imagery. This guy's going to run his "gentleman's club" like a slut factory and like bloody hell does he want to participate in that in any sense of the word. ]

Clean hands get you ten. If you want fifteen, you're going to have to play pied piper. I'm not a charity.

[Come on, Casval. It will be good for you.]

You don't even have to take any of my girls. Bring in that mistress of yours. We'll help keep your little indiscretions from prying eyes.

Fine.

[ Bullshit. He's not going. You can't make him. You might be able to drag him, but... look, he doesn't like getting touchy-feely, alright? Stop talking about it already. ]

And she's not my mistress, for the record. Nor have I ever taken a lover on the side, of any gender, despite what your tabloid friends may vomit in excess every week.

[ Little indiscretions, though, he has in abundance. Let's not talk about that, either. ]

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it's weird playing a misogynist asshole OTL

mr. baelish pls you are making me blush

oooh shaaaah ooooh

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i'll edit if this is not ok!

NOPE completely good with this

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