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| - Blue Angel Bistro Breezy and casual, this good-sized eatery is spread out on two platforms that merge together in the middle, forming a sort of '8' shape. A wide strip of deep blue, industrial-grade carpet covers the floor where the two platforms meet, and a large, pictorial menu hangs high over a tan counter for ordering. Behind the counter is a powered lift that is constantly occupied with waitstaff coming and going. Around the outsides of the 8, a wide corridor runs around the tree trunks, with tables on either side of the aisleway. It sports a strip of huge plasteel windows around its entire face, giving the diner a magnificent view of the outside foliage and wildlife from more than 30 feet in the air. A bridge from the center section leads out of the building and towards the Commercial Platform. Today's Weather: Sunny in the mid-80's. Thu Feb 02 12:14:05 3006 A light sea breeze accompanies the risen sun, bathing the island in its warm, yellow hue. Marcuccilli sits at a table, his guards standing in front of it. He checks his wristwatch, sips from the champagne glass on his table, and yawns. Trugkar sits at a nearby table, hunched over a foul-looking swill in the biggest glass the bistro had. He takes a swig without minding the beverage dribbling from his snout, which results in some disgusted looks from the servers. The door to the Men's swings open and Seth emerges, still in the process of zipping his fly. Once he manages it he makes his way over to a table by the Don's - the same one Trug is at as it happens - and flops onto a chair throwing his head back in a manner that suggests he's either not awake or under the influence of something. The doors to the bistro swing open and three men in suits file conspicuously to a vacant table across the room from Marcucilli. This is followed by another trio a couple minutes later, who take a seat at another table. Finally, two men enter and approach Marcucilli's table, one with spectacles and a combover, the other one with steely blue eyes and a head of hair combed to aerodynamic perfection. The latter speaks. "Evening, Mr. Marcucilli." "Good evening," Marcuccilli answers, and the guards separate to let the two in. "You're late by several minutes." Trugkar eyes the entrance of the suits and grumbles to himself. "Stupid caratpants softskins." Seth's head swivles forward to look towards the Don's table when he hears him speak. The kid sits up a little and seems to pay attention to the new arrivals, it's almost like untill Marcuccilli acknowledged them they weren't there. "Sorry. I had to fire a few employees. Cameras in the board room reveal some interesting stuff." Charles takes out a pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke?" "So long as you don't mind if I do," the Sivadian replies, pulling his cigar case from his inside pocket and selecting a particularly noxious brand. He clips it, lights it, and sticks it into the corner of his mouth, and then offers the lighter to Ellis. Trugkar watches the exchange, idly picking his teeth with a claw. Almost on automatic, perhaps prompted by the notion of smoking raised at the Don's table, Seth digs in a pocket for his own packet of cheep unfiltered cigarettes and a lighter that looks more like a small blowtorch. Charles lights up and takes a drag. "Alright," he says after an exhale, "I'm gonna get right to the point. I'm about to drop some fucked up shit on you." He gestures with the cigarette-holding hand as he expounds. "My brother Max was killed at that banquet. I'm sure you read about it. Tree through the chest and all." "Yes," Marcuccilli answers, holding his cigar in his cybernetic hand and studying it as servos whirr and click. His tone is dry. "If you're selling the trees, may I try one before I make my order?" "Hur hur," chuckles Trugkar as he downs another one of his concoctions and proceeds to excavate a nasal cavity. Seth sucks on his cigarette, one almost continuous drag and just listens to the conversation leaning forwards a bit, "Must be some special kinda tree." The teen comments. "Couse I aint seen how quick a tree grows so..." "Hey, I didn't fuckin' kill him. He was my goddamn brother and he was a great guy. Now, I've got all the best brains on this thing and spent fuck knows how much on finding out what happened. This is where it gets fucked up." He takes out a PDA and slides it over to Marcucilli. "Check out the snapshots." Marcuccilli sighs, saying, "Pity--I could have used a few trees like that," expels a cloud of cigar smoke, and looks at the PDA. Trugkar bangs a fist on the table to signal a server for a refill, who complies out of concern for his own well-being. The Zangali turns back to the conversation between his boss and this fancypants softskin. Seth looks to the server from the corner of his eyes while tappaing ash from his cigarette - which misses the ashtray - and says simply "Beer." Then he looks back to the Don's table again. The pictures on the PDA range from coroner photos to samples taken from the tree accompanied by extensive scientific jargon, to pictures of what are assumedly islands on New Luna. The later pictures are out of focus or the subject is otherwise hard to make out, but whatever it is, it is bipedal. And large. Ellis exhales a cloud of acrid particles. "Isn't that some shit?" "Shall I get out my khakis then?" remarks Marcuccilli drolly. "Or am I barking up the wrong tree?" Trugkar belches as a tray-carrying waiter passes by. The server covers his mouth with his free hand and hurries to the kitchen. Seth gets up from his chair after stubbing out his cigarette, perhaps keen on getting a look at these 'fucked up' pictures, he moves a little colser to the Don's table. "Funny," Ellis replies, though he doesn't seem genuinely amused. "Whatever the hell this thing is, it killed Max, and I want it dead. I've sent muscle into the jungle and it hasn't come out. Well, in the same amount of pieces, anyway. But those are just half-rate goons." His eyes glance toward Seth, Trug, and Marc's guards. "I hear you don't hire goons. You hire killers." "Well," Marcuccilli replies, taking his cigar from his mouth, "a healthy balance is best, but on balance you are correct." "Basherer," Trug corrects Ellis from his seat. "Mosterer goodererer." Seth leans over to get a look at the pictures, the teen's height is somewhat of an advantage in this regard, "Xiong meng de kuang ren." He corrects with a bit of a smirk that reveals his fangs. "Walks on two legs... probably bleads the same as a person..." He glances to Marcuccilli then the Business man. "You wan't it's skin as proof?" "Uh, that won't be necessary. A representative of mine will be with you." He nudges the man with the combover who has been rather quiet. "He'll record the whole thing. Don't worry, he won't try to kill you." He idly snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. "And there's a few hundred mil in it for you, Mr. Marcucilli." "A few hundred mil what?" inquires the Don, canting his head. "A hundred million yojj-sterling would be a considerable sum of money, whereas a hundred million--for the sake of an argument--yojj would be worth considerably less than the equivalent weight in toilet paper." The lanky teen's eyes actually seem to light up when Ellis turns down his offer of the 'things' skin and he looks back to Marcucilli. He doesn't have to say anything, it's all in his expression. 'Can I have it Dad, Can I?' Though he's not quite jumping up and down excitedly. "I like the way you think," Ellis smiles. "I was thinking credits, but we can do whatever you want. Yojj-sterling, crates of polydenum, Timonae hookers, whatever." He grins. "Although we're a little short on the hookers." "Crates of polydenum strikes my fancy, although I'm certain my goons would prefer the Timonae hookers," Marcuccilli remarks, holding up a hand at Seth in a 'not quite yet' sort of way. "Is there anything else?" Seth nods his head and steps back a bit at Marcuccilli's gesture and just lets them finish Business. "That about covers it," Charles replies. "You'll get a message about the location, meeting time and all that crap. If you have a disagreement with 'em, I'm sure you'll make yourself heard. I'll provide a ride." "Thank you, but I prefer to provide my own rides," Marcuccilli replies. "The location will suffice." "Excellent," Ellis smiles. "Then we have an agreement?." Marcuccilli nods and gestures. His guards separate again to allow Ellis to leave. Ellis and his suit stand from the table. "Pleasure doin' business with you, Mr. Marcucilli." He slides out another cigarette and walks off, idly tapping at his ear. The suits located around the room all stand and file out after the corporate head.
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