ArchivedLogs:Meeting The Family
| Meeting The Family | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-08-23 Hey, /some/ business gets done. |
| Location
<NYC> Heroes for Hire - Midtown East | |
The front room of the Heroes for Hire office has the secretary's desk, a small filing cabinet, a computer, and a ceiling fan. Janice, the aforementioned secretary is a sixty-something woman who's accent clearly marks her as being from Eastern European descent, though probably one generation removed judging by how well she speaks English. Janice was almost certainly selected by some busy-body lawyer on Luke's behalf, probably to keep him free of any more accidental law suits. The paint is faded, but everything pretty much works. Off to one side is the bathroom, and the other door leads back to Luke's office. There's isn't much in Luke's actual office but a small desk and a swivel chair pushed into one corner, with a pair of straight backed chairs on the other side of it. A couch is by the window that looks out over the city, with Times Square in the distance. All things considered, it’s actually a pretty decent little spot.
Luke is in the corner, straightening his /tie/ in the mirror over his liquor cabinet. It's a pale yellow tie, over a blue and white striped shirt. The suit pants and jacket are a gray, dark enough to almost be black. In a surprising display of gentleness, Janice approaches and puts a hand on his elbow. "You look fine, boss. Stop fussing. They'll be here soon." Her Eastern European accent doesn't make her sound overly friendly, usually, but knowing her as well as he does by now, Luke offers her a grateful smile. He finally leaves the mirror, shrugs his jacket on, and glances one last time around the room. Trib is also dressed up, though he looks a little dubious as to /why/ he needs to be. Dressed in khaki slacks and a white button-down shirt, he even has his hair pulled back and secured at the base of his skull in a short ponytail. He enters the office from the outer room in a slow, panther-like prowl, moving along the perimeter, and taking in the set-up with an amused twitch of his eyebrows. “Jesus,” he rumbles. “You are really goin’ kind of all-out for this chick,” he notes. “I’ve been to contract signings with less fuss to ‘em.” Parley rarely isn't dressed to some level of formality, if for no other reason than to mitigate the visibility of his mutation. Silk - raw, matte and unshiny, to avoid the /flashiness/ of it all - is a light material he's found useful in the summer months, dark gray and three-quarter sleeved in a high mandarin collar, black trim with black buttons, he's also tied his hair back in a very short stubby topknot-located ponytail… nub. It's really just a tuft, not quite long enough to do much more with. But it serves to at least /try/ and control the messy-spiky chaos. The black-rimmed glasses and composed expression help a little. His posture, /less/ so. He's perched up on the arm of the couch, leaning against back with one elbow languidly propped on a knee, cheek resting on the shelf of his knuckles. His half-mast dark eyes are watching Luke /fret/. "This is really important to you, isn't it." For once, he seems to actually be on the same mental page as /Trib/. Stop the presses. "Yeah, well," Luke grumbles. "What am I supposed to say?" Janice interrupts, "Yeah, is fucking important," she says in her clipped English. "That's what you say." She grins and filters out to the front room to keep an eye on things and buzz people in when needed. Luke smirks, and makes eye contact with the other guys as Janice leaves. Finally he barks a short laugh and seems relieved for the tension breaker. Janice's sense of humor is dry as the Mojave, but it was exactly what he needed. "Yeah, so, I like this gal. But we both got public face to watch out for, reps and all that. We just all need to be on the same page. Mainly I just want you guys to /meet/ her, but Parley, you're gonna hafta figure out how to coordinate with her office, for the public face of things." Luke mutters a quick addition, "An you gotta keep my feet outta my goddamn mouth." Trib snorts at Janice’s input, and lifts a shoulder as she leaves the room. “Hey, you’re the boss,” he rumbles, offering Cage a tight, one-sided smile. “I can make nice.” He wrinkles his nose, and snaps the fingers of his left hand. “I shoulda bought a copy of The Killers Who Crept, so she could sign it.” << (ebay)(make some money) >> When Parley agrees with him, the boxer seems to take it as some sort of signal to plunk himself down on the couch. He barks another laugh when Cage makes his addition to Parley’s reasons for being there, and looks sidelong at the smaller man. “Jesus. He don’t want fuckin’ /much/, does he?” "I could purchase you a ball gag," Parley offers negligently from his little Parleycorner. He shifts a foot to make room for /all/ that Trib on the couch. The side of his mouth nearest the boxer so vaguely twitches. "She may enjoy that." Luke turns to Parley and rolls his eyes. “Not funny. Or well, it was. But not helpful.” Luke nods, having effectively asserted his authority. His employees will fall RIGHT into line now. He walks over to the opposite end of the couch from Parley, but he’s focused past the two men there, to peer out the window. He runs a hand over his bald head, gently kneading the tension in his scalp for a moment, while watching for a car. “I just want this to go well…” The invincible man, finally unsure of himself. “I don’t know,” Trib rumbles to Parley in a sotto voice. “I can think of a few times when a ball gag would be /real/ fuckin’ helpful.” He crinkles his eyes at the smaller man before lifting them to watch Cage fidget a bit more. His exhalation is weary, but sympathetic. “Jesus. You fret like it’s fuckin’ prom night,” he says, glancing to the window. “You’ve already been out with this chick a couple of times, right? Who gives a fuck what she thinks about us?” Outside, a black humvee pulls up to the curb, idling there while a wall of a man dressed in a tailored black suit emerges from the back seat. He stands, door open, and glances up and down the sidewalk before turning and helping a blonde woman dressed in a light grey sweater and dark slacks emerge. Their conversation can’t be heard through the glass, but Alison is smiling as Mel leads the way towards the office door. “Look Trib, I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like that exactly.” Luke shifts uneasily, and then nods when the humvee pulls up. He turns back to the men in the room and can’t /quite/ wipe the stupid grin off his face. “It’s not like I think she’ll get pissed off or something, but…” Cage sighs, and notes it won’t take them long to come upstairs. At least the elevator is broken again. Third floor isn’t that far up, but it’s something. “Fuck it,” Luke says, squaring his shoulders and facing Trib and Parley seriously. “Janice, come in here a sec?” She rolls her chair over to peer around the doorframe. “Ok, so here it is. Aside from my mom, you all are the closest thing to family I got. As fucked up and weird as we are, I wouldn’t change a thing about any of you.” Cage’s earnestness thumps the empathy medium like a heartbeat. Cage is interrupted by a buzzing noise from Janice’s desk. She looks the boss in the eye for a moment, actually /smiles/ (well, ok, only a half-smile, but still!), and rolls back to her desk to click the button. Parley's blithe semi-smile slips sideways into something pensive, eyes slipping off Cage to consider the entrance. His fingers shift from propping a cheekbone to fanning loosely in a cage over the front of his mouth. And he muses softly, brows raising, "--is he hoping we'll give him our blessing once we meet her?" Presumably, this to Trib. Their little Luke is growing up. Trib’s expression flattens out at the show of sentimentality, although Parley probably picks up the rush of irritated warmth that washes through the man’s mind, briefly. “Oh, my God,” he rumbles, furrowing his brow. “Maybe your girlfriend can loan you some of her Midol, you pansy.” There’s no heat in his tone, and he offers an eyeroll at Parley when he asks his question. “I think its’ the other way around.” There’s noise in the outer office as the door opens, and a wall of man suddenly blocks the door as he pauses to speak to Janice in a deep, rumbling voice. There’s laughter, from both sides, before Mel pushes into the room, followed immediately by Alison, who smiles brightly at all assembled. “Hello, everyone!” she chirps, waggling fingers as she makes her way to Luke, planting a kiss on his cheek. Granted, she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach said cheek, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Sorry we’re late, but you know how it is. You think you’re ready to go out the door, and you remember five things.” The blonde continues smiling, although her attention on the two men on the couch is sharp and studious. “So, who’s who?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows. “And by that, I mean, which of you is the man that Luke should have told me about a week ago, so you could have been working with Mel all this time?” Luke flips off Trib before the door opens, but grins like an idiot when Mel and Alison come in. “Hey, great, no problem!” He leans down for the kiss to be a little closer at least, and makes a quick hug out of it as well. “Yeah, well, you both know Janice,” Luke says, gesturing to the front room. “This is Parley, he’s the PR guy I told you about. I imagine he and Mel will have a lot to talk about.” Luke turns to gesture are Trib, starting to say, “And this-” "Retribution Jones," finishes Mel, his mouth tightening. "Yeah, I'm familiar." Luke blinks, looking from big man to big man, a little confused. “Huh. You two know each other?” Luke tenses a little, perhaps with the memory of /every other/ time he’s met someone who already knew Trib. At some point, Parley has slipped quietly to his feet in the liquid transition infused in most of his movements; neither defining a starting point nor stopping point, but simply… he's standing now. While his mind is open to detect hostility, he doesn't seem as inclined to tension as Luke. At least he doesn't seem inclined to /flying tackl/e anyone out of harms way - here, Alison. He'll extend a hand to you, first, his quiet voice vaguely apologetic beneath the vibrancy of the others. "It's nice to meet you." He turns up his eyes towards Mel, "Are you a boxer?" There’s a surge of guilty irritation from Trib on the couch when Mel comes in, and he pushes to his feet even as Cage identifies him. “Fuckin’ Mel Sharpe,” he growls, although he smiles as he extends his hand. “Yeah, I know this fucker.” He seems unbothered by swearing in front of this woman Cage is trying to impress; his attention is firmly on Mel as the two men shake hands. “Bastard put me down in the third round during a fight last year,” Mel confirms for Parley, with a nod. “Broke my jaw in two places.” His eyes narrow as he looks at Trib, raking his gaze along the boxer’s frame. “Still don’t know how he managed it.” “Yeah, well, I got two broke ribs out of the deal, so I figure we’re fuckin’ even,” Trib mutters, and nods at Alison. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” “/You’re/ the one that did that?” Alison seems surprised by this information, and she watches the rest of the interchange with a small quirk of her eyebrows. But, since no one seems to be in any immediate danger of fisticuffs, she shifts her attention to Parley, taking his hand and clasping it firmly. “Parley,” she echoes, with a surge of genuine warmth. “It’s good to meet you. As I said, we should have been introduced a week ago. Someone --” this comes with a flutter of fingers over her shoulder at Cage. “--doesn’t seem to know to let PR guys handle the PR.” It’s a gentle tease, and it comes with a playful smile over her shoulder for the detective. Mel steps forward, then, to extend his hand to Parley. There’s a bit of unprofessional interest as he looks him over. “Mel Sharpe,” he repeats for the smaller man’s benefit, showing a fair amount of teeth in his smile. “I handle most of the off-screen parts of Ali’s show, so you and I will probably be spending a fair amount of time together.” Another flash of teeth. “I hope that’s okay.” Trib rolls his eyes, and snorts, heading to fetch a soda from the bucket. But, since he’s not a PR person, or a celebrity, he’s content to let the others have their meeting. “So, how did you come to work for Luke?” Alison asks. It’s unclear who she’s addressing, since her attention flickers among all four men. “His office hasn’t been open very long, so I’m curious. Did you answer a want ad, or something?” “It’s on account a’ my shining personality, and glamorous lifestyle, isn’t it, guys?” Luke chuckles when the tension seems somewhat relieved. For some reason he’s also fairly calm and collected about the fact that Mel and Trib were in the ring together. He had nodded at Parley’s smooth introduction, and the rest seemed to go naturally enough. The jab about Cage’s personnel management just got a grinning shrug. Cage watches Trib get a soda and says, “Hey, that’s not a bad idea Trib.” Luke moves toward the buckets and addresses the room, “We got sodas in this bucket, and Coronas in the other. Who wants something?” When requests are made he hands them out. Bottle caps are just pushed off with his thumb before being handed over. When everyone is served, he takes a Corona for himself as well. "Though that's," Parley exhales, running a hand up the back of his neck as Trib and Mel discuss BREAKING BONES, "Probably not the best topic for a first meeting. There's no grudges?" Asked of Mel, while shaking his hand. Brows raised to him like 'no, seriously, there's not, right?' "I work for Claire Basil, who served as Mr. Cage's legal council during his court proceedings. I offered him my services after he started finding his way back into the news. Mutants in the media can be -- ugly." Not that there's anything ugly about Alison, is there. He's been wrestling with a slightly perplexed line between his brows, and while asking Mel, "Is there some reason it wouldn't be?" is so easy it's default, light, it follows up more slowly with, "Mmh - I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage though, right now. Is this...," he looks over at Luke, making a /perfectly pleasant/ smileShape that so deftly flays, "A meeting for business or pleasure?" “Naw,” Mel rumbles in response to Parley, even as Trib grunts a similar sentiment. “What happens in the ring stays in the ring. I’m just annoyed that I can’t figure out how he did it. He swings like a girl.” << (cheated)(probably) >> The boxer snorts at that sentiment, taking a deep swig of his soda. “You /fall/ like a girl,” he rumbles without heat. “A big, dumb girl.” “Guys,” Alison interjects in a weary sort of voice. “You’re /both/ pretty, okay?” Mel laughs, lifting a finger in Trib’s direction before turning his attention back to the smaller man. “But you don’t got anything to worry about, Parley. Luke. I only hold grudges against the guys who try and fuck with Ali.” Alison nods as Parley explains. “Oh, yes. I remember her name from the court documents. Wow. She’s sharp, if she set you up with a PR guy.” This is to Luke as the blonde moves to the table, looking over the layout with an amused tilt to her smile. “Have you been in public relations very long?” Back to Parley, the blonde turning her smile-wattage on him. Only to be blocked by Mel, who also has an answer for the smaller man. “Oh, you’d be surprised. Most PR people want to work with Alison directly. Want to snag her as a client. Then they get downright pissy when they find they’ve got to work with me.” He offers a wide smile, and lifts his eyebrows in amusement at Parley’s final question. “Who says it can’t be both?” Luke watches the exchange with a relatively passive expression, sipping from his beer. He lets everyone have their say, apparently content to let people speak their mind. “I say,” Luke begins finally. “It /should/ be both. Mama always said, ‘love what you do, and it won’t feel like work’.” Cage grins and holds up his drink in the direction of Harlem. “So here we are,” he continues. “Alison and I are seeing each other. Both of us have public personas. Which means we thought it would be best to put our teams in contact. But that doesn’t mean this has to be all business. And it’s not like we’re rival brands.” Luke grins, crosses, and kisses Alison on the cheek. “Any major concerns, Parley?” "Other PR reps have tried to shift their employment to you /during/ negotiations on behalf of other clients?" Parley's hand had been hovercrafting over the sandwich provisions, picking out specific bits of turkey and Swiss stack atop bread, but pauses to look to Alison, "That sounds incredibly unprofessional. I'm sorry you've had that experience. I've worked for Ms. Basil since March. And worked interpersonal relations for," he smiles faintly, "A few years before that." The smile fades, though, as Luke crosses to kiss Alison. It gentles, too, is some way, but only with a soft exhale, "-that would probably would depend on the nature of the business. The two don't always mix well." He at least gives Luke a vaguely apologetic look for not just Being Cool, then glances to Mel, the side of his mouth twitching. "Already this sort of nullifies the 'credibility' element of unbiased news, doesn't it." So. He's talking shop then. /While/ constructing a sandwich. So maybe there's a little pleasure in the business. Parley’s surprise earns a bark of laughter from Trib, echoed by the gentle rumble of Mel and the silvery tinkle of Alison’s laugh. The boxer seems equally amused an annoyed by the response. “Mister Parley,” he rumbles, lifting his soda to his lips. “Remember what I said, that you don’t act like most of them people?” If Parley glances his way, he’ll find a hard lop-sided smile pointed at him. Mel is more gentle in his explanation. “I’m afraid, Mister Parley, that most of the people in /show/ business aren’t much interested in professional behavior, if it means another name in their rolodex.” He smiles widely, and spreads his hands. “I don’t know how it works in the corporate world -- which I’m guessing is where you do most of your work, but in the glamorous world of the stars, it’s every dog for himself.” “In the boxing rings, too,” Trib offers helpfully, leaning over the table to snag meat and cheese. Maybe from Parley’s own gatherings. They seem to be the best ones. “You got sharp teeth, Mister Parley, but you ain’t exactly a /shark/.” There’s a flush in the boxer’s cheeks when he says that, and a rueful rush of mixed emotions that sends him back to the beverage tub in sudden, sullen silence. Alison leans into the kiss when Luke joins her at her side, watching as the three men discuss the ethics of Public Relations. When he makes his little speech, she seems on board. Her smile never wavers as she leans into the big man. “Oh, I don’t think anyone have ever accused my show of being a /news/ show, or even unbiased,” she says. “I talk far too much about equality and mutant rights to be the next Barbara Walters.” “Hell,” Mel offers under his breath as he drifts closer to Parley in the guise of examining sandwiches. “She’s too biased to be the next /Rosie O’Donnell./” “That being /said/,” Alison continues frostily, running fingers through her hair and tossing it back over her shoulder with a hard little glare for her assistant. “I am /more/ than capable of conducting an impartial interview. In fact, my producers want me to hit Luke pretty hard with the questions.” This gets Luke a sympathetic quirk of her eyebrows. “They /really/ want me to grill you on your involvement in Harlem. Sorry about that.” “Hey, I get where you’re coming from,” Luke interjects after Parley’s concerns, and then he smiles at Mel and Trib going on about facts of life in showbiz. Once Alison has her say, he just nods. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like this is /Fox/ news or something.” He grins, and takes a sidestep away from the inevitable shoulder punch. He also shrugs at the warning about the line of questioning. “Hey, I assumed we’d have to hit that pretty hard. You’d get steamrolled if you just toss me softballs. But, uh, don’t suppose a guy could get a heads up on some of the questions?” Luke sips from his beer, not overly hopeful, but no harm in asking! "I think you may be mistaking a PR representative with an agent," Parley admits, softly voiced even with his brow /furrowing/ distractedly when Trib poaches from his sandwich population. "Public relations by definition is the maintenance of the public image of your client. That's terribly hard to do if you can't even manage the illusion that they hired a competent PR representative on first meeting, isn't it? Looking for new clients while in the middle of representing a current one suggests a certain lack of self-awareness." The furrow remains as he momentarily watches Trib move away, then evens out with a small smile when he looks back to Alison and Mel, "Which probably means you've done well to avoid them. An interview shouldn't hurt, especially this early. Though," he uncurls a hand in Luke's direction, without needing to LOOK at him, "Mr. Cage is very neatly demonstrating why it wouldn't work indefinitely. The problem between profession and personal life amongst celebrities and the media is that the closer they grow in one area, the more carefully they would need to remain neutral in the other. Else my client looks as though he were dating yours," he's speaking to Mel alone now, "To gain control of the media. Or yours, from looking as though she were chasing mine for access to his celebrity." He gathers the sad remains of his sandwich and returns to high ground in the arm of the couch, "I wonder if we couldn't use this, though. Be open with your relationship - after the interview - as a know mutant-human couple. Hm." He sinks teeth into his sandwich thoughtfully. "I should ask, what angle the interview intends to make. Mr. Cage's current involvement in Harlem hasn't been considered terribly controversial. Even the Bugle was unable to find criticism with his involvement." He chews in the side of his cheek. Luke’s sass does earn him a swat from Alison, and she wrinkles her nose. “Hey! I pride myself on thoughtful interviews, even if I /am/ biased.” There might be another swat, only Parley’s got her attention as Mel responds to him. “I don’t know that there’s much of a difference, in show business,” Mel says with another wide smile. “I mean, PR people and agents are almost interchangeable.” << (most of them)(annoying) >> His thick fingers pick out his own snack, and he pops a piece of turkey into his mouth, nodding at Parley’s assessment. “Oh, for sure,” he says. “And that little snap-fu of the two of them leavin’ the Mets game didn’t help, in that regard.” He’s speaking as if the two bosses weren’t /right there/, except that he does offer Alison an annoyed little look. “I managed to squash /that/ by leaking that Cage was going to be on the show, and that it was a business meeting.” “I think the former is the bigger danger,” Alison offers at this point. “Based on the letter I received from the City about your parade permit being refused.” She gives Luke a sympathetic frown. “The city implied that this parade was nothing more than an attempt to draw attention to yourself, and /that’s/ the angle the producers are hounding me to take. That your involvement in Harlem is one thing more in a laundry list of incidents designed for nothing more than getting your name in the news.” “We don’t have to take that angle,” Mel interjects, frowning deeply. “The producers won’t be happy about it, but we /can/ softball the whole thing.” He rolls his shoulders. “But that leads us back into the whole dating interference question again.” Parley’s idea amuses Mel greatly, for some reason, and his frown is immediately broken by a wide, toothy grin. “I like the way you think, Mister Parley.” “No no,” Luke says, smiling, having survived the swat. “I think you /should/ run with that angle.” Luke’s mind continues to thump with his ardent earnestness. “We filed a request for a /march/. A peaceful protest. Not some holiday parade. And I wanna call them out on that.” Luke sips at his beer, and moves to sit in the two-seater couch under the window, content to let the agents do the majority of the talking. He knows the finer points of media wrangling are beyond him. There’s no point in arguing that. “We got the petitions signed with /more/ than enough signatures to warrant a march. I want to know how all those signatures make it just about me.” Luke grins up at everyone from his seat. "-the problem being, of course," Parley is saying softly, "That the city has valid reasons for saying it." Line them up, Parley will shoot them all down, softly-voiced and methodical over his /delicious/ sandwich. Down /to/ his delicious sandwich, actually. "Considering how thinly the police are stretched, at the moment, they wouldn't be able to set up the sort of guard a rally like that would technically need. If a confrontation were to break out between protesters and," the side of his mouth twitches, "inevitable counter-protesters, it could turn into a riot. Pressing the issue that you want to do it anyway does - from the /outside/ - look as though your priorities are confused." He shrugs, minutely, picking at his crust, "So. I'm not sure if going public on television /against/ the city for its decision would be wise. There is a line between starting a movement and starting /fires/." Luke listens to Parley’s point, his brow slowly gaining furrows. He reaches up to rub at his jaw. “Yeah, Parley, I see what you mean…” Cage’s accompanying thoughts are two-fold and jumble right across one another at the same time: <<There’s more than one way to be the center of attention>> <<Just trying to save the city from itself>> “You’re right. We’ll have to paint the city in a rosy light for now. Or at least ignore the marching situation.” He looks over at Alison and stands up. “Well, I think we’ve got enough to work with, and I’ll just do my best with the questions about the church. That’s what’s on everyone’s minds now anyway.” Cage grins and gestures at the table. “I’m glad we all got to meet face-to-face. Now lets let everyone make a sandwich and do what they need to do.” | |
