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The scene took place in a dark, unfriendly looking bar. One with way too little light, and way too much smoke. Through the thick haze, nothing stood out so much as the embers from cigars and cigarettes. That was how these particulars liked it.
Shadows cast heavy here. Fitting to a place where life and death could be decided by giving the wrong answer or the right lie. Our focus is on a table specifically designed to draw focus away from itself. Stuck near a corner, attention was usually drawn away from the table itself to a nearby stage exactly four tables down.
This portion of the "fine dining and liquor establishment" rested in a cul de sac style extention of the building, putting it even further out of the sight of most of the room. (Well, a street on a cul de sac, anyway.)
Of the nearly dozen men seated at the table, not counting the hulking figures that stood, imposing and threateningly, around the table, Wilde would probably have only recognized the last three to enter the room. "Gel" made it clear to Wilde he was the boss of the operations Jennifer worked for, and immediately got on Wilde's wrong side by referring to her as his property. He had a smarts to him most of the Skulls didn't have.
And that said absolutely nothing. He tended to slick his hair down, and wear it like a misplaced Happy Days homage. Not that he was much knowledgeable on television in the sixties, mind you.
He was the smallest of the three. "Big Chip," called that because he was called chip when he was a kid, because he was big, and because he seemed to always have it out for most everyone, he always stayed with the boss. Despite the scars on his face, he was most known for wearing yellow shirts, and all black otherwise.
Luscinda was the closest thing Gel had to a favorite girl in the Skulls, and that was only because she was dangerous as hell, had a bad attitude, and could undercut any other girl's credibility in the gang with hardly any effort at all.
It was easy to outlast your rival when they're made into exiles, after all. She knew her place. Stayed out of public light, too. Couldn't risk angering her father the senator too much, after all.
The others? Let's just say they'd swear to your face they were legitimate business man, and if you knew what was good for you, you'd take that on face value and not ask questions, capisca?
It's easy to figure who the informal and highly respected head at this table is. He's seated in an ornate chair that's not only too fancy for this resteraunt, it's damned near too good for all of King's Row put together.
This is a chair that is not seen in public without this specific figure occupying it. A physically intimidating man with the proverbial stone cold killer look. His gleaming white suit seemed both cheap and expensive at the same time. He seemed to wear a perpetual scowl most of his life. A cheap Cuban cigar only helps set the mood.
About as soon as the Skull punks are in- they're not allowed to sit- the bald head of the table simply glares at them. He doesn't look very happy. Gel looks down to his feet briefly, before, with some great effort, forcing himself to look respectfully into this man's eyes.
He's more than intimidated. He's downright scared by the look in this man's eyes.
Gel: You required us, Sir? I gotta tell you, fancy operation you got. We're pullin' in the Superadine like crazy. Sir. Boss. We're roughin' the city's heroes up like nobody's business. I tell ya, Mr. Carnelia, the way things're going, I should probably get a. . .
Carnelia commanded the table into an eerie silence without making any move or sound whatsoever. Thus was the presence and the abilities of Antino Carnelia.
Carnelia: You come to me and try to convince me you're dealing with the city's hero population effectively? What's with you and your miserable lies? Don't you know what kind of power I have over this city?
Gel: But boss. . .
Carnelia: coldly Did I ask you to talk? I don't irecall/i asking you to talk. Did one of you's hear me ask him to talk?
Lots of head shaking and soft murmers of no. His mood shifted subtly from darkly humorous to darkly serious.
Carnelia: Boy, learn not to speak out of turn, understand. This type of thing will not be tolerated by your new business associates. You do understand this is business, and as such, a certain protocol is required?
Gel: Yes, sir. I'm sorry, boss.
The anger in this man's eyes glowed violently.
Carnelia: You're damned RIGHT you're sorry!
Those eyes, those beedy eyes, the very color of dead souls, light and blackish and grey at once. So easy to lose one's self in those eyes. So easy to lose control over one's will, to fall into eternal subserviency of. To obliquely, unthinkingly obey. Gel had to fight to simply keep control of his own will. Meanwhile, Carnelia composed himself, running his fingers along the edges of his white suit, his whole posture shifting subtly.
Carnelia: Your profits are down. The cost of supplementing both those under your direct control, and of the entire disorganized, bothersome little group of Skulls is rising, with little to show in return. With nothing to show in return. You should understand, the Skulls are perched on the verge of being an appendage to greatness. And in their hired task, and in your hired task, you have performed admirably. but we believe in looking after our familia, Mr. Thomas.
Gel winced. This man should not know his name. But he did. What awesome power he must have at his command.
It was Carnelia's sheer will that forced him to that sentiment, but Gel knew that not.
Carnelia: Your men eagerly line themselves up to be caught and arrested, secure in their misguided views of themselves as some kind of untouchable entity. Yet they fall to heroes with little meaning and less experience. What do you bring now to offer me as appeasement? What news do you bring me, little man? Answer, knowing that however horrific the results of failure are, that if you lie to me, you then face horrors beyond the most terrible of your horrific nightmares.
And then, a fake smile that Gel was forced to trust by more than the mere hand of fate itself.
Carnelia: Yet, know that you can trust me. Know I care only for your best interests. Know only my gentle discipline, and speak only the truth.
His eyes were locked on Gel. Gel would never understand the lack of control he had over his own destiny this day. Only later, looking back, would he come to truly understand fear.
The others at the table understood through experience and intuition, to never speak of the dull look that came over one's eyes when the Carnelia focused his attention and demanded answers on a man.
Gel: You're right, my father.
Gel would never remember saying that. Good, Carnelia thought. His will his weak, soft. It gives under my hands like clay under a sculptor's care.
Gel: I'm sorry. I bring news, though. I was gona lie. Not even tell you about him to he did some good, but you gotta know now, I guess. Sooner or later. I got me a real powerful mutant. Ain't no Outcast I ever seen like this. His powers, it kinda reminds me of Positron. This white, blue energy. He uses it good, and he can fight up close, too. He took out those loser Hellions like nothin'. I knew he got something in his head that ain't right. I figure, we poke him enough, maybe use a little of our women, he'll give up any ideas he's got about being a hero, and then he'll be under our thumb. He'll be my gift to you.
Carnelia: I know of this mutant you speak. Hold him carefully under your thumb. I've seen his potential, and I desire it for my own use against all who would dare cross me.
Carnelia had kept an angry scowl on his face throughout the conversation. The look on his face as he leaned forward, however, was truly terrifying.
Carnelia: Failure in this case is no better than betrayal. Do not betray me. Take your thugs, and get out of my sight.
Blindly and blandly, Gel thanked his "boss," and turned, vanishing into the crowd. His slut and his bodyguard fell in line without comment.
Only with them out of sight did Carnelia allow himself the thinnest and most unmerciful of smiles over the prospect of having the young mutant known as Wilde Tanke controlled..
By the Family.
"Guess my lead was right. Looks like me and this, "Will Dee Tahnke" are going to have to have a talk."
That wasn't the boss, but an here to unknown figure who spoke the line.
With that, the sole heroine in the entire place exited through a side door, finally letting her leather duster disguise fall open to reveal a heart symbol against the dead dark of night.. ..
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IP Ownerships
My characters: Wilde Tanke, Gel, Big Chip, Luscinda, Antino Carnelia Friends, used with permission: Jennifer Delong Crypitic's: Skulls, the Family, Positron