Post by Deleted on Jan 30, 2012 20:53:31 GMT -5
Since his first foray into Satan City, Carmine had learned two things: One, Satan City had a crime problem, and two, Satan City wasn't all that different from Central City. People still tried to exploit one another for monetary gain.
Carmine had never really given money much thought before recent events. He was a machine, so the only real need he had for money was to afford scrap metal, fresh wiring, and new parts. However, he was a skilled enough mechanic that he could turn most any kind of scrap into a new part, and thus his most expensive need was covered for cheap. He didn't need food, and he didn't need fancy shelter. Biological necessities were a non-issue.
Of course, all that had changed with Touketsuki. Suddenly, there was an insanely powerful galactic extortionist with his eyes set on Earth, and Carmine understood the need for money. 4000 zenni was nothing to laugh at, and while they had afforded to send the Icer away the first time, he knew that the only way to keep it up was to go out and earn some cash.
Carmine could have made money as a mechanic, or a scientist, or an engineer, but all of those things required a time commitment that he simply couldn't make. He was a crew member of the Galleon and a hero at that, and a 9-to-5 job would only get in the way.
So, he did something he really hated to do: he put out an ad as a freelance hero for hire. You could call him up, ask him to save your brother or your house or your cat or something, and pay a little bit of money. His rates were reasonable, but he did charge hourly and he did allow for additional charges due to unforeseen circumstances (such as a powerful fighter, an explosion, or some other disaster).
Today, he rode towards a house in one of the nicer areas of the city, belonging to one Cora Williams. She was a fashion designer, and needed Carmine's help. She wouldn't specify over the phone, so a house call was necessary. The house itself was enormous, lavish, and most noticably of all, very pink. Carmine parked the Cyclone on the street, walked to the front door, and hit the doorbell.
A few moments later, the door opened a crack and an old, bald man was squinting at Carmine from the other side.
"And who might you be?" the man asked.
"Carmine Cypress. Miss Williams called me."
"A moment."
The door closed, and Carmine waited a full minute in silence before it opened up again and the old man beckoned for him to follow. The inside of the house was just as impressive as the outside, though not as pink. The floors were polished hardwood, paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, and everything was just expensive and fancy looking. Carmine felt low budget in his jeans, tee shirt, and motorcycle jacket.
The old man, now clearly a butler, led Carmine into a sitting room and gestured to a plush chair. Carmine nodded, sat, and the man left him alone. The room was brightly lit, with lots of windows and a big screen television. A few minutes later a young woman, no older than 30, walked into the room. She was beautiful and wore a slinky purple dress.
"Mister Cypress, thanks for coming by."
"It's nothing. So what seems to be the problem, Miss Williams?"
"It's my design studio. It's very hard to get started as a designer, Mister Cypress-"
"Please, just Carmine."
"Yes...yes, Carmine. It's very difficult to start out as a designer. You're one of a rabble of young men and women, and without a stroke of luck or significant funding you'll almost never get noticed. I needed money, but my parents were poor and I couldn't find work anywhere that would pay enough to get me where I needed to be."
"I can see where this is going. Who gave you a loan?"
"There was a loan shark in Central City, called himself Hell's Banker. I went to him, and he got me started with my studio."
"And let me guess, you fell behind on your payments?"
"That's just it! My loan has been paid off for months! I want my business with him concluded! But now he's saying I owe him more money, that if he doesn't have it by tomorrow night he's going to burn down everything I own. This man is dangerous, and the police won't touch him - they're in his pocket! I need help, Carmine."
"So, what exactly is the job? Defend your estate from arsonists for a few days? Talk it out with the Banker?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I just need you to get him to stop. I don't care how, and I don't even want you to tell me. Just get him to stop."
She looked genuinely frazzled and afraid. Neither she nor her butler had any real power to speak of, and it seemed she had no other choice. Carmine nodded and took the case.
He left the house without another word, and headed off deeper into the city. He would need to start his investigation in a place loan sharks were prevalent - at anyplace there was gambling.
He managed to find a bar that hosted underground poker games in the basement, and once he got the information, it wasn't hard to gain entrance. The bar was seedy, but the casino wasn't so bad, if a bit dimly lit. Carmine approached the clerk.
"Welcome, friend. Need some chips?" the clerk asked from behind a barred window.
"Information, actually. Looking for a banker."
"'Fraid all I got back here is poker chips and empty pockets, friend."
Carmine sighed and looked around. Two bouncers, each reading slightly above average power for humans, fifteen patrons, three dealers, and the clerk. He didn't have time to be polite and play ball with sixteen sleazy meatbags. Carmine reached through the bars and tore the clerk out of his booth through the window, destroying the bars that were meant to protect him and probably some of his bones too.
The bouncers immediately made their moves, heading towards Carmine with intent to injure. They each recieved a Galleon Scattershot for their trouble. Patrons poured out, and Carmine pressed the Galleon Buster under the clerk's chin.
"A banker."
"I know a lot of bankers!"
"Hell's Banker."
The clerk went a pale white, and struggled against Carmine's grip.
"I can't! He'll kill me!"
"I'll kill you."
"He'll kill me SLOW."
"Not if I kill him first."
The clerk paused, swallowed, and nodded. He told Carmine everything.
Carmine had never really given money much thought before recent events. He was a machine, so the only real need he had for money was to afford scrap metal, fresh wiring, and new parts. However, he was a skilled enough mechanic that he could turn most any kind of scrap into a new part, and thus his most expensive need was covered for cheap. He didn't need food, and he didn't need fancy shelter. Biological necessities were a non-issue.
Of course, all that had changed with Touketsuki. Suddenly, there was an insanely powerful galactic extortionist with his eyes set on Earth, and Carmine understood the need for money. 4000 zenni was nothing to laugh at, and while they had afforded to send the Icer away the first time, he knew that the only way to keep it up was to go out and earn some cash.
Carmine could have made money as a mechanic, or a scientist, or an engineer, but all of those things required a time commitment that he simply couldn't make. He was a crew member of the Galleon and a hero at that, and a 9-to-5 job would only get in the way.
So, he did something he really hated to do: he put out an ad as a freelance hero for hire. You could call him up, ask him to save your brother or your house or your cat or something, and pay a little bit of money. His rates were reasonable, but he did charge hourly and he did allow for additional charges due to unforeseen circumstances (such as a powerful fighter, an explosion, or some other disaster).
Today, he rode towards a house in one of the nicer areas of the city, belonging to one Cora Williams. She was a fashion designer, and needed Carmine's help. She wouldn't specify over the phone, so a house call was necessary. The house itself was enormous, lavish, and most noticably of all, very pink. Carmine parked the Cyclone on the street, walked to the front door, and hit the doorbell.
A few moments later, the door opened a crack and an old, bald man was squinting at Carmine from the other side.
"And who might you be?" the man asked.
"Carmine Cypress. Miss Williams called me."
"A moment."
The door closed, and Carmine waited a full minute in silence before it opened up again and the old man beckoned for him to follow. The inside of the house was just as impressive as the outside, though not as pink. The floors were polished hardwood, paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, and everything was just expensive and fancy looking. Carmine felt low budget in his jeans, tee shirt, and motorcycle jacket.
The old man, now clearly a butler, led Carmine into a sitting room and gestured to a plush chair. Carmine nodded, sat, and the man left him alone. The room was brightly lit, with lots of windows and a big screen television. A few minutes later a young woman, no older than 30, walked into the room. She was beautiful and wore a slinky purple dress.
"Mister Cypress, thanks for coming by."
"It's nothing. So what seems to be the problem, Miss Williams?"
"It's my design studio. It's very hard to get started as a designer, Mister Cypress-"
"Please, just Carmine."
"Yes...yes, Carmine. It's very difficult to start out as a designer. You're one of a rabble of young men and women, and without a stroke of luck or significant funding you'll almost never get noticed. I needed money, but my parents were poor and I couldn't find work anywhere that would pay enough to get me where I needed to be."
"I can see where this is going. Who gave you a loan?"
"There was a loan shark in Central City, called himself Hell's Banker. I went to him, and he got me started with my studio."
"And let me guess, you fell behind on your payments?"
"That's just it! My loan has been paid off for months! I want my business with him concluded! But now he's saying I owe him more money, that if he doesn't have it by tomorrow night he's going to burn down everything I own. This man is dangerous, and the police won't touch him - they're in his pocket! I need help, Carmine."
"So, what exactly is the job? Defend your estate from arsonists for a few days? Talk it out with the Banker?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I just need you to get him to stop. I don't care how, and I don't even want you to tell me. Just get him to stop."
She looked genuinely frazzled and afraid. Neither she nor her butler had any real power to speak of, and it seemed she had no other choice. Carmine nodded and took the case.
He left the house without another word, and headed off deeper into the city. He would need to start his investigation in a place loan sharks were prevalent - at anyplace there was gambling.
He managed to find a bar that hosted underground poker games in the basement, and once he got the information, it wasn't hard to gain entrance. The bar was seedy, but the casino wasn't so bad, if a bit dimly lit. Carmine approached the clerk.
"Welcome, friend. Need some chips?" the clerk asked from behind a barred window.
"Information, actually. Looking for a banker."
"'Fraid all I got back here is poker chips and empty pockets, friend."
Carmine sighed and looked around. Two bouncers, each reading slightly above average power for humans, fifteen patrons, three dealers, and the clerk. He didn't have time to be polite and play ball with sixteen sleazy meatbags. Carmine reached through the bars and tore the clerk out of his booth through the window, destroying the bars that were meant to protect him and probably some of his bones too.
The bouncers immediately made their moves, heading towards Carmine with intent to injure. They each recieved a Galleon Scattershot for their trouble. Patrons poured out, and Carmine pressed the Galleon Buster under the clerk's chin.
"A banker."
"I know a lot of bankers!"
"Hell's Banker."
The clerk went a pale white, and struggled against Carmine's grip.
"I can't! He'll kill me!"
"I'll kill you."
"He'll kill me SLOW."
"Not if I kill him first."
The clerk paused, swallowed, and nodded. He told Carmine everything.
