tampered | Titles are hard

Entry tags:

Titles are hard

When; December 21st, evening.
Rating; PG-13 for drunkenness and bad capitalism innuendo?
Characters; Andrew Ryan (rianofski) & Isaak Sirko (defies_reason)
Summary; Andrew and Isaak have decided to have drinks together and converse. Because they find that they actually have some things in common. Who would have thought it?
Log;

It wasn't often that Andrew met someone he could actually talk to for any extended period of time. Oh, there were certainly people around the city who were good for a distraction, who could occasionally amuse him, but he had always been picky -- and elitist -- and having a drink with just anybody wasn't his style.

So when he and Isaak decided to have drinks together, he was slightly skeptical, despite the fact that he'd found Isaak's conversation enjoyable so far. Sitting in the bar, waiting for the other man to show up, he ordered himself a drink. Alcohol could only make the evening more interesting, after all.

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He chuckles at that, quietly, over the rim of his glass.

"No on any meaningful scale," he admits with a faint shrug. Drugs and women have been the Koshkas' bread and butter, by and large; outside of necessarily supplying their own people with weaponry, they've never had much involvement with weapon trafficking. "Is that a sizable industry here?"

"Not here, as far as I've seen, although I'm sure the Underground does a roaring trade in just about anything you can imagine, and probably some things you can't imagine. However, back home, I had a vested interest in weaponry, and I'd considered rekindling that interest here."

The fact that there are very few things to kill here -- random and dangerous curses aside -- doesn't seem to dissuade him.

"It is an interesting place," he agrees. Not quite what he'd expected, but what in this City is? Still, the less-than-legal side of town anywhere has a certain familiarity. It's just more marked in the City's black market, where "monster" is more than a colorful description.

"I might be interested," he says casually, after a moment's thought. "Though I wonder who your buyers would be." The weapon trade-- he doesn't partake, but one hears things of course-- tends to thrive with war, and here there's no one to fight. Fish shooting fish in a barrel.

"I've wondered that myself, and I've come to the conclusion that any work I did would have to be largely research and development. However, once one forms a company, there are many things that company can do."

And he's certainly used his previous companies as, essentially, shells for other, perhaps less savory, pursuits. Oh, he's never dealt drugs, never smuggled, never done anything technically against the law -- at least, not anywhere anyone would notice -- but he looks out for his own interests, and money is very much in his interest.

"What trade do you think the City could benefit from?"

"That's a difficult question." And one he's asked himself more than once, in the course of trying to find a comfortable niche. "The only thing that seems to do consistently well is entertainment, which I suppose is no surprise, between the curses and the inability to leave. I haven't been here a month and i find it tedious already. Beyond that, though-- the bulk of illegal business seems to be highly specialized." And largely nonhuman, which is a peculiar thought. It's not exactly that he'd have moral qualms about selling human blood or magical items or what have you, he just lacks the familiarity to find an in.

"No one seems to know where anything comes from, ultimately, save used goods... which makes it difficult to find a supply that might match any demand." Transport and distribution are more his familiarity than production; and here, that too seems hardly necessary. "Perhaps I ought to open a nightclub after all, at least that makes some semblance of sense here."

"Specialized and remarkably supernatural in nature, which I find a bit disconcerting. If I could find a way to get a foothold in it, I would, but I imagine they look for someone who knows a bit more about the various supernatural elements than I do. My world certainly didn't contain them."

He lights a cigarette, leans back, studies Isaak for a moment. "I think the nightclub is the best bet, although you seem like a man used to more elevated things."

Not that he sees Isaak as a snob. Far from it. He just has the feeling that the man has other business interests -- and other interests in life -- than running a nightclub, even one that might specialize in illegal things.

"I won't disagree with you there."

Funny, if the worst thing you can say about monsters is that you can't sell them anything. It's not exactly Isaak's sole complaint, but it's frustrating. He doesn't particularly relish being ignorant about the way things work around him.

"It wouldn't be my first choice, but we're all making the best of a bad lot, aren't we?"

He leans back for a moment's consideration, hands folded in front of him. The truth is, the specifics of what he does are of little concern to him. Isaak is-- or has been-- loyal to the Koshka Brotherhood because it has won that from him, because the privileges have always been worth his devotion. But he has always done what seemed best, taken the most efficient route toward his goals. As a young man it had been the obvious way forward; and later, there had never been a compelling reason to sacrifice the power and the money and the influence for anything. Until Viktor died.

He's nearly surprised how little he misses it, save the trappings of power.

"To be honest, I'd just about decided to retire. Live out my days in tropical anonymity." With a short laugh, he lifts his glass in a mock toast. "So much for that, hmm?"

He lifts his glass too, smiling slightly. "While I've never seriously considered retirement, tropical anonymity doesn't sound half bad at this point."

It would certainly be better than the City, though the City isn't as bad as he'd thought it would be when he'd arrived months before. The lack of business opportunities frustrate him, as do the curses, but ultimately, he's made the best of it. Still, he feels trapped here, unable to achieve at the level he's used to achieving at.

"If you do decide to open a nightclub, I'd be interested in being involved somehow."

Normally, he'd offer to be a financial backer, an investor, but with far less money than he's accustomed to, well, he can't quite make offers like that right out of the gate.

"It does have its appealing side."

Granted, his theoretical retirement isn't so much planned as necessary-- if George Novikov is making attempts on his life, certainly the Brotherhood must have authorized it-- but he's always had the vague idea that sooner or later he'd give it up and rest a while on his laurels. Now the question is one of whether he'll manage to cut a deal for his life. Or perhaps, whether he'll escape further attempts.

"For the moment I'm toying with ideas." That is, after all, the idea behind asking questions of the sort he's posed: what the City needs, and how he might supply it. "But I'll be sure to keep you up to date."

"Please do. I assure you, if you ever seriously need to consider a business partner, I have extensive credentials."

And from the way he raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly as he says it, it's entirely possible that he's implying something else, as well. He lights a second cigarette with the remainder of his first cigarette -- he's always been guilty of chain smoking, and while nobody at home had anything to say about it, people here seem alarmed by his habits -- and finishes his drink, setting the empty glass on the table and immediately looking around to order another.

"I'll be certain to keep that in mind."

There's something subtly different in this smile, a slight narrowing of his eyes. Truth be told, the idea that there might be room in Andrew Ryan's mind for anything save business is rather surprising, though not in the least displeasing.

"I suspect it's only a matter of time."

It's possible he means that for more than just the business venture.

And of course Andrew catches that difference in the smile; it wouldn't do any good to be a businessman who didn't know how to read facial expressions, even if his own facial expressions are always carefully considered so as to avoid revealing too much. Isaak might be surprised to learn that there's something more to Andrew Ryan than business, but there is -- it generally involves flirtation, and often goes further than that.

"I would expect so."

He does have expectations of how this friendship will go. Of course he does. Everything in his mind is always planned out far in advance.

Not schooling one's expression is as calculated a choice as staying cool... And there is one of the few advantages to being stranded, here; he has the freedom to let that slip if he so chooses. He might habitually be considered a bit of a flirt-- mainly because it tends to put others off guard-- but there are some few things unavailable to a man in his position.

Expectations can be useful; it's only a matter of whether one chooses to fulfill them, or subvert them. He drains the rest of his drink.

"Another?"

"Of course."

This time, when the waiter comes around, he'll order scotch. The longer he stays in one place drinking, the stronger his drinks get. If they spend much more time talking, he'll practically have to order a bottle of vodka and have it delivered straight to the table. Not that that hasn't been done before, far back in his lifetime.

"You must be doing something to get by in the City, if you have enough money to go out for drinks."

Maybe he was just planning on leaving you with the check, Andrew. He orders another of the same for himself.

"Oh, I'm not above taking an odd job here and there, until I get properly settled." Things Underground are, after all, not wholly unfamiliar; people still find it advantageous to have an intimidating gentleman standing beside them, all the moreso when it's clear he's more than capable of defending their unsavoury interests. "Makes me a bit nostalgic, really. And the Welcome Centre is surprisingly helpful."

"The Welcome Center is run by a lovely young woman," Andrew agrees, "But I found it difficult to stomach receiving so much charity."

Not that he's looking down on Isaak at all -- because Isaak has said that he's working, taking odd jobs, and that, to Andrew, is far more palatable than those who seem to live in the City without doing anything industrious whatsoever.

"One does what one must," he answers easily, though whether that pertains to the work or the lack of work is anyone's guess. Either way it's always been his guiding philosophy. If nothing else, the City is well-suited to pragmatists.

"Honestly, it's almost disturbingly easy to settle in."

"It is easy to grow lackadaisical here, I admit. I'd like to ask you a personal question, if you don't mind."

And of course, he'll ask it before Isaak even has a chance to say whether he minds or not. If the other man chooses not to answer it, well, then, that will be answer enough. "Are you married? Do you have children?"

From the distaste in his voice at the word children, what he thinks of children might be easily gathered.

Never any skirting the issue here. Prying isn't so charming, but Isaak has nothing to hide.

"I could say it's unwise for a man in my position to have too many attachments," he replies, glancing off at nothing in particular. It's an obvious lie, a bit of a tease. "But the truth is, it's not my area."

It is perhaps not the world's most vehement declaration, but the look in his eyes-- and the decidedly appraising (and rather approving) look he casts over the other man-- ought to make his meaning clear.

"No?"

That was the answer Andrew had been expecting -- the answer he'd been hoping for, even, though he won't be so crass as to reveal that on his face beyond a slight smirk. "Somehow I thought you might say something along those lines."

He leans forward a bit, with a trace of a smile.

"Under the circumstances, I've had no reason to hide it."

And perhaps at least one reason not to, though for the moment he's disinclined to do more than flirt.

"I suppose that's better for all involved."

For him, certainly. It's not that he'd necessarily protest against getting involved in some way with someone who was married or otherwise occupied, but he likes things to be neat, not messy, and romance is always messy, whether it's his own or somebody else's.

That's the beautiful part of a romance-- the mess. The entanglement. The inescapable and ineffable chaos of attraction. Perhaps it's disingenuous not to mention that he was, until so recently, more committed than he'd have been in any marriage, but honestly he doesn't want to talk about that. Least of all with someone who so openly scorns the idea.

There's something to be said for drowning one's sorrows, and not only in liquor.

"I expect it is."

"You'll find no lack of company here, if you intend to seek it out."

And not just sexual or romantic company. Despite his best efforts to avoid people entirely in his time in the City, he'd found that some of them were even worth talking to. While he wouldn't call them friends, not really, he got along with them better than he did with anyone at home. Not that that was particularly difficult.

"It is a strangely friendly place. Someone I spoke with suggested it's the Network, creating a false intimacy."

Isaak's not antisocial, but he's not the sort of man who relates well to others. It is, he suspects, something the two of them share, ironic as that is.

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