2008-04-11: Merchandizing

Starring:

FutureRandall_icon.gif FuturePortia_icon.gif FutureSophie_icon.gif

Summary: Randall shares a rags-to-riches story, complete with seemingly harmless arm candy. An attack is foreshadowed.

Dark Future Date: February 2012

Merchandizing


Tabla - Upper East Side

"So we've just hit the tunnel, and suddenly outta nowhere, these Triads roll down their windows and start blasting away at each other, you know? They've got a semi-auto and a grenade launcher— me, what do I got? Nothing, that's what. Hit one of 'em with the car door, right before we hightailed it outta there."

Randall's war story dissolves into a chorus of laughter and random comments. The men at the table run the gamut from sportswear to business casual, nothing obviously out of place except the noise level; Randall himself has a white jacket slung over the back of his chair. Four years ago, he could only afford it as part of a stealth reviewer gig; these days, he comes here pretty regularly.

And his smokin' hot slip of a girl knows it, too. When's she gonna show up already? Concealing his annoyance, he reaches for the wine bottle and finishes it off, waving it in the air to catch the waiter's attention for a fresh supply.

And really, Portia's really down for the fashionably late entrance. Especially because it makes sure that she's missed.. or at least noticed when she suddenly shows up. Slipping into the restraunt, she checks to see if the matre'd will direct her inwards to the table. As soon as she spots the group, however, she saunters from the entrance over to the table, stopping in behind Randall's chair. Naturally, she too is impeccably dressed. More so than usual, simply because she knows the reaction it will get.

"Having fun, are we?"

As soon as that unmistakable voice pipes up, Randall is genuinely all smiles again. He can't stay upset with her for very long - as long as he's gotten his fix recently, and considering that his present position of wealth and prestige comes from selling such fixes… it's not often that he has to worry about it.

"We are now!" he calls out, gesturing to the waiter to bring over an extra chair after he drops off the bottle. "You know the boys, of course." And vice versa. Some of them have dates of their own; one near the opposite end has been married just over a year, with no signs of wanting to stray any time soon.

"Well, I'm glad I'm here then."

Sliding into the extra chair, Portia folds her arms neatly on her lap as she glances around. She's familiar with the boys, naturally, but she likes to size them up. Especially because one never knows when someone will change, or turn tail and run, or really even betray those they're closest to… and Portia doesn't take any chances when it comes to being betrayed. Randall, on the other hand, doesn't need to be sized up.

Randall doesn't so much like sizing up his gang as he can't stop sizing them up. Take two parts legitimate psychology and one part delusion of extra-sensory perception. Add - thanks to the Pinehearst formula - one not-at-all-deluded ability to impose some quite unpleasant perception on anyone who does cross him, plus the rumors arising from same. There's a reason he's stayed in control this long.

"Miss Maddox!" the youngest member of the crew pipes up, a little too new and naive to wait to be introduced first. "I heard you perform the other day, it was great." The subject having been broached, the others are quick to chime in with muttered agreement.

Portia can't help but help as well. There's a reason that she's still around too. That and she's the one who always knows what's going on. After all, one never knows when she's around. Hearing the youngest member, however, the girl grins, looking back over.

"Well, thank you. I certainly try. I've been working on a few more, so I might have some new material the next time I perform."

Henry is met with a brief hard stare from Randall: you get a pass this time, it suggests, but pipe down now before I change my mind. Randall himself doesn't say anything out loud, letting the others' comments speak for him; instead, he responds to Portia directly, by way of reaching over and casually pinching her hip underneath the table.

Henry might get a stare, but Portia's more than happy to smile fondly in his direction. She looks back over to Randall, squirming just slightly and giggling at the gesture. She leans in against the table, looking at the group. "So what were we all talking about before I so rudely interrupted?"

Randall winks at Portia, his thoughts flitting back to the previous night, when— but never mind that, he's just been asked a question. "I was just thinking back to when I used to work as a cab driver. Got shot at a lot." Even more often than nowadays. "Always knew I wasn't really cut out for any normal line of work. But enough about me— Steve, you were just telling us about opening up a new market?"

The wink is returned by Portia, leaning back against her chair as she listens intently. "Oh, I think everyone knows where your real talents lie." And she knows some of them. She does however, cast a glance towards Steve, looking intently, arms folding over her chest. Yup, she's interested.

Sophie doesn't get a lot of time, or have a ton of money to go out to eat. Doesn't exactly date, either. But, everyone has to eat sometimes, and sometimes.. your co-workers push you out the door, knowing you're a hot second from burnout, and maybe meltdown. Sophie really needed time away. Away from.. well, not something she wants to think of while in this nice, and hopefully quiet restaurant.

Mostly quiet, at any rate. The noise coming from Randall's table comes and goes. Right now, they've mostly fallen quiet while Steve (a heavyset guy in his late thirties) speaks. "Yeah, we've been hanging out around this one flophouse that's been taking in a lot of users lately. The way I figure, they set 'em up with a bed and a hot meal, that just puts 'em in a better place to take advantage of our services, you know?"

Portia does listen to what Steve says. She gives a small nod of approval. Good enough of a plan. Or maybe she's not listening at all. She does shoot a glance over to the new arrival to the restaurant, that calculated gaze following the woman.

Sophie automatically scans the room. Seems she's had to develop a certain vigilance lately. She notices the group at the tables, but her only response, right now, is to ask to sit somewhere else. Unfortunately, there is nowhere else to sit but a mere couple of tables away. She settles for burying her head in her menu.

Randall purses his lips, nodding to Steve. "Good thinking… just keep it quiet, we're not hurting for business enough to put up with noisemakers." Trailing off, he follows after Portia's glance, waving down Sophie just before she can finish retreating into her shell. "Hey, long time no see! C'mon over and join us— Henry, scoot over and give her some room, would you?"

Sophie looks over her menu, eyes widening at a somewhat familiar voice. But it HAS been a while. She tilts her head, hesitating a moment. She gives a weary smile and rises, "Oh, sure. Its been a long time since I've seen you." softly.

Interesting. The retreating girl mostly has Portia's attention. She's not someone the girl recognizes. Which of course, makes her an interesting person to watch. She folds her arms again, offering her a smile as she looks back over to Randall. "Friend of yours?"

"From a few years back," Randall explains, smoothly glossing over certain details - like the woman he was seeing back in those days, the one who abjectly failed to accept his career choice. "School still keeping you busy, or you out yet?" Henry, meanwhile, gets up and walks over to grab yet another chair so that Sophie won't have to drag her own over.

Sophie looks over gratefully. "Well.. off and on. Funding just kind of ran out, and, well, seems few really value my career choice these days. I've found a new job, instead."

"What sort of job are you into these days, then?" Portia offers a grin, glancing back to Randall. "And since the gentleman isn't introducing us, I'm Portia Maddox." Naturally, the name might ring a bell, since she's still got some reputation as a musician and singer. She likes to throw it around a little.

What, you mean there are people left in New York who don't know Portia already? "This is Sophie," Randall fills in for the other direction, then falls quiet again and lets Sophie explain where her current situation has landed her, turning the rest of his attention to the fresh rounds of breadsticks and red wine just now being dropped off.

Sophie says, "Well, it took a while to find a job. But I think its worthwhile. I work at a shelter, for those poor people addicted to that drug. We try to help them get clean."

Portia raises an eyebrow, but she doesn't laugh. She tries really hard not to, mostly because of the previous conversation. "Well, that sounds like an honorable profession. I'm sure you're satisfied with it." She glances back to Randall with a slight smirk at the corner of her mouth.

Randall returns Portia's glance. "Good to know that there are people out there working on that sort of thing." This is true, though not for the reasons that a casual listener would assume. He shoots Steve a meaningful look, in case it turns out to be the same shelter that was being discussed earlier.

Sophie nods and sighs, "I guess it wasn't what I thought I'd be doing. But.. " she motions with hands that remain covered with thin leather gloves, "I kind of ended up working in it. I took in one friend, then it sort of escalated."

Portia offers a smile to Sophie. "Well, that's a good thing. Especially if you help your friends. Good to stick with those who you can trust." She stretches out her arms a little before she looks back to Randall.

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