20177/Business Prospects

Business Prospects
Date of Scene:	03 March 2025
Location:	The Victorian Restaurant - Hellfire Club
Synopsis:	Wilson Fisk and Rose Wilson meet to discuss the potential for future business involvement. The Kingpin has need of capable messengers and Ravager is reputed to be among the best.
Cast of Characters:	Wilson Fisk, Rose Wilson

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Wilson Fisk has posed:
The Victorian Restaurant in the Hellfire Club is one of the most exclusive establishments in all of New York City. Which means that among the executives and most influential VIPs is none other than Mr. Wilson Fisk and today he's elected to utilize his standing reservation. Fisk's dressed in in crisp, perfectly fitted white dress shirt that sports a high and sharp collar beneath a deep black suit that makes a rather imposing fashion statement. The suit itself has been tailored with sharp angles and lines, which emphasizes the Kingpin's broad, imposing figure. A bold red tie acts as an audacious addition to an otherwise monochromatic ensemble. He's gone minimalist when it comes to his accessories, sporting little more than golden cufflinks and simple, polished black dress shoes that bring a touch of refinement to the outfit. His dress may stand in some opposition to the general theme of the Victorian to some extent, but it seems that none are willing to bother the massive man.

A bottle of wine sits near the center of the table and while only two individuals are seated at the table, the party itself consists of four. At the table Mr. Fisk and Ms. Rose Wilson sit, but nearby a pair of men dressed in sharp suits of their own lurk out of sight and out of mind. A pair of bodyguards that oversee the safety of their employer that wears the name of Wilson Fisk.

The bottle's taken up and the youthful red is poured into Rose's class, then Wilson's as he speaks with a voice that may remind of thunder just on the edge of perception, "You're one of a handful whose expertise has come highly recommended. There's also the familial connection that gives you a leg-up on competition". The observations are made without offering anything incriminating for those who may overhear. They are, after all, surrounded by other diners in the upstanding establishment as well as the sparingly clad waiters and waitresses. The bottle is placed back to the table and Kingpin's face shifts, turning itself back to regard Rose as he continues with one hand casually begins to roll an unlit cigar between his fingers while his green eyes settle onto his dining companion, "It's my understanding that you've followed in your family business. That's correct?" The question is left for Rose to answer while Fisk's free hand moves to take up his glass of wine, permitting himself a long sip while he listens to the forthcoming answer.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Rose Wilson is used to being in exclusive locations. Sure, many of those times she is ~sneaking~ into said locations due to her more nefarious activity. Yet there is more to it than just that in the way she carries herself, as if she belonged no matter how her white hair and the eyepatch covering one of her eyes makes her rather distinguishable, even in a place like this where everyone is distinguishable.

She dresses with at least a nod towards the Victorian call of the restaurant, a rather tight corset upon her elegant form, a long skirt with a cut on the side that both displays a tanned leg and gives her an ease of movement. Long hair has been brought up in an intricate sweep, rolled around a gem-studded hair stick. Shoulders are bare and much like Fisk she is keeping accessories to a minimum. No necklace of bracelets. Yet it is almost a given that under what looks a minimalist dress that she is keeping a few number of weapons. Just enough. Just in case.

Wine is served and there's a clear of her throat when the first thing Fisk does is to mention a familial connection. Just the briefest of tensions on her good eye but then she offers in return, "I pride myself in always doing my best." she says, "It is important to be professional in what we do, wouldn't you agree?" she lifts her own glass, watching Fisk drink for a couple of moments before taking in a sip herself. Just enough to wet ruby lips that are as dark as the wine she is imbibing.

"You are correct though, I have joined the family business. What of you, Mr. Fisk? It's hard to find much of you besides your philanthropic interests." she mentions, a smile curling up on her lips. Hard, but not impossible. An important distinction.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"I'm entirely in agreement, Ms. Wilson," Fisk answers with a small smile across his broad features. The glass of wine is sat atop the table anew and his gaze settles onto his companion. Their food in the midst of preparation, it's only freshly baked bread and fine cheeses to please their palates for the time being. The cigar remains unlit, but it's held between thick fingers as though Fisk could take a deep puff from it at any moment. Despite the fact that it remains unlit, that doesn't prevent the smell of leather and dark chocolate to waft from it as his hand gestures casually and sends the scent of it around himself, "Professionalism is what creates the distinction between failure and success. If you want a message to be received clearly? You don't seen some amateur off of the street. You send a professional that guarantees delivery and ensures completion".

He pauses for a moment as his gaze shifts aside to the unlit cigar. He sets it aside for the time being and his immense hands come together. Fisk's thick fingers interlace and in that moment his fists pair together may be comparable to the size of the average human head - or perhaps larger! - and his bright green eyes come to rest fully upon Rose while the pair converse casually among other luminaries and powerful individuals, "The quality of their herald says a great deal of the sender. The quality of the messenger can in itself be a compliment to the recipient". Fisk's expression remains carefully neutral while he speaks.

Though the shift of the conversation toward himself doesn't seem to go without acknowledgement and the Kingpin offers a prominent smile before his expression shifts back to something colder and firmer, "My business ventures are progressing quite well - especially in recent weeks. Success is often about seizing opportunities and the current economic climate presents many opportunities."

Rose Wilson has posed:
"That I can guarantee." The young woman says without a inch of hesitation or coyness to her expression, as if failure was not an option, "The message would be received, loud and clear. Screaming even." the smile that comes to her expression as razor-edge as a blade's, just the faintest hints of danger behind the fine features of her face, "The method, and how loud, is always open to be negotiated."

The glass is put aside after another sip, never too much. Not allowing her senses to be dulled, "Must have been quite the business fallout for a message to be needed to be delivered in such a manner." She comments even if she doesn't further ask for details. It wouldn't be professional, "Yet for as long as the agreed price is paid it can be assured you will get what you want." no false bravado in the manner she speaks, as if it would be a certainty. Very much her father's daughter in the confidence displayed.

And very much like her father there's a thin line between decorum and directness, "Do you wish to employ my services, Mr. Fisk?" fingertips reaching for a piece of cheese and she taking a bite on it, teeth showing, just on the verge of a snarl.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"In business, many things are negotiable," Fisk answers after Rose's own initial answer.

He reaches for his cigar now and despite many city ordinances declaring smoking indoors to be against the law, Wilson Fisk seems prepared to enjoy one of the finer luxuries at-hand. One of his bodyguard steps forward with a hand moving toward a pocket to see to the lighting of his employer's cigar. Instead it is Ms. Wilson that seems to be prepared for the inevitable need to have fire in hand. When she suddenly extends a hand forward and a flame seemingly sprouts from her fist, Fisk's smile returns and broadens while he leans forward to accept the light.

A pair of puffs are taken and a cloud of smoke is exhaled toward the ceiling. Only then does Fisk's large head lower and his attention return to his associate, "No dancing around the heart of the matter, hm? It's an approach that I can respect". He doesn't puff away like some locomotive, but the cigar clutched between his fingers trails its acrid smoke in a thick stream from his hand. Meanwhile Wilson's focus lingers upon Rose while he studies the mono-eyed mercenary while he considers his own answer, "Business often means preparing for eventualities, Miss Wilson. Often a lawyer isn't present for every occasion, but instead is placed on retainer so that when their services are required, they may be summoned". That little unnecessary lesson in business is soon expanded upon however and Fisk's imposing frame shifts ever so slightly as he gestures vaguely toward Rose with a wave of his cigar-wielding hand, "The same can be said of messengers. It can be good practice to have a messenger or courier available at all times, but the truly exceptional rarely work for cheap. That means keeping them around on a daily basis is a waste of their potential and financially irresponsible. Much like the lawyer, you place an exceptional messenger on retainer. Are you available to be retained, Miss Wilson?"

Rose Wilson has posed:
Said flame that comes from Rose's fist is fruit of a lighter that is hard to tell when exactly she brought it out, almost as if she had anticipated Wilson's needs. The flame dances for a moment as the woman brings it up to Wilson's cigar, lighting it before she snaps it close, placing it on the table, equidistant to each of them, "Many, but never all." she retorts about business negotiations.

"I do so in respect for both our times." The corner of her mouth curling just so, "Besides, we are still dancing..." she adds, canting her head to the side as that strong stream of cigar smoke fills the air, "..., just not only to your beat now." gaze still fully fixed upon Wilson as he then explains of what he wants of her which makes her brow to arch in thoughtful consideration.

And perhaps just the briefest of surprises at the proposal.

"I can be. The price will not be kind." She says as a matter-of-fact, "But you don't strike me as the kind of person that cares about the money." a gesture to the opulent restaurant they find themselves in, "As long as the quality is right. So in answer, yes I am."

Wilson Fisk has posed:
The assurance from Rose that the price will not be kind only serves to draw a knowing smile to the broad face of the Kingpin. Wilson Fisk's hand moves to his face and he takes a long drag from his cigar. The smoke is held for a moment while his green eyes stare hard toward the one-eyed messenger. The smoke is finally releases as he begins to speak, causing it to trail from either corner of his wide mouth while he answers the matter of price, "The question of cost isn't at issue, Miss Wilson". Fisk's hand slips to the side and comes to rest at the table's edge as the immense man seems to dominate much of Rose's own field of view due to the sheer size of him.

The matter of price is twisted and redirected, cast back at Rose herself as Kingpin's head tilts ever so slightly while his question is presented, "Are your professional talents reliable and worth the expense?"

Perhaps in the interest of relieving any potential insult, Kingpin doesn't await an answer to the seemingly rhetorical question as he thumbs at his cigar, causing a clump of ash to fall to the floor aside the table. One of the scantily clad waitresses seems to have anticipated the need and quickly slips forward with the quiet tap of high heels as the French maid clad server stoops to collect the ash with a dustpan and feather duster. The sight afforded results in a sideward glance from Fisk, but that glance lasts but a second before his attention turns back to Rose while he speaks, "Your reputation is sound and you're very much your father's daughter in terms of your ability to complete those deliveries that are given to you. Which means that the price to place your expertise on retainer is reasonable, whatever it may be."

Rose Wilson has posed:
The size difference between the duo is very much apparent as they sit on the table yet that doesn't seem to intimidate the ~messenger~ sitting across from the large man, a veneer of respect upon the woman's features even if that dangerous glint to the single eye on Rose has yet to fade from earlier, as if something else was lurking just on the edges of perception, coiled and ready to spring out.

"We wouldn't be sitting here and talking if that wasn't the case, don't you agree?" Her gaze trailing to the woman that comes to clean up the ash but unlike Fisk her gaze lingers for a time, just enough to watch the woman and be out of hearing reach before she speaks up again, "Yet I will let you know that I am -not- my father." she says back to Kingpin before a smile creeps up to her expression, "But I imagine that is the point. My father brings a certain gravitas and attention that I am sure you do not wish to have resting on your shoulders." a pause as her gaze returns the man, "No matter how large they may be." which by her point of view are quite massive.

"If the price is no problem then we are of agreement and all you have to choose now is whom should be on the receiving end of the message you wish to send." she says.

Wilson Fisk has posed:
"If you accept, then we'll discuss the details of business at a later time. For now? Let's enjoy a meal, wine, and less imposing conversation," Fisk answers with a raised chin and green eyes that linger upon Rose while he speaks. Another draw from his cigar results in yet another cloud of acrid smoke rising up to cling toward the ceiling. The lunch carries on and for two businesspeople, a new opportunity and partnership is forged. Many corporations retain services, but Wilson Fisk may be among those few who retain the services of messengers...