Blood Money


alister_icon.gif mara_icon.gif tibby_icon.gif

Scene Title Blood Money
Synopsis The Staten Island Trade Comission talks business.
Date June 30, 2018

Staten Island Trade Commission

It's been a difficult month, and Alister hasn't quite been himself.

If people consider that an improvement or not is up for debate.

He's spent a lot of time inside, handling his business through proxies, and not dressed in a particularly fancy way. Like right now, he's on the couch with Tibby watching some action movie, wearing a buttoned up black shirt, very dark jeans, and Italian leather shoes around the house.

Despite his current goals, he's apparently been lacking in his usual drive to get things done, going through the motions to carry out his water baron plans.

Business is conducted differently out on Staten Island, though, especially within the confines of the Staten Island Trade Commission. Where normally business hours end within specified hours of the day, the luxury of “time off” isn’t had for the entrepreneurial spirits that chose to live on society’s fringe. Such are the consequences of freedom.

One such consequence invites herself in through the entrance from downstairs, blonde hair toussled and the top button of her crisp white — blood-spattered — dress shirt undone, necktie loose and suspenders hanging at her hips. Alister’s “accountant” Mara comes and goes like a housecat, but one who has a degree in finance.

And punching.

Alister isn’t she if she has the degree for either, admittedly.

“Funny,” Mara starts to say without any context, pulling a worn leather wallet out of her back pocket as she closes the door with a jab of her heel. “After weeks of saying he didn’t have the money he owed you, Oliver somehow managed to find six large right in his back pocket after the fifth insistence.”

Walking over to the couch, Mara slaps the wallet — obviously flush with cash — down on the couch beside Alister. Her sleeves are rolled up, blood on her knuckles still. “I’m gonna go use your sink,” she says with a jerk of one thumb over her shoulder, “yeah?”

The actual cats in the house, Adze and Oya watch Mara enter curiously though they don't move from their spots on one of the couches, sprawled out and just waking from a nap. Tibby, their “master” sits next to Alister but not curled up on him. The South African woman in a pair of short shorts and a tank top, black and yellow.

Her emerald green eyes take in the blonde and blood splattered shirt, “Got you some muscle eh?” Said to Alister with an approving eye, she likes that a woman was some type of enforcer for Alister, points for the “Water Baron”. Tibby didn't understand the need for titles or fame when it came to their line of work. She much rather nobody ever knew she existed why she works but.. different strokes for different folks. Stepping away from the couch to walk over for a glass of water, she looks Mara up and down, “Did he squeal?”

"These men with their petty debts add up after a while. We need all of the money we can possibly get if we're going to fix up one of these water treatment plants." Alister doesn't protest her using his sink, he instead offers the wallet to Tibby to look through as he lays his head back and stares vacantly at the television. "I should see what talents Odessa has, and I still need to have a meeting with those friends of yours," this is followed by a nod to Tibby, "So that we can try to form some kind of truce."

He made noises,” Mara confirms from the bathroom, door open and washing her hands. “None of them particularly becoming of someone his height.” After that she's quiet for a little while, then emerges from the bathroom, brushing water off of her hands and onto her slacks.

“According to my calculations, repairing the Victory Boulevard Pump Station, the closest water treatment plant in the best condition, will cost roughly forty-nine million dollars.” Mara comes to stand beside the couch, still brushing off a little excess water from her hands. “Adjusted for current inflation…” her eyes wander the room for a moment, “that's about one hundred and forty-seven million.”

Mara’ brows furrow together and as she reaches down for her dangling suspenders, pulling them back up over her shoulders. “We need investors.”

“Sounds like you need to seduce some folks.” And that might mean not opening his mouth, Tibby was outspoken so she liked Alister but sometimes.. his mouth for him into trouble. “Make friends.” With a grin she slips into the kitchen and comes back Witt three beers for the trio, Oya uncurls from her position and leaps down to the ground to pad over to Mara, yellow eyes looking up with a meow.

“O she likes ya.” Tibby says after swallowing down some of the beer now laying against the couch lazily, a half lidded gaze flicks between the two. That's a lot of money. She's not working with Alister though so she just tilts her head, wondering how the water baron will handle this.

"I tried to get Raytech, but they want to see proof that I can actually get something done. I'm not sure how to actually get started on this without any investment money, and without my given birth name clear, I can't take out a loan." Alister stares at Mara for a long moment, looking her up and down. "You're an intelligent business woman, how do you suggest I get investors, given my unfortunate situation?"

“Not with a loan,” Mara opines as she takes a knee to pay attention to Oya, threading fingers across the top of the feline’s head, scratching at ears and just beside the jaw. “With nearly three hundred percent inflation and the collapse of global financial markets ryou might as well close your dick in a car door rather than try to get a loan.” But Mara isn't all doom and financial gloom.

As she stands back up and comes to situate herself in front of Alister and Tibby, she reaches up and runs both her hands through her hair. “First, you need collateral. This is a nice, small start. But the rest isn't easy. What is easy is that a good majority of land and assets right now are unclaimed, and there's very little legal oversight on estate transfers, so to speak.” She means theft.

“You've got Triad operating on Staten Island,” Mara notes with a wave of one hand, “somebody’s bound to want them out. The property they have could be claimed, improved, and then once it's made livable or arable a case could be made to the State of New York to transfer. Don't start with water, start where every rich asshole did.” Mara’s brows roe slowly. “Real-estate.”

“Lotta people are looking to live outside of the Safe Zone, why else would they be here? But Staten Island doesn't have power, water, or sewers. Which brings us in a chicken or the egg sorta situation. How do you improve this dump without investments?” Mara’s lips press together in a thin line, and she shrugs a large shrug. “Fucking take it.”

It's a simple, if inelegant solution.

“The human traffickers you tussled with aren't doing that for fun. They're doing it for profit. So you're on their bad side, right?” Mara slaps one fist into an open hand. “Lean into it. Get some Evolved muscle on the cheap, folks who fight at the pits, and jack the traffickers cash. Nobody's going to cry over a bunch of dead fuckers.”

Then, looking to Tibby, she adds. “This island is shitty with cats, so use ‘em. Secrets are as good as gold and everybody’s got some. Figure out where the triad are, and fuck their day up too. They push high-end drugs. There's gotta be buyers, and where there's buyers there's money. Knock ‘em over and rob ‘em blind. What I'm saying is,” a smirk crosses her face, “vigilantism pays.”

“Aye fuck him. Aye don't work for him.”


Tibby’s reply to Mara’s insight as she goes over to lean over the couch to retrieve a fresh spliff laying on the table. Lighting it before her hand falls down to stroke at Adze’s back, Keira tried to get her involved in the politics of the Island. Tibby felt like if her business wasn't directly threatened she would rather lay low. The South African woman keeps finding herself attached to… aggressive personalities. They spiced up life?

The tiny woman looks over at Mara and tilts her head eyes narrowing, that was a complicated issue. Buddy was on that team of idiots. Tibby has to find a way to drag him out of it before Alister and Mara closed in. The thought strikes her then and Tibby pulls smoke out of her nostrils before passing the joint over towards Mara. “Got an in to the traffickers.” The bait laid out there. Tibby’s expression neutral as smoke frames her face and halo of bleached wild hair. “There's been trouble with me getting more involved with.. the back and forth of different.. crimelords.” Doos. She leaves open that she doesn't exactly love the idea of Refrain but just to sell it herself? Or hand it over to Alister? Ah. Drugs are drugs. Shrugging, Tibby looks over to Alister before green eyes swerve back to Mara. “I might ask them.” To spill the secrets they witness.

"My old business, something I'm very well-versed in." Alister looks over at Tibby, reaching over to place a hand on the top of her tiny head. "I need you to gather information for me, find vulnerabilities. You don't have to put yourself in danger, since I know you prefer to keep things simple."

"Mara, coordinate with Tibby to come up with an adequate plan. I think it would make the most sense to take places closest to the Staten Island Trade Commission, that way we can create a stronghold from which to expand from." Motioning to Mara, he asks, "What do you think?"

There's a sidelong look from Mara to Tibby, the taller woman’s eyes halfway lidded as she assesses her shorter company. One brow slowly raises, a smile creeping up on her lips before those blue eyes settle on Alister. She's quiet for a moment, arm's crossing over her chest and weight shifted to one foot.

“I think as far as plans go,” Mara angles her jaw askew, as if chewing on the notion, “we've had worse.”

“It's a start.”

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