Snacks after sundown

[Kray]

A grunt of ascension comes from around the last shreds of the first burger to meet its swift demise as he puts his head back to swallow it down. "Ha. I've heard that before, and isn't it just true enough." He could think of plenty of examples. "Ah. So what? The muggers reached a conclusion that the beautiful lady, with the nice car, was to dangerous so decided to try their luck with the hulking giant sporting face that says he's been in more fights then they have combined?" Now that was some perverse logic right there. But oddly enough in their world made an equally surprising amount of sense.

The second burger is seized upon and over half of it disappears in one savage bite, which is lower then first. Still the terrible teeth treat the meal like it might as well be a blob of hot butter. And that mouthful is not long behind the first. "Ah. I can see the appeal actually, wheelin and dealin, finding the right people for a job, the right job for a person all part of my wheelhouse." And if organisations be they criminal or otherwise has screwed up on that front already it just meant better rates for his ever expanding networks. "Hm. We all start somewhere, it's just about not putting them in to deep to cause drowning right." And if a job was beyond an individual well some neatly chosen words, a handshake with John Donoghue and a deal could fix that. A magical deal admittedly but the mortals were none the wiser to that.

He finishes the second burger while Circe has her revelation. "Uh. I'm not wearing a Hawaiian shirt." He seemed pretty final on that. "Ah. Clothing options are few enough for the particularly tall and heavy, and those shirts are a sign of desperation." Which he was not. "Uh. Besides I'm a bit more then just a big guy." He was the tallest, largest figure he had seen in the city. Only Jasper came close but the beast was a few inches and many pounds lighter then the Ogre, by appearance anyway.

As more of his food order is turning up the ogre spirits seem to be mollified sufficiently, the craving still ever present but a full stomach took away the physical hunger element. "Uh. I mean sure it's not silver but have you seen the cost of lead? It gets stripped of church roofs for a reason." And it took quite a lot to get someone to commit robbery and vandalism of a church. "Ha. In fact I'd call silver coated lead, the definition of a silver lining." That seemed to amuse the giant. "Ha. Or are you saying its some other metal coated in lead?" Still valuable but not by as much.

[Circe]

"A theory with some merit," she folds her arms with a nod as she considers that is possible. "Might add violent and angry to my description. Oh hey! Was one of these idiots scrawny to the point you'd consider giving them a sandwich and sporting a short, orange mohawk? Cause that one tried mugging me at least, uh," she thinks about it, "Well, a few times. Last time they jumped out, froze up, then ran away. That was like last year."


The Summer wasn't going to mention that she'd previously knee-capped them with a bullet. It'd been very Summer time fun time to go to town on so many of them. Shame they avoided her neighborhood now, less fun. And Kray was just gulping the burgers down. She'd not want to see an eating contest between Kray and Homer Simpson. It'd be gasto-trophic...good thing she didn't say that out loud.


"A fair business model," Circe agrees as she considers the elements involved and phrasing restrictions. "Having troubleshooters," she chuckles at that, "make for a good safety net. Someone to recoup losses when you underestimate competition or overestimate new hires," she lets out a sigh as she looks up at Kray, "Glad I ain't my firm's ONLY troubleshooter, and sink-or-swim can find a few more quickly, but I'd prefer a better trained average employee instead." Circe scrunches up her face, trying to figure out how to say it without, you know, saying criminal deeds being done.


Like a dozen exceptional gun-runners and a bunch of mooks meant more overtime. A couple of exceptional gun-runners and a bunch of competent gun-runners meant less overtime and more overall profit. "Difficult to explain John. So many big clients, so much rush," exporting was pretty much the name of the game.


Circe shrugs, "Suit yourself. I find that when you already stand out, do it MORE," she waves her arms wide. "And then when you dial it down, you are remembered less. Makeup helps too. Though I won't fault that you already bespoke about you fashion with me," and puns return.


Circe tilts her head as he brings that up. "Ya'd think lead poisoning and acidic rain concerns. And lead is expensive? Thought I had found something fitting the bad guy gets tricked scene from an Ocean's movie. Waitaminute. Hhow the fanculo do they keep putting lead in pencils? Those are still cheap." Circe was pretty sure they were called lead pencils. She knew bullets didn't use them anymore. And high value defeats the purpose of the trap in the tunnels now.


Eh, maybe she could have Kray pawn it then for a percentage?

[Kray]

Licking his grey fingers as the last of the second burger follows its fellows, getting all the sauce, relish and grease he can. "Uh. Well just about everyone looks scrawny to me." To be as tall and broad as the ogre was, he still managed to maintain clear obesity on his frame, likely a combination of his kiths and eating habits, although which contributed more was anyone's guess. "Uh. I didn't see any mohawks though no." Quite the choice in hairstyle. "Ah. But yes fair alright violent and angry should be included." Circe was those things for sure. "Hm. If I had to pick based on looks though, I'd still try to mug you over me." Neither was a good choice and either would lead to later regrets.

His toothy grin makes its first appearance of the night a fair sign his mood was improving. "Uh. Yeah. It's called agency work right. You go to the agent and they send you someone suited for the task." Sure temp agency did not usually cover illicit activities, not openly, but it sure did sound better in mixed company then admitting to be an underworld deal broker. "Hm. You need extra boots on the ground I can cover that easy. Come with my guarantee. If it's more specialized work though we'd need to sit down and talk details." He had up to now made a point of steering clear of Circe and her branch of the criminal world, no need to step on toes after all. But well if a mutually agreeable situation was going to present it self then well he does love to make a deal.

The giant grabs up some napkins and starts wiping at his front, the forceful enthusiasm with which he had consumed the first to burgers had resulted in some till now unseen spillage. "Hm. There is standing out and standing out. I've got an image to maintain so to speak, a way of doing things that makes me recognizable, and that's important." What had the the entertainers he had been speaking with recently called it. "Oh. That was it, branding." And having a good sense of yourself was rather important to avoid compete and total insanity, a balance many lost teetered on rather perilously. "Huh. You can keep you Hawaiian shirts, they are not for me." Big, mean, bone chilling, and behind it all something undeniably powerful, even the details that got lost between the cracks all added an air of mystery to the giant in mortal society. "Hm. Besides sometimes it pays to be remembered less, at points anyway." As long as you remained consistent, patient, brick by brick. Better to have high points backed by reliability then to be flash in the pan.

He nods his great head with some vigor here. "Oh. Yeah you can make a tidy sum off lead. I wouldn't be mad if I came into a windfall of it. Well a little if I had been planning to trade in silver but yeah it's not a bad compensation prize." As for pencils. "Uh. Are they still lead?" He didn't think they were, but well when you miss out on a substantial stretch of time little details like that can get muddled.

[Circe]

That gets a laugh out of Circe, Oh ho ho ho!" because of another incident, "I'll have to tell you about the baby biker gang later. It was hilarious, oh ho ho ho!" And criminal activity involving a REAL biker gang. Those stupid brats brought switchblades to a gun fight and lost their bikes for it. "Take too long to explain here," she waves her hand through her hair and back towards the mundies. Kray can see her black-red eyes dart towards the mortals. Unwanted witnesses in this case.


Circe holds up her hands, "I've not doubt that your word is golden man," she shakes her head, "But I'm the fix shit that goes wrong gal. I'd not mind having some competent backup who follow NDAs and can un-screw shipping problems. But I am not the company's big check writer," she had her reasons for that. Freehold work and freedom mostly, though a few other things come up. "The extra import and export paperwork is a bitch. Especially with my fixing most IT problems on top of everything else I troubleshoot, ugh," her ears droop and she decides that THIS is something that she can actually gripe about. "Website migration, social media mirrors, and hacks trying to convert the site to a porn site," which was weird. Circe goes full Italian stereotype and starts talking with her hands for added emphasis. "Like, I can rearrange code back hard enough to shove it down their throat and crash them, but if I had a nickel for each time someone tried to infest the company's sites with porn," she thinks for a moment, "I'd have $0.35. Not a lot, but you see my point?"


The lady responsible for the first three of those hacks was no longer an issue. But it seems now it was a cliche' for some dark web hackers.


Circe points at Kray with a nod as she drawls out: "Never underestimate the power of brand recognition," she quotes that zombie cowboy from the sci-fi show in firm agreement with Kray. It was why she had so many suits in the same cut. Aside from them hiding the body armor and weapons, it made Circe recognizable to those in the know and let her blend into business crowds if needed. Though she had to get a little something in. "MY Hawaiian shirts wouldn't fit you at all. I mostly wear them to say fuck off, I'm not on the clock. Or to annoy folks who are fashion obsessed. They get pissed so easily by the color clash."


Petty means of inciting anger and rage? Yes. Effective? For Circe yes.


The lead being valuable was a surprise. She'd just needed to test the pig molds with the other scrap she'd got on a job. Turns out there wasn't enough silver for the big molds, but the lead scrap at the place was plentiful. Not that she was going to mention that business in front of so many mundies. Circe gives Kray a look that demands a question mark over her head. "Uh, yeah. They're only silver plated...oh wait, you meant the pencils, ha ha," her ears droop as she blushes at the error. "You know what?"


Circe's hand dives into the front of her jogging jacket. And pulls out a smartphone. "Cazzo trivia, tech!" she holds it up and pushes a button to play a small tune from it. Drawing confused stares and a few happy laughs from the mundies. Then proceeds to look it up. "Huh? Nope," she pops the P. "Graphite and clay. But they call it pencil lead, without any lead in it," Circe leans closer to the small screen in confusion. "Why?" she begins tapping on the phone, trying to find an answer other than brand recognition.

[Kray]

Embroiled in the workings of criminality as the ogre is the image does not take a lot to conjure. "Ah. You might have to yes." The story would not be humorous, groan inducing or a healthy combination of the two. "Ha. Sounds like the kind of group that confused biker gang for a dance troupe. Or a fashion show." Plenty of would be crooks fell into the style over substance trap, thinking that if they looked the part and acted extra thuggish or cocky they would be ruling the roost in no time. They did not last.

The giant knows Circe well enough to have seen the hand talking many a time before, even if he is still a little unsure on precisely what it is meant to mean. "Uh. Well you'd be amazed at the kind of paperwork I can make happen. As long as you know a system well enough it can be managed." Did he know the systems well enough, no not really. He did know people that did however, and they when needed handeled the paperwork side of things. He had ventures in the perfectly legal as well as the criminal and the two blended when necessary. But the following rant does get a rather confused look across the giant nasty features. "Uh. Sounds like some people have way to much free time on their hands." Why would they be doing that. "Uh. And that your owed thirty five cents." Because well, collect what your owed.

Now that she says it again maybe he had heard that from Circe at some point as well. "Uh. Yeah something like that, but you need a brand first." The two rather went hand in hand, and as the ogre slowly built one, the other was reinforced and vice versa. "Ha. No I don't think they would, what do you think would give first the shoulders, the sleeves or the gut?" Rather missing the point that a Hawaiian shirt can be worn unbuttoned of course. "Hm. But yeah I reckon you can pull them off a lot better then I would no contest." Circe was beautiful and a fairest to boot, of course she could. "Bah. If someone takes that kind of exception to what your wearing they have far to easy of a life." And hey there were those who really did.

The look demands a question mark and gets one, a flaming illusionary one that mortals can't see, and floating next to the ogres ugly face instead of over her head, his mantle was his own after all. "Uh. yeah I meant the pencils." And the answer was forth coming from Circe's phone, although the ogre doesn't seem to recognize the noise. Instead to collects burgers three and four as they are finished up and pushed out the window. "Uh. To be confusing maybe?" Its not till he has taken a hefty bite from burger number three the red juices flowing from his terrible teeth the idea clicks and the flaming question mark sputters and becomes an exclamation mark instead. Once the food is swallowed, it's only proper after all. "Oh. Like we have been saying Branding." If it was called pencil lead however long ago, why change the name even if the product was no longer the same.

[Circe]

ooc: When I type that Circe is talking with her hands, I need to clarify. She isn't doing sock puppets. She is doing the stereotypical Italian gesticulating as they talk, AKA the Italians Talk with Hands trope. Sorry if that was confusing, I got tired to typing gesticulating. Sorry if you had the mental image of Circe doing sock puppets or something like that. More like this without the beepity boppity boopa part.

"Oh ho ho ho, you give the baby bikers waaaaay too much credit my man," they'd been pathetic to the extreme. But at least they were community minded enough to donate their bikes to real bikers.


"I'll stake with the software system manipulation," Circe tries to keep the analogy going. Circe wasn't too interested in the logistics of wheeling and dealing to get bulk shipments across international borders. The Hedge worked fine for duffle bag sized shipments. Maybe two when she figures out how to turn into an owl and shrink her stuff. Leon was really, really good at that part. Not as good as the alligator guy who somehow was LEGALLY allowed to have a yacht with an alligator pond. "Yes," she agrees bluntly, gesticulating her hands for emphasis on the word. "They got consequences though. Legalities, restrictive details, work, blargh," she sticks her tongue out.


Make a conversation boring or awkward enough and folks try to ignore it.


Circe stops gesticulating with her hands to first fold them in front of her. She leans against the food truck, left hand rising to rub her chin. Her black-red eyes dart across Kray. Arms, shoulders, and gut. Then snorts in amusement: "Sleeve. You got big biceps. No one can say you don't know the word ripped," she chuckles in amusement at the jest. Gristlegrinder or Troll, take you pick on WHY John would know how to rip. "I believe the current slang is Karen. And they draw aggro from people way better than I ever could," the Larcenist's tone actually sounds like she is impressed and not joking. Which she is. "I would say the bitches don't even try to do it, but I will not. Dogs are too nice to be compared to folk like those idiots."


Circe would be amused by Kray doing the question mark thing save that she was too embarrassed by her own mistake. It was a little mortifying. She gives him a bit of a stink eye as he comes up with that answer. "Yeah," she nods glumly, "Yeah I just didn't want to say it. You know what?" She types away on the phone for a moment. Then frowns. "Hm...lead's about a dollar a pound...I'd prefer silver," she admits fully.


Though now she is a bit suspicious of Kray's claim. Had he been fishing for her to sell them to him for some deal he had going? Props, but she wasn't that easy to fool Kray.

[Kray]

Oh no you are absolutely fine, in fact that is the exact scene I think of when you narrate her doing so! I was trying to convey something in the narration for Kray and clearly failed utterly my apologies.

Hefty shoulders heave a mighty shrug. "Uh. Maybe I do, never knew them so. But they sound like the type who thought the bikes were more ornamental." Status pieces, like a gold plated gun. It meant nothing if you couldn't back it up with the proper grit. "Ha. You know gangsters of the week kind of folk." The kind you actually rarely needed to worry about because they and their successors would all be gone within the month.

He snorts, the idea of criminals exploiting the legal system to their own ends amuses him. It amuses him quite a bit. And might well be what he is currently working on being able to do himself. "Ah. Well good they got something sent their way." Unlike many mortals he does not seem to put out by the conversation. "Hm. What it is they say, never walk into a nest of red tape, you'll get strung up by those who know how to navigate it." True for criminal and regular citizen alike when the system wanted to take it's pound of flesh it was bloody hard to avoid paying up. "Oh. But who's going to give you your winnings?" Was he being serious, not having realized Circe had made a jest or in fact just taking the joke perhaps a bit to far himself.

He takes the window of quiet to finish of burger three, taking a little more time to actually taste and enjoy the rest of this one, which he should well be doing given this would put over a pound of meat plus all the trimmings in his belly. "Uh. You what I disagree I think it'd be the shoulders I doubt I could even get both arms in without tearing it across the back." Just trying to maneuver the sleeve to get his long arms through would likely result in some highly abused fabric. And then as looks at burger four he sighs, heavily. "Bah. I might actually need to find a tailor soon, I keep ripping the rental suits." And while he might be a lot better off for money then he used to be, those bills got expensive. Almost as if to console himself about this turn of events the fourth burger loses over half its mass in one terrible bite. Chewing and swallowing. "Uh. Karen? Wait I've heard others call people that before. That was an insult then?" he might be skilled with words but the jargon of the youth today required its own entire lexicon to grasp.

The price of lead actually gets an appreciative head motion form the giant. "Huh. See not a bad compensation prize. It could have been tin or pewter." The summer queen then goes onto state her presences. "Uh. I mean yeah sure who wouldn't prefer silver. But I'm saying the lead is better then nothing." Patting his chest to help move some gas in one direction or the other before he continues. "Uh. Do the math how many pounds to a bar, and how many bars? That'll give an idea of worth." To drive the point home he continues. "Hm. Makes it a little easier to understand why it gets stripped off roofs as well, the thieves." Careful not to implicate either of them. "Uh. They would have to be working with tonnes of the stuff when they do that." And thousands, tens of thousands even, of dollars for a nights work didn't sound to shabby. Sure it still wasn't silver.

[Circe]

"Ah, yes. Poser punks," was a good general term for the types across all, well, industries.


As for making other fake bars, Circe could do that with scrap glass and tin melted together. Not plastic as working the forge with a gasmask was really hard. And she was sure her Goblin Fruit garden didn't like the smell. "Ha, true that. Red tape is super dangerous. Should tell you about the guy in my industry who is, not sure famous or infamous," Circe tilts her head in thought before she straightens her neck, "I know the difference. Think is it ain't business side that got him fame. Pretty impressive stuff his work, but that ain't the awesome part. I think he somehow got a license from Florida to own a boat with an alligator pond," because it is kind of impressive when someone that is a criminal has a fully legal bond villain lair. "I mean, yeah, FLORIDA, so not such a surprise. Still expect that kind of accessory for someone that is trying to kill a British man in a tux."


As for the nickels? "Hmm," she thinks on it with a show of rubbing her chin. Circe had an idea. "Treat that idiot like a videogame mob? Punch her in the face until nickels pop out? It'd be fun!" She perks up happily at the last part.


He was getting calmer, so those must be some good burgers. "Dude, have seen how JACKED you are?" Circe has to keep going with it. "And how tiny I am? I think you'd rip the first sleeve." As for the matter of suits? "Bespoke is the way to go, I have a tailor that most of my associates also utilize. Custom work may be expensive, but quite effective." Pockets for days and room for guns or armor.


"Unless their name is Karen," Circe nods her head curtly, "yes it is. Their battle cry is wanting to see a manager."


Good thing about the criminal connections and tech savviness? Circe could jam the phone, have help covering her tracks, and THEN use the Hedge to dispose of the corpse if one pissed her off.


"Tons is fine, but I've only found pounds," Circe shrugs, "Demand doesn't that much abounds. Not like I can get that full price without a proper dealer to negotiate with," which sounded like a distraction for her own interests. Though Kray might know some. Circe smirks in amusement, "I'd said it is about a $80. I can make that in 5-minutes on the clock, easy. Time poorly spent trying to sell it instead of having a solid doorstop. I mean, really my dude?" The smirk she had widens into a full smile, "The price isn't exactly much of an incentive for me to get the lead out, oh ho ho ho ho!"


This gets a couple of annoyed groans from a few of the mundies.


Circe does a fist pump, "Worth it to get that pun out, oh ho ho!" Then she looks at the crowd, "I CAN be worse! Honestly I could keep running off puns until I become a Shetland pony, making my voice a little horse," more groans. Such frustration, "Positive thoughts folks, you lot will save a on shoes with how def-eeted you sound," her grin is audible despite the groans of annoyance.