Post by fionn on Feb 25, 2012 18:54:07 GMT -5
| [atrb=width,500px][atrb=border,0px,true][atrb=vAlign,top][STYLE=border-right: 120px solid #4a4d5a; text-align: justify; padding: 0px 10px 20px 0px;font-size: 10px]"I'm no' walkin' out of 'ere withou' seventy-five percen'." Two gentlemen remained in the office, one seated behind the grand mahogany desk in the center of the room while the other remained standing. The owner of the auction house, the one occupying the leather armchair, was a a stouter fellow. Experience showed on his face and his hairline, but he presented himself in an amiable manner. Fionn would've gladly ended his own life should he choose to become such a disgusting creature. Dressed in a rust-colored jacket, a black tank top, and a pair of dark jeans, the 'lesser' one was in far less friendly spirits. He wasn't a truly friendly person to begin with, but any hopes of tolerance tended to dissipate when presented with such moronic idiocy. "Listen." He crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned forward, hushing his voice to a controlled tone and volume as he reasoned. "I have to make a business here as well, Mr. McGrath. From one business man to another, we can both come out of this with a good amount of profit. Surely you must agree." He understood, but he didn't agree. While this establishment would not have his mutants for the price he demanded, there were several others that would. This would leave the auctioning dais empty, meaning unpaid bills and unreturning customers. The worst Fionn would have to endure was putting up with any more of the effeminate nonsense. "Then ge' your stock elsewhere. You won' ge' better than mine." Having no time to give (or shits, for that matter), Fionn moved swiftly to make his exit. "Wait!" Fionn didn't so much as glance back, simply pausing in the doorway while he adjusting the leather of the gloves. With his back to the manager, the smirk on his face would be witnessed only by those who passed in the hallway. What the fool didn't know was better for him anyways. It wouldn't be good for either of them if he choked to death on his own tongue. While the trader entertained this rather amusing mental image, the other man struggled with his words. Maybe he would choke just yet... A defeated sigh. "We could negotiate something for seventy percent. Surely that sounds reasonable, yes?" He feigned some contemplation, a short tilt of head and quirk of brow. The decision had already been made, but there was some fun in toying with him just a little longer; especially when he was right where Fionn wanted him. Finally, once the color has surely left the pudgier idiot's face, he gave a cool response. "Eighty." With only twenty percent of the night's claims missing from his jacket pocket, Fionn left the auction house to be embraced by the night air. It had been a long day and the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. Had he not kept his eyes on the dodging shadows of the night, he may have just missed this...[/style][STYLE=float: left; width: 380;border: 3px solid #4a4d5a;width: 100px; height: 100px;]  [/style][STYLE=float: left;width: 250px;padding-left: 10px;font-size: 10px]Notes: don't me scared of the sizeWord count: 495 Tagged: open template by pianissimo of btn[/style][STYLE=color: #4a4d5a; font-family: georgia; font-size: 40px; letter-spacing: -5;line-height: 23px;margin-right: 5px;float: right;width: 120px;text-align: right;]a hole where my heart once was[/style] |
[/style][style=width: 100px; margin-top: 7px; font-family: Terminal; font-size: 7px; text-align: justify; text-transform: uppercase;]WORDS: 000 words
