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Recruitment Drive; Earth to Frieza #79
Topic Started: May 30 2011, 01:25 AM (246 Views)
Griff
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Extra, extra, read all about it: TUFFLES DIE DAILY
Sertelem Multinational.

The building was a sight for sore eyes if the sore eyes currently residing in the skull of Griffon Sertelem. Ever since Shidagi had come to him looking for a partner in all this war business, Griff hadn't seen the building for what felt like millennia. It occupied a large lot lush with all sorts of plant-life from various planets throughout the galaxy, imported and cared for by gardeners paid an obscene amount of money. Rising into the clouds, even the window panes of the seven-sided tower were something of a modern marvel, the glass changing color from a vibrant blue-green color to a deep orange the farther one's eye moved from the base. When you blinked, it went back to the ocean hues again.

Annually, it cost well over two million zenni to run the building, with its numerous fountains and its black hole aquarium in the lobby, but when the company continuously turned a profit somewhere in the range of thirty million zenni every two years, the cost of maintenance was easily balanced.

Many other CEO's would have taken liberties with their budget, cutting corners for things like office furniture. Griff, however, knew that once he died, all the money he had in life was useless. So he spent. And then he spent. And just when his accountants thought he was through, he pulled another bill from the depths of his endless wallet and spent some more.

"After you," he motioned Clare in the doors before him, holding one of the thick glass panels open for her, then guiding her across the foyer and to his private elevator. Once they arrived at the second to last floor, his office, Griff casually toed off his shoes outside the lift and walked barefoot across the verdant green carpet the shade of freshly trimmed grass. The fibers looked so lush, so full of life, and upon closer inspection Clare would find that the carpet was, in fact, freshly mowed grass.

Spend, spend, spend.

The private office made up the entire floor. The elevator was spaced closer to the east wall, his desk about twenty feet ahead of the double-doors, closer to the west. Situated within easy walking distance was a small liquor cabinet, but other than that, the rest of the room was barren. If Griff wanted, he could've rented the office out to a professional blitz team to use as their home turf, that's how big it was. In fact, it was something he was considering doing.
Edited by Griff, Jun 1 2011, 06:23 PM.
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Clare
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Love Suicide
To say she was surprised at the building was an understatement; Clare was absolutely shocked to see “Sertelem Multinational”, the company that had purchased her, repaired her and reprogrammed her. The company was her home, it was basically where she vowed to return to when her mission was said and done. Clare felt a surge of instability, her eyes flickering to Griff when he offered to allow her to pass through first; unable to help but feel like this was some sort of setup. What did Griff have to do with this place? Was he an employee? Did he work for them as some kind of business associate?

Clare prepared not to know her way around, taking her time to glance around as they moved from area to area. When they arrived to Griff’s office Clare looked absolutely stunned, her arms happening to find themselves crossed as she stepped across the greenish carpet, not bothering to take off her heels at the moment since she wasn’t even sure how long she would be staying. “Nice place,” Clare chimed quietly; not showing as much interest as one usually would in such a dazzled environment. “I’m guessing you work here, right? Are you one of their business managers?”
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Griff
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Extra, extra, read all about it: TUFFLES DIE DAILY
The company was his home as well, both literally and figuratively. In its nascent stages, Sertelem Multinational had been his pride and joy, something he spent every waking hour building from the ground up. While some in the business world thought he had wasted fives years of his life establishing connections and dabbling ins tocks, Griff knew better: as soon as Sertelem Multinational skyrocketed, Griff had purchased the companies of those men and tore them down, building them into bigger, better zenni-making machines, something their original founders were unable to do to what Griffon deemed an appropriate level of success.

But it was his home in the more literal sense because he lived on the top floor, his penthouse suite. It came with a pool, a jai alai court, a second, smaller office, a grand piano (that had recently been pushed into the pool), and its own bar, stocked with every liquor imaginable. To serve the alcohol, he required a full-time bartender, too.

From recesses in the far walls, two chairs came out of previously hidden alcoves, floating across the grass toward either side of Griff’s ornate Konatsian-carved desk. They were bowl-like in appearance, floating easily two feet off of the ground, and they were some of the most uncomfortable sitting objects in the world. No one liked people coming into their office and getting too comfortable, he had reasoned. Uncomfortable as they may have been, they were nice to look at.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” A pause. “Do androids . . . drink?” He didn’t have much experience with the breed of sentient robots. His own robots were more the mindless drone type, as evidenced by the oblong service droid that freed itself from the confines of his liquor cabinet, quickly pouring the billionaire a tumbler of blue whiskey and offering him a cigar.

Everything he touched turned to gold. That one was more figurative. If he could actually touch shit and turn it to gold, he’d still make more money at the helm of S.M.

I’m guessing you work here, right? Are you one of their business managers?

“Something like that,” he chuckled; lifting the glass and taking a long pull of the drink, once the fire in his throat subsided, he added a simple, “I own the place.”
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Clare
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“No,” Clare declined, not about to drink anything offered to her. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could trust Griff and taking drinks from near strangers was obvious something one shouldn’t do upon first meeting. “I also don’t feel like sitting so don’t ask. I’m happy to stand.” Clare moved, letting her arm rest against the corner of the room she decided to stand in. She eyed Griff expectantly, wondering if he was going to answer her about who he really was. She wasn’t sure if he was being avoidant or if he just didn’t want to tell her what was going on.

“Are you not going to tell me your involvement?” Clare asked, cocking her head to the side as waited, wanting to hear some kind of explanation before she got really pissed. “You’re obviously important or else you wouldn’t have all of this at your fingertips. Why don’t you just make a girl happy and tell me what all of this is already? What do you have to hide?” Clare’s fingers drummed against her arm, those green eyes narrowing as she continued to give Griff those questioning glances. “You’re not some crime boss are you? That would explain your appearance.”

| Docking Time: 2:25 AM, Sunday Morning.
+ 70 EXP // +50z
Trip to Frieza Complete. |
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Griff
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Extra, extra, read all about it: TUFFLES DIE DAILY
“Heh,” he chuckled, swirling his drink around in the bottom of the tumbler. “I make plenty of girls happy.”

The whisky was better, got him drunk faster, when he let it breathe for a few moments before completely downing it. You had to taste the grain, strong enough to make a Yardratian blind, he reminded himself, able to catch a whiff of the powerful aroma from where the mouth of the glass rested somewhere near his hip, held low and in one hand. “I’m not a crime boss. I told you; this is my building, my office. That was my private helicopter you flew in, and my private limo you took from the landing pad.”

Stepping over to the desk and avoiding the floating chairs as if they were the plague and liable to kill him upon even the briefest of touches, Griff grabbed the placard off of his desk and tossed it at Clare’s feet. It was a pretty long throw, so she’d probably have to stoop down and pick it up to see the name emblazoned on what looked – and when she picked it up, she’d feel its considerable weight, too – to be a solid bar of gold.

Crime bosses, as a general rule of thumb, didn’t have their nameplates. And only the really, really powerful ones had private offices in forty-story skyscrapers in downtown district of Europe’s busiest metropolis. Fewer still were as suave as Griff.

It read:

GRIFFON E. SERTELEM,

Underneath the name, in a slightly smaller script:

CEO.

“I own the place,” he told her for the third time, adding emphasis by pointing his glass at her. The sapphire liquor sloshed around violently for a moment and was ready to settle when Griff took his second sip, not waiting for the taste to mature.

“Now it’s your turn, tit for tat,” did his hairless brow just wiggle at her? “Tell me what you were doing in the park that night and I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again. I want to help you, you know, but first I’m gonna need to hear the story.” Setting the glass on top of the service robot’s head, he turned and took a seat on the corner of his desk, completely forgetting that it, too, hovered and made for awkward everything.

Purchasing the whole of the Italian Levitation Company and deciding to furnish his office with their wares? Not his crowning achievement at the helm of Sertelem Multinational. “Knowing your name probably wouldn’t hurt, either.”

| No EXP for this one or any of the following. |
Edited by Griff, Jun 4 2011, 01:57 AM.
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Clare
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Clare obviously thought this was some kind of sick joke at first, her entire body freezing as if she was suffering some kind of malfunction. She was absolutely still, her eyes staring at Griff as if he had just said that the entire world was going to end in about five minutes. Clare didn’t know how to react or what to even say to the revelation that was unfolding in front of her. All of this time she had been rude and obnoxious, not even realizing that Griff was the man responsible for her change from the Red Ribbon Army.

“You’re – you’re the owner?” Clare asked, half wishing she was a complete android that could analyze data and store it in her RAM like most bio androids were. If she had that kind of system in her memory bank then maybe she would have already known that Griff was actually her boss Slowly, Clare moved, settling herself down on one knee as she bowed her head, doing what she needed to in order to represent loyalty. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know who you were. I shouldn’t have acted the way that I did. I hope that you forgive me, sir.” Clare didn’t move, not allowing herself to stand until Griff said she could.
Edited by Clare, Jun 20 2011, 03:39 PM.
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Griff
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At her reaction, the only thing Griff could do was blink. To say he was confused was an understatement. Maybe if he had known something about the android revival program he could have had a clue as to what Clare was talking about, dropping down on one knee and swearing loyalty to him. Hell, he didn’t even know her name yet!

“Well,” he began, closing his eyes and licking his lips for a moment while he pondered this odd turn of events. “I think we can all safely say that we didn’t picture this happening when we rolled out of bed this morning.” And yet his mind had already begun to race as to the possible uses for an android with Clare’s . . . ahem, capabilities.

Clearing his throat, Griff turned and used all of his strength to push his gently floating desk to the grass-covered floor; it fought against him violently, combating the pressure he was applying to it that kept it grounded, but with brute force he was able to pin it there long enough so that he could turn, take a seat on the edge, and cross his legs.

“I forgive you, I forgive, now just . . . get up off the floor, will you? I still don’t have any idea what you’re going on about and this is getting downright weird. You know I’m only filthy rich, right? That I’m not a King or anything?”
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Clare
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When Griff said he hadn’t the faintest clue why Clare was bowing to him she looked slightly confused, her head lifting to give him a questioning stare. Clare did as she was told, standing up straight and moving forward so that she could take the seat across from him. She couldn’t deny his hospitality anymore, not when she knew who he was and what he meant to the company. Clare crossed her legs, those eyes continuing to stare at Griff with a questionable look. “If you own this company then you should be aware of whom I am now. My allegiance – the reason I bowed. I was an android reprogrammed to fight for your side. My loyalties are to you, Griffon Sertelem.”

Clare wasn’t sure if he knew about the program or if he even knew that she was one of those androids. Clare guessed that maybe Griff just forgot about it or allowed it to slip through the cracks of his mind. “As for my name, I’m Clare, just Clare. I don’t go by my real name anymore. It doesn’t fit with who I am so I don’t have a need for it, nor do I wish to remember it.”
Edited by Clare, Jun 6 2011, 07:14 AM.
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Griff
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Extra, extra, read all about it: TUFFLES DIE DAILY
Griff sat in silence as she explained things as best as she could, as good as she was going to, he imagined, and took it all in without so much as taking a breath or blinking. What she was saying rang no bells, made no sense, and didn’t seem to have anything to do with him or his company, but the passion with which she spoke disproved his gut reaction to her words.

Once the words stopped flowing from her mouth, Griff leaned to the side and reached for the tumbler sitting atop the service ‘droid’s head, bringing it to his lips and taking a long pull of the contents. After a moment of pause, holding the glass against his mouth for an extend period of time, his breath fogging the far rim, he smiled and set the drink beside him on the desk.

“Believe I’ll be able to help you now, Clare?” If she hadn’t thought he was telling the truth before, he pretty much blew that out of the water by introducing himself. “Should’ve told you my name in the park, huh? Would’ve saved us both some trouble.”
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