|
|
Post by Odin Reeves on Nov 10, 2007 19:35:12 GMT 1
After his third tournament win, a struggling effort in the end but victory nonetheless, Odin felt confident with his fighting prowess. Now it was time to take the next step, and rather then fighting in underground tournaments he’d go for fighting professionally, though starting out slow at first with smaller brand and labels, then after proving himself he’d try a larger brand, most likely the UFC. But, there in lied the problem. Up until this point Odin had basically been training himself off previous knowledge he had gained from his father – his only other coach so far. He didn’t have the mental drive to push himself to new limits in order to be ready for the big league. There were holes in his game, holes that needed to be filled.
And there in laid the reason why he was onboard the Halen once more. It seemed that every time he was onboard this ship he was trying to make a deal with one devil or another. Before it had been with the ex-Pillar Kurtz in order to get more fights, and this time it would be with The Halen’s owner in order to get into professional fighting.
After having order plain water from the bar, tipping nearly double the price of the drink, Odin stepped away from the bar. He was dressed for the occasion, taking more care in his look then a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He was wearing dress shoes, nothing to expensive, but they were polished. Then he rented a middle name brand suit in order to try and look half-professional in front of the businessman. Hell, even his hair was combed and tucked back behind his ear, though kept slipping in front. As he looked around for a way to get access into meeting the man behind the infamies he began to realize that he didn’t know who Shamino Warhen was, and had only heard stories from Taiku while working at Legion. Regardless, this left a problem to the young up-and-comer, and now came the time to try and solve it.
‘I hate problems.’
Taking a few steps back he found his seat at the bar to already have been taken, not unexpected in such fine establishment, but he’d have to settle for a place further down the bar. Taking a seat once more he sighed audibly, actually out of frustration for once. When asked if he preferred something a bit harder this time he declined, asking for another water and a basic description of Mr. Warhen. Perhaps he’d see him on the main floor, which would be most idealistic, as he didn’t want to barge in on any meetings by asking to see him in his office. Then again, he wouldn’t be deterred if he had to come back another night as well. He’d do this for as long as needed before he got a reply, or a chance even to talk to Shamino, but until then…
|
|
|
|
Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Nov 19, 2007 1:18:23 GMT 1
"I'm going to do a walk of the floor."
He stood up from his desk, pushing in the chair and forcing his neck into awkward positions until he heard and felt satisfying cricks and cracks. As he walked by he turned up the heating unit. he made his way down the lounge, the long narrow hallway, and out onto the deck of the ship, where he took a walk down a long flight of stairs, through two locked doors, and then out onto the floor.
The ship had just been refinished for the season- and was now docked for the season. The place was now geared towards hosting poker tournaments and fine dining instead of the majestic aspect of a boat ride. He felt tired, placing his right hand to his forehead and gripping a lock of his hair as he slowly walked about. He made his wander over to a large table entirely filled with middle aged men smoking Montecristo's and playing round after round of texas hold'em. He stood there for several minutes, lighting two new sticks of tobacco in the meantime before turning around and very slowly wading through the tables.
As he moved between the table he made idle chatter and said 'Hello's' and 'good evenings' to regulars of his food. He pointed a new waitress towards an unserved table, and found his way on the opposite end of the bar. He opened up a silver tin and removed a long, slim, black cigarette and ran his zippo off of the arm of the chef, lighting the stick of tobacco before tossing the lighter, still alit, in the air and catching it closed. A small splatter of applause from the several people to his left. He paid no attention as he took a swift drag and then turned his body so his back faced the wood of the bar table. Leaning back against it, he closed his eyes and pointed his face upwards.
|
|
|
|
Post by Odin Reeves on Nov 19, 2007 5:20:56 GMT 1
“Uh, Sir…” Odin’s head turned away from the majority of the tables, addressing the bartender with his gaze and attention as he spoke gently to him through the thick of conversation. “Mr. Warhen is just at the other end of the bar, leaning against it.”
Leaning forward he peered past the line of mugs and shot glasses, past the casual suit and tie type business men who were unwinding from their work week. The groomed blonde man seemed to reek of confidence and business savvy; only reek wasn’t quite the right word for someone of his stature. No, he wouldn’t reek of anything; rather he turned the stench of stale business deals and bankrupt corporate businessmen into a fragrance that could be sold in Paris.
“Hm, thank you.” Nodding softly he picked up his glass of water, quenching his throat before leaving yet another set of bills on the counter, half for his drink, half for the tender’s tip. Adjusting his tie he felt as though he was hanging himself, the collar becoming ever tighter around his neck as he tried to make himself as presentable as possible. Another sigh, this time in more of a this-will-effect-my-life sort of way, one could even say nervous prospect.
Weaving past the wandering folk without bumping those attending the bar Odin tried his hardest to make his way to the man who could help him rise through the rubble of his past to live a new life. Clearing his throat he stepped up toward Shamino, coming toward him from the mans left diagonal, so there’d be a stronger chance that he’d be seen before arriving.
“Mr. Warhen, I was curious as to whether or not you’ve ever considered getting into the sport of professional fighting.” He spoke calm and confident, as though he had practiced it numerous times before arriving, and in truth he had. He felt this was the best way to have a chance of success, but than again he wasn’t business savvy, in any way, shape or form.
|
|
|
|
Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Dec 1, 2007 18:59:40 GMT 1
The sport of professional fighting... Shamino contemplated the action of raising his hand and stroking his chin in serious thought- but the truth be told, he never had placed a single serious thought into professional fighting. Why would he? Haven't I fought enough. He thought to himself. His gloved hands came up to slightly lower his jacket's profile on himself by the collar. "No." He said at length. "Can't really say I have..." He thought about leaving it at that, though he decided to chime in, for the sake of conversation, "though I've fought a few professional fighters, I can't see what would be in it for me."
A man at each corner of the room began to slowly turn their attention to the bar, and in doing so Shamino, behind his glasses, began to look slowly at each corner. They began to, one by one, go about their nightly business as if nothing was amiss. Turning his attention back to Odin, he shrugged lightly, then uncreased the wrinkles that were caused by it. "Is there any particular reason you ask?"
A waitress had stopped at a table close by, leaning in and scrubbing the same location over and over, while the bartender seemed to rearrange glasses directly behind Shamino over, and over again, with slow deliberation. Shamino's head leaned down, as did his eyes, to casually adjust his gloves. As he did so, the waitress turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees, and the bar tender suddenly remembered an important task in the back. Shamino's gaze turned once more to the man in front of him, and he put on a pleasant smile.
|
|
|
|
Post by Odin Reeves on Dec 11, 2007 10:42:55 GMT 1
[Sorry for the delay. No real reason.]
Slipping his hands into his pockets, simply because he knew naught what to do with them, Odin straightened his body out and looked down at the owner of the Halen. He felt a sense of ridicule rising through his body, aimed at himself for not foreseeing the mans response being so clear and precise. He hadn’t actually mentioned the area of fighting he was trying to point Mr. Warhen in, and so he’d already failed in his own mind. Well, a fight is not a fight if you’re always winning.
“I’m afraid I asked an incomplete question.” He sighed softly, shaking his head at no one but himself. “I wasn’t meaning if you had considered fighting professional, just if you had considered getting into the sport. I’d imagine your life is a bit to hectic to be training for fights, as it takes allot of dedication in respect to your opponent.” Pausing there Odin let his words fall, as there’s no other way for him to put it. They didn’t linger, he was to abrupt for them to linger, and so they descended with the grace of a kamikaze pilot.
“I was hoping, more or less, that you’d be willing to manage me in your off time. Or at least provide a more challenging training regiment for my fights. Taiku’s spoke highly of you, at least when he does speak of you.” Was bringing up his bosses name a mistake? It felt so casual, almost as though Taiku and Shamino were friends, but perhaps it was merely a business arrangement. When ever Odin asked Taiku about fighters in his past, always being interested in fights, Taiku never failed to mention Shamino Warhen. Well, perhaps this was step towards a stronger future, or a push back. Either way it was unavoidable.
|
|
