Driving the Hard Bargain

Bass Cafe

The bar, when entered, gives off something of a green and oakwood glow. The bar runs along more than half of the depth of the bar, the green inlay in the blond oak serving as something of a base for the rest of the room. Green glassed pub-lights hang from the ceilings in clusters of 4, giving off something of a brighter glow to offset the hunter green shades.

Behind the bar, there is an arched mirror that runs the length of the bar, before which stands 5 rows of all sorts of alcohol upon a dark green counter-top, in graduated heights so the labels can be seen as well as some clean wine glasses. The 8 large-sized cabinets underneath store all manners of overstock and glasses. The chairs in front of the bar are basic, single-slat backed, four-footed, oak coloured bar seats.

The red brickface above the bar is laden with decorations all of a fishing kind, from small lures to larger ones, nets of all shapes and sizes, traps…

The rest of the bar is filled out with tables that can seat two, four and up to six comfortably. Upon the hunter green painted walls hang black and white photographs of the fishermen and their catches that couldn't get away. There is the gratuitous dart board corner as well as a single snooker table.


ds01.jpg km01.jpg
Corrie Gideon

"No, I want that one moved over to the left by about a meter," Corrie says quietly to one of the 'roadies' that work with the band. "They'll need room there for the amp."

It's been a rather hectic day of trying to set up Dumnonia in a new location — particularly one without a proper stage area — but worth it. Different crowd here, different atmosphere, more exposure.

Patiently she keeps an eye on the men as the last of the tables is moved to accommodate the band. Then she glances at her watch. "That will have to do. The band is coming out…" A quick glance toward the snooker table, and a nod to the boys. "… now."

Like magic, the band takes to their positions at the exact promised time and Corrie can breathe a sigh of relief. Set-up isn't one of her normal duties, but wanting them to do well means she'll do what's necessary. Even so, when the music begins she winds her way back to the bar and orders herself a glass of wine.


The bartender behind the bar takes a quick rag and wipes down the spot before the young woman, and sets a napkin down on the top. With the request for a glass of wine, without skipping a beat, he draws up a glass of white wine and places it on the napkin. A tab will be kept for this one; just don't tell the owner of the place!

It's a song into the set that the 'public face' of Reese International shows his face in the small.. quaint pub off the beaten path. Gideon Reese steps through the doorway, his pale blue eyes reflecting a decided lack of interest in his surroundings. Quaint. Homely.. and not in a good way. The music, however, catches his attention, and the distinct look of boredome begins its transformation into something a little more resembling interest, if, knowing him, only fleeting.

Making his way towards the bar, he gives a less than genuine smile to the bartender (a smile that doesn't even begin to make it to his eyes), and places his request while digging into his suit jacket for his wallet. "Pint of bitter." No please, no thank you.


"Thanks, Bob."

Corrie already has provisions for paying the tab at the end of the night, there's no telling how much the band will drink once their performance is done, which is why she's left the card with bartender and will take care of everything at the end of the evening rather than dropping cash all night. It makes things far easier when she has at least one less thing to worry about.

An eyebrow is arched at the directness of the man who's just sauntered to the bar, but she doesn't comment on it. Different type of venue than their previous gig. No reason she should make poor Bob's life miserable by chastising someone who could be a long-time patron.

Though there is the briefest of glances in the man's direction. The glance that has her questioning exactly whom it is she is looking at before she quickly turns away to take a sip from the glass of wine.

There's no way someone like him would find himself in a place like this.


That is usually the case; Himself would not find himself in a place like this, if he could at all help it.

Okay, not technically true. Gideon Reese, Heir Apparent to the billions that is Reese International could easily have sent someone in his stead; half-brother included. But he did not. In fact, it was after the 'brotherly conversation' regarding this musical ensemble that he decided to come out and hear them for himself. If his company is going to use their resources to push them internationally (and there was a huge market in India, not to mention Europe..), he wants to see them for himself. There is, after all, only so much the markets can bear, and they have to be very picky as to who they push…

The bartender draws the dark liquid and sets it on the counter top, first putting out a napkin, and offers up the customary 'Cheers' to them both before attending other customers. Gideon takes a note out of his wallet to pay for the drink and takes the glass. Once that's in hand, he turns about and looks back at the band with a critical eye.

"Not bad," the musing and marking of mental notes begins as he nods his head slowly. "Not great.. and appearances have to be changed slightly.. but over-all.."


An internal struggle begins. One where niceties lose out, and a bit of feistiness creeps in.

"Really? What would you have them wear? Fedoras and leisure suits, perhaps? Kilts?" Swirling the wine in her glass, Corrie allows herself another small sip before she glances at the man over her shoulder again. That's when she catches sight of his blue eyes, and mentally curses. Almost immediately, hoping that he didn't get the 'sense' of her, she drops her gaze and begins to mutter under her breath in preparation for a quick, simple binding if need be so she can get out of the bar.


It's a slow and deliberate turn towards the woman who has chosen that moment to pipe up in response to his comments. Gideon's brows rise, and he holds his attention for a long, lingering moment before answering, "Something less .. scruffy. And for all that's holy, looking like they've had a bath."

Raising the glass to his lips now, there is the ever so slight hint of a smile, nothing that even remotely reaches his eyes, before taking a short sip of the dark amber liquid. Lowering it once more, he considers, or must have reconsidered, and changes tack. "Though kilts would be amusing, much too regional."

It's there that he recognizes exactly that which had just drawn his attention; he's a much stronger sorcerer than his brother. Or rather, he practices much more seriously, as far as he's concerned.

"Still, I understand they are worth.. something, anyway." Gideon pauses, and as he cants his head, inquires, "Corrie Kavanaugh, of Devon.. yes?" He's certain of her identity..


"Depends who's asking," Corrie says extremely coolly. Her fingers are poised, ready to flick forward with a binding.

She looks disconcerted by the fact that he actually is a sorcerer, and her greatest fear is that he is actually who she's leaning toward thinking he is. "Tristan would never wear a kilt anyhow. He's got pride." There is no smile, her voice is tight. "Though I will concede that the are worth a great deal."


"If they were worth anything at this very moment, they wouldn't be in a hole in the wall, grasping at straws, now, would they?" Gideon's comment is couched in a not-quite-smile, washed down with a swallow of bitter in the glass. With the glass now half empty (or is that half full?), he sets it down onto the bar's top with a thunk, and he quirks his head ever so slightly with a raised brow tossed into the mix to finish off the briefly.. incredulous expression. Not that it remains for long, mind.

"Gideon Reese. A name that you would do well with matching to a face." There comes a lengthening of the not-quite-smile into something more approximating the actual gesture. He turns around once more and looks over the band as they play. "Still, they've only been doing this for.. how long? A year? Two, perhaps?"


"Mr. Reese, if your only intentions this evening are to insult the band then they are going to fall upon deaf ears." Corrie sets the wine glass atop the bar a little more harshly than she intended and swivels away from him, allowing the spell to fizzle.

Pulling her shoulders so that her back is straighter and she appears taller she points out, "Beyond that, your self-importance means very little to me. While your company could pull my boys up out of this type of locale, the truth is we do have other offers that are nearly as lucrative as the ones your company could offer."


"Oh?" Gideon feigns surprise, "Really. I do like the term 'nearly'." He rolls his head back a little to look up, "Nearly. Nearly never cuts it." And back down again to bring his attention fully back on Corrie. "You don't have to deal, no.. And then again, you might find all those other wells drying up too. After all, who with any business sense goes for second best? Or third.."

A lean in, and a whisper carries his voice, "No one." Gideon smiles tightly, "And while the other guppies may play at being sharks, you know as well as I that we're the best and only hope for your 'mates'."

Straightening again, he twists around and reaches for his glass of beer. "Tell me why we should sign them. Other than the fact my brother thinks you're a passable dancer."


Hackles have been raised in the feisty girl when he mentions the other wells drying up. A rather swift spin turns her to face him once more, nearly eye to eye were it not for the foot of distance between them.

There is much she wants to reply upon, much she wants to comment on, the least of which is the veiled threat. One thing stops her from all of that, however.

His brother.

"I don't recall dancing with a sorcerer named Reese recent — "

His brother.

Bloody hell.

"Rhys Owens is your brother? In that case, I can see who got all the charm and personality in that family."


"Then I apologize for any offense he may have caused," is given as a cool, easy, canned response. "I am, however, waiting for one solid, profitable reason why we should sign them. So far," Gideon's voice drops, "I could go down the street to other pubs and hear other bands. Tell me why I should throw money after yours."

The glass of bitter is recalled, and as he lifts it to his lips, he offers a brief 'salute' with the glass before he drains what is left and replaces it upon the bar. "Tell me where you've been, other than Devon, and where you will go." He pauses and waves a hand, "And I don't want to hear 'as far as we can'."


"Differences aside, I found Mr. Owens to be quite the gentleman." The differences are rather large though, what with the whole sorcerer-vs-witch thing between them. "The only one I can find any offense with at the moment is the man insinuating that he will ensure that any other offers will dry up via his command."

Corrie runs her tongue over her lip briefly, trying to collect herself before she simply goes off on the insufferable sorcerer.

"Where I have been, or where Dumnonia has been? For clarification purposes, they are not my only client though if you are truly interested in their whereabouts over the last several years I can have a dossier faxed to Mr. Owens office." As that is who she intends to deal with despite the current conversation.

"Enjoy the other bands then. The fact is, Mr. Reese, you'll either sign them or you won't based on their sound, their look, and their performances. My say-so will only be seen as a bias to you as I am their representative." The underlying tone replaces the word representative for the word 'witch'.

"Though I will say that they are a dedicated bunch, willing to do what is necessary to promote themselves provided that it does not destroy their overall integrity of sound. After all, the entire point of the band is Celtic Rock and it would hardly do to have them suddenly change that style to sell albums."


Gideon waits; this isn't the first time an agent wanna-be has tried to bring themselves up to the same level upon which he plays, nor will it be the last. He looks almost.. tired? Bored? Resigned? Patient.. yes, patient as she finishes, making her final point. He's actually torn.. should he respond as intensely as which the speech is given, or do that which he really is tempted to do, and that is simply.. laugh.

"You know? I think I will." The empty beer glass stands upon the counter top, and he inclines his head briefly in a single nod. He's opted for a third:

Make her sweat.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Kavanaugh. And thank you for the suggestion."

With a step away, Gideon does look at her a little more fully, and chuckles softly, mirthlessly. "I will be waiting for the fax."


Sweat? Over the fact that he's planning on leaving? It is a rather large weight lifted off her shoulders. So much so that she actually smiles at her potential adversary.

"Please do. I've heard that Laudanum is playing at a pub several blocks away. Granted, they sound rather like Fallacy and not in a good way. I do hope your eardrums don't wind up bleeding." Corrie smiles again at that.

"Don't fret, Mr. Reese, I will definitely be following up with Mr. Owens once the fax is sent. It will be up to him whether he decides to share it with you or not after our discussion."


"Should I desire to see it, it will be on my desk."

Gideon turns and makes his way from the small pub. One last glance isn't even spared before he steps out into the London air, his pace not slowing a moment through the threshold.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License