Firefly Getaway
Guild
Bartabus “The Shank” Englebocker leaned back in his plush executive chair and swung his feet onto the corner of his desk. He pushed the intercom button and called for his assistant to bring him a double scotch on the rocks.
Today had just been one of those days, full of pushy clients and snobby little rich men settling petty slights. It was almost enough to make him consider retirement. He probably would have by now if it didn’t pay so well.
His assistant arrived and set his drink on the desk along with a covered ice bucket and the bottle of scotch. Good. Bartabus didn’t want to be pestered for awhile. He took a generous sip of the aged liquor and tried to relax.
The job really wasn’t so bad most days, annoying clients aside. He didn’t have to go out in the field very often anymore and he was free to delegate the shit jobs to somebody else (usually whoever had pissed him off that week). Just one of the many glamorous perk of running one of the best guilds around - the Sheta Assassins.
Today had been especially trying though. Usually the Sheta Assassins were not in the habit of turning down contracts but Bartabus almost turned down a very lucrative one that afternoon.
Some little, sniveling runt wanted to take out a contract on Fred Luo. Not, surprisingly, because of some business grudge but because he is sweet on that bodybuilder/fighter chick Luo had been engaged to. The twit thinks Luo ‘besmirched her honor‘. Bartabus tried to dissuade the guy, pointing out that nobody would take a contract on Fred Luo for fear of failure. Hell Twilight Suzuka couldn’t get Fred Luo and she was the best; correction, IS the best.
The twit had been persistent though and in the end Bartabus had accepted. After all, the twit was willing to pay an exorbitant amount for the ATTEMPT. No completion clause or stipulations, the guy just wanted a true attempt. He called it a love token or some such. Not exactly what Bartabus would call romantic but some people were just... off that way.
Now he had to find an idiot willing to take the job. Not many assassins were willing to smudge their reputations with a failure. A noise outside his window drew Bartabus’ attention. A mis-matched pair of men were arguing heatedly. Both were speckled with mud, having apparently fallen on the sodden ground. Those two were a prime example of why nepotism was a bad idea.
Bartabus poured himself another glass of scotch, a pleased smile stretching his face. He just found the perfect pair of dim-witted pawns. And if things worked in his favor maybe he could get rid of a couple headaches as well.
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