Post by Knight on Jun 16, 2014 13:52:16 GMT -6
Kross: This Minnesota wi-fi is driving me insane.
The Mistress: I believe it's your laptop, Victor. Mine was working fine earlier.
Victor Kross looks to the Mistress, then back to his laptop screen. With a cock of the head, he tries something and is apparently satisfied with the result. He begins typing away at the keyboard as Lovecraft looks on. She rises and turns her attention to the mini-fridge.
The Mistress: May I offer a bit of advice?
Kross looks over the top of his computer to his cousin. He is seated at the small table in one corner of the hotel suite. He arcs an eyebrow to signal her to continue.
The Mistress: If you intend to scout Backdoor by video, word your search carefully.
Kross nods in agreement, furrows his brow, and begins typing again.
Kross: I'm more focused on business matters right now. My business, that is. As for yours, we are almost to the pay-per-view, correct?
The Mistress nods as she withdraws a bottle of water from the suite's refrigerator. She holds it aloft, looking questioningly at Kross, but he shakes his head. With a shrug, Lilith opens the bottle and takes a drink before replying.
The Mistress: Exposure, correct. Frei went on his little killing spree and cut some dead weight, but he knows who his true impact players are. And last week, Scott made plenty of impact.
Kross nods but does not look up from his laptop screen.
Kross: A crushing assault on the object of your hatred and a victory in the main event. I'd say you two left quite an impression last week. But no official announcement of the big event yet...
Lovecraft frowns slightly before shrugging.
The Mistress: I have left a few messages for both Frei and Sangue, but have yet to hear anything from either one. I have no doubt, however, that Scott and I will have our own roles to play.
Kross: Indeed. Speaking of your Knight, where is he? And where is my Krewe, come to think of it?
Lovecraft smirks as she gestures toward the phone book laying open on the coffee table near the couch.
The Mistress: Delivery food in this town is atrocious. I sent the three of them to find some decent sustenance. Your driver claimed he knew of a good place not far away.
Kross stops abruptly and closes the laptop. He looks up, leveling his gaze at his cousin.
Kross: You trusted Jeff's knowledge of cuisine? The man believes "double meat and supersized" is the epitome of fine dining. Not that the other two are much better judges. Saint looks for hot wings that melt through the packaging, and you've seen the size of Cyrus. How picky an eater do you think he could possibly be? Dear God, there's no telling what they'll bring back here and call food.
Lilith suppresses a laugh as she picks up her cellphone from the table. A quick motion sends out a call and she lifts it to her ear.
The Mistress: Scott, dear, how is the food run coming along? Mhmm...so he...
Lovecraft glances back to Kross, who is watching with a growing sense of amusement.
The Mistress: No, just tell Cyrus to pick something appropriate and hurry up.
Lilith swipes a finger across the screen and looks to Kross, who waits expectantly.
The Mistress: Your driver took them to a boarded up shell that apparently once housed a Big Boy Burgers or some such nonsense.
Kross smirks and shakes his head. He reopens the laptop and presses a few buttons.
Kross: That unpleasantness aside, let's get back to the more pressing matter...Backdoor at Breakthrough. I have no doubt that your Knight is quite capable, as he has proven these past few weeks. Even if we overlook the PKA debacle...
The Mistress: Come off it, Victor. You of all people know that the three-count is secondary to the message sent in the ring. What the hell is your problem with Scott anyway? I've never seen you like this without a reason.
Kross looks away for a moment, then shakes his head.
Kross: Never mind. Scott and I have minor history, but nothing I can't overlook for the greater good. The man is a beast...all he needs is the proper guidance to focus him and he's unstoppable. You've selected your champion well. I have no doubt he'll break Backdoor.
The Mistress's posture relaxes.
The Mistress: I'm not going to bother pulling that thread then. Your confidence is well-founded. Scott will surely...
Her voice trails off as the sound of the door opening echoes through the suite. Lovecraft and Kross look to greet the entering Cyrus, followed by Knight, Saint, and a small bearded man overwhelmed by the armload of McDonald's bags he is struggling with. With an exasperated sigh, Cyrus takes a few of the bags and places them on the table. Kross reaches for the nearest one and peeks in, then looks up to the big man with a raised eyebrow.
Kross: Big Macs?
Cyrus shrugs and motions to the bag in Kross's hands.
Cyrus: That's the ones with extra pickles.
Kross looks from one side of the room to the other, actively avoiding The Mistress's glare.
Cyrus: And extra special sauce...
Kross: Ooh, score!
Kross dives into the bag with gusto. Cyrus withdraws a salad from one of the other bags and offers it to The Mistress. Shaking her head, she takes it from him. Across the room, Knight lifts a quarter-pounder and nods appreciatively. He pats Jeff on the shoulder, drawing a wince from the driver. Kross takes a drink before raising his styrofoam cup toward Knight.
Kross: To Exposure, to Breakthrough, to victory! Now, where are the fries?
The Mistress: I believe it's your laptop, Victor. Mine was working fine earlier.
Victor Kross looks to the Mistress, then back to his laptop screen. With a cock of the head, he tries something and is apparently satisfied with the result. He begins typing away at the keyboard as Lovecraft looks on. She rises and turns her attention to the mini-fridge.
The Mistress: May I offer a bit of advice?
Kross looks over the top of his computer to his cousin. He is seated at the small table in one corner of the hotel suite. He arcs an eyebrow to signal her to continue.
The Mistress: If you intend to scout Backdoor by video, word your search carefully.
Kross nods in agreement, furrows his brow, and begins typing again.
Kross: I'm more focused on business matters right now. My business, that is. As for yours, we are almost to the pay-per-view, correct?
The Mistress nods as she withdraws a bottle of water from the suite's refrigerator. She holds it aloft, looking questioningly at Kross, but he shakes his head. With a shrug, Lilith opens the bottle and takes a drink before replying.
The Mistress: Exposure, correct. Frei went on his little killing spree and cut some dead weight, but he knows who his true impact players are. And last week, Scott made plenty of impact.
Kross nods but does not look up from his laptop screen.
Kross: A crushing assault on the object of your hatred and a victory in the main event. I'd say you two left quite an impression last week. But no official announcement of the big event yet...
Lovecraft frowns slightly before shrugging.
The Mistress: I have left a few messages for both Frei and Sangue, but have yet to hear anything from either one. I have no doubt, however, that Scott and I will have our own roles to play.
Kross: Indeed. Speaking of your Knight, where is he? And where is my Krewe, come to think of it?
Lovecraft smirks as she gestures toward the phone book laying open on the coffee table near the couch.
The Mistress: Delivery food in this town is atrocious. I sent the three of them to find some decent sustenance. Your driver claimed he knew of a good place not far away.
Kross stops abruptly and closes the laptop. He looks up, leveling his gaze at his cousin.
Kross: You trusted Jeff's knowledge of cuisine? The man believes "double meat and supersized" is the epitome of fine dining. Not that the other two are much better judges. Saint looks for hot wings that melt through the packaging, and you've seen the size of Cyrus. How picky an eater do you think he could possibly be? Dear God, there's no telling what they'll bring back here and call food.
Lilith suppresses a laugh as she picks up her cellphone from the table. A quick motion sends out a call and she lifts it to her ear.
The Mistress: Scott, dear, how is the food run coming along? Mhmm...so he...
Lovecraft glances back to Kross, who is watching with a growing sense of amusement.
The Mistress: No, just tell Cyrus to pick something appropriate and hurry up.
Lilith swipes a finger across the screen and looks to Kross, who waits expectantly.
The Mistress: Your driver took them to a boarded up shell that apparently once housed a Big Boy Burgers or some such nonsense.
Kross smirks and shakes his head. He reopens the laptop and presses a few buttons.
Kross: That unpleasantness aside, let's get back to the more pressing matter...Backdoor at Breakthrough. I have no doubt that your Knight is quite capable, as he has proven these past few weeks. Even if we overlook the PKA debacle...
The Mistress: Come off it, Victor. You of all people know that the three-count is secondary to the message sent in the ring. What the hell is your problem with Scott anyway? I've never seen you like this without a reason.
Kross looks away for a moment, then shakes his head.
Kross: Never mind. Scott and I have minor history, but nothing I can't overlook for the greater good. The man is a beast...all he needs is the proper guidance to focus him and he's unstoppable. You've selected your champion well. I have no doubt he'll break Backdoor.
The Mistress's posture relaxes.
The Mistress: I'm not going to bother pulling that thread then. Your confidence is well-founded. Scott will surely...
Her voice trails off as the sound of the door opening echoes through the suite. Lovecraft and Kross look to greet the entering Cyrus, followed by Knight, Saint, and a small bearded man overwhelmed by the armload of McDonald's bags he is struggling with. With an exasperated sigh, Cyrus takes a few of the bags and places them on the table. Kross reaches for the nearest one and peeks in, then looks up to the big man with a raised eyebrow.
Kross: Big Macs?
Cyrus shrugs and motions to the bag in Kross's hands.
Cyrus: That's the ones with extra pickles.
Kross looks from one side of the room to the other, actively avoiding The Mistress's glare.
Cyrus: And extra special sauce...
Kross: Ooh, score!
Kross dives into the bag with gusto. Cyrus withdraws a salad from one of the other bags and offers it to The Mistress. Shaking her head, she takes it from him. Across the room, Knight lifts a quarter-pounder and nods appreciatively. He pats Jeff on the shoulder, drawing a wince from the driver. Kross takes a drink before raising his styrofoam cup toward Knight.
Kross: To Exposure, to Breakthrough, to victory! Now, where are the fries?
