week 2 A Deal With The Devil

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week 2 A Deal With The Devil

Post by Risky Biznu on Thu Jun 28, 2018 12:54 am

The titantron comes to life, flashing from color to color, settling on an oddly specific shade of green before fading out to a dull gray coming from the dimly lit room shown on the screen.

An expensive looking leather swivel chair sits behind a sturdy wooden desk, its occupant facing the rear of the room.

The sound of knocking on wood echoes.


???: Please, come in.

A high pitched whine permeates the atmosphere, the squeal of an opening door ringing throughout.

Two figures enter the room, any defining features aside from height and build indistinguishable from the dusky bleakness around them. The taller one closes the door harshly.

A voice comes from the chair deeper in the room.


???: If you could get the lights, please. Just turn the knob to your right.

The shorter figure does such, and the room is slowly illuminated from sconces set along the walls.

The two silhouettes are revealed to be Casey Grant and his wife, Sarah Foster, faces stoic and firm.


(Casey Grant and Sarah Foster cards)

Casey Grant: We’re here. Now what do you want?

Casey lets out a small exclamation as Sarah admonishes him, smacking him in the back of the head.

Sarah Foster: Now, dear, show some patience. This could be quite the milestone. We did come to him after all.

The chair suddenly turns towards the couple, showing its occupant to be Risky Biznu, dressed in suit and tie.

(Risky Biznu card)

Risky Biznu: Indeed. I have a feeling this could be an event of quite the significance for the both of our parties.

Risky Biznu gestures to two seats on the far side of the desk.

Risky Biznu: Please, have a seat.

Casey and Sarah do just that.

Risky Biznu: Now, I’d like to apologize as we begin: I don’t quite have the tact nor the patience of my father, so I’d like to get right down to business. You…

He gestures to Casey.

Risky Biznu: Are hoping to take over this, I’m sorry to say, failing establishment from your father.

Casey Grant: That’s right.

Risky Biznu: Very much so, I would assume. Now, doing that is not quite as simple as you would assume. Bringing back a failing business isn’t as cut and dry as suddenly offering a higher quality product, as I’m sure was your intention. You need something a bit more… Substantial. You need investors. You need sponsors. You need money.

Casey Grant: That’s -

Risky Biznu: You have none of these things. And if that stays the case, you have no chance at making this company successful again.


Casey shoots up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the desk, his eyes alight with anger.

Casey Grant: Now listen here! I know -

A hand rests itself on his shoulder, gently urging him back down into his chair.

Sarah Foster: Relax, dear.

Casey slowly lowers himself into the chair, his face still filled with rage.

Sarah Foster: What my husband means to say, in his own, unique way -

Casey grumbles under his breath.

Sarah Foster: Quiet, Casey. Now, what he means to say is that we are aware of these issues. That’s why we’re here, after all. After your, shall we say, open offer last week, we realized that we couldn’t do this ourselves. We needed, shall we say, outside assistance.

Casey Grant: Our current sponsor is Blockbuster for crying out loud.

Sarah Foster: Exactly. Now, someone of your wealth and influence would no doubt have the connections and resources necessary to facilitate a revival of this once great and proud organization.

Risky Biznu: You flatter me. I can clearly see why you’re the one doing the talking. It’s obvious which one of you is the responsible one.


Casey leans over towards his wife and stage whispers in her ear, audible to the entire room.


Casey Grant: I don’t like him.

Sarah Foster: Yes, well, you need him.


Sarah pushes Casey back into his seat, the eldest son of Kieron grumbling the whole time.

Risky Biznu: Precisely. Now, the first step to this undertaking is procuring a sponsor. One a bit more, existing, if you will. Now, as you may now, I come from what could be considering the American version of royalty. My family is very close with a number of influential, highly affluent families dating back generations. You may have heard of the Rockefellers?

The duo of Sarah and Casey nod in tandem.

Risky Biznu: Well, it just so happens that I’m very good friends with several members of said family. A family that, while not directly or publicly involved with much these days, still has quite the connections to various companies that are magnitudes more influential that you could imagine. And through them, among others, so do I.


Risky Biznu pauses, letting this information sink in.

Risky Biznu: That being said, I may or may not have a very good friend who may or may not be rather high up on the hierarchy of a company that may or may not be among the ten largest in the world and may or may not be based right around the corner in the heart of Texas.

Risky Biznu raises a hand. He waves it around theatrically, ending with a loud snap that echoes throughout the room.

Risky Biznu: And I may, or may not, be able to get them to sponsor you with the snap of my fingers. One call is all it would take.

Sarah Foster: That’s awfully generous of you.

Risky Biznu: Indeed it is.

Casey Grant: What do you want from us?

Risky Biznu: Nothing too drastic. I simply ask for an opportunity, if you will. An opportunity to stand atop this company as its figurehead. Its savior. Because, after all, is that not what I am?

You see, growing up with all the riches in the world is great and all, not that you would know, but it does have its drawbacks. Like never getting to actually earn anything. So that is what I ask you you, future owner of War Force Wrestling.


Casey Grant: War Force Platoon.

Risky Biznu: Either way. All I ask of you is the opportunity for me to finally accomplish something on my lonesome. The opportunity to truly become a champion, a paragon for all those that stand beneath me.

So, do we have a deal?


Casey and Sarah turn to each other and share a look, words unnecessary. Casey harumphs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat as if to visually show his displeasure.

Sarah Foster: Tentatively. Provided you can actually get us a sponsor so profitable as easily as you say you can, we will reassess this partnership at that time.


Risky Biznu stands from his chair, extending his arm, offering his hand.

Risky Biznu: That is acceptable. You’re quite the businesswoman, Mrs. Foster. If this doesn’t succeed, I’d be happy to find you employment within my family’s many businesses.

Sarah stands as well, taking Risky Biznu’s hand in a handshake.

Sarah Foster: I appreciate the sentiment, although I have a feeling this will work out just fine.

Risky Biznu turns to Casey Grant, who is still sitting in his chair, arms crossed.

Casey lets out a sharp exhale of breath from his nose, signifying his displease audibly. He slowly stands and reluctantly grasps Risky Biznu’s extended hand, applying slightly more force than necessary, his knuckles turning white under the pressure.

Risky Biznu reciprocates, a smile on his face, as Casey’s expression becomes twinged with exertion.

Casey Grant releases his grasp, wipes his hand on his pants, and turns to leave.


Casey Grant: Come on, Sarah. We’re done here.

Sarah sighs and turns on her heel to follow after her husband.

Casey reaches the door, turns the knob to open it, and begins to walk out of the room.


Risky Biznu: Oh, and Casey Grant? It was a pleasure doing business with you.

Casey’s head whips around, his body most of the way out the door. Risky Biznu stands on the side of the desk they were just sitting at, a smirk adorning his features.


Casey Grant: Bite -

Sarah places her hand on Casey’s face, cutting him off from finishing his statement, and pushes him the rest of the way out of the room and into the hallway outside, closing the door behind her.

Risky Biznu leans back against the desk while audibly and quickly exhaling from his nose, signaling his amusement.

He lets out a laugh, reverberating off the walls, steadily growing louder before abruptly growing quiet.

He reaches into his pocket, fishing around for a few seconds before pulling out a smartphone.

Risky Biznu quickly taps a series of spots on the phone, before bringing it to his ear.

The camera fades to black.
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Risky Biznu
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