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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 3, 2015 12:14:55 GMT
Standing in the mountains,overlooking from a safe perch the bustlings of Ambrosia, Hammond Heights has been passed through the years from Hammond to Hammond, each generations making it sure to have the mansions updated to the edge of tecnology of his own time. The access to the house is harsh and most cars can't make the journey, for safety and confort, the inhabitants are used to travel mostly by helicopter; due to this, the Family's car collection is kept in a garage under the Hammond Building in Downtown. The House is heavily guarded, day and night, by a crew of around twenty bodyguards, with the best equipment from dogs to the latest military apparel.
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 3, 2015 12:38:55 GMT
It was just another cold afternoon up in the mountains, the sun was about to sat in the horizon. Apollo sat by the hearth, having a cup of hot Kopi Luak coffee, on his legs rested Nergal, a black cat of the sphyinx variety with emerald green eyes; on the background played Wagner's "Dance of the Apprentices", performed by the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. The CEO of Hammond & Co. awaited for the arrival of his butler with his Evenning's schedule, not that he actually wanted to go out, if it depended on him he could stay in this very position for the rest of his life; but a man had to do what he had to do.
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 3, 2015 18:35:10 GMT
Stanley Clemson was the quintessential gentleman's gentleman. There were even moments when he sounded English, despite being quite Irish. He had served the former master of the house, and had been inherited when he passed. There was something distinctly mercenary about Stan. His sole critique of Apollo's ascension and behavior had been the occasional cocked eyebrow. Apollo knew almost nothing about him beyond his fee and the fact he thought Downtown Abbey was 'horseshite'.
"Your agenda, sir."
Trustwell was sending their negotiator around again. It was no great secret that the megacorporation was looking to invest in the medical trade. Hammond's only rival in Ambrosia was Chronos Biotech, and as Alexander Chronos was one of the few local fish too large to be swallowed in one gulp by the leviathan that was Trustwell, they had their eyes on Apollo's inheritance. His dear departed 'father', may he rest in peace, had long resisted their advances, but now it was the fledgling CEO's turn to greet the beast head on.
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 3, 2015 19:17:44 GMT
"Call his office, Tell him I'll be sending the helicoter at nine; he's expected to be here at ten, one minute late and the pilot is fired."
Apollo said in a calm tone, scratching his cat's head; Trustwell was like a tiger, one misstep and Hammond & Co. would lie in the beast's stomach by next morning and he'd be serving coffee to that bastard Lionel Hargrave and his masters. But, in truth, the benefits of dealing with them were worth balancing in the tightrope He'd just have to thread lightly, everything had to be perfect.
"I'll have a bottle of Romanee-Conti 2055 brought up from the cellar; The room temperature is supposed to be at exacts 24°C; What is the Chef presenting us tonight? Tell him to adapt it to my wine choice, I don't care if he's half done."
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 4, 2015 5:45:11 GMT
"I believe the chef had intended to prepare a mushroom Welllington with creamy carrot sauce. I believe that suits the '55, though I shall of course relay your desires. If there are no further orders, I will make the arrangements. Oh, and the Chancellor of the University of Ambrosia asked if you might still attend their science conference."
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 4, 2015 11:30:56 GMT
"Excellent choice, then. Confirm my presence on the event, Nergal's bath is to be scheduled for that morning."
Apollo got up, putting the cat aside. It would take him the five remaining hours to get ready, Hammond had a series of rituals he liked to do before an event, even more one with this magnitude: half an hour on the sauna, followed a long bath with mineral salts from India, then a couple minutes of meditation, a whiskey to release the apprehensions and finally he'd be ready for the evenning.
"Have my bath readied. Has the new suit arrived from the tailor?"
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 4, 2015 20:36:57 GMT
"Very good, sir. I have already placed it on your bed, along with an old favorite should it not meet your standards."
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 4, 2015 22:19:04 GMT
The following hours were accompained by a sequence of Mozart compositions, with at least three repetitions of his Eine Kleine Nachtmusik Movt 1, as Apollo undressed and proceeded with his beauty rituals. At the exact moment his clock marked ten o'clock, he sat in his usual spot, smoking a turkish cigarette.
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 6, 2015 9:11:22 GMT
The pilot arrives on time, and with him was Lionel Hargrave himself, looking nearly as young and fit as Apollo despite being well into his fifties. Such de-aging techniques were of course ludicrously expensive, but then Hargrave was ludicrously wealthy. "You have a magnificent house. And such fine taste in cigarettes." was his greeting, as he stretched out his hand.
Apollo Hammond INT: 26
The opening salvo is clearly an appeal to Apollo's vanity.
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 6, 2015 12:54:31 GMT
Hargrave definitely knew how to play his pawns, all this blatant flattery had managed to hit Hammond's overly inflated ego in bullseye. The pale millionaire giggled, extending a frail hand to greet his companion for the night.
"As I must congratulate you for your choice of vesture, Mister Hargrave." He took the opportunity from touching Lionel's hand to scan the man's body for any signs of healthy issues or weaknesses he could exploit. "Foreign made, I presume?"
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 6, 2015 21:25:04 GMT
Apollo Hammond SOU: 34
Hargrave is perfectly healthy, but not perhaps perfectly himself. The man has undergone numerous cosmetic and medical surgeries in order to maintain his youthful appearance, though Apollo already knows he is actually 53.There are also very odd... signals in his biology that cannot quite be defined or exploited his gift. Something to do with his nervous system. It 'sparkles' in a way Apollo has never seen, not even among other Starborn.
"Savile Row, London, last month. The silk is produced from a worm that no longer exists."
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Post by Apollo Hammond on Nov 6, 2015 23:49:55 GMT
Apollo had to resist the urge to jerk his hand from the man's hold, there was something very wrong about Hargrave; Could it be that...? He grinned in reflex, that night might still prove to be a whole order of magnitude more interesting that he had expected a couple hours ago.
"The sofistication sure is uniquely British, I should have guessed." Hammond gestured towards the house. "Please, let's come in. Not all of us have the health of a bull, to stay outside in such a cold night."
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Post by The Astronomer on Nov 7, 2015 3:34:23 GMT
"Not all of us, no." Hargrave followed his host's lead. "I believe this is the first time we've met, excluding your father's funeral. You have better taste than him, by the way."
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