If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The carriage ride took them out of the pristine, tree-lined avenues of the wealthy northern sectors and plunged them deep into the beating, industrial heart of the city. The air grew thicker, smelling of coal smoke, salty ocean brine, and unwashed bodies. The architecture shifted from imported marble to soot-stained brick and rotting wood.
They were entering the eastern docks.
"It's... a bit rougher down here, isn't it?" Mary-Beth noted, her eyes widening slightly as she observed the crowded, chaotic streets filled with shouting dockworkers, ragged urchins, and exhausted factory laborers.
"It is," Caleb agreed, his eyes scanning the crowds with the sharp, calculated gaze of a predator. "Even though it's located near the deepest, most desperate slums of the city, this is where the real money is made. This is where the blood of Saint Denis pumps."
The carriage finally ground to a halt in front of a large, commanding two story brick building that stood in stark, magnificent contrast to the rotting, dilapidated structures surrounding it.
The heavy carriage door was pulled open by Silvio. Caleb stepped down first, extending his hand to help Mary-Beth alight onto the dirty cobblestones.
She looked up at the building and gasped softly in surprise.
Doyle's Tavern didn't look like a slum side dive bar. The exterior brickwork had been pressure washed and completely tuck pointed.
The large, sweeping bay windows were made of pristine, unbroken glass, allowing warm, inviting gaslight to spill out onto the street. The heavy double doors were made of solid, polished oak with gleaming brass handles, and a beautiful, hand-painted wooden sign hung above the entrance.
"This is yours?" Mary-Beth asked, thoroughly impressed.
"It is," Caleb smiled proudly, guiding her toward the entrance while Silvio and the guards maintained a terrifying, heavily armed perimeter on the street.
When they stepped inside, the transformation was even more profound. The interior was a masterpiece of Gilded Age comfort. The floors were swept clean of sawdust, replaced by polished hardwood.
A massive, glittering mahogany bar stretched across the back wall, lined with high quality, imported liquors instead of cheap, blinding moonshine. Leather booths lined the walls, and the air smelled of roasting meat, clean tobacco, and expensive whiskey.
The tavern was packed, but it wasn't filled with the usual, violent dregs of the docks.
Caleb explained to her as they walked through the bustling room, the patrons respectfully clearing a path and tipping their hats to the Don. "The massive renovation I funded made it so that the atmosphere completely changed. It's no longer a place to get stabbed for a handful of pennies. Even the respectable middle class citizens, the bank tellers, the clerks, the off duty police officers, absolutely love to come by to the tavern for their evening meals and drinks."
He gestured toward the massive, heavily muscled bouncers stationed at every exit and roaming the floor. They were Caleb's men, armed and highly disciplined.
"Because it also has its own dedicated, unyielding security," Caleb continued, his max-level Business Skill evident in the flawless operation of the establishment. "Making the tavern a completely safe haven. A beacon of absolute safety as well for those living in the slums who just want a quiet drink without fear of the street gangs."
Mary-Beth looked around the warm, thriving, incredibly safe environment he had built in the middle of hell. She looked back up at Caleb, her heart swelling with an overwhelming, profound mixture of love and deep, absolute respect for the man who was actively, ruthlessly reshaping the world into a better, safer place for them all.
Exactly at this time, recognizing the distinguished VIPs who had just graced his establishment, the owner of the renovated establishment quickly made his way through the bustling crowd. Doyle who had previously managed the dilapidated dive bar before Caleb's massive influx of capital transformed it, came and greeted the both of them.
He was dressed in a crisp, clean waistcoat and a perfectly ironed white shirt, a far cry from the drinks stained aprons he used to wear. He wiped his hands nervously on a clean towel, his eyes wide with profound respect and a healthy dose of fear.
Welcoming them to the tavern, Doyle bowed his head deeply, his voice slightly trembling with the sheer honor of the visit. "Don McLaughlin! Madam! Welcome, welcome to Doyle's! It is an absolute, unbelievable honor to have you step through these doors. Please, tell me, how can I help the Don and the Madam tonight? The entire tavern is at your disposal."
Caleb smiled, a warm, completely disarming expression that instantly set the nervous tavern owner at ease. He placed a reassuring hand on Doyle's shoulder, acting not like a terrifying mafia boss, but like a benevolent corporate investor checking on a prized asset.
"Relax, Doyle," Caleb instructed smoothly. "This isn't an inspection, and I am not here to look at the ledgers tonight. Madam McFarlane and I simply wanted to step out of the Garden District for a few hours. We want to see the life of the city, and we want to enjoy the atmosphere you've built here. Treat us like any other paying customers."
Doyle, hearing that immensely relieving statement, let out a massive breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He nodded his head enthusiastically, his chest puffing out with genuine pride that the Don wanted to personally experience his hospitality. "Of course, Don McLaughlin! Right this way, please!"
Before then, he expertly escorted the two of them through the crowded room. The patrons, the small clerks, the off duty policemen, and the tired factory foremen, immediately parted like the Red Sea, offering respectful, terrified nods to Caleb as he passed.
Doyle led them toward a highly secluded, premium corner table. It was a beautiful, semi circular booth lined with rich, dark leather, offering a commanding view of the entire tavern floor while maintaining a comfortable distance from the main bar.
As Caleb helped Mary-Beth slide into the plush leather booth, taking his seat right beside her, Doyle leaned in respectfully. And then Doyle says, his voice brimming with absolute confidence in his kitchen, that he will serve them the best middle class food they will ever taste in their entire lives.
"I will have the kitchen prepare our finest spread, Don McLaughlin," Doyle promised eagerly. "A heavy, rich Irish beef stew, slow cooked for twelve hours with carrots and potatoes, alongside thick cuts of roasted pork belly, fresh baked sourdough bread, and the finest imported dark stout we have in the cellars."
Doyle then glanced over at the towering, terrifying figures standing near the entrance. "And of course, Mr. Silvio and the other elite guards will be taken care of immediately. They will be given our best drinks and some hearty snacks while waiting for you at the front tables. On the house, naturally."
Caleb nodded his head at that, highly appreciative of Doyle's flawless hospitality and situational awareness. A happy security detail was a highly effective security detail. He thanked Doyle warmly. "That sounds absolutely perfect, Doyle. Bring it all out when it's ready. We are in no rush."
Before then, Doyle bowed once more and quickly went away, practically sprinting toward the bustling kitchen doors to personally oversee the Don's meal.
With the tavern owner gone, Caleb turned his attention back to the beautiful woman sitting beside him. He rested his arm casually across the back of the leather booth, looking at her with a soft, affectionate gaze.
Mary-Beth took a moment to look around the massive room. She absorbed the warm glow of the gas lamps reflecting off the polished mahogany bar, the sound of lively, cheerful piano music playing in the corner, and the loud, boisterous, but entirely safe laughter of the working class patrons.
To which Mary-Beth let a bright, genuinely impressed smile touching her lips. "It's wonderful, Caleb," she observed, her dark eyes scanning the room. "When we were riding through the eastern docks, everything looked so bleak. The soot, the mud, the exhaustion on the faces of the people on the street... it felt oppressive. But in here? It feels like a completely different world. It's warm, it's inviting, and it's full of life."
She reached out, picking up one of the beautifully printed menus resting on the table, her eyes scanning the listed items. Her brilliant, practical mind immediately caught onto a crucial economic detail. "And also, the prices are very affordable. Even for those living in the slums. A massive bowl of stew for just a few cents? You could easily double these prices with the quality of the renovations you've done, Caleb. But you kept it accessible for the working people."
Caleb smiled, a dark, incredibly proud, and highly calculating expression crossing his handsome face. He nodded his head at that, acknowledging her brilliant deduction, and says that is the main purpose he bought and renovated this tavern in the first place. It wasn't just an act of charity, it was a masterful stroke of intelligence gathering.
"You have a very sharp eye, sweetheart," Caleb praised her, leaning in closer so his voice wouldn't carry over the noise of the tavern. "I didn't buy this place to make a massive fortune on beef stew. I bought it for the geography. Because its location is perfectly situated directly between the deepest slums of the city and also the main commercial docks."
Caleb gestured casually toward the bar, where a group of soot covered factory foremen were loudly discussing their shift over pints of beer.
"This tavern acts as a sponge," Caleb explained, his max level Business and Leadership skills outlining the grand strategy. "By keeping the prices cheap and the environment incredibly safe, I guarantee that every single dockworker, every warehouse manager, and every low level street informant comes here to spend their wages. When men drink, they talk. They complain about their bosses, they mention which shipments are arriving late, and they whisper about which rival gangs are trying to move into our territory."
He tapped his temple, a visionary gleam in his blue eyes. "Which could help me gain information from this crucial industrial area much, much easier. My bartenders and my bouncers are all on the family payroll. They listen to the whispers, they collect the rumors, and they report it all directly to Antonio. I know what is happening in the slums before the Chief of Police even wakes up in the morning."
Mary-Beth, hearing that flawless, terrifyingly brilliant web of surveillance and community control, simply stared at him in awe. She nodded her head at that, entirely understanding the sheer magnitude of his intellect. He wasn't just ruling through violence, he was ruling through logistics, economics, and unparalleled intelligence networks.
Soon, the lively chatter of the tavern was briefly interrupted as Doyle arrived with the food and drinks. The tavern owner carried a massive, steaming silver tray, followed closely by two nervous barmaids.
They rapidly set the table, placing massive, piping hot ceramic bowls of rich, dark Irish beef stew in front of them, flanked by wooden cutting boards loaded with sizzling, crispy roasted pork belly and thick slices of steaming sourdough bread. Caleb was served a tall, frosted glass of imported dark stout, while Mary-Beth was given a delicate glass of sweet red wine.
The aroma was absolutely heavenly. Where the two of them enjoyed it immensely, digging into the hearty, working class food with genuine enthusiasm. The stew was incredibly flavorful, the meat melting in their mouths, a perfect, grounding contrast to the Beluga caviar and the high society champagne they had consumed at the coronation banquet earlier that day.
They ate in a comfortable, deeply affectionate bubble, laughing quietly at shared jokes and enjoying the vibrant atmosphere of the tavern.
However, exactly at this time, the heavy oak doors of the tavern swung open, bringing a harsh, unwelcome reminder of the brutal world that existed just outside the polished glass windows.
A couple of slum dwellers entered the establishment. There were three of them, grimy, unwashed, and clearly heavily intoxicated. They smelled distinctly of rotting fish, cheap, blinding gin, and stale sweat.
Their clothes were ragged, and their faces were hardened by the violent, desperate life of the Saint Denis underbelly. They stumbled through the pristine tavern, looking completely out of place among the respectable clerks and off duty officers.
They staggered over to the far end of the mahogany bar and went to order some cheap drinks, slamming their dirty coins onto the polished wood and shouting obnoxiously at the bartender.
The bartender, maintaining the strict, disciplined rules of Caleb's establishment, poured them their cheap whiskey but kept a very sharp, cautious eye on them.
As the three men turned around, leaning against the bar with their drinks, their bloodshot eyes scanned the room. Before they then saw Mary-Beth sitting in the premium leather booth.
Even in the dim gaslight, Mary-Beth's ethereal beauty and the high quality tailoring of her navy blue walking dress stood out like a flawless diamond in a coal mine. The three slum dwellers, their brains entirely clouded by cheap alcohol and their own arrogant, street level stupidity, completely misread the situation.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 282,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -