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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He offered her a warm, handsome smile, the terrifying mob boss vanishing once more, leaving only the deeply affectionate man who adored her. "Now," Caleb said smoothly, clinking his heavy glass gently against her delicate wine glass. "Where were we? I believe you were telling me how much you liked the stew."
Mary-Beth nodded her head with a soft, radiant smile, completely unfazed by the sudden burst of brutal violence that had just taken place mere feet away. She simply looked into his eyes and proceeded to continue the exact same conversation that the two of them were having right before being so rudely interrupted by the three intoxicated hooligans.
"As I was saying, Don McLaughlin," Mary-Beth teased lightly, picking up her silver spoon, "the beef stew is absolutely divine. It reminds me a bit of the hearty meals we used to try and make back in the snow, but with far better seasoning."
While the two of them seamlessly slipped back into their private, affectionate bubble, the rest of the tavern was existing in an entirely different reality. The other patrons, from the soot covered dockworkers to the respectable bank clerks, simply did not dare to let out even a single sliver of sound.
The boisterous, loud, and chaotic working class energy that had defined the establishment only ten minutes prior had been completely eradicated. The patrons sat rigidly in their wooden chairs or stood perfectly still at the mahogany bar.
They proceeded to continue drinking their drinks or eating their foods with painstaking, agonizing caution. Men lifted their heavy glass beer mugs to their lips with shaking hands, terrified that the simple clinking of a glass against a wooden table might be perceived as a disturbance by the apex predator sitting in the corner booth.
Only the incredibly muted, careful sounds of eating and drinking could be heard. A fork scraping lightly against a ceramic bowl. A quiet, stifled cough. The soft rustle of clothing as someone shifted their weight. It was unlike the rowdy, energetic place it had been previously, it now felt like the interior of a highly guarded cathedral.
Even the hired entertainment felt the suffocating weight of the Don's presence. The piano player, a talented local musician who had been enthusiastically hammering out lively, foot-stomping ragtime tunes, did not dare to play loud music anymore. He sat on his wooden bench, a visible bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and gently, almost apologetically, brushed his fingers across the ivory keys.
He only dared to play quiet, smooth, incredibly subdued jazz music, keeping the tempo slow and the volume barely above a whisper so as not to disrupt the Don's romantic dinner.
Caleb just ignored what had happened around them entirely. He didn't look at the terrified patrons, nor did he acknowledge the absolute silence he had just commanded.
He simply focused entirely on the beautiful woman sitting across from him, finishing his dark stout and listening to her talk about the differences between the city's cuisine and the frontier's survival rations.
After that, a comfortable, leisurely amount of time passed, and soon Caleb and Mary-Beth finished their time here.
They had eaten their fill, enjoyed the atmosphere, and firmly established the iron clad rules of the establishment. The both of them stood up from the plush leather booth.
Caleb, moving with the flawless, gentlemanly grace that defined his public persona, of course offered his arm to Mary-Beth. She took it naturally, linking her arm through his as she gathered her small velvet reticule.
As they walked toward the heavy oak double doors to leave the establishment, the sea of patrons instinctively parted for them, men pulling off their hats and bowing their heads in profound respect as the Don and his Lady passed by.
Doyle, the hardworking manager of the tavern, had been watching from the safety of the kitchen swinging doors. Seeing this, seeing that the most powerful man in the state was preparing to depart, he immediately rushed out, weaving quickly through the tables to follow them.
He caught up to them just as Silvio, who had returned from the alleyway looking incredibly satisfied, pulled the heavy front doors open for his boss.
"Don McLaughlin! Madam McFarlane! Please, a moment!" Doyle called out softly, his voice tight with lingering anxiety. He stopped a respectful distance away, clasping his hands together, and asked how they found their experience here tonight.
"I... I truly hope the stew was to your liking, my Don," Doyle stammered, his eyes darting nervously between Caleb and the giant enforcer. "And I hope you enjoyed the atmosphere... minus the little accident that happened, of course."
As he said that, Doyle sweat profusely. The collar of his crisp white shirt was completely soaked. He hadn't expected it. When Caleb had first approached him weeks ago with a massive influx of capital to acquire and renovate his failing dive bar, Doyle had just assumed he was dealing with a very dangerous, very wealthy independent investor. But then, Doyle had received an exclusive invitation to the massive Garden District celebration yesterday.
If he weren't invited to the celebration party, he wouldn't know about this massive shift in power. He had stood in the back of the manicured lawns, drinking champagne, and watched in absolute, mind numbing shock as his 'quiet investor' stood on the marble balcony and declared himself the absolute ruler of the Saint Denis mafia, completely replacing Angelo Bronte.
The man who owned his tavern was the Don of the entire city. And tonight, on the Don's very first visit to check on his investment, three drunken idiots had nearly ruined the entire evening.
Caleb looked at the sweating tavern owner, his max-level Leadership Skill instantly recognizing the man's sheer terror. Caleb did not want his legitimate managers operating under a cloud of paralyzing fear.
Caleb smiled a genuinely warm, highly reassuring smile. "You can breathe, Doyle," Caleb instructed smoothly, his voice a calm, steadying anchor. "I am not angry with you, and I am certainly not disappointed in the establishment. It wasn't your fault in the slightest. Given the geography of this tavern, sitting right on the edge of the industrial docks and the slums, the patrons that come to the place more or less would be like that from time to time. You cannot control every stray dog that wanders in off the street."
Caleb gestured back toward the dining room, where the busboys were already cleaning up the shattered remnants of the table Silvio had destroyed.
"That is exactly why I stationed my men at your doors," Caleb continued. "To handle the trash so you can focus on the hospitality. And on that front, you succeeded flawlessly. The food and drinks are exactly according to the ones I ordered you to produce. It is hearty, it is honest, and it is highly profitable. It is very good work, Doyle."
Hearing that definitive, overwhelmingly positive feedback from the Don himself, Doyle let out a massive, shuddering sigh of profound relief. The tension visibly drained from his sturdy shoulders. He bowed his head deeply before then thanking him profusely for his kind words and his understanding.
"Thank you, Don McLaughlin. Thank you so much," Doyle breathed, a genuine, proud smile breaking through his anxiety. And then he says, his voice ringing with renewed dedication and absolute loyalty, that he will personally make sure the tavern will continue to be great. "I swear to you, I will keep the standards high. This will remain the safest, finest working class establishment in the entire state of Lemoyne."
Caleb reached out and firmly patted him on the shoulder, the physical gesture cementing the bond of trust between the boss and his manager. Saying, "I know you will do so, Doyle. Keep the ledgers clean, and I will see you again soon."
And then, with the business of the eastern docks thoroughly concluded, he alongside Mary-Beth got to leave the tavern.
They stepped out into the cool, salty night air of the industrial district. The massive, black lacquered carriage was waiting patiently at the curb, its brass lanterns glowing warmly in the darkness.
Silvio, who had wiped a few stray drops of blood from his massive knuckles, opened the carriage door, while the other elite guards maintained a vigilant, heavily armed perimeter on the cobblestones.
Caleb helped Mary-Beth up the iron step, climbing into the plush velvet interior right behind her. As Antonio closed the door from the outside, Silvio alongside the other guards got onto their dark bay horses, their repeating rifles resting securely across their laps.
The driver cracked the whip, and the carriage left the area, rolling smoothly away from the flickering gaslights of Doyle's Tavern.
"Where to next, Don McLaughlin?" came Antonio's muffled voice through the sliding wooden compartment window.
"We are heading toward the Bastille Saloon next, Antonio," Caleb ordered, leaning back against the comfortable leather cushions.
The driver adjusted his route, steering the four white horses away from the slums and back toward the glittering, wealthy center of the city. Caleb wanted to go and see Ezra.
Ezra was a sharp, highly intelligent, and incredibly hardworking young man. After all, Caleb had personally elevated him, completely bypassing the deeply ingrained racial and class prejudices of the city, to become the new manager of the highly prestigious Bastille Saloon.
It was one of the crown jewels of Caleb's legitimate portfolio, a high society establishment located in the very heart of the wealthy district. Caleb would like to see exactly how the former young black bartender was handling the massive responsibility of running the saloon, managing the wealthy clientele, and balancing the books. It was a test of Caleb's meritocratic leadership style.
However, as the carriage rattled softly over the paved avenues, the beautiful woman sitting beside him let out a soft, highly contented groan.
On the ride there, Mary-Beth leaned her head against his shoulder, resting her hand lightly on her stomach. She looked up at him, her dark eyes completely heavy with the pleasant exhaustion of a massive, heavy meal.
She says, a soft, self deprecating laugh escaping her lips, that she is completely stuffed and absolutely cannot eat anymore.
"Caleb, I swear, if we are going to another saloon to test the food, I am going to burst the seams of this beautiful dress," Mary-Beth admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Doyle's stew was incredible, but it was so heavy. I couldn't possibly manage another bite of anything."
Caleb looked down at her, a wide, deeply affectionate smile spreading across his face. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his side.
He smiled and says that she absolutely doesn't need to eat anymore.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Caleb chuckled, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "The Bastille is a high end establishment. I am not going there to sample the roasted pheasant. I just need to check the ledgers with Ezra and ensure the transition of management is running smoothly. You don't have to eat a single thing. You can just sit in the VIP lounge and drink whatever you like. A glass of iced lemon water, or perhaps a light, sweet French cordial."
He kissed the top of her head, reassuring her that this would not be a long, drawn out inspection. "And we wouldn't be there for long as well. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the absolute most. Just enough time to show my face, let the staff know that Ezra speaks with my authority, and then we are leaving."
Mary-Beth sighed happily, nuzzling closer into the warmth of his suit jacket. "That sounds perfectly fine to me. But what are we going to do after that? Is there another massive mafia banquet I need to be aware of?" she teased lightly.
"No more banquets," Caleb promised, his tone shifting into something incredibly exciting and highly anticipated. He looked out the carriage window at the passing city lights, his mind already leaping forward to their next grand project.
"As after that," Caleb revealed, his eyes turning back to meet hers, "we are going to return back to the mansion. We are going to go upstairs, lock the doors to that massive, beautiful library I gave you, and we are going to begin our real work."
Mary-Beth blinked, her exhaustion momentarily fading. "Our real work?"
"Yes," Caleb nodded firmly. "We are going to make absolutely sure that the Harry Potter books, the adaptation manuscripts you have been pouring your heart into for the last few months, and also your very own, original romance stories that you have made, are all entirely flawless. We are going to sit at that mahogany desk, edit the final chapters, and perfect the prose."
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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: -