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(A/N: I hope everyone give my new novel Skyrim a chance and added it to their library, also give power stones on Skyrim!)
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By the time the grandfather clock in the corner chimed, Bronte was in high spirits, his earlier fury at Martelli completely forgotten. "You have given me much to think about, amico mio," Bronte said, standing up. He walked over to a heavy mahogany cabinet. "Loyalty and intelligence... a rare combination in this city."
Before leaving, Bronte goes to a drawer, unlocks it with a small key from his vest, and counts out a stack of bills. He returned to Caleb and pressed the money into his hand.
"For the initiative," Bronte said. "And for the future."
Caleb glanced at the cash. It was 2,000 dollars. A small bonus for him to get after getting much money in Annesburg, enough to be additional fund for the lode renovation in Strawberry. For Bronte, it was pocket change. For Caleb, it was seed money for more money.
Caleb smiled, pocketing the thick stack without counting it, like a show of trust while it actually enter his inventory. "Thank you, Mr. Bronte. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't, Signor McLaughlin. I know." Bronte walked him to the door. "Go. Rest. When the time comes to strike at the docks, I want you sharp."
Caleb thanked him for the money before then he leaves the room, feeling the heavy oak doors close behind him with a sense of relief. However, just as he reached the foyer, Bronte's voice from behind called out, echoing slightly in the high ceilinged hall.
"One more thing, Signor!"
Caleb turned back. Bronte was leaning in the doorway of the drawing room, a silhouette against the firelight.
"I will contact you by sending my men to the Bastille," Bronte says to him, his voice commanding. "So you better come when I summoned you. No more disappearing acts since you are very safe now. Capische?"
"You have my word," Caleb promised, tipping the brim of his hat.
Before then he fully leaves the mansion, stepping out into the humidity of the Saint Denis morning. The air felt thick compared to the air conditioned cool of the manor, but it felt freer. He walked down the marble steps, nodding to the guards. He gets on Morgan, patting the horse's flank.
"See you boys around," he said, saying goodbye to Bronte's men at the gate. They saluted him with genuine respect now, word traveled fast in the organization, and if the Don was happy with McLaughlin, everyone was happy with McLaughlin.
Before then he flicked the reins, and directed Morgan to head toward the Bastille. He navigated the cobbled streets, heading east to the center of the city. The city was fully awake now. Trams clanged their bells, paperboys shouted headlines about the mayor's gala, and the industrial smoke mixed with the morning fog to create a golden, hazy canopy over the streets.
When he finally arrived in front of the Bastille Saloon, the heart of the city's nightlife and social climbing, he slowed Morgan to a halt.
He gets off and hitched Morgan to the hitching post in there, making sure the knot was secure. He adjusted his gun belt, the weight of the Litchfield and the Pump Action still reassuring against his back.
He pushed through the ornate double doors, and then he entered into the saloon.
The atmosphere was a stark shift from the tension of the streets. The fancy tune of the piano washed over him, played by a musician who knew his craft.
The laughter and voices from the fancy and rich male and female patrons filled the air, a cacophony of gossip, business deals, and flirtation. With the fancy working girls walking around the saloon in their silk dresses and feathered hairpieces, it was a scene of decadent comfort.
It welcomed him after being gone from Saint Denis for quite some time. He had been in the mud of Annesburg, the coal dust of the mines, and the blood of an interrogation room. This was civilization, or at least, the expensive veneer of it.
As he walked in, the light catching the silver studs on his duster, the room seemed to shift. Several of the patrons notice him. It started with a whisper, then a point, and then a shout.
"It's him! McLaughlin!"
"Hei! Our hero from the docks!"
They cheer loudly, raising their glasses. To them, he wasn't a cold blooded killer or a manipulator, he was welcoming him the famous bounty hunter McLaughlin and also the hero of the Saint Denis docks after that fierce gunfight when the Grand Korrigan docked.
The story had evidently grown in the telling, Caleb suspected the survivors and the townsfolk that are around when it happens had embellished the tale to make their own survival seem more miraculous.
Everyone immediately cheers in the saloon, a wave of applause rippling through the room.
"Drinks on the house for the hero!" someone shouted.
Caleb just chuckles, the sound low and amused. He wasn't one for fame, but it was a useful tool. He returning the greeting, touching the brim of his hat, and nodding his head left and right to the adoring crowd. He moved through them like a shark through a school of fish, heading toward the counter of the saloon.
Behind the polished mahogany bar, the young black man bartender, Ezra, let out a smile, while he was wiping a glass with a rag. His face lit up when he saw the familiar figure approaching.
"Mr. McLaughlin!" Ezra called out, welcoming him back as well as he reached the bar counter. "We were wondering if the gators got you."
Caleb leaned his elbows on the bar, the wood cool under his arms. Caleb smiled saying, "It's good to be back in the center of civilization around here, Ezra. The gators tried, but they didn't like the taste."
Ezra laughed, shaking his head. Ezra nodded his head and reached for the top shelf bottle, the amber liquid glinting in the gaslight. He pour Caleb a glass of whiskey, sliding it across the polished wood. "For you, sir. It's on the house."
Caleb thanked him, lifting the glass in a silent toast before downing all of it on one go. The burn was good. It grounded him.
Ezra leaned in closer, lowering his voice amidst the noise of the saloon. Then Ezra asked if he have meet with the boss which was Bronte. The bartender was one of the few civilians who knew who truly pulled the strings in this town.
Caleb nodded his head, his expression turning serious for a moment. He leaned in, matching Ezra's volume. He before saying he have, "I just left him. Listen to me, Ezra. The city... it's going to be in a much more chaos in several days forward. Things are going to get loud."
Ezra's smile faltered slightly. "Loud?"
"Storm's coming," Caleb said cryptically. "So I suggest for you to not go outside much. If you can, stay here in the Bastille servant rooms and take all of the shifts you can take. Keep your head down, keep the doors locked at night."
Ezra hearing that nodded his head slowly, absorbing the warning. He knew McLaughlin wasn't a man who spoke idly. "I understand. I'll... I'll take your advice in heart, Mr. McLaughlin. Thank you."
Trying to lighten the mood back up, Ezra asked would like to eat something. "Chef's got a fresh roast coming out. Best in the city."
Caleb shake his head, patting his stomach. "I already eat with the boss back at his mansion. Had enough rich food to last me a week."
He pushed himself off the bar. "Now I just wanted to come here and say hello, let you know I'm still kicking. I'm returning back to my room and take some good nap. I already have enough excitement this day."
Ezra nodded his head, wiping the counter where the glass had been. "Fair enough. Before then saying to him hope he gets some good nap."
Caleb top his hat to the young man. "Keep safe, Ezra."
Before then he goes upstairs, the wooden steps creaking slightly under his boots. He walked down the carpeted hallway, ignoring the giggles coming from behind some of the closed doors. He then goes to his room which was opposite of the door to the bathroom.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was just as he had left it, clean, quiet, and smelling faintly of lavender. He placed his hat on the rack, unbuckled his gun belt, and laid his weapons carefully on the side table.
In there, he then goes to have some nap to restore his energy. He didn't bother undressing fully, just kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, the exhaustion he had been holding back with his Acting Skill crashed over him.
He slept.
And when he woke up, the time is already dusk. The room was dim, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside filtering through the sheer curtains. The noise from the saloon downstairs had changed, the piano was faster, the laughter louder. It was the sound of the night shift.
Caleb sat up, rubbing his face. He felt better. The mental fatigue from the Bronte meeting had evaporated.
Caleb goes to think. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. He was stuck in a holding pattern. He had to wait for Bronte to make the next move, or rather, for Bronte to think he was making the move Caleb had designed. While waiting for Bronte, he couldn't just sit idle. Idleness was dangerous.
He then remembered the 2,000 dollars he get and the large amount of money in his inventory. He was full of liquid assets.
Maybe he could found some business to acquire or invest in here. Saint Denis was a city of coin, and coin bought power. He didn't want to just be a gunman; he wanted to be a fixture.
His mind drifted to the geography of the city. He had the high society covered here at the Bastille. He had the criminal underworld covered through Bronte. But he lacked eyes on the ground level, the real ground level. The rats in the walls.
And then he remembered the tavern in the slums thanks to the help of his Past Life Memory Skill. Doyle's Tavern.
It was a wretched hive located deep in the poverty stricken district near the markets and the docks. He had passed it a few times during his initial scouting of the city.
It was slum, dirty, and served watered down swill to factory workers, petty thieves, and those that are part of the slums. But its location... its location was perfect. It sat at the intersection of the labor district and the criminal backalleys. Everyone passed through there.
He could potentially acquire it. The current owner, Mr. Doyle, was likely drowning in debt or misery or his rats infestation like in the game. With the cash he have on hand, he could buy it outright and make Me. Doyle his bartender.
His eyes narrowed in the dark room as the plan formed. He could also refurbish it a bit. Not turn it into another Bastille, the slum dwellers wouldn't feel comfortable there, but clean it up. Make it the high end tavern of the slums with affordable prices. Good stew, clean beer, tables that didn't wobble. A place where the working man felt like a king for an hour.
If he did that, he would earn their loyalty. And with loyalty came loose lips. He could control the flow of information in the slums by becoming the shadow owner of the tavern. He would hear about black market informations, about small time gangs making some moves, about union strikes and the remnants of the pinkerton movements.
Caleb stood up, energized by the prospect. The "Tycoon" aspect of his system hadn't been utilized much other than his restaurant, Marlin-Thorne firearms, and the shoudo be under renovation strawberry lodge, and this was the perfect start. He quickly geared up, strapping his holsters back on. He grabbed his coat and hat.
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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 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,370 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 257,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 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
Bank: -