[Aged and well oiled dark hardwood lines the walls. The lighting is dim as is, the thin layer of smoke that hangs a few inches from the low ceiling doesn't help matters. But the men that frequent this establishment don’t come here for the ambiance.]

 

[The swishy little waiter finishes up pouring five glasses of very expensive looking scotch and smiles at the odd collection of men sitting around the table.]

 

Waiter:

Will there be anything else Mr. White? As always it's a pleasure to see you sir.

 

[The impeccably dressed Socialite Edward White grins his billion dollar grin and brushes off the little man with a flick of his wrist. We’re pretty sure it was just an excuse to mug for the camera via his gold and diamond encrusted wristwatch.]

 

Edward White:

Don’t return without those beautiful steaks, little man.

 

[Edward looks back over the four men joining him for this rather expensive dinner.]

 

[To his immediate left sits a man who looks like he stepped right out of the era this fine beef based New York institution was first built back around the turn of the century.]

 

Bronson Box:

And people have the bollocks to ask why I call this man my dear dear friend.

 

[The mustachioed Wargod raises his glass to his Blood Diamonds tag team partner.]

 

Bronson Box: [taking a sip]

The perks are absolute heaven, lads.

 

[The blond gentleman to Bronson’s left pipes up.]

 

Kai Scott:

Heaven? High praise from you Bronson considering your well known theological leanings.

 

[Bronson obviously bites his tongue as best he can. He gives a look towards the former Untouchable that could peel paint.]

 

Bronson Box:

Keep at it, Scott...

 

Kai Scott:

Call off your dog, White. Before he flips over the table and stabs somebody.

 

[The tense moment is cut with a tact and sensitivity only this particular man could possibly muster. To Edward White’s immediate right dressed in a purple gold tuxedo t-shirt.]

 

Chance Von Crank:

If moneybags White is paying I want the most expensive steak on the menu, boys. But shit, Kai just sits down and is already calling for help with the dogs? Scared shitless of anything with a little bite, Kai?

 

[Chance shoots finger guns at Bronson. Box soundly ignored the gesture.]

 

Kai Scott:

You don’t just shoot another man’s dog, Chance.  You should know that better than anyone else sitting here.

 

[Kai smiles a disingenuous smile. Bronson harrumphs and takes another swig from his drink. To the right of the eternally inappropriate Chance Von Crank sits another handsome blond gentleman who just seems happy to be here.]

 

Edward White:

Mr. Stratton, you’ve been rather quiet this evening.

 

Seth Stratton:

I’ve been here before. They asked me to leave and implied I wouldn’t be welcomed back. I wasn’t going to miss out on some free grub though, so if anyone asks my name is Angus. Angus MacGyver.

 

Kai Scott:

What do you mean, asked to leave?

 

Seth Stratton:

There was an incident a few years ago. I accidentally groped one of the waitress. Why do you think they stuck us with short and bald over there serving us tonight?

 

[The rest of the group stares at him uncomfortably. Aside from Chance, who simply mutters nice and goes for an ignored high five with Stratton.]

 

Seth Stratton:

Don’t worry, It was an honest mistake. I meant to grab an ass cheek. I’m not a creep or anything. She turned around real fast and bent over to pick somethin’ up... yeah. I’m in recovery now, so all’s well. I just need to keep a low profile.

 

[The cocky young athlete smiles and lifts his glass to the host of this little meeting of the minds. The table seemed puzzled at this contradictory action.]

 

Seth Stratton:

For sex addiction, not alcohol.

 

Kai Scott:

Isn’t that pleasant.

 

[Seth just smirks at Kai, raises his eyebrows a little and takes a sip of his drink.]

 

GLUG...

 

[Chance slams his glass down onto the table upside down.]

 

Chance Von Crank:

Can I get some more booze? That’s some good shit.

 

[Bronson glares across the table at literally the antithesis of everything he stands for.]

 

Bronson Box:

That booze, as you so gracefully put it, is quite a bit older than anyone sitting at this table boy’o.

 

Chance Von Crank:

Well excuse me Mr. Wargod sir, should I say a little prayer before I sip it like I’m Marry fuckin’ Poppins over here? What’s with this guy? It’s a party man, lighten the fuck up. Say Ed? What say after we eat we hit up a titty bar or something?

 

[Bronson leans back and rubs his forehead with a sigh.]

 

Bronson Box: [to Edward]

I told you this was going to be a useless endeavor.

 

Kai Scott:

Useless is as useless does, Bronson.  I’ve been doing this for a long time, and it’s no secret that men and women of our... alignment... don’t do well in these matches because we can’t put our egos and grievances aside long enough to get along.  

 

[Scott leans forward, a faux-friendly smile on his face.]

 

Scott:

Now, let me ask you something, Box.  I know that you’d happily cost myself or Chance the match because you don’t truly consider it important, seeing as you’ve already been eliminated from the ladder war and have yourself a nice little chain match lined up for the FIST instead.  But does costing our team the match really gain you more than helping your team?

 

Bronson Box:

I swear to Christ almighty keep it up, lad. Just keep it up...

 

[Edward puts a hand on Bronson’s shoulder.]

 

Edward White:

His words are antagonistic but reasonable. Let him finish.

 

Kai Scott:

Thank you.  Now, despite my distaste for some of our opposition, the fact remains that Light’s beaten myself, you Ed, and you Box, that Ryan’s an obsessive collector of World Titles, and that Eugene Dewey’s won repeated matches against one of us.  

 

[Scott looks ever so slightly beside him, making sure Bronson noticed his jab. Bronson having lost several matches to the nerdly grappler]

 

Kai Scott:

And, regardless of who’s truly responsible for it, one of our opponents holds the Defiance World Title.  Also, again regardless of any personal issues, there’s no grievance between any of us that should take precedence over doing what we can to win this match.  We - at least most of us...

 

[Here, he glances at CVC.]

 

Kai Scott:

Are smarter than anyone on the other side of the ring.

 

Bronson Box:

I’ll give you that.

 

Kai Scott:

Now that all being said there is one significant problem. Chiefly Eric Dane and his insistence that matches be conducted with a little more decorum. Apparently the situation surrounding the referees and their demands have reached a fever pitch and lawyers have begun to be involved.

 

Edward White:

Please, I have an army of lawyers. I could make this referee debacle disappear in an instant!

 

[Kai Scott sighs a quiet little sigh all to himself.]

 

Kai Scott:

While that may be true, this ten man tag will need to be handled with a little tact. Not that blood and mayhem isn't ALWAYS a fantastic tactical manuver.

 

[Another look exchanged between Scott and The Wargod. Bronson getting more and more heated Edward White finally steps in.]

 

Edward White:

Mr. Scott with all due respect to you and your vast intellect when it comes to gaming the system, so to speak. One more sidways crack at my dear friend Mr. Box and we’ll take turns introducing you to this very expensive table. You've spoken at lenght thisevening about putting our egos and grievances aside.

 

What's good for the goose and all that.

 

[Edward cracks a big smile, his eyes not leaving Kai Scott’s for even a second.]

 

[Always the tactician, Kai Scott acquiesces to The Socialite.]

 

Kai Scott:

You are a master negotiator, sir.

 

Edward White:

Just giving you a bit of the business, my boy. You’ve been speaking all night about how we all need to be on the same page. Does that not include yourself and Bronson?

 

Kai Scott:

Fair enough. I can’t say I’m not guilty of a little prejudice. My opinion of Box has been informed chiefly by Jeff and Heidi, I must admit.

 

[A deep belly laugh rumbles from the throat of Jeff and Heidi’s former Hydra stablemate.]

 

Bronson Box:

Two bigger stick in the muds never I’ve ever met in my whole bloody life, those two. Christ that woman needs to remove that stick up her ass before it gets bleedin’ infected.

 

And that’s coming from me, lads.

 

[Bronson has obviously has a few.]

 

Edward White:

The Bombastic Bronson Box cracking jokes? This truly is a momentous night, gentlemen!

 

[The table erupts into laughter, even Kai cracking a smile. Scott and Bronson obviously coming to some sort of unspoken warriors truce.]

 

[The enemy of my enemy is my friend... at least for now.]

 

[It’s about then the little waiter from earlier slides up to the table with a tray full of plates. He deftly slides each plate in front of each man. Several large porterhouses for Bronson, Kai and Stratton. Then two small but absolutely exquisite cuts of the finest Kobe beef for Edward and Chance.]

 

[Edward smiles at the gorgeous cut of beef like a father witnessing his first born son for the first time.]

 

Edward White:

More drinks! Enough of this thirty year nonsense, bring out the sixty year! We’re warriors preparing for battle not a damned knitting circle!

 

Gentlemen, this is what life is all ab...

 

RECORD SCRATCH!

 

Chance Von Crank:

What the fuck is this horseshit?! Where’s the rest of it?!

 

[Edward looks at Chance in utter disbelief.]

 

[Stratton is laughing his balls off... stopping suddenly and ducking down under the table a little when a beautiful blonde waitress across the restaurant points over at him.]

 

[Kai and Bronson are surprisingly on the same page, ignoring the comment and enjoying the free steak. Even going as far as to comment to one another at how goddamn delicious the meal is.] 

 

[The power of a good steak and really old booze will make fast friends out of even the bitterest of enemies.]

 

Edward White:

You’re hopeless, son. Utterly hopeless.

 

[Everyone tucks into their meals... Chance pushes the brilliant cut of the finest beef on earth around his plate like a wet sponge covered in jizz with a frown stolen from the saddest eight year old on the saddest Christmas of his short little life.]

 

Chance Von Crank:

Fuckin’ bullshit rich people steak... *grumble*... no goddamn light beer... *grumble* … shoulda’ gone to fuckin’ TGI Fridays...

 

 

[Fade.]