Quote Originally Posted by The Mad Hatter View Post
Olympian Extractions - Factory Floor

The woman behind the desk purses her lips for an uncomfortable moment or so, her black eyes boring into the cyborg's own. A toothy smirk forms upon her soot-smeared face before swiftly fading away. From her seat, she gestures for Magtok to come closer. "Why don't you come have a seat, old boy?" The instant that Magtok (presumably) sits down within the uncomfortable chair at the other end of the desk, she rises up out of her own. Her broad, blunt fingers tap at the desk for a second before she steps away towards a nearby desk, upon which an antique cylinder phonograph has been set. "How's about some tunes?"

Before she even gives the cyborg a second to answer, the cylinder phonograph comes to life seemingly of its own accord. A second later, the sound of the jazzy, mournful little dirge fills the room entirely. Ms. Meggie retrieves a pair of glasses on her way back to the desk, setting one down in front of the cyborg. Then, the door into the office slams shut across the room. Should Magtok turn his head to glance at the door, when he faces his glass once again, he'll find it mysteriously full with a fine, rich brandy. The foreman-miss settles down into her chair once again before taking a sip at her drink.

"I ain't here to punch the bag, no. I wanna start this off on the level with you, hun." She makes an uncomfortable sound with her mouth, as if sucking a lemon that isn't there, before continuing. "This industry ain't no cakewalk. It's hard. It's cruel. It ain't for nobody soft. But ain't nothing good ever been easy, no?" She cracks her knuckles. "Half of all the juice on this miserable little rock comes from here." A frown forms upon her face. "An' sure, some folk ain't likin' how we run things, but there's no denyin' that without us, this part of town ain't nothing." Her frown just deepens here. "An' yet, there are still some who think we oughta shut down, that we ain't no good for the people here."

"People been talkin', there's been some threats. It's becoming clearer that we need to up security."

"That's why my boss wants you here."
"Internal or external security threats? Or both?" Magtok asks between sips of his brandy, forgoing any sort of beating around the bush to just ask his question directly. The less time spent in this uncomfortable chair with this uncomfortable music, the better. Plus, if he's going to be busting a fledgling union, that's going to cost extra. This place is one well-spoken, clever revolutionary leader away from sit-ins, picket lines, rioting, and anything else the proletariat uprising deems necessary to seize (the means of producing) fire from the divine bourgeois.

...Oh man, can you imagine how cool that would be? A socialist Prometheus? Now that you mention it, Magtok's almost hoping there's someone like that around here now. He'd make a tidy profit now, have a change of heart later and sell out to Prommy later, then New Zeus (or whoever the hell M.H. is) gets overthrown, and everyone lives happily ever after. I'm sure everyone would understand his choices in the end; nobody would shove him into the factory machinery for being an accomplice to unrestrained, capitalistic excess, or for being a filthy socialist turncoat. Heck, even if they wanted to, surely they'd have bigger problems to worry about than one measly security contractor, right? We'll be out of town and counting our dollars all the way to the bank while the battles are still raging. We're smart like that, not like those stinky heroes who'd insist on sticking around all the way to the bitter end. That's why you don't see demons getting into a prolonged war with the MagCave, see. Unlike VIGIL, we know when to get the hell out.