Late at night.... Summer, 1998-

Geese's limo travels down the freeway at this late hour. There is no trafic, the city is dead..not even the police are patroling, opting to hang out at the various truckstops to kill the time of the long boring nights. Inside the limo the underworld boss of this city, Geese Howard, also known for his King of Fighter tournaments is on the cellphone. "Hai, and the woman has arrived in fair condition? Sou ka, after she has been taken care of I want guards placed outside of her room. Please make the most effort in keeping her peaceful. She needs much rest. When she wakes tend to whatever she may need." He glances over to his guard seated across from him then out the window to the second car just to the side of him, giving a grim look to the trunk of the vehicle. "I will be in tomorrow morning after I meet with an old friend and take care of a few things on this end." He hangs up the phone and sits back in his seat, letting out a long breath as the car heads to it's destination.
It's a typical nearing the crack-of-dawn night, for Tor. Having woken up after sleeping off an afternoon's hangover, he's on his rolling plank, under a truck. The sounds of searing and clanking can be heard on the other side of the grate, where he's working. The rock music hums, Tor's kind of 'white noise'. An occasional bout of swearing comes from the man under the vehicle, but he seems to be doing it for the truck's sake... he doesn't have the clue, yet, that anyone's coming around. It's the summer of 98, and it's a scorcher. "I'm a friggin wick." He announces in frustration, a bolt falling down, hitting the surface of his glasses, and rolling away. "Oh man. So /that's/ where it went..."

Torien
Torien Thorne, 'Tor', is a large, gruff, shady-looking guy. His frame
towers at 6'5, his body in very good form... but this is not the body of
an athlete, but of a very labored man. He's probably in his early
thirties. He wears his work gear, which consists of black jeans, a black
tank top, a small toolbelt, and his jacket is removed and probably sitting
off to one side. His combat boots are pretty worn. Grease stains his
shirt, and his bared arms. Looking like he just stepped out of a
motorcycle ad, he could be the 'white trash' posterboy, were it not for
his partial, but obvious, Native American heritage. Long, dark brown hair
is tied tightly in a ponytail, hanging behind him. He's not bad looking,
if you go for 'that' kind of thing. As his glasses can be a source of
annoyance at this point, they aren’t always covering his grey eyes. His rough
grin shows you all that he wants you to see.
Carrying: Leather jacket

After sometime Geese's limo arrives at its location, pulling up outside of the garage of Torien Thorne, an old aquaintence of his. Unfortunately this visit is not one that will involve catching up on old times. This visit will be something different... A moment after the first car pulls up the second escort car pulls along side, its bright lights shining on the garage door to this place. As soon as the cars pull to their stops men begin to step out, followed be Geese who crosses his arms and begins to meet with the men from the other car. They nod and move around to the back of the car and open the trunk. Howard narrows his eyes and breaks his gaze from his men and looks to the garage.
Tor doesn't hear a thing, though. With the music going, and the work he's doing, he's nigh oblivious to the approach of this 'ol buddy of his. Another string of vulgarity comes out of Tor, as he feels around for the escaped bolt. "Heh! Gotcha!" He snags the annoying little piece of steel, and starts getting it into place. "Smart a$$hole, making me promise to fix your stupid truck, when I was drunk." With a snort, he gets that part fixed. "No drinking buddy of mine! Next time, you can piss off, and I'm gunna get you drunk, and date your sister!" A triumphant laugh rises over the sound of the music, and he just lies back, taking a breather, staring up at his work. The glasses get jerked down to his nose. "Heh. It'll do. You'd better hope I'm not still sloshed and doing this."
There is a knock from outside. There are no pauses in the knocking, one comes right after the other, impatient and hurried. Then the door is tested and opened easily, two men enter and look around the garage, trying to find the owner. "There..." One of the men motion over as his partner wastes no time and moves to Torien, slapping his open palm on the car's frame to get the mechanic's attention. "Oi, OI!"
Tor hears the slapping on the truck, and he swears loudly in response. "Sh*t! What the hell do you want?!" He pushes his booted foot off the edge of the concrete, and he goes wheeling backwards, from under the truck. Oil stains are smeared on his face and get-up. Glasses down on his nose, he reaches to put them back over his eyes, but halts. He didn't expect this kind of visit, apparently. "Whoa..." he mutters, and starts to get up off his back, twisting into a sitting position, then standing, dusting himself off.
One of the men, dressed in a slick black business suit and wearing lennon-style glasses, steps forward and casts a quick look around before settling his gaze on Torien. "Someone wants to talk with you...." He steps to the side as his boss enters with two more men flanking him. The well-formed aged man nods to Torien and motions behind him, "Greetings Tor-san...we have a situation." The familiar voice and low tone of Geese Howards speaks out. As if on cue the final men of Geese's crew file in, three of them, carrying a black bag the size of them. They walks past Geese who watches them with a dark expression and dump the bag in the middle of the floor. Geese looks over to Torien silently.
Tor grins at first. "Geese! Imagine that, you've come to-" but the situation is obviously too serious for a friendly exchange. Dubiously, he reaches over, and takes the bag somewhat gruffly in his two hands, cigarette hanging low in his lips. He opens it slightly, staring down at the contents through his dark shades. That cigarette falls to the ground as his mouth opens a little, and his thick eyebrows raise. He sets the heavy sack down, so he can secure it with one hand, and take off the sunglasses for just a sec, still staring downward. A cruelly amused smirk jerks his lip up at the corner. "FFnh!" he snickers, looking up at Geese. "Secret's in the sauce, Geese? Ahh, nevermind. No questions asked." He bursts out laughing throatily, shaking his head. "Man, he was _lookin_ at me!" Using both hands, he shuts the darned thing, and swings it, like Santa preparing for a Yule ride, over his back. "A'right." He grunts. "Watch it go!" And with that, he chucks it onto a large, steel barrel, one he usually uses to keep the garage warm, fire-wise. Once it lands loudly and heavily there, he looks around on the ground, liftting the lost cig off the concrete floor. Reaching into his pocket, and whipping open his zippo with a *clink*, his head cocks to the side. "Mmn." He grunts again. "That all? Or more?"
Geese shakes his head as he watches the body thrown into the incinerator with little emotion on his face, his eyes narrowed into a steely gaze. Two of his men, newbies, stare with open mouths then look away quickly talking between themselves. The rest of the guards present, those who have been with him for sometime, veterans if you will, simply watch casualy and even begin to talk quietly amongst themselves. Some starting to head outside to have a smoke and talk idly. Geese's stare hasn't wavered from where the bag was dumped, no words are said until minutes later when he says in a low tone, "His name escapes me at this time, but no matter. A problem of an aquaintance of mine that has been solved." His eyes close as he turns away from the barrel.
Tor smirks heavily, watching the barrel, and the sack start to go up in flames. He reaches down, beside the steel filing cabinet, and flips open the top to a small plastic bottle. With a well-aimed squeeze, he sprays a stream of lighter fluid to the incineration, causing the fire to suddenly blast upward hungrily, consuming the contents even more quickly. Every so many seconds, he floods the fire again, the other hand holding his smoke at his side. He doesn't even blink behind his glasses, and just turns to stare at Geese. "Heh, you know, chief... you gotta quit breaking your toys. There won't be anything left." His sarcasm is boldly light, in the presence of this situation. "'Course, if my toys were as nasty-lookin' as that, well..." he shrugs, still igniting the fire again and again, without even watching. It's a wonder he's never blown up his own garage, as slack as he is.
Tor says, "It's already hot as hell in here, too. Damn."
An unsettling warmth fills the room as the barrel burns, normaly blanketing the room in comforting heat, but now does little to warm the chill that invades Howard's body. As he has done in the past he pushes back all of this and nods to Torien as he heads over to the sink. He examines his blood stained cuff and shakes his head, then rolls up his sleeve and begins to wash his hands. The water flowing over his hands and into the sink is tinted and makes a pinkish pool in the bottom of the basin. When done he takes a towel and dries off his hands as he walks back over to Torien, casting the slightest glance to the burning barrel then steadies his gaze on Tor. "He made quite a mess out of the Hazy Nights as well..." he says simply and rather casualy now.
Tor is still mentally berating himself in colorful metaphors, for leaving a small cinder in the barrel, and then thinking that the weather was responsible for the heat in the room. Ah well, it worked out just great for this unexpected situation. He casts his eyes on Geese as the large man washes his hands, and when he comes back by, Tor's got his cigarette back in his lip. "Mmn?" His eyebrows lift. "Little punk messed up the bar, did he? Damn shame...that's my newest watering hole." He runs out of liquid, but no matter. It's caught the pile rather well, and the lighter fluid smell helps buffer any unpleasant, flesh-scorching vapors. Tor's eyebrows remain cocked over his reflective shades, his smoky grin goofy as usual. Smug bastard, isn't he? "Welp, that's one less party crasher. Do I even /want/ to know how he was stupid enough to get your massage treatment?"
Geese lets out a low chuckle, more so as a cover to calm back the rage that is still fresh in his body. The picture of the woman at the bar, severely beaten and of the man who did it to her continue to flash into his mind. He shakes his head and wonders to himself why he is feeling such anger about this situation. Many have died in his path, many by his own hands. This one was no different except that it crossed over into a situation involving one he started to gain trust in. "You recieved no visitors tonight Tor... I was not here." He walks around scattered tools on the floor and the ocasional pool of oil as he rolls down his sleeves and adjusts his cuffs.
Tor just smirks back, and takes a deep drag off his cig. Pulling the nearly finished stowg from his lip, he cocks his ponytailed head to one side, and opens his arm in a gesture of simple, casual ignorance. "Me? Visitors? Who the hell would /want/ to come stumbling into a dump like this, in the middle of the night. I'm drunk anyway, remember? Hell, I'm passed out on the couch." He flicks the butt onto the almost finished pile, and scratches his grisly chin. "Just me and the Ford."

Geese_Howard
You feel a strong presence, looking over you see the source. The man looks to
you, crosses his arms and smirks. This is Geese Howard, king of South Town
and owner of the King of Fighters tournaments. His face has hard stern
features set with a smug expression full of confidence. A small scar can be
seen running over his left eye, he narrows them at you as he watches you,
measuring you. His blonde hair is combed back and gives him the appearance
that reflects his wealth. Geese is dressed in a red Kobujutsu top, the
sleeves are rolled up to above his elbows. You note that his body is in great
form and even seems to radiate some unseen power. The bottom half of his
uniform consists of a pair of black hakama pants, wide legged pants designed
to hide the movement of the legs. A finely crafted black belt is tied around
his waist, the ends hanging loosely. Glancing to his chest, you see through
the open part of the gi a large scar. Geese catches your gaze and smirks, the
memory behind the cause of the scar not forgotten and the hidden pleasure at
the rage he feels because of that makes you shudder and look away. The
outward appearance of Geese is calm and subtle with the air of demanding
authority always present, and judging by the way this man carries himself, he
seems more than likely to be capable or carrying out his words.
Carrying:

Geese nods and glances over to his old friend, unable to hide the smirk that forms on his face. With a this time honest chuckle he says, "Excellent.. Though I will have to start making actual visits here soon." He laughs low as he looks around the garage, then to the truck that the gruff machanic has slaved over all night.
Tor keeps grinning knowingly, following Geese's eyes as they move to the truck. "Heh, yeah. It'd be nice to see you come around, and dirty your suit on my couch. We could use you lounging around. It'd make the customers think I've got more class than I do!" He snickers softly, shoving his dirty hands in his jean pockets. "S'alright. I'll be down at the bar, and we'll have to down a few, for good 'ol time's sake." The caps of his upper teeth show as he laughs ferally. "Unless those brats show up and want a spanking. Are you still getting pestered?"
Geese crosses his arms as an amused chuckle slips out, "Heh..hai. But it is nothing that can't be dealt with." The underworld boss motins over to those left in the garage that they will be ready to leave, then he in turn begins to walk towards the door, pausing there for a moment to look back to Torien. "I am afriad I must be going, my work is not done yet tonight. I still have much to do, but you will be hearing from me soon." A final unregretfull look is given to the barrel before Geese nods to Torien and then heads out the door. Outside the closing of car doors is heard and the starting of engines.
Tor stares at the man that leaves. "Later, Geese..." he says simply. Then, he turns around and stares down at the barrel. He moves over to the steel file cabinet, and opens an entire bottle of lighter fluid. As he passes by the pile, he dumps the whole thing at it, with a shake of his wrist. Grinning, he opens the mesh door, and goes back by the truck, kneeling down, to get on his back again. "Welp, break's over." One final stare passes to the now immense flames. As he rolls under the truck, he mutters sourly, "FF. Now it's going to be a _smelly_ oven, in here...."