Post by Ribs, Suthers' Pal on Oct 20, 2014 0:03:03 GMT
Negotiations were not proceeding as planned.
On one side of the table, Doctor Who sat with his inept assistant Jo Grant. On the other, international tycoon Robert Klondike.
“Alright, so you are signing over the territory to me now, yes?” Doctor Who asked.
“I just – I don’t want to have to lose my family’s land.” Klondike was clammed up, unwilling to compromise. “I have so many good memories, though, y’know?”
“No, Mr. Klondike, I do not know.” He turned to his assistant. “Darling, if you wouldn’t mind cancelling my four’o’clock. Tell them I’m caught up with the baby.”
Klondike shuttered. “Did you just- did I hear you right?”
As Jo Grant exited, Doctor Who also reiterated, “And please bring in something for me to snack on, I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
He turned back to his potential busness partner. “I need that oil, sir, and I’m not afraid to take it from you if you won’t cooperate. So sign it.” He forced the pen into his hand. “Now.”
“Just – you won’t tear down the lodge, right? It meant so much to my father…” His thoughts trailed off, as he finally leaned in and signed his name. He sighed.
“There. It’s done.”
“Excellent.” Doctor Who quickly grabbed a piece of cloth and forced it over Klondike’s mouth, his cries for help silenced. Ms. Grant entered, with the necessary materials. Doctor Who placed the handgun in his partner’s palms, moved the barrel against the temple, and fired.
“Poor Mr. Klondike. What I wouldn’t have done to help combat your spiral into depression… It made your mind, just, wibbly-wobbly…” He tsked. “I even tried to ease the burden by taking over your business operations. What a terrible, terrible shame.”
He and Jo cackled in amusement. Their scheme had played out perfectly. Doctor Who had now absorbed his largest competitor for oil imports and exports across the Atlantic. He was now prepared to assassinate the Sheikh.
On one side of the table, Doctor Who sat with his inept assistant Jo Grant. On the other, international tycoon Robert Klondike.
“Alright, so you are signing over the territory to me now, yes?” Doctor Who asked.
“I just – I don’t want to have to lose my family’s land.” Klondike was clammed up, unwilling to compromise. “I have so many good memories, though, y’know?”
“No, Mr. Klondike, I do not know.” He turned to his assistant. “Darling, if you wouldn’t mind cancelling my four’o’clock. Tell them I’m caught up with the baby.”
Klondike shuttered. “Did you just- did I hear you right?”
As Jo Grant exited, Doctor Who also reiterated, “And please bring in something for me to snack on, I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
He turned back to his potential busness partner. “I need that oil, sir, and I’m not afraid to take it from you if you won’t cooperate. So sign it.” He forced the pen into his hand. “Now.”
“Just – you won’t tear down the lodge, right? It meant so much to my father…” His thoughts trailed off, as he finally leaned in and signed his name. He sighed.
“There. It’s done.”
“Excellent.” Doctor Who quickly grabbed a piece of cloth and forced it over Klondike’s mouth, his cries for help silenced. Ms. Grant entered, with the necessary materials. Doctor Who placed the handgun in his partner’s palms, moved the barrel against the temple, and fired.
“Poor Mr. Klondike. What I wouldn’t have done to help combat your spiral into depression… It made your mind, just, wibbly-wobbly…” He tsked. “I even tried to ease the burden by taking over your business operations. What a terrible, terrible shame.”
He and Jo cackled in amusement. Their scheme had played out perfectly. Doctor Who had now absorbed his largest competitor for oil imports and exports across the Atlantic. He was now prepared to assassinate the Sheikh.