Post by Howard Bernstein on Feb 6, 2015 14:24:56 GMT -4
Howard Bernstein:
“Mmm, I don't possibly see the value in that...”
Wearing a crisp black suit, presumably worth more than the monthly pay check of any of the EVPW roster, Howard Bernstein stands backstage staring at a wall in the Solidcore Gymnasium. It doesn't need to be emphasized how out of place he looks. A rich Hollywood agent typically wearing a freshly dry cleaned suit every day, a near weekly trimmed haircut, and cleaned manicured hands in a hallway that hasn't looked like its been cleaned since the building had opened.
Since he had arrived last week, he was well aware of the aura he shone. Not that he cared, no. It was welcoming. Coming from a land of personalities and where the best dressed survived, Howard could feel the glares on him that he hadn't experienced since he first began his agency. It was as if he had arrived from the New World to show a plain filled with savages on how to behave. They were his to rule. He could fantasize it all day if he was given the opportunity.
He did have more important things to deal with though.
Howard Bernstein:
“Of course... Of course, of course. Yes, baby I understand what you're saying... However, we could always task someone else of watching such a plethora of talented individual's tapes-”
His client cuts him off immediately through the bluetooth in his ear. Howard allows him to do so as well. His job isn't to argue, it's to merely appease those he represent, no matter how wrong they are. Howard couldn't understand the value in reviewing the entire discography of EVPW's history. What was there to learn? He had been here a week and it was already obvious this was a broken society filled with social outcasts. What story lines did he miss? Was there any based on sexual frustration? How about the sick obsession with war and religion? Or the probable shared gimmicks involving the mentally unstable or Japanese fetishes? It wasn't Mr. Bernstein's concern.
What was his concern was the shiny strap behind the glass cabinet in front of him.
The Imperial Championship. An ironic title, Howard thought, considering this was a small, insignificant empire. Just the first of many to rule. It would be easy. You could make the argument you needed certain in ring talent to take it, but at the end of the day it was all politics. Once the politics started it-
Lizzie Morna:
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
Howard didn't flinch. His stoic expression merely spread into a comically fake smile, stretching from ear to ear. Lizzie was exactly as the descriptions were told, not that his client would lie to him. A beautiful, strong woman for sure. One had to be in a building filled with strong, masculine, and weak men.
Mr. Bernstein didn't put his client on hold and simply addressed the fiery red head.
Howard Bernstein:
“You must be Lizzie Morna. I have heard oh so much about you!”
Lizzie Morna:
“And you have to be Howard Bernstein. Not many people draw the same... impression as you, I'm sure.
Listen, I've been told to-”
Howard Bernstein:
“Elizabeth. Can I call you Elizabeth?”
Lizzie Morna:
“No, I-”
Howard Bernstein:
“Elizabeth, I find your talent to go straight to business admirable. I can see why you've had such a long tenure with your employers...”
There's no way Howard was that direct with his insult, Lizzie thought. Yet, there they were.
Howard Bernstein:
“I have quite a list to take care of and golly do I appreciate your eagerness... Please have the tapes delivered straight to my room and I'll be certain Kingbear rewards you adequately.”
He was tough to read. Howard's stance and poise was so cheerful, calm, and professional. His delivery, though, was directly insulting and patronizing. Almost as if he had no idea on how to talk to a real person.
Lizzie Morna:
“... I was literally just going to hand them over...”
Howard Bernstein:
“... No. Straight to my room would be fine. Thank you.
-Hey baby, thanks for holding...”
Howard cut off the conversation immediately. Turning back to the wall of titles and allowing his client to continue, he didn't give off the impression that the run-in with Lizzie had actually just happened.
Somewhat taken a back by the abruptness of the man in front of her, Lizzie shakes her head and storms off past the man in black. She couldn't believe or understand him. This was behind the scenes, they were professional. Who the Hell did this guy think he was anyway?
Whatever that was, he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was the voice in his ear, and the glimmering gold shining back his well trimmed reflection. Howard Bernstein had more pertinent priorities.
End of Thread.
