No taste in style.
_Creed_'s forum posts
- Ambiguously evil.
- The chess master.
- Corrupt corporate executive: Personality wise at least.
- The friend nobody likes.
- Handsome lech.
- I hate past me.
- Iconic outfit: Always seen in some sort of tailored suit.
- Lack of empathy.
- Manipulative bastard.
- Sharp dressed man.
- Clean up crew: Though not Creed himself, but practically has an army of crew workers to clean up incidents.
- Non-idle rich: Is disgustingly wealthy (possibly one of the wealthiest in the united states) but spends his time as a cleaner and damage control operator.
- Rich boredom.
- Anti-role model: No shit.
- Bad Samaritan.
- The liar lies.
- The alcoholic.
- Jerk with the heart of a jerk.
- Every man has his price.
- On one condition.
- War for fun and profit.
Manhattan, moments before the Breakout occurs.
The phone begins buzzing atop the fine glass night stand, a specific rhythm for each client. Those three bursts over and over again, Gothic's mayor. This wouldn't be annoying, if Creed wasn't bedding this week's hottest magazine face before the next one showed up at one of his parties. He didn't stop, only groaning annoyingly among ones of pleasure, grabbing the phone and tapping to answer.
"Creed." She stops for a second, somewhat offended, but Creed raised his black brow and gestured her to keep going. "Yeah I know the one, with all the super freaks right?...Oh for f*cks sake. Can't anyone in that backwards town do anything right? I'll be there in a bit, Lori will be contacting you about my usual payment demands..." Creed hung up, glancing up at the woman with a rather bored face. "Lady I have no idea how you made it to where you are if you can't even get a guy off...You know where the door is." The cleaner ever so gently pushed her off and got out from the silk sheets, grabbing his half finished brandy and arranging that mistake in a single gulp. It was time to suit up and get to work.
Creed's butler, Clay, walked into the dressing room with a pre packed bag. He was an older man, in his fifties, built like an ox from military service. "Master Creed I have ensured your Gothic bag is up to date, given their..Increased risk between your visits." Creed didn't bother to glance at his servant, picking some lint off of his lapel and flicking it behind him. "Good work Clay, maybe I'll throw you a bone. Have this place prepared for the next bash, that is if you don't like getting paid. And I swear if I see that tart at the next one I will throw you off of the balcony...Later."
He grabbed his bag, straightened his tie and made his way to chauffeur. The only thing on his mind was what decadent cocktail he'll serve himself on the jet.
Gothic city, presently.
"We now go live to Mr.Mayor's chosen representative on the alleged "Bedlam Breakout" crisis." The deeply voiced anchorman announces before the screen switches to Creed standing in front of a press conference. "Ladies and gentlemen, our beloved town has seen many dire situations in the past years. Metas running wild in our streets causing all sorts of chaos. Hell we have had humans alike doing the very same. Panic has become our status quo, as much as it aches me to say that." Creed lied through his teeth, acting as if he cared, topped off with a humble hand placed on his chest.
"With this unsettling truth faced, you can now see how easy it is to scare us, to make us sweat. A small fight breaks out in an asylum for the ill and suddenly we are all up in arms? I assure you what you have heard, what has been said is but a exaggeration. Clearly forces are at work here to push this city into more panic, will you let yourselves be bullied? I personally would like to think not. The Bedlam Breakout is nothing more than a Bedlam Mishap...Thank you for your time, sleep easy folks."
Creed gave that award winning grin of his before stepping off the stage and into the back. His expression went to cynical in an instant, Lori already awaiting him with a brandy in hand. She was whisky in a tea cup, all business in the outfit but the personalty of a vixen. "Lori, a sight for sore eyes, and dry lips." He grabbed the brandy and took a gulp, continuing to walk, Lori following. "Give me a status angel." He asked, pulling out his phone to check as well.
Going through her data pad, she cleared her throat. "Twitter, Facebook and YouTube is being taken care of, that virus is chewing away anything with the word Bedlam in it. Eye witnesses have been detained, bribed or thrown into the drunk tank for some more violent persuasion. Cops have blocked off as many ways to get to the asylum as possible. Air traffic has been closed off within helicopter range, no press there. All in all..." Creed looked at her with a smirk, finishing his drink, and her sentence. "Like an explosion in a bottle. Now we wait for that whole mess to finally be done with, then we can move in and see the damage. I'm guessing that witch bitch of a director there isn't going to be an easy sell...Until then though..."
Creed reached for her behind, giving it a playful squeeze. "I'd say we earned ourselves a few bottles of Jack and a hotel bed for a couple of hours..." Lori's ruby red lips curled at the idea, wrapping her arms around his suited shoulders. "Why Mr.Creed, that's the best idea you had all night..."
- Has only been known by the alias of Creed.
- Is a reputable "cleaner". Often covering up major incidents both in the press and evidence itself. Often not caring if it's a school shooting or a petty mugging. As long as the price is right.
- Textbook narcissist, high functioning alcoholic, egotistical business man.
- Surprisingly proficient with firearms.
- Idiots often refer to him as the Devil. For his sometimes disturbingly quick clean ups (sometimes over night) that would usually take days.
- Is known to have numerous ties to governments across the globe.
- Claims he is a Virgo (probably not though)