(October 8, 2014. This was a fan-fiction I wrote awhile back to practice and play around with descriptions.)
It was a strange scene. Strange food. Strange drinks. Strange silverware and dishes. Strange restaurant. Strange waiters. All for a fairly strange gathering of strange men. The lingering smell of cigars mingled with the perfume and Italian herbs and spices to create what many would have thought to be a nauseating concoction, yet the people there seemed to not notice. It was a rather small restaurant, so the majority of the tables had been put together to fit the gathering, though most people still stood. The red curtains, tablecloths and multiple random paintings of roses contrasted with the overall blackness of the fancy restaurant. The waiters were a quiet, honest bunch, though the majority of the people they served were less then respectable low lives and immoral businessmen, and many pessimists had suggested that the servers were illegal aliens, and this was the cause of their silence. The plump chef was also the manager of the place and his warm Sicilian accent and jolly face masked a heart full of secrets.
Four individuals sat at the collected tables, with their escorts, bodyguards and cohorts standing behind them quietly. The setting sun’s red glow was reflected in their wine glasses, making the table light up in a most peculiar way. They had clearly just finished their meal, as their dishes had been collected and the men seemed in much better spirits then they were just an hour before. But the time for formalities and shallow compliments was over. Business had begun.
The man nearest to the wide window on the far side of the room was a handsome youth in his mid twenties, with wavy blonde locks and a smooth face that could have softened the heart of any woman. He wore an extremely expensive suit that he wore tight against his lean, muscular body. He sat upright, holding his head high, as if he was surrounded by the filthiest of swine. Behind him was a miserable looking girl in her later teen age years, with gorgeous curly, red hair that she wore up in a complex braid, dotted with flowers of the same shade of blue as her long silk dress. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and though she looked as if she lived in hell, her beauty was noticed by everyone in the room. The second person behind the handsome man, clearly wasn’t used to this formal environment, and looked around nervously. He sported a huge beard and long tangled black hair, and somehow he was able to fit his massive body into a suit, though it was clear he was more accustomed to a different sort of business.
The man sitting on the right side of the table, closest to the kitchen where the chef was working and pretending not to listen to the guest’s conversations, was the most casual looking person sitting at the table, though this looked bizarre considering the environment. He was a young, thin and bony faced man who had a darker skin tone and black hair that suggested Middle Eastern descent. He wore a simple black and grey jacket and a multi colored striped T-shirt. Standing behind him were two men, the first was a good-looking, spiky haired man in his thirties wearing a button down shirt and a dress coat, the second was a black teenager who was wearing a striped sweatshirt over a t-shirt. This group appeared to care the least about how they dressed and appeared, and seemed like they could have been just hanging out at home.
On the left side of the table, closest to the lavatories, sat a monstrous being. His massive slug like body laid on a large platform, which left no room on that side of the table. He had two short stubby arms and an immense head that was connected to its slimy, disgusting body by a series of wrinkles instead of a neck. Placed within the curl of his beastly tail, was a tiny, ugly creature that resembled an almost hairless monkey with a birds beak and beside the beast was a tall pale humanoid in black robes, with gleaming scarlet eyes and a tail that came out of the back of his head and wrapped itself around the shoulders of the being.
Finally, sitting at the head of the table nearest to the door, was an old man. The man’s thin mustache and slicked back grey hair hinted at attractiveness in his youth, but now his skin had become wrinkled and his cheeks drooped down low. He wore a fancy tuxedo, with a pinned rose and a nice bowtie. The man held himself in such a way that showed relaxation and thought, as if he was talking to old friends. The first word that came to mind when one saw him was ‘wisdom’. A young man stood behind him wearing a vest and a flannel baggy button down, he was tall and had curly hair. He looked similar enough to the man sitting down, that one could guess the two were father and son or at least related. The second man was obviously a thug. He had short graying hair, and an enormous body built for smashing people to bits. The old man sitting down, was the first to speak after a long moment of silence.
“Now my friends,” the old man said in his raspy New York accent. “I hope you all get a chance to give your regards to Chef Soriano before we depart.”
“I don’t mean to be rude Mr. Corleone,” the attractive man on the other side of the table began in a slow, soft voice. “And I will not deny, the fettuccini was superb, but we did come here to discuss business, and all we have done here so far is talk about food, women, and baseball.”
The large, slug creature blubbered something in a strange language unknown to most of the people there. The man with the tail coming out of his head translated.
“The illustrious Jabba wishes to remind you his business is women,” the strange man said with a smile. The creature who was called Jabba made a deep “Ho Ho Ho” sound, that the others assumed was laughing.
“Anyway,” the handsome man said in a slightly annoyed tone. “I didn’t come so that a group of criminals could waste my time.”
“Narcissus, Narcissus,” the old man named Corleone said, with furrowed brow. “what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you came to me in the spirit of friendship…”
“We’re not friends Corleone,” Narcissus spat. “We’re business partners.”
Corleone looked slightly hurt, and the two men behind him were already getting very nervous, slipping their hands into their pockets.
“Now listen,” Narcissus said, turning to the rest of the group. “The four of us are the richest and most powerful men in our industry, especially me. Each of us runs a massive network of trade and commerce. You with your gambling and bootlegging, Corleone. Jabba has his drug and spice trafficking. Mr. Abed Nadir,” Narcissus nodded to the Middle Eastern man. “Has one of the most successful chicken finger and jalapeño poppers systems in the world. And as for me, well, I think you all know about my hair products and exotic animals. We may be rich now, but together we could be the most powerful men in the world.”
Jabba laughed his strange, twisted laugh again and mumbled some words to his translator.
“The almighty Jabba understands that Mr. Nadir and Don Corleone would be useful to our industry,” the translator interpreted smiling evilly. “But he questions the legitimacy of your trade, Mr. Narcissus. What do you have to offer?”
“What do you mean?” Narcissus said, more confused than insulted. “I sell banned hair products? Everybody loves hair products!”
Jabba raised the wrinkles on his forehead where his eye brows should have been. Abed had been silent this whole time and bobbed his head back and forth to listen to the current speaker, reminiscent of an observant bird. Corleone leaned back with his hand on his chin, listening intently.
“Olive oil,” Corleone declared.
“What?” Narcissus was more confused than ever.
“That’s what I use in my hair. Olive oil,” Corleone responded.
“That works,” Mr. Nadir said, pointing at his fellow olive oil user.
“Jabba wishes to remind you, in case you haven’t noticed, his majesty has no hair,” the translator said without a smile.
Narcissus stared, mouth ajar at the rest of the table. He was dumbfounded by the lack of respect that he was getting from the group of people around him.
“I’m not selling the hair products to you all!” Narcissus said from gritted teeth. “We are selling to our customers!”
“It helps with making chicken,” Abed continued in his odd, speedy voice. “The chicken tastes much better in olive oil, as opposed to canola or vegetable. It adds a new sort of flavor.”
“My family has been in the world of olive oil since the days of my youth in Sicily,” Corleone said with a gleam in his eyes. “If it wasn’t for the oil of olives, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“Godfather,” Abed said to Corleone “I ask a favor of you. Greendale Chicken Finger Association would find more success if we had a more abundant supply of previously mentioned oil. I’ll give you forty percent if you support us.”
“This is a generous offer, my son,” Don Corleone said with a smile. “But I have no need for money. I will support your business, and then some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me.”
“Thank you, Godfather,” Mr. Nadir said, bending down and kissing Corleone’s hand.
Jabba grumbled something in his weird language.
“Jabba would like to make business with you, Mr. Nadir,” the translator explained. “He has many exotic spices that would create new flavors of chicken.”
“What does his excellence want in return?” Abed said, without a hint of emotion in his voice.
“40%” the translator offered.
“20%” Abed replied.
“Deal,” Abed said in good spirits “I’m glad we have made these agreements here today. I hope our families will prosper.”
“I don’t understand,” Narcissus exclaimed. He had been in a shocked silence this entire time “I’m the biggest, most important one here! And you all are supporting a chicken finger business, and have completely ignored me.”
“Good doing business with you,” the translator said, packing up Jabba’s things and getting ready to go.
“What are you doing?!” Narcissus yelled.
“I’ll call up a few favors, and our families will be booming in no time,” Corleone said to Abed, standing up.
“Where are you going?” Narcissus was freaking out.
“Thank you all for your time.” Abed nodded to his new friends.
“That’s it!” Narcissus screamed, taking out a revolver from his pocket and aiming it at Corleone’s head. At that same moment, everybody else in the room took out their own weapons. After a moment of tension, the chef appeared.
“You all almost forgot dessert,” he cried, bringing out several cannoli on silver platters.
“Leave the gun,” Abed said with a look of dead seriousness as he steadily held his gun to Narcissus’ head. “Take the cannoli.”