"There she is! Lookin' gorgeous and hotter than a purple Lambo", the Connoisseur grinned, his stark blue eyes drinking in the sight of his neon purple one-of-a-kind supercar; the Quicksilver G1. Sleek and home to a large turbocharged and supercharged 7.0 liter V-8 engine, the 1,104 horsepower supercar sat parked by his mansion driveway, surrounded by the Certified G's armed and dapper cronies and gangsters. Peacocking in an Alexander McQueen ensemble, diamond studs worn by his ears, glitzed out bracelets and a diamond-encrusted Hublot Big Bang watch hugging his wrists, the Connoisseur smiled, a worldly and narcissistic cockiness cast by his pale, tattooed features, "See the shoes?", he asked, gesturing towards his posh leather shoes with a jewel-encrusted cane.
"See my shoes, bitch? I'm havin' a hard time holdin' these gators down", he laughed, twirling his cane with show-stopping flair, his cronies smiling in submission and fear, "Yeah they're real nice, boss", one of them, Dwayne, nodded. Tall and muscled like an ox, Dwayne was the Connoisseur's most veteran gangster, his most loyal crony. "Real nice?", the Certified G paused, left eyebrow raised, fingers running through his slicked back emerald hair, "Real... nice...", he repeated, nonchalant laughter escaping him, "This is the type of shit ya wear when you reach a certain level, Dwayne. The type of shit ya wear when you buy a f****** chimichanga with the chilli sauce drippin' onto your hand and you wipe it with hundred dollar bills m***********!", the Connoisseur berated, tossing his cane for one of his gangsters to catch as he strode forward, the eyes of a slighted sociopath holding Dwayne's in a heart-stopping glare.
"The type of shit ya wear when you own a pimped out, gold-plated, gorgeous handgun; the Bona-Fide Stud!", the Mad Pimp continued, reaching for said handgun from his holster, shoving the firearm into Dwayne's gut. "So I expect a bit more than "real nice". Maybe I'm not gonna shoot ya, Dwayne. That'd be counterproductive. I still need you. You're gonna be one of my guys in government positions, helpin' me get politicians in my pocket for a couple of Gs". Easing away with a grin that saw his diamond grills glisten under the moonlight, the Connoisseur shook his head, "Don't be bitch-made, Dwayne. I threaten you like once everyday! Get used to it. If you die, you die, but I've kept ya alive so far for a reason", he laughed, gesturing towards the Quicksilver G1, "Get in. Let's get this money".
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dwayne nodded, "Yeah... okay boss", he exhaled in relief, glancing at his colleagues as the tension eased from the atmosphere. Behind the steering wheel and accompanied by his cronies, the Connoisseur drove off, the violent roar of a powerful V-8 engine rippling through the night air. They were to meet the Antidoll sisters, at a nightclub in Metro City. Gothic City was on the verge of reconstruction, an effort the Mad Pimp would oversee and manipulate through his ties with Don Vito, head of the Corleone Family. And once Gothic was rebuilt and bustling, he would need eyes and ears on it's streets, he'd need alliances to once more establish his criminal empire in the most infamous of American cities.
Thirty minutes later, seated by the corner at a nightclub with vibrant lights and bombastic music, the Certified G lounged and indulged in bottles of Johnnie Walker's Blue Label, his gangsters standing by him, armed to the teeth and forbidden from indulging in the vices reserved for "real OGs". There, the Connoisseur waited for the Antidoll sisters. There was a deal to be struck.