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Ayama
Enthusiast
S Y N D I C A T E D
If you stay here long enough, you start to realize this city's got a distinctive smell. Like rainwater, gunpowder, bile and cheap perfume. The smell permeates everything- your thoughts, your clothes, your life-, and after a while you start to worry that you can't ever get away from it; it won't ever wash out.
That's the point where you know the city's swallowed you for good, and you ain't never getting out.
Me, I've been here for so long I don't even notice the smell anymore. It's part of me now, just like I'm part of it- just one more sorry sob who thought he was gonna get rich quick and was too dumb to realize when he got in too deep.
Some people come here with big dreams, too. Great plans and grand ambitions and fabulous schemes, aiming to make their mark on the world. Then they get dragged down into the muck and can't find their way back. At that point, there's only two ways to survive: adapt, and become part of the filth, or be broken. Most don't make it- I'm one of the ones who did.
And trust me when I tell you: that ain't a good thing.
The city has me now, and once it has you, there's only one way you're ever getting out again, and that's in a shiny black bag.
Now I'm living my sorry life day by day, hour by hour, and waiting for that sweet moment of release when I finally get mine.
If you stay here long enough, you start to realize this city's got a distinctive smell. Like rainwater, gunpowder, bile and cheap perfume. The smell permeates everything- your thoughts, your clothes, your life-, and after a while you start to worry that you can't ever get away from it; it won't ever wash out.
That's the point where you know the city's swallowed you for good, and you ain't never getting out.
Me, I've been here for so long I don't even notice the smell anymore. It's part of me now, just like I'm part of it- just one more sorry sob who thought he was gonna get rich quick and was too dumb to realize when he got in too deep.
Some people come here with big dreams, too. Great plans and grand ambitions and fabulous schemes, aiming to make their mark on the world. Then they get dragged down into the muck and can't find their way back. At that point, there's only two ways to survive: adapt, and become part of the filth, or be broken. Most don't make it- I'm one of the ones who did.
And trust me when I tell you: that ain't a good thing.
The city has me now, and once it has you, there's only one way you're ever getting out again, and that's in a shiny black bag.
Now I'm living my sorry life day by day, hour by hour, and waiting for that sweet moment of release when I finally get mine.
Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
R U L E S
Hey guys- welcome to S Y N D I C A T E D; this glorious organized crime RP put together by yours truly and
CoachA
;PBefore we get to the fun part, here's just a quick reminder of the rules!
Rule #1
Follow all RPN rules and guidelines. That means no erotic content or extreme gore, be respectful, positive and constructive, etc. Anyone not abiding by this will be reported and removed from the RP.
Rule #2
What the GMs say, goes. You're free to discuss and argue your point, of course, but if you don't follow instructions or are repeatedly rude, combative, disrespectful, or opposing everything we say, you will be removed.
We encourage you to plot character dynamics and fights in OOC with each other before and as you post, but we will also be moderating (and, if necessary, deciding the outcome of) all fights that come up in the RP.
If you are having an issue with another player, please discuss it with them in OOC or PM, calmly and respectfully, to try to come to a solution. If the problem persists, you can bring it to us and we will step in.
Rule #3
Minimum posting requirement is two paragraphs, once a week (while average posting expectation is three-four paragraphs, twice a week) for each character you have in the RP. You're free to post more than that, of course- just try not to flood the thread ;P There will be no strict posting order, but please respect posting rounds (meaning that every character that's part of an interacting group gets/is expected to have one post between that of the other characters, unless someone asks to be skipped or post again). Extensions will always be granted if you have stuff going on- just be sure to let us know. After two weeks of inactivity, your character will be sidelined. Past that, they will be removed, killed off or (if necessary) taken over by a GM. (If you choose to drop the RP, that's perfectly fine- just let us know ^^ )
Rule #4
No need to force yourself to write a novel with every post, but make sure to always have something in your posts that other characters can work with/respond to. You're free to write either in 3rd person or 1st person (I normally don't accept the latter, but it is a hallmark of Noir writing, after all ^^ ), as long as you stay consistent.
Themes and tone: Feel free to explore darker themes and to write with emotion, tension, and drama. Trigger warnings are not required, as I had one in the initial interest check, and we should already know what we're getting into here, but you can add them in if you'd like to. And please mix in some (dark) humor and comic relief as well ;P
And please feel free to embrace any and all noir/mafia/wiseguy/other tropes, cliches and stereotypes! o/
Rule #5
Please introduce yourselves, chat and plot in the OOC thread and PM groups! We encourage you to reach out to other players with plotting and character relationship ideas- they're what make an RP rich, compelling and fun (just let me know if you're planning any big reveals)! I will also be tossing out potential plot-lines to and between players, as well as throwing in triggering events or background elements, to help keep things interesting ^^
Rule #6
Having posts with BBCode is encouraged, but not at all required. If your post is coded and a player informs you that they have trouble reading it (for whatever reason, ie, formatting, size, colors, not mobile-friendly, etc.), then you'll need to include a plaintext version with the coded one. Your post should still have, at minimum, your character's name, title, and alias, as well as a mention of where they are and who they're interacting with. Even if you don't feel like using a bunch of different colors, please at least bold speech and italicize thoughts for clarity.
Posts should also include a character's picture (either as a small thumbnail or side image). I encourage you to make either the picture or the character's name, title, or alias a link back to their profile, that way others can easily look it up when writing and planning out their replies. If you need/want help with any of that, or coming up with/using a header or posting template, just message me! This is the format I'll be using- if you like it you're free to use it as well ^^
Rule #7
If you fail to follow these rules &/or GM instructions, you'll be given friendly reminders, followed by official warnings, followed by removal from the RP. So, you know, follow the rules ;P And most important- have fun! ^^
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Ayama
Enthusiast
[class=pictureLorenzo] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/nzqdpg99/Lorenzo.jpg'); [/class] [class=text] position: absolute; text-align: center; width: 100%; height: 100%; top: 0; left: 0; opacity: 0; background-color: rgba(100, 100, 100, 0.8); color: white; z-index: 2; [/class] [class name=text state=hover] opacity: 0.9; [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Lorenzo Antonelli - 'Enzo, 'Ol' Lore'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
30 - Male - Straight[/div][Role/title/job]
Leader of the Antonellis
[Alias(es)]
The Dagger[class=pictureHal] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/13nrm3sK/b4c8ae4c202a89c838682a57d3faec86.jpg'); [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Hal DβNovra - 'PapΓ‘'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
33 - Male - Straight[/div][Role/title/job]
Lieutenant for the Antonellis
[Alias(es)]
Rabbia[class=pictureBon] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/GpymXZrK/Anime-Division-Rap-Battle-JYUTO-IRUMA-Cosplay-Costume-Custom-mad.jpg'); [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Bonfilio Caruso - 'Bon', 'Fily'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
30 - Male - Straight[/div][Role/title/job]
Antonelli leader body double
[Alias(es)]
The Poignard Shadow[class=pictureAo] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/vZBffjSY/i2.jpg'); [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Aoife O'Halloran - 'E-Fee'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
18 - Female - Gay[/div][Role/title/job]
Wetwork asset for the Antonellis
[Alias(es)]
The Cyan Bullet[class=picturePete] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/dQ4Tt8Bj/b7296026f3b53bdf0b9a2f4b94d41f63.jpg'); [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Peter Matthews Morgan - 'Saint Peter'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
28 - Male - Straight[/div][Role/title/job]
Lawyer for the Antonellis
[Alias(es)]
The Dime[class=pictureJohnny] position: relative; margin-left: 30px; width: 100px; height: 102px; border: 3px ridge #000000; opacity: 0.7; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/50PN1mVH/forever-by-mckadesinsanity-d31rtc4-fullview.jpg'); [/class][Full Name - 'Nickname(s)']
Johnny Sylvester Connors - 'Money'
[Age - Gender - Orientation]
27 - Male - Straight[/div][Role/title/job]
Accountant for the Antonellis
[Alias(es)]
The Penny
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Ayama
Enthusiast
THE STORY SO FAR
Current state of things: In recent history, violence between the gangs has been re-escalating. Catalysts for this include: the oyabun of the Highashi-Gumi falling ill, the Crimson Blossom trying to encroach everywhere and take over everything and generally making themselves a nuisance, and the arrival of the Iron Tundra. The Antonellis, Higashi-Gumi, and O'Hallorans have been around for long enough that most of the old rivalries have died down, and they now have a common enemy in the Crimson Blossom. That being said, though the O'Hallorans get along with the Antonellis quite well, the same cannot really be said of them and the yakuza. The Iron Tundra, meanwhile, is neutral and intelligent enough to get along relatively well with everyone at this point- even the Crimson Blossom. The cops, on the other hand, are extremely divided. Most feel overwhelmed by the groups, considering the extreme extent of their power and influence throughout the city, but while some are hellbent on erasing them from existence altogether, about half the force has long-since given in, and is currently in the employ of one or more gangs (most often, the Antonellis).Recent events: Following an anonymous tip, the police recently conducted a raid on a couple of warehouses owned by the Higashi-Gumi. Considering the group's currently fragile state, tensions are running high.
There's been a rumor floating around, heard by gang members and police officers alike, that the Iron Tundra has been trafficking drugs in Crimson Blossom territory, threatening the two groups' new-formed alliance.
Two days ago, a low-level runner working for the Antonellis was found dead in the alley behind the Wolfhound Gym, owned by Declan O'Halloran. This presents a major problem, given the groups' longstanding friendship.
LOCATIONS
The Antonelli Palazzo: A giant, palatial mansion up on a hill overlooking the rest of the town.Corner of Heaven: A booming area for local business in the Antonelli-controlled part of town.
Giorno's Gems: A jewelry store and money-laundering front for the Antonellis.
The Vault: A nightclub downtown, owned by the Antonellis. Has a backroom, of course, with drugs, gambling- probably a few hookers-, and poor saps coming in to pay protection fees or beg for extensions on money they borrowed.
The Higashi Compound: A sprawling complex on the East edge of town, past Higashi-owned buildings and businesses.
The SΕko: A complex of warehouses owned by the Higashi-Gumi, down near the water in the warehouse district. They use it to store and move product, as well as for meetings and unpleasant conversations.
The Homestead: The O'Hallorans' large and comfortable (if a little cramped) family home.
The Clinic: Chop shop and mechanic owned by the O'Hallorans (adjacent to the Homestead).
The Setter: Connor O'Halloran's boxing gym- large and well-known.
The Wolfhound: Declan's O'Halloran's boxing gym- smaller and newer.
The Crimson Blossom HQ: A nice piece of office property on the river- it connects to the Kao home via elevator.
Flowering Fortunes: This is the fortune-teller owned by the Crimson Blossom. Of course, in back, it's a gambling parlor, brothel, and good ol' fashioned opium den.
The Iron Tundra Main Office: A towering, sparkling, sterile high-rise over on the newly-developed West side of town, across the river. It's where the group conducts most of its business.
DΓΆner - DΓΌrΓΌm: A Turkish restaurant owned, managed by, and very popular among the Iron Tundra- close to the main office.
'Pine of Sanctuary' Church: Located at the northeast end of town, this older church and former monastery has been a pillar of the community for generations. It has a large vineyard in the back, and mercenary assassin headquarters in the basement.
The Pigsty: The city's police station, not-so-affectionately referred to as 'The Sty' or 'The Pigsty' by the various groups.
The Chop Shop: Minx's veterinary clinic, where mobsters routinely go to get patched up on the DL.
The Gatted Goy: Popular bar, neutrally located in the center of town, frequented by policemen and mobsters alike. Slightly on the older, dingier side, but large and comfortable. Usually referred to as 'The Gat' or 'The Goy'.
The Autumn Leaves: Bookstore and tearoom by day, absolutely neutral. Often hosting poetry readings and the like. Turns into a small and relatively well-known jazz club at night.
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Ayama
Enthusiast
Last edited:
Jaellagirl
I am an angel with devil horns
[div class=box][/div]
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5DVkywsOReeQcj7HMC01-l4wPG7CvyQhVOZyvpJFHxEvjpSRV&s);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Don't go digging inside a rose bush! It has thorns"
- Mariya
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]ΠΠ°ΡΠΈΡ Π‘Π½Π΅Π³Π° [/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
It was another rainy day. There were a lot of those lately. A lot of sadness and sorrow. I sat on on the window sill just like I had done time and time again but neither the window nor the view were same this time. There were no pars, no overpowering smell of blood, piss and death. Life was different now. I could still remembers the feel of wood around the window and small rays of sunlight poking through. It used to make me feel so small and insignificant. As if I was buried under the city, consumed in whole. The feel of the cigarettes was the only thing keeping me sane. The smoke gushing down my throat, the sting in the lungs and small tendrils that kept crawling up the nose after exhaling. The time is different now. I am safe. No! We are safe!
I made my best attempt to get up from the soft pillows. Lunch was nearing it's end and if I wished to remain in the state I am the best option was returning to work. Sorting and filing papers far away from action. This was the mafias answer of safety and thus far it had worked. It took a lot of effort for me to do them all. I'm still learning the language of the bosses homeland. The role over side aided by hands adjusting the belly was nearly a success but in the last minute I fell how the secure part I was leaning on vanished from under me and I fell bottom first to the ground. An unstoppable scream exited my still open mouth as I made contact. I wonder if I was heard or was I going to spend an eternity getting up.
I twisted myself to even get half up. It was hard. My agility was way worse than it used to be. I had become a walking talking beached whale. Legs ever so swollen and belly that was at least third of my body at this point. I grabbed the ledge of the sill with the strength I had in my right arm just that I could have a way to push myself totally up. If there was an attack right now I would be a goner. I struggled for quite some time just hanging off the edge but I managed to get my feet under me. A quick fix of the hair and clothes was needed now. So I smoothed out the clothes and readjusted the hair. It was time I wobbled to my desk and that's exactly what I did. Navigating to the front desk through the house is harder than you think when your legs hurt. I make it to my chair and take a seat. I'm again emerged into the paperwork.
[/div][/div]I made my best attempt to get up from the soft pillows. Lunch was nearing it's end and if I wished to remain in the state I am the best option was returning to work. Sorting and filing papers far away from action. This was the mafias answer of safety and thus far it had worked. It took a lot of effort for me to do them all. I'm still learning the language of the bosses homeland. The role over side aided by hands adjusting the belly was nearly a success but in the last minute I fell how the secure part I was leaning on vanished from under me and I fell bottom first to the ground. An unstoppable scream exited my still open mouth as I made contact. I wonder if I was heard or was I going to spend an eternity getting up.
I twisted myself to even get half up. It was hard. My agility was way worse than it used to be. I had become a walking talking beached whale. Legs ever so swollen and belly that was at least third of my body at this point. I grabbed the ledge of the sill with the strength I had in my right arm just that I could have a way to push myself totally up. If there was an attack right now I would be a goner. I struggled for quite some time just hanging off the edge but I managed to get my feet under me. A quick fix of the hair and clothes was needed now. So I smoothed out the clothes and readjusted the hair. It was time I wobbled to my desk and that's exactly what I did. Navigating to the front desk through the house is harder than you think when your legs hurt. I make it to my chair and take a seat. I'm again emerged into the paperwork.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5DVkywsOReeQcj7HMC01-l4wPG7CvyQhVOZyvpJFHxEvjpSRV&s);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Iron Tundra Main Office
With: Open[/div][/div][/div]
With: Open[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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It was another rainy day. There were a lot of those lately. A lot of sadness and sorrow. I sat on on the window sill just like I had done time and time again but neither the window nor the view were same this time. There were no pars, no overpowering smell of blood, piss and death. Life was different now. I could still remembers the feel of wood around the window and small rays of sunlight poking through. It used to make me feel so small and insignificant. As if I was buried under the city, consumed in whole. The feel of the cigarette was the only thing keeping me sane. The smoke gushing down my throat, the sting in the lungs and small tendrils that kept crawling up the nose after exhaling. The time is different now. I am safe. No! We are safe!
I made my best attempt to get up from the soft pillows. Lunch was nearing it's end and if I wished to remain in the state I am the best option was returning to work. Sorting and filing papers far away from action. This was the mafias answer of safety and thus far it had worked. It took a lot of effort for me to do them all. I'm still learning the language of the bosses homeland. The role over side aided by hands adjusting the belly was nearly a success but in the last minute I fell how the secure part I was leaning on vanished from under me and I fell bottom first to the ground. An unstoppable scream exited my still open mouth as I made contact. I wonder if I was heard or was I going to spend an eternity getting up.
I twisted myself to even get half up. It was hard. My agility was way worse than it used to be. I had become a walking talking beached whale. Legs ever so swollen and belly that was at least third of my body at this point. I grabbed the ledge of the sill with the strength I had in my right arm just that I could have a way to push myself totally up.
If there was an attack right now I would be a goner. I struggled for quite some time just hanging off the edge but I managed to get my feet under me. A quick fix of the hair and clothes was needed now. So I smoothed out the clothes and readjusted the hair. It was time I wobbled to my desk and that's exactly what I did. Navigating to the front desk through the house is harder than you think when your legs hurt. I make it to my chair and take a seat. I'm again emerged into the paperwork.
I made my best attempt to get up from the soft pillows. Lunch was nearing it's end and if I wished to remain in the state I am the best option was returning to work. Sorting and filing papers far away from action. This was the mafias answer of safety and thus far it had worked. It took a lot of effort for me to do them all. I'm still learning the language of the bosses homeland. The role over side aided by hands adjusting the belly was nearly a success but in the last minute I fell how the secure part I was leaning on vanished from under me and I fell bottom first to the ground. An unstoppable scream exited my still open mouth as I made contact. I wonder if I was heard or was I going to spend an eternity getting up.
I twisted myself to even get half up. It was hard. My agility was way worse than it used to be. I had become a walking talking beached whale. Legs ever so swollen and belly that was at least third of my body at this point. I grabbed the ledge of the sill with the strength I had in my right arm just that I could have a way to push myself totally up.
If there was an attack right now I would be a goner. I struggled for quite some time just hanging off the edge but I managed to get my feet under me. A quick fix of the hair and clothes was needed now. So I smoothed out the clothes and readjusted the hair. It was time I wobbled to my desk and that's exactly what I did. Navigating to the front desk through the house is harder than you think when your legs hurt. I make it to my chair and take a seat. I'm again emerged into the paperwork.
Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/8zfCpfpy/s4.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Don't be an idiot-
Stay out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
Stay out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Zhang Kang-Jian[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bear"[/div]
[div class=title]Police Detective[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bear"[/div]
[div class=title]Police Detective[/div]
[div class=post]
Jian was standing outside the Iron Tundra headquarters. What a world it was that they lived in, where criminal syndicates were somehow also legal, aboveground businesses, dealing and trading with other businesses and even the city. The old-fashioned way to view it was that crime and corruption were running rampant and taking over everything. Jian preferred to think of it as evolution, with shifting boundaries, cities and criminals working together instead of against each other. After all, everyone had to live here, and it was in all their best interests to help the city thrive.
The Iron Tundra was a perfect example of this new type of criminal. Arriving in the city only five years ago, they hadn't done the usual preening and flexing and messing with the other groups' business, trying to muscle in on their territory. Instead, they had set up shop in the ghost-town-like new business district on the West side of town, across the river, and focused on building their enterprise from the ground up there. They had also immediately reached out to the other groups- not to challenge them but to assure them that they weren't trying to take away or mess with their business. In complete contradiction to what the Crimson Blossom (and the other groups) did before them, they presented themselves as not being a threat, and began instead to form alliances.
Now, five years later, Jian had to admit it had been a very smart move on their part. While the Crimson Blossom wreaked havoc and caused trouble for every other group in town, they were left alone to conduct their business, and that business was thriving. They owned several restaurants, leased office buildings to newcomers in the area, and were even, it was rumored, planning to get into the real estate market. They essentially owned this part of town across the river. They stayed out of the other groups' way, and vice versa- it was a smart, perfect arrangement, and he couldn't help but admire the group and its leadership.
Really, at its core, the Iron Tundra functioned like a corporation that just happened to have dealings with criminals. And that was exactly what its leader, Alyenka Karmazin, wanted. It was how she presented her organization to the city and the chief of police and what, apparently, she kept reminding every single one of her employees on a regular basis. The Tundra was a business, first and foremost, and they needed to look and act like it. Though he had never met her, he'd heard a lot about her from his various sources, and he had to admit, she seemed like an impressive woman- one who inspired respect.
Well, respect with possibly a healthy dose of fear mixed in, but nothing compared to the Crimson Blossom, whose two leaders ruled almost exclusively through terrifying anyone and everyone they dealt with. In fact, considering how diametrically opposed the two groups were in their methods and philosophies, it was rather astounding that the Iron Tundra was the only one in town to currently have an alliance with them- they'd even solidified that alliance by exchanging their leaders' bodyguards. But he had to admit it was a smart move on the Tundra's part, since it made them the only group that the Crimson Blossom wasn't messing with.
He sighed, looking up at the towering office building that was their headquarters and main office. Just like any other office building downtown, but everyone in there worked for the group. He stubbed out his cigarette, checking his watch- didn't want to be late for his appointment. After all, Nicholai was extremely punctual.
Jian smiled when he thought of the young Iron Tundra lieutenant. They'd met for the first time a couple years back, when he'd been working a case in connection with the group and had had to investigate. He'd made an appointment to meet with their lieutenant and ask some questions, and had been surprised when he was greeted by an elegant young man, who couldn't have been over twenty-five (he'd been twenty-three at the time). Nicholai had explained, in a polished manner with the barest hint of a Russian accent, that the Tundra had nothing to do with the missing girl's case.
When Jian pointed out the evidence, instead of getting defensive and combative, as was usually the case when a cop interviewed a gang member, Nicholai had frowned, and asked that he be given a day to look into the allegations. At the end of twenty-four hours, Jian had been presented with the culprit, beaten black-and-blue in a most methodical manner. And Nicholai had apologized, of all things.
"We deeply regret that this individual had any ties to our organization," he'd said.
The young lieutenant had left quite an impression on Jian and, upon getting back to the station, he'd pulled his file. His aristocratic manner, it seemed, was not an affect. He came by it naturally, due to being the sole heir to one of the wealthiest Russian families in the city. His parents and his brother had both died when he was young, and he'd invested their entire fortune in the Iron Tundra. No wonder he was their lieutenant at such a young age- trustworthy, reliable, with impeccable professional manner, and he was rich. If Jian ran a criminal syndicate he'd have promoted him too.
Jian had met with him a couple more times in the years since- most notably a few months ago when Jay had been a dumbass and started dealing in their neighborhood. He'd had to go essentially beg for clemency on his behalf (couldn't count the number of times he'd had to do that by now- kid was out of control) and assured Nicholai that he'd take full responsability and it would never happen again. Jay had been a dumb little shit about it, but Nicholai seemed to trust his word. That was four months ago.
Now there were rumors surfacing- serious ones- that the Tundra was dealing in Crimson Blossom territory. It didn't seem likely- the Tundra stayed away from drugs, and they were too smart to mess with the most dangerous group in town, especially after going to the trouble of allying themselves with them. But someone was causing these rumors and Jian needed to find out what the Tundra knew and put a stop to it before things got out of hand.
He walked into the building and straight up to the front desk, where their very pretty and very pregnant receptionist was sitting, looking red-faced and out of breath. He took a detour to the water cooler, returning with a filled cup, which he handed to her before saying
"Detective Zhang, here for a meeting with Mr. Milkovich."
[/div][/div]The Iron Tundra was a perfect example of this new type of criminal. Arriving in the city only five years ago, they hadn't done the usual preening and flexing and messing with the other groups' business, trying to muscle in on their territory. Instead, they had set up shop in the ghost-town-like new business district on the West side of town, across the river, and focused on building their enterprise from the ground up there. They had also immediately reached out to the other groups- not to challenge them but to assure them that they weren't trying to take away or mess with their business. In complete contradiction to what the Crimson Blossom (and the other groups) did before them, they presented themselves as not being a threat, and began instead to form alliances.
Now, five years later, Jian had to admit it had been a very smart move on their part. While the Crimson Blossom wreaked havoc and caused trouble for every other group in town, they were left alone to conduct their business, and that business was thriving. They owned several restaurants, leased office buildings to newcomers in the area, and were even, it was rumored, planning to get into the real estate market. They essentially owned this part of town across the river. They stayed out of the other groups' way, and vice versa- it was a smart, perfect arrangement, and he couldn't help but admire the group and its leadership.
Really, at its core, the Iron Tundra functioned like a corporation that just happened to have dealings with criminals. And that was exactly what its leader, Alyenka Karmazin, wanted. It was how she presented her organization to the city and the chief of police and what, apparently, she kept reminding every single one of her employees on a regular basis. The Tundra was a business, first and foremost, and they needed to look and act like it. Though he had never met her, he'd heard a lot about her from his various sources, and he had to admit, she seemed like an impressive woman- one who inspired respect.
Well, respect with possibly a healthy dose of fear mixed in, but nothing compared to the Crimson Blossom, whose two leaders ruled almost exclusively through terrifying anyone and everyone they dealt with. In fact, considering how diametrically opposed the two groups were in their methods and philosophies, it was rather astounding that the Iron Tundra was the only one in town to currently have an alliance with them- they'd even solidified that alliance by exchanging their leaders' bodyguards. But he had to admit it was a smart move on the Tundra's part, since it made them the only group that the Crimson Blossom wasn't messing with.
He sighed, looking up at the towering office building that was their headquarters and main office. Just like any other office building downtown, but everyone in there worked for the group. He stubbed out his cigarette, checking his watch- didn't want to be late for his appointment. After all, Nicholai was extremely punctual.
Jian smiled when he thought of the young Iron Tundra lieutenant. They'd met for the first time a couple years back, when he'd been working a case in connection with the group and had had to investigate. He'd made an appointment to meet with their lieutenant and ask some questions, and had been surprised when he was greeted by an elegant young man, who couldn't have been over twenty-five (he'd been twenty-three at the time). Nicholai had explained, in a polished manner with the barest hint of a Russian accent, that the Tundra had nothing to do with the missing girl's case.
When Jian pointed out the evidence, instead of getting defensive and combative, as was usually the case when a cop interviewed a gang member, Nicholai had frowned, and asked that he be given a day to look into the allegations. At the end of twenty-four hours, Jian had been presented with the culprit, beaten black-and-blue in a most methodical manner. And Nicholai had apologized, of all things.
"We deeply regret that this individual had any ties to our organization," he'd said.
The young lieutenant had left quite an impression on Jian and, upon getting back to the station, he'd pulled his file. His aristocratic manner, it seemed, was not an affect. He came by it naturally, due to being the sole heir to one of the wealthiest Russian families in the city. His parents and his brother had both died when he was young, and he'd invested their entire fortune in the Iron Tundra. No wonder he was their lieutenant at such a young age- trustworthy, reliable, with impeccable professional manner, and he was rich. If Jian ran a criminal syndicate he'd have promoted him too.
Jian had met with him a couple more times in the years since- most notably a few months ago when Jay had been a dumbass and started dealing in their neighborhood. He'd had to go essentially beg for clemency on his behalf (couldn't count the number of times he'd had to do that by now- kid was out of control) and assured Nicholai that he'd take full responsability and it would never happen again. Jay had been a dumb little shit about it, but Nicholai seemed to trust his word. That was four months ago.
Now there were rumors surfacing- serious ones- that the Tundra was dealing in Crimson Blossom territory. It didn't seem likely- the Tundra stayed away from drugs, and they were too smart to mess with the most dangerous group in town, especially after going to the trouble of allying themselves with them. But someone was causing these rumors and Jian needed to find out what the Tundra knew and put a stop to it before things got out of hand.
He walked into the building and straight up to the front desk, where their very pretty and very pregnant receptionist was sitting, looking red-faced and out of breath. He took a detour to the water cooler, returning with a filled cup, which he handed to her before saying
"Detective Zhang, here for a meeting with Mr. Milkovich."
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/65yWc4v9/s2.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Iron Tundra HQ
With: Maria[/div][/div][/div]
With: Maria[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
Sicarius
Shadow Prince
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[div class=name]
[div class=postinfo]Location: The Gatted Goy
mood: Annoyed
interactions: Open
tags: N/A [/div] [/div] [/div] [div class=text]
β Atlas
[div class=circlepic][/div][div class=postinfo]Location: The Gatted Goy
mood: Annoyed
interactions: Open
tags: N/A [/div] [/div] [/div] [div class=text]
"Damn. This is disgusting."
Atlas' face grimaced after taking his fourth shot of the day. He slammed the small glass down hard onto the counter, causing for a few other patrons near him to subtly flinch before regaining their composure. Atlas was a well known and frequent customer of The Gatted Goy, so his abrupt and abrasive outbursts were becoming a normalcy to most. If there was a world where Atlas wasn't miserable, then that same world would have to have flying cars and the cure for cancer. Not to say that any of those things were impossible; but rather that they were a bit too far out of reach. Either way, no one was caught off guard by the continual barrage of verbal assault and disruption coming from the former police investigator.
"Hey Gildner, you going to give me something that ain't shit?" Atlas goaded the bartender with glassy eyes, forearm leaning on the counter.
The towering grizzly old Efrayim casually made his way toward the private eye. His neck was glossed in sweat, beard matted and apron grungy while having a rag in hand. The gentle giant made no effort to refill Atlas' glass, but instead cleaned up a few spots in his vicinity; wiping the rag across the wooden counter top.
"If you don't like it, you can leave Atlas." Efrayim spoke nonchalantly.
Atlas tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised. He stared at the Jewish man; as if silently challenging him. Efrayim showed no signs of wavering, but instead locked eyes with him. There was a brief moment of silence between the two as their gaze intensified, hoping one would be fazed by the other. Eventually, Atlas folded and pushed his shot glass forward as his eyes averted.
"Give me another shot." Atlas asked, slightly miffed.
Efrayim chuckled. "Of course." He replied before grabbing a nearby bottle and pouring the liquid into the cup.
Atlas raised the cup in front of him and nodded at Efrayim in thanks. He stared straight at the wall across from him, hesitating before eventually downing the next shot. He sighed, closing his eyes as he let the burn of the alcohol travel down his throat. Thoughts began to stir within him, visualizations of events progressing through his head at a rapid pace. His mind swam through a dense mixture of feelings and emotions like a slideshow of his life that mercilessly played without ceasing. Finally, a single scene remain frozen in his memory. The silent scream of pain and horror that escaped the cold, chapped lips of his beloved. His Alexandra. The blood which flowed endlessly from the bullet wounds that stippled her chest. The blood that came from the heart that had once beat and belonged to him and him alone. A heart... viciously stolen by the dastardly, abhorrent claws of death. The syndicate, damn them, being death's ambassador.
"Fucking hell!" Atlas yelled as he fervently slammed his shot glass down once more.
He dropped his head, hair concealing his face as it dangled close to the bar.
*drip* *drip*
A few small drops of tears escaped his eyes as a solemn expression made its way onto Atlas' face. No one dared to stare at him; nor did they even attempt to say anything. Efrayim quietly exhaled, looking down at the floor before slowly walking away from Atlas.
*drip* *drip*
*drip* *drip*
*patter* *patter* *patter*
Rain began to fall lightly against the windows of the dark and dreary pub. Only a few lights were on, while the clouds and fog caused for both the inside and outside to be dim. No matter where one turned, the day- no, the city itself... was bleak. The temperature began to drop, while the oxygen felt thin. The air was cool, wet, and ultimately depressing. It was if the world itself spun on an axis of irony. The aura surrounding the place trampled on any feelings of hope or happiness; sapping any positivity that managed to somehow make its way into a bar.
After all, who really drank in place like The Gat when they were all chirpy anyway?
Gradually, Atlas stood up from the bar-stool. He pushed it back in, with the sound of the its legs scuffing the floor reverberating throughout the building. He fumbled through his pockets before locating his wallet; grabbing several dollar bills and placing them on the counter-top. He put away his wallet afterward, buttoning up his overcoat before placing one hand in each of its pockets. Keeping his head down, he made his way toward the exit doors.
It was damp. Not surprising. Atlas had nowhere in particular to go with no goal in mind. He awkwardly walked down the steps, making his way onto the sidewalk. He began to stroll along, taking a few uncoordinated paces before falling down. Somehow he managed to break his fall with his arms, hands pressed against the rough concrete. His knees hurt as a result of the fall, but he was too depressed to care.
Atlas' raised his head to the sky as rain fell onto his face. The water mixed in with his tears, masking some of the hints of sadness from his visage. After a few minutes, Atlas flipped himself over and scooted backwards until his spine rested against one of the walls of the pub. Part of the roof hung over his body, shielding him from the light downpour. He brought his knees close to his face, placing his hands on top of them. Eventually, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat as well as a match. Seconds later, he had the cigarette lit and in his mouth.
Atlas took a few hits, letting out puffs of smoke; watching it disintegrate into the rain. He held the cigarette in between his fingers in front of him, taking a short break before taking another hit. He tightened his lips, securing the cigarette before letting his hand fall to the side.
Damn it all... Atlas thought to himself.
[/div]
[/div][/div][div class=credit]code by [COLOR=#dedede]sox[/COLOR][/div]Atlas' face grimaced after taking his fourth shot of the day. He slammed the small glass down hard onto the counter, causing for a few other patrons near him to subtly flinch before regaining their composure. Atlas was a well known and frequent customer of The Gatted Goy, so his abrupt and abrasive outbursts were becoming a normalcy to most. If there was a world where Atlas wasn't miserable, then that same world would have to have flying cars and the cure for cancer. Not to say that any of those things were impossible; but rather that they were a bit too far out of reach. Either way, no one was caught off guard by the continual barrage of verbal assault and disruption coming from the former police investigator.
"Hey Gildner, you going to give me something that ain't shit?" Atlas goaded the bartender with glassy eyes, forearm leaning on the counter.
The towering grizzly old Efrayim casually made his way toward the private eye. His neck was glossed in sweat, beard matted and apron grungy while having a rag in hand. The gentle giant made no effort to refill Atlas' glass, but instead cleaned up a few spots in his vicinity; wiping the rag across the wooden counter top.
"If you don't like it, you can leave Atlas." Efrayim spoke nonchalantly.
Atlas tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised. He stared at the Jewish man; as if silently challenging him. Efrayim showed no signs of wavering, but instead locked eyes with him. There was a brief moment of silence between the two as their gaze intensified, hoping one would be fazed by the other. Eventually, Atlas folded and pushed his shot glass forward as his eyes averted.
"Give me another shot." Atlas asked, slightly miffed.
Efrayim chuckled. "Of course." He replied before grabbing a nearby bottle and pouring the liquid into the cup.
Atlas raised the cup in front of him and nodded at Efrayim in thanks. He stared straight at the wall across from him, hesitating before eventually downing the next shot. He sighed, closing his eyes as he let the burn of the alcohol travel down his throat. Thoughts began to stir within him, visualizations of events progressing through his head at a rapid pace. His mind swam through a dense mixture of feelings and emotions like a slideshow of his life that mercilessly played without ceasing. Finally, a single scene remain frozen in his memory. The silent scream of pain and horror that escaped the cold, chapped lips of his beloved. His Alexandra. The blood which flowed endlessly from the bullet wounds that stippled her chest. The blood that came from the heart that had once beat and belonged to him and him alone. A heart... viciously stolen by the dastardly, abhorrent claws of death. The syndicate, damn them, being death's ambassador.
"Fucking hell!" Atlas yelled as he fervently slammed his shot glass down once more.
He dropped his head, hair concealing his face as it dangled close to the bar.
*drip* *drip*
A few small drops of tears escaped his eyes as a solemn expression made its way onto Atlas' face. No one dared to stare at him; nor did they even attempt to say anything. Efrayim quietly exhaled, looking down at the floor before slowly walking away from Atlas.
*drip* *drip*
*drip* *drip*
*patter* *patter* *patter*
Rain began to fall lightly against the windows of the dark and dreary pub. Only a few lights were on, while the clouds and fog caused for both the inside and outside to be dim. No matter where one turned, the day- no, the city itself... was bleak. The temperature began to drop, while the oxygen felt thin. The air was cool, wet, and ultimately depressing. It was if the world itself spun on an axis of irony. The aura surrounding the place trampled on any feelings of hope or happiness; sapping any positivity that managed to somehow make its way into a bar.
After all, who really drank in place like The Gat when they were all chirpy anyway?
Gradually, Atlas stood up from the bar-stool. He pushed it back in, with the sound of the its legs scuffing the floor reverberating throughout the building. He fumbled through his pockets before locating his wallet; grabbing several dollar bills and placing them on the counter-top. He put away his wallet afterward, buttoning up his overcoat before placing one hand in each of its pockets. Keeping his head down, he made his way toward the exit doors.
It was damp. Not surprising. Atlas had nowhere in particular to go with no goal in mind. He awkwardly walked down the steps, making his way onto the sidewalk. He began to stroll along, taking a few uncoordinated paces before falling down. Somehow he managed to break his fall with his arms, hands pressed against the rough concrete. His knees hurt as a result of the fall, but he was too depressed to care.
Atlas' raised his head to the sky as rain fell onto his face. The water mixed in with his tears, masking some of the hints of sadness from his visage. After a few minutes, Atlas flipped himself over and scooted backwards until his spine rested against one of the walls of the pub. Part of the roof hung over his body, shielding him from the light downpour. He brought his knees close to his face, placing his hands on top of them. Eventually, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat as well as a match. Seconds later, he had the cigarette lit and in his mouth.
Atlas took a few hits, letting out puffs of smoke; watching it disintegrate into the rain. He held the cigarette in between his fingers in front of him, taking a short break before taking another hit. He tightened his lips, securing the cigarette before letting his hand fall to the side.
Damn it all... Atlas thought to himself.
Last edited:
Jaellagirl
I am an angel with devil horns
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- Mariya
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]ΠΠ°ΡΠΈΡ Π‘Π½Π΅Π³Π° [/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
As soon as sat down a man entered the building. He was not too old and he didn't seen to be sent here to claim me. I am sure I did'n look actually presentable enough to take any guests. The man took a detour to the water cooler. I guess he was thirsty. He walked the cup in hand towards me and to my surprise gave it to me. It seems I looked really bad then.
"Thank you Mr. Zhang. I will inform him. Could you take a seat while you wait!"
I fumbled a bit with the phone cause to be honest my brain was still not gotten into the work mode. The phone ringed a bit and someone on the other line picked it up.
"Nicky......Sorry Mr. Nikolai you have a guest. His said he is detective Zhang. Yes! Mhm!"
She nodded and put down the phone.
"He'll be right down"
[/div][/div]"Thank you Mr. Zhang. I will inform him. Could you take a seat while you wait!"
I fumbled a bit with the phone cause to be honest my brain was still not gotten into the work mode. The phone ringed a bit and someone on the other line picked it up.
"Nicky......Sorry Mr. Nikolai you have a guest. His said he is detective Zhang. Yes! Mhm!"
She nodded and put down the phone.
"He'll be right down"
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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As soon as sat down a man entered the building. He was not too old and he didn't seen to be sent here to claim me. I am sure I did'n look actually presentable enough to take any guests. The man took a detour to the water cooler. I guess he was thirsty. He walked the cup in hand towards me and to my surprise gave it to me. It seems I looked really bad then.
"Thank you Mr. Zhang. I will inform him. Could you take a seat while you wait!"
I fumbled a bit with the phone cause to be honest my brain was still not gotten into the work mode. The phone ringed a bit and someone on the other line picked it up.
"Nicky......Sorry Mr. Nikolai you have a guest. His said he is detective Zhang. Yes! Mhm!"
She nodded and put down the phone.
"I'm afraid you might have to wait a bit more here"
"Thank you Mr. Zhang. I will inform him. Could you take a seat while you wait!"
I fumbled a bit with the phone cause to be honest my brain was still not gotten into the work mode. The phone ringed a bit and someone on the other line picked it up.
"Nicky......Sorry Mr. Nikolai you have a guest. His said he is detective Zhang. Yes! Mhm!"
She nodded and put down the phone.
"I'm afraid you might have to wait a bit more here"
catburglar
ok but cats with threatening auras
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[div class="container"][div class="containercont"][div class="chapterpic"][/div] [div class="scroll"][div class="scrollbox"][div class="title"]Delilah Burnns[/div][div class="text"]Everybody needed a break; even if they didn't necessarily believe they did. She didn't often take days off, didn't really trust her employees to keep the place running for an extended amount of time without burning the place to shambles, but after much persistance on behalf of her receptionist, Tanya, she'd relented and decided to stop at the bar for an afternoon drink.
The place wasn't too busy, safe for an obnoxious drunk mouthing off to the kind bartender. The beauty of the Gatted Goy was its ability to be host to some form of entertainment at all hours of the day. Delilah watched from her table near the back of the pub as the tall man picked a tantrum and sulked out of the building. The ghost of a smile had the corners of her lips turning as she brought the smooth rim of the glass to her lips. She almost felt for the guy. The sheer amount of misery somebody had to live with to get to that point in ther life was unimaginable.
Her thoughts went to her human clients, the ones who couldn't go to the hospital due to the nature of their lives, and Delilah took another drink. She wondered if anybody would show up tonight. The question fizzled away as quickly as it'd come when she took another sip of her drink; she didn't need to think about that right now. She pulled a book out of her bag hanging over her chair and set it on the table. It was a cookbook given to her by one of her clients as a thank you for treating their dog. It wasn't the most exciting read but perusing the pages and looking at the images of the recipes was succesfully stirring her hunger.
When a shadow emerged over her book, Delilah jumped in her chair a little and quickly looked up. The startled look in her eyes quickly dissolved into a friendly smile as Efrayim exchanged her empty glass for a new one.
"Thanks, Efrayim. I'm sorry you had to deal with that ass."
The bartender shrugged and glanced behind him at the door. "He's a troubled guy."
Delilah followed the man's gaze at the door. "Still," She said, leaning back in her chair. "I don't know how you do it." Efrayim's response was to offer her a simple smile and another shrug before heading back behind the bar. She went back to reading her book and daydreaming about what she was going to eat once she left.
tags: --[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
The place wasn't too busy, safe for an obnoxious drunk mouthing off to the kind bartender. The beauty of the Gatted Goy was its ability to be host to some form of entertainment at all hours of the day. Delilah watched from her table near the back of the pub as the tall man picked a tantrum and sulked out of the building. The ghost of a smile had the corners of her lips turning as she brought the smooth rim of the glass to her lips. She almost felt for the guy. The sheer amount of misery somebody had to live with to get to that point in ther life was unimaginable.
Her thoughts went to her human clients, the ones who couldn't go to the hospital due to the nature of their lives, and Delilah took another drink. She wondered if anybody would show up tonight. The question fizzled away as quickly as it'd come when she took another sip of her drink; she didn't need to think about that right now. She pulled a book out of her bag hanging over her chair and set it on the table. It was a cookbook given to her by one of her clients as a thank you for treating their dog. It wasn't the most exciting read but perusing the pages and looking at the images of the recipes was succesfully stirring her hunger.
When a shadow emerged over her book, Delilah jumped in her chair a little and quickly looked up. The startled look in her eyes quickly dissolved into a friendly smile as Efrayim exchanged her empty glass for a new one.
"Thanks, Efrayim. I'm sorry you had to deal with that ass."
The bartender shrugged and glanced behind him at the door. "He's a troubled guy."
Delilah followed the man's gaze at the door. "Still," She said, leaning back in her chair. "I don't know how you do it." Efrayim's response was to offer her a simple smile and another shrug before heading back behind the bar. She went back to reading her book and daydreaming about what she was going to eat once she left.
tags: --[/div][/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class="codetag"]coded by ukiiyo[/div]
Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/nVWTsNK3/r2-1.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]"You either work with me,
Or you get out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
Or you get out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Alyenka Karmazin[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Iron Vice"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Iron Vice"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
I stood at the window, looking out over what, effectively, now constituted my empire. Despite everything, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. This had been what I'd been working towards all these years. I came to this city because I knew this was where I'd finally be able to make it happen.
Of course, people told me I was crazy at first. That place is ruled by gangs, they'd said. You'll be murdered in your sleep. But the way I viewed it, criminal syndicates were just another type of business. They still had to deal with each other, with sharing and competing for resources and space- still had to worry about the bottom line at the end of the month. I'd always been in my element in the ruthless, cutthroat business world, and this was simply more of the same- just with different rules.
I made it my business to learn those rules, so I could work inside them, and then I made it my business to bend them as far back as they would go, twisting them to my advantage. I didn't go in guns blazing, trumpeting my superiority and trying to take over the hard-earned territory these groups had fought and bled to acquire. Instead, I made it a point to simply claim a space of my own, away from them, and to show them the respect they deserved.
They were skeptical at first, of course- no other group had ever done things this way, and they were waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop. But, as I kept telling them, and as I keep reminding my employees, we are a business, and you can't do good business if you piss off the people you do business and share space with, and as the months turned into years and we made no attempt to power grab or mess with the other groups or their business in any way, they came to trust us and our word and, as a result, they stayed out of our affairs.
And those affairs prospered splendidly. We began with a couple small office buildings downtown, expanding to small businesses and some consulting. By applying the proper amount pf pressure in the right places and at the right time, we were able to secure more and more lucrative contracts, eventually dealing with the city directly. About a year ago, we'd purchased this building for our headquarters and now- here we were. The great big office at the top of the skyscraper, with the floor-to-ceiling windows I'd always dreamed of, and a view to kill for.
Down there, everything belonged to us- in a manner of speaking, at least. What businesses we didn't already own paid us monthly protection, which was essentially the same. We were powerful, prosperous, and respected. And we were about to close our biggest deal yet- a real estate contract with the city which would essentially have us in charge of all housing and property on this side of the river. It was huge, and someone out there was clearly trying to mess it up.
It was just rumors at first- harmless little things I barely felt the need to pay attention to. But I could no longer ignore it, since now the police were getting involved. Nicholai was downstairs meeting with a detective right now, and several cops had been snooping around. Not to mention the fact that, if the Crimson Blossom really thought we were dealing drugs in their territory, our truce with them would be over, blood would run in the West-side streets, and I could kiss the biggest deal of my career goodbye. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I'd had my people do some digging, of course, but so far they'd come up with nothing. Whoever was behind this, it might be time to call in some outside help if I wanted to catch them and stop them before they achieved their goal.
I sighed, taking one last look out the window before turning resolutely back to my desk.
"Mei, get me Sacha," I dictated into the intercom to my secretary/bodyguard. She wasn't as good as Sloane (obviously- no one was), but she'd done her job well since being sent over from the Crimson Blossom and, so far, I had no complaints.
While waiting for the tailor, I walked over to the mirror in the corner of the room, examining my reflection critically.
I definitely need a new suit, I thought as I turned around. Something with a hidden pocket or two, I think.
I heard Sacha's familiar knock at the door, discreet and eminently professional.
"Come in," I called, walking slowly back to my desk and smiling at the tailor. He stepped inside- tall, dignified and, as always, impeccably dressed.
[/div][/div]Of course, people told me I was crazy at first. That place is ruled by gangs, they'd said. You'll be murdered in your sleep. But the way I viewed it, criminal syndicates were just another type of business. They still had to deal with each other, with sharing and competing for resources and space- still had to worry about the bottom line at the end of the month. I'd always been in my element in the ruthless, cutthroat business world, and this was simply more of the same- just with different rules.
I made it my business to learn those rules, so I could work inside them, and then I made it my business to bend them as far back as they would go, twisting them to my advantage. I didn't go in guns blazing, trumpeting my superiority and trying to take over the hard-earned territory these groups had fought and bled to acquire. Instead, I made it a point to simply claim a space of my own, away from them, and to show them the respect they deserved.
They were skeptical at first, of course- no other group had ever done things this way, and they were waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop. But, as I kept telling them, and as I keep reminding my employees, we are a business, and you can't do good business if you piss off the people you do business and share space with, and as the months turned into years and we made no attempt to power grab or mess with the other groups or their business in any way, they came to trust us and our word and, as a result, they stayed out of our affairs.
And those affairs prospered splendidly. We began with a couple small office buildings downtown, expanding to small businesses and some consulting. By applying the proper amount pf pressure in the right places and at the right time, we were able to secure more and more lucrative contracts, eventually dealing with the city directly. About a year ago, we'd purchased this building for our headquarters and now- here we were. The great big office at the top of the skyscraper, with the floor-to-ceiling windows I'd always dreamed of, and a view to kill for.
Down there, everything belonged to us- in a manner of speaking, at least. What businesses we didn't already own paid us monthly protection, which was essentially the same. We were powerful, prosperous, and respected. And we were about to close our biggest deal yet- a real estate contract with the city which would essentially have us in charge of all housing and property on this side of the river. It was huge, and someone out there was clearly trying to mess it up.
It was just rumors at first- harmless little things I barely felt the need to pay attention to. But I could no longer ignore it, since now the police were getting involved. Nicholai was downstairs meeting with a detective right now, and several cops had been snooping around. Not to mention the fact that, if the Crimson Blossom really thought we were dealing drugs in their territory, our truce with them would be over, blood would run in the West-side streets, and I could kiss the biggest deal of my career goodbye. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I'd had my people do some digging, of course, but so far they'd come up with nothing. Whoever was behind this, it might be time to call in some outside help if I wanted to catch them and stop them before they achieved their goal.
I sighed, taking one last look out the window before turning resolutely back to my desk.
"Mei, get me Sacha," I dictated into the intercom to my secretary/bodyguard. She wasn't as good as Sloane (obviously- no one was), but she'd done her job well since being sent over from the Crimson Blossom and, so far, I had no complaints.
While waiting for the tailor, I walked over to the mirror in the corner of the room, examining my reflection critically.
I definitely need a new suit, I thought as I turned around. Something with a hidden pocket or two, I think.
I heard Sacha's familiar knock at the door, discreet and eminently professional.
"Come in," I called, walking slowly back to my desk and smiling at the tailor. He stepped inside- tall, dignified and, as always, impeccably dressed.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/V66BvFJy/r2-2.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Iron Tundra HQ
With: Sacha[/div][/div][/div]
With: Sacha[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
Last edited:
CoachA
you are. stealink... my nuts...
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/ScBBRG0.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Never underestimate those with nothing to lose."
- Name
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Nicholai Milkovich[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "Checks"[/div]
[div class=title]Lieutenant of Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "Checks"[/div]
[div class=title]Lieutenant of Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
Nicholai let out a breath, bent over a little under the weight of his current troubles. Really, it was amazing they'd gone on this long without some sort of major incident with the other groups but, if this wasn't resolved- and quickly- the whole thing could turn into a bloodbath. The Crimson Blossom had pretty much a monopoly on the drug trade in the city at this point, and they did not take kindly to other groups messing with their business. As far as he knew it wasn't one of theirs causing trouble, but he had been wrong before. Alyenka was worried as well. She didn't show it, and her work was perfect as always, but he could tell.
Right on time, he thought.
On his way to the lobby to meet with Detective Zhang, he thought back to their previous meetings. When they first met the man had been a surprise- tall, and built pretty much like a brick wall, with longer hair than any cop he'd seen up to that point and a well-groomed beard. The impression he gave off was that of a man who was rather coarse at heart, but with an added layer of sophistication and attention to detail- an intriguing juxtaposition. His interaction with him had been more intriguing still, as the man treated him with nothing but courtesy and respect (which was rare, for a cop). He had a deep, measured voice, kindly twinkling eyes and a booming laugh that took you off-guard. When he smiled, Nic couldn't help but smile back.
In that case, as it turned out, some dirtbag who was one of their employees had been causing the trouble. Again surprising him, Zhang had let him investigate the matter himself, not batting an eyelid when the culprit was delivered to him beaten to within an inch of his life (Alyenka had zero tolerance for anyone who made the group look bad in any way, and he had a penchant for ruining the lives of those who crossed him). He had thanked him for his efforts, seeming to believe him completely when he maintained that the group leadership had nothing to do with the man's actions, and lead him away.
Between that incident and the next time Zhang had shown up, Nic had had him investigated. Turns out, the guy used to be a gang member himself, before he quit the life and became a cop. That, at least, explained why he was built most like an enforcer and seemed more familiar and at-home with gang members than any standup cop should be. The next time they had met, Zhang had simply come to ask him some questions about rumors that were floating around about a human trafficking ring.
Again, he had been a surprise. He wasn't acting like he suspected the group of being involved, or like he was trying to trick information or a confession out of him. He hadn't shown up out of nowhere, flashing his badge and demanding to speak to the person in charge. Instead, he had respectfully made an appointment, shown up at the designated time, and merely asked for any information they might have. Seeing the group's interests in cooperating, Nic had shared the information and Zhang had politely thanked him and left (not without flashing another brilliant grin). That grin stuck in Nic's mind, even today.
The last time they'd met was a few months ago, under very different circumstances. Zhang had shown up with a scruffy-looking teenager in tow, pierced and tattooed and looking not the least bit repentant. He had apologized profusely on behalf of his nephew who, as it turned out, was the punk who had been dealing in their streets and causing them problems. He forced the kid to bow and ask for forgiveness, even though it was obvious he didn't mean a word of it, and assured them that it would never happen again.
Zhang had clearly been embarrassed on that occasion and, as he walked out with the grumpy teenager in tow, talking back and being a brat the whole way, Nic had felt for the man. It couldn't be easy trying to manage such an unruly kid, not when his parents were gone and you were all he had. He'd seen it a million times in this city- stupid teenagers determined to get into trouble and join the gang life, no matter how much their loving families tried to keep them on the straight and narrow. He resonated a bit with the kid, or at least saw some of his old self in the teenager.
He shook his head a little, wanting to make sure he was thinking clearly before this interview. Someone was dealing in Crimson Blossom territory, and so far all the evidence pointed back to them. If he didn't handle this meeting well, the group would be in trouble with the other gang and the police. He would never forgive himself if he messed up.
He straightened his tie and walked out of the elevator, heading for the lobby. He nodded at Maria as he passed the front desk and headed for the waiting area. When he got there, he saw the Bear himself, looking as vast as ever in his tailored suit. He was sitting back on a chair, perfectly at ease, his arms spread over the backs of the two seats on either side of him, one long leg crossed over the other. When he saw Nic, he flashed that brilliant smile and stood up, striding over to meet him.
Nicholai couldn't help but smile at the detective when he came within view. He had come to enjoy the older man's company, even though they hadn't spent any time together outside of Zhang's cases. He had never met a cop he could get along with, let alone become friendly with.
"Welcome, Detective. So nice to see you again, even under the less than desirable circumstances. I hope you have been well since last we met, it seems we only see eachother with something is wrong. Perhaps we should speak in my office."
He firmly shook Zhang's hand. The detective looked well, just the same as the first time the two of them had met. Motioning toward the elevator, Nicholai began leading his guest toward the open doors. As they passed her, Nicholai glanced toward Maria and flashed her a quick smile before stepping into the elevator with Zhang and pressing the button for his office floor.
It didn't take them long for them to arrive on his office floor and for Nicholai to lead the decetive to his office.
"Please, have a seat while I get you a glass of water and we can talk about the state of things."
[/div][/div]Right on time, he thought.
On his way to the lobby to meet with Detective Zhang, he thought back to their previous meetings. When they first met the man had been a surprise- tall, and built pretty much like a brick wall, with longer hair than any cop he'd seen up to that point and a well-groomed beard. The impression he gave off was that of a man who was rather coarse at heart, but with an added layer of sophistication and attention to detail- an intriguing juxtaposition. His interaction with him had been more intriguing still, as the man treated him with nothing but courtesy and respect (which was rare, for a cop). He had a deep, measured voice, kindly twinkling eyes and a booming laugh that took you off-guard. When he smiled, Nic couldn't help but smile back.
In that case, as it turned out, some dirtbag who was one of their employees had been causing the trouble. Again surprising him, Zhang had let him investigate the matter himself, not batting an eyelid when the culprit was delivered to him beaten to within an inch of his life (Alyenka had zero tolerance for anyone who made the group look bad in any way, and he had a penchant for ruining the lives of those who crossed him). He had thanked him for his efforts, seeming to believe him completely when he maintained that the group leadership had nothing to do with the man's actions, and lead him away.
Between that incident and the next time Zhang had shown up, Nic had had him investigated. Turns out, the guy used to be a gang member himself, before he quit the life and became a cop. That, at least, explained why he was built most like an enforcer and seemed more familiar and at-home with gang members than any standup cop should be. The next time they had met, Zhang had simply come to ask him some questions about rumors that were floating around about a human trafficking ring.
Again, he had been a surprise. He wasn't acting like he suspected the group of being involved, or like he was trying to trick information or a confession out of him. He hadn't shown up out of nowhere, flashing his badge and demanding to speak to the person in charge. Instead, he had respectfully made an appointment, shown up at the designated time, and merely asked for any information they might have. Seeing the group's interests in cooperating, Nic had shared the information and Zhang had politely thanked him and left (not without flashing another brilliant grin). That grin stuck in Nic's mind, even today.
The last time they'd met was a few months ago, under very different circumstances. Zhang had shown up with a scruffy-looking teenager in tow, pierced and tattooed and looking not the least bit repentant. He had apologized profusely on behalf of his nephew who, as it turned out, was the punk who had been dealing in their streets and causing them problems. He forced the kid to bow and ask for forgiveness, even though it was obvious he didn't mean a word of it, and assured them that it would never happen again.
Zhang had clearly been embarrassed on that occasion and, as he walked out with the grumpy teenager in tow, talking back and being a brat the whole way, Nic had felt for the man. It couldn't be easy trying to manage such an unruly kid, not when his parents were gone and you were all he had. He'd seen it a million times in this city- stupid teenagers determined to get into trouble and join the gang life, no matter how much their loving families tried to keep them on the straight and narrow. He resonated a bit with the kid, or at least saw some of his old self in the teenager.
He shook his head a little, wanting to make sure he was thinking clearly before this interview. Someone was dealing in Crimson Blossom territory, and so far all the evidence pointed back to them. If he didn't handle this meeting well, the group would be in trouble with the other gang and the police. He would never forgive himself if he messed up.
He straightened his tie and walked out of the elevator, heading for the lobby. He nodded at Maria as he passed the front desk and headed for the waiting area. When he got there, he saw the Bear himself, looking as vast as ever in his tailored suit. He was sitting back on a chair, perfectly at ease, his arms spread over the backs of the two seats on either side of him, one long leg crossed over the other. When he saw Nic, he flashed that brilliant smile and stood up, striding over to meet him.
Nicholai couldn't help but smile at the detective when he came within view. He had come to enjoy the older man's company, even though they hadn't spent any time together outside of Zhang's cases. He had never met a cop he could get along with, let alone become friendly with.
"Welcome, Detective. So nice to see you again, even under the less than desirable circumstances. I hope you have been well since last we met, it seems we only see eachother with something is wrong. Perhaps we should speak in my office."
He firmly shook Zhang's hand. The detective looked well, just the same as the first time the two of them had met. Motioning toward the elevator, Nicholai began leading his guest toward the open doors. As they passed her, Nicholai glanced toward Maria and flashed her a quick smile before stepping into the elevator with Zhang and pressing the button for his office floor.
It didn't take them long for them to arrive on his office floor and for Nicholai to lead the decetive to his office.
"Please, have a seat while I get you a glass of water and we can talk about the state of things."
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/ajsGZVi.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Iron Tundra Main Office
With: Zhang
Ayama
Maria
Jaellagirl
[/div][/div][/div]
With: Zhang
Ayama
Maria
Jaellagirl
[/div][/div][/div][clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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Last edited:
StormWolf
Elder Member
______________________________________________________________________
Declan 'Prince' O'Halloran, the Sledgehammer - Lt. of the O'Halloran Family
______________________________________________________________________
Location: The Wolfhound Boxing Gym
Christ, what a mess... Declan thought sourly, glowering at the main floor of his gym through the cobalt-grey haze of his cigarette. While not one to take the Lord's name in vain, what Ma didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and it seemed permissible under present circumstances. Ever since the cadaverous wop turned up with the rest of the detritus behind Declan's gym, tensions had been running high. Neither whiskey nor laudanum had managed to make the headache go away, so Declan did what he does best.
Square his shoulders and get ready for a fight.
The gym was all but abandoned. His own business, plans, and endeavors put to a screeching halt. It was hard to not take something like that personal. There was supposed to be a prize fight next weekend! The house take from bets alone on such an event was enough to pay the lease, never mind the price of admission or the money raked in from their particular 'catering service'.
"No use whingin' over spilt whiskey," Declan muttered to himself, leaning his head back to regard the sullen grey skies and the perpetual whisper of rain on the skylights overhead. Police would be watching the gym, meaning that Declan would need to keep his entrepreneurial exploits on hold until the pigs got bored. No guarantee they'll move on if they're on a payroll...
Declan needed a solution, or at the very least a plan of action. He couldn't come to his father with nothing but losses. The best thing to do would be to get in front of the incident, denounce the act of violence as some external or extreme element...
The Italians would need to either settle to trust and believe, or call Da a liar to his face... It was dangerous, a definitive gamble of a Russian roulette variety, but they needed to beat the rumor mill to the punch. Two days was already a lofty head start, and the Italians loved to talk... but would that be enough of a solution to satisfy Connor? Declan took a long draw on his cigarette, pulling until he felt the smoldering embers sting his lips. Exhaling, the smoke coiled around him in a dour veil. Rummaging in his vest pocket for a dinged silver watch embossed with celtic knots and bearing a cracked face, he sighed.
"Lunch is gonna be a goddamn nightmare..." he lamented. Exiting the gym and locking the iron warehouse door behind him, Declan clambered into his car. The engine rolled, roared to life, then set to purring. Feeling the power of the machine through the pedals brought Declan a brief smile. Pulling away from his reserved lot, he made his way through town at a speed that was technically legal. After everything that had transpired over the weekend, the last thing Declan needed was to be late for luncheon.
His car bellowed on approach to the O'Halloran home, a large, but modest family home. It couldn't hold a torch to the Antonelli estate, but it was cozy and it was home. Ma and Da deserve better, Declan glowered. The front door opened with a gentle groan, Declan leaning slightly to pass under threshold. The O'Halloran household might be humble, but it was lived in. The smell of Connor's fine tobacco, Mama Rowena's cooking from the kitchen, the numerous scuffs from rambunctious kids that fresh laquer couldn't quite erase. He spied the notches on the portage into the kitchen, marking the growth of all the O'Halloran children. Declan laughed softly. His notches never stopped.
"I'm home, Ma! You need a hand?"
"Welcome home, love," came Rowena's smokey-sweet voice, "I'm faring well enough, go to the dining room. Your father's already waiting"
Shit...
"You sure, Ma?" Declan approached the kitchen, his boots sending dull booms through the floorboards.
"Aye, I'm sure that I don't need your overgrown backside underfoot! Go!" Rowena replied with a wry laugh, but Dec heard the iron in her voice.
"Aye, alright. Love ya, Ma" Declan turned on his heel and made his way to the dining room, hearing Rowena call from behind him, "Bet your arse you do, if ye know what's good for ya." That got Declan to smirk as he came up to the table and drawing out a chair.
"Afternoon, sir," Declan said solemnly to the imperious figure at the head of the table. Declan took his seat to the right of Boss O'Halloran, knitting his large, ringed hands properly on the place mat before him.
______________________________________________________________________
Soviet Panda
Ayama
Enthusiast
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/brDLvRsC/i3.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Aoife's the name
And killing is the game."[/div][/div][/div]
And killing is the game."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Aoife O'Halloran[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Cyan Bullet"[/div]
[div class=title]Wetwork asset for the Antonellis[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Cyan Bullet"[/div]
[div class=title]Wetwork asset for the Antonellis[/div]
[div class=post]
Aoife was speeding along the highway. She loved being on the road, loved going as fast as was possible given the limits of her vehicle- rules of the road be damned! Despite their shared love of speed and cars, she still managed to get more speeding tickets than all the other guys in the group- put together. This, of course, was because she also couldn't resist showing off, and enjoyed taunting highway patrolmen who sat there all day long waiting for a little hoodlum like her to speed past their idling cars and make their day. She enjoyed getting caught. Somehow, she got a kick out of leaning against her bike as they intermittently glared at her while writing up a ticket. She would always grin and thank them when they handed over her copy, laughing on the inside because the amounts were always laughable. She killed people for the mob- she had money to spare.
Then she would get right back on her bike and speed away, howling with laughter at the look of the cop standing there stunned in her rearview mirror.
Everyone knew it, and everyone said it, but in case it wasn't obvious: Aoife was a problem child.
Many from back home (ie, the other side of town) wondered how a girl like her went so far astray. After all, she grew up the youngest child of a tight-knit, respected family of Irish mobsters. Their home still had a family picture on the mantelpiece, taken when Aoife was five years old. There she was, sitting on her father's lap, hair just as red as the rest of them, 'Ma's hand on 'Da's left shoulder, Declan's hand on his right, Ada and Aibhne sitting beside them- the whole family, smiling and ruddy and picture-perfect. So what on Earth had happened?
In short, extreme 'rebellious younger sibling syndrome'. It started when she was six, and her hair began to lighten. With every passing year, it seemed, it got lighter and lighter, going from bright red, to strawberry blond to, eventually, what it was like now. And with every shade it lightened, Aoife seemed to become less and less like the rest of her family. While Declan was learning to box and Aibhne was tinkering with cars and Ada was joining the family business, Aoife was watching mobster movies in her room and thinking of cool nicknames for herself.
Anything from Noir classics like The Maltese Falcon, to Scarface, Goodfellas and The Godfather. She lapped it all up. And it wasn't lost on her that there were people in this city who actually embodied her dark heroes in real life- the Antonellis. Imagine it- real life wiseguys, right here. She saw them sometimes, when she was out with her siblings, or they had dealings with her 'Da- all tailored suits and slicked back hair. And the way they talked- there was nothing like it.
She started imitating the movies, alone in her room with the door closed (though of course everyone could hear her), memorizing and repeating every famous line, trying to copy the accent- so far from what she heard at home every day. She started to dress differently, trying to match their style, and started strutting around the place with an attitude that got her a sound whack on the back of the head most nights, and eye-rolls, insults or derisive snickers most days
Of course, she still loved her siblings, and enjoyed spending time with them as well. Declan taught her to fight, and how to drive a car. Ada taught her how to dress, and how to act outside their cozy little world. Aibhne taught her about engines. They all saw what she was into, but wrote it off as being a phase. She's young, she's rebellious, they'd say. She'll grow out of it- once she gets it out of her system.
When she was twelve, she started playing around with guns. Most families would disapprove, of course, but the O'Hallorans were thrilled. A proper little mobster she was turning into. Turned out, she had a knack for them. She could pick up on the advantages and quirks of most firearms within a few minutes, and she was a really good shot. Her 'Da started giving serious consideration to what job she'd be taking on in the group once she turned eighteen.
And then it happened and, despite all the signs, none of them could have predicted it when she announced, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, that she was leaving the family and joining the Antonellis. 'Da was furious- she couldn't remember ever seeing him so mad in her life. He shouted until he went hoarse, then 'Ma took a turn, and then he shouted some more. After they'd shouted themselves into silence, Aoife had simply repeated her decision.
She left the house the next day, and within a week she was working for the Antonellis as a wetwork asset. Lorenzo knew to value skill and, as a hitwoman, hers was spectacular- especially for her age. He let slide the fact that she was incredibly immature because she followed orders. She did her job, and did it well, and she idolized him and the others in the group. Also, when dealing with the cantankerous Irishman, Enzo reasoned that it couldn't hurt in negotiations to have his daughter on the payroll. Though it did mean he was required to make sure nothing happened to her, or there'd be hell to pay.
Having a tiny little girl in the group did change the dynamics somewhat. Compared to the other gangs, the Antonellis were a bit of a boys club- any women they were involved with tended to be ornamental at best. But any idiots who thought they could treat Aoife that way were in for a rude awakening. The little girl, as everyone had quickly stopped calling her, was extremely reactive and didn't take shit from anyone. That, and she always carried at least one gun, and several knives- she could take care of herself.
Though they were sure never to do this within the Bullet's earshot, some members of the group often likened her to wild-but-semi-domesticated animal, as she was quick to growl, bite, or lash out at anyone who rubbed her the wrong way, but became extremely docile when chastised or praised by Lorenzo. Of course, her endless respect for him didn't mean her manners improved in any way, and they often wondered how she could get away with treating the boss so familiarly.
But it was just her way. In her world, people didn't stand on ceremony or put on airs- they just said what they thought and felt, regardless of the situation. That being said, she did try to fit in with the rest of the group. She abandoned her Irish brogue in favor of a clearly fake Brooklyn drawl, her vocabulary littered with terrible stereotypical mafia phrases pulled straight out of of Hollywood movies, or expressions she'd heard the others use when they talked. She dressed exclusively in tailored shirts, expensive ties- even splurged on custom leather gloves.
She quickly abandoned her classic black mustang in the Antonelli garage and bought herself a sleek little Ducati with the money she got from her first job. The bike had been tuned up to her specifications by Aibhne (she wouldn't let anyone else touch it), and went about 40mph above factory standards. Of course, whenever she went home for a meal or a tune-up, she usually got a lot of ribbing from her siblings for her fake accent and 'puffed-up' clothes and tiny Italian motorcycle, and she caught flak from her parents for being disrespectful.
But she didn't care. She had the life she'd always wanted- just like in the movies-, and no amount of ribbing or chastisement would make her go back. Even if the other members of the Antonellis thought she didn't belong- this silly little girl with the fake accent and movie mannerisms-, it didn't matter. Lorenzo had hired her and Lorenzo felt she was good enough for the group and belonged there, and that was good enough for her.
When she pulled into the Palazzo's garage that day, she noticed it was fuller than usual- something must've happened. She left her bike in its usual spot and strode through the palatial mansion, all marble and velvet and big fancy paintings, sparkling chandeliers, and indoor courtyards with grand fountains and lush vegetation.
"Eeeenzoooooo!" she called as she strode through the place, not giving two shits that the manner wasn't suited to her surroundings (or, many would say, to the person whom she was calling). "Where are youuuuuuuuuu?"
When she finally found him, he was reclining on a chaise in one of the parlors, talking on the phone.
"... I realize that, Dante, but the guy was found outside their gym. Now I'm not about to go pointing fingers without any solid evidence, but I have a meeting with them in a hour and I don't want to go in there blind!"
"There you are," she drawled loudly upon entering the room, oblivious as always to the situation. "How come everybody's cars are in the garage? There gonna be a sitdown?"
She plopped herself down in a free chaise, leaning back and plucking a handful of grapes from a nearby bowl, putting her booted feet unceremoniously up on the expensive ottoman, supremely at ease, thigh-strapped holster showing and grinning wide. She didn't know what was going on but, whatever it was, she smelled excitement.
[/div][/div]Then she would get right back on her bike and speed away, howling with laughter at the look of the cop standing there stunned in her rearview mirror.
Everyone knew it, and everyone said it, but in case it wasn't obvious: Aoife was a problem child.
Many from back home (ie, the other side of town) wondered how a girl like her went so far astray. After all, she grew up the youngest child of a tight-knit, respected family of Irish mobsters. Their home still had a family picture on the mantelpiece, taken when Aoife was five years old. There she was, sitting on her father's lap, hair just as red as the rest of them, 'Ma's hand on 'Da's left shoulder, Declan's hand on his right, Ada and Aibhne sitting beside them- the whole family, smiling and ruddy and picture-perfect. So what on Earth had happened?
In short, extreme 'rebellious younger sibling syndrome'. It started when she was six, and her hair began to lighten. With every passing year, it seemed, it got lighter and lighter, going from bright red, to strawberry blond to, eventually, what it was like now. And with every shade it lightened, Aoife seemed to become less and less like the rest of her family. While Declan was learning to box and Aibhne was tinkering with cars and Ada was joining the family business, Aoife was watching mobster movies in her room and thinking of cool nicknames for herself.
Anything from Noir classics like The Maltese Falcon, to Scarface, Goodfellas and The Godfather. She lapped it all up. And it wasn't lost on her that there were people in this city who actually embodied her dark heroes in real life- the Antonellis. Imagine it- real life wiseguys, right here. She saw them sometimes, when she was out with her siblings, or they had dealings with her 'Da- all tailored suits and slicked back hair. And the way they talked- there was nothing like it.
She started imitating the movies, alone in her room with the door closed (though of course everyone could hear her), memorizing and repeating every famous line, trying to copy the accent- so far from what she heard at home every day. She started to dress differently, trying to match their style, and started strutting around the place with an attitude that got her a sound whack on the back of the head most nights, and eye-rolls, insults or derisive snickers most days
Of course, she still loved her siblings, and enjoyed spending time with them as well. Declan taught her to fight, and how to drive a car. Ada taught her how to dress, and how to act outside their cozy little world. Aibhne taught her about engines. They all saw what she was into, but wrote it off as being a phase. She's young, she's rebellious, they'd say. She'll grow out of it- once she gets it out of her system.
When she was twelve, she started playing around with guns. Most families would disapprove, of course, but the O'Hallorans were thrilled. A proper little mobster she was turning into. Turned out, she had a knack for them. She could pick up on the advantages and quirks of most firearms within a few minutes, and she was a really good shot. Her 'Da started giving serious consideration to what job she'd be taking on in the group once she turned eighteen.
And then it happened and, despite all the signs, none of them could have predicted it when she announced, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, that she was leaving the family and joining the Antonellis. 'Da was furious- she couldn't remember ever seeing him so mad in her life. He shouted until he went hoarse, then 'Ma took a turn, and then he shouted some more. After they'd shouted themselves into silence, Aoife had simply repeated her decision.
She left the house the next day, and within a week she was working for the Antonellis as a wetwork asset. Lorenzo knew to value skill and, as a hitwoman, hers was spectacular- especially for her age. He let slide the fact that she was incredibly immature because she followed orders. She did her job, and did it well, and she idolized him and the others in the group. Also, when dealing with the cantankerous Irishman, Enzo reasoned that it couldn't hurt in negotiations to have his daughter on the payroll. Though it did mean he was required to make sure nothing happened to her, or there'd be hell to pay.
Having a tiny little girl in the group did change the dynamics somewhat. Compared to the other gangs, the Antonellis were a bit of a boys club- any women they were involved with tended to be ornamental at best. But any idiots who thought they could treat Aoife that way were in for a rude awakening. The little girl, as everyone had quickly stopped calling her, was extremely reactive and didn't take shit from anyone. That, and she always carried at least one gun, and several knives- she could take care of herself.
Though they were sure never to do this within the Bullet's earshot, some members of the group often likened her to wild-but-semi-domesticated animal, as she was quick to growl, bite, or lash out at anyone who rubbed her the wrong way, but became extremely docile when chastised or praised by Lorenzo. Of course, her endless respect for him didn't mean her manners improved in any way, and they often wondered how she could get away with treating the boss so familiarly.
But it was just her way. In her world, people didn't stand on ceremony or put on airs- they just said what they thought and felt, regardless of the situation. That being said, she did try to fit in with the rest of the group. She abandoned her Irish brogue in favor of a clearly fake Brooklyn drawl, her vocabulary littered with terrible stereotypical mafia phrases pulled straight out of of Hollywood movies, or expressions she'd heard the others use when they talked. She dressed exclusively in tailored shirts, expensive ties- even splurged on custom leather gloves.
She quickly abandoned her classic black mustang in the Antonelli garage and bought herself a sleek little Ducati with the money she got from her first job. The bike had been tuned up to her specifications by Aibhne (she wouldn't let anyone else touch it), and went about 40mph above factory standards. Of course, whenever she went home for a meal or a tune-up, she usually got a lot of ribbing from her siblings for her fake accent and 'puffed-up' clothes and tiny Italian motorcycle, and she caught flak from her parents for being disrespectful.
But she didn't care. She had the life she'd always wanted- just like in the movies-, and no amount of ribbing or chastisement would make her go back. Even if the other members of the Antonellis thought she didn't belong- this silly little girl with the fake accent and movie mannerisms-, it didn't matter. Lorenzo had hired her and Lorenzo felt she was good enough for the group and belonged there, and that was good enough for her.
When she pulled into the Palazzo's garage that day, she noticed it was fuller than usual- something must've happened. She left her bike in its usual spot and strode through the palatial mansion, all marble and velvet and big fancy paintings, sparkling chandeliers, and indoor courtyards with grand fountains and lush vegetation.
"Eeeenzoooooo!" she called as she strode through the place, not giving two shits that the manner wasn't suited to her surroundings (or, many would say, to the person whom she was calling). "Where are youuuuuuuuuu?"
When she finally found him, he was reclining on a chaise in one of the parlors, talking on the phone.
"... I realize that, Dante, but the guy was found outside their gym. Now I'm not about to go pointing fingers without any solid evidence, but I have a meeting with them in a hour and I don't want to go in there blind!"
"There you are," she drawled loudly upon entering the room, oblivious as always to the situation. "How come everybody's cars are in the garage? There gonna be a sitdown?"
She plopped herself down in a free chaise, leaning back and plucking a handful of grapes from a nearby bowl, putting her booted feet unceremoniously up on the expensive ottoman, supremely at ease, thigh-strapped holster showing and grinning wide. She didn't know what was going on but, whatever it was, she smelled excitement.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/kX831Qfv/i4.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Antonelli Palazzo
With: Lorenzo[/div][/div][/div]
With: Lorenzo[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
Last edited:
ZacksQuest
Indiscriminate Quest Taker
[div class=box][/div]
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/j7SlJjJ.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"May you be at the gates of Heaven an hour before the Devil knows you're dead."
- Old Irish Saying
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Cian O'Halloran[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "Wildeye"[/div]
[div class=title]Arson/Demolitions Man of the O'Hallorans[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "Wildeye"[/div]
[div class=title]Arson/Demolitions Man of the O'Hallorans[/div]
[div class=post]
The rain wasn't coming down that hard, but picked up by the wind the droplets were throwin' themselves slantways into the faces of any poor dry-shite that found themselves caught in this mess. Unfortunately, I was one of those dry-shites, walking back to the homestead with a sack of assorted scrap slung over my shoulder. I braced my free hand in front of my face and tried to keep the worst of it out, trying to keep mud off my shoes and my pants from soaking through before lunchtime. Sure, I didn't have to look like a crisp twenty dollar bill, but more than a few stains or wrinkles and Ma Rowena'd get awfully sore, and once she'd get done disciplining me with that spoon of hers I'd be the one awfully sore. But it went beyond that. The rest of the day, I'd keep by nose clean and stuck to the grindstone, getting scraps and turning 'em to something useful or mixing chemicals and doing anything the cousins tell me to do with a "yes, Boss Connor, sir" or a "yes, Boss Declan, sir". During those meals, with the rest of the family gathered up in one spot and Ma Rowena keepin' watch, was when it really sinks in for me that these people are my people. I'd rather die than make even the smallest reason to gunk it up.
I felt the crinkle of something under my shoe, and lifted my foot up. Somethin' white and goopy was gluing a burger wrapper to the bottom of my shoe. Of feckin' course. I shook the damn thing off and spouted off a lot of colorful phrases that may've gotten lost in translation- a lot o' choice words that the ma'arm woulda whacked me upside the head for utterin' and the other O'Hallorans woulda never thought I was capable of speaking before scraping the bottom of my shoe on the curb enough to scrape the leather, when I heard somethin' like a bucket o' nails gettin tossed around and it took me a good couple of seconds to realize it was someone wheezin' their lungs out back of me. They were splayed out on the side of the building, messy uneven beard, rags instead of real clothes, bare feet wigglin' toes in the breeze. I wheeled on em, real angry at the bloke but probably looking like a carrot topped clown to anyone passing by, stepping up on them and ready to give them some fear of god.
Then I looked into his eyes. They weren't puppy dog baby blues, they didn't scream for mercy or pity. They were just dead, empty and looking without emotion right into my own. This guy may've become something you pick outta the gutters, but the city chewed him up and spat him out, another blameless fatality of the jungle. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, breathed through my nose once, accidentally took a good whiff of the fellow, and started breathin' through my mouth instead. I went over to him, reached in my pocket, pulled out a ten-spot and handed it to him. "Ere, pal. Take it, get yerself a blanket. It's gettin cold out here. Just... jus' try to stop littering all over the damn place, this city's already got enough problems." As I walked away, I shook my head at myself. No wonder they don't have me doing protection rackets or enforcing things, I got the spine of an inchworm and all the muscle to back it up. I'd probably take every Sally Sob Story and Harry Hopeless at face value and give the O'Halloran mob a bad name. My craft is what I'm good at. My craft's what makes me worth callin myself an O'Halloran.
It took a bit of traipsing, but finally I was standing, drenched like a wet newspaper despite my best efforts, at the door of the garage. I let myself in and wiped my feet off, bag of assorted knick-knacks and junk jangling over my shoulder like some Santy Claus of Scrap. I shrugged off my wet dog of an overcoat, wrung it out and let it hang over a heater to dry, shook the rest of the water out o' my hair, and made my way over to my little corner of the Clinic. Most of the garage was Tink's- er, Aibhne's- a bunch of half-finished muscle cars and engines and other pet projects fillin' up most of the place. Still, they let me have this little corner where I work with my smaller pieces and my chemicals, and I'm grateful for that. Come think of it, they're pretty much the one person in the family I'm not on-edge around all the time, except for Ma Rowena and...
and...
I shook my head, thinking that the memories of that night might get shaken off with the raindrops. No dice this time, like any other time I try, but it doesn't hurt. I head towards my own station but I stop when I see Tinks workin' away at one of their projects. I open the sack around my shoulders, open it and take out the only two pieces I really needed from the haul before setting it down and calling out softly, "Oi, Eenie, I'm back. Got some good stuff if ye wanna look through it." Usually we just work in silence, but this time I tried to find pieces that looked vaguely like muscle car parts and engine pieces to try an' be helpful. I set my two pieces down- they'd be the casings for my next couple pineapples- and took a look around my station. There were starters, canisters of accelerants, a soldering iron with plenty of solder, and in the corner up against the wall and hidden under a black cloth... my treasure. I peeked at it, lifting the cloth a bit before remembering my hands were soaking and dropping it back down. I knew I'd get called up to dinner sooner or later, but I hoped that I could dry off a bit before here and then.
And, to be honest, I wasn't all keen on this family gathering. Don't get me wrong, I'm the last person to balk at a nice family meal, but I know there's gonna be a shadow blanketing the table thick as soup today. That damn stiff, that goddamn stiff. It's been drivin' Boss Declan up the wall, I know that much, and it was making the city even more dangerous to roam around. Sure the Tongs were spreadin' like a nasty bout o' cancer, and the Slavs were bein' real amicable folk but makin' it damned harder to grow the business, but if we get the combined forces of Little Italy sicced on our asses, then the tension's gonna go from 1 to 100 real damn quick.
So, I do what I always do when the bloody Doom of Damocles is hangin' real low and I need to stop thinkin about it. I lick my lips, start tappin' my foot to a rhythm I couldn't even tell you, and start to working.
[/div][/div]I felt the crinkle of something under my shoe, and lifted my foot up. Somethin' white and goopy was gluing a burger wrapper to the bottom of my shoe. Of feckin' course. I shook the damn thing off and spouted off a lot of colorful phrases that may've gotten lost in translation- a lot o' choice words that the ma'arm woulda whacked me upside the head for utterin' and the other O'Hallorans woulda never thought I was capable of speaking before scraping the bottom of my shoe on the curb enough to scrape the leather, when I heard somethin' like a bucket o' nails gettin tossed around and it took me a good couple of seconds to realize it was someone wheezin' their lungs out back of me. They were splayed out on the side of the building, messy uneven beard, rags instead of real clothes, bare feet wigglin' toes in the breeze. I wheeled on em, real angry at the bloke but probably looking like a carrot topped clown to anyone passing by, stepping up on them and ready to give them some fear of god.
Then I looked into his eyes. They weren't puppy dog baby blues, they didn't scream for mercy or pity. They were just dead, empty and looking without emotion right into my own. This guy may've become something you pick outta the gutters, but the city chewed him up and spat him out, another blameless fatality of the jungle. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, breathed through my nose once, accidentally took a good whiff of the fellow, and started breathin' through my mouth instead. I went over to him, reached in my pocket, pulled out a ten-spot and handed it to him. "Ere, pal. Take it, get yerself a blanket. It's gettin cold out here. Just... jus' try to stop littering all over the damn place, this city's already got enough problems." As I walked away, I shook my head at myself. No wonder they don't have me doing protection rackets or enforcing things, I got the spine of an inchworm and all the muscle to back it up. I'd probably take every Sally Sob Story and Harry Hopeless at face value and give the O'Halloran mob a bad name. My craft is what I'm good at. My craft's what makes me worth callin myself an O'Halloran.
It took a bit of traipsing, but finally I was standing, drenched like a wet newspaper despite my best efforts, at the door of the garage. I let myself in and wiped my feet off, bag of assorted knick-knacks and junk jangling over my shoulder like some Santy Claus of Scrap. I shrugged off my wet dog of an overcoat, wrung it out and let it hang over a heater to dry, shook the rest of the water out o' my hair, and made my way over to my little corner of the Clinic. Most of the garage was Tink's- er, Aibhne's- a bunch of half-finished muscle cars and engines and other pet projects fillin' up most of the place. Still, they let me have this little corner where I work with my smaller pieces and my chemicals, and I'm grateful for that. Come think of it, they're pretty much the one person in the family I'm not on-edge around all the time, except for Ma Rowena and...
and...
I shook my head, thinking that the memories of that night might get shaken off with the raindrops. No dice this time, like any other time I try, but it doesn't hurt. I head towards my own station but I stop when I see Tinks workin' away at one of their projects. I open the sack around my shoulders, open it and take out the only two pieces I really needed from the haul before setting it down and calling out softly, "Oi, Eenie, I'm back. Got some good stuff if ye wanna look through it." Usually we just work in silence, but this time I tried to find pieces that looked vaguely like muscle car parts and engine pieces to try an' be helpful. I set my two pieces down- they'd be the casings for my next couple pineapples- and took a look around my station. There were starters, canisters of accelerants, a soldering iron with plenty of solder, and in the corner up against the wall and hidden under a black cloth... my treasure. I peeked at it, lifting the cloth a bit before remembering my hands were soaking and dropping it back down. I knew I'd get called up to dinner sooner or later, but I hoped that I could dry off a bit before here and then.
And, to be honest, I wasn't all keen on this family gathering. Don't get me wrong, I'm the last person to balk at a nice family meal, but I know there's gonna be a shadow blanketing the table thick as soup today. That damn stiff, that goddamn stiff. It's been drivin' Boss Declan up the wall, I know that much, and it was making the city even more dangerous to roam around. Sure the Tongs were spreadin' like a nasty bout o' cancer, and the Slavs were bein' real amicable folk but makin' it damned harder to grow the business, but if we get the combined forces of Little Italy sicced on our asses, then the tension's gonna go from 1 to 100 real damn quick.
So, I do what I always do when the bloody Doom of Damocles is hangin' real low and I need to stop thinkin about it. I lick my lips, start tappin' my foot to a rhythm I couldn't even tell you, and start to working.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/aggakBe.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location:The Clinic
With:
Ayama
(Aibhne O'Donovan) [/div][/div][/div]
With:
Ayama
(Aibhne O'Donovan) [/div][/div][/div][clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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Last edited:
CrowOuttaHell
Skull-Faced Writer
[div class=box][/div]
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/xJj8NH3.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"The only thing between me and my hands around your throat is my patience, and the sad thing is I don't got any."
- Crazy Al
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Albrecht Schneider[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "Crazy Al"[/div]
[div class=title]Enforcer of the Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "Crazy Al"[/div]
[div class=title]Enforcer of the Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
The weather had gone to shit in the City, and so were the state of affairs.
That was the first thing that came to mind as Al clambered out of his car, closing his eyes and trying to will his migraine away. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and he was sore in various places. As he raised his arm to put another cigarette to his lips, it tingled uncomfortably.
He took a drag of the cigarette, let the smoke flow in, blew it back out, dropped the stick and scuffed it under his shoe.
He could have given less of a damn about the rumors floating around about the other groups. He'd heard from idle chatter that the Higashi-gumi got raided, that an Italian runner had been found dead, and that the Crimson Blossom was pretty much trying to make the city their turf. His apathy towards the situation was only because the Tundra itself kept well away from rumors like these, and for a while, that was enough.
But now there was one floating around about them, and it was grating his nerves something fierce. He'd only learned about it when a scruffy little, nervous wreck of an employee met him at the doors to the main office as he walked in. Talk about a great start to his Monday.
"Oh, M-Mr. Schneider! This is a surprise..."
Al winced at the formal way the man addressed him. "Just Al's fine."
"Okay then...Mr. Al," The man had spoken carefully. "It's a surprise to see you here. Did something happen?"
"You tell me." He frowned. "Just had to drop a friend off near West and decided I'd drop in. Heard we've been busy lately."
"Well," The man started, wringing his fingers and staring up at Al like a scared child. "There have been...rumors...that the Tundra has started dealing in Crimson Blossom territory."
"Now from whose fucking mouth did you hear that from?"
He didn't get to answer before Al had already grabbed him by the collar, squeezing and wrinkling the well-ironed fabric in coarse palms. The white-haired man had leaned in close enough to still smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.
The man, quite understandably, panicked. "L-Look, I just heard overheard it from a meeting the suits up top had! I-I don't know nothing else!"
"Huh. That's new." If it had the suits-- and by that, he meant Nicholai and Alyenka, of course-- talking about it, it must have been more trouble than he expected. The thought that hit him caused his grip on the poor guy's collar to slip, and the man quickly excused himself and scampered away.
A typical reaction to Al's presence in the building, for short. His demeanor was far detached from the boss and the lieutenant's cold as ice, professional auras and it showed. The Tundra itself embraced the rotten culture of business that Al so loved to hate, and suddenly he was all too glad to have been just an Enforcer for them. Business politics was a complex, annoying thing, the same as the rumor he had only now just become aware of.
"The Tundra? Dealing drugs?" The thought almost made him laugh out loud. Who the hell were these clowns trying to fool? He was sure the Tundra's suits weren't buying it for a second, but he wasn't sure about those flower-pushers in the Crimson Blossom. Especially with their blatant show of dominance with trying to take over the City.
Was he angry? Maybe. Why wouldn't he be? Or was he just really, really itching for a job?
He cut his train of thought there, realizing that he was now standing at the doorway like an idiot. Damn. He needed a smoke, but he also needed information. And as he spotted the familiar, young woman at the desk, sorting out paperwork, he figured information was sitting just a couple of steps away from him.
Quickly checking to see nobody was at the counter, he slowly approached where Maria was sitting. Time to test his social skills again, it seemed. He seldom talked to the young woman, given his natural attitude, but she did seem rather close to the suits.
"Afternoon," He greeted Maria, raspy voice making him sound more brusque than he intended to. So much for being polite.
"Heard there's been a lot of ruckus going on with the Tundra. Somethin' about drugs and the Crimson Blossom's turf, which is nowhere if you ask me." He resisted the urge to reach into the pocket of his shirt and retrieve a cigarette. "Know anything about it?"
[/div][/div]That was the first thing that came to mind as Al clambered out of his car, closing his eyes and trying to will his migraine away. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and he was sore in various places. As he raised his arm to put another cigarette to his lips, it tingled uncomfortably.
He took a drag of the cigarette, let the smoke flow in, blew it back out, dropped the stick and scuffed it under his shoe.
He could have given less of a damn about the rumors floating around about the other groups. He'd heard from idle chatter that the Higashi-gumi got raided, that an Italian runner had been found dead, and that the Crimson Blossom was pretty much trying to make the city their turf. His apathy towards the situation was only because the Tundra itself kept well away from rumors like these, and for a while, that was enough.
But now there was one floating around about them, and it was grating his nerves something fierce. He'd only learned about it when a scruffy little, nervous wreck of an employee met him at the doors to the main office as he walked in. Talk about a great start to his Monday.
"Oh, M-Mr. Schneider! This is a surprise..."
Al winced at the formal way the man addressed him. "Just Al's fine."
"Okay then...Mr. Al," The man had spoken carefully. "It's a surprise to see you here. Did something happen?"
"You tell me." He frowned. "Just had to drop a friend off near West and decided I'd drop in. Heard we've been busy lately."
"Well," The man started, wringing his fingers and staring up at Al like a scared child. "There have been...rumors...that the Tundra has started dealing in Crimson Blossom territory."
"Now from whose fucking mouth did you hear that from?"
He didn't get to answer before Al had already grabbed him by the collar, squeezing and wrinkling the well-ironed fabric in coarse palms. The white-haired man had leaned in close enough to still smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.
The man, quite understandably, panicked. "L-Look, I just heard overheard it from a meeting the suits up top had! I-I don't know nothing else!"
"Huh. That's new." If it had the suits-- and by that, he meant Nicholai and Alyenka, of course-- talking about it, it must have been more trouble than he expected. The thought that hit him caused his grip on the poor guy's collar to slip, and the man quickly excused himself and scampered away.
A typical reaction to Al's presence in the building, for short. His demeanor was far detached from the boss and the lieutenant's cold as ice, professional auras and it showed. The Tundra itself embraced the rotten culture of business that Al so loved to hate, and suddenly he was all too glad to have been just an Enforcer for them. Business politics was a complex, annoying thing, the same as the rumor he had only now just become aware of.
"The Tundra? Dealing drugs?" The thought almost made him laugh out loud. Who the hell were these clowns trying to fool? He was sure the Tundra's suits weren't buying it for a second, but he wasn't sure about those flower-pushers in the Crimson Blossom. Especially with their blatant show of dominance with trying to take over the City.
Was he angry? Maybe. Why wouldn't he be? Or was he just really, really itching for a job?
He cut his train of thought there, realizing that he was now standing at the doorway like an idiot. Damn. He needed a smoke, but he also needed information. And as he spotted the familiar, young woman at the desk, sorting out paperwork, he figured information was sitting just a couple of steps away from him.
Quickly checking to see nobody was at the counter, he slowly approached where Maria was sitting. Time to test his social skills again, it seemed. He seldom talked to the young woman, given his natural attitude, but she did seem rather close to the suits.
"Afternoon," He greeted Maria, raspy voice making him sound more brusque than he intended to. So much for being polite.
"Heard there's been a lot of ruckus going on with the Tundra. Somethin' about drugs and the Crimson Blossom's turf, which is nowhere if you ask me." He resisted the urge to reach into the pocket of his shirt and retrieve a cigarette. "Know anything about it?"
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/XKbze8D.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Iron Tundra Main Office
With: Maria[/div][/div][/div]
With: Maria[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
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text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070;
[/class]
[class=main]
margin-top: 19px;
margin-left: -50px;
width: 500px;
height: 480px;
[/class]
[class=ID]
width: 500px;
border: 4px groove #000000;
background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8);
[/class]
[class=name]
display: inline-block;
font-size: 30px;
font-weight: bold;
color: #2f2d2d;
[/class]
[class name=name state=hover]
text-decoration: underline;
text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070;
[/class]
[class=alias]
display: inline-block;
font-size: 25px;
font-style: italic;
color: #515151;
[/class]
[class=title]
display: inline-block;
font-size: 20px;
color: #a1a1a1;
[/class]
[class=post]
margin-top: -5px;
width: 500px;
height: 320px;
border: 4px groove #000000;
background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8);
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/zfQKDtc9/8a1f9f9e93b37cce54bd153c414a97fd-1.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Aibhne's the name
And repairs are my game."[/div][/div][/div]
And repairs are my game."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Aibhne O'Donovan[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "Tinkerbell"[/div]
[div class=title]Mechanic for the O'Hallorans[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "Tinkerbell"[/div]
[div class=title]Mechanic for the O'Hallorans[/div]
[div class=post]
I used to be such a quiet child... No really. You don't believe me? Ah well, can't say I blame you. I haven' been that way in many a year. Nonetheless, it's true. I was calm, an' quiet, an' extremely mellow. Well, so I've been told, at least. 'cause in truth, I don' remember any o' that.
I was three years old when 'Da got so deep in the bottle that he couldn't get back out and 'Ma decided she'd had enough and dumped me on the Hals' doorstep. I can't really blame her, and I don't resent her neither. I go see her once in a while. She's vacant and sweet and, I feel, right where she should be. And fer that matter, so am I.
The Hals took me in- no questions asked. They got big hearts and a big home and them and my folks go way back, even though 'Ma and 'Da decided to cut 'em off in order to raise me right. Funny how things work out, innit?
They was a big family- not like us. Jonah, and ruddy Connor and imposing Rowena, towering Declan, sweet Ada and crazy little Aoife. She was always bursting with energy- not like me. Me, what they say I got is a nervous disorder- can't sit still. They found out when they tried making me to go reg'lar school and I went crazy- punched a kid in the face. After that, Mama Ro taught me, while she worked in the kitchen, or ran errands or did things around the house. She let me help- of course. Knew I'd go apeshite otherwise.
I giggled to myself. Apeshite. Just the sort o' bastard word you only heard in an Irish American household. I was full of 'em. It made 'Ma and 'Pa O'Halloran laugh, hearing me mush the two languages together as I felt like with no regard fer the rules. Though sometimes, when they were in a mood, it made 'em angry. Disrespectful, they'd call it, and I'd get a whoppin' 'round the ear. It happened sometimes, but not too much. Mostly if I got bored and ended up taking apart somethin' I shouldn't have.
Pretty soon, they learned to simply give me stuff to tinker with just so's I wouldn't mess with the toaster or the TV. Turns out, my favorite thing was cars. At the time, they had an old gobshite workin' in the garage- name of Smiley o'Reilly. He'd putter around in there all day long, not gettin' much done, and when people came fer their cars he'd send 'em away, sayin' he needed more time, or tellin' them it couldn't be fixed without some fancy, expensive foreign part.
I held my tongue, e'en though he was wrong, 'cause I didn't want 'im saying I was causing trouble an' kickin' me out o' the garage. But Connor told him to let me help 'im on the cars, and pretty soon I was doing most o' the work while he was sittin' back and taking the credit. I didn't much mind- I had somethin' to do now, 't least. Keep me busy, keep me outta trouble.
Then one day the ol' man up and died, and somehow Connor decided to leave me in charge. That was a whopper, that one, but I'm not complaining none- got my place, now. Still have a room in the house, but I sleep in the garage most nights. I like hearing the noise o' the street and smellin' that sweet gasoline.
The siblings, they've up an' come in the world now. Dec's got his own gym- good enough to rival Connor's, I hear. Ada's a spy. It was funny to think of her sneaking and spying with all of 'em gobshites in monkeysuits when she was really such a sweetheart. Aoife had gone and joined the Antonellis, bless her. Scandal of the year, that was- Connor was so shocked I could swear he got a host of white hairs on his head that very evenin'!
The sibs took it fair well though, all things considered. Aoife still comes back once in a while fer a meal, or a tune-up to her bike. Now there's a beauty and no mistake. I don't care what you think- them Italians know their way 'round a beautiful machine. Things tend to get a bit tense 'round the dinner table when Aoife comes home though- don't think ol' Connor's quite got e'en with it yet.
He means well, does ol' Connor, but don't always know how to show it. Like with me, f'r instance. It's been a little awkward for him having me in the house, especially since I became a teenager and the issue of gender suddenly became all-important. No matter how many times I tried to explain to 'im that I didn't respond to he or she, he still wouldn't get it and insisted that I just pick one. And then, since he couldn't settle on which one to pick, he just ended up callin' me by a diff'ren' one each time.
Meanwhile, 'Mama Ro, meanin' well but equally confused, would always just correct him with whichever one he weren't usin'. It was quite funny, when you thought about it. Besides, they weren't the only ones confused on what people should be called. When I was little, I called Connor 'Da, 'cause he was the only one I knew, really. But now that felt awkward most days too, so I just took to callin' 'im Connor, or Sir when he was angry. Of course, once in a while he'd still hit the bottle and get all 'motional and say I was his girl (or boy, dependin' on the night). Though it was still awkward, it always made me smile to hear 'im say it, and I called 'im 'Da again.
'Mama Ro didn't much seem to care what I called her, 'long as I didn't give no lip, ate my vegetables and cleaned my plate. Sometimes I called her Aunt 'Ro, like Sean did when he came 'round. That Sean- he was sweet an' sunny an' eager to please. Not very bright, that one, but he was so nice. An' then recently we got Cian. Fresh off the boat an' scared of 'is own shadow, though if you left 'im alone with baking soda an' toothpaste he'd probably find a way to blow up the house.
We got along right off th' bat. I think 'cause we both had reasons ter be anxious, most o' the time, and we was both more comfortable tinkerin' aroun' than sittin' an' dealin' with people. He took t' comin' into the shop, most days, and just settin' himself up in a corner. Didn't bother me none, and pretty soon I'd set aside an area fer him to work in and he had a table an' a shelf and some boxes on the floor.
I didn't much know what he did with all them vials and liquids and powders, but ev'ry once in a while there'd be a small explosion- kinda like when I missed a twist on a gasket and flooded the engine before realizing. Cy was real apologetic about it, an' he'd always clean up afterwards. Lately, we'd fallen into a kind o' routine, where he showed up sometime in the afternoon, tall and lanky and gangly-lookin', his hair slicked back but startin' ter get messy.
He was the on'y one in the family who was anywhere close to as dirty as I was on a daily basis. Today, he walked in lookin' like a drowned rat from the rain goin' on outside, heavin' that big bag over his scrawny back, invitin' me to go through it. I had no idea where he wandered off to every mornin' ta find this stuff. At first, I hadn't much cared, but lately I'd been thinkin' o' askin' if I could go with one day.
I looked through the bag. Weren't much there, but I took the pieces all the same. It was real sweet of him to think a- me while he was out lookin' fer this stuff. I perched up on the roof o' the mustang- 'Da's old racer-, just sittin' and watchin' 'im work fer a while. Lately I was findin' it enjoyable to watch 'im work, bony shoulders hunched over, little nose wrinkled as he concentrated. I never used ter like havin' other people hangin' 'round the Clinic but, somehow with 'im, I didn't mind.
"Say," I began, tiltin' my head to the side as I looked at 'im. "You ever think we should spen' some time elsewhere?" He turned to look at me, confused. "Like, you know, other than the garage or the house," I elaborated. I kept my head tilted an' waited fer a response, wonderin' if he'd think I was bein' a spanner.
[/div][/div]I was three years old when 'Da got so deep in the bottle that he couldn't get back out and 'Ma decided she'd had enough and dumped me on the Hals' doorstep. I can't really blame her, and I don't resent her neither. I go see her once in a while. She's vacant and sweet and, I feel, right where she should be. And fer that matter, so am I.
The Hals took me in- no questions asked. They got big hearts and a big home and them and my folks go way back, even though 'Ma and 'Da decided to cut 'em off in order to raise me right. Funny how things work out, innit?
They was a big family- not like us. Jonah, and ruddy Connor and imposing Rowena, towering Declan, sweet Ada and crazy little Aoife. She was always bursting with energy- not like me. Me, what they say I got is a nervous disorder- can't sit still. They found out when they tried making me to go reg'lar school and I went crazy- punched a kid in the face. After that, Mama Ro taught me, while she worked in the kitchen, or ran errands or did things around the house. She let me help- of course. Knew I'd go apeshite otherwise.
I giggled to myself. Apeshite. Just the sort o' bastard word you only heard in an Irish American household. I was full of 'em. It made 'Ma and 'Pa O'Halloran laugh, hearing me mush the two languages together as I felt like with no regard fer the rules. Though sometimes, when they were in a mood, it made 'em angry. Disrespectful, they'd call it, and I'd get a whoppin' 'round the ear. It happened sometimes, but not too much. Mostly if I got bored and ended up taking apart somethin' I shouldn't have.
Pretty soon, they learned to simply give me stuff to tinker with just so's I wouldn't mess with the toaster or the TV. Turns out, my favorite thing was cars. At the time, they had an old gobshite workin' in the garage- name of Smiley o'Reilly. He'd putter around in there all day long, not gettin' much done, and when people came fer their cars he'd send 'em away, sayin' he needed more time, or tellin' them it couldn't be fixed without some fancy, expensive foreign part.
I held my tongue, e'en though he was wrong, 'cause I didn't want 'im saying I was causing trouble an' kickin' me out o' the garage. But Connor told him to let me help 'im on the cars, and pretty soon I was doing most o' the work while he was sittin' back and taking the credit. I didn't much mind- I had somethin' to do now, 't least. Keep me busy, keep me outta trouble.
Then one day the ol' man up and died, and somehow Connor decided to leave me in charge. That was a whopper, that one, but I'm not complaining none- got my place, now. Still have a room in the house, but I sleep in the garage most nights. I like hearing the noise o' the street and smellin' that sweet gasoline.
The siblings, they've up an' come in the world now. Dec's got his own gym- good enough to rival Connor's, I hear. Ada's a spy. It was funny to think of her sneaking and spying with all of 'em gobshites in monkeysuits when she was really such a sweetheart. Aoife had gone and joined the Antonellis, bless her. Scandal of the year, that was- Connor was so shocked I could swear he got a host of white hairs on his head that very evenin'!
The sibs took it fair well though, all things considered. Aoife still comes back once in a while fer a meal, or a tune-up to her bike. Now there's a beauty and no mistake. I don't care what you think- them Italians know their way 'round a beautiful machine. Things tend to get a bit tense 'round the dinner table when Aoife comes home though- don't think ol' Connor's quite got e'en with it yet.
He means well, does ol' Connor, but don't always know how to show it. Like with me, f'r instance. It's been a little awkward for him having me in the house, especially since I became a teenager and the issue of gender suddenly became all-important. No matter how many times I tried to explain to 'im that I didn't respond to he or she, he still wouldn't get it and insisted that I just pick one. And then, since he couldn't settle on which one to pick, he just ended up callin' me by a diff'ren' one each time.
Meanwhile, 'Mama Ro, meanin' well but equally confused, would always just correct him with whichever one he weren't usin'. It was quite funny, when you thought about it. Besides, they weren't the only ones confused on what people should be called. When I was little, I called Connor 'Da, 'cause he was the only one I knew, really. But now that felt awkward most days too, so I just took to callin' 'im Connor, or Sir when he was angry. Of course, once in a while he'd still hit the bottle and get all 'motional and say I was his girl (or boy, dependin' on the night). Though it was still awkward, it always made me smile to hear 'im say it, and I called 'im 'Da again.
'Mama Ro didn't much seem to care what I called her, 'long as I didn't give no lip, ate my vegetables and cleaned my plate. Sometimes I called her Aunt 'Ro, like Sean did when he came 'round. That Sean- he was sweet an' sunny an' eager to please. Not very bright, that one, but he was so nice. An' then recently we got Cian. Fresh off the boat an' scared of 'is own shadow, though if you left 'im alone with baking soda an' toothpaste he'd probably find a way to blow up the house.
We got along right off th' bat. I think 'cause we both had reasons ter be anxious, most o' the time, and we was both more comfortable tinkerin' aroun' than sittin' an' dealin' with people. He took t' comin' into the shop, most days, and just settin' himself up in a corner. Didn't bother me none, and pretty soon I'd set aside an area fer him to work in and he had a table an' a shelf and some boxes on the floor.
I didn't much know what he did with all them vials and liquids and powders, but ev'ry once in a while there'd be a small explosion- kinda like when I missed a twist on a gasket and flooded the engine before realizing. Cy was real apologetic about it, an' he'd always clean up afterwards. Lately, we'd fallen into a kind o' routine, where he showed up sometime in the afternoon, tall and lanky and gangly-lookin', his hair slicked back but startin' ter get messy.
He was the on'y one in the family who was anywhere close to as dirty as I was on a daily basis. Today, he walked in lookin' like a drowned rat from the rain goin' on outside, heavin' that big bag over his scrawny back, invitin' me to go through it. I had no idea where he wandered off to every mornin' ta find this stuff. At first, I hadn't much cared, but lately I'd been thinkin' o' askin' if I could go with one day.
I looked through the bag. Weren't much there, but I took the pieces all the same. It was real sweet of him to think a- me while he was out lookin' fer this stuff. I perched up on the roof o' the mustang- 'Da's old racer-, just sittin' and watchin' 'im work fer a while. Lately I was findin' it enjoyable to watch 'im work, bony shoulders hunched over, little nose wrinkled as he concentrated. I never used ter like havin' other people hangin' 'round the Clinic but, somehow with 'im, I didn't mind.
"Say," I began, tiltin' my head to the side as I looked at 'im. "You ever think we should spen' some time elsewhere?" He turned to look at me, confused. "Like, you know, other than the garage or the house," I elaborated. I kept my head tilted an' waited fer a response, wonderin' if he'd think I was bein' a spanner.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/zfQKDtc9/8a1f9f9e93b37cce54bd153c414a97fd-1.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Clinic
With: Cian[/div][/div][/div]
With: Cian[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
Last edited:
CoachA
you are. stealink... my nuts...
[div class=box][/div]
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/LkZv3Zv.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Ignorance kills. You should be dead by now."- Ada
[/div][/div][/div]
[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Ada O'Halloran[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "Riding Hood"[/div]
[div class=title]O'Halloran Spy Master[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "Riding Hood"[/div]
[div class=title]O'Halloran Spy Master[/div]
[div class=post]
Ada huffed as she opened her car door and stepped out into the rain, raising her notebook over her head to protect her already messy hair from the drops. She crossed the street and stepped through the entrance of The Gat, frustrated with her day thus far and in desperate need of some whiskey. Thankfully the bar wasn't busy and the lights were low enough to not show off her red face and tear stained cheeks. This day really could not get any worse.
She really loved Avery. The woman stole Ada's heart the moment they met and they had been inseparable since they started dating. Their relationship lasted the better part of three years. They had been perfect for eachother. Ada had been fully prepared to that woman, but it seemed that wouldn't work out now that certain truths had come to light.
At least that's what I thought. I'm such an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
Ada sniffed as she sat down at the bar, slapping her notebook down beside her and wrapping her coat tight around herself. She was too distraught to even think about looking over her notes from the past few days. Her chest was tight and it felt hard to breath. She felt cold from the fresh heartbreak, even though she was tightly bundled in one of her best coats.
She raised her head as Avi came by to ask what he could get her. The older man couldn't even get the question out before Ada was wiping tears from her face and shooting him a sad smile as she gave him her order. Normally she would save heaving drinking for home, but she simply couldn't deal with any questions from her family at that moment.
"Can I get your best bottle of Jameson? I've got some sorrows to drown."
Efrayim gave her a pitiful look but turned to grab her favorite whiskey from the shelf, opening the bottle and setting it in front of her. "Careful you don't have too much, people might think you have more emotions than you let on."
Ada's breath caught as he spoke and she choked on a sob, fresh tears rushing to her eyes and down her cheeks. She nodded in thanks to the bartender through blurred vision as he walked away. The emotion was overwhelming for a moment but eventually she calmed down enough to actually begin drinking. She took a couple large gulps to begin with, the familiar burn as the whiskey slid down her throat was a harsh comfort. No doubt she would burn through the bottle quickly.
I'm such an idiot.
[/div][/div]She really loved Avery. The woman stole Ada's heart the moment they met and they had been inseparable since they started dating. Their relationship lasted the better part of three years. They had been perfect for eachother. Ada had been fully prepared to that woman, but it seemed that wouldn't work out now that certain truths had come to light.
At least that's what I thought. I'm such an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
Ada sniffed as she sat down at the bar, slapping her notebook down beside her and wrapping her coat tight around herself. She was too distraught to even think about looking over her notes from the past few days. Her chest was tight and it felt hard to breath. She felt cold from the fresh heartbreak, even though she was tightly bundled in one of her best coats.
She raised her head as Avi came by to ask what he could get her. The older man couldn't even get the question out before Ada was wiping tears from her face and shooting him a sad smile as she gave him her order. Normally she would save heaving drinking for home, but she simply couldn't deal with any questions from her family at that moment.
"Can I get your best bottle of Jameson? I've got some sorrows to drown."
Efrayim gave her a pitiful look but turned to grab her favorite whiskey from the shelf, opening the bottle and setting it in front of her. "Careful you don't have too much, people might think you have more emotions than you let on."
Ada's breath caught as he spoke and she choked on a sob, fresh tears rushing to her eyes and down her cheeks. She nodded in thanks to the bartender through blurred vision as he walked away. The emotion was overwhelming for a moment but eventually she calmed down enough to actually begin drinking. She took a couple large gulps to begin with, the familiar burn as the whiskey slid down her throat was a harsh comfort. No doubt she would burn through the bottle quickly.
I'm such an idiot.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/mmK9si8.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Gatted Goy
With: Delilah Burnns
catburglar
[/div][/div][/div]
With: Delilah Burnns
catburglar
[/div][/div][/div][clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
CrowOuttaHell
Skull-Faced Writer
[div class=box][/div]
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/dsuaJj4.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"In a metaphorical deal with the devil, I much rather prefer being the devil."
- Lorenzo "The Dagger" Antonelli
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Lorenzo Antonelli[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Dagger"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the Antonellis[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Dagger"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the Antonellis[/div]
[div class=post]
If there was one thing Lorenzo Antonelli valued in his personal lifeβmore than luxury and, to a degree, loyaltyβit was routine. If one were to ask him, he would quite smoothly declare that he believed, at least on a surface level, in functionalism. And routine was a natural part of that.
So when he got an unexpected piece of news, right in the middle of his late breakfast and early lunch, there was already a wrench in his routine. Moreso the ensuing phone call with Dante Belmonte, who wasnβt all too happy about it either, his scheduled meeting with Boss OβHalloran, and the fact that he had to call some of his most trusted men to the Palazzo for a meeting about it.
βSo, one of your boys turned up dead βround the Wolfhound.β Dante hadnβt minced his words when he called. βCare to explain whatβs going on?β
βHeβs not mine, per se,β Enzo chose his own words carefully. βHeard it was just an associate. Was pretty close to getting made, had a sponsor and everything. I was hoping you knew more about it.β
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh that crackled over the speakers of his cellphone. βWell, it wasn't a clean kill from what the boys told me over at the station. The poor sap was beaten to death. One of the officers almost lost his lunch.β
βCould it have been someone trying to make an example...? People around these parts can get pretty fucked up.β Enzo put his free hand to his chin in thought. It couldnβt have beenβ¦?
βMaybe one of the OβHallorans did it.β Loathe as he was to even think of it, it was a possibility. Close-knit family as they were, there had to be a couple outliers to the family that had slipped under Connorβs radar, right? And even then, he knew some of the O'Hallorans could get handsy, especially with the fact that both the Boss and the Lieutenant ran gyms for a living.
Dante wasnβt nearly as receptive of the idea.
βYou really think one of the Irishmen did it? Enzo, your relationship with the βHallorans is no joke, especially with the Crimson Blossom moving aroundββ
ββI realize that, Dante,β He cut in, running a hand through his hair in building frustration. He really didnβt want to accuse the OβHallorans, especially with an annoying new group of Chinese thugs in town, but he couldnβt deny the possibility. βBut the guy was found outside their gym. Now, Iβm not about to go pointing fingers without any solid evidence, but I have a meeting with them in an hour and I donβt want to go in there blindββ
And then, the literal, walking and talking proof of the relationship between the two organizations made her entrance.
Not even Aoifeβs voiceβloud and rambunctious as it was managed to snap Lorenzo out of the phone call. He raised a single finger in response to her query, signalling her to be quiet for a bit. He could have sworn Dante himself could hear her over the phone.
βLook, canβt you get your boys to look into it?β
βWe already are, and Iβll let you know if anything suspicious comes up. But Enzo, you have to sort this out with the OβHallorans. We canβt afford to lose an ally over this.β
βThatβs all I need. Now, I need to have a word with some of my colleagues, if youβll excuse me.β
Lorenzo hung up shortly afterwards, letting out a deflated breath as he glanced over at where Aoife was loungingβevery bit the picture of leisure.
βHello, Aoife.β He greeted, his tone dryer than he intended. A quick sip from the small glass of wine resting just near him fixed that. βThatβs correct. Iβve called the others here as well, though weβll have to be brief. Weβre meeting the Bull in an hour.β
He paused, letting his thoughts wander briefly. βAoife,β He started. βYou still sometimes attend your familyβs meetings, yes? By chance, are there any outliers to the OβHalloran family, or are they all as close as your siblings?β
The upcoming meeting would certainly be easier if, on the chance that it was one of the OβHallorans, it was an outlier and not one of Connorβs own flesh and blood. If it was, howeverβ¦Lorenzo didnβt like to think of that.
[/div][/div]So when he got an unexpected piece of news, right in the middle of his late breakfast and early lunch, there was already a wrench in his routine. Moreso the ensuing phone call with Dante Belmonte, who wasnβt all too happy about it either, his scheduled meeting with Boss OβHalloran, and the fact that he had to call some of his most trusted men to the Palazzo for a meeting about it.
βSo, one of your boys turned up dead βround the Wolfhound.β Dante hadnβt minced his words when he called. βCare to explain whatβs going on?β
βHeβs not mine, per se,β Enzo chose his own words carefully. βHeard it was just an associate. Was pretty close to getting made, had a sponsor and everything. I was hoping you knew more about it.β
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh that crackled over the speakers of his cellphone. βWell, it wasn't a clean kill from what the boys told me over at the station. The poor sap was beaten to death. One of the officers almost lost his lunch.β
βCould it have been someone trying to make an example...? People around these parts can get pretty fucked up.β Enzo put his free hand to his chin in thought. It couldnβt have beenβ¦?
βMaybe one of the OβHallorans did it.β Loathe as he was to even think of it, it was a possibility. Close-knit family as they were, there had to be a couple outliers to the family that had slipped under Connorβs radar, right? And even then, he knew some of the O'Hallorans could get handsy, especially with the fact that both the Boss and the Lieutenant ran gyms for a living.
Dante wasnβt nearly as receptive of the idea.
βYou really think one of the Irishmen did it? Enzo, your relationship with the βHallorans is no joke, especially with the Crimson Blossom moving aroundββ
ββI realize that, Dante,β He cut in, running a hand through his hair in building frustration. He really didnβt want to accuse the OβHallorans, especially with an annoying new group of Chinese thugs in town, but he couldnβt deny the possibility. βBut the guy was found outside their gym. Now, Iβm not about to go pointing fingers without any solid evidence, but I have a meeting with them in an hour and I donβt want to go in there blindββ
And then, the literal, walking and talking proof of the relationship between the two organizations made her entrance.
Not even Aoifeβs voiceβloud and rambunctious as it was managed to snap Lorenzo out of the phone call. He raised a single finger in response to her query, signalling her to be quiet for a bit. He could have sworn Dante himself could hear her over the phone.
βLook, canβt you get your boys to look into it?β
βWe already are, and Iβll let you know if anything suspicious comes up. But Enzo, you have to sort this out with the OβHallorans. We canβt afford to lose an ally over this.β
βThatβs all I need. Now, I need to have a word with some of my colleagues, if youβll excuse me.β
Lorenzo hung up shortly afterwards, letting out a deflated breath as he glanced over at where Aoife was loungingβevery bit the picture of leisure.
βHello, Aoife.β He greeted, his tone dryer than he intended. A quick sip from the small glass of wine resting just near him fixed that. βThatβs correct. Iβve called the others here as well, though weβll have to be brief. Weβre meeting the Bull in an hour.β
He paused, letting his thoughts wander briefly. βAoife,β He started. βYou still sometimes attend your familyβs meetings, yes? By chance, are there any outliers to the OβHalloran family, or are they all as close as your siblings?β
The upcoming meeting would certainly be easier if, on the chance that it was one of the OβHallorans, it was an outlier and not one of Connorβs own flesh and blood. If it was, howeverβ¦Lorenzo didnβt like to think of that.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/LkBVVuc.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Antonelli Palazzo
With: Aoife[/div][/div][/div]
With: Aoife[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
Last edited:
Jaellagirl
I am an angel with devil horns
[div class=box][/div]
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5DVkywsOReeQcj7HMC01-l4wPG7CvyQhVOZyvpJFHxEvjpSRV&s);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Don't go digging inside a rose bush! It has thorns"
- Maria
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]ΠΠ°ΡΠΈΡ Π‘Π½Π΅Π³Π° [/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tundra Rose"[/div]
[div class=title]Secretary of Iron Tundra[/div]
[div class=post]
It took mere seconds for Nikolai to get down. Well I guess the elevators are pretty fast. He nodded me while passing by and went straight to his guest. I marked down the visit leaving the final space free. When he passed by me again he flashed me one of his cheeky smiles. The always got me and made me feel warm inside but now back to work. I needed to get all the stuff in order before I could commit to dealing with the paperwork truly. Sorting the papers into piles. The business, the people, Russian and private. A word also reached me that boss had summoned someone so another log entry but this time into the "Boss book". I jumped a bit in my chair when one of the men in mafia greeted me. He came of a bit harsh for me but what can I expect I am still only a secretary. I do not compare to the enforcers like this one. Crazy Al
"Good afternoon Mr. Albrecht! How can I be of service?"
He started off a bit sly but got to the point fast. A man with a purpose at least but something else also seemed to be in his mind as his hands seemed as if they were about to crab something. I didn't like the sound of those words. Why would I ever like the sound of those words "Crimson blossom". They always sound like a curse or evil itself. I even flinched every time some unfortunate soul said them.
"I'm afraid I do not know anything about it. I'm just a secretary at the front desk. You can come back later when Boss or Nicky are free but for now I am afraid you will have to wait."
I flashed the man a small smile and started sorting the papers once more. I've heard that the "once who shall not be named" are throwing up a ruckus with every possible mob in town. I hope everything will be solved fast cause I do not wish to be in the middle of a turf war.
[/div][/div]"Good afternoon Mr. Albrecht! How can I be of service?"
He started off a bit sly but got to the point fast. A man with a purpose at least but something else also seemed to be in his mind as his hands seemed as if they were about to crab something. I didn't like the sound of those words. Why would I ever like the sound of those words "Crimson blossom". They always sound like a curse or evil itself. I even flinched every time some unfortunate soul said them.
"I'm afraid I do not know anything about it. I'm just a secretary at the front desk. You can come back later when Boss or Nicky are free but for now I am afraid you will have to wait."
I flashed the man a small smile and started sorting the papers once more. I've heard that the "once who shall not be named" are throwing up a ruckus with every possible mob in town. I hope everything will be solved fast cause I do not wish to be in the middle of a turf war.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR5DVkywsOReeQcj7HMC01-l4wPG7CvyQhVOZyvpJFHxEvjpSRV&s);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: The Iron Tundra Main Office
With: Al
CrowOuttaHell
Nikolai
CoachA
[/div][/div][/div]
With: Al
CrowOuttaHell
Nikolai
CoachA
[/div][/div][/div][clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
It took mere seconds for Nikolai to get down. Well I guess the elevators are pretty fast. He nodded me while passing by and went straight to his guest. I marked down the visit leaving the final space free. When he passed by me again he flashed me one of his cheeky smiles. The always got me and made me feel warm inside but now back to work. I needed to get all the stuff in order before I could commit to dealing with the paperwork truly. Sorting the papers into piles. The business, the people, Russian and private. A word also reached me that boss had summoned someone so another log entry but this time into the "Boss book". I jumped a bit in my chair when one of the men in mafia greeted me. He came of a bit harsh for me but what can I expect I am still only a secretary. I do not compare to the enforcers like this one. Crazy Al
"Good afternoon Mr. Albrecht! How can I be of service?"
He started off a bit sly but got to the point fast. A man with a purpose at least but something else also seemed to be in his mind as his hands seemed as if they were about to crab something. I didn't like the sound of those words. Why would I ever like the sound of those words "Crimson blossom". They always sound like a curse or evil itself. I even flinched every time some unfortunate soul said them.
"I'm afraid I do not know anything about it. I'm just a secretary at the front desk. You can come back later when Boss or Nicky are free but for now I am afraid you will have to wait."
I flashed the man a small smile and started sorting the papers once more. I've heard that the "once who shall not be named" are throwing up a ruckus with every possible mob in town. I hope everything will be solved fast cause I do not wish to be in the middle of a turf war.
"Good afternoon Mr. Albrecht! How can I be of service?"
He started off a bit sly but got to the point fast. A man with a purpose at least but something else also seemed to be in his mind as his hands seemed as if they were about to crab something. I didn't like the sound of those words. Why would I ever like the sound of those words "Crimson blossom". They always sound like a curse or evil itself. I even flinched every time some unfortunate soul said them.
"I'm afraid I do not know anything about it. I'm just a secretary at the front desk. You can come back later when Boss or Nicky are free but for now I am afraid you will have to wait."
I flashed the man a small smile and started sorting the papers once more. I've heard that the "once who shall not be named" are throwing up a ruckus with every possible mob in town. I hope everything will be solved fast cause I do not wish to be in the middle of a turf war.
Pysren
Iβm not crazy... I swear.
[div class=box][/div]
[class=box] margin: auto; width: 1000px; height: 525px; border: 4px groove #000000; background: url(https://i.postimg.cc/1XvJmX5L/NLywaW.jpg); [/class] [class=img] margin-top: 19px; width: 200px; height: 480px; border: 4px groove #000000; filter: grayscale(50%); opacity: 0.8; [/class] [class=info] width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 0; display: flex; flex-flow: column no wrap; justify-content: center; align-content: center; [/class] [class=hover] opacity: 1; [/class] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseenter] (addClass "hover" "info") [/script] [script class=info version=2 on=mouseleave] (removeClass "hover" "info") [/script] [class=text] margin: auto; display: inline-block; font-size: 18px; color: #2f2d2d; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=main] margin-top: 19px; margin-left: -50px; width: 500px; height: 480px; [/class] [class=ID] width: 500px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); [/class] [class=name] display: inline-block; font-size: 30px; font-weight: bold; color: #2f2d2d; [/class] [class name=name state=hover] text-decoration: underline; text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #717070; [/class] [class=alias] display: inline-block; font-size: 25px; font-style: italic; color: #515151; [/class] [class=title] display: inline-block; font-size: 20px; color: #a1a1a1; [/class] [class=post] margin-top: -5px; width: 500px; height: 320px; border: 4px groove #000000; background-color: rgba(241, 241, 241, 0.8); font-size: 15px; color: #515151; overflow: hidden; [/class]
Location: Iron Tundra HQ - CEO's Office
With: Alyenka
Even though the well aged man had his own place to call home, he was almost always at the Headquarters. Some had even wondered if the man had slept there. Though they would never ask him outright. The days he was away, he had his cousin Alexei man the shop, to take orders for him and sell merchandise. Lately the days have been filled with disturbing rumors, one of which happen to involve the Iron Tundra. When he first heard it, he immediately rolled his eyes and literally walked away. He didn't believe any of it not one bit. Who was stupid enough to even think about doing what they supposedly claim the Iron Tundra did? It makes absolutely no sense especially since they were prospering and well on their way to taking a real estate deal. But than gain no one understood logic. Not in this city.
Sacha sighed as he looked out the giant window looking over the city below. He didn't exactly have an office but he had room with an secret adjoining room that never made it into the floor plan. He'd take his Iron Tundra orders here at the office, and others at his shop. It's always best to keep the businesses separated. He didn't tolerate mixing them. For one, it could caused problems. Sacha grabbed his short and stocky glass, better known as a whiskey glass, that was filled with gin and three ice cubes and placed it to his lips for a drink.
As he sat there drinking and gazing out the window he couldn't help but feel somber. It had to be how dreary the city seemed. With it's dark gray clouds casting a gray light over the city with the help of the light down pour that seemed to be happening and hitting his window. And as if that wasn't enough there was even a bit of fog out there to his disliking. Before his thoughts could become just as depressing as his mood his phone rang. He swiveled his chair around from the window to his desk. He swiftly placed his glass of gin on a coaster and picked up the phone. He was to be summoned to the CEO office right away. "I'll be there." He said shortly in reply and hung up the phone.
The Russian man had earned himself a well placed position in the Iron Tundra Hierarchy. He even had his own little title that was becoming. Sacha "The Tailor" Vasiliev. It sounded mysterious yet obvious at what he did. While he made many suits for the Iron Tundra, the one who valued his work more and thus ordered more suits than the rest was none other than Alyenka Karmazin, the CEO herself. Followed by Nicholai Milkovich. With the many orders Alyenka made and how much time he spent in her office, there were bound to be rumors. And of course the rumors were on the down low, but he caught wind of it. A rumor that Sacha and Alyenka were a thing, or at the very least flirting around seriously. He never chased the rumour down and squashed it, whether it was true or not. Rather, he just let it be. It wasn't worth his time. Sacha picked up his glass and finished off his gin before leaving his room and heading promptly to the elevator to go to the upper floor reserved for the high ups. Once he stepped off the elevator he made his way infront of Alyenka's office.
Sacha knocked on the door in an unobtrusive way but professional at the same time. Once she gave him the cue to come in, he opened the door and walked in. He shut the door behind him without turning his eyes from Alyenka. She by her desk offering him a friendly smile few have seen. Mostly because whenever she smiles, it's always business related. When she's satisfied a deal has gone her way, or she heard good news. It was a practiced smile, that never gave anything away. She was wearing the latest suit that he made her, and it made her look wonderful and garnered every bit of her business-like aura.
He gave a soft smile that was slightly higher on one side, but yet not a crooked smile. He took out the blue Hydrangea he had in the tiny pocket on his suit jacket and held it out as he closed the distance between he and Alyenka. Leaving just enough space between so he wouldn't invade her space and showed her respect. Over time she had become to trust him, and he her. He started to wonder why she called him up here, could it be because of the rumors? A new suit? Something that needed to be fixed? Or could it possibly be... she just wanted to confide in him for something completely unrelated to rumors or a suit?
"Ah, looking as beautiful as a Swan with the air of a Siberian Tigress." It wasn't uncommon for him to flirt or compliment her, it was just in his nature to be flirty. "What is it you will have me, Alyenka?" Whenever he was around others he would simply call her Boss or something similar.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/NXpekCs.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Life is not a bed of roses. ΠΡΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Ρ - ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅ ΠΈΠ· ΡΠΎΠ·."
- Unknown
[/div][/div][/div][div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
Even though the well aged man had his own place to call home, he was almost always at the Headquarters. Some had even wondered if the man had slept there. Though they would never ask him outright. The days he was away, he had his cousin Alexei man the shop, to take orders for him and sell merchandise. Lately the days have been filled with disturbing rumors, one of which happen to involve the Iron Tundra. When he first heard it, he immediately rolled his eyes and literally walked away. He didn't believe any of it not one bit. Who was stupid enough to even think about doing what they supposedly claim the Iron Tundra did? It makes absolutely no sense especially since they were prospering and well on their way to taking a real estate deal. But than gain no one understood logic. Not in this city.
Sacha sighed as he looked out the giant window looking over the city below. He didn't exactly have an office but he had room with an secret adjoining room that never made it into the floor plan. He'd take his Iron Tundra orders here at the office, and others at his shop. It's always best to keep the businesses separated. He didn't tolerate mixing them. For one, it could caused problems. Sacha grabbed his short and stocky glass, better known as a whiskey glass, that was filled with gin and three ice cubes and placed it to his lips for a drink.
As he sat there drinking and gazing out the window he couldn't help but feel somber. It had to be how dreary the city seemed. With it's dark gray clouds casting a gray light over the city with the help of the light down pour that seemed to be happening and hitting his window. And as if that wasn't enough there was even a bit of fog out there to his disliking. Before his thoughts could become just as depressing as his mood his phone rang. He swiveled his chair around from the window to his desk. He swiftly placed his glass of gin on a coaster and picked up the phone. He was to be summoned to the CEO office right away. "I'll be there." He said shortly in reply and hung up the phone.
The Russian man had earned himself a well placed position in the Iron Tundra Hierarchy. He even had his own little title that was becoming. Sacha "The Tailor" Vasiliev. It sounded mysterious yet obvious at what he did. While he made many suits for the Iron Tundra, the one who valued his work more and thus ordered more suits than the rest was none other than Alyenka Karmazin, the CEO herself. Followed by Nicholai Milkovich. With the many orders Alyenka made and how much time he spent in her office, there were bound to be rumors. And of course the rumors were on the down low, but he caught wind of it. A rumor that Sacha and Alyenka were a thing, or at the very least flirting around seriously. He never chased the rumour down and squashed it, whether it was true or not. Rather, he just let it be. It wasn't worth his time. Sacha picked up his glass and finished off his gin before leaving his room and heading promptly to the elevator to go to the upper floor reserved for the high ups. Once he stepped off the elevator he made his way infront of Alyenka's office.
Sacha knocked on the door in an unobtrusive way but professional at the same time. Once she gave him the cue to come in, he opened the door and walked in. He shut the door behind him without turning his eyes from Alyenka. She by her desk offering him a friendly smile few have seen. Mostly because whenever she smiles, it's always business related. When she's satisfied a deal has gone her way, or she heard good news. It was a practiced smile, that never gave anything away. She was wearing the latest suit that he made her, and it made her look wonderful and garnered every bit of her buisiness-like aura.
He gave a soft smile that was slightly higher on one side, but yet not a crooked smile. He took out the blue Hydrangea he had in the tiny pocket on his suit jacket and held it out as he closed the distance between he and Alyenka. Leaving just enough space between so he wouldn't invade her space and showed her respect. Over time she had become to trust him, and he her. He started to wonder why she called him up here, could it be because of the rumors? A new suit? Something that needed to be fixed? Or could it possibly be... she just wanted to confide in him for something completely unrelated to rumors or a suit?
"Ah, looking as beautiful as a Swan with the air of a Siberian Tigress." It wasn't uncommon for him to flirt or compliment her, it was just in his nature to be flirty. "What is it you will have me, Alyenka?" Whenever he was around others he would simply call her Boss or something similar.
[/div][/div]
[div class=name]Π‘Π°ΡΠ° ΠΠ°ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ΅Π²[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tailor"[/div]
[div class=title]Tailor and Weapons' Cache[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Tailor"[/div]
[div class=title]Tailor and Weapons' Cache[/div]
[div class=post]
Even though the well aged man had his own place to call home, he was almost always at the Headquarters. Some had even wondered if the man had slept there. Though they would never ask him outright. The days he was away, he had his cousin Alexei man the shop, to take orders for him and sell merchandise. Lately the days have been filled with disturbing rumors, one of which happen to involve the Iron Tundra. When he first heard it, he immediately rolled his eyes and literally walked away. He didn't believe any of it not one bit. Who was stupid enough to even think about doing what they supposedly claim the Iron Tundra did? It makes absolutely no sense especially since they were prospering and well on their way to taking a real estate deal. But than gain no one understood logic. Not in this city.
Sacha sighed as he looked out the giant window looking over the city below. He didn't exactly have an office but he had room with an secret adjoining room that never made it into the floor plan. He'd take his Iron Tundra orders here at the office, and others at his shop. It's always best to keep the businesses separated. He didn't tolerate mixing them. For one, it could caused problems. Sacha grabbed his short and stocky glass, better known as a whiskey glass, that was filled with gin and three ice cubes and placed it to his lips for a drink.
As he sat there drinking and gazing out the window he couldn't help but feel somber. It had to be how dreary the city seemed. With it's dark gray clouds casting a gray light over the city with the help of the light down pour that seemed to be happening and hitting his window. And as if that wasn't enough there was even a bit of fog out there to his disliking. Before his thoughts could become just as depressing as his mood his phone rang. He swiveled his chair around from the window to his desk. He swiftly placed his glass of gin on a coaster and picked up the phone. He was to be summoned to the CEO office right away. "I'll be there." He said shortly in reply and hung up the phone.
The Russian man had earned himself a well placed position in the Iron Tundra Hierarchy. He even had his own little title that was becoming. Sacha "The Tailor" Vasiliev. It sounded mysterious yet obvious at what he did. While he made many suits for the Iron Tundra, the one who valued his work more and thus ordered more suits than the rest was none other than Alyenka Karmazin, the CEO herself. Followed by Nicholai Milkovich. With the many orders Alyenka made and how much time he spent in her office, there were bound to be rumors. And of course the rumors were on the down low, but he caught wind of it. A rumor that Sacha and Alyenka were a thing, or at the very least flirting around seriously. He never chased the rumour down and squashed it, whether it was true or not. Rather, he just let it be. It wasn't worth his time. Sacha picked up his glass and finished off his gin before leaving his room and heading promptly to the elevator to go to the upper floor reserved for the high ups. Once he stepped off the elevator he made his way infront of Alyenka's office.
Sacha knocked on the door in an unobtrusive way but professional at the same time. Once she gave him the cue to come in, he opened the door and walked in. He shut the door behind him without turning his eyes from Alyenka. She by her desk offering him a friendly smile few have seen. Mostly because whenever she smiles, it's always business related. When she's satisfied a deal has gone her way, or she heard good news. It was a practiced smile, that never gave anything away. She was wearing the latest suit that he made her, and it made her look wonderful and garnered every bit of her buisiness-like aura.
He gave a soft smile that was slightly higher on one side, but yet not a crooked smile. He took out the blue Hydrangea he had in the tiny pocket on his suit jacket and held it out as he closed the distance between he and Alyenka. Leaving just enough space between so he wouldn't invade her space and showed her respect. Over time she had become to trust him, and he her. He started to wonder why she called him up here, could it be because of the rumors? A new suit? Something that needed to be fixed? Or could it possibly be... she just wanted to confide in him for something completely unrelated to rumors or a suit?
"Ah, looking as beautiful as a Swan with the air of a Siberian Tigress." It wasn't uncommon for him to flirt or compliment her, it was just in his nature to be flirty. "What is it you will have me, Alyenka?" Whenever he was around others he would simply call her Boss or something similar.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/Sz4Nj7N.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Iron Tundra HQ - CEO's Office
With: Alyenka
Ayama
[/div][/div][/div]
With: Alyenka
Ayama
[/div][/div][/div][clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
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Location: Iron Tundra HQ - CEO's Office
With: Alyenka
Even though the well aged man had his own place to call home, he was almost always at the Headquarters. Some had even wondered if the man had slept there. Though they would never ask him outright. The days he was away, he had his cousin Alexei man the shop, to take orders for him and sell merchandise. Lately the days have been filled with disturbing rumors, one of which happen to involve the Iron Tundra. When he first heard it, he immediately rolled his eyes and literally walked away. He didn't believe any of it not one bit. Who was stupid enough to even think about doing what they supposedly claim the Iron Tundra did? It makes absolutely no sense especially since they were prospering and well on their way to taking a real estate deal. But than gain no one understood logic. Not in this city.
Sacha sighed as he looked out the giant window looking over the city below. He didn't exactly have an office but he had room with an secret adjoining room that never made it into the floor plan. He'd take his Iron Tundra orders here at the office, and others at his shop. It's always best to keep the businesses separated. He didn't tolerate mixing them. For one, it could caused problems. Sacha grabbed his short and stocky glass, better known as a whiskey glass, that was filled with gin and three ice cubes and placed it to his lips for a drink.
As he sat there drinking and gazing out the window he couldn't help but feel somber. It had to be how dreary the city seemed. With it's dark gray clouds casting a gray light over the city with the help of the light down pour that seemed to be happening and hitting his window. And as if that wasn't enough there was even a bit of fog out there to his disliking. Before his thoughts could become just as depressing as his mood his phone rang. He swiveled his chair around from the window to his desk. He swiftly placed his glass of gin on a coaster and picked up the phone. He was to be summoned to the CEO office right away. "I'll be there." He said shortly in reply and hung up the phone.
The Russian man had earned himself a well placed position in the Iron Tundra Hierarchy. He even had his own little title that was becoming. Sacha "The Tailor" Vasiliev. It sounded mysterious yet obvious at what he did. While he made many suits for the Iron Tundra, the one who valued his work more and thus ordered more suits than the rest was none other than Alyenka Karmazin, the CEO herself. Followed by Nicholai Milkovich. With the many orders Alyenka made and how much time he spent in her office, there were bound to be rumors. And of course the rumors were on the down low, but he caught wind of it. A rumor that Sacha and Alyenka were a thing, or at the very least flirting around seriously. He never chased the rumour down and squashed it, whether it was true or not. Rather, he just let it be. It wasn't worth his time. Sacha picked up his glass and finished off his gin before leaving his room and heading promptly to the elevator to go to the upper floor reserved for the high ups. Once he stepped off the elevator he made his way infront of Alyenka's office.
Sacha knocked on the door in an unobtrusive way but professional at the same time. Once she gave him the cue to come in, he opened the door and walked in. He shut the door behind him without turning his eyes from Alyenka. She by her desk offering him a friendly smile few have seen. Mostly because whenever she smiles, it's always business related. When she's satisfied a deal has gone her way, or she heard good news. It was a practiced smile, that never gave anything away. She was wearing the latest suit that he made her, and it made her look wonderful and garnered every bit of her business-like aura.
He gave a soft smile that was slightly higher on one side, but yet not a crooked smile. He took out the blue Hydrangea he had in the tiny pocket on his suit jacket and held it out as he closed the distance between he and Alyenka. Leaving just enough space between so he wouldn't invade her space and showed her respect. Over time she had become to trust him, and he her. He started to wonder why she called him up here, could it be because of the rumors? A new suit? Something that needed to be fixed? Or could it possibly be... she just wanted to confide in him for something completely unrelated to rumors or a suit?
"Ah, looking as beautiful as a Swan with the air of a Siberian Tigress." It wasn't uncommon for him to flirt or compliment her, it was just in his nature to be flirty. "What is it you will have me, Alyenka?" Whenever he was around others he would simply call her Boss or something similar.
Last edited:
Ayama
Enthusiast
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/8zfCpfpy/s4.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Don't be an idiot-
Stay out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
Stay out of my way."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Zhang Kang-Jian[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bear"[/div]
[div class=title]Police Detective[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bear"[/div]
[div class=title]Police Detective[/div]
[div class=post]
When Nicholai walked up to him, perfect as ever in his expensive tailored suit, Jian grinned wide and stood to meet him, closing the distance between them with a few easy strides. Nicholai smiled back at him, the expression lovely to behold.
The young man shook his hand firmly, welcoming him. When he said it was nice to see him again, despite the circumstances, and that he hoped he had been well, Jian absolutely believed him. When he commented that they only saw each other when something was wrong, he chuckled.
Of course, they would only see each other when something was wrong. What other reason could a mafia lieutenant and a detective have for spending time together?
As Nicholai suggested they should meet in his office, and turned to lead the way, however, Jian thought about it a bit more- the implications of his words. Nicholai smiled at the front desk receptionist in passing, making her blush. Not to be outdone, Jian flashed a grin of his own, with less impressive results- she seemed to be intimidated by him.
He sighed as he followed Nicholai into the elevator- he was quite used to such reactions. After all, a big guy like him with a beard and hint of a tattoo peeking out at his neck wasn't likely to get a smile from pretty girls the way a beautiful young man like Nicholai would. Thinking back to the look in her eyes when he'd first walked in, in fact, there was a look of actual fear he couldn't quite explain. Perhaps she was afraid of cops? That couldn't have been it though, since she hadn't known he was one until he introduced himself. Most peculiar.
On the ride up, standing by Nicholai's side, he reflected again on the young man's words. Though it was quite possible he was simply projecting his hopes onto what he'd said, it seemed to him that the Tundra lieutenant enjoyed his company quite as much as he did his, and, if he wasn't being too conceited, perhaps hoped to see him more often- socially, that is, instead of under professional requirement. Jian didn't know whether it was an opening or simply a slip-up on his part, but he was delighted either way.
He grinned to himself as they stepped out of the elevator and into a large and very impressive office, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a stunning view. The group had done quite well for itself, and Jian suspected that the only larger office in the building would belong to the famed Alyenka Karmazin, who ruled this outfit with an iron fist (pun intended).
Nicholai suggested that he take a seat while he got him a glass of water, his manner impeccable as always. When he returned and handed it to him (in a crystal flute, of all things), Jian downed it quickly and set it down as the lieutenant settled himself behind his desk, a serious expression returning to his face. It was time to do his job.
"The state of things," he began, "as I'm sure you're aware of, is currently quite alarming. Aside from the trouble going on with the other groups, what brings me here today is the persistent and serious rumor that's been going around that the Tundra is dealing in Crimson Blossom territory. Now," he continued, holding up a hand, "I don't believe for a second that Tundra leadership is involved in this," he reassured him. Nicholai seemed to relax somewhat at the confident tone and the trust Jian was expressing. "However, that doesn't change the facts. Someone is still dealing on Blossom turf and, unless I find them fast, blood will run in the streets."
He paused for a second, looking directly into the young man's eyes.
"I need to know everything you know," he said. "Help me stop this, before things get out of hand."
[/div][/div]The young man shook his hand firmly, welcoming him. When he said it was nice to see him again, despite the circumstances, and that he hoped he had been well, Jian absolutely believed him. When he commented that they only saw each other when something was wrong, he chuckled.
Of course, they would only see each other when something was wrong. What other reason could a mafia lieutenant and a detective have for spending time together?
As Nicholai suggested they should meet in his office, and turned to lead the way, however, Jian thought about it a bit more- the implications of his words. Nicholai smiled at the front desk receptionist in passing, making her blush. Not to be outdone, Jian flashed a grin of his own, with less impressive results- she seemed to be intimidated by him.
He sighed as he followed Nicholai into the elevator- he was quite used to such reactions. After all, a big guy like him with a beard and hint of a tattoo peeking out at his neck wasn't likely to get a smile from pretty girls the way a beautiful young man like Nicholai would. Thinking back to the look in her eyes when he'd first walked in, in fact, there was a look of actual fear he couldn't quite explain. Perhaps she was afraid of cops? That couldn't have been it though, since she hadn't known he was one until he introduced himself. Most peculiar.
On the ride up, standing by Nicholai's side, he reflected again on the young man's words. Though it was quite possible he was simply projecting his hopes onto what he'd said, it seemed to him that the Tundra lieutenant enjoyed his company quite as much as he did his, and, if he wasn't being too conceited, perhaps hoped to see him more often- socially, that is, instead of under professional requirement. Jian didn't know whether it was an opening or simply a slip-up on his part, but he was delighted either way.
He grinned to himself as they stepped out of the elevator and into a large and very impressive office, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a stunning view. The group had done quite well for itself, and Jian suspected that the only larger office in the building would belong to the famed Alyenka Karmazin, who ruled this outfit with an iron fist (pun intended).
Nicholai suggested that he take a seat while he got him a glass of water, his manner impeccable as always. When he returned and handed it to him (in a crystal flute, of all things), Jian downed it quickly and set it down as the lieutenant settled himself behind his desk, a serious expression returning to his face. It was time to do his job.
"The state of things," he began, "as I'm sure you're aware of, is currently quite alarming. Aside from the trouble going on with the other groups, what brings me here today is the persistent and serious rumor that's been going around that the Tundra is dealing in Crimson Blossom territory. Now," he continued, holding up a hand, "I don't believe for a second that Tundra leadership is involved in this," he reassured him. Nicholai seemed to relax somewhat at the confident tone and the trust Jian was expressing. "However, that doesn't change the facts. Someone is still dealing on Blossom turf and, unless I find them fast, blood will run in the streets."
He paused for a second, looking directly into the young man's eyes.
"I need to know everything you know," he said. "Help me stop this, before things get out of hand."
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/65yWc4v9/s2.png);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Iron Tundra HQ
With: Nicholai[/div][/div][/div]
With: Nicholai[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
{coded by Ayama}
{coded by Ayama}
Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
Martin Klint, Police Officer, Serial Killer
"Of course, I would get foot patrol during a rainy day." I mutter as my legs carried me across these nearly desolate streets. The head pig himself only wants me out in the city, not to catch criminals but to waste my time! He knows I'm not in the gangs' pockets so he sticks me on some dead beats. Thankfully, he buys into my facade of being a mediocre cop which keeps me safe from him telling the Antonellis or some of the other venomous bastards to get rid of me.
That slimy, scum makes my blood boil, even more so when I think about how he has the city fooled into thinking how nice of a man he is, then again people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Well I can't say I've been kind to him either, tormenting him and the other piggies when I BUTCHER their accomplices.
"Oi, Klint!" The voice of an elderly man called my name. I turned my head towards the source of the voice, an old man who knew me because of the frequent patrols I run in this neighborhood. It seemed as he was just about to enter his apartment. "Da Chief's got ya running the streets atta tiem like this?" He folded his umbrella. "I don't mind it, Mr. Patrick" Voice was raspier than usual, a quick cough cleared it up. " Bah, look at ya, coughin' already! To 'ell with what da Chief says! Yer cap's already wetter than rat in a sewer." My smokes have more to do with the cough than the weather. I thought. " Thanks for the concern, Mr. Patrick but it is my duty to keep the streets clean and besides, my beat is almost over." The old man formed a smile on his face. " Wish we had more of ya in this crazy city" One of me is enough to cleanse this vermin-infested city... And I'm not talking about the rats or the mice. I merely smiled back and nodded. The kind old man turned around and disappeared into his apartment. I continued patrolling my beat, even if it is deader than a certain Antonelli runner.
Eventually I returned to the police station, stood outside it to... soak in the rain. In a way, I pity most of my colleagues as they were practically set up to be corrupted from the start. Cruddy pay, lousy work conditions, no benefits --- It is no wonder one turns to the underworld, the gangs have a better dental plan than the cops. Which is also why I leave them alone except of course, if one or two was to pose a threat to my hobby.
I shake my head and began walking up the stairs into the police station, Who nicknamed the station, the Pigsty anyway? It was acutely named though. I push open the two front doors, to be greeted by my fellow officers bustling about. As I walk in, my police coat dripped some water onto the floor. Noah "Snake-eyes" Lansky clumsily bumped into me, the lanky guy took a few steps back while my reflexives hardened my muscles. I was afraid the poor guy would fall.
"Woah! Sorry, Lansky." I apologize. Lansky grunted. " N-no worries, Clint but the least you could do was take off your coat." I remove my cap. " Next time, we are at the Gatted, I'll buy you a beer." We shook hands. " Deal, Clint" Then he walks off.
I throw a look at the receptionist to inform them of my return from the beat then I strolled off to the Pigsty's locker room with my coat still dripping water. My locker really didn't hold much: A picture of my dad and Fluff who is my Samoyed pup, spare clothes, a pack of Raptor cigarettes. Just wish Belmonte didn't stick me with a rusty locker, thing makes so much goddamn noises when I open it. I threw in my wet coat and cap.
Alias: The Culler
Location: Pigsty's locker room
With: None, lol
Tags: Who gives a sh!t?
Location: Pigsty's locker room
With: None, lol
Tags: Who gives a sh!t?
That slimy, scum makes my blood boil, even more so when I think about how he has the city fooled into thinking how nice of a man he is, then again people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Well I can't say I've been kind to him either, tormenting him and the other piggies when I BUTCHER their accomplices.
"Oi, Klint!" The voice of an elderly man called my name. I turned my head towards the source of the voice, an old man who knew me because of the frequent patrols I run in this neighborhood. It seemed as he was just about to enter his apartment. "Da Chief's got ya running the streets atta tiem like this?" He folded his umbrella. "I don't mind it, Mr. Patrick" Voice was raspier than usual, a quick cough cleared it up. " Bah, look at ya, coughin' already! To 'ell with what da Chief says! Yer cap's already wetter than rat in a sewer." My smokes have more to do with the cough than the weather. I thought. " Thanks for the concern, Mr. Patrick but it is my duty to keep the streets clean and besides, my beat is almost over." The old man formed a smile on his face. " Wish we had more of ya in this crazy city" One of me is enough to cleanse this vermin-infested city... And I'm not talking about the rats or the mice. I merely smiled back and nodded. The kind old man turned around and disappeared into his apartment. I continued patrolling my beat, even if it is deader than a certain Antonelli runner.
Eventually I returned to the police station, stood outside it to... soak in the rain. In a way, I pity most of my colleagues as they were practically set up to be corrupted from the start. Cruddy pay, lousy work conditions, no benefits --- It is no wonder one turns to the underworld, the gangs have a better dental plan than the cops. Which is also why I leave them alone except of course, if one or two was to pose a threat to my hobby.
I shake my head and began walking up the stairs into the police station, Who nicknamed the station, the Pigsty anyway? It was acutely named though. I push open the two front doors, to be greeted by my fellow officers bustling about. As I walk in, my police coat dripped some water onto the floor. Noah "Snake-eyes" Lansky clumsily bumped into me, the lanky guy took a few steps back while my reflexives hardened my muscles. I was afraid the poor guy would fall.
"Woah! Sorry, Lansky." I apologize. Lansky grunted. " N-no worries, Clint but the least you could do was take off your coat." I remove my cap. " Next time, we are at the Gatted, I'll buy you a beer." We shook hands. " Deal, Clint" Then he walks off.
I throw a look at the receptionist to inform them of my return from the beat then I strolled off to the Pigsty's locker room with my coat still dripping water. My locker really didn't hold much: A picture of my dad and Fluff who is my Samoyed pup, spare clothes, a pack of Raptor cigarettes. Just wish Belmonte didn't stick me with a rusty locker, thing makes so much goddamn noises when I open it. I threw in my wet coat and cap.
Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
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[div class=pic]
With: Rowena and Declan O'Halloran.[/div][/div]
[div class=name]Connor O'Halloran[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bull"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the O'Hallorans[/div]
[div class=info]Location: Home, Dinning Room.[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Bull"[/div]
[div class=title]Leader of the O'Hallorans[/div]
With: Rowena and Declan O'Halloran.[/div][/div]
[div class=post]
Between setting a meeting with the Antonellies, answering questions for the cops, and questioning the other families in the clan, it was no surprise that Connor was tired. And so he sat, almost napping, at the table, waiting for Ro' to finish making lunch.
"You think Ada is going to be here?" he shouted from the table.
"I don't know where our little birdie's flown off to. She'll show up if she wants something, or she can get it herself."
"And what about Aoife?"
"Now you know as good as I that she isn't. She's off running with those Italians eating garlic bread and pasta."
This was true, she had a habit of only showing up on the weekend dinner. And that was if she felt like it, or wasn't busy with some job of hers. It still rubbed Connor the wrong way that she had chosen some slick talking, greasy Italians over her own flesh and blood. But had had somewhat come to grips with her decision, having gone from wanting to march up to that Lorenzo and shove a double barrel up his arse before pulling both triggers, to just wanting to give him a black eye every now and again. But that was how he felt with business as he did personally, so he had so far managed to keep a lid on it.
"And before you go askin', Declan is probably already on his way. The boy has never missed a meal and I don't think he'll start now. I even got something made for Cian, Sean, and Eenie just in case. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to drag Eenie and Cian out of their layer for a change."
Connor grunted in response, and once more sat in silence. It wasn't long before a plate of pulled pork sandwiches was placed in front of him. "Thank you, dear" he told his wife before grabbing a sandwich. And not long after that, he could hear the tell tale thud of large boots against hardwood floors. And before he knew it, Declan had taken a seat next to him. And for a moment, Connor sat and ate in silence, before pushing the plate of food towards his son. "Eat up."
"I've been asking around, and none of the other families 'ave seen the guy before. I trust most of 'em, but the McAlister's have gotten a bit shifty since the General passed. Might have to keep an eye on them, see what they're up to if anything. And we got a meeting with the Antonellies this afternoon before dinner. You're coming with me."
He paused briefly, finishing off the sandwich he had, before continuing. "Now what are we gonna do about that fight of yours. What are you gonna do? Push it back until this all blows over? Or you want to host it at the Setter? I'm gonna leave it up to you, Declan. You want to make it your problem, so I'm gonna let it be. You just let the right people know what your gonna do before you go and do it, aye?"
[/div]"You think Ada is going to be here?" he shouted from the table.
"I don't know where our little birdie's flown off to. She'll show up if she wants something, or she can get it herself."
"And what about Aoife?"
"Now you know as good as I that she isn't. She's off running with those Italians eating garlic bread and pasta."
This was true, she had a habit of only showing up on the weekend dinner. And that was if she felt like it, or wasn't busy with some job of hers. It still rubbed Connor the wrong way that she had chosen some slick talking, greasy Italians over her own flesh and blood. But had had somewhat come to grips with her decision, having gone from wanting to march up to that Lorenzo and shove a double barrel up his arse before pulling both triggers, to just wanting to give him a black eye every now and again. But that was how he felt with business as he did personally, so he had so far managed to keep a lid on it.
"And before you go askin', Declan is probably already on his way. The boy has never missed a meal and I don't think he'll start now. I even got something made for Cian, Sean, and Eenie just in case. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to drag Eenie and Cian out of their layer for a change."
Connor grunted in response, and once more sat in silence. It wasn't long before a plate of pulled pork sandwiches was placed in front of him. "Thank you, dear" he told his wife before grabbing a sandwich. And not long after that, he could hear the tell tale thud of large boots against hardwood floors. And before he knew it, Declan had taken a seat next to him. And for a moment, Connor sat and ate in silence, before pushing the plate of food towards his son. "Eat up."
"I've been asking around, and none of the other families 'ave seen the guy before. I trust most of 'em, but the McAlister's have gotten a bit shifty since the General passed. Might have to keep an eye on them, see what they're up to if anything. And we got a meeting with the Antonellies this afternoon before dinner. You're coming with me."
He paused briefly, finishing off the sandwich he had, before continuing. "Now what are we gonna do about that fight of yours. What are you gonna do? Push it back until this all blows over? Or you want to host it at the Setter? I'm gonna leave it up to you, Declan. You want to make it your problem, so I'm gonna let it be. You just let the right people know what your gonna do before you go and do it, aye?"
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Between setting a meeting with the Antonellies, answering questions for the cops, and questioning the other families in the clan, it was no surprise that Connor was tired. And so he sat, almost napping, at the table, waiting for Ro' to finish making lunch.
"You think Ada is going to be here?" he shouted from the table.
"I don't know where our little birdie's flown off to. She'll show up if she wants something, or she can get it herself."
"And what about Aoife?"
"Now you know as good as I that she isn't. She's off running with those Italians eating garlic bread and pasta."
This was true, she had a habit of only showing up on the weekend dinner. And that was if she felt like it, or wasn't busy with some job of hers. It still rubbed Connor the wrong way that she had chosen some slick talking, greasy Italians over her own flesh and blood. But had had somewhat come to grips with her decision, having gone from wanting to march up to that Lorenzo and shove a double barrel up his arse before pulling both triggers, to just wanting to give him a black eye every now and again. But that was how he felt with business as he did personally, so he had so far managed to keep a lid on it.
"And before you go askin', Declan is probably already on his way. The boy has never missed a meal and I don't think he'll start now. I even got something made for Cian, Sean, and Eenie just in case. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to drag Eenie and Cian out of their layer for a change."
Connor grunted in response, and once more sat in silence. It wasn't long before a plate of pulled pork sandwiches was placed in front of him. "Thank you, dear" he told his wife before grabbing a sandwich. And not long after that, he could hear the tell tale thud of large boots against hardwood floors. And before he knew it, Declan had taken a seat next to him. And for a moment, Connor sat and ate in silence, before pushing the plate of food towards his son. "Eat up."
"I've been asking around, and none of the other families 'ave seen the guy before. I trust most of 'em, but the McAlister's have gotten a bit shifty since the General passed. Might have to keep an eye on them, see what they're up to if anything. And we got a meeting with the Antonellies this afternoon before dinner. You're coming with me."
He paused briefly, finishing off the sandwich he had, before continuing. "Now what are we gonna do about that fight of yours. What are you gonna do? Push it back until this all blows over? Or you want to host it at the Setter? I'm gonna leave it up to you, Declan. You want to make it your problem, so I'm gonna let it be. You just let the right people know what your gonna do before you go and do it, aye?"
"You think Ada is going to be here?" he shouted from the table.
"I don't know where our little birdie's flown off to. She'll show up if she wants something, or she can get it herself."
"And what about Aoife?"
"Now you know as good as I that she isn't. She's off running with those Italians eating garlic bread and pasta."
This was true, she had a habit of only showing up on the weekend dinner. And that was if she felt like it, or wasn't busy with some job of hers. It still rubbed Connor the wrong way that she had chosen some slick talking, greasy Italians over her own flesh and blood. But had had somewhat come to grips with her decision, having gone from wanting to march up to that Lorenzo and shove a double barrel up his arse before pulling both triggers, to just wanting to give him a black eye every now and again. But that was how he felt with business as he did personally, so he had so far managed to keep a lid on it.
"And before you go askin', Declan is probably already on his way. The boy has never missed a meal and I don't think he'll start now. I even got something made for Cian, Sean, and Eenie just in case. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to drag Eenie and Cian out of their layer for a change."
Connor grunted in response, and once more sat in silence. It wasn't long before a plate of pulled pork sandwiches was placed in front of him. "Thank you, dear" he told his wife before grabbing a sandwich. And not long after that, he could hear the tell tale thud of large boots against hardwood floors. And before he knew it, Declan had taken a seat next to him. And for a moment, Connor sat and ate in silence, before pushing the plate of food towards his son. "Eat up."
"I've been asking around, and none of the other families 'ave seen the guy before. I trust most of 'em, but the McAlister's have gotten a bit shifty since the General passed. Might have to keep an eye on them, see what they're up to if anything. And we got a meeting with the Antonellies this afternoon before dinner. You're coming with me."
He paused briefly, finishing off the sandwich he had, before continuing. "Now what are we gonna do about that fight of yours. What are you gonna do? Push it back until this all blows over? Or you want to host it at the Setter? I'm gonna leave it up to you, Declan. You want to make it your problem, so I'm gonna let it be. You just let the right people know what your gonna do before you go and do it, aye?"
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Ayama
Enthusiast
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[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/brDLvRsC/i3.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]"Aoife's the name
And killing is the game."[/div][/div][/div]
And killing is the game."[/div][/div][/div]
[div class=main style="margin-left: -15px;"][div class=ID]
[div class=post]
[div class=name]Aoife O'Halloran[/div]
[div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Cyan Bullet"[/div]
[div class=title]Wetwork asset for the Antonellis[/div]
[/div][div class=alias]a.k.a. "The Cyan Bullet"[/div]
[div class=title]Wetwork asset for the Antonellis[/div]
[div class=post]
Aoife raised an eyebrow as Lorenzo put up one finger to silence her- must be an important phone call. She decided to get up and attack the food on the table, waiting for him to be done. The Antonellis always had the best stuff- fresh and fancy and often imported directly from Italy. Aoife loved Italian food.
Lorenzo finished his phone call and hung up, letting out a rare sigh. Aoife turned to him in surprise, her mouth full of pasta in a most undignified manner, with a couple strands dribbling down her chin.
How many times have I told you not to eat like a savage?! Lorenzo and her 'Ma's voice seemed to overlay each other in her mind.
She swallowed quickly and vaulted over the back of the chaise, snapping the grapes up as she went, appearing not to have moved at all in the forty- maybe fifty seconds that her boss had been looking away from her. Though her wide grin and the olive oil on her chin were dead giveaways.
"Hey Aoife," Lorenzo said, sounding uncharacteristically weary. He took a sip from his wineglass and answered her earlier question. She nodded, fruit in hand and about to partake, but she stopped with it halfway to her mouth at the mention of The Bull.
" 'Da- uh, I mean, Pops?" she asked, catching herself not quite in time. Lorenzo nodded.
"Aoife, you still sometimes attend your familyβs meetings, yes? By chance, are there any outliers to the OβHalloran family, or are they all as close as your siblings?" Aoife blinked rapidly, wondering why on earth he was suddenly asking about her family.
She took her time answering, leaning back on the chaise and casually eating grapes between words.
"Well..." she considered, "for the most part, we're a pretty tight-knit group, y'know?" Another grape. "I mean, we're a smaller family than the others- we can't afford not t'be." A pause, a few more grapes. "Though I suppose there's always some low-levs who might stir up trouble 'cause they're too dumb to know not to. But 'Pa deals with 'em quick-like if they do."
She stopped eating and tilted her head curiously to look at him.
"Why do ya wanna know, anyway? What happened?"
The implications of Enzo's words were starting to dawn on her, and a sliver a worry started twisting her gut. She put a hand over her gun, as if to check it was still there. Not like it was a guarantee of anything but, of course, it always made her feel better.
[/div][/div]Lorenzo finished his phone call and hung up, letting out a rare sigh. Aoife turned to him in surprise, her mouth full of pasta in a most undignified manner, with a couple strands dribbling down her chin.
How many times have I told you not to eat like a savage?! Lorenzo and her 'Ma's voice seemed to overlay each other in her mind.
She swallowed quickly and vaulted over the back of the chaise, snapping the grapes up as she went, appearing not to have moved at all in the forty- maybe fifty seconds that her boss had been looking away from her. Though her wide grin and the olive oil on her chin were dead giveaways.
"Hey Aoife," Lorenzo said, sounding uncharacteristically weary. He took a sip from his wineglass and answered her earlier question. She nodded, fruit in hand and about to partake, but she stopped with it halfway to her mouth at the mention of The Bull.
" 'Da- uh, I mean, Pops?" she asked, catching herself not quite in time. Lorenzo nodded.
"Aoife, you still sometimes attend your familyβs meetings, yes? By chance, are there any outliers to the OβHalloran family, or are they all as close as your siblings?" Aoife blinked rapidly, wondering why on earth he was suddenly asking about her family.
She took her time answering, leaning back on the chaise and casually eating grapes between words.
"Well..." she considered, "for the most part, we're a pretty tight-knit group, y'know?" Another grape. "I mean, we're a smaller family than the others- we can't afford not t'be." A pause, a few more grapes. "Though I suppose there's always some low-levs who might stir up trouble 'cause they're too dumb to know not to. But 'Pa deals with 'em quick-like if they do."
She stopped eating and tilted her head curiously to look at him.
"Why do ya wanna know, anyway? What happened?"
The implications of Enzo's words were starting to dawn on her, and a sliver a worry started twisting her gut. She put a hand over her gun, as if to check it was still there. Not like it was a guarantee of anything but, of course, it always made her feel better.
[div class=img style="margin-left: 10px; background-image: url(https://i.postimg.cc/kX831Qfv/i4.jpg);"][div class=info][div class=text]Location: Antonelli Palazzo
With: Lorenzo[/div][/div][/div]
With: Lorenzo[/div][/div][/div]
[clickable name, hover tags & hidden scroll]
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