Realistic or Modern A Family Affair: The Irish Mob - IC (Ended)

[Bellz]

Faye Armstrong​

Once Mr. Brady was inside, she shut the door behind her and was about to walk away from it, instead she turned back towards it and turned the the deadbolt to lock. She stared at it a second longer before looking back to their guest. It was a strange thing to do, but Faye never thought about locking her doors when people were home, she had always left the door unlocked. After the events that occurred earlier, locking the door seemed like the right thing to do, but the action of it was odd to her. She never wanted to feel unsafe, and up until this point, she never did. Faye watched as Jack peered into the other room to see the others and she raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he was thinking. The silence between them as he quietly observed his surroundings allowed Faye’s attention to turn towards the locked door again. It was like an itch that she just couldn’t scratch. Something deeply bothered her about not being able to feel safe in her own home. Faye had her differences with Jared about the Porter’s in the past, she found it hard for anyone to be truly evil, but after finding that thing in the box…The redhead was starting to second guess herself, Jared truly knew what was best for the family, for the city.

If people like the Porter’s were to stick around, she would always have to keep that door locked. Her jaw set firmly and her hands clenched tight. This was more than just the door, this was the right to feel safe. Right now, she felt like someone was watching them. They had sent the box to her store, clearly knowing where her and Grace worked, what else did they know. It was only when Jack’s eyes looked to her that she unclenched her hands and relaxed her jaw, no need to upset the guest. Slowly, she smiled warmly to the man as he stated he had come to see Jared. ”You as well Mr. Brady, I think Jared stepped into his office for a few calls but I can lead you to him.” Clasping her hands behind her back, she nudged her head towards the hallways to her left. ”This way.” She murmured and walked down the hall slowly until she came to a stop in front of Jared’s office door. Without bothering to knock, which was something Faye always did, she turned the knob and poked her head inside. ”Mr. Brady is here, dear.”
With: Jack Brady Shireling ; Jared Misty Gray

 

[Bellz]

Lucy Porter​

Lucy let out a chuckle, realizing that her husband had taken her words seriously and was having a good time. She just didn’t picture it with him being alone in his office. She pressed her hands down on the wooden desk and leaned forward as James pushed a piece of paper towards her. She squinted to read the writing but James assisted with reading it for her, chuckling to himself at his little joke about needing a hand. ”Its like a chicken wrote this.” She teased him with a smile but it faded as James got serious for a moment. Lucy wasn’t sure how to feel about this meeting. Jared didn’t sound like a man who didn’t get his way often, and James certainly wouldn’t give him anything he wanted. The incidents that had been caused by Mr. Armstrong already pissed off James, but what if something bigger was to come out of all this. Her thoughts brought back a fear that she hadn’t felt since Chicago. This time there was so much more to lose. Lucy managed a small smile as James drunkenly giggled at his own joke again.

He signaled for her to sit on his lap, which she was quick to do, seeking comfort from him. Lucy looked at him as he “leveled” with her. Laughing as he questioned about the house, the blonde shrugged her shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her waist, ”Well you know how it goes with them, I think its part of their gift to us. Wine on my nice carpet and all.” She grumbled with a roll of her eyes. ”Emery is asleep, and she loved her new little friend. I’m her favorite aunt now. And Delilah tried to get Leo up to her room, don’t worry I shut that idea down quickly.” She informed him, before wrapping her arms around his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder. Silence fell between them a moment as she collected her thoughts, being sober really wasn’t doing her any favors at the moment.

”I like that’s its quiet in here. Things were getting a bit overwhelming for me out there.” She revealed to him starting to feel a little tired from all the excitement. ”Did you like your gifts? I hope you like the car…”
With: James Misty Gray
Mentions:

 

[Melanin-Gxdess]

Even though she didn't know what she expected, she hadn't thought Conor was going to kiss her back. She meant it as a sort of last kiss thing, a kiss that wasn't supposed to last more than a few seconds. But the kiss definitely lasted a lot longer than a few seconds. His arm was around her waist and he had closed the hole that was between them. It'd been a while since they were like this, even before their relationship had been strained. Hearing him say he missed her practically made her melt in his arms. If that were the case, that meant he was still thinking about her over these past weeks. She couldn't exactly say the same as she had been preoccupied with a lot; Tommy being apart of that. She made it a point to not think about Tommy as she stood in a lip lock with Conor; it'd be incredibly rude.

The hand she had just cut, her right hand, rested on his chest while her left hand gently rubbed the back of his neck. She pulled away first and with a shaky sigh, whispered so the two of them could only hear. "Conor, what are we doing?" 'Making things more complicated.' She thought to herself. Even though she had decided to think about herself in the moment, she knew eventually she would have to think about the other parties involved. Just the one really concerned her, it being Tommy, but still. Aliana knew there was a decision to be made between the both of them; pursue this possible relationship or just accept the fact that it's too late. This wasn't at all what she had in mind, it wasn't supposed to be this complicated. She was supposed to kiss Conor, confess her feelings, and begin anew with Tommy, the sweetest guy in the world. Not kiss Conor, confess her feelings, and now have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

The situation Leo found himself in was practically making him sweat. He and Delilah had been put on the spot and of course he didn't know how to deal with it besides talking. That was, until Delilah basically told him to shut the hell up. He finally did, being able to over-power his anxious speaking before he made things worse. Now his face was redder than a tomato as he uneasily shifted from one foot to the next. "You guys know how to make a party exciting, I'll give you that." He joked. When Delilah told Lucy and Sinead that there wouldn't be any grandkids yet, he raised his eyebrows at her. Because of their current situation, he wouldn't bring it up. While it was probably nothing, he analyzed everything and questioned them too and he would question her later.

Back to reality, he agreed on Delilah going upstairs alone figuring it would help the situation a bit more. In all honesty, if the two ever were to try anything it surely wouldn't be in a house full of people. Her mother and his employer, to be a bit more specific. Even though Leo was only involved with the accounting of the family business, he still knew about the other side. The side where James probably wouldn't hesitate to shot him if need be; and him 'defiling' the man's daughter was most likely a need be situation.

Breaking out of his thoughts, he took another deep breath and then a huge gulp from his cup. It was an attempt to steady his nerves, however, he forgot how strong it was and coughed a little before looking at Delilah. "Your mom is right. Boys shouldn't be in girls rooms anyway. I'll be right here where you left me and then we can exchange gifts, okay?" Hopefully it was the right thing to say around her mother and aunt and they saw his as a respectable young man, otherwise he was going to walk away until he could get his foot out of his mouth. He then turned to Del after her mother left and shrugged. "That could have gone better, huh?"​

Conor ( Misty Gray ) Sinead ( Misty Gray ) Lucy ( Bellz ) Delilah ( ElectricDandellion )

 

[Pyroclast]

Adam Morgan

Adam had a hand resting upon the table, and as Grace spoke his eyes moved down to it and he tried to imagine what Gary must be going through. If he was even still alive. "Poor man," he sighed. If she was right and he had been out there trying to stop the Porters, then that meant Jared could meet a similar fate. And by extension, so could the rest of the Armstrong family. It just didn't bear thinking about.

"I know your father has status in this city," he said, looking back up to Grace. "But it shouldn't be on him to sort out these kinds of things. No matter how corrupt the Guardaí are, no should be able to get away with... you know...severing body parts." Adam closed his eyes briefly, still in disbelief at the situation the family were in. "Just promise me you'll stay out of it, Grace. Please. I don't want anything bad to happen to you...or to any of you for that matter."

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and it brought Adam back to the reason he had come over in the first place: to celebrate Christmas. Perhaps whoever was at the door had come to join them for the same reason. So, in an attempt to lighten the mood and return the house to its once festive atmosphere, Adam placed a hand on Grace's shoulder and said with a warm smile, "I know I'm not meant to be working tonight, being Christmas day and all, but can I get you a drink of any kind? Your parents won't mind, will they? I can make anything you want, as long as you've got it in - just say the word."

Interactions
Misty Gray Grace

 

[Misty Gray]

James Porter​

James held Lucy close and listened as she spoke about the drunks and them messing up the carpet. There was a comical smile on his face as fought to get his sober mind back or at the very least have a coherent conversation with his wife. Still, he was glad to hear Emery had loved her new kitten. "Aww, it goes without saying that you're Emery's favourite aunt... Don't tell the kids or anything, but you're my favourite person," he pointed out before chuckling at his comment.

When he was told about Delilah inviting Leo upstairs, James stopped smiling for the moment. "I'm glad you told them no. Leo's a nice lad, so it would be a shame to have to have words with him," he seriously told Lucy. "Meanwhile, please don't say we need to have 'the talk' with our kids again. It was painful the first time," he scoffed. "Though if it means saving them from your mother catching them in a compromising position..." he trailed off. Shannon had a gift for walking in on couples at the wrong time. James and Lucy knew all too well how embarrassing that could be.

When Lucy told him it had become overwhelming for her in the party, James pulled her in closer." Hey, now. Don't you be turning into me feeling all awkward in these social gatherings," he teased. "Luce, I loved the gifts. The car is fucking perfect and I'm looking forward to taking it for a spin. As for the baby," he began, gently placing his hand on her stomach. "It's the best gift I could have wished for. I'm made up..." he said, sniffling back his tears. "You're turning me soft, love!" he playfully warned her.

Bellz (Lucy)

 

[Shireling]

Rudy Meyers and Aldous Penshurst
​

"You know, the plane ride was quite long. It would likely do us some good to 'wet our whistles' as the Americans say." Aldous replied good-humoredly, nodding in Rudy's direction. "You know, Sullivan is right on the mark about women. They ruin a man."

"Maybe everyone needs to be ruined every once in a blue moon," Rudy replied coolly, ever the bachelor but softening in his advancing years on the question.

"Well if you're in the mood for ruining, I can introduce you to my ex-wife," Aldous replied, laughing. He dashed his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray and turning back to Mr. Sullivan. "Well, I would just like to speak to Mr. Porter for a few minutes before I get settled in. I was told that I was to be lodged on the grounds here during my visit, but that privacy would be afforded. Now I can see that this was not a mistake, this palace would put the house of strong-grieved Ulysses to shame were he to see it, this villa that rivals his own in sunny Ithaka."

Rudy smirked, knowing that the literary allusion would likely pass over Finn's head. He lit a cigarette himself and reclined against the arm of a nearby chair. "Tell our henpecked employer that if he can stand to leave the comfort of his office, his new legal counsel will be waiting for him here in the lounge. Oh, and you might also have Peter come by, I haven't talked to the lad in a while." He said, not knowing that Peter was...otherwise indisposed.

Bellz Mentioning: Misty Gray

Jack Brady
​

Jack followed closely behind Faye down the hallway, passing by the other rooms with little more than a cursory glance. When they arrived at Jared's office he steeled his confidence and held his portfolio tightly. Jared was to have this published and disseminated, the master work of two years. It was a work similar to the Anarchist's Cookbook, a guide to the weaponry of the mob as well as a guide to political action more generally. Inside was also a helpful set of debate points for the intrepid communist to use in fighting off the clever deceptions of the capitalists and their lackeys. And Jared would publish his work, or see a darker end. Machinations were already turning in the IWU due to his lax stance on the Revolution. This was as much a test for Jared as it was a guide to action for the footsoldiers of the Irish Worker's Union.

Jack waited patiently as Faye summoned Jared. His face was placid calm, almost eerily so, but in his heart he mapped all the possible routes of the evening that this meeting would unfold, and some of them involved foul murder and treachery. He gathered himself to resilience in that thought, that his hand might swing the blade or pull the trigger and work as an instrument of the Revolution.

Misty Gray Bellz

 

[Enzyme]

Clonmacnoise Job
(Lots of Blokes)​

The shells pumped out of the AK-47 in a ferocious rhythm. The dense nebula of snowfall subdued the ordinarily bright muzzle flash caused by the high-pressure gases. While the man believed he'd sent the Porters cowering to whatever cover their vehicles offered, he was given a specific target in the form of retorting gunfire. The faint flash outlined where Ryan was shooting from and allowed the man to focus his sporadic gunfire. His infrangible tunnel-vision repressed his sense of danger at the sight of snow being kicked up just below his feet. The sudden sharp pain, however, was enough to shake the courage from him. He let out a horrific squeal in pain as he dropped the rifle to the dirt. The bullet had not only managed to blow his ring finger clean off his hand but dig its way into his arm. Luckily for him, the reactionary adrenaline helped block out some of the excruciating pain from splitting his ulna in half. "God! Jesus Christ!" He collapsed to his knees and shouted, holding his limp, mangled arm.

His counterpart quickly tossed the bag of Molotov cocktails to him. "Light 'em!" He shouted to the maimed man as he moved to pick up the dropped rifle. He let a string of burst fires in the direction of the truck, where Butch and Milton where crouching behind its grill. The other goon struggled to light the drenched cloth with his disfigured hand, but once the cloth light vibrantly, he pulled the straps over the bag with his good hand. With a hefty swing, he sent the burning bag into the back of the open truck. The flammable liquid quickly reacted with the flame and sent a fireball out to melt the snow before it. After the pressure settled, the back of the truck transformed into a bonfire, where a large flame blew strongly out the open doors.

******************​

Alan didn't notice the back of the truck being set ablaze and even if he had, the moonshine was currently the least of his concerns. He allowed Syd to shift his aim closer to where the shooter was standing, which forced Carter to crouch lower behind the protection of the car door. With a brief pause in gunfire, Alan kicked open the door, allowing the harsh windows to blow the contents of the car about. He crawled out onto the snow with his wounded shoulder restricting some of his movements. Once he was behind the cover of the Pontiac, he only relaxed once Syd had climbed out of the door as well. His eyes shot to Milton, who was patting his coat down for a spare magazine. "You alright?" Milton asked as he racked the slide back. Alan groaned lightly, as even talking was enough to irritate the wound. "No, I'm hit. The bastard's hiding behind the Jeep." He managed to fumble out, loosely gripping his now empty handgun. Milton nodded slightly, holding the handgun down by his legs.

Milton quickly sprinted down to Alan and Syd, keeping his head low enough to see over the hood of the car. "I see him," Milton muttered. Carter appeared to be reloading as well, carelessly tossing his empty magazine into the snow. Milton used this time to slap a fresh load of rounds into his handgun, forcing the slide back into place. "You want a piece of me? Let's fuckin' go!" He shouted out to Carter, who was still in the process of priming his rifle. Milton stepped out from cover and walked closer to the open door. He attempted to circle the car door, firing off rounds into the metal. Milton managed to blow out the driver's door window, inches above Carter's head. Before he could get a clear shot, however, Carter stepped up from the door and circled away from Milton in the opposite direction. The four shots he fired shared an equal part in riddling Milton's chest. With each violent jerk, mist-like blood dispersed from Milton's back. Once Carter letup, Milton collapsed onto the ice, unmoving.

******************
​

Marcell continued to lay down fire from the crevice in the slope. Quinn used Marcell's covering fire to move along the right side of the Chevy. After comfortably sitting against the driver's door, he stood up and shot out the Vanguards back window. The attention was seemingly drawn to Quinn, allowing Marcell to push himself out of the crevice. He crouched close to the ground and made his way over to the nose of the Vanguard. He shot a burst fire towards the front, making sure to keep Ryan honest as he sneaked closer.

Pyroclast (Syd) Misty Gray (Tommy) Fletchawk (Ryan)

 

[Pyroclast]

Syd Porter

Syd lowered himself as far down as he could against the car door without losing sight of Carter, keeping his hand steady on Alan's arm to guide the direction of the bullets. There was a lull in the fight as both Carter and Alan's guns were emptied, and Syd's attention was momentarily diverted to the truck behind them. It had been blown open - plumes of thick black smoke and huge, threatening flames were now escaping, thrust into unpredictable directions by the strong winds that lashed against the truck's busted exterior. Alan kicked the door of the Pontiac and it flew wide open easily, having taken some damage already from the hail of bullets. Syd crawled out after him, now paying no attention to the shards of glass that were scattered about the car's interior. He didn't hear Milton calling over to them; his words were snatched away by the storm, muted by nearby gunfire and the ringing in his ears. His focus was on the Jeep parked several yards away, watching closely for a sign of the man that was targeting them. Milton stepped out boldly, yelling to Carter as he made his way over to the Jeep. Taking brief comfort in knowing that they were covered for a minute, Syd sank back to Alan's side and looked the man over. The loose grip he had on his gun; the slumped position in which he sat; the raggedness of his breathing. In all the chaos, Syd had forgotten that he had been shot just moments ago.
"Sit forward a second," Syd said to him. He hurriedly shrugged off his own coat and placed it between the man's shoulder and the body of the car in an attempt to plug the wound. "Don't give up now -"

Suddenly he heard more bullets being fired from around where the Jeep was parked, and his mind jumped back to Carter. He knelt up again to peer over the boot of the car just in time to see a round of bullets tear through Milton's body, spraying blood onto the snow at his feet. He watched in shock as the man dropped heavily to the ground, and realised that he and Alan were likely to be targeted next. They were only protected by the car, not hidden - their shooter knew exactly where they were. At this point, they were just sitting ducks. He glanced down to Alan's empty handgun, and an idea popped into his mind. For a moment he fought with it, trying to figure out if it was a worthwhile risk. But there wasn't much time for sitting on ideas - he would have only seconds before Carter made his next move. "Fuck," he whispered to himself again, and then sprinted from behind the Pontiac over to where Milton lay. His gun had slipped from his hand and was now partially pressed into the snow - Syd stooped to snatch it up before running back to the Pontiac for cover. He glanced up to see where Carter was so he could take his aim, but quickly noticed that the ejection port was jammed. A grim thought popped into his head that it was perhaps the reason Milton had lost the fight. Either way, his training was now being put to the test. He slammed his palm against the magazine to secure it, racked the slide to eject the expended round and pushed it back into battery. Aware that every second he took to clear the jam increased his chances of getting shot, he had begun to panic and his hands were now shaking as he gripped the gun. He leaned around the bumper, taking a second to relocate his target. Then, without further hesitation, he held his breath and fired.

Interactions
Enzyme Alan, Carter

 

[Misty Gray]

Conor Sullivan
​

As they broke away from the kiss, Conor looked down to Aliana's bandaged hand as it rested on his muscular chest. He smiled contently as he felt her other hand gently rub the back of his neck. They'd shared drinks and a bed many times, but this was the first time they'd shown this kind of intimacy. Dare he say this was romantic? It certainly felt like they'd broken through some wall to make a connection they'd never given way to before. Sure, he wanted to lead her into his bed in that moment, but it felt different, like it would be more than just sex.

Aliana asking what they were doing forced reality to come crashing down around them again. There were other people involved and he knew it would be wrong to ignore them. "I like to think we're finally acknowledging our feelings, rather than keeping up our defences..." he softly told her. Still, he could no longer ignore the elephant in the room. He hadn't completely got back on track with Alex and he was unsure if they could ever find the spark they'd had ten years ago. Surprisingly, she wasn't what most concerned him. "What are we going to do? Where do we go from here?" Conor reached out his hand and pointed to the new bracelet she was wearing. "What do we do about this?" he asked. He knew Tommy had just given it to her - he'd managed to catch sight of her opening the gift. Tommy was his friend and had told him all about his feelings for Aliana. "You need to decide what you want, Ali," he reluctantly admitted. It had been easy having a secret, casual kind of relationship with Aliana. Now other parties were involved, he couldn't sneak around. After hearing Tommy spill his guts about his feelings for Aliana, Conor didn't have the heart to betray him. "If you want something more and with me, we have to come clean. I can't betray Tommy, not when he told me how he feels about you."

Melanin-Gxdess (Aliana)

 

[Fletchawk]

Ryan Donahue​

Ryan looked Tommy over briefly and he could see the blood smeared on his face through the darkness due to the contrast of the two colors. The bleeding from the head concerned Ryan but the man's speech was clear and he seemed to be alert and aware of what was happening, so he assumed it was a superficial cut. He couldn't tell where the wound on the arm was but when Tommy used the arm to try and hand him his own sidearm, he figured the bullet didn't break any bones. Putting his hand on top the gun, Ryan pushed it back towards Tommy. "No, being unarmed is as good as being dead. Just watch out six, alright?" Once Tommy had acknowledged what Ryan was conferring, he leaned toward the open driver's door and pulled it partially shut to navigate around it easier.

Seeing the blood on Tommy's face brought forth his own injury back into his mind as he navigated towards the front of the Vanguard. He knew it that it was affecting his movements but if he didn't stem it soon, he would likely faint in few minutes unless he stemmed the blood loss. The sound of back window shattering from gunfire told him that he would have to wait on that though. It was just too likely that he'd get shot while tending to his leg.

He had no idea what was going on the other side of the truck but the continued gunfire told him that they were at least fighting back. Ryan heard the familiar sound of the AK-47 firing again but he no longer had a firing angle since he moved closer to the ledge's side. He attempted to peek over the hood instead once he had reached the front wheel well of the Vanguard but almost had his head taken off by a burst of bullets before he saw anything of note. "Fuck!" The expletive slipped from his mouth easily.

At this point, Ryan was effectively backed into a corner and he knew he was going to have to do some drastic things to get out of it. It felt like Chosin all over again, except not as cold. First he needed a diversion and for that he need a rock about the size of his fist. Shifting the side arm to his left hand, Ryan shuffled over to the very front of the car and stuck his hand in the shallow snow bank at the base of the ledge that the Vanguard's bumper was still in contact with. After a few seconds, Ryan's hand was a little numb from the effort but held a rock the size of which he sought.

As he was slid back over to the wheel well, the sound of glass bottles popping cascaded through the air. The sudden heat of the molotovs against the ice cold bottles was causing them to shatter and a wave of heat flooded over the area and lit the area around it. Ryan broke into a sweat as the sudden rise in temperature turned his exposed skin red. However, the surrounding storm quickly pushed it back before he suffered any lasting harm.

​

Trying to not let the blaze shake him, Ryan forced himself to continue. Raising his barrel of his M1911 just over the hood, Ryan blind fired three rounds to give himself a little leeway with his next maneuver. With practised form, Ryan quick stood and hurled the rock back towards the Chevy and shouted,"GRENADE OUT!" He was back behind the tire before saw it land but Ryan did see the outline of Marcell creeping along the side of the ledge towards his position. A loud thunk of the rock hitting metal told him that he hit his mark. Knowing that he only had a few seconds before they realized it was a ruse, Ryan drew his Kabar from its sheath and popped back, his body pointed at the man creeping towards him and fire another 3 rounds at him before forcing his wounded leg to help him vault over the the hood of the car with a grunt of pain.

Unable to confirm if he hit Marcell in the dim of the bonfire, he fired his remain rounds towards him and tackled him. Quickly scrambling to a mounted position, letting his empty handgun drop from his hand so he could get a better grip on the goon's shooting arm and started plunging his Kabar into the man's chest as rapidly as he could. After a couple dozen thrusts over the course of a few seconds, the man underneath of him slowed and Ryan used his diminishing strength as an opportunity perform the coup d'etat by holding man's head and shoving the knife's blade into his throat. Starting to get dizzy from the blood loss, Ryan grunted as he rolled off the human being he'd just killed and laid prone next to the still warm body.

He watched light of the fire dance across ledge he was laying next as he tried to think about what action to take next but his body was being languid and the dizziness was making it hard to form thoughts. Ryan vaguely wondered this was where he was going to die as he felt his adrenaline start to wane and he was now having to make the added effort to stay conscious.

Misty Gray [Tommy] Enzyme [Goons]

 

[Misty Gray]

Thomas Dempsey ​

Tommy wasn't surprised when Ryan refused to take his gun from him, but wished he had done, nonetheless, believing his friend would be able to put it to better use. The younger man nodded his head when Ryan told him to watch out. He made sure to keep his verbal and physical responses as certain as possible so he wouldn't become a hinderence or burden of any sort to his allies.

When Ryan had stepped out of sight, further gunfire and commotion followed. Tommy clenched his jaw as he tried to get his strength and focus back, despite the pain in his arm and head. He took a deep breath before grasping his gun with his strong arm. He couldn't let Ryan and Syd battle alone, especially not Porter's son, who he felt deserved to return home more than himself. Besides, Tommy felt like he had had people around him who he could call family, for the first time in years. Not to mention there was Aliana back at the house - the beautiful woman he had promised to take out for dinner. For the last few weeks, he'd been willing to lose his life if it meant he could kill the cop responsible for his mother's death. Now, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to throw his life away so easily. He had reasons to keep living. He'd decided to speak to James about the matter of the killer cop at a better time and hope his boss would help him find his vengeance less recklessly.

For now, Tommy wanted him and the others on his side to get out of this mess alive. He was about to seek out Ryan and attempt to cover or assist him, but the throbbing in his head intensified, sending a wave of excruciating pain through his skull. His blurred vision became harder to ignore and he knew the firearm he was holding was useless in his hands. He retreated back to his concealed position, hoping he could at least fire off a lucky shot if someone did happen to find him.

Mentions: Fletchawk Pyroclast Enzyme Melanin-Gxdess

 

[Misty Gray]

Jared Armstrong

​

Jared has been more than aware James was heavily intoxicated during their phonecall, but it didn't stop him from feeling slightly annoyed at the Irishman's joking. Still, he figured the man had earned some level of smugness, considering the things the IWU alone had thrown at him recently. Jared saw the short-term benefits of coming to some agreement with the Porters. In his mind, the focus right now was winning the election. Then, he would have the power to ensure the IWU's voice is not only heard, but taken more seriously. The amount of weight and power to bring on change he could then hand to them was vast. The Porters could then be eradicated. Still, he knew there were impatient men and men who preferred explosions over words. They were going to be a further hinderence to his plans.

After making a call to send Carter the message it was time to let Arlene go - his goodwill gesture in advance of the meeting - he heard his office door open. Jared looked up and sent Faye a smile as she introduced their visitor to him. "Thank you, love. Are you doing okay?" he softly asked her. He knew she wouldn't be, but he wanted to reassure her he would be there for her. He'd be out of his office in a few minutes to be with his family, as far as he was concerned.

Jared got up from his seat and offered Jack a handshake. "Good evening, Mr. Brady. What brings you here on Christmas Day?" he asked, seeing the man was most likely wanting to talk business rather than merely enjoy the festivities. Jared had promised his family he would take a week off from work, but business never wanted to take a break. "I do hope your journey wasn't too difficult."

Shireling (Jack Brady)

 

[Enzyme]

Clonmacnoise Job
(Lots of Blokes)​

The puddle from Milton's back had tainted the pure white snow a deep crimson. The shirt looked as if the bullets had bit at him, the holes unnaturally torn to where it stood vertically. The smoke tumbled out of the barrel of Carter's rifle as he slowly rose up. Tucking the black scarf back over his nose, he looked back over to the truck. Toxic black smoke poured out of it's back, accompanied by vicious flames. He took a second to silently revel in his success, slapping the rifle over his shoulder. The distant pitter patter of automatic gunfire was faintly masked by the howling wind, the dense formation of water crystals periodically illuminated by the muzzle flashes. The fierce storm had picked up, violently blowing snow into the broken windows of the vehicles, riddled with bullet holes. He slapped his hand against the top of the door and squeezed it lightly. Before he could get in, a bright flash emitted from the front of the wrecked Pontiac. It was followed by the whipping sound of a bullet, which firmly planted itself in his right shoulder. The round did as it pleased, forcing his body to twist back. "Gah!" He shouted, instinctively pressing his fist to where he'd been hit. "Son of a bitch!" Carter stumbled back a few feet, now fighting against the mighty wind. Unable to move his right arm, he threw up the rifle with his left and aimlessly fired in the direction of the Pontiac. The bullets landed near the front, blowing out one of the headlights.

"Castello, let's go!" Carter shouted up to the men on the hill. At the sound of his voice, the men ceased their fire and made their way down to the Jeep. The man with the AK-47 stopped momentarily and fired off a burst of gunfire. The one with the mangled arm moved past him and threw himself in the back seat. Once Castello had reached the car, he threw his AK-47 in the back seat and got behind the wheel. Carter jumped into the passenger seat, keeping his car door open a crack. He rested his barrel in the wedge of the door to steady it. He unloaded the rest of his clip as Castello reversed, disappearing into the storm.

************
​

Alan did as he was told, not in a position to argue. He nodded his head lightly when Syd told him to hold on, fighting the urge to give into his heavy eyelids. He was immediately shaken awake by the sound of nearby gunfire. His worst fears were confirmed as Syd uttered, "Fuck." He refused to let the idea of Milton being dead plague his thoughts. Instead, he pressed himself further into the metal of the car and prepared himself for what was next. Alan looked to the kid, seeing that he was ready to sprint out of cover. "Syd, wait!" he shouted, but it was too late - Syd bolted out from his sight. He cursed under his breath, slapping his head against the walls of the Pontiac. If Porter's kid died under his watch, Porter never would've forgiven him. More importantly, Alan never would've never forgiven himself. He waited in anticipation for the kid to return, but he was only met with the sound of howling wind.

Before his imagination could get to him, Syd returned huffing and puffing. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, relieved. He looked back to Syd to see him perched behind the car. He watched his focus as he rested the weight of his gun against the car. His concentration, his steady breath, it all led to the eventual, BANG. There was a brief pause, Alan unable to look over to see if he'd hit his target. Instead, he watched Syd's facial expressions, which mirrored his success. "You got 'im?" Alan asked gleefully. "Atta' lad." He patted Syd on the back, using his good arm. "Your pops gonna be proud." He smiled brightly, his silver teeth glistening. He was interrupted by a spasm of coughing, which reminded him of the bullet in his back.

Alan's attention was drawn to the faint silhouettes on the hill. The storm blocked out their features, but he could make out the two scurrying down to them. The one in front stopped and faced them, lowering a large object towards them. Alan's eyes slowly widened as the object became more clear. Without saying a word, he grabbed onto Syd's shoulders. The sudden movement aggravated his wound, but he fought through the pain in order to push Syd under him. He covered the kid with his own body without a second to spare. The snow around them was blown into the sky before the man was able to control the recoil. The first shot stung worse than a wasp's bite, but his rushing adrenaline numbed the rest. Soon he couldn't feel anything at all, as even the noise of the wind died down to an inaudible murmur. The man ceased his gunfire and followed behind the other to the Jeep. Alan's eyes rolled back into his head and his body laid limp over Syd, his back torn to pieces from the relentless gunfire.

************
​

After seeing the Jeep pull out onto the road, Quinn was ready to leave with them. A glance to his counterpart, however, confirmed that Marcell would refuse to walk away until Tommy and Ryan were dead. Quinn assured himself that they'd leave soon, seeing as they had the Porters cornered like rats. As Marcell grew closer, Quinn pushed to the back of the Chevy to intercept the Jeep. A tremendous shout echoed over the wind, and a grenade-shaped object landed within a couple of inches of Marcell. The snowstorm had grown far more aggressive, inhibiting their ability to see within a few feet. Still, Quinn could see how spooked Marcell had been, quickly turning on his heels to retreat. Before the man could make it half a yard, a few muffled gunshots followed. The first round landed to the left of Marcell, but the other blew out his kneecap and splattered blood across the bleach white snow. The last shot dug it's way into his back as Marcell collapsed onto the ground.

Quinn watched as Ryan's dark silhouette emerged from the blinding white. He climbed on top of Marcell and proceeded to savagely stab the man to death. Quinn's gun was feeling relatively light and with the heavy wind, he doubted his own accuracy. Luckily, the yellow headlights shinned over his head. The Jeep slid across the ice and halted just behind them. Seeing the opportunity, Quinn emerged from behind the Chevy with his submachine gun held just above his waist. He fired in the direction of Ryan, the gun only belting out five rounds before running dry. Without stopping to see if he'd successfully hit Ryan, he ran in the direction of the Jeep. Carter's impatience was evident as the car sped off while Quinn was hanging halfway through the back door.

Pyroclast (Syd) Misty Gray (Tommy) Fletchawk (Ryan)

​

 

[Melanin-Gxdess]

Aliana couldn't help but snort when she laughed at this words. "It only took the two of us arguing and me injuring my hand for us to do so... Are we really that fucked up in the head?" She found herself asking him. The seriousness of the conversation returned to her when he began to ask more questions. The one question of what she was going to do about the bracelet made her heart pound. So, he really did see their exchange. However, the thought of what he thought about that was going to have to be brought up another time. Right now, she had to focus on responding to him. "I... Don't know." Was all she could think of to say. This was all happening much faster than she expected. If she were being honest, Conor admitting his feelings, the extended kiss they shared and everything in-between was unexpected. With her current state of mind, Ali knew she shouldn't even give him an answer, to begin with. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts and take some other things into consideration. "I do know," she started, steadying herself against him looking into his eyes, "that you also have to decide what you want. That and we shouldn't just make this decision without thinking first." She was hoping by saying those words he would understand. He would understand that there is a possibility that it could be too late for the two of them.

Hearing Tommy's name made her picture him in her head. The time they had spent together and how he was there for her when Leo was shot. How could she just betray him like this? Kissing another man and sharing this intimate moment after just doing the same with him? It made her feel horrible. He was the very reason why she even started to open herself up and let some of her defenses down in the first place. What the hell was she going to do? With a deep sigh, she put a bit of distance between them, realizing anyone could walk in and see them so close and entangled with each other. "This should just stay between us until we both come to a conclusion. I want to be able to minimize the damage, you know? If we decide to try this out." She ran her good hand through her hair before giving him a small smile and biting her lip. The effects of the kiss were still lingering, but she knew she couldn't do anything about it; not without the possibility of getting caught. Shaking her head, she stifled a yawn. "This whole ordeal has partially killed my buzz and made me sleepy. I think I'm going to bed." She pointed to the ceiling, signifying she was just going to stay in the Porter's house for the night.

Conor ( Misty Gray )

 

[Pyroclast]

Syd Porter

With all odds against him, Syd was surprised to see that he had successfully shot the man. He saw Carter's body twist upon impact and felt satisfied that he had at least wounded him. However, while injured, he hadn't actually gone down, and Syd had to crouch back behind the Pontiac for cover as Carter raised his gun to fire back. Thankfully, his aim was off and the bullet only blew one of the headlights. "Yeah, I got him," he confirmed, smiling at Alan's comment. This was the thrill that the others must experience, he thought; knowing that he'd got a shot in made him feel less of a victim and more of an equal. The thought of his dad being proud of him was all the encouragement he needed to get through the night.

Doing his best to remain hidden, Syd peered round the back of the Pontiac to make sure they weren't being targeted by anyone else. The fact that there were so many attackers made him highly alert, to the point where he hardly noticed the bitter wind blowing through his shirt. The cold was subdued by the adrenaline rushing through his veins, anyway. It was only his concern for Alan that tore his attention away from the Jeep for a moment as the man began to cough uncontrollably. "Shit, yeah, we need to get you out of here," he said, kneeling down to assist the man. He had no idea how they were going to get back. He wasn't convinced the Pontiac would go anymore, but even if it did, they would somehow have to get it around the burning truck back onto the road above without sliding off into the dark abyss. Alan didn't answer him - something had caught his eye and he suddenly threw himself over Syd, pushing him right under the snow. It happened so fast, he hadn't the time to comprehend what was happening. The explosions of gunfire were muffled by the weight of the man on top of him, but he could feel the impact of each bullet so strongly that it almost felt like he was being shot himself.

When the firing finally ceased, Syd lay still for a moment, unable to move from the shock. When Alan didn't get up, Syd used his remaining strength to roll the man off him and get back onto his knees. His heart was beating so fast he could hardly breathe. "Alan," he croaked, gripping onto the lapels of his coat and trying frantically to shake him awake. His eyes were already brimming with tears. "Al..." But he knew there was no way he could have survived. Syd crawled back over to the Pontiac and rested against it, shivering. Snow and blood had soaked through his shirt, and now his whole body was numb but for the hot tears that were streaming down his face. Despite the relentless howling of the wind and the clanking of metal as the burning truck slowly fell apart, the night seemed eerily quiet once the Jeep had disappeared from the scene. It felt wrong to leave Alan's body lying alone in the snow, especially knowing that he had died saving Syd's life, but he didn't think he could move him on his own and had no idea where to take him anyway. Sitting beside him just made him feel horribly alone. If he didn't get up now, however, he might as well surrender himself to the cold.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking to Alan one last time. Then, gripping onto the side of the car, he pulled himself to his feet and set off to search for survivors. He hadn't seen Tommy or Ryan for hours, and the silence worried him. Embers from the flames were swept up high above his head, swirling wildly amid the snowflakes in the vertiginous current of air. Syd struggled to walk across the snow and ice, his legs weak with shock. "Ryan? Tommy?" he called, as loudly as he could. With a hand clamped over his mouth to avoid smoke inhalation, he moved through the flurry of embers over to the Vanguard, where he spotted Tommy laying low round the back. "Tommy!" he yelled, breaking into a run before dropping to his knees beside the man. "Are you hurt? Did they get you?" When he thought of Alan his words caught in his throat. "It's just me now," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Where's Ryan?"

Interactions
Misty Gray Tommy
Fletchawk Ryan
Enzyme

 

[Misty Gray]

Grace Armstrong​

Grace frowned and nodded her head in agreement as Adam expressed his sympathy for poor Gary's fate. She assumed the man was no longer alive, but the thought of any kind of suffering that he must have gone through was starting to get too much for her. It just made her worry even more about Jared's election campaign. It had gone beyond her selfish concerns that she didn't get to see her father much anymore to worrying about the man's safety. In her eyes, he was a good and caring man, willing to risk his own life to help the city. Only now, she felt like the rest of her family was in danger too.

"Adam, I've tried to tell my dad all of this before but he won't back down. He believes he has the power to make changes and be a voice for those who are too afraid of the corruption in the city," she exhaustedly told him. She looked to him and reluctantly nodded her head. "I'll try to stay out of it," she told him. "I mean... I just worry my dad gets so focused on what he believes to be his duties that he forgets to step back and look after himself and his family."

Grace's head reflexively turned in the general direction of the front door as she heard the sound of the doorbell. Her attention was drawn back to Adam when he placed his hand on her shoulder. Her gaze shifted to the young man's hand before he spoke again and led her to redirect her vision to his face. "A drink, huh?" she asked, dragging her thoughts away from fixating on the fact Adam was paying direct attention to her. "No, my parents won't mind at all. I am allowed to drink, you know! My dad isn't as strict as he looks," she defensively scoffed. She then pointed in the direction of the drinks cabinet. "Surprise me, barkeep!" she playfully suggested. She was appreciating the slight distraction from the lingering thoughts plaguing the back of her mind.

Pyroclast (Adam)

 

[Misty Gray]

Conor Sullivan​

Conor smirked when Aliana asked if they were both so fucked up in the head that it took her injury to bring them together again. They'd both been trying to run away from their own damaged pasts whenever they'd got together before. It was something of an escape for them. But now, Conor finally felt like there was more to them that than. He'd certainly come to realise his feelings for her went beyond purely wanting sex with her. He bit his bottom lip and slowly nodded his head as she made it clear she was uncertain about the situation and what to do about Tommy. "You're right, love. You need time to think about this - and when you haven't been drinking." He sighed. "Tommy's a good mate, so I feel shitty for doing this and I know this is hard for you too." He was aware of how much Tommy had been there for Aliana lately and that he was probably a much more stable and straightforward choice for Aliana. Conor was not ignorant to the fact he himself had baggage and an unpredictable recklessness to many of his actions. He also knew he had to consider Alex and Michelle in this, but he wouldn't stay in a relationship if it was just to create the illusion of a stable family for his daughter.

"Yeah, you're right. This needs to stay our secret. If you do choose Tommy, I promise I won't get in the way or ever mention any of this. For you and for him," he firmly assured her. He grinned at her parting words. "I can't say I've ever had a lady describe her time with me as an ordeal," he lightly teased her. "Look after yourself..." he told her and watched as she left the kitchen to retreat upstairs.

Once she had left, Conor was about to take the moment alone to perhaps headbutt the wall or berate himself for allowing more complications into his life. Instead, his attention was drawn to the door connecting the kitchen to the outside back yard as he heard a sound coming from outside. Cautiously, he approached the door as he wasn't sure what to expect. He quickly pulled it open and looked down to see the small frame of his niece with her index finger to her lips to hush him. "Savvy, what are you doing?" he asked, ignoring her gesture for silence.

"Trying to hide from Brady..." she began, before a snowball came speeding through the air and smashed into Conor's chest. "Ugh, you ruined my hiding place!" the girl berated her uncle.

"Brady, you get that punk ass of yours in the house now!" Conor shouted out, brushing the wet snow off of his shirt. "You too, Savvy," he ordered, pointing for the kids to join him inside. The girl glared at Conor as if she was about to say something, but instead nodded her head and stomped into the kitchen. "All of the grown ups are too pissed to be hunting for you brats out in the snow," he playfully told them. Once Braden was inside, Conor closed the door and ruffled the boy's hair. "Go get some pens, Brady. If we play our cards right, someone will be drunk enough for us to get away with drawing on their face. Bonus points if you get James!"

Melanin-Gxdess (Aliana)

Thomas Dempsey​

From his spot against the Vanguard, Tommy heard approaching footsteps. He instinctively tightened his grip on the gun, focusing of the sound to compensate for his reduced vision so he could fire off a more accurate shot at any coming attacker. Thankfully, the footsteps were soon followed by the sound of Syd's voice. Tommy lowered his aiming arm and let out a relieved breath, glad to have confirmation that Porter's soon was still alive. Everything else had seemed to quieten and the bastards responsible for the attack had seemingly fled. He was about to hold onto the car to help him to his feet, but Syd rounded the vehicle and dropped down to his level. "Fuck, am I glad to see you in once piece! Are you good?" he asked, noticing the blood on Syd. "They got me, but it's not serious," he said, using his gut instinct rather than any kind of expert medical knowledge to assess his own wounds. He was losing blood and probably slightly concussed, but he had to admit he'd felt worse before. "Just you? What do--" Tommy stopped as he realised he lad's words were confirming to him that Alan was dead. "Oh no. Not Alan..." he said, shaking his head as he felt a wave of guilt and sadness overcome him.

Tommy quickly looked around upon hearing Syd say Ryan's name. "Shit, he was low on bullets. He went to..." Tommy trailed off as he struggled to his feet, fighting the dizziness and the slippery ground beneath his feet. "Ryan?!" he shouted out. He placed the palm of his hand against his bleeding forehead as he looked around for his friend. His vision fixed towards the fire which illuminated two bodies on the floor nearby. One appeared completely motionless but Tommy noticed movement in the other. He squinted and then focused his vision before deciding he was certain Ryan was the man still alive by the ledge. "Come on, Syd," Tommy said, pointing towards Ryan as he walked carefully in his direction, despite the desperation. Tommy fell onto his knees next to the barely conscious man and looked the man over. "Ryan, can you hear me?" he asked, checking for the man's level of consciousness. He then looked back to Syd. "Is the Vanguard still driveable? Are you able to drive it? We need to get Ryan to a doctor or at least get us to a phonebox!"


Pyroclast (Syd) Fletchawk (Ryan)

 

[Fletchawk]

Ryan Donahue
​

Ryan's senses were feeling as though he'd just pounded several shots of whiskey in one go, only the warm fuzziness was replaced by a chilling sense of dread. He was about to make the enormous effort of getting himself upright when he felt the light vibrations of a vehicle approaching. Given his state, Ryan continued to lay there, telling himself that it was safer where he was at. As the the vehicle hurried by, even with his unfocused sight, Ryan could tell at a glance that wasn't one of theirs as its shape was far too boxy and familiar compared to the Pontiac. "Shit..." Muttering a quiet curse, his body froze as the vehicle passed by him. He dared not move his head to keep what he instinctively knew was a Jeep in his line of sight.

When Ryan heard the Jeep's tires slip a little on the ice as it came to an abrupt stop, he cursed softly again, "Shit!" His survival instincts milking the last adrenaline out of his body should he need to act. Closing his eyes, Ryan strained his ears for any other sounds other than the gale howling. He barely heard the bullets buzzing inches above his still prone body over the sharp reports of them leaving the barrel. By the time his body flinched in from the sound of gunfire, it was over. The Jeep's engine revved as it accelerated a few seconds later and the resulting vibrations died away as it drove away. It was when Ryan's chest started to ache that he remembered to breathe and opened his eyes. Alone with nothing the shadows cast by the dying bonfire and the wailing of the blizzard, Ryan didn't move, even though he could feel the blood soaked area of his pant leg start to freeze to the icy road.

Having closed his eyes because it took a lot of mental effort to focus his vision, Ryan laid there listening to everything around him. It wasn't long before he heard voices calling out through the storm. Part of him wanted to call back but his training and experience had kept him quiet. Capturing an enemy and having him call out to his allies was a common tactic to try and find those that hidden themselves. Back in Korea, the Marines had codewords for such things but no such system existed here that he knew of. He tried to stay still but Ryan kept breathing as he knew if tried to hold his breath again, he'd pass out and likely never come back to. His grip tightened on the handle of the Ka-Bar still in his hand as Ryan heard the crunching of ice against the wind, his body tensing in anticipation.

The moment Ryan heard the ice next to him crunch, his body reacted. His eyes snapping open, Ryan's empty hand went for the man's throat while the hand that wielded the knife coiled backwards, ready to strike. Had Tommy not said something, Ryan's hand would of clamped on his throat and there was a very real possibility of Ryan stabbing the man. Not being able to pull his hand back in time, Ryan shifted its direction slightly and grabbed Tommy's shoulder instead, the arm tautened back becoming slack. "Tommy!?" Saying Tommy's name was more to confirm his identity to himself than to address him. "Christ, you gave me a start!" Ryan quickly scanned what he could of the surroundings before the effort of sitting up so fast caught up with him and he closed his eyes before the new wave of dizziness hit. He saw Syd's figure behind Tommy, dimly lit by what remained of the burning truck."Hold your horses. I ain't dying just yet." The statement wasn't completely true but Ryan said it to calm Syd and Tommy.

His eyes still closed, he started unbuttoning his canvas jacket until he was able to pull his arm out. Taking care to not cut himself, Ryan then used his knife to cut a sizable hole near where the sleeve met the shoulder. Setting his knife aside atop the deceased man next to him, then unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve and began to pull it away from his body with a grunt of effort. Tearing at the cut he had made, the entirety of the sleeve came away. The sudden contact with the icy wind made his arm breakout in goosebumps and the resulting shiver that followed threaten to spread to the rest of his body before he replaced the exposed appendage back into his coat. Without adrenaline to numb the most of the pain, Ryan reactively inhaled sharply when he bent his wounded leg slightly to reach under it, the bloody area crusty from being in contact with the frozen road. Using his fingers, he felt around until he found the hold the back of his pant leg and subsequently the hole in the hole in the back of his actual leg. It stung intensely as he felt around the wound, gauging its size.

Tearing a small strip off the shirt sleeve and rolling into a roll, Ryan braced himself before shoving the bit of cloth into the still oozing wound. His body turned rigid from the pain, tears formed at the corners of his clenched eyelids, and his mind's eye flashed white as his consciousness threaten to dissipate. Ryan was able regain his composure somewhat after a few seconds but his breath was still ragged as quickly wrapped the sleeve around his leg to cover the now plugged hole and tied it off firmly. Taking only short time to cup his hands and warm them, only vaguely aware of the blood that covered them was only partly his, Ryan wiped his teary eyes with the sleeve of his coat before opening them.

His vision still a little blurry and unfocused, Ryan slowly looked around for his handgun. "So now that I'm not bleeding out, what's the tally?" Ryan asked grimly as he spied the glint of his M1911 on opposite side of the dead man and leaned over him to grab it. Once the firearm was back in his hand, he racked the slide back, confirming that it was indeed empty before shoving it back in its holster with a practiced motion. Ryan wasn't expecting good news anyways, so he wasn't really shocked by Allen and Milton's deaths. He didn't really know them but they seemed like decent enough men from what Ryan had gathered.

Before getting up, Ryan his body back over his dead opponent and sifted through the man's pockets. A habit he picked up as an enforcer in Chicago. Coming up with a set of keys, a wallet, and a full magazine, he put the keys and wallet in his own pockets before picking up the submachine gun that the man no longer had a use for. His training allowed him quickly figure out how to operate the gun in the faint light. Pulling out the magazine bring it close to his face, Ryan saw why his opponent didn't shoot back. Swapping the empty mag with the full one, Ryan then racked slide back to chamber a round.

Although his actions may of denoted otherwise, Ryan's head swam and was barely capable of focusing on one thing at a time. Even trying to stand up on his own power was proving too much of a challenge. After stumbling back to knees, Ryan held the Vigneron SMG out to Tommy before remembering faintly that the man's arm was injured. He then gestured roughly to Syd and handed the SMG out to the young man. "In case they come back." He didn't want to scare the kid but he wasn't really in the shape to fight back if who he could only assume were the IWU decided to double back. Turning back to Tommy and holding out his trembling hand to seek assistance. "Give me a hand so we can get the fuck off this god forsaken mountain." While Ryan wasn't in great shape and it was taking a massive effort to stay conscious, he wasn't likely to die before getting medical treatment.

Misty Gray [Tommy] Pyroclast [Syd] Enzyme [Butch]

 

[Shireling]

Jack Brady
​

Jack initially responded to his employer's queries noncommittally and ignored other pleasantries as he let himself into Jared's office, closing the door behind them to make the conversation private, and stood by the desk, unstrapping the binding of his leather portfolio and laying a large sheaf of papers out on the desk. It was all typewritten with hand-drawn illustrations. A paper binding displayed the working title: A Treatise on Marxist Action, and a Guide to Its Effective Use. The diagrams were very detailed instructions on bombs, wiring mechanisms, home-made firearms, incendiary devices, etc. The rest of the work was a long polemic in a question-and-answer format defending communist theory. It was likely one of the most detailed pieces of communist literature ever penned in Ireland, and Jack Brady was damned proud of it.

"I told you I was working on our centerpiece literature, Mr. Armstrong, and here it is. A guide to radical action, a weapon of the mind with which to arm the footsoldiers of the revolution. It's two years of work, meticulously written." The young man took off his glasses and cleaned them briefly with a handkerchief. "I already spoke with our usual printers for pamphlets. They said they could do it, but that the paper and ink would be a serious investment. They want you to greenlight the publication and distribution."

The young man looked to Jared, studying his face to see his reaction.

Misty Gray

 

[Misty Gray]

Jared Armstrong​

Jared watched Jack approach his desk and as the man was about to place the leather portfolio down on his desk. This caused Jared to swipe his arm to the side, shifting the box containing the severed hand out of the way, like it was merely a piece of rubbish occupying the desk space that was required for Jack's papers. Jared sat back in his seat, holding his hand out for a moment to offer his employee a chair too. The older man's eyes fell on the title of Jack's work for a time before he began to turn the pages, his eyes scanning the words and illustrations whilst Jack summarised the literature for him. Jared nodded his head and allowed a silence to take over the office as he allowed himself time to take a further look at the work. It was clear this was a masterpiece of sorts and it was only fair to regard it respectfully, regardless of the limited time and the promises he had made to his family about taking a week away from work.

Jared eventually closed the portfolio, taking care to preserve the papers his employee had clearly worked for quite some time on. "May, Mr. Brady. The election is in May," he suddenly spoke up, bringing his vision to meet Jack's face. "I would quite like to read your work in more detail. I've made no secret of my distaste for bombs, having had many past disagreements with our dear trigger-happy Miss Hennessy. However, as a last resort means, I cannot rule such weapons out completely," he reasoned. "I will not be able to give the go ahead and invest in this until after the election, regardless of its outcome. My aim is to step into a position where our voices carry great weight and influence, but to do that I have to win over the majority. I have to appeal to the sheep and the thoughtless folk of Dublin, not just those you and I align ourselves with. Charity work and charming smiles - they lap it all up. If my name were to become publicly associated with instructions on building weapons, then it will destroy everything I've worked towards and undermine my pledge to take down the the city's violent gangs and organisations." Jared paused for a moment before decisively nodding his head. "We will hold off printing your work until after the election."

Shireling (Jack)

 

[Pyroclast]

Syd Porter

Syd struggled to keep his eyes on Tommy as he spoke, not used to people seeing him in such a state. He self-consciously brought a hand to his face to wipe away the tears and blood, but his hands were just as bloody and only made it worse. "I'm not hurt, no," he answered, shaking his head. "It's not my blood." Of course it was incredibly lucky that he had come out unscathed, but still he winced slightly at the familiarity of his words. When Tommy mentioned Alan, Syd put his head down, trying to keep his emotions at bay. There wasn't time to dwell on such things now. Nevertheless, the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, a heavy tiredness taking its place. "We'd better hope so, 'cause the Pontiac's as good as dead," he sighed, leaning against the Vanguard. Although he wasn't injured, his body had started to seize up from the cold, rendering every movement more difficult and painful than the last. He followed Tommy only when called and, with his arms wrapped tightly around himself to ease the shivering, he trudged through the snow over to where Ryan lay. The man looked dreadful, but Syd was relieved to hear him speak. While Ryan dressed his wound, Syd hung back patiently.

"Too many of them got away," he replied. "I haven't counted...but I'm pretty sure we're the only ones alive out here. I'm gonna see if the Vanguard can get us back." In all honesty, he didn't care how many of their attackers were dead - right now all he wanted was to get out of there.
Syd watched Ryan as he gathered himself and sorted through the weapons within his reach. He was a little surprised when Ryan passed him the dead man's submachine gun. The thought of having to face more of the enemy was exhausting, but he lacked the energy to argue and reluctantly moved forward to take it from him. Besides, he knew Ryan was right - if they did reappear to finish them off, he knew he would be their best bet at getting a clean shot. The gun weighed heavy and was ice cold to the touch, but Syd slung it over one shoulder despite and offered his other hand to Ryan to help him to his feet.

* * * * * * *
​

The drive to the hospital ended up being a long one, as Syd found himself only able to properly accelerate once he had made it past the treacherous mountain road. Still, the responsibility of being behind the wheel had kicked Syd back into gear. He drove mostly in silence - memories of the evening made enough noise in his head - but felt somehow stronger than he had an hour or so before, more focused and level-headed. The gun was stored just under his seat, within easy reach in case of emergency. One hand gripped the wheel, the other tugged at his hair, trying to tease out the ash and blood. Although relieved to be returning to a public place, the many faces that stared them down as they walked into the hospital made him conscious of how terrible they all looked. He had had to lock the submachine gun in the car, knowing that he couldn't have carried it inside without risking arrest, but he felt immediately safer indoors. Handing himself and the two men into the care of the hospital staff shifted his feeling of responsibility and he let himself give in to the exhaustion and trauma, grateful to not have to be on full alert anymore.

Interactions
Fletchawk Ryan
Misty Gray Tommy

 

[Shireling]

Jack Brady
​

Jack's jaw tightened, then he nodded quickly. "I understand the political considerations, sir." He said.

There was a bit of a pause, then he added, "I think I'll get a drink before I leave. It's been a cold evening and I am chilled to the bone. I hope that will be alright."

Jack recovered his papers and put them back in his leather-bound portfolio, leaving the office and leaving the door slightly ajar behind him so that Jared could easily follow him if he so chose. He walked back into the front room, passing Faye by with a curt but gentle wave that said, "Business is done, and we're not talking about it." He walked to the Armstrongs' liquor cabinet, pretending at first to be oblivious to Adam and Grace's existence while he took a decanter of brandy from a section of the cabinet that was not in use and poured a bit into one of Jared's many expensive snifters. He swished the liquor around in the bottom to see that it was clear and satisfactorily lacking sediments, then took a sip. It was only then that he glanced at his portfolio on the top of the counter, with his terrorist manifesto tucked neatly inside, and then at both Adam and Grace.

"Evening," he said politely, "I don't believe...we've met," he said, pointing in Adam's direction. "The butler I presume?"

He shifted forward on the counter and waited for the response, meanwhile his mind was swimming with what to do next. Jared's declaration that they wait until after the elections to publish were, on the face of them, perfectly reasonable and legitimate instructions. On the other hand, it showed in Jared a kind of selfishness towards the Cause, that he could just shelve away what was ostensibly supposed to be the goal of the IWU so he could consolidate his grip on the levers of power. It all seemed on the up and up, but he couldn't shake the feeling it was rotten. He shook his head and looked first at Grace, then Adam anticipating a response from either.

Misty Gray Pyroclast

 

[Pyroclast]

Adam Morgan

Adam laughed at Grace, pleased that she was going along with his attempt to brighten the atmosphere. He moved over to the drinks cabinet and began to slowly sift through the selection of exquisite spirits and liqueurs. It wasn't in Adam's nature to make himself at home and he looked back up to her with a smile, almost shy to be using somebody else's alcohol. However, he was soon joined by another man, someone he had not met before and whom he assumed to have been the one ringing the doorbell a few minutes ago. The young man leaned over and retrieved a decanter filled with a rich, golden-coloured brandy. Adam glanced at the label of the bottle beside it - Remy Martin VSOP Cognac - and suddenly knew exactly what he would make. He placed a further five bottles on the counter between himself and Grace, but as he reached for the same decanter that the man had used, their eyes met and Adam felt it was only polite to acknowledge him.

When asked if he was the Armstrong's butler, Adam had to fight back his laughter, only allowing a broad smile to escape his lips. Whoever this man was, he decided that he liked him already.
"Good evening," he grinned, clearly amused. "Family friend, as a matter of fact. Adam Morgan. It's a pleasure. And you are?" He held out his hand to the man, then turned his attention back to the drinks counter and raised an eyebrow at Grace with a facial expression that said "Who on Earth is this guy?". In turn, he carefully poured a small amount from each bottle, stooping down to the level of the glass to ensure that the ratios were precise. Once happy, he straightened up and handed the cocktail over to her. "There you go - a Vieux Carré," he said, putting on his best French accent. "You can tell a customer has class when they ask for one of these."

Interactions
Shireling Jack
Misty Gray Grace

 

[Misty Gray]

Grace Armstrong​

Grace watched on as Adam began making her drink. Her attention was broken from observing when Jack made his presence known and greeted the pair. "Merry Christmas...." she welcomed the man as an uncontrollable snicker escaped her upon hearing him ask if Adam was the butler. "Oh, and what a great butler Adam would make," she remarked. The distraction was certainly welcomed right now. She listened as the younger man introduced himself as a family friend. Meanwhile, she was sure she might have seen Jack before, but she'd seen many of her father's employees and colleagues without getting the opportunity to put names to faces. "You know, Adam's dad works with mine. Oliver Morgan... He's been helping with the election campaign," she obliviously informed the man. She wondered if Jack and Oliver knew each other through their work.

Grace's attention was brought back to Adam as he finished preparing her cocktail. She reached her hand out to accept the drink from him. "Thank you, Barkeep," she told him. She then took a drink from the glass and smiled when he explained the type of customer who would ask for one of those. "Classy customers.... Yet you served it to me?" she joked, at her own expense. She took another drink of the cocktail. "You know what? I feel classier already, good sir!" she remarked, suddenly taking on what appeared to be a very fine impression of Jared's strong English accent rather than her own mixed Irish-English accent.


Pyroclast (Adam) Shireling (Jack)

 

[Enzyme]

Carter Dresden​

After arriving back at the warehouse, the injured men were immediately examined by the amateur doctors onsight. Carter had been faced with similar situations before, so he managed to do most of the work on his own during the journey back. Using his bandana as a makeshift tourniquet and needle nose pliers, he pulled out some of the shallow shrapnel around his wound. Luckily for Carter, the bullet had skimmed the frame of the Jeep's door and started to flake before making contact with his shoulder. He was given a sling for his arm after being inspected and sent off with a green light. As for the man who had been hit in the hand, he'd surely lose the forearm.

Despite how eagerly he was to feel his face against his pillow, he had been instructed to release Arlene immediately. After slamming back an overdosage of acetaminophen, he made his way up the narrow stairs. His injured arm restlessly shook in the sling with each step, irritated by the slightest movement. Once he reached her floor, the two men standing in front of her door hardly paid any notice to him. "You blokes telling her to piss off wasn't good enough, aye?" Carter asked, his tone laced heavily with annoyance. The men shrugged, not knowing of Arlene's imminent freedom. "Ugh, fucking useless," Carter muttered, pushing past the men with his leading arm.

Arlene had seemingly stayed where he'd left her, sitting in the small living room. Carter tucked his sling behind him with the intention of not having a conversation, mostly an argument, over what had occurred. "Looks like your prayers have been answered," Carter started, the pain from his shoulder obliterating any sense in forming a friendly smile. "You're free ta' go." He flatly informed her. He looked around the room one more time, before grunting lightly. Without saying another word, he turned on his heels to leave. With everything that had happened, all he wanted to do was go home and adequately nurse his wound with stitches.

Misty Gray (Arlene)