deadly king
never fade away
THE BOSS
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Realistic or Modern 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 . . . [ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 ]
- Thread starter deadly king
- Start date
BloodLightning27
Seven Thousand Club
Penelope Gennaro
After a rather tense week, Penelope was taking a step back to reenter a period of solitude to avoid suspicion from her 'concerned and nosy' neighbors. As far as they knew, she was just a lonely housewife whose husband was constantly away. Not once have they seen 'him' home or out with her. It raised a lot of curiosity, but Penelope has so far been able to keep a low profile. And online shopping really came in handy ninety-five percent of the time. Unfortunately, not even twenty-four hours into her hopeful period of solitude, there was a meeting called with the rest of the crew, whom she has been rolling with for the last five to six months. Their Ringleader, Ivan, had made a massive move following the high-profile arrest of a powerful Mafia Boss earlier in the month. Since then, the rival crew has been in disarray and Ivan took advantage in the chaos. Authorities aren't too far behind either and Penelope herself had some close calls. However, because she's been operating for years in her criminal career, it is likely Authorities are on her tail now, they just have been having trouble actually catching her due to her meticulous escape tactics.
Penelope had taken a moment to reflect on her past operations and is sometimes surprised she has gotten so far, even with the suspicion of her neighbors in her home suburb. Today though, was probably the next step in whatever grand plan Ivan had. After receiving his curt text messages calling for the meeting, Penelope quietly made her way to Saint Jean Baptiste Church. And not wanting to put with New York City traffic, decided to take a Taxi. Risky, but necessary to conserve resources.
Upon arriving, Penelope proceeded to take a moment to adjust her outfit. Slowly, she got out of the back of the cab, moving slowly. What onlookers saw was a massively pregnant woman in a dark red button-up maternity maxi dress with red and black hair exiting the back of a taxi. But Penelope didn't think too much of the people around her. She adjusted her purse before shutting the car door and sending it on its way. Patting the back of her head to ensure her wig wasn't slipping out of place or anything, she continued 'waddling' towards the church while holding her back. As she entered the church, she was greeted by Father Rucker, to whom she smiled before making her way up a flight of stairs to meet with Ivan in the impromptu meeting room that had been set up. Penelope just held her back and rested her hand on top of the belly, waiting for everyone else to arrive...One. By. One.
Penelope had taken a moment to reflect on her past operations and is sometimes surprised she has gotten so far, even with the suspicion of her neighbors in her home suburb. Today though, was probably the next step in whatever grand plan Ivan had. After receiving his curt text messages calling for the meeting, Penelope quietly made her way to Saint Jean Baptiste Church. And not wanting to put with New York City traffic, decided to take a Taxi. Risky, but necessary to conserve resources.
Upon arriving, Penelope proceeded to take a moment to adjust her outfit. Slowly, she got out of the back of the cab, moving slowly. What onlookers saw was a massively pregnant woman in a dark red button-up maternity maxi dress with red and black hair exiting the back of a taxi. But Penelope didn't think too much of the people around her. She adjusted her purse before shutting the car door and sending it on its way. Patting the back of her head to ensure her wig wasn't slipping out of place or anything, she continued 'waddling' towards the church while holding her back. As she entered the church, she was greeted by Father Rucker, to whom she smiled before making her way up a flight of stairs to meet with Ivan in the impromptu meeting room that had been set up. Penelope just held her back and rested her hand on top of the belly, waiting for everyone else to arrive...One. By. One.
BuggaBoo
Lovin'👩❤️💋👩Her~!!
'The Deva' - Rai'Shauni Calvillo-Holmes
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Making a Deal before heading to the Church...
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It felt weird yet strangely satisfying in that moment she hit the clutch and slammed it into 6th gear.
Headlights reflected offa the sign that read 100mph max and was instantly forgotten when she exploded right past it at nearly double the 'optional' listing. Man there was nothing like the rumbling of a big block at red line rpms. It was a shame that she was going to have to end this joyride in less than 10 mins. There was something about an ol' muscle car modded outta its time but still looked like it came right outta the world 30yrs ago. This big sexy red old lady was a crop top whose mods allowed for less wind noise than it ever did when it rolled offa the assembly line. And as an attestment to modern tech superiority she pulled over to the right lane and onto the curving off ramp, down shifting, her big sexy ride growling as she slowed. The Chevelle embraced the asphalt with rubber and suspension that allowed for such a turn; with original parts she should have cleary rolled the car at these speeds.
But speaking of shifters, that was the reason she was dealing this classic cherry convertible. This car was a rebuild of a rebuild. Not to say the rebuild wasn't top notch, it really was, but the rebuilder had swapped out the automatic transmission for a 6 speed. And as sexy as that was, that particular mod was notorious for just bricking your beauty in no time. Yet as all good, nose to the grindstone, badass Dealers like her could attest to; there was always something for someone out there and she would find it. And find one she did.
A deficient, primed to break down car deserved an already broken down degenerate owner like the guy she was about to meet.
The muscle car rumbled along with a smooth, throaty purr before finally coming to a halt midway down the alley. The big inked up woman just had to step on the accelerator; one final rev of to clear the cherry musclecar's lung's before letting her rest. Violet glowed on the horizon as she stepped outta the vehicle. Soft leather gloved hands gently shut the massive door while she surveyed the alley at the same time. One big suede ankle boot kicked over the other as she leaned onto the driver's side door and lit up a smoke. Blue eyes cooly traced her overcoat, ensuring that it wasn't obvious that anything meant to kill didn't bulge out from her person. One final drag then the big inked woman lifted her brown chin as the back door to the club creaked open. Rai smirked as the tubby man wobbled out the back door.
"Hey, hey, hey, heeeeey... if ain't my favourite Deva..." the rotund man was nearly as wide as he was tall. Despite that he could drip a cheap-ass suit like no other. Even had a flower pinned to the breast pocket.
"I'm the only Deva, Mondy," a bit of snark couldn't help but leak through in her smokey voice. A simple upward chin nod she addressed him with, blue eyes cooly looking over his shoulders at his 'men at arms.' Rai slipped away from the car, flicked away her cigarette, then held out a gloved hand in presentation, "and as promised the Deva came through and blessed your ass: 1970 Chevelle, 454 engine, Convertible."
Rai, straight to the point as always, held up the keys and jangled them, an expectant look washing over her fine brown features. Mondy took a huge puff from his 'rare and expensive' cigar as he regarded the musclecar like a greedy shark. A sharp appreciative whistle, then he nodded as he snapped a finger. His trio of men-at-arms stepped out and flanked their boss. "I know you only bring the best, Deva. Ain't even gonna check it cuz I know you good for it. Alright, sweetie. Your trade in is ready. Buuuuuut..."
The big woman's RBF scowl immediately changed into a real one as she slowly lowered the keys. Here we go... same swindly bitch-assed technique as always... what is it with these cheap suit trash peddling types anyways... sheesh... Rai snapped her head, ridding a shoulder of long chestnut locks. A simple head tilt feigned real curiosity.
"But what, Mondy? Lacking in your end? Can't get it up again... I meant; up to meet what we agreed upon--" if he couldn't see the coldness overtake the glinting blue eyes he deserved exactly what he got "--and shook upon."
His men definitely sensed her shift in demeanor and stepped forward, all with hands slowly drifting to their waistbands, "Ahhhhh yeah. Yeah we did shake upon that. But I just can't let it go that you denied me a buyer for 'my goods.' And actually ever since that little talk... 'Certain Types' have been asking questions about 'my goods'. You know anything about that, sweetie? Do you Deevs?"
"It's Deva. Nothing less, Mr. Mondello. And unless you have something to accuse me with, don't question my integrity, you fat scumbag bitch. If people are asking questions about moving humans, man, check your other leaky piece of shit, boot licking, back-stabbing cronies. You wanna question me Mr. Mondello? Like you some entitled blubbering Mickie Dee's customer who, wah, didn't get mustard on their fat filled burger and wants their money back despite shoving it whole down their slobbering gullet? Maybe you wanna speak to the manager huh? Maybe you tell Mr. Ivan yourself you don't like doing business with him because you think he employs a little rat. Why don't you tell him that yourself, you lowlife, toilet water drinking, trash munching, waist size larger than his IQ, little fu--"
"Hahahahhahahahah! Ohhhh Deva! Hahahahahahha! That's why I like you! You such a foul mouthed fiery bitch! Man, you must be a wild, sweet and juicy ride tharshing around between the sheets hahahah--"
"--You wish you could even get close enough to sniff this sexiness, asshole--"
"--hahahahhah! Okay, okay. It's too early in the morning to argue. But sweetie, you made my morning, and it's not even started hahahahahah! Okay, okay. Just love to shake your tree everyso often... and man do I ever looooove to see those 'sweet coconuts' shake mmmmmm... yeah wow hahahahh! I don't wanna lose a good thing over any little accusations."
Another snap of his fingers and one of his minions pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Mondy. Another puff from his 'high class and high quality man' cigar, "Here. Deva, you tell Mr. Ivan he has another satisfied customer. Tell him you and your crew are invited to The Honeysuckle Club anytime for a steak dinner in the VIP section, okay? You and yours are a great, great business association I have ever dealt with!"
Rai wished she could just lauch a rocket through that shit-eating grin of his, but instead she just lobbed him the keys. In return he waddled up to her and handed her the trade in keys-- not before leaning in and taking a deep inhale of her chest, "Man. But I do love me some yummy sweet coconuts."
"Yeah too bad I ain't about a pair of tiny peas surrounding a crusty little peanut, Mondy," a smirk told him that she wouldn't kick him right in the tiny peas if only to keep the business relationship stable, "now where is it?"
A glistening layer of sweat lit up offa his olive face as traces the rising sun's orange rays peeked through the buildings. One last look to undress her yet again and of course this time he just had to lick his lips to add in that extra layer of creepy perv. Then he patted his brow with a kerchief and pointed down the alley, "5 dumpsters down. Behind Johnny's place. Have a great rest of your day, Deevs. Oh, and why don't you swing by the club yourself and pick up the cash...
"I have a nice little private lounge where we can get down and talk about the first thing that.... 'pops up'. From there, sweetie, I'd looooove to... 'bounce your ideas around'. Mmmmmm... sounds sooooo juicy to me... Yeeeeeah, you like it sweetie, mmmmmm yeah, tell me you like it like that..."
His bellowing laughs echoed down the alley as she strut away from the sleazebag, a leather gloved middle finger tossed up high as her final parting gift.
A lone arm held outta the window as she drove, workers cap low over her sunglasses wearing face. The name above the logo on her chest said; 'Sam' and the side of the moving van said; 'Mondy's Furniture Emporium' but she was definitely not Sam and the cargo within was definitely not furniture. Deva drove on, meeting check point after checkpoint, on time, on budget as she made her way over to the church. At each check point she greeted each member of her crew with a curt nod; no time for pleasantries, only time to move product. Once all she picked up all those that were in on the ruse, she finally made a bee line for the church.
To the back of the church she drove her way onto a loading dock of sorts. All exited the powder blue van like a bunch of workers that were here just to do their jobs. As the ey entered, they were cheerfully greeted by one of the church's alter boys, Davie. None the wiser he chirped happily and lead them to the presiding patron, easily smuggling themselves in under the noses of the congregation. Funny that the actual Smuggler of the crew didn't smuggle herself in their with them, but still Banshee's plan was flawless and Deva's execution 2nd to none.
The moment the door was closed, Deva slid out of her powder blue coveralls, revealing her regular clothes underneath: a charcoal lady's powersuit, complete with vest, black and white striped tie accented with reds, suede ankle boots and sleek black nylons. She gently slipped her chestnut ponytail out from the cap, readjusting and retying the black ribbon that kept her ponytail in check. Her hands couldn't help but twitch a touch as she moved towards the central area of the musty meetup spot. Deva had been with Ivan's crew for just over 5 months now and still she had problems resisting pulling out every piece of conceivable weaponry hidden upon her and laying it on the table.
Clan Wicked meetings always forbid the attendees to hide any sort of weaponry upon their person for reasons 3 fold. One was that this way when things became heated, no hidden weapons could be drawn. Two was that one of the Clan elders would come around and check to see that their immediate and trusted members up kept their tools of the trade. And three; it was a sign of respect for the meeting lead that they were just here to talk.
But this time she successfully resisted and took her seat. A cool blue-eyed gaze met the each of her crew and a curt nod of acknowledgement as always she bestowed. Clasping her hands as she had done so many times at Clan Wicked meetings, to Mr. Ivan she bestowed a gracious bowing of her head, eyes lowered; full respect in her smokey voice, yet even her greeting was a formal holdover, "Deva, right here, right now, pleased to attend and partake in full as always, Boss."
A soft exhale then she leaned back and waited for the others to settle and finally have the meeting properly commence. Because despite the Boss saying they should celebrate, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. As with anytime he said the word 'security' there was always something more to do.
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Bugsy
I am a threat, I alter outcomes
The garbage truck came to a slow crawl at the lights, feeling the hum of the cabin around him as he took a look at each of his mirrors to see who it was lining up behind them. Erasmus's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he spotted the familiar pattern of the cops instead peeking just behind him before it pulled out completely, lights and sirens turned on as it took target on another street racer who thought it a smart idea to run a set of red lights.
"Hah, what an idiot."
Harlan was in the cabin with him today, just the pair of them. Harlan wasn't much to look at, stocky frame, low brow and a receeding hairline that was tactically hidden underneath his baseball cap. Like a moth to a flame, Ira couldn't help himself eyeball the officer who had stepped out to speak to the driver; the driver no older than a kid who probably didn't realise stealing his mom's car whilst she was asleep was a crime but he'd find out sooner or later. Just as he had. The officer seemed to momentarily pause, glancing up long enough that they had made eye contact, but Ira was certain that this officer hadn't seen who it was underneath the baseball cap. Sanitation workers, construction workers, blue collar jobs were one of the most invisible jobs on the open streets of New York.
Eramus had seen the message that had been sent to him by Ivan, a three month old alliance (read: someone he had tied his post to because it kept him out of prison), summoning him to the Saint Jean Baptiste Church, though waved it away with an easy explanation of a woman when Harlan had asked who it was. Luckily, the end of their work day couldn't have come sooner, closing his locker and twizzling the number combination so it sat on 2-0-8-1 before making his way out the back and jumped into Deva's van to get to his destination. He wasn't an easy man to lose with his six foot two, broad frame but he did his best to look like any other church goer as he strode through the front. He'd stick to the sides as he slowly found his way past Father Rucker and up the stairs to where he could see a couple of the crew gathered.
Stepping through the threshold, Ira was quick to give each one of them a lookover and a brief half-smile before he locked eyes with Ivan and gave him a nod of respect, "Boss."
No sooner on his arrival had they been congratulated for the arrest of their rival boss last week, that the city would be Ivan's before he corrected it to being theirs (smooth correction there, boss) but there was always something that came with the idea that they were being slapped on the back for a job well done. There was a plan in motion, he had seen it before in the Aces, seen it when the leader had something more to say; the posture, the way they held themselves as they waited to observe how the rest of them were going to react. Ira settled into one of the pieces of furniture, sinking down and spreading out as he got comfortable, his knee bouncing lightly in anticipation of what was to come. "There goin' to be anyone we got to be concerned about?"
"Hah, what an idiot."
Harlan was in the cabin with him today, just the pair of them. Harlan wasn't much to look at, stocky frame, low brow and a receeding hairline that was tactically hidden underneath his baseball cap. Like a moth to a flame, Ira couldn't help himself eyeball the officer who had stepped out to speak to the driver; the driver no older than a kid who probably didn't realise stealing his mom's car whilst she was asleep was a crime but he'd find out sooner or later. Just as he had. The officer seemed to momentarily pause, glancing up long enough that they had made eye contact, but Ira was certain that this officer hadn't seen who it was underneath the baseball cap. Sanitation workers, construction workers, blue collar jobs were one of the most invisible jobs on the open streets of New York.
Eramus had seen the message that had been sent to him by Ivan, a three month old alliance (read: someone he had tied his post to because it kept him out of prison), summoning him to the Saint Jean Baptiste Church, though waved it away with an easy explanation of a woman when Harlan had asked who it was. Luckily, the end of their work day couldn't have come sooner, closing his locker and twizzling the number combination so it sat on 2-0-8-1 before making his way out the back and jumped into Deva's van to get to his destination. He wasn't an easy man to lose with his six foot two, broad frame but he did his best to look like any other church goer as he strode through the front. He'd stick to the sides as he slowly found his way past Father Rucker and up the stairs to where he could see a couple of the crew gathered.
Stepping through the threshold, Ira was quick to give each one of them a lookover and a brief half-smile before he locked eyes with Ivan and gave him a nod of respect, "Boss."
No sooner on his arrival had they been congratulated for the arrest of their rival boss last week, that the city would be Ivan's before he corrected it to being theirs (smooth correction there, boss) but there was always something that came with the idea that they were being slapped on the back for a job well done. There was a plan in motion, he had seen it before in the Aces, seen it when the leader had something more to say; the posture, the way they held themselves as they waited to observe how the rest of them were going to react. Ira settled into one of the pieces of furniture, sinking down and spreading out as he got comfortable, his knee bouncing lightly in anticipation of what was to come. "There goin' to be anyone we got to be concerned about?"
simulationanomaly
Abort, Retry, Fail?
Goddamn, the light hurt. The light hurt, the cacophony of early afternoon traffic hurt, the biting scents of man and machine hurt, the nudging shoulders of passing pedestrians didn't hurt, but holding back the intense knee-jerk rage each touch sent through his mind was pure agony. Still, as with all pains that had come before, Kenneth simply did what he always did and endured it through gritted teeth. Besides, it wasn't like he had room to bitch about it. He knew that Ivan was likely to call some sort of meeting this week—and not just to pop a bottle of champagne to a job well-done. The enforcer may have been far from the strategic brains behind the operation, but even he could tell through the haze of endorphins that between all the skull-busting and product-slinging, their little outfit had made a lot of noise for such a short time. Not the safest play, even if the rewards made it all worth the risk. All that in mind, he really should've withheld his own celebrations until after the inevitable pride-and-doom speech.
A bus roared past on the streets, eliciting a quiet growl as he pulled his tattered beanie down further over his throbbing head. It did nothing to block the rumbling of the diesel engine or the hiss of the air brakes, but it at least soothed his bruised left ear when the biting wind could no longer reach it. At least he didn't have to dress to the nines for this one. "Community outreach", Ivan had said. Yeah, Kenneth supposed that was one way to put it. Still, with an excuse like that, it meant that he didn't have to worry too much about appearances. Within limits, of course. He couldn't walk in there with blood smeared on his face, but he was sure to take care of that before he even stepped foot into broad daylight. He was clean. Right?
On second thought, better check. He slowed his pace slightly and glanced at his reflection in the window of a parked car. Yeah, he was clean. Visibly haggard, sure, but he didn't look much different from the other homeless men of New York City. For the sake of subtlety, he had foregone his usual leathers and spikes for blue jeans and a red checkered flannel beneath a brown bomber jacket that still reeked of the previous owner's cigarettes. Menthol Newports. It seemed bitterly ironic given how he'd found the man: frozen to death on the ground beside a sputtering trash fire. His jacket had been discarded by his side, his eyes locked half-lidded and lifeless on the flame as though it was what he expected to see when he awoke from that long sleep. The memory gave Kenneth a brief pause, the slightest stutter in his step. It was far from his first corpse, and it was far from the worst, but the frozen ones always unnerved him. When men died violently, it was obvious that they fought for every breath they took. Their faces were often twisted into expressions of rage or fear, their eyes were lifeless but still had the smouldering embers of a fight in them. The cold drained that spirit from them. The only expressions the frozen ones ever bore in death were of pure exhaustion. Very rarely, relief.
He had been fighting for as long as he could remember. A death that quiet, one that ended in a white flag instead of bloody hands—it wasn't a way he could ever envision himself going. Yet, he knew it was possible. All it would take would be for him to take one fatal loss against the chemical warfare he constantly waged against himself. Then it would be him on the ground, his jacket cast aside, his lifeless eyes affixed to a flame that he knew would still be there when he woke.
He shook his head and picked up the pace. He couldn't be thinking about that right now. Not with the shadow of God's house looming above him. He took a moment to glance up at the imposing stone fortress. Roman Catholic. An interesting choice, but ultimately fitting, he supposed. Reaching out with a bandaged hand, he pulled the door open and vanished into the church's halls. Despite being out of the cold, he could still feel his hair stand on end as he gave a polite warning shot of a nod to Father John Rucker. The man may have been Ivan's ally, these halls may have been hallowed, but betwixt the pews and the pulpit, Kenneth knew that no one here was on good terms with God. Himself especially. Hell, he was actively pondering if he could convince the man in robes if he could spot him a bit of Christ's blood to heal his ails. Probably not. Probably shouldn't.
Making his way up to the second floor, he noted with a certain level of chagrin that he wasn't the first one there. It was one thing being beaten to the meet by that masked-up new blood—he had long taken notice of her tendency to appear from thin air. Being beaten to the meeting by the lady who looked like she was carrying quadruplets was somewhat embarrassing. At least the other enforcer hadn't shown yet. He wasn't sure if he was in the right mindset to deal with that. Grabbing the chair closest to Ivan, he flashed something between a grin and a grimace to his old associate as he sat down. "доброе Утречко, Ives," he grumbled, his tone making it clear that he didn't care what time it actually was. "Lookin' well today."
Speaking of the masked newbie, she only acknowledged Kenneth's presence with a pause and a shiver as he entered the room before returning to her notes. Aminah may have been new to the street scene, but she wasn't completely oblivious. That man reeked of danger. It was a wonder he was still allowed to walk the streets as far as she was concerned—really, he could hardly even act non-threatening. Even in his current state, clearly hungover and woefully sober, she could still see a shine in his eye like a hungry dog's. If anyone in this city had any sense, they would've scrubbed his presence clean off of it long before she joined. Of course, that would be asking Americans—and specifically American law enforcement—to have sense. This task, as she'd learned the hard way, was sadly impossible for them.
Hell, even Ivan wasn't immune to a lack of common sense. First of all, keeping that ticking time bomb around was an awful idea in general. Penelope could at least play the part of the helpless pregnant woman well, Ira had the "blue collar laborer" excuse, Deva had a certain cool factor that made her danger a bit more pleasing, everyone had something that let them pass for a respectable civilian when they weren't doing this shit. And then there was Kenneth. What the fuck did he even do when he wasn't beating someone into a paste or discussing the future of beating someone into a paste? Drugs? Was that it? Second of all, what even was this meeting time? Okay, sure, it was scheduled during a quiet period so everyone would be at work or school and not crowding potential meeting points. Well-played. Except everyone was at work or school and they were all suspiciously crowding a church in the middle of a fucking weekday. Plus, she had to skip class to be here. How was that not suspicious?
She rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket, whipping out her flip phone as it buzzed in a desperate vy for attention. At least her roommate was somewhat helpful.
"Heyyyyy got ur notes for u! idk why u couldn't just call out of that work meeting but u didn't miss much lol"
"Ughhh thx girl X_x So so wish I could I rlly don't wanna be here but my boss is suuuuuch a hardass u have no idea. Like he'd want my head on a plate if I didn't show he's a crazy bitch like that"
"O_o GIRLLLL this job can't be worth all that mess c'mon why don't u just quit??"
"Omg I wish I could so bad u have no idea T_T g2g he's starting to run his mouth abt dumb shit gotta pretend 2 listen"
And pretend to listen she did. She had heard this song and dance before. Many, many times before. Except it usually didn't come from Russian men who thought they were the next Godfather. She had sat outside of many a board room meeting growing up, eavesdropped on many a conference call between corporate execs, and they all had this same tone. Sure, the verbage was different—the corps didn't usually directly refer to blood spilt unless some idiot got their arm caught in a forklift at one of the sites or something—but it was all the same self-aggrandizing hollow praise, right down to the subtle claiming of all the credit for her and everyone else's hard work. "Smooth catch, boss," she whispered to herself, adjusting her medical mask to sit a bit further up on her hooked nose.
Yes, they had all done so very well. That's why they were sitting in a church together in the middle of the day, not at a bar in the dead of night popping bottles. Please. Aminah glanced over at Ira as he mentioned potential trouble, glad that he at least had the balls to come out and say it even if it was indirect. A dark chuckle came from her other side and made her jump—that damn hick startled her. "Reckon there always is," Kenneth grinned, learning forward and resting his arms on his knees. "Question's who. Pigs? Stragglers from that old outfit? Ain't nothin' a few bucks and some busted teeth can't fix, far's I see it."
"Well, you're not looking very far, then."
The silence that fell over the room as Kenneth made direct eye contact with Aminah was mourgelike. Shit, that was a little louder than she'd meant it. Her throat went dry as those hungry eyes pierced directly through her, pinning her in place as his lip curled into a subtle snarl. "Wanna speak up a lil', twigs?" he growled, a challenge more than a question. "Don't think I quite caught that."
"I said, well, there were those mooks at the bar, Ken," she improvised, clearing her throat in an attempt to restore some sense of confidence to her voice. "That bar they controlled and stuff... If they weren't all taken care of, they could be a problem, right?"
A few more seconds of deafening silence. Then, Kenneth leaned back in his chair with a huff. It was clear he wasn't fully buying it, but it was enough to divert his fury for now. "Right," he said, finally removing his gaze from the new blood.
Close one.
A bus roared past on the streets, eliciting a quiet growl as he pulled his tattered beanie down further over his throbbing head. It did nothing to block the rumbling of the diesel engine or the hiss of the air brakes, but it at least soothed his bruised left ear when the biting wind could no longer reach it. At least he didn't have to dress to the nines for this one. "Community outreach", Ivan had said. Yeah, Kenneth supposed that was one way to put it. Still, with an excuse like that, it meant that he didn't have to worry too much about appearances. Within limits, of course. He couldn't walk in there with blood smeared on his face, but he was sure to take care of that before he even stepped foot into broad daylight. He was clean. Right?
On second thought, better check. He slowed his pace slightly and glanced at his reflection in the window of a parked car. Yeah, he was clean. Visibly haggard, sure, but he didn't look much different from the other homeless men of New York City. For the sake of subtlety, he had foregone his usual leathers and spikes for blue jeans and a red checkered flannel beneath a brown bomber jacket that still reeked of the previous owner's cigarettes. Menthol Newports. It seemed bitterly ironic given how he'd found the man: frozen to death on the ground beside a sputtering trash fire. His jacket had been discarded by his side, his eyes locked half-lidded and lifeless on the flame as though it was what he expected to see when he awoke from that long sleep. The memory gave Kenneth a brief pause, the slightest stutter in his step. It was far from his first corpse, and it was far from the worst, but the frozen ones always unnerved him. When men died violently, it was obvious that they fought for every breath they took. Their faces were often twisted into expressions of rage or fear, their eyes were lifeless but still had the smouldering embers of a fight in them. The cold drained that spirit from them. The only expressions the frozen ones ever bore in death were of pure exhaustion. Very rarely, relief.
He had been fighting for as long as he could remember. A death that quiet, one that ended in a white flag instead of bloody hands—it wasn't a way he could ever envision himself going. Yet, he knew it was possible. All it would take would be for him to take one fatal loss against the chemical warfare he constantly waged against himself. Then it would be him on the ground, his jacket cast aside, his lifeless eyes affixed to a flame that he knew would still be there when he woke.
He shook his head and picked up the pace. He couldn't be thinking about that right now. Not with the shadow of God's house looming above him. He took a moment to glance up at the imposing stone fortress. Roman Catholic. An interesting choice, but ultimately fitting, he supposed. Reaching out with a bandaged hand, he pulled the door open and vanished into the church's halls. Despite being out of the cold, he could still feel his hair stand on end as he gave a polite warning shot of a nod to Father John Rucker. The man may have been Ivan's ally, these halls may have been hallowed, but betwixt the pews and the pulpit, Kenneth knew that no one here was on good terms with God. Himself especially. Hell, he was actively pondering if he could convince the man in robes if he could spot him a bit of Christ's blood to heal his ails. Probably not. Probably shouldn't.
Making his way up to the second floor, he noted with a certain level of chagrin that he wasn't the first one there. It was one thing being beaten to the meet by that masked-up new blood—he had long taken notice of her tendency to appear from thin air. Being beaten to the meeting by the lady who looked like she was carrying quadruplets was somewhat embarrassing. At least the other enforcer hadn't shown yet. He wasn't sure if he was in the right mindset to deal with that. Grabbing the chair closest to Ivan, he flashed something between a grin and a grimace to his old associate as he sat down. "доброе Утречко, Ives," he grumbled, his tone making it clear that he didn't care what time it actually was. "Lookin' well today."
Speaking of the masked newbie, she only acknowledged Kenneth's presence with a pause and a shiver as he entered the room before returning to her notes. Aminah may have been new to the street scene, but she wasn't completely oblivious. That man reeked of danger. It was a wonder he was still allowed to walk the streets as far as she was concerned—really, he could hardly even act non-threatening. Even in his current state, clearly hungover and woefully sober, she could still see a shine in his eye like a hungry dog's. If anyone in this city had any sense, they would've scrubbed his presence clean off of it long before she joined. Of course, that would be asking Americans—and specifically American law enforcement—to have sense. This task, as she'd learned the hard way, was sadly impossible for them.
Hell, even Ivan wasn't immune to a lack of common sense. First of all, keeping that ticking time bomb around was an awful idea in general. Penelope could at least play the part of the helpless pregnant woman well, Ira had the "blue collar laborer" excuse, Deva had a certain cool factor that made her danger a bit more pleasing, everyone had something that let them pass for a respectable civilian when they weren't doing this shit. And then there was Kenneth. What the fuck did he even do when he wasn't beating someone into a paste or discussing the future of beating someone into a paste? Drugs? Was that it? Second of all, what even was this meeting time? Okay, sure, it was scheduled during a quiet period so everyone would be at work or school and not crowding potential meeting points. Well-played. Except everyone was at work or school and they were all suspiciously crowding a church in the middle of a fucking weekday. Plus, she had to skip class to be here. How was that not suspicious?
She rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket, whipping out her flip phone as it buzzed in a desperate vy for attention. At least her roommate was somewhat helpful.
"Heyyyyy got ur notes for u! idk why u couldn't just call out of that work meeting but u didn't miss much lol"
"Ughhh thx girl X_x So so wish I could I rlly don't wanna be here but my boss is suuuuuch a hardass u have no idea. Like he'd want my head on a plate if I didn't show he's a crazy bitch like that"
"O_o GIRLLLL this job can't be worth all that mess c'mon why don't u just quit??"
"Omg I wish I could so bad u have no idea T_T g2g he's starting to run his mouth abt dumb shit gotta pretend 2 listen"
And pretend to listen she did. She had heard this song and dance before. Many, many times before. Except it usually didn't come from Russian men who thought they were the next Godfather. She had sat outside of many a board room meeting growing up, eavesdropped on many a conference call between corporate execs, and they all had this same tone. Sure, the verbage was different—the corps didn't usually directly refer to blood spilt unless some idiot got their arm caught in a forklift at one of the sites or something—but it was all the same self-aggrandizing hollow praise, right down to the subtle claiming of all the credit for her and everyone else's hard work. "Smooth catch, boss," she whispered to herself, adjusting her medical mask to sit a bit further up on her hooked nose.
Yes, they had all done so very well. That's why they were sitting in a church together in the middle of the day, not at a bar in the dead of night popping bottles. Please. Aminah glanced over at Ira as he mentioned potential trouble, glad that he at least had the balls to come out and say it even if it was indirect. A dark chuckle came from her other side and made her jump—that damn hick startled her. "Reckon there always is," Kenneth grinned, learning forward and resting his arms on his knees. "Question's who. Pigs? Stragglers from that old outfit? Ain't nothin' a few bucks and some busted teeth can't fix, far's I see it."
"Well, you're not looking very far, then."
The silence that fell over the room as Kenneth made direct eye contact with Aminah was mourgelike. Shit, that was a little louder than she'd meant it. Her throat went dry as those hungry eyes pierced directly through her, pinning her in place as his lip curled into a subtle snarl. "Wanna speak up a lil', twigs?" he growled, a challenge more than a question. "Don't think I quite caught that."
"I said, well, there were those mooks at the bar, Ken," she improvised, clearing her throat in an attempt to restore some sense of confidence to her voice. "That bar they controlled and stuff... If they weren't all taken care of, they could be a problem, right?"
A few more seconds of deafening silence. Then, Kenneth leaned back in his chair with a huff. It was clear he wasn't fully buying it, but it was enough to divert his fury for now. "Right," he said, finally removing his gaze from the new blood.
Close one.
Last edited:
viernc
New Member
The hum of the lights felt deafening to Venetia, an almost taunting sound by the way it drilled into her ears. Waking up in luxurious hotel rooms was nothing new—just another asset of her wild nights as a bottle girl. But as the midday sun pierced through the curtains, a pang of unease hit her. Jesus how late had she slept.
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed under her breath, scrambling to her feet from the armchair where she’d somehow passed out. Tugging down the hem of her dress, she made a desperate attempt to tame her tangled locks. But the blonde curls didn't care, as they stuck out in every angle. The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, the mirror reflecting her disheveled state and her wide, exhausted eyes.
The nearly broken flip phone in her hand lit up, flooded with missed calls, texts and voicemails. She didn’t need to play them to know the content. Her father’s words, relentless and cold as usual, flashed through her mind.
Reckless. Immature. Wild. Dangerous.
“Черт,” she cursed softly in Russian, her fingers flipping through the messages with practiced haste. Then her thumb hovered over the latest voicemail—Ivan.
Her stomach tightened, a mixture of curiosity and worry washed over her as she pressed play. By the time the message finished, her heels were already in her hands, her mind racing. A church? She snorted at the irony while shoving her feet into the stilettos. Barely pausing to grab her fur coat, she slipped out into the corridor, her footsteps clicking on the marble floor.
The city greeted her with its usual chaos: whistles from passing workmen and the occasional gaze from a married suited businessman. Venetia didn’t bother acknowledging them, her tiny dress and fur coat drawing enough attention without encouragement. The coat offered little warmth against the chill. but she always wanted to be a statement.
As she stood before the church, she huffed, a scoff of irritation escaping her lips. The building loomed with a solemn atmosphere, its weight pressing down on her like judgment from God himself. A gray-haired woman at the entrance gave Venetia a disapproving glance, her eyes lingering on the dress that left little to the imagination. Venetia responded with a soft, calculated smile before slipping inside, the clicking of her heels echoing through the holy silence.
The staircase creaked beneath her as she ascended, the scent of old wood and rotted books filling her senses. On the second floor, she froze mid-step. Glancing down, Venetia didn't wish to see the judgemental glances, being on time was never her strong point. Ivan’s voice droned on, but Venetia’s focus had already drifted elsewhere.
Leaning casually against the wall, she scanned the room, her gaze sweeping over her familiar associates before settling on the one she didn’t know. Aminah.
The mask Aminah wore piqued Venetia’s interest immediately. It didn’t conceal enough to hide her discomfort, but Venetia wasn’t here for easy reads. She adored challenges, and this one promised to be thrilling and complicated. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she studied the woman, her mind already spinning with ideas.
Her thoughts broke when Ivan’s voice sharpened.
“The blood on the pavement—it’s not even dry.”
Venetia blinked, re-entering the meeting. She tossed Ivan a playful wink, a silent greeting that doubled as a half-apology for her lateness.
“Ivan, sweetie—” she began, her tone like silk, but the tension in the room thickened before she could finish.
Kenneth had locked onto Aminah like a predator sizing up prey. Venetia leaned back against the wall, arms crossing as she watched the exchange unfold, her expression unreadable. Aminah held her own surprisingly well, spinning a lie with shaky grace. It was weak, but it held.
Catching Aminah’s eye, Venetia offered a brief, knowing smile—disarming yet laced with intent. She enjoyed anybody she could get to know, even more so anyone she could shape. Unable to stop her look of amusement, Venetia focused back onto Ivan.
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed under her breath, scrambling to her feet from the armchair where she’d somehow passed out. Tugging down the hem of her dress, she made a desperate attempt to tame her tangled locks. But the blonde curls didn't care, as they stuck out in every angle. The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, the mirror reflecting her disheveled state and her wide, exhausted eyes.
The nearly broken flip phone in her hand lit up, flooded with missed calls, texts and voicemails. She didn’t need to play them to know the content. Her father’s words, relentless and cold as usual, flashed through her mind.
Reckless. Immature. Wild. Dangerous.
“Черт,” she cursed softly in Russian, her fingers flipping through the messages with practiced haste. Then her thumb hovered over the latest voicemail—Ivan.
Her stomach tightened, a mixture of curiosity and worry washed over her as she pressed play. By the time the message finished, her heels were already in her hands, her mind racing. A church? She snorted at the irony while shoving her feet into the stilettos. Barely pausing to grab her fur coat, she slipped out into the corridor, her footsteps clicking on the marble floor.
The city greeted her with its usual chaos: whistles from passing workmen and the occasional gaze from a married suited businessman. Venetia didn’t bother acknowledging them, her tiny dress and fur coat drawing enough attention without encouragement. The coat offered little warmth against the chill. but she always wanted to be a statement.
As she stood before the church, she huffed, a scoff of irritation escaping her lips. The building loomed with a solemn atmosphere, its weight pressing down on her like judgment from God himself. A gray-haired woman at the entrance gave Venetia a disapproving glance, her eyes lingering on the dress that left little to the imagination. Venetia responded with a soft, calculated smile before slipping inside, the clicking of her heels echoing through the holy silence.
The staircase creaked beneath her as she ascended, the scent of old wood and rotted books filling her senses. On the second floor, she froze mid-step. Glancing down, Venetia didn't wish to see the judgemental glances, being on time was never her strong point. Ivan’s voice droned on, but Venetia’s focus had already drifted elsewhere.
Leaning casually against the wall, she scanned the room, her gaze sweeping over her familiar associates before settling on the one she didn’t know. Aminah.
The mask Aminah wore piqued Venetia’s interest immediately. It didn’t conceal enough to hide her discomfort, but Venetia wasn’t here for easy reads. She adored challenges, and this one promised to be thrilling and complicated. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she studied the woman, her mind already spinning with ideas.
Her thoughts broke when Ivan’s voice sharpened.
“The blood on the pavement—it’s not even dry.”
Venetia blinked, re-entering the meeting. She tossed Ivan a playful wink, a silent greeting that doubled as a half-apology for her lateness.
“Ivan, sweetie—” she began, her tone like silk, but the tension in the room thickened before she could finish.
Kenneth had locked onto Aminah like a predator sizing up prey. Venetia leaned back against the wall, arms crossing as she watched the exchange unfold, her expression unreadable. Aminah held her own surprisingly well, spinning a lie with shaky grace. It was weak, but it held.
Catching Aminah’s eye, Venetia offered a brief, knowing smile—disarming yet laced with intent. She enjoyed anybody she could get to know, even more so anyone she could shape. Unable to stop her look of amusement, Venetia focused back onto Ivan.
Arkyhm
My reflection of three
Unbeknownst to unworldly people, every city is its own universe. There’s a language outsiders can’t understand. There’s places the locals know to avoid like the plague. There’s different breeds of dangerous people. Even the sounds are different. Boston was her home. Her world. Even the strangers feel like friends she just hasn’t met yet. She knows each sidewalk, each road, and every turn. The Boston harbor was blissfully sparkling on her horizon every morning. Salt mixed in with the breeze tickled her nose. Seagulls called to each other above her head, the shrill sounds bouncing off the buildings and echoing all around. The sounds of city life were like white noise. It’d rained the night before, and the cobblestones were slick. A chill clung to her clothes, trying to claw through. The brick walls of historic Boston lined the sidewalk until the path emerged at the harbor. Ship masts dipped and rose in the distance. Water lapped at the algae-ridden, barnacle-infested, water-warped docks. It was a perfectly painted picture, a moment of peace before the storm. She gazed out over the water. She would miss this. Who knew how long this job would take? New York wouldn’t be the same. It would be another world.
She had been working with Ivan for years, but this was the first time he had summoned her to his streets. And like an owner calling their dog, she would be there. But he was more family, in his own messed-up way, than those who shared her blood. Before him, she was like a rock stuck in the tread of a tire. Now, well, she was still small, but big enough to put a hole in the tire. The burner phone she had bore an unreasonable weight in her pocket. The text was still etched into the back of her eyeballs. She had gone over the words so many times that she could repeat them out loud. Saint Jean Baptist Church. The rest of the crew would be there. A big job. Bigger than they’ve ever done. Even being a couple states over, she had heard the news of slackened competition, and Ivan was doing what any smart person would do.
She drew the phone out of her pocket and looked down at it in her palm. The text had come in earlier this morning, before the sun had even risen. It was just peeking over the horizon now. New York was a 4-hour drive from Boston. She needed to leave right now if there was any hope of being there even slightly on time. She raised her head and looked back out to the ships that rocked calmly back and forth. They all sported a name on their hulls: The Wicked. Liberty. Crystal Lady One day. One day, she’d have a name like that. A name people knew.
She hurled the phone into the water. It splashed, and it seemed to hang on the surface a moment before it haltingly sank to the depths of Boston Harbor. Another replacement burner was already in the car she had headed for New York. The decrepit Honda Accord was parked at the top of the street, waiting patiently for her to return and the journey to a new beginning to start. One last look out at her world satisfied her mind. She inhaled deeply, pulling the salt air into her lungs. Then she turned and walked back up to the car.
The Honda was a shitbox; its paint rusted in spots to the point where the blue couldn’t even manage to shine through. A hit-and-run resulted in a hefty scuff on the driver’s side door. There were all kinds of stains on the cloth seats inside. But it ran. And it was hers.
She wrestled with the handle and eventually the car door popped open. Sliding behind the wheel wasn’t ever glamorous. Half the analog dials were stuck indicating a certain number and wouldn’t budge. Most dash lights were on. Only one AC vent worked and the interior smelt like mothballs and cigarette smoke. But she always pretended. She pretended that she drove an outlandish Ferrari. It was such a fun game to play: being on top of the world.
Under the backseat, a dufflebag stocked with a handful of license plates was stashed. On the way there, she would change her plates every so often. Just for peace of mind. An Atlas map lay draped over the passenger's seat. Her route was outlined in red Sharpie, with the church marked with an X. X marks the treasure.
She flipped the car on and put it in gear. New York, she thought, here I come.
Parking was even worse, but she eventually found a dingy space close-ish to the church. When she got out of the car, there was no salt in the air. There was shit. The seagulls were absent, but there were pigeons to make up for it. She ran like hell to the church. She paused only a heartbeat outside to admire the architecture, then pushed through the doors. She ducked her head and power-walked until she heard the low rumble of Ivan’s voice and the bickering of the others. I should’ve left earlier, she thought, as she emerged at the back of the chapel. She tried her best to shuffle quietly and take her seat among the others.
She had been working with Ivan for years, but this was the first time he had summoned her to his streets. And like an owner calling their dog, she would be there. But he was more family, in his own messed-up way, than those who shared her blood. Before him, she was like a rock stuck in the tread of a tire. Now, well, she was still small, but big enough to put a hole in the tire. The burner phone she had bore an unreasonable weight in her pocket. The text was still etched into the back of her eyeballs. She had gone over the words so many times that she could repeat them out loud. Saint Jean Baptist Church. The rest of the crew would be there. A big job. Bigger than they’ve ever done. Even being a couple states over, she had heard the news of slackened competition, and Ivan was doing what any smart person would do.
She drew the phone out of her pocket and looked down at it in her palm. The text had come in earlier this morning, before the sun had even risen. It was just peeking over the horizon now. New York was a 4-hour drive from Boston. She needed to leave right now if there was any hope of being there even slightly on time. She raised her head and looked back out to the ships that rocked calmly back and forth. They all sported a name on their hulls: The Wicked. Liberty. Crystal Lady One day. One day, she’d have a name like that. A name people knew.
She hurled the phone into the water. It splashed, and it seemed to hang on the surface a moment before it haltingly sank to the depths of Boston Harbor. Another replacement burner was already in the car she had headed for New York. The decrepit Honda Accord was parked at the top of the street, waiting patiently for her to return and the journey to a new beginning to start. One last look out at her world satisfied her mind. She inhaled deeply, pulling the salt air into her lungs. Then she turned and walked back up to the car.
The Honda was a shitbox; its paint rusted in spots to the point where the blue couldn’t even manage to shine through. A hit-and-run resulted in a hefty scuff on the driver’s side door. There were all kinds of stains on the cloth seats inside. But it ran. And it was hers.
She wrestled with the handle and eventually the car door popped open. Sliding behind the wheel wasn’t ever glamorous. Half the analog dials were stuck indicating a certain number and wouldn’t budge. Most dash lights were on. Only one AC vent worked and the interior smelt like mothballs and cigarette smoke. But she always pretended. She pretended that she drove an outlandish Ferrari. It was such a fun game to play: being on top of the world.
Under the backseat, a dufflebag stocked with a handful of license plates was stashed. On the way there, she would change her plates every so often. Just for peace of mind. An Atlas map lay draped over the passenger's seat. Her route was outlined in red Sharpie, with the church marked with an X. X marks the treasure.
She flipped the car on and put it in gear. New York, she thought, here I come.
--
It was indeed different than Boston. There was no decency in the pedestrians; they were more than happy to walk right in front of the Accord. The fresh New York plates should have donned her with the confidence to act like a New Yorker, but the lack of sidewalk rules left her baffled. Not to mention the crazy people. Sure, Boston had crazy. The occasional old person yelling at the wall on a streetcorner, or the druggie screaming about toads or something, but New York did just do crazy. They did crazy. At a red light, she watched a homeless man strip down to the complete nude and just leave his clothes and keep walking. Literally what? But she couldn’t pay it much mind because she was late.
Parking was even worse, but she eventually found a dingy space close-ish to the church. When she got out of the car, there was no salt in the air. There was shit. The seagulls were absent, but there were pigeons to make up for it. She ran like hell to the church. She paused only a heartbeat outside to admire the architecture, then pushed through the doors. She ducked her head and power-walked until she heard the low rumble of Ivan’s voice and the bickering of the others. I should’ve left earlier, she thought, as she emerged at the back of the chapel. She tried her best to shuffle quietly and take her seat among the others.
deadly king
never fade away
THE BOSS
BuggaBoo
Lovin'👩❤️💋👩Her~!!
'The Deva' - Rai'Shauni Calvillo-Holmes
-
Speaking to the Crew in the Church...
-
Ughs. These 2 new fishies were just the worst.
Rai had raised an eyebrow the moment 'Hollow-Weenie' decided to chime in with a little outta pocket remark. Twice within the moment of stunned silence Rai had decided to punch through that stupid kiddie mask and knock 6 teeth outta her flippant mouth. And in an opportune teaching moment, the big inked up woman would set her straight with a stomp or three as the fishie lay there curled up on the dusty wooden planks. And yet, sadly, twice within that time span reason won her over; Kenneth was a big Big Boy and he could stand up for himself and knock her out if he so chose.
This Big Boy was one hell of an addition to Ivan's crew. The Deva didn't mess with 'Red Coyote;' there was unhinged and then there was clear, broken right off. The Deva had a rep as a bit of a loner that paved her own way and perhaps that helped keep her from staying out of the warpath of the bowling ball of a man. 'Coyote' truly was a bowling ball that easily rolled over others and Rai wanted no part of that. If he chose to slap the smarmy offa 'Hollow' in more ways than one oh, there would be little she could do to stop him.
Pity he let 'Hollow' off with only a mere death glare before looking away. Buuuuuut then again he did look perturbed and somehow shaken when he had spoken up.
simulationanomaly
Rai, however continued her smouldering gaze set on high, burning into the back of that goofy mask-wearing new fishie's head until the moment Siren slipped in.
And then the other new fishie decided to make its presence known. What a dumbass. 'Bimbo' here waltzed in all ditzy, goofy and worst of all; late. As if she could hide behind her long brown hair and make it to her seat without reprimand...
Arkyhm
'Bimbo' tried to quickly seat herself, but Rai was even quicker and kicked the chair out from under her. Another dark eyebrow raised, this time in wry surprise --Good for her she didn't fall on her ass, yet still, Rai cooly glared at her, daring the new fishie to even try to come at her.
This wasn't a Clan Wicked meeting and The Deva was armed and absolutely quick on the damned draw. In the aftermath, she would clean up the mess herself and replace 'Bimbo' with any of the dozens of wannabes in the wings that would kill for a seat at this kind of meeting. There were so many that tried to fight tooth and nail to be on the inside circle of Ivan's personal crew. A long heartbeat drew out for another beat then Rai curtly nodded upward her brown chin towards the chair for 'Bimbo' to seat her ass post haste.
"If I may, Boss..." Rai nodded towards Ivan when he was finished presiding. The big brown inked up woman flicked her chestnut ponytail offa her shoulders, clearing her throat as she stood.
"So far not one of my contacts said nothing to me about--" blue eyes shot at a glance at
simulationanomaly
Kenneth before continuing "--an incident. But there is talk about a jacket that has gone missing. And it belonged to Junior-Man. And he wants it back."
Bugsy
Rai walked over towards Ira, reached out and nimbly, gloved fingers slipped his shirt tag back into his collar. A warm and double pat upon his solid shoulder she gave. Out of them all here, with The Ace of Diamonds she felt most comfortable. He was a bruiser, yes, but he also had that way about him that almost made her crack that cold, badass bitch exterior and laugh at times. Almost. Despite being older than her by nearly a decade, yeah, he reminded her soooooo much of her younger bro, Mal. In fact, she had no idea if he liked it, but in the van she had half-heartedly offered to buy 'Ace' Chinese food; her bro's fave.
A slight head tilt angled towards him when she spoke next, "But no need to throw hands yet. I know Junior Man is tight with... with 'The Rival' but we might have a way to get a deal in to win him over now that 'The Rival' is outta the pic right now. I know we clown his name but he still a big player out there and owns quite a swath of territory that would be beneficial for us to move product.
"See, his daddy is Sleazy Tony, aka [/i]Mr. Marc-Antony Mondello,[/i] aka better known to us as; 'Mondy.' And we have an in, Boss; Mondy's given our whole crew an invite to his establishment, 'The Honeysuckle Club'."
viernc
Another blue-eyed glance she shot at another crew mate. This time it was at Venetia. The little thing was sooooo adorable just like Rai's baby sis, Ki, and yet such an insufferably miserable manipulator just like her big sis, Po. Rai had no doubt the socialite knew exactly what that look was for. Despite dealing product in the upper east side, undoubtedly 'The Siren' knew exactly what kinda 'product' Mondy dealt. It was the very one and the same product that Rai refused to move; there was no way she was going to deal kids onto a ship. Rai strut her boots past the diminutive blonde and nodded before closing in on the Boss' position.
"Steak dinner in the VIP. Money says he still wants to do business with you, Boss, in spite of 'The Rival' going down. Just let me know and I'll make resos. I still have to return the van and pickup payment. Could be our ticket to play ball with his son, Marc-Antony Mondello II, aka Junior-Man?" A gracious nod she donned the Russian man before spinning on a heel, headed back the way she came along the dusty wooden planks.
BloodLightning27
A glance coupled with a smirk she now shot over towards Penelope, the 'pregnant' woman. Rai felt she got along with 'Ace' best, but in terms of synergistic working relations, Rai felt both she and 'Banshee' could get a good hustle going. Rai was a dual citizen and yes, a 'driver' and yet still she wasn't skilled at moving product across the border. This is where Banshee came in; she had that knack for keeping shit hidden and moved with such efficient expediency. Now lo and behold, opportunity came a-knocking.
"And in other news, my cousin, Dizzy, managed to cross the Canada/US border with samples of 'Halo'. So yo, Banshee, the 'routes' are still open despite the crackdown ever since the arrest. I recommended you to talk shop with my cousin to set things up with Clan Wicked... if Boss is cool with that, that is. But I mean, I'm no expert on this but all my instincts tell me that with the fall out of 'The Rival' and its pieces, the iron is hot.
"This product, 'Halo' is not on the menu in this city; not even this state or surrounding ones. We could have a lock across the eastern seaboard really."
If the name Dizzy set off Ivan, it was understandable. She was that one member that seemed like just a hired gun in his crew. Loyal, efficient and yet seemingly always on the outer orbit of the inner circle. Little did they know that the Deva's cousin was more than that and was an essential part of the crew. Dizzy was the shadowy Saboteur hiding behind that 'just another minion' veneer. It was due to alot of her handiwork that 'The Rival' took the hard, earth-shattering fall from grace.
Like a panther proud of its kill, Rai strut back to her seat. Before sitting her ample booty back down she took pause. Without looking up she spoke through a smirk wryly pulling up a corner at her dusky lips, "Success in these next few jobs could be a way for some 'new fishies' to prove themselves, no? Probably even finally earn some 'Bimbo' a proper name, wouldn't you say?"
Finally back in her seat, she took a deep breath before giving an upward chin nod to no one in particular. Another flick of her ponytail and she was settled in. Blue eyes stared forward, smouldering once more, body at rest until she was called upon again. The Deva was done speaking.
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