Realistic or Modern LL: The Samaritans

[Bullyboy Squad]

Worn baseball cap covered the wild, black curls that sneaked from under the blue fabric. Freddie rested his head back against the concrete wall he was leaning to. His pupils dilated, fixed on the image of a woman on a horse. Who the hell kept a show-jumping poster in their cell?

The buzz of his walkie-talkie disturbed the silence, making the man flinch. "Weston calling for backup - send someone to my quarters. We got us some breaking and entering." …." And fucking hustle."

Freddie hissed, his abs involuntarily knotting. "Watch the teeth." A popping sound was followed by a female chuckle and a question. "You're not going to get that?"

"Where the fuck is my backup?" The transmission almost overlapped with the Chief Of Security, who directed his orders at Freddy over the radio.

The air swished through man's nose and he let out a guttural sound of discontent when pulling away from the wall. "Move your fat ass." He barked at the woman, zipping up and uncomfortably adjusting before pulling the device to his mustache and goatee framed lips. "You got it Chief, I'm on my way."

Can't get a goddamn break. "We're not done here." He promised, pointing his thick-boned finger at the curvy lady that was just rising to her feet. Minutes later he was knocking on the Second In Command's door. "I'm here, boss." Freddie entered, gun drawn but lowered. "Heard you have some pest crawling around?"

Weston gave a subtle nod to the man as he entered, then jerked his head in AJ's direction. He still held the gun aloft and pointed at AJ's head.

"Got the pest cornered right here. I found my locked door unlocked, and him sitting around like he owned the place. I haven't had a chance yet to see what's been stolen, if anything. Or planted. We oughta turn his pockets out. I haven't patted him down either."

Freddie put his pistol away and pulled his telescopic baton off the belt, approaching the younger male. "I know this critter. He's mopping the floors these days." He said to Weston without glancing over, ready to strike if AJ didn't obey. "Looks like you will get promoted to Guantanamo now, kid."

As AJ lifted his hands into the air in defeat, ready to be searched, he made a small, pitiful noise that garnered him no sympathy. So no ass beating there and then? Fine by Freddie. He grabbed the kid and turned him towards the wall. Forcing boy's palms flat against the plaster and kicking his legs apart before roughly frisking like he did that a thousand times. "Nothing." He announced and reached for the cuffs. Nothing that would matter at least. "Let's go, sport," Freddie said once the metal was snug to boy's wrists, linking them behind his back, and he led the kid out, taking him to the interrogation room. Bare walls and a single, silver chair in the middle. There was one more place Fred had to check on the boy…

"Pull your pants down." He watched. No courtesy of looking away. But little interest in the young, male body either.

"Squat. Cough." Nothing. Looks like whatever the kid wanted to steal he didn't get his hands on it just yet.

"Good for you." AJ barely managed to pull his pants up and he was already getting grabbed again, manhandled to the chair, and cuffed once more. This time with the metal chain of the cuffs entwined with the bars of the back support of the chair. "Get comfy." The man joked with no smile and turned, taking a few steps away.

He nodded to the Second In Command who accompanied them, in a 'he's all put and ready' manner but focused on the radio he pulled up to his lips. "Hey Chief, this is Freddie." He looked at AJ before asking his superior. "I got him in 5C." He hesitated, eyeing the kid with the tiniest hint of pity in his gaze. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Namazu Safton Togy ​

 

[Safton]

Wesley Emmett

Scene Three​

Wesley muttered a curse under his breath the moment he heard the call go out over the radio regarding a potential intruder in the quarters. He immediately turned on his heel to begin marching in that direction, fumbling to grasp his radio before raising it to his lips. "Freddie. Get down there and secure the scene. I'll meet you there." He didn't have to wait long for a response, the radio crackling to life in his hands as the CO affirmed that he was en route to the quarters.

"10-4. I'll meet you there," he remarked. Before long Freddie chimed in again, stating that he had detained the intruder in 5C. Wes wasn't far, so he gave him a quick affirmation before rounding the corridor and stepping inside to see Freddie, Weston, and the presumed "pest" cuffed to a chair. He gave a nod to the former two before narrowing his eyes at the almost at their would-be thief. "He say anything?" he asked in a quiet tone, crossing his arms in deliberation. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but a name wasn't coming to Wes. The fact that he had managed to breach the locked quarters was... troubling, to say the least. Thievery was one thing (assuming that was indeed what he was intent on), but it could just as easily escalate to sabotage or assassination. It wasn't like there weren't any... malcontents among their "civilian staff" who would jump at the opportunity.

Bullyboy Squad
Namazu
Togy
​

 

[Namazu]

Scene Three
"The Rat Problem"

​

Weston was relieved that it was Freddie who came, and not one of the younger, newer, or dumber enforcers who still felt the need to act like they had big dicks to swing around and had to prove something to somebody. He seemed like an alright guy, as much as one could find around here. He took a quick glance around his room again, still pissed; he was convinced the kid did something here, but he just wasn’t seeing it. Nothing looked disturbed, moved, or out of place yet. The thought that the kid planted something here just wouldn’t leave his mind.

Weston stewed on that idea the whole short walk to the interrogation room. The kid was a floor-mopping nobody, did he really think he could take him down from his position? Not all by himself, he couldn’t - someone had to put him up to whatever this was. It was the only logical explanation. Question was - who?

He had a few ideas.

When AJ was strip-searched, Weston didn’t look away either - not because of interest, but because he was too pissed to see anything other than a mobile punching bag in front of him. Weston paced a slow circle around the room as they waited briefly for Wes to come, arms crossed over his chest and scowling at AJ. He was hoping the silence would unnerve the kid into spilling the real truth.

When Wes entered, he gave the man a respectful nod back, then shook his head at the question.

“He ain’t said a single useful thing yet. He claimed my door was unlocked, which is a lie, and then claimed he wanted to talk to me about something. Just as soon as I asked what in the ever-lovin’ fuck was so important he couldn’t wait in the hall like a good dog, he goes silent. So no, he ain’t said fuckall.”

Weston, now standing behind and slightly to the left of AJ, stepped forward and whacked him in the back of the head with an open palm. Hard.

“That’s just for breathin’ on my things and sitting your ass down on my bed. We’re not even at what I’m going to do to you for picking the lock.” Weston circled around to stand in front of AJ - far enough away that the kid couldn’t kick him.

“Now, you could either do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is you telling us exactly what you were doing there and who put you up to it. The hard way is we start snapping pieces off of you. Your choice, Squeaky.”

Togy
Safton
Bullyboy Squad​

 

[spottednewt]

DENVER

INFO

Denver,, 38,, Enforcer

LOCATION

Outside of the prison

MENTIONS

Crono Bullyboy Squad Togy

CURRENT

“I accept chaos, I'm not sure whether it accepts me.”

By the time Denver made it to the treeline, the other patrols on his shift had already fallen into line. As the dust settled, their dark figures came into view around the truck; weapons poised. Devner was always awestruck by the way a crew of 11 large ruffians looked like a small army when they had their target circled. He had a hard time wiping off his grin - an affliction worsened by the quick move of one of his comrades as she cocked her gun next to Jax’s ear.

“Drop it, jackass.” She spoke softly, voice gruff with an arrogant sense of security that came through loud and clear in the way she leaned against the tree Jax propped himself up on. The others pushed in closer, another man tapping the business end of a long rifle on the bumper of the overturned vehicle in greeting.

Denver made his way over slowly, much to the patrol’s annoyance as they awaited his instructions. His thumbs hooked into the large links of chain across each shoulder. The man stopped short of the wreckage, craning his neck on the tips of his toes to see past a couple of enforcers.

“Line ‘em up. –I’ve always wanted to go speed dating. Like on TV? The sitcoms with the hopeless types who get an episode for themselves?” Denver rattled on as the others went to work, removing three men from the car and planting them along the side of the road, followed by Jax.

“Call me a romantic,” Denver chuckled, a sound almost completely obscured by the uniform rattling of the chains being pulled down from their resting place by the tow hook as he neared Jax. With a hiccup, he spat another mouthful of black tar on the asphalt as he gave them the once-over. Next was Eugene - swaying with effort to keep upright - and then Hughes and Jamie, all of varying levels of consciousness.

“You all just popping by for a visit? Or are you looking to settle down? I hear Temma has some vacancies,” He mused to no one in particular.

coded by weldherwings.

 

[The Cat Man]

Anthony North

CH.1 - SCENE #2
"Home Sweet Home"

FINE | TENSE

Dutchess ( NanLia )
'Spineless fuck' ( Crono ) | 'Princess' ( Straw-Berry Milk )
Santiago ( arthur morgan. ) | 'Big guys' ( Bullyboy Squad )
​

"Well, that's just annoying, isn't it? Man, am I fucking bored..." Anthony groaned in his annoyance yet again, taking a big swig of his little 'medicine' before calmly dispersing it to the air. It was a very common occurrence for North to complain about everything, but alas, who wouldn't be feeling like nothing's happening in this stale ass place? In the prison, North can talk shit to some people knowing that they'll never be able to get him back, he can get a swing by on the ring and destroy some poor shithead, he can act like the coolest guy around and there's a damn fair amount of people that'll shower him with some reverence.

Even more so, it was just this shitty little mission that's supposed to get Anthony the ok to go V.I.P., at least according to what the big guys are saying about it, not North's fucking 24/7 entertainment, it was this stupid ranch that's gonna get him his deserved place. And so, Anthony honestly cannot wait to piss on this ranch completely to deal with his pent-up rage... Still though, talking about it with Dutchess definitely kept his shit in the cool, as one sided as their conversations can be with North being whiny or glorifying his golden days, she was a nice partner to be with, a good listener and clearly has some shit going on with her past from the very little he gathered.

Anthony rolled his eyes as Dutchess essentially started booting him out of their rest. "I'm going to turn out of sheer spite if I have to stay even a single day more." North huffed, following suit as they started getting back into their identities as siblings, he'd probably shoot his shot in other circumstances with them getting this close these days... But the fighter wasn't sure he can go head in head with this particular one, besides, it's admittedly gonna feel a little weird with their plans... Also, he wasn't sure if he was glad or angry that no one recognized the Jersey Devil... But that's for later.

Anthony was a second away from speaking once the worst thing that could ever happen right now seemed to be currently in progress. God fucking damnit.
Had Anthony not just took his 'break', he would've charged in straight and tried to get those two down, he can break that spineless fuck's jaw in a single punch and Dutchess could VERY easily deal with that little 'princess', god, why the fuck did she have to arrive JUST now and ruin their shit?!

Those seconds of sheer shock managed to make his partner's grasp an essential leash before Anthony did something he'd possibly regret. Despite North firmly believing that they can both take out these two... Dutchess isn't the lead scavenger for nothing, if she stops out of nowhere outside, then he'd better follow suit. He thought quickly and desperately, trying to find anything to help, but man, was it hard once your head starts to heat up...

One thing did come to mind though.
"...that rifleman is all Santiago has left..." As apparently worthless Anthony's seduction attempts was, in hindsight, it gave some damn important info, such as a weakness. Perhaps North had already mentioned it, but anything can help right about now.
At the very least... He's heading home.
But which one? As much as Anthony can answer in his ego, maybe that's another uncertainty.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Namazu]

FLASHBACK
One Week After Zero Day - Part I
Weston Samuel Jones Jr.

Big Jim grunted as he flattened his oversized frame against the roof of the bar next to Weston, leather biker jacket scuffing against the rough surface as he wiggled up to the edge. There was a gap between the sign and the ledge of the rooftop that gave them a nice clear shot of anyone or anything approaching the front doors.

“Barricaded as good as it's gonna get, boys.” Big Jim reported, catching his breath. He’d earned his name by his physical size, easily over six feet tall and noticeably overweight, but he also fell into a ‘big brother’ role for many of the guys in the club who didn’t have anyone else watching their back. While Big Jim looked like he could be a real mean asshole, he was the biggest teddy-bear of them all. Not that anyone was going to admit it to his face or give him shit for it. Everyone had a role. A few of the ladies even fawned over him for it.

“Radio?” Weston asked, turning to his left at the other man on the rooftop with him. Sam, a young kid barely old enough to drink, was the club’s newest member and the son of current members. He was still working on proving his chops, but his actions these last several days had already shown that he was a good fit for the club. Especially now, when all they had was each other, and nobody knew what was really going on.

“Still picking up the local, but they’re not broadcasting regularly.” Sam responded, meaning the local news radio station. “It ain’t the regular guys who read off the news either, it's other people at the station. They don’t really know what’s going on yet. A lotta rumors.” Sam sniffed, adjusting himself on his elbows slightly as he peered through his binoculars again. His rifle lay at his side, loaded and ready, while he helped keep watch.

Big Jim sighed and shook his head at the news, and Weston pressed his lips into a thin grimace. He hefted his rifle again and peered through the scope. It was Vince’s gun, not his own - the guy styled himself some hotshot vet, but in truth the guy had been dishonorably discharged. How they let him keep any kind of firearms, let alone a sniper rifle, was beyond Weston’s understanding. He figured it was stolen. He wasn’t going to ask Vince about it. Especially now, since Vince was missing, and had been for a week.

“Guess this is as good a place as any to hunker down. Food, booze, and ammo.” Weston murmured, scanning the distance through the scope. The bar was part of a small dot on the map that didn’t even warrant a name, but the locals called it “The Bend”. A single road led down from the mountains, through the nearest town, and at some place many, many miles beyond that joined up with a highway that led off somewhere into the great civilized unknown. Where that road bent just after getting off the mountain proper and before disappearing into a thick forest for a good thirty miles was where the bar sat, as well as the gas station across the street, and a dilapidated old building next to that.

The old building currently held a mechanic’s shop. Years before that, when Weston was a kid, it was a church that sat eerily empty. Catholic, so none of the locals ever used it. For a few years during Weston’s late teens it was a doughnut shop, and when that went under, the club pitched in and bought it up. Burt Holsen, one of the club members, technically owned it for all those fancy tax and legal reasons - but to the club, it was a collective achievement. The first, and last, legitimate business investment any of them ever made. Burt’s was always a fallback plan - if his construction gig didn’t pan out, which it probably wouldn’t, he’d just work for Burt. Weston didn’t know shit about mechanics, but he’d figure it out.

“Hunker down, or make our last stand?” Big Jim muttered, ignoring the fearful look that earned from Sam.

The trio’s watch was interrupted by the clank-clank-clank of heavy boots climbing the ladder up to the roof. Two pairs of boots, actually, one heavier and one lighter. Weston peered over his shoulder and watched one sweaty beanie-covered head pop up first.

“Speak of the devil. Hey, Burt.” Weston motioned him over quietly. He didn’t dare speak too loudly, not knowing what exactly in those woods was going to hear them. Thankfully it wasn’t a large bar so there was not much ground to cover between the ladder and the back of the sign.

“You been thinkin’ ‘bout me, boy? That why your balls are gettin’ itchy?” Burt grinned, crouching down between Sam and Weston, ducking his head low so he could stay well behind the sign. Right behind Burt was his old lady, Pearl. ‘Miss Pearl’, if you wanted to be polite, though the fifty-seven year old woman with her fair share of wrinkles and a smoker’s cough didn’t quite live up to the image of beauty she once had in her younger years. Everyone loved her all the same, though.

Pearl smacked Burt’s shoulder. “Not in front of Sammy. Baby, ignore your father.” Sam nodded at his mother’s order and turned his attention back to the dusty road ahead.

Pearl elbowed her way in between Weston and Big Jim - also joining them on their stomachs on the roof. She was a thin woman, but by no means frail. She had come bearing two pairs of binoculars - one for Big Jim, and one for herself. Big Jim grunted as he hefted himself to the side to make room, and again grunted his thanks for the binoculars.

“Cliff just got back. We have an emergency.” Pearl announced hurriedly, which caused everyone else on the rooftop to shut up and turn all attention onto her. Cliff, the club president, had taken three men two days before to scout further down the foothills, beyond the bend, to see if they could get supplies from town. They did get supplies, but not before having a fight with some looters from one of the cities. The information Cliff and his boys got out of the looters before they fled in their SUVs was possibly more important than the supplies themselves.

The dead were walking, attacking, and eating. And they were everywhere.

None of them believed it. If it were anyone other than Cliff, they would have called bullshit and laughed it off. But Cliff was not a man to joke around - he was a straight-shooter who didn’t laugh often and never screwed around when it came to anything serious. Cliff was also never scared. Weston had seen angry drunk guys point a gun right in front of Cliff’s face more than once, and not once did the man ever flinch. It was probably for some real fucked-up reasons that nobody ever asked about, but Weston quietly wished he could be the same way. This time though, Cliff was afraid. After that, the few club members that remained in the Bend had remained on edge, waiting for whatever came next. Cliff had kept eyes and ears in all directions every hour of the day.

“What? The dead?” Weston asked, taking his attention off his scope. He looked to his side as he felt Sam move. Burt was tugging on his jacket, urging the kid to move and swap places with him.

“No. More looters. Fuckers are leakin’ out of the city like runny shit, combing the area for any place worth hitting up or holing up in. Cliff said he spotted a convoy of three trucks headed this way, all of ‘em full. As soon as he saw them box in and pull over some car traveling alone…” Pearl trailed off and shook her head.

“What’d he see, Miss Pearl?” Big Jim urged her on. She hesitated, if only because her son was still within earshot.

“Was a family inside.” She said quietly. “They pulled all of ‘em out - husband, wife, two kids. Made ‘em kneel on the gravel. Executed ‘em. Took their shit and kept on driving.” Sam made a noise, something between fear and anger, but didn’t verbalize it. None of them needed to. Below them, the front door to the bar opened up. Cliff and two of the senior club members stepped out, all three of them armed.

“You boys ready? Miss Pearl fill you in? Twenty minutes till we have company, give or take.” Cliff held a hand to his eyebrows, shielding himself from the sun, and peered up the gap between roof ledge and the sign. The group on the rooftop uttered their affirmations. They were ready to fight. Unexpectedly, Cliff peered up at them again.

“Remember, whatever happens today, I’m proud of all of you. We’re family. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Cliff nodded to himself, satisfied he’d said what needed to be said, and motioned for his men to follow him back inside.

The air was silent right now, nothing but the chirping of birds and chittering of bugs. A slight breeze in the air rustled the leaves. It was misleading how calm it was. Weston closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, focusing on the sounds of nature around him. If he was going to die today, that was the sound he wanted to remember.

They heard the trucks before they saw them, rumbling engines cutting through the eerie silence. Just like Cliff had said, after about twenty minutes, the three early-model trucks rolled up into the middle of the bend.

It was go time.



To be continued...

 

[arthur morgan.]

LoveLock

;; Santiago

Whatever happened to make life so unbearable, sleeping through a nightmare only to wake up and realize your living in one. The newly established life the world is going through is just that— a nightmare. If one wanted to survive they must be able to do things they wouldn’t have done before— nothing was off the table, if it meant you lived to see another day then you’d do it… no matter how screwed up it might be. It might make or break someone, but ones failures can be someone’s victories— it’s a dog eat dog world, literally. Santiago had a hard time when it came to breaking his moral code, even to this day he still does but if he can get away without doing so, he’ll do it to the best of his ability. The once lawful good sheriff now a morally grey ex-law enforcer has dealt with his fair share of hardships— even more the outbreak, but somehow he’s been able to keep himself… more or less sane.

But who knows
everyone slips into madness at some point
it’s only a matter of time
til he’s gone too….
— —

Santiago had spent the day near the east section of the Ranch, tending to the crops that had begun to grow. Thankfully for his community, Santiago’s ranch has always had fertile soil, despite the hardships of bellowing weather. A task he used to dread, now a peaceful chore that allows him to clear his head— it kept him sane. Don’t get him wrong, the daily life of the ranch and handling every day issues within his community was something he enjoyed, the people that lived here were very kind while still having their.. issues— he just needed a break from time to time is all, you can’t blame him for needing some solitude.

A gentle sigh came from past his lips, droplets of sweat rolled down his forehead as he had his knees deep within the dry soil. The palms of his hands deep within the vines of some vegetables, trying to pull out all the unwanted weeds and decaying produce— even though he slaughters zombies for a living, the smell of rotten food still makes him sick. Taking his forearm and wiping the sweat from his face, he got himself up from the ground and dusted the dirt off his pants. While there were days filled with adrenaline and the fear of one’s life being taken away, rummaging in a field of produce was something he’d rather be doing any day— though sometimes it was mind numbing, depending on the day. After picking up everything he had brought with him and packing it up into his saddle bag, it didn’t take him very long to head back to one of the barns, as he had taken out the more wilder mare, Cleopatra out with him. As soon as he got back and began to put his supplies away, the sound of a familiar voice cut through the quietness.

“Santiago!”

his attention was taken away from the beast in front of him, the snort of the roan mare made santi side eye her before letting his eyes fall upon the woman yelling for him. a slight raise of his brow, Santi quickly took the halter off of the mare before letting her go into her stall, closing the door and latching it before making his way to meet the women half way. “what’s wrong Mrs. Richards? you never seen this frazzled” he asked, concern wrapped around his words as he reached out for her and grabbed her forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t come running all this way by yourself did you?” more concerned, he didn’t like people to run around without someone else— better in pairs then alone. “oh would you hush Santiago!” she snapped kindly, making him do just that— be quite. “Mark needs you, somethings going on and I don’t like what I saw” Mrs. Richards said with a bit of concern herself, furrowing her brows as she stared at Santi. A feeling deep within his stomach had begun to make him feel sick, the thought of something bad happening was the last thing he wanted— especially if it has something to do with Mark. But he didn’t let his worries plague his face, all he simply could do was let out a ragged sigh before giving Mrs. Richard a nod and a reassuring smile “It’ll be taken care of Mrs. Richards, you don’t need to worry” because Santiago will do all of that for you.

Ever since the outbreak, Mark is all that Santiago has left. Have the two of them ever have any rough patches? yes, did they see eye to eye all the time? no, no they didn’t— but even through the hardships, Mark means something to Santiago and he’d do anything to make sure he was okay and alive. If that meant killing someone then so be it, he’d be damned if anything were to happen to him on his watch. While he knows Mark can take care of himself perfectly fine, he can’t help but worry sometimes you know? It was the only thing going through his mind— what the hell was going on, he didn’t like the feeling and it made Santiago question the honesty of those around him.

Mrs. Richards had told him what she say— the new girl and the radio, it didn’t look good. It made him… angry, he definitely felt lied to and betrayed but he didn’t want to point any fingers just yet… not until they got to the bottom of this. It’s not as though he was an idiot, he often would have the newer people be watched and kept a close eye on during the first few weeks of their stay— just in case they were up to no good. How the hell did they miss a radio? The thought made him even more angry, but he had his doubts about the girl— Santiago wouldn’t have guessed her as being some kind of infiltrator… she didn’t really fit that profile to him. But one could never know, considering the given circumstances.

By the time they got there, Santiago had asked Mrs. Richards to simply go back to what she had been doing— but she was a noisy one, so one could imagine that the older women had found a way to watch from afar. Soon enough, a sharp pain began to grow within Santiago’s head and started to throb— a groan came out of his mouth as he gritted his teeth together. The man was known for having debilitating migraines, all thanks to being shot in the face all those years ago… but that story was for another time, the only thing left to remind him of that day besides his migraines was the nasty scar that ran down the side of his face and back of his head. The throbbing pain would start to make Santiago more and more angry, the mess of this situation more then likely was the cause— but he simply tried to ignore it. Making his way around the barn, Santiago saw Mark with his rifle in hand, a nervous Brielle, and Kass with her teeth bared, waiting for the command to attack.

“woah, what’s going on?!” santiago barked, taking a glance at Brielle and then back at Mark. He gave Mark a gentle look, the depths of his eyes basically saying that everything’s gonna be taken care of— he could tell the other was getting a little nervous. Quickly bringing his attention back to Brielle, his expression still gentle but it still had a dont do something fucking stupid mixed into it. “Wanna tell me what your doing with that there radio?” he asked her softly, kneeling down and grabbing the walkie from off the ground. “Though I have a feeling it ain’t yours, now is it?” he mused, arching a brow slightly towards Brielle before he decided to give the other user a chatting with.

“Why don’t you tell me who this is and what you want, save me the headache” he asked, words wrapped in a grumble.

interactions;
Crono
Straw-Berry Milk
Bullyboy Squad

coded by reveriee.

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Temma had her ways. That "come and get me" look in her eyes. It both thrilled and scared him, how she could drive him wild like a young buck.

Even shortly after they met Derek couldn't help but touch himself at nights, thinking of her thick legs wrapping around his body. The moment he first saw her and watched her in the following days, Boone recognized Temma's true self hiding behind those long lashes.

Not a convict, but the perfect blend of a lady and a whore. His whore.

Yet, the ebony beauty was so much more than just his bitch. And…even if it was something Derek would never admit to no one - not to his fellows, certainly not to God - deep down the man knew that by now, he was her bitch. The proud soul shackled by Temma's love vines. Even if his dick wasn't, his heart was devoted to her. Sometimes both clouded his judgment, making him act like a fool.

Derek's chest rumbled with a deep sound of satisfaction at his wife's praises. Temma knew that his testicles were still half the size after the last cycle, and his hormones were getting moody on the PCT, so her words were even more welcome than usual.

Dark, graying hair covered Derek's robust torso, now shiny and heaving from such a whole body workout. But his expression was soft as he hugged his lover to his side, relaxing in the afterglow. "Every man feels young laying with such a woman." His clouded gaze fixed on her face, rough palm pressed to her shaved skin as he tenderly rubbed her bent leg.

The question momentarily pulled his mind back from the dead calm waters of the post orgasm state, back to reality. He leaned his head to the pillow, looking to the ceiling. "Mhm." Temma knew he didn't approve of Cabrera's decision to let North go with Duchess on that particular mission. But the facts were, the kid wouldn't be out of the base in the first place - on the scavenge run that accidentally discovered the ranch - if not for Boone. The man knew the Jersey Devil was knowledgeable about everything gear, and wouldn't have trouble finding the medicine that Derek needed. So he asked him to go on the run and bring him Clomid.

Or maybe the man simply didn't want to imply to Duchess that he traded his balls for muscle.

"I have a fight lined up for him as soon as he's back and in shape." He grunted. "Can't have the crowds restless again like after Abraham's poor performance last week." Derek was the kind of man who held grudges, even if they stemmed from subconscious disappointment in himself as his boys' trainer.

NanLia
mention: The Cat Man ​

 

[Togy]

Scene Three
The Rat Problem
​

Wincing at the slap to the back of his head, AJ gave a small, muted 'ow' at the impact, grimacing as he tried to lean back into the chair. He was squeamish, that was for damn sure, squirming every which way in the chair, not necessarily trying to escape but more so visibly anxious.

"Oh, no, no, no," AJ repeated, a note of panic in his voice at the threat, "I'm-It's fine, I'll talk, you don't-please don't do that. I don't do pain. I smack my hip on the kitchen counter and I'm, just, I'm just out for the count. That's it, I'm not overly durable-"

AJ stopped talking with a gulp. His rambling was earning him no favors.

"Okay, alright, any-anything you want to know. Uh, so there was this guy in-he didn't give me a name but he was tall, he had tattoos, and I think he was blonde? It might've been a lightish brown, but, uh, they caught me having an epi-Oh, actually, I should dial back, I have, a, er, problem, and I, well, need something or else I'll, y'know, crash. I have a...drug problem, and sometimes it acts up because I was stupid and now my body thinks it needs it, and, and, I just didn't want to go through that again, and this guy said that if I tried talking to you" AJ hesitantly turned to Weston at that point, avoiding eye contact out of fear, "you'd be able to help me, uh, deal with it. He-he said you were in the same boat, and that you had your own stock for yourself-and I know I shouldn't haven't done what he said, but I was desperate, and I-I didn't want to cause any trouble by crashing, but Now I've just made it worse, and I'm really, really sorry."

AJ gulped again, and the kid looked like he was almost on the verge of tears. "I waited for you at your door, but you didn't show up, so I knocked, then tried asking around but no one would talk to me so I-I tried opening the door, and really, it just opened, I-I don't know why, I couldn't tell you why, it just did. So, I was-I know it was stupid, and I'm sorry, but I just wanted to come in and see if you were there, and I j-just waited, because I thought maybe you would come back soon, and you did, and now we're here, and this got WAY out of hand, and I'm sorry."

Safton Bullyboy Squad Namazu

 

[Namazu]

Scene Three
"The Rat Problem"​

He said you were in the same boat.

The second that those words left AJ’s rambling mouth, Weston felt his blood pressure rise. Now and then some smart-mouth dumbass will bring that up or throw it in his face, and Weston reacted the same way each time.

Knotting his fist up, Weston pivoted on his heel, turned with the momentum of his upper body, and slammed his fist squarely into AJ’s face. He didn’t care what he broke, but hopefully it was something painful.

In order to keep himself from killing the kid right then and there out of irritation, he circled around AJ’s chair, shaking his hand out. He hated the fact damn near everyone in this place knew he came into the prison as a junkie. Granted, by the time he landed in LSCC he was already on the downward slide towards sobriety, but once the prison system knows you’re a junkie, you’ll always be a junkie. At first he at least had the help of the prison’s medical department to help him through the physical withdrawal symptoms - the nausea, vomiting, fever, full-body pains, and the shits. There was nothing any of them could, or would, do for the mental symptoms though.

Pacing back over to AJ to stand in front of him, Weston leaned down so that they were face to broken face, hands on AJ’s knees so the kid would stop squirming.

“The only drugs I have in my room are cigarettes, and you can get your own from the supply room. You will not ever find anything stronger than smokes and booze in there, you little fuck. Now, listen real close when I tell you this - I would rather go six lifetimes through this outbreak shit than relapse. I had to come down and get clean on my own. No help. Nobody to hold my hand. If you have a problem, you’ll do the same and get sober like the rest of us.”

Weston left out the part about how he had nothing but a cheap prison toilet and a bucket while he shit and puked his guts out for days until he was nothing but an empty nearly-dead husk. He wasn’t even sure how he survived - he figured if the dehydration didn’t kill him, the fever would. If he had access to a gun back then, he might have blown his brains out.

It was also a little bit of a lie. Six lifetimes through the outbreak? One was enough to make him occasionally think about shooting up and calling it quits. He didn’t mention that part, though.

Pacing away again, Weston leaned against the far wall, opting to glare at AJ from a distance now.

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Freddie gave a nod back to his superior when Wes arrived at the interrogation room. He propped hands to his hips, standing nearby in a wide, semi-relaxed posture, in case he was needed. Not like the kid stood a chance against the three strong men though, even after his arms were untied. Either of them could put him down with their bare hands.

Freddie didn't interfere, watching the Second In Command circle the young male like an angry lion while the Chief of Security stood with arms folded, gauging the situation. Or so Freddie assumed as the man remained calm and observing more than speaking. Freddie was no expert interrogator, but he didn't have to be to recognize all the signs of distress the boy was so blatantly displaying, finally spilling the beans. Poor bastard better made up a better story than the 'doors were unlocked'.

The man couldn't help but laugh amid the boy's jittery confession. "Tall and tattooed? That's 90% of the Gen Pop, kid." Blonde. Blonde and an asshole? That struck a chord with Freddie, wiping amusement right off his face.

The enforcer wasn't surprised by the news about the kid being a drug addict. But everything else was starting to sound kind of funny... Only to make perfect sense at the mention of a drug stash that Weston was in possession of, allegedly. Freddy's brows furrowed as he glanced at Wes, wondering what LT would do with that information… If King learned that Weston was hiding his addiction, he would certainly not be pleased. But…there was only one way to learn if that information was even true. They'd have to search Weston's—

The sound of a fisted hand ramming into boy's face snapped his attention right back and he hissed through clenched teeth at the sight of blood shooting off the recoiling head. Freddie's stance tightened but he didn't move until Weston was done. Trying to figure out if Second's physical and verbal response was genuine or a defense mechanism of an active drug addict...

The enforcer pulled the cap off his head, holding it by the brim while using the back of his wrist to rub his forehead. "So let me get this straight, kid." He mused and put the hat back on, taking a few steps closer to the chair before leaning over with hands propped to his knees. Leveling his face with the busted, bloody mess of AJ's. "You broke into boss's room, looking for drugs that you heard—", he glanced to Weston, deliberately, to not come off as insinuating it's true, "...were supposedly there," then his gaze cruised back to the boy, "and you got caught. Is that what happened?"

“N-No,” AJ whined while clutching his broken nose, voice coming out nasally and blood dripping into his mouth, “I mean, I looked a little, but-but only surface level, I didn’t go through his drawers, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, they said they were there and I really really needed it, an I’m sorry.”

Freddie sighed, straightening back up to look at his superior. He didn't have to say anything, LT already had a job for him. "Freddie, tag along with Weston." Wes said. "Our peeping tom seemed to think he could score an easy fix in his quarters. To give it a once-over and see if there's any truth to that. This stays between you, me, and the Boss. Clear?"

The enforcer fixed the cap over his head. "Clear as meth, Chief." Too soon..?

Freddie moved for the door, holding them open for the Second in Command. He wasn't thrilled with this new task, knowing Weston would glare while he swept through his stuff. He also didn't suspect he would find anything and that brought him to a nasty realization. That the boy was lying. And if he was?

God help him.

Namazu Safton Togy ​

 

[Namazu]

Scene Three
"The Rat Problem"​

Weston tried his best not to be mad at anyone in that room other than AJ for the fact that now someone else was going to have to search his room for something that didn’t exist. It pissed him off that he felt like he couldn’t shake that reputation and, truth be told, he was a little worried the kid had planted something in there for the guys to find. He wasn’t going to argue with Wes though - it's exactly what he would have ordered too. He muttered his thanks to Freddie for getting the door, and led him out and down to his quarters.

Silently flexing and rubbing at his bruising fist the whole way, Weston didn’t say a word until he reached the door of his room. Freddie probably expected glares, but Weston couldn’t really be angry at the guy. Not for this.

“For the record, I don’t have any hard drugs in here.” Weston commented as he stepped in, letting Freddie follow in behind him. “I have a pack of cigarettes in my desk drawer. Just nicotine.” To prove it, Weston pulled open the top drawer of his desk, then stepped away. Sure enough, right next to a mismatched collection of pens and pencils, a slightly battered notebook, two cheap Bic lighters, and some other junk like dry rubber bands and paperclips, was a pack of cigarettes. Marlboros. The plastic was off so it had been opened at least once.

“Porn mags are at the bottom of the nightstand crates.” Weston snorted as he propped himself up on a lone padded, backless wooden bar stool that stood at one end of the room, opposite the bed. He sighed as he watched Freddie go about his business of searching - not sighing at Freddie, just at things in general.

It wasn’t a terribly fancy room, but it was far more comfortable than most people had. A decent bed with a mismatched collection of blankets and pillows, makeshift nightstand, wooden desk and metal chair that used to belong to the prison guards, a tall dresser that was actually full of clothes and gear, and a mirror hung above it. Weston’s pride and joy though was a bookshelf he made with his own hands a few months ago that was starting to fill up with books. He’d been growing his collection ever since the outbreak. The walls were decorated with pictures, torn-out magazine pages, and posters found here and there of motorcycles, beer advertisements, pinup women, shirtless men, and a two-page spread of the ocean (an advertisement for a cruise line). It looked a little bit like what a teenager would do to his room, hanging them up with tape, but it was the best Weston could do on limited resources. There was only one single real photograph in the whole room that Weston managed to frame - a picture of Weston, a blonde woman, and a man with light brown hair, all sitting side by side at what looked like a bar counter, smiling at whoever took the picture. It was sitting on top of the nightstand, turned to face the bed. Definitely pre-outbreak. Pre-prison sentence, too.

“Also for the record, my concern is the kid - or someone else - planted something in here. I’ve been outside since early this morning so there’s been plenty of chances.” He paused a moment before continuing.

“I’ve been clean since I got here. And not just hooked up with these guys, but I mean at LSCC. That means, what, a year and a half? More? I’ve kinda lost track.” He shrugged his shoulders, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the wall.

Bullyboy Squad​

 

[SpazTheButcher]

Flashback​

Days left in country: 180
Baghdad, Iraq 2005
Private First Class James "Ray" Person
En Route to Transit Hub

Jostled awake by a pothole, Ray's senses were overwhelmed. The smells of cooking beef and gun smoke, the bright sun, the heat cooking him alive in the Humvee, and the sounds of a bustling city. The red eye flight to Iraq was shitty enough, only to be reinforced with the guys at the airport telling him to report to a convoy northbound. The excitement had kept him awake on the C-130, and now he was exhausted as he was driven through downtown Baghdad. And for a Marine sniper, this is not the place to be. His Mk 11 Mod 0 was in-between his legs as he swept the windows and rooftops of the city. He was apparently linking up with a Marine Recon outfit about forty clicks north of the city, but they had to drive him to a transport hub first. But, he wouldn't even end up making it to the hub.

The convoy turned left onto a seemingly deserted road. Ray hadn't developed a sixth sense yet but he already felt something was wrong. His suspicions were confirmed when an RPG round landed just off the bow of the Humvee, sending dust into the air. The guy manning the .50 began firing while someone else yelled out.

"CONTACT!"

The road quickly dissolved into chaos as weapons of all platforms and models began to bark. Ray didn't even remember doing it, but he had left the Humvee and was now crouched behind a few barrels. He tried to find targets, but couldn't even see muzzle flashes through the smoke. The a dark shadow was running towards him through the dust. He raised his rifle, but couldn't see who it was. He tried shouting for them to identify themselves. His shouts found themselves cut off by a long burst from an M249, which cut the man down.

Ray watched the body fall before him and he saw that it was, indeed, an Iraqi. He spent a solid minute staring at the body in the confusion. He was probably no older than Ray himself. He wore simple clothes, and Ray would've guessed him to be like all the other hajis he's seen so far if it wasn't for the simple load bearing harness he wore and the Type 56 he carried. The sounds around him drowned out as he looked at the body that lay face down, whose blood puddled into the sand, clumping up.

Ray then felt a hand on his shoulder and a body trying to pull him away, shouting. But Ray didn't hear the words, all he heard was silence. Finally as his eyes left the body, he regained awareness of his surroundings. The man pulling him towards the Humvees was shouting about disengaging and rolling to the FOB, but all Ray could see was his M249. Did he kill this kid? How many others has he killed?

Ray was forced into the backseat and the shooting died down as they left the street. It was a shitty situation to be in, but no Americans got hit, so apparently this made it a "good" day. Ray's mind drifted back to the body he saw. Then, he heard it. It started like a whisper, but soon everyone was singing it. Ray joined in on the second line, and soon everyone in the convoy was singing "Teenage Dirtbag." As he sang, Ray couldn't help but think that he had another 6 months of this shit.

 

[Crono]

Scene Two

Mark

Mark narrowed his eyes at the woman as she gave her explanation. It didn't add up as far as he was concerned, though Kass did show up with things in her mouth on occasion. Still, what sounded more plausible to him was that she had the radio and Kass had wandered over to her suspiciously. Besides, who plays with a random radio? Then the radio crackled and the voice replied once again, with a question that did nothing but further confuse Mark. "Why would I?" He replied accusingly to Brielle's question. It felt like a trap, distracting him, or just something like that. Though for a moment he wondered if the voice was actually talking to him in regards to Santiago.

"Look I don--" Mark's words were cut short by Santi calling out, and he looked over his shoulder to see the man had arrived. Mark nodded thankfully then relaxed and lowered the gun to a more passive stance in his hands but still kept it their at the ready. The immediate stress and fear of the situation he'd found himself in dissolving slowly with the look Santiago gave him, the man's presence was more than enough to put him more at ease. Ever since the world fell apart and his father died, Santiago had looked out for him. Mark owed him a lot for keeping him alive and safe during the outbreak, not to mention the fact that Santiago ran the Ranch and made the decisions to keep the whole community safe from the many dangers of todays world.

Still, when Santiago said that the radio wasn't Brielle's with a curious confidence, Mark couldn't help but step back into the situation. "But I heard her talking into it!" He nearly ranted, unsure of what the other man was getting at. And then Santi was talking into the radio, speaking to whoever was on the other end. So he fell silent as the group awaited an answer, Mark opting to finally glance around to see that a few people were watching from afar. Mrs. Richards was in one direction with two others having joined her, and he saw North and Dutchess in another near a barn.

Straw-Berry Milk
arthur morgan.
Mentions: NanLia The Cat Man Bullyboy Squad​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Freddie stepped into the same room AJ was found in, but now with a different attitude. Instead of playing a curb cop, he was playing a detective investigator. "Sure thing, boss." He responded to Weston's unsolicited reassurances, his eyes solely on the room he was supposed to sweep.

Freddie walked over to the drawer, not touching anything he didn't have to. Only the items that could cover something else. Would a junkie keep his medicine in the drawer? Guess he could if he was the Second in Command, untouchable.

The man laughed awkwardly at the mention of porn mags. "Not touching the bottom crates, got it." He joked and continued checking any nook and cranny he could think of. Eventually, also the porn mags space. He seemed to short circuit when realizing a naked dude was staring back at him from the cover of the first one. Freddie cleared his throat. Not for him to judge, just, that he didn't expect a man like Weston to like dick. Or whatever the gays were into these days. Maybe prison changed every inmate into a nancy.

Freddie hummed knowingly at the other's concerns. "Doesn't look like it." The place was clear. He didn't say anything else when the man kept sharing. He himself never really got out of his own addiction. Not like Freddie really called it by the name or faced the issue, though.

The enforcer sighed, pulling his hat off and rubbing the curly hairdo. "Looks like we're done here." His gaze skimmed over the place one last time before it paused on the picture. A hint of rue shone in the man's eyes before he turned to leave. "Why did you think he planted something, boss?" He asked as an afterthought. "What would be his angle–" The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked back at the picture by the bed, struck by the realization. Something that should be most god damn obvious. They've been living like this for over a year now so the old CO apparently lost his edge. Temporarily forgetting the most apparent place an inmate would hide their possession at. Freddie walked back to the bed and pulled up the mattress. First checking underneath then… "Found something."

Right, not like he had to tell that to Weston. He had to already know what was hidden inside the hole in the foam. Freddie crammed his fingers into the tear before retrieving a baggie. Then another. The question burning his tongue. How many will I find, boss?

Namazu Safton Togy ​

 

[Namazu]

Scene Three
"The Rat Problem"​

Keeping an eye on Freddie as the man searched, Weston tried to take a moment to get his shit together. He immediately felt like a bit of an idiot, oversharing with this guy he outranked in this new world about things that he didn’t need to explain or defend. It was obvious it made things more awkward, not less, and did not serve as any kind of an icebreaker. It was even more obvious when Freddie saw what was in the bottom crate and only cleared his throat. Weston tried to remember which magazine it was that was last left on top of the stack, then cringed at himself. Normally he kept a Playboy on top because it made for a good cover, but had forgotten to rearrange things that morning. Just because the whores knew what he liked didn’t mean everyone else had to.

Weston was still trying to relax a little when Freddie had a last minute thought. It was a good call, checking under the bed - back when this was still run like an actual prison, that was one of the most popular places to hide contraband. It was also the first place the COs checked when searching though, so that didn’t make it a good spot. Weston would have checked the same spot if he were searching. But who would be dumb enough to hide anything in such a common spot?

“What the fuck?” Weston blurted out, stepping forward and pushing Freddie out of the way. Grabbing the edge of the mattress and disregarding the mess this would make of his bed, he flipped the whole mattress off the frame and stood it on its side. Sure enough, on the bottom of the mattress was a small round hole that looked like it had been torn apart slowly and without the benefit of a knife - some other tool instead was used, maybe a fork or a pen. The edges were fuzzy and frayed. The plastic corner of a sealed baggie poked out of the hole where Freddie had just pulled two out already. Taking his pocket knife out of his back pocket, Weston flipped out the blade and shoved it into the bottom of the mattress. It wasn’t difficult to slice it open, starting at the hole. Three more baggies of similar size fell out, hitting the floor.

“This ain’t my shit.” Weston stated emphatically. He stopped cutting when it appeared he’d uncovered the full length of the hidey-hole inside the mattress and nothing else was going to fall out. Five baggies in total had been retrieved.

“This has probably been here the whole fuckin’ time. This mattress came out of one of the cell blocks, y’know? Not even my cell, either.” He paused for a moment, trying to recall which one it came from. “One of the women’s cells, I think. They always got the nicer mattresses. I had to replace mine.”

Weston squatted down and picked up one of the baggies to inspect it, but as soon as he saw what it was he chucked it right at Freddie as if it burned him to touch it, expecting the man to catch it.

It was heroin. White, powdered, potentially pure - though chances are it was laced or cut with something else. God knows what. Weston tried not to think about what was necessary to smuggle something like that into a prison. He also tried not to think about how something in the back of his mind itched and clawed at his consciousness, urging him to just kill Freddie where he stood, keep the drugs, and use it. Use it now, because he’d feel so much better if he could.

“Do me a favor? Take those and get it out of here. Away from me. And don’t tell anyone what you found. Not yet.” Weston stood back up with a frustrated grunt, pacing to the other side of the room, motioning towards Freddie with his knife as he spoke.

“I knew that little fucker was up to something suspicious. And why wouldn’t I suspect it? People could find or make up reasons to want to take me down just for being second in command. Greed, jealousy, fucked the wrong whore, took the last biscuit from canteen at dinner, I don’t know - maybe I pissed off someone… It's doubtful the kid did it though - this was a setup. I’m sure of it. We have to figure out who that guy is that sent him here in the first place.”

Weston rubbed his free hand down his face, then stared down at it. He’d given AJ a good left hook, but now his hand was bruised. In a perfect world, he’d be icing it, but for now he’d just have to walk it off.

“Does the description the kid gave match anyone you know? Tall, tattoos, blonde or light brown?” He paused a beat, then added: “Besides me.”

Bullyboy Squad
Safton
Togy​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

The pastel hues of lavender faded along the horizon, turning the edges of the darkening skyscape gray. The bird melodies died down, leaving the quiet evening to the buzz of cicadas and croaking frogs.

The temperatures plunged below the comfortable 70, tickling Cabrera's skin with the cool breeze of the oncoming night. His fingerless-glove-wrapped hand curled around the device, lips lingering by the mouthpiece. He waited for a few heartbeats before clenching his palm, opening the transmission.

Whoever was on the other side could hear the eerie static, filled with little crackles and soft thumps. Nothing. And when it felt like there would be no answer, the radio clicked, slicing the white noise with silence. Smooth like the surface of undisturbed water. Sprinkled only by the calm rhythm of someone's breath. Strong and steady. Like a message on its own.

The transmission was cut abruptly, giving way to more static.

The crest of the hill once covered by warm, propped bodies, now empty. Just crushed grass and swaying fern left behind as the dark clad group scattered down the slope. Armed and hungry. Using nature as cover.

Coming to take what's theirs.

NanLia arthur morgan. The Cat Man Straw-Berry Milk Crono @Noivian
Namazu ​

 

[Safton]

Wesley Emmett



Scene Three​

Wesley watched as Weston and Freddie departed. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his face before slowly turning back toward AJ to fix the man with a distant glare. He considered giving him some manner of warning -- "If it turns out that you were just jerking us around or trying to pull some shit, you're going to be in for it" -- but he stopped himself. The intruder seemed well aware of how much trouble he was in given his demeanor and tone up to this point. And if he hadn't, well, Weston's fist had certainly made that point abundantly clear.

Wes instead simply reached down to unsnap the handcuff pouch on his belt, fishing out the metal links before moving forward. "Hands back," he said gruffly, grasping AJ's wrists and pressing them behind the chair before cuffing them together. "Somebody will be back for you soon. Don't get any ideas." With that, Wesley marched briskly into the corridor, turning to lock the door behind him.

As he made his way toward Weston's quarters, Emmett juggled the situation in his mind. Ideally, he'd get there and find that Freddie had finished his inspection only to have turned nothing up. The junkie was lying or had been misled. Simple. But doubt niggled at him as he marched through the corridor... and he knew very well how much trouble it would spell it if one of King's most trusted advisors and executors was found to have been hoarding narcotics. The man might play favorites, but there were limits.

Wesley made it to Weston's door, reaching out to knock but pausing as he heard Freddie's voice: "...so you don't want me to tell L.T.?"

As if drawn in by a magnet, Emmett crossed the threshold, "How's it going in he--" he began to call out and stepped in his tracks as he saw the mattress tossed over, torn open on its side... and several baggies of a powdered substance he recognized immediately between the occupant and Freddie. "Oh," Wes grunted, his mouth snapping shut as he pursed his lips -- glancing at both men impassively.

Togy
Namazu
Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

​

Toni arrived from the East side along with Denver. But he split from the man when flanking the group. With his pistol and attitude out on the display he watched their friends round the wounded cattle.

The inked ex-con strutted towards Jamie and Hughes, intrigued by the younger man. He looked like a scared cub protecting a fallen parent. Which Toni recognized for what it could be for them. Leverage. Not like they needed it with all those muzzles glaring at the roughed up group but– Toni had a feeling this bunch could be useful for Samaritans. And he was always happy to bear gifts for the men in charge, enjoying his little bonuses for good results.

Which at the time meant Toni had to keep an eye out, just in case Denver's games got off the rails. Again.

Jamie was grabbed by one of the patrolmen and shoved next to Jax, who howled in pain when forced down to his knees with that open fracture in his shin. Tears streamed down his tense face, grooving clear lines down his dirty cheeks. But none of the brutes gave a shit. Both captives were patted down, stripped off their vests and any weapon - everything was chucked to the grass a few yards away from them.

Hughes was on his back when a tattooed mug obscured the sky above him, swaying in Hughe's vision as Toni shook his head. "You no look too good, papi." He roughly patted Huey's cheek. "Oye, ya hearing me, snowflake?" One of his fellows sniggered at the nickname, butting in with a "looks like a burnt fry to me". Toni chuckled and hooked inked fingers into the sides of Marine's vest. "Gonna just lay there, Princess?" He groaned, dragging the man towards the others, ignoring the weak noise the Marine made. How his hands tried to latch onto Toni's clothes but clawed into his bare arms instead. He propped him next to the younger guy, making sure he's upright at least for the second.

At the time Denver was having his little speech, and all enforcers laughed at his comment about Temma. Some vulgar gestures and cat calls followed and Toni walked to Jamie from behind, grabbing his skull with one and jaw with the other hand, forcing the pilot's mouth wide open. "This one seems to have potential, no?" He smirked darkly. Predatory urges shining in his eyes.

Togy The Cat Man spottednewt Safton Crono ​

 

[Namazu]

Scene Three
"The Rat Problem"
​

The first thing that went through Weston’s mind was the phrase: This isn’t what it looks like. The second thing was: Fuck. The former sounded like some dumb bullshit out of a soap opera, so out came the latter.

“Fuck.” He sighed as soon as he saw the look on L.T.’s face, though he motioned for the man to step inside.

“Get the door, wouldja?” He leaned back some, peering out past Wes to see if there was anyone else coming with him. Seeing none, he returned his attention to Wes.

“L.T., before you go jumping to any conclusions, we got ourselves an issue here. That ain’t mine.” He pointed down at the baggies on the floor, each still sealed and unused. “And I didn’t know about that shit being here. Somebody set me up, and I’m thinking that kid was just an unwitting easy pawn.”

Truthfully his plan was to ask Freddie not to tell anyone, including and especially Wes, but so much for that plan. So, time to pivot and act like this was the plan all along.

“It's probably that guy he mentioned, the one that sent him down here. This news has gotta stay between us for right now though, because that guy doesn’t know we’re on to him... Whoever the fuck he is.” Folding back up his pocket knife and sliding it away into his pocket, he glanced between the two men, trying to gauge whether they believed him, and trying not to act like he was scared shitless.

Weston couldn’t claim he knew King well at all, but from what he did know, he didn’t want to get on the guy’s bad side - and this was definitely a way to earn a ticket straight to Shitsville. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and down his beard, trying his best not to look at the baggies on the floor. They were within reach… all he needed to do was grab one…

“What’s the plan, L.T.? You gonna waste all our time, and King’s, by turning me in for bullshit, or are we gonna figure out who’s really behind this?”

Safton
Bullyboy Squad
Togy​

 

[SpazTheButcher]

No Scene - Bar​

Interactions - NanLia

It was rare for Ray to get out of the Armory. He was often in there hours at a time, like an NPC in the video games he used to play as a kid, he never left. He was a sniper at heart, trained to stay in one place for hours on end, pissing in bottles, getting hella cramps, and being eaten alive by bugs. Exactly what he did now, but instead of waiting for the perfect shot, now he cleaned and maintained rifles, handguns, sub machine guns, knives, and more. What had been the facility's riot supply closet became his new home, as it filled up with weapon racks as the group secured more gear. But even Ray the Ranger needed to decompress from time to time.

He had locked up the armory's classic and familiar metal door and pulled down the gate over his little business window. Being the armorer had its downsides though, one of which being that he was always looking over his shoulder. But, the trade off was that he could carry anything that wasn't already checked out, so he sported a lovely leather holster which was complimented by a Smith & Wesson Model 29 and a pouch of spare .44 Magnums shells.

He walked through the halls, scanning every exit and every person as he walked. He had ran out of Rip Fuel months ago, and the paranoia is beginning to get to him. But he doesn't show it outwardly, and tries to remain cool as he enters the ad-hoc bar. He scans the room, and once satisfied that he won't be disturbed, he sits on the far end, with his back to the wall, and nods to the lady on shift.

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

Freddie nearly stumbled, stepping away for the man to take over. Not how the search should be done if this was any other 'suspect', but the enforcer didn't plan to point that out to the second most important person in the prison. Even if they turned out to be a junkie.

Freddie took the certainly creative theories with a grain of salt. Not out of the question but kind of hard to buy it all as a coincidence under the current circumstances. "Right." He only nodded at another mention of a setup. Which could be true. Maybe it was all just some revenge plan. The Second was generally liked by the people, more than King at least, but that didn't change the fact there were many unhappy faces in the West Block. Some would eagerly drive a shiv through any leader's back, but…maybe this was personal. Felt personal in a way.

Unless it was all just a smokescreen of lies coming from a cornered man.

Thick brows knitted when Freddie heard the request. Somehow he had a feeling no matter what he did it would bite him in the ass later. "...so you don't want me to tell LT?" His heart skipped a beat when the door opened and the speak of the devil came to mind.

He didn't interrupt when Weston shared more of his conspiracy theories with the Chief of Security but when the final question was met by a brief silence, he slipped in the one thought that came to mind earlier. "I might know of a man who matches the description." He wasn't keen on explaining where he knew the guy from and why but, knowing it would come out either way, he admitted with a straight face. "He's banging my wife." No longer... "Ex-wife." Which he knew was a conflict of interest, but not like he even wanted to see that stupid mug.

Namazu Safton Togy ​

 

[Safton]

Wesley Emmett

Scene Three​

Emmett stepped hurriedly through the threshold at Weston's urging, letting the man glance past him to satiate his curiosity before shutting the door behind him.

He crossed his arms along his chest, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose while Weston "pleaded his case". It was vaguely odd to hear similar words to what many inmates had proclaimed over the years after searches of their cells had turned up contraband. It didn't quite come across as the desperate pleas of a panicked junkie -- Weston was too smart and composed for that -- but the optics were hardly promising. Emmett could merely be as impartial as possible while hearing him out. He glanced over the tops his fingers, every muscle in his body tensing instinctively as he saw the man fiddling with his pocketknife. That was certainly something he wasn't used to from inmates having their things searched...

Wesley cleared his throat, nodding to Weston in deference before speaking in a measured tone. "I get it. But you know as well as I do that the play here is to try and get ahead of this by bringing the Boss in and making your case. Freddie and I will back you with what we've seen and heard so far." He nodded toward the junior enforcer before returning his gaze to the Second.

"How do you think it'll look if he finds out you kept this shit from him, regardless of how you frame it? If there's anything I've learned, it's that you can't keep anything in this prison secret from King for long," Emmett shrugged impotently, glancing to Freddie again. "You said you had somebody in mind. Who is it? I was about to turn our rat loose -- see if he goes scurrying back to his hole," he said, reaching for his radio.

Bullyboy Squad
Namazu ​

 

[Togy]

SCENE ONE
The Marines
​

Jamie, arms wrapped around Hughes’ shoulders and pulling with everything he had to drag the larger man out of the wreck, didn’t even notice a black blur of a gunstock before it smashed right into his face, cracking against his cheek and sending him to the ground instantly, a visible bruise already beginning to form. Seeing nothing but stars, Jamie didn't even have the mind to struggle as two men hooked their arms under his shoulders and began to drag him away from the wreck.

His jaw was already turning sore by the time the two threw him on his knees against the dirt, with something resembling a thought process quickly coming back to him. Hughes, Jax, Eugene, all on their knees with him. Where the hell was Packer? Did they leave them in the truck?

And what the fuck was a Temma?

Before he could begin hyperventilating or something equally counterproductive, he was tugged back by a hand digging into his scalp, another hand cupping his cheeks and forcing his mouth open soon after. Aw, shit, he thought, panic starting to build, I knew I should've kept the crew cut.

He had potential? What was that supposed to-oh. Motherfucker.

Steeling what little courage he had before his mind could catch up and tell him *no, that's a stupid fucking idea*, he bent his arm and rammed his elbow backward, digging into his captor's groin.

Toni yelped like a kicked dog, momentarily stunned by the pain. He stumbled to the side opposite to the crushing elbow and bumped to Jax.

The wounded blonde whimpered through clenched teeth, but instantly used the opportunity. He grabbed the pistol holstered by the enforcer's hip and jabbed the muzzle to Toni's side. "Put your guns d-down!!" He demanded, voice shaky from the unbearable pain coming from the open fracture in his leg.

 

[NanLia]

Temma Tation​

No Scene - Temma & Derek's Private Quarters​

Temma nestled his cheek on Derek's chest, closing his eyes and enjoying the clammy warmth of his husband's skin on his own. He listened to Derek's rumbling gravelly voice through their connection as he expressed his disappointment with North's absence and the poor performance from the fight the week before. He toyed his manicured hot rod red nails, encrusted with rhinestones, though Derek's salt and pepper chest hair.


Temma knew first hand of the populations unrest because of the lack-luster results from the fight - he and his girls felt the brunt of it through their customers; He'd had to handle several occasions where customers had become … unruly with his girls and he needed to be directly involved with the enforcers as his side.


Derek had been none-too-pleased to hear of the conflicts but Temma had reassured him it was handled and at no time had his wife been in danger or threatened; most of the population of the prison knew exactly who he was and exactly what would happen should he come under threat. Only once, prior to the Samaritans take over, had some of Derek's own gang decided to lay hands on his wife and Derek had ended that man's life slowly … and Temma had watched.


"Good." He purred, tilting his head up to nip at Derek's ear lobe, smiling to himself. "That means I'll have all that much more of your attention then."
Bullyboy Squad - Derek

code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​