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The Bar

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Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    The Writer

  • Andolini Mafia Family
  • Joined: 02 May 2007
  • United-Kingdom
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#1

Posted 21 April 2012 - 04:31 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2012 - 05:19 PM.

user posted image


user posted image


Credit is due where it is due; the man behind this concept is none other than El Zilcho! So, Kudos to him. tounge2.gif

Laying underneath a motorway in some distant unknown city, the bar lay dormant. Outside as snow filtered down onto the dark and murky concrete streets, patrons would enter the bar. Each one of them having their own story to tell in and out of the bar. Welcome to the haven of many, pull up a chair and order your poison. You're here for your own reasons.


Welcome to The Bar, here's something for you to read:

The Bar is choc full of people, every hour of the day. Seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year. Be calm in the bar and and write properly, nobody is not saying the occasional conflict will happen but this is a largely populated bar. If your character does anything to stupid, he may just end up being taken out back by a regular and dumped in the dumpster. You dig? Play nice.


PatronUsernameStatusLocation
Jackson Miller
Ziggy455
Alive
Backroom
Nero [Second Name]
El Zilcho
Alive
Main Room
Barty Gabble
Typhus
Alive
Backalley
Zinedine Kadir
Lethal Nizzle
Alive
Backroom
Vincenzo Leon
AceRay
Alive
Backroom
Carson De Luca
ItsOnlyAce
Alive
Main Room
Wussy Reed
TinTinn
Alive
Main Room


RoomDescription
Main Room
The Entrance room into The Bar, the main room is a typical room. Rectangular with a log fireplace, a large mahogany bar at the other end and a sh*tload of tables too. Huge curtains cover the old glass windows at the front entrance.
Backroom
A smaller bar is in here, complete with bar memorabilia. Two pool tables are placed opposite each other as well as a jukebox and two cigarette machines, windows that peek into the alleyway and industrial area beyond are covered by curtains.
Ground floor Hallway
A normal looking hallway, full of portraits of famous patrons and such. It leads to the stairs up to the second floor, to the back alley outside and the toilets.
Ground floor toilets
Grimy looking and covered in graffiti, the toilets are covered in puke and sh*t. A broken condom machine is in there too and it is a common place for crack addicts to take a nice nap. You'd much prefer to piss outside.
Back alley
Imagine your typical looking back alley, but this one overlooks the Industrial area. Pretty ain't it?
Cleaning cupboard
A small room behind the main bar, used for cleaning products and such.
Second Floor storage room
A small room full of bar sh*t. Glasses, mats and chairs. Unused organs and keyboards.
Second Floor balcony bar
A small 'conference' like bar room which overlooks the industrial area at night, it has a bar, a pool table, a pinball table and a lot of MC memorabilia. It has one wall with glass all across it that leads out into a grimy balcony coated in cheap white chairs and tables, those plastic white ones nobody likes.
Second Floor toilets
Look downstairs in those toilets, you'd get the picture. Except the condom machine works here.
PatronWhat your next story must include.
Lynch Edwards
--
Nero
--
Barty Gabble
--
Zinedine Kadir
--
Vincenzo Leon
--
Wussy Reed
--
Carson De Luca
--
PatronRecent Activity in The Bar
Lynch Edwards
--
Nero
--
Barty Gabble
Barty Gabble settled down in the Backalley behind The Bar, ready and waiting for somebody to leave so he may shoot them with a crossbow.
Zinedine Kadir
--
Vincenzo Leon
--
Wussy Reed
--
Carson De Luca
--


The concept is simple, create a character and put him in your own story in The Bar, you can put the story wherever you like in or out of the bar, but if you plan on writing a story, you must join the board. The last place your character is when your story ends is what will be written on the character's board.


The Rules


Rule #1: Can you please COLOR CODE the name of YOUR character and whatever character you have included in your story with their preferred color. See the posts between El Zilcho and Ziggy455 (myself) as an example.


Don't forget!

Anything you write is in real time, and the next patron will hear/see/respond to what you've done. If you bottle a patron, another player may decide to bottle you back. If you fire off a gun, somebody may shoot you back. So be warned! There is no quarrelling here. If somebody stabs you, you will write effectively how you died, recovered or responded.

This is purely a creative concept. Write about who you like, whether it's fifty or a thousand words. Go crazy, f*ck up the bar, start a fight. Barricade yourself in a room with a bottle of scotch. This is all for fun of course.

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    The Writer

  • Andolini Mafia Family
  • Joined: 02 May 2007
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#2

Posted 21 April 2012 - 04:49 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2012 - 03:12 PM.

Rules and Instructions
Player/Player Interaction
Your character is a person who is in the bar, they can respond and interact with other players in the bar if that player consents and agrees like so: You have just written a story and you want to talk to another player who is positioned at the bar. You will finish your story with 'Player 1 then went over and sat next to Player 2, and in turn Player 2 will respond correctly.
Playing 'the badass'
Okay listen up, this is a bar, a bar when where people come to drink and we're expecting conflict now and again between patrons or their own story but in order to create a third dimensional character- YOU ARE NOT AN ACTION HERO. You don't have mad shooting skills, you can't kill people with your farts, and you sure as f*ck can't kick twelve burly bastards while drinking a Martini. Create a realistic character with flaws.
Fate
When your character is attacked, in order to stop writers from just writing 'my character shot you in teh head and burns you to death!' the equilibrium of fate and cause and effect takes place. If you are going to do something to a patron, you must do it in the final line like so: 'Daniel went forward with his knife raised and brought it down onto Steven!' - Check the 'What to include in your next story' to see if your attack has killed him or not.
Recent Activity
Recent Activity is an up to date status of each characters plotline. Whatever is placed in the box is the immediate previous event of that character and is 99% of the time the accurate and up to date action of the character to. Check up on it to see how Patrons in the Bar are doing.
What to include in your next story
The 'What to include in your next story' is a small prototype fate mechanic which is issued by myself. Basically it consists of a small description of something that YOU MUST include in your story. This can include the outcome of an impending attack, the effect of an attack or anything else that keeps the story moving fluidly.
Character's color
Don't forget to COLOR CODE your character's name in your preferred color so people can keep track of Patrons.
Writing stories
Your character is in his own story. If another patron decides to enter your story, then you may choose to include him as long as you and the patron collaborate and agree. 90% of your time, you should focus on your own character and the creation of NPC characters that you can focus on.
Real time cause and effect
If you are in the same room as another patron, that patron must include whatever action you just did in their next story (If you did anything that anybody would notice.)
More to come, stay tuned.

El Zilcho
  • El Zilcho

    Virtuoso

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  • Joined: 14 May 2008
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#3

Posted 21 April 2012 - 05:45 PM Edited by El Zilcho, 21 April 2012 - 05:54 PM.

'Nero' sat quietly at the bar, his figure calm and patient. In the thick shade of the Backroom, Nero's dark suit provided camouflage. A light ble tie contrasted with a white shirt beneath; to any observer, he appeared to be a man of distinct taste and of a professional disposition. His hair was short but swept to the side in a style reminiscent of a 40s fighter pilot. Nero's face was handsome and well defined, but luckily for his line of work, also largely forgettable.

He listened in silence as the gunshots outside grew closer, then eased away as the helicopter's rotors headed north. Searchlights momentarily illuminated the curtained windows, before the police continued to follow the louder 'patrons' of the nights battle. Suddenly, a creaking was heard as someone slipped inside the bar quietly, stumbling through the Ground Floor Corridor and into the dilapidated toilets. Nero reached inside his coat pocket and produced a black Custom M1911. He stood slowly, making his way toward the commotion that had roused him from his concentration. Was the rendezvous supposed to be this early?

Standing at the door of the toilets, Nero heard very little. Clicking off the safety, he stepped away from them and sat on a lone chair in the horrid brown corridor, listening to the shouts outside grow more distant at every second. A minute passed before, when total silence fell, the slight clack of a bolt unlocking betrayed the intruders movement. An injured man crept out of the toilet, limping slightly with a large duffel bag on his shoulder. The man disappeared down the corridor and into the Main Room.

Nero was behind him the entire time, sat silently in the shadows. Approaching slowly, he saw the man (who was sporting some very out of place surgical gloves) staring out into the streets from behind a crack in the curtain. Nero checked his watch once more, before stepping into the room and announcing his presence.

"When quantum cock tailing, in what state would you find the drink at completion?" Nero projected his voice out of the blue, startling man into a frantic spin around. His speech had no discernible accent - at a stretch it sounded like received pronunciation, with a hint of class about his words. Otherwise, it was impossible to place.

"Wha, who the hell are you!?" The man stepped back into a set of tables, clattered a chair to the ground. Nero gestured with the gun to sit down.

"If I prepare a superimposed Martini, in what state will I find the vodka?" Nero repeated as the man slowly sat down.

"I have no f*cking idea what you're talking about."

"Hmm." Nero sighed slowly, sitting down on a stool across from his captive. "The correct answer was, 'Shaken and Stirred'. But of course, you wouldn't know that. Because you aren't supposed to be here. Drop the bag." Nero was disappointed but pleased that rather than a normal rendezvous, the police intervention had dropped something more interesting into his lair. The man slowly but surely dropped the duffel bag, before kicking it heavily across the floor.

Nero reached and pulled it closely to him, resting it by his loafers.

"Care to explain why this night has spiralled out of control?" Nero asked calmly, his left eyebrow raised slightly. Both his dark brown eyes lasered in onto the gloved man across, who was sat uncomfortably and dripping with some blood. A second later, and the story was flowing thick and fast...

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

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#4

Posted 21 April 2012 - 06:22 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2012 - 02:57 PM.

[Reserved]

El Zilcho
  • El Zilcho

    Virtuoso

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 14 May 2008
  • European-Union

#5

Posted 21 April 2012 - 07:03 PM

"Ah ah ah!" Nero gestured with the weapon for the man to stop. "I'm not interested in your money or play tig with goons; as tempting as it may be, there's something important I'm waiting on. You can keep your $600,000 if you stay silent and don't cause me any more problems. We have to stay here for now, leaving is out of the question." Nero lifted the bag and tossed it nonchalantly behind the bar, rattling into some empty bottles loudly. The other man groaned with dissatisfaction at the delay, but quietly understood he could still come out of this with the money.

"You're certain it was mafia business? No spooks?"

"What? No, it was the Gravellaes."

"All right." Nero adjusted his tie. "The name's Nero. You are?"

"Lynch."

"Keep an eye out front Lynch. I'm going to check the back, don't play any games. If you move I'll kill you." Nero said this last sentence without a change in enunciation or expression. He stepped out of the room, but made certain to stay near to the front and within site of the bar - and the $600,000. Peering through the entrance doors, the outside streets appeared still. Cobbled pathways and tarmac roads stretched downhill ahead, toward the putrid and churning industrial estate. Police sirens could not be heard, but Nero was certain they'd be in force back toward the factory, sifting through a multitude of corpses and cocaine.

Just then, a bloodied figure burst through the back door. He collapsed on the ground, just short of Nero's loafers. Gargling blood, the figure rolled onto his back, gasping. Five large bullet wounds adorned his white shirt, three across both arms and two in his abdomen and chest.

"Lynch, get in here. Slow." Lynch stepped through the doors, his expression changing to astonishment as he recognised the bloodied face lying on the ground. Nero immediately picked up on this.

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I... I do."

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    The Writer

  • Andolini Mafia Family
  • Joined: 02 May 2007
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#6

Posted 21 April 2012 - 07:20 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2012 - 02:58 PM.

[Reserved]

El Zilcho
  • El Zilcho

    Virtuoso

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 14 May 2008
  • European-Union

#7

Posted 21 April 2012 - 08:19 PM

"If you're that concerned about Archie, you watch out for his kid. I'll keep a look out for his 'friend'." Nero helped pull the kid into the Main Room regardless of his disinterest, taking care not to get the copious amounts of blood on his shirt or jacket. Outside, loud droplets of rain started to spatter against the empty bar doors. Soon enough it had turned into a colossal deluge. Cats and dogs buffeting the double glazing.

"I'm tipping this table over, I need a surface." Lynch straightened Johnny out onto the small table, then started speaking to the semi-conscious teen. "Stay with me buddy. It's Lynch, remember? Keep it up." Nero wandered over to the door slightly, and outside he saw figures milling around. In the rain and dark, it was almost impossible to ascertain exactly who, but it looked like a saloon car was outside, idling in wait.

"We need to move him. It looks like his buddies are just outside, and they probably aren't too amicable. Get him up stairs to the Conference Room, then we can keep an eye out."

"Are you nuts? Have you seen him?"

"Do it!" Nero raised his voice, but holstered his weapon and took the lead by carefully lifting Johnny's legs. Lynch lifted his head, before both men heaved and pulled him towards the upstairs. Each step was a struggled, but once they reached the landing Nero let go of Johnny's legs and left Lynch to drag him to the Conference Room. Darting downstairs, Nero took the money and flicked off the bar light, quickly but quietly running upstairs once more.

Outside, the stirring was getting closer...

Typhus
  • Typhus

    OG

  • $outh $ide Hoodz
  • Joined: 11 Sep 2007

#8

Posted 21 April 2012 - 08:28 PM Edited by Typhus, 22 April 2012 - 04:41 PM.

Deleted.

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    The Writer

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#9

Posted 21 April 2012 - 08:52 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2012 - 02:58 PM.

[Reserved]

Lethal Nizzle
  • Lethal Nizzle

    Optima dies, prima fugit

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  • Joined: 13 Apr 2008

#10

Posted 21 April 2012 - 09:53 PM Edited by Lethal Nizzle, 21 April 2012 - 09:59 PM.

Zinedine Kadir


The cold snow outside could do little to the white-hot atmosphere within the backroom. While the jukebox alternated between thrash-metal and classic rock, punters drank their cares away at the bar, gambled their money away at the slots or sold their dignity to the moth-eaten women that were dotted around the room. Zinedine Kadir was doing none of the previous, but he was instead in his element at the pool table. He stood still and silent at the foot of the table facing away from the window, surveying the green velvet background and planning his next move. His opponent, a short but wide man stood at the other end, staring straight at Zinedine. The whites of his knuckles were visible even through the various racist tattoos that marked his hands. He was not used to losing, and especially to a foreigner. He watched as Zinedine slowly made his way around the pool table, his eyes not lifting from the table.

Zinedine wasn't foreign; he was native to the city they both stood in yet his appearance and his name said otherwise. His parents, both Algerian, had handed him the obviously Algerian name of Zinedine and his appearance was quite discernible; olive skin, dark hair and brown eyes, it was obvious that he was of a foreign ethnicity. This angered the narrow-minded opponent, who's policy on foreigners "invading" his beloved country was well known to many who graced the bar. He was very close to losing the last frame - the game was a best of three, with Zinedine in the lead with two - and a lot of money. He watched helplessly as Zinedine bent down low and prepared for his shot. Zinedine had two balls remaining, the seven and the eight ball, and he would be a hundred dollars richer if they reached their mark. His first target was obviously the seven ball, which was embracing the side-wall of the table. The cue ball sat in the middle of the table, which meant that Zinedine had to pull of a tricky shot in order to pot the ball.

He was confident in his ability however, and after rehearsing his routine to strike the ball, he struck it. He remained bent low as he watched the ball hit the cushion and clip the seven ball, which began its journey towards the pocket. As it moved, so did Zinedine. This appeared to be a show of arrogance to his opponent, who's mouth warped into a snarl, revealing two incomplete, off-colour rows of teeth. The cue ball had sat up nicely for Zinedine to pot the eight ball with ease, and just as he was about to do just that there was a sudden movement accompanied by a sharp outburst of noise and he was quick to move back. His opponent's cue smashed into the table, splintering almost immediately and sending Zinedine's perfect shot askew. Zinedine looked up to see his opponent fast approaching, unarmed and very pissed off.

"Hey pal, c'mon," Zinedine started, backing up slightly to put more distance between him and his disgruntled opponent, who appeared to be confused at the accent which had left his lips. "I won, fair and square, do we really have to do this?"

"Naw, you don' have to, makes it easier fuh me!" The man's words were nearly unintelligible beneath his dialect, and he charged at Zinedine, who was quick to move by athletically vaulting over the pool table. As he did, he realised that he and his friend weren't alone; quite the crowd had began to gather around the table and, judging by some of the crowd's apparel, they seemed quite "chummy" with his opponent.

None of them attempted to intervene however, which confused Zinedine as he weighed up his options. He still held his pool cue but he knew he had another means of finishing the fight. He could feel the weight of the loaded Beretta in his back pocket but decided against using it quickly as the man lunged from around the table. The man appeared strong yet he was sluggish, undoubtedly from drinking which he occurred before his and Zinedine's match-up had begun. His slow movement was an advantage for Zinedine, and took the opportunity with both hands. He thrust the pool cue into the man's large gut, causing him to keel over, cursing as he did. Then, in one swift movement, he brought the pool cue on top of the man's cranium with severe force. The cue split instantly, as the other one had, but some splinters had made their way into the man's flesh. With a sickening thud and a short groan, the man hit the floor and the short-lived fight was over.

Zinedine's eyes shifted from the man and the crowd, who were still surrounding the pool table. The room was silent apart from the thrash-metal which emanated from the jukebox, and all eyes - including the bartenders - were trained on Zinedine. Then, in a surreal fashion, the crowd returned to their previous business, some muttering comments of approval, others said words of disdain. Soon the hubbub returned to the room, just as it was before Zinedine took his penultimate shot. The man lay in a heap next to the pool table - no-one attempted to check on him or take him away. Zinedine bent down next to the man and removed his wallet from his leather jacket. He extracted the money which had been agreed between the two, dropped the wallet on top of the man and walked away.

Zinedine knew what the bar was like, and what the city was like for that matter, and simply got on with it. How the crowd suddenly lost all interest and returned to their business, however, perplexed him. Nevertheless, he stepped onto a barstool and ordered a chilled beer, which was shortly delivered to him in exchange for some of the money he had taken from the man. He then somehow found it within him to relax and took a sip of the beer. Unbeknownst to Zinedine, a long night lay ahead.

AceRay
  • AceRay

    In my restless dreams, I see that town...

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  • Joined: 05 Oct 2010

#11

Posted 22 April 2012 - 02:17 AM Edited by AceRay, 22 April 2012 - 02:22 AM.

Vincenzo Leon


Vincenzo looked around the alleyway, his trench coat blowing in the wind. He poked his tongue out, snowflakes melting to water. It reminded him of when he was a small boy, having snowball fights with his brothers and building snowmen. Memories of his childhood gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

His striking eyes looked over to the dumpster and saw a man squatting down wearing a mask, looking poorly. Feeling generous, Vincenzo pulled out a fiver about to give it to the man.

“Get down on your knees.” All six foot and five inches of solidified handsome that is Vincenzo stood still and dropped the money, the fat guy emerging from the darkness aiming a crossbow right for his heart. “Oh my, old Barty got a good one on me today.”

“You gonna rob me? Take my money?”

“Oh, this is more than robbery, this is love” Barty moved closer, pushing the crossbow up against his heart. Vincenzo could smell his smoky breath through the mask.

In less than half a second, Vincenzo flipped round the crossbow. The attacker had become the victim, predator turned prey. A truly surprised look appeared on Barty's face as his whole world fell apart around him, Vincenzo’s smirk taunting him.

“Don’t kill…” He was cut off mid-sentence by an arrow piercing straight through his stomach. He screamed in agony and tried to throw a punch but Vincenzo had seen it all before. Barty reached up and grabbed onto the attacker’s shoulder, causing Vincenzo to laugh at his pathetic antics. Dropping the crossbow, Vincenzo drew a knife and cut off the stupid man’s arm with one swipe. Tears rolled down Barty’s face as the arm sprayed blood over the duo and fell to the floor. Vincenzo followed it up with a stab in the knee and punch in the face, causing his mask to shatter and Barty to fly backwards from Vincenzo’s mighty punch. Vincenzo picked up the arm and bashed Barty repeatedly with it.

“Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself!” Vincenzo chanted with glee as Barty became blood and bruised. When he was finished, Vincenzo used his mighty boots to smash his teeth, sending teeth flying and his jaw crushed like a squeezed orange.

To finish it off, Vincenzo jumped up and down on his chest, causing all his ribs to crack. Vincenzo, now covered in blood, laughed at his victim’s moans and groans. Realizing he couldn’t leave him there, he picked up the old druggie and flopped his body into the dumpster and shut the lid.

It was time to clean up. Vincenzo looked in Barty’s bag and found a towel. After making himself somewhat presentable, he set the bag on fire and dropped it in the dumpster, ready for it to smoke out the old fart in no time. He took Barty’s arm as a trophy and carried it inside his trench coat.

Now tired after all the violence, Vincenzo walked inside, made his way down the hallway and into the backroom, where he found a man sitting at the table. He took a seat next to him.

“How’s it going partner?” Vincenzo cheerfully said.

“Just beat the sh*t out of this f*cker, how about you?” the guy chuckled back.

“Oh, this old fart tried to rape me so I gave him some life-long injuries.”

“Can you prove it?” the stranger said, sipping his drink.

“I sure can” Vincenzo pulled out the arm and placed it on the table, causing his new friend to spit out his beer.

“Wow, you’re pretty hardcore aren’t you?” They both then laughed at their similar circumstances as the arm rolled off the table. “I’m Zinedine Kadir, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m Vincenzo Leon.”

Zinedine and Vincenzo ordered a couple of drinks and started to share life stories.

ItsOnlyAce
  • ItsOnlyAce

    مقاتل

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  • Joined: 05 Feb 2012

#12

Posted 22 April 2012 - 04:21 AM Edited by ItsOnlyAce, 22 April 2012 - 05:46 AM.

Carson De Luca



Carson heard police sirens in the distance, as he hastily walked towards the bar. He looked down as he walked to not draw any attention, and to admire the thick sheet of snow on the sidewalk. Buried in his thoughts, he bumped into a man that was walking fast that almost ran him over. They collided.

"Watch where you're walking bub," the man said.


"Sorry my mistake. By the way you dropped something." Carson handed him the gun that was on the floor. He noticed the tip on the end was hot so it must have been used earlier. The man continued and they were both on their way.



Just as he was turning the street corner, he noticed small pellet like blood stains in the snow. He looked up to see how far it went down the street. It led to the alleyway just before the bar. Carson continued down the trail of blood and into the alleyway. As he cautiously looked around, he began to feel watched. He then noticed a fire from the dumpster. He then spotted the oddly dressed man inside of the fire. "What the hell?" He saw that his arm was missing. But seeing this as a pretty violent town, Carson was used to it. He was born and raised here. He grew up seeing things like this so he thought this was a normal sight. He checked the body for any money, and continued into the bar.

When he walked into the back room and noticed two men speaking. Coincidentally one of the men had an flopping an arm in his hand. Usually he'd ask how he got it but didn't so he wouldn't draw any attention. He walked down the hallway, towards the toilets. As he approached the toilets he noticed another trail of blood from the bathroom to the stairs. He peeked into the bathroom, but nobody was there. He then tentatively walked up the stairs and heard noise from the conference room. He pressed the side of his head into the door to try and listen in on the conversation. He couldn't hear much and decided to press a bit harder, and accidentally opened. The door. He stumbled into the room and quickly to look up and see to men staring at him and a body on the table.

"Uh...Ummmm Hi sorry I'll be leaving."

As he began to walk out of the door, a man grabbed him by the back of his jacket and put a gun to his back.

"You didn't see anything"

"Okay, okay I'm sorry I wont say anything about it. I'll just be leaving now."

"You're not going anywhere," the man said in a gritty voice.

"I...I have connections! I can help you guys. trust me!"

AceRay
  • AceRay

    In my restless dreams, I see that town...

  • Members
  • Joined: 05 Oct 2010

#13

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:15 AM Edited by AceRay, 22 April 2012 - 09:48 AM.

"...And that's why I'm a communist!"

The two men laughed, realizing a special bond has formed, when Vincenzo suddenly realized how inconspicuous an arm was lying around the place. He decided to dispose of it before it began to stagnate and though he was sad to leave Zinedine, he needed to look less suspicious.

He picked up the arm and departed respectfully, going through the hall way. He considered his options. He could just throw it in with Barty but it would connect him to the crime. He could slice it up and flush it down the toilet, but was too messy. Then he remembered the conference room, the room which nobody ever used. It could be there forever!

With a spring in his step, Vincenzo bounded up the stairs, his trench coat blowing in the wind and a smile spread across his face. As he approached the room however, he heard men talking from behind the door. Suspicious, he opened the door suddenly and was met by two big men grabbing a nervous looking chap and a body lying there. At first he was nervous. Seriously injuring an old creep was easy but these three could prove problematic. But then his strikingly perfect handsomeness looked over the three faces and then realized that his old friend Nero was there!

"Vincenzo?" Nero asked with excitement. A smile spread across both their faces as they shook hands.

"Still getting yourself into trouble, I see?"

"How long has it been? Five years?"

"Longer than that, Nero." Vincenzo was happy to be in good company again but then the realization that there were still two unknowns there. He pointed to the biker sh*t with the arm "Who's this f*cker?"

"Yeah, I should ask you the same thing" the biker guy said as he stared

"Lets be friends here guys. Lynch , this is Vincenzo, an old friend of mine" Nero said, trying to play peacemaker.

"I don't like the look of him" Lynch murmered eyeing Vincenzo up and down. He wasn't sure what to make of the sexy chiselled face before him holding a severed arm. Lynch made another scary comment "Now scram, mince meat." Vincenzo got ready to draw his trusty knife but Nero intervened.

"Hey, where'd that other guy go?" Vincenzo finally asked. Everyone looked around and realized that the little b*tch must have ran away.

"Vincenzo, see if you can find that little sh*t for me, please. He could rat on us, you know. We could all go down."

"Keep this dog on a leash." Vincenzo growled, pointing at Lynch. "Oh, and could you get rid of this?" handing the arm to Nero. He was confused at first but Vincenzo was out the door before any further questions.

Vincenzo looked at his options of where the dude could be. The door to the second floor toilets was left wide open with grubby finger prints on it. He made like a cat and dashed into the sh*thole. The smell was poisonous. He busted down the first cubicle with a loud "Bang". Nobody was there so he moved the second one. This one was louder than the previous but was as just as empty. Finally, Vincenzo kicked down the last door and was puzzled. Unexpectedly, it was vacant. Suddenly, something hit the back of his head and he was on the floor, dazed.

"Just thought you could f*ck with me?" the dude screamed in his face, who had managed to squeeze himself into the condom machine. He wielded a machete and held it close to his victim's neck. He wore a name tag with "Carson De Luca" written poorly with crayon

"Let me go" Vincenzo said politely and fairly.

"When in the history of the universe has anyone ever let anyone go when they just asked?" Carson chuckled "Why, I'm gonna cut you up into..." He was interrupted by Vincenzo using his massive strength to throw him across the room. Carson landed with a thud on the other side of the room. He tried to grab his machete but he grabbed the wrong side, cutting his hand. He screamed as he grabbed his hand and scampered out into the hallway.

Vincenzo picked himself up and laughed. Nero and Lynch would deal with him now. They could hear his screams. And indeed, he heard a punch being thrown and a body drop to floor, followed by what could only be Carson being dragged into the conference room. Vincenzo rewarded himself with a cigarette, locking in the door beforehand, knowing how crazy the bar could be.

Last location: 2nd floor bathroom

TinTinn
  • TinTinn

    Эquation

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#14

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:29 AM Edited by TinTinn, 22 April 2012 - 06:20 AM.

Wussy Reed


A street lamp shone onto the stone sidewalk, "Grady is expecting to see us at 7'o'clock, just a block away from here," Wussy's sidekick said, placing a black top hat on his head, covered with small diamonds. They walked in the rain for some time to see the neon sign flickering from a backalley, they walked cautiously towards the dark lane and overheard a violent conversation that concerned two men. Wussy looked at his pale pale, "I'm guessing London isn't like this, aye," he said. After the yelling had quieted down, they continued towards the front of the bar but along the way, they noticed an underground cell. Wussy's eyes darted around the street, before focusing on opening the cell and entering with stealth.

They were startled with what they saw, at least Wussy was.

"Sir, we seem to be in the keg cell," his sidekick, Dan Fellow said.

The room wasn't used to store beer in, but to store meat in. Ice covered the floor and the roof, blood covered the walls and surrounding tables. Whether they were human or not, it seemed disturbing, sick. It didn't matter, as they weren't here to butcher... animals.

"Where in this bar are we meeting Grady," he asked Dan, "Ehm, I'm guessing the floor above us. The bathroom must be up on the next floor."

They ushered past the hanging pieces of meat, pumping into some, staining their outfit but finding their way out of the underground into the beaming light of a hallway. Wussy's head pocked out from middle of the hallway... he looked around.

"This must be some secret slaughter room Dan," he muttered, climbing from beneath the floor and onto the red carpeted hallway. They both stood in the hallway for some time, looking around to find their bearings; they heard talking coming from three rooms down from where they were standing. Daniel stomped on his cigarette which pierced the colorful carpet, before entering the room.

"Ladies first," he joked to Wuss, opening the door to see Grady and another chap.

Grady turned his head and smiled, "Meet my friends Zinedine, Wuss Reed and Dan Fellow," Vincenzo turned his head and... "Dan, Dan Fellow?" he asked as he jumped from the table. Everyone but Dan and Zinedine knew what was happening.

"You see, Zinedine used to live back with me in London as kids and the last time we met was..." Daniel forgot, but walked over to hug his old friend. It was nice to see everyone humble with each other, "Now that we've had our welcoming... it's time we talk business," Grady explained, flickering his lighter on and off. Wuss snapped his fingers at Dan, alerting him to open the brief case, "We have many more were that came from," said Wussy. In the case, was placed an AK-47, "The gun wa s fired by Bin Laden himself," he added. Zinedine stared at Wuss, "Osama burnt all his weapons after he used them," ... the room went silent with awkwardness.

Wussies eyes burnt to dis-spar as he was thrown into a cupboard at the back of the room, before injected with a load of morphine. He tried to ignore the sounds of the beating of Dan, "The gun is worthless, you promised us more," they yelled. The fighting went for a good fifteen minutes for there was silence and a feel laughter.

"Grady, it wasn't that funny. He was an old pal of mine," Zinedine snarled, "Keep your enemies close, but your friends closer," Grad joked. Click, the lock of the door opened, ""Uh...Ummmm Hi sorry I'll be leaving," a voice was heard... slow footsteps walked towards the door, "You didn't see anything" Zinedine clearly... the voice said something about leaving but Vincenzo insisted on staying, "I...I have connections! I can help you guys. trust me!" the voice screamed, "Trust me, we don't need any help,"... he soon changed what he said, "Actually, you could dump two bodies we just finished with on the outskirts of town,"... they were small talk and then an agreement, "Only dump one body out there, and keep the other one..." Grady said, "what one should I dump?" he asked, "It's entirely up to you my friend," the sound of glass taped with each other, Wuss guessed they were drinking.

"When you do bring the other body back, we will store it in an underground cell. We've been using it for months now, but it's expensive to rent out. I mean, the transaction of the money, the owner lives in Vegas..."

I sat here for a few more minutes before falling asleep.

Typhus
  • Typhus

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#15

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:45 AM Edited by Typhus, 22 April 2012 - 04:40 PM.

Deleted.

AceRay
  • AceRay

    In my restless dreams, I see that town...

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#16

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:56 AM Edited by AceRay, 22 April 2012 - 10:20 AM.

Vincenzo felt guilty. He had murdered a human being. A nice guy. Barty wasn't a monster, he was amazing. He could have been original and funny but he just killed him. Vincenzo started to cry.

Suddenly, the time genie popped up. "Don't worry bro, I know how everything can be okay right" In a moment, Vincenzo was teleported back in time to when he killed Barty like a big cock that AceRay was. Vincenzo was pointing the crossbow at Barty. Vincenzo from the future runs in and yells:

"Don't shoot him, he's an awesome character and original!" Vincenzo from the past decides to listen and hands Barty his crossbow back, who scurries back behind the dumpster. Vincenzo of the past disappears.

Everything went through the same but now Barty is more or less in the same state he was in beforehand and not dead so he can have arcs and be interesting. Vincenzo ends up back where he was in the bathroom.

ItsOnlyAce
  • ItsOnlyAce

    مقاتل

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#17

Posted 22 April 2012 - 06:02 AM Edited by ItsOnlyAce, 22 April 2012 - 07:19 AM.

Waking up and feeling light headed from the fight, Carson had trouble sitting up, but listened to the conversation of the men in the room with him. He noticed they had turned around to tend to the injured man. Carson jumped into action, and ran towards the back door. He burst through the back door of the conference room with a bang, and jumped onto the road from the balcony.


He ran as fast as he could. As soon as he thought he was far enough he began to walk again.Rain lightly hit the top of his hood. He shivered from the weather. It was still dark too. He then heard sirens again but only this time it was coming closer. Carson frantically looked around for cover, in fear that it might be an officer. He then quickly dove into an empty dumpster. He heard the vehicle pass by and decided to peek out. He sighed in relief to only see that the cop sped past him.

"Probably going to pick up that jerk-off that shot the guy layin' in the conference room," Carson whispered to himself.

He quickly hopped out of the dumpster, brushed himself off, and continued his journey.

As he walked down the street in solemn silence, he tried to put things together.

"What the hell is happening?" thought Carson. He then remembered the guy he ran into earlier that had the gun.

"The gun was still hot because he was the one that shot that poor bastard in the bar!" Carson had to go back and tell them the news. He wish he could but he had made too many mistakes He was on their bad side and would never believe him. He wanted to be the good guy, but didn't have an idea to convince them, so he continued to walk.

He followed up the street and approached the corner. Just as he was turning, a dark figure hit him square in the face. Carson tried getting back up but was unfortunately greeted with a kick to his side and plopped back onto the ground. He rolled over to only see yet another gun being pointed at him. He looked familiar to Carson but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man made a gesture at Carson to get up.

"Don't turn around or I'll shoot," the man yelled.

"Ahah," Carson thought to himself. It was the man he ran into before he went to the bar. It was the shooter. the man pushed Carson back into the direction of the bar. Carson could tell that something terrible was going to happen soon. He wanted to help the people inside and not bring this killer in there for them to deal with.

"I have to figure out a way to help."

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    The Writer

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#18

Posted 22 April 2012 - 04:37 PM

If all of you didn't get the messages. Here.

QUOTE
DELETE YOUR STORY, THE BAR IS RESTARTING DUE TO SOME ISSUES. YOUR CHARACTER IS IN THE MAIN ROOM OF THE BAR AND YOU MAY BEGIN WRITING NOW. PLEASE WIPE YOUR PREVIOUS STORIES.


That is all.

Typhus
  • Typhus

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#19

Posted 22 April 2012 - 04:40 PM

Barty Gabble


Barty Gabble stood in the back alley, exhaling slowly as he finished his joint.

"My mind is open, my mind is open, my mind is open." He repeated as the sweet smoke coursed out of his fat lips.

And it was true, he did indeed have an open mind. It was a shame so many other people didn't. They saw him and laughed, in some distant corner of his brain, he didn't blame them. He was obese, and on a bad day felt the odd stab of pain in his heart. And he wasn't up to date on the latest fashion wear, instead of Adidas and Nike, he favoured maroon cardigans and plaid trousers.
The kids used to laugh, riding past on their bicycles.

"Hey fag! What you wearing?" They'd chortle, circling around him. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, fag. You look like Val Doonican, gonna' sing a song, Val? Gonna' sing us a song?"

But he would walk along those streets with his head held high, even when the bruises they gave him scorched his flesh like candle wax. Who cared about their words? Dressing that way had made his mother happy, he was her smart little boy, her prince.
And no matter how much the other kids jeered, he kept putting those clothes on out of obligation, out of love. Oh yes, love.
Barty Gabble knew how to love more than anyone else, in his lonely adulthood he had grown to love himself, and what was love if not indulgence? He shovelled food into his mouth as if every fast food outlet in the world was going to shut down the next day. He grew fatter and fatter, but he felt good, real good.

Now he stood in this alley, his old backpack slung over one shoulder. A few moments ago some fool had gone running into the bar, the sound of police sirens not far behind. But the idiot hadn't seen him, no one would see him, Barty was smart, Barty knew the places to hide, the dark places where no one else dared tread.
He looked around restlessly, willing himself to feel serene. At his feet was the bloated corpse of a rat, thick white maggots making the brown fur dance in comical spasms.

Will the maggots eat them too, I wonder?

Of course they would, they always did. But no one had to die tonight. Not if they loved Barty Gabble as much as he loved himself.
That was all he wanted, the true and unconditional love all the poets and great artists spoke of through their works. The love between two people, eyes meeting and lips slowly coming together in a hot and frenzied embrace.
When he was a child they had called him a fa**ot and a queer, and as an adult they had names for him as well. He saw them sometimes in the papers.
The Love Bug. Cupid. The Matchmaker.
He remembered those names, those cruel, cruel names and felt suddenly at peace. It was the peace of the righteous, the peace of the holy.
Slowly he began to strip, his rolls of blubber pricked by the cold night air. He folded up his clothes into a neat rectangular bundle and placed them behind a dumpster. For a moment he stood there, a bloated nude man in an adult diaper, the worlds biggest baby.
Quickly he took his tools from his backpack. The plastic cherub mask, its small scarlet lips curled in a coy smile and twin rosy splotches on each cheek. The crossbow, a single sharp bolt primed and ready to save him from the sting of rejection.
He would wait here all night, in the dark shadows of the alley. And as the drinking and singing inside calmed down, they would come tumbling out one by one.

"And one of them will be THE ONE." He thought, grinning behind his mask. "My one, my love, my one true love."

Maybe it would be a woman, maybe a man, maybe they'd be poor, maybe they'd be rich, maybe young, maybe old.
He didn't care, he didn't discriminate.
Barty Gabble had an open mind.

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

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#20

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:11 PM

Jackson Miller


Jackson Miller was staring at himself in a mirror. He ran the tap, flicked water onto his face lightly and sighed. He stared at his shaking hands, put the bag he had by his side back over his shoulder and walked out of the room. Inside were his clothes, his savings and a framed picture. He walked into the Backroom, a few patrons playing pool as he sat down at the bar.

Miller wasn’t a muscular man but he wasn’t skinny either. He was an average-Joe, his black baggy jumper loosely fitted and torn, his baggy dark jeans muddy and his tanned safety boots covered in water from the rain outside. He ran a palm through his black scruffy hair. “What’ll it be?” asked a bartender.

“I’ll have a glass of water.” He said politely.

“Glass of water,” the bartender confirmed. He raised his hand into a lazy kind of salute and headed off to grab a glass. Miller looked around the room which was covered in a light mist of smoke that hung lazily in the area moving fluidly like water. The thick stench of Red Apple cigarettes stuck around too, the large curtains covered the south wall, light pouring in from the only open window at the end where an old man sat perched in an old leather chair.

Nice place he thought to himself as the bartender returned with a glass of iced water. He nodded lightly and gripped it. He took a sip and dropped the bag next to his stool and began to watch the pool game taking place in front. He began to daydream and thought of the last few days.

His wife, Jan, was probably on her way to Mexico now with Colin, his so called best friend. He couldn’t blame them either because he wasn’t exactly a model husband. He spent so much time trying to be such a good husband he became unaware that she was getting her fill of dick from Colin. The same Colin, Miller had met in fifth grade and had been the best man at his wedding.

He snapped out of his daydream, took a sip and leaned back. Maybe he’d just stick here for the night, get drunk and stumble to a motel up the road. Yeah, that would be a plan, get drunk and f*ck off to a Motel before catching a train back to his hometown. Best plan he’d had in a long time.

Eminence
  • Eminence

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#21

Posted 22 April 2012 - 05:31 PM

Start a new topic, mate. Cleaner. wink.gif




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