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The Bar
  • The Bar

    What's your poison?

  • Members
  • Joined: 14 May 2012

#1

Posted 17 June 2013 - 11:51 PM Edited by The Bar, 25 June 2013 - 11:35 PM.

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Moderators
Ziggy455 (Creator)
[Possibly you!]


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.


Friday Night


b
NPCDescription
Paddy O'Fallon
A beefy Irishman with an attitude as thick as his accent. He wears a stretched brown jumper with rolled up sleeves, a pair of polish black boots and tight black trousers. He is the owner and landlord of The Bar.

Last Seen: Second floor storage.
Mitsy Grünewald.
A petite, red-haired girl with several tattoos on her neck and arms. She is quite attractive but unfortunately a lesbian. She is of British descent and is head of the bar.

Last Seen: Serving drinks in the Main Room.
Ricky Jones
An ex-Aryan brotherhood member. He is well stocked and bald with a trimmed beard. He is a bouncer and bartender and doesn't talk all that much.
"Dead Eye" Jefferson
An avid billiards player with an eyepatch, who hasn't lost a game in 5 years. He visits the bar every other night to challenge anyone who dares ask for a game.

Last Seen: Playing Billiards in the Backroom.


PatronRecent Activity in The Bar
Jesop Borrowitz
Zach Winters & Sergio Alfonso
Jesop's an old biker dude. He entered the bar earlier and had a whiskey. Richard, drunk, came over to talk to him but Jesop wasn't having that and won over Mitsy with his bike. He just left with her in tow to ride on the Harley. She gets off, deflating his sex drive immediately. She rebuffs him and heads back to the bar. Angered, Jesop sets off into the night but eventually returns, pissed off to the max. He's preparing to fight somebody.
Zach Winters & Sergio Alfonso entered the bar with their regular bravado. Stupidly attempting to hit on Mitsy gives them a hard rebuff they aren't used to. They remain at the bar, talking to themselves.
Richard Owens
Richard was drunk. He'd been knocking back beers all night and eventually stumbled into the darkness to fall asleep in one of the booths. He woke up and after puking, found his way back to the bar where he believes Mitsy has been giving him the old sexy eyes. His neighbour Jesop wasn't having it and took off with Mitsy. After losing that battle he headed to the toilet where he stumbled upon the little cubicle skin-flick. His notion of 'sharing is caring' earns him a bruised face. He sticks around and snorts while Clay runs off to chase Iris.
Clay Barclay
[color=#808000]Maria Orosco

L.L. Gullitt
Clay was given the night off work, and as Iris, his partner, needed to talk to him, he made his way to the bar. Once inside, he met up with Iris who broke up with him but not before giving him a night to remember in the downstairs toilets. Somehow, while being jerked, Richard joins the show. That doesn't go down well as Clay's next move is chasing down Iris who disappears into the night. Meanwhile Maria, a shift figure is out on the hunt for somebody close by. Ignoring most of the patrons, she sat down at the bar a little earlier and then was approached by two seemingly-inept FBI agents. Two gun impasses later and she's being led out by them. Unfortunately the agent's ride takes off. Mario decides to drive the officers and, adding more insult to injury, gets the upper hand on them. The upper hand is currently holding a sawn-off at one of them. She wants answers.
L.L. Gullitt is working with a crack-team of experts in hunting down criminals. Lee Vincenzo is next on that list, and with links to his association in the bar, it's only a matter of time. Gullitt retrieved information on Lee's whereabouts but considered foulplay. Suspecting an informant, Gullitt sends Nikki and Abe inside to retrieve Maria, Lee's wife, and while they're gone he makes a solid move, killing two people and forcing his third associate, Tarrance, to give up information. However, he decides he is innocent and prepares for his next move in the surveillance van which involves speeding off, leaving his agents behind. Further ahead, Maria gets the slip on Gullitt and following a brief discussion over the phone, it becomes abundantly clear that Maria is on the same search and destroy path as he himself is one. He agrees to meet with her.
Benjamin “The Prick” PricklingtonThe Prick had been knocking back drinks all night, and without a care in the world, he threw up over Mitsy. He hit the floor of the bar where he remains right now in his drunken stupor.
Michael K. Phillips.
Mr. Mayhem
Michael entered the bar and ordered some drinks. He sat at the bar and retained silence until Mitsy began to converse with him. He is talking to her quietly, relaying a story to her until the moment turns sour. And besides Jesop's paying attention to her. Michael sets off as Mitsy apologizes. As he makes his way down the road, Iris, Clay's girl, falls down and he catches her. Clay approaches and, with vulgarity, mistakes Michael for a junkie. Michael gives Irish a hundred dollar bill for the inconvenience and sets off home. However once he gets there, he's called by an old acquaintance over some past issues and apparently somebody from his past is after them both. With Carly, another ally most likely dead, it was imperative that Michael meet up with Thompson. His choice: The Bar.
Mr. Mayhem is waiting for somebody. Overlooking The Bar from a slum tenement block, he sees a few people leave. One of them being Maria. He watches them shoot off before checking his tools. He's prepared, and it's only a waiting game now before he shows up and when he does, Mayhem will be ready.
Barry 'Buster' WigglesBarry entered the bar and when straight for some drinks. He bumped into Michael Phillips; the two spoke briefly and then Barry returned to his own world. After this, Barry made his way outside to call Lee. However a disturbance cuts the phone call short. From there, Barry somehow made his way down to the cellar where he ended up getting crushed. He remains there, dead, without anybody being alerted by his drunken stupidity.
Jason McCarthy #2Jason entered the bar. After getting insulted he got smart and pulled a gun. In the bar, that's a big no-no. And once mitsy, Paddy, and Ricky all got him acquainted with their own guns -Paddy's experience meant constant gun training was in effect- Jason took off to the roof with an apologetic stance.


PatronUsernameStatusLocation
Richard Owens
J. Walker
Alive and Drunk
Bar Main Room
Clay Barclay
[color=#808000]Maria Orosco

L.L. Gullitt
AceRay
Alive and Sober
Alive and Sober
Alive and Sober
Out Of Bar
Out Of Bar
Out Of Bar
Jesop Borrowitz
Zach Winters & Sergio Alfonso
Mokrie DelaAlive and SoberBar Main Room
Bar Main Room
Benjamin “The Prick” Pricklington
VProductionsAlive and DrunkBar Main Room
Michael K. Phillips.
Mr. Mayhem
Ziggy455Alive and Sober
Alive and Sober
Out Of Bar
Out Of Bar
Barry 'Buster' Wiggles
Coat.DeadCellar
Jason McCarthy #2AceKingstonAlive and SoberRooftop



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.
Basement
The largest room in The Bar, you are led down to the basement via a long hallways of stairs, inside is a cordoned off area full of poker tables while at the other end a dance floor and performance stage are set up and in between lays a bar.
Rooftop
The rooftop gives off a beautiful view of the Industrial section that can't be seen from anywhere else, the entrance is from the side of the bar up a fire escape in the Back alley or through the trapdoor behind the bar of the Conference Room. The small brick storage hut has a old couch leaned on it.
Cellar
Only a place for the talented workers, that cold feeling and strong smell of beer in a dingy metallic room only spells out one place. It is behind the bar in the basement and connects beer to every other room.


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


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.
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.)
Current Events
Current events are incidents or actions that happen in the bar at one time or another. The Patrons in the bar may choose to include whatever action has just happened (before, after, or during) such as a bar fight, a song playing or anything else that happens. Check the Current affair board at the bottom to see what has happened.
PatronLast seen..
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J. Walker
  • J. Walker

    Gold Cane Walker

  • Members
  • Joined: 20 May 2013

#2

Posted 18 June 2013 - 04:29 AM

Richard Owens

How can I express my depression in this world? Drinking a ton of heavy alcohol. Being from England I feel as if it's a natural defect that I love drinking and getting into trouble afterwards. What's my problem? My wife of fifteen years has left me, I lost my job, and I've lost all of my self-respect. This is my only solution.

I walk in this little pub, or as the Americans say bar, and I take a seat on a vacant stool covered in lost hopes and dreams. I specifically asked the tender for a drink that can make me forget about life and it's problems, he offers me Vodka... I couldn't resist. I take the first shot and feel the burning sensation chilling down my entire body and it was a feeling of relief, I soon forgot about all of my problems and concentrated only on the Vodka.

I keep drinking until I feel extremely heavy on my lower body, that was a sign that I've had enough. I couldn't really lift myself up from the stool but I made an effort and I fall down hitting my back on the cold and dusty floor. I tried to get up for about twenty minutes but I got up somehow. After a while I collapsed again but I was unconscious, a friendly gentleman lifted me up and laid me down on a booth and I remain there sleeping off the drunkenness just waiting for the horrid hangover in the morning.

AceRay
  • AceRay

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

  • Members
  • Joined: 05 Oct 2010

#3

Posted 18 June 2013 - 07:31 AM Edited by AceRay, 07 July 2013 - 12:32 AM.

What's the hubbub, Bub?

PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
Clay Barclay
AceRay
Alive, A little bit tipsy
Out of Bar
Clay was given the night off work, and as Iris, his partner, needed to talk to him, he made his way to the bar. Once inside, he met up with Iris who broke up with him but not before giving him a night to remember in the downstairs toilets. Somehow, while being jerked, Richard joins the show. That doesn't go down well as Clay's next move is chasing down Iris who disappears into the night. He finds her, after a brief skirmish with Michael, and he suspects he is being followed by two mysterious men. At her home, they part for the last time and he goes to his home to cry about it, passing his brother, Jon Roy, in the process.
Maria Orosco
AceRay
Alive, Sober
Out of Bar
Maria, a shifty figure is out on the hunt for somebody close by. Ignoring most of the patrons, she sat down at the bar a little earlier and then was approached by two seemingly-inept FBI agents. Two gun impasses later and she's being led out by them. Unfortunately the agent's ride takes off. Mario decides to drive the officers and, adding more insult to injury, gets the upper hand on them. The upper hand is currently holding a sawn-off at one of them. She wants answers.
L.L. Gullitt
AceRay
Alive, Sober
Out of Bar
L.L. Gullitt is working with a crack-team of experts in hunting down criminals for a high price. Lee Vincenzo is next on that list, and with links to his association in the bar, it's only a matter of time. He sent out Link and Theo to track Clay for information. Gullitt retrieved information on Lee's whereabouts but considered foulplay. Suspecting an informant, Gullitt sends Nikki and Abe inside to retrieve Maria, Lee's wife, and while they're gone he makes a solid move, killing two people and forcing his third associate, Tarrance, to give up information. However, he decides he is innocent and prepares for his next move in the surveillance van which involves speeding off, leaving his agents behind. Further ahead, Maria gets the slip on Gullitt and following a brief discussion over the phone, it becomes abundantly clear that Maria is on the same search and destroy path as he himself is one. He agrees to meet with her.
69tR0LlK1Ng
AceRay
Alive, Sober
Bar Main Room
69tR0LlK1Ng is a troll, a master in his field. King is spending his evening chatting on an online internet forum about his adventures at the bar, recalling all that is happening while deflecting remarks about his sexuality. After insulting one user, whom then ragequits, his friend JonR-Az agrees to meet him at the bar. There, they talk about the fight between Jesop and Mr. Mayhem, when a fellow chatter leaves a mysterious message before it is discovered that he had been murdered at his computer. Some are weary but King thinks nothing of it. Is there a killer on the loose?
Rolf Klink
AceRay
Alive, Sober
Out of Bar
Coming Soon!
Vân Viên Vo
AceRay
Alive, Sober
Out of Bar
Coming Soon!
Hank Borrowitz
AceRay
Alive, off his meds
Out of Bar
After seeing a prostitute, Hank, Jesop's brother, is visited by his other brother, Forest, who informs him that Jesop might be on a bender. Forest orders Hank to go looking for him, but little does he know that Hank hasn't been taking his crazy pills and has other ideas.
OH YES ITS BACK THANK YOU SAMUEL THANK YOU!

Clay Barclay

Clay sighed as the sweaty fat couple took their seats at the booth. They were dressed in hideous, bright clothes and their fat chins wobbled whenever they spoke. Her make-up made her look like she walked out of a Picasso portrait. The type of degenerates he had to serve truly repulsed him. At least Marco’s Italian Bistro didn’t get too many customers willing to be tortured by the excessive smoke or the uncooked chicken or the bland lasagne. When Clay first tried Chef Lenny’s “classic tomato” spaghetti, he had diarrhoea for a week.

Still, he put on a fake smile as they spat their orders at him and he thanked them as they went back to their disgusting habits such as picking their noses or laughing obnoxiously. He placed a bottle of cheap wine on their table and they happily sloshed into the wine glasses and chugged it down. The only other customer at Marco’s was a shady looking guy who looked like he came from Brazil, whom was being tended by the only other waiter, Trevino, an intimidating looking guy Clay didn’t know much about, except he always had private meetings with Marco and Lenny in his office after hours with some other strange characters. Clay was never invited to these meetings, and he didn’t want to know why.

To call the place a dump would be an understatement. The walls were filthy, decorated with bad art found in the trash, with rats pepping their noses out of small holes ready to eat up any possible crumbs spilled from someone’s garlic bread. How the place survived the constant inspections was beyond Clay, but then he didn’t want to know how Marco could influence the authorities in so many ways. Some things were better left unknown.

“One chicken lasagne, one creamy chickpea & farro soup, one grilled pork chops with nduja & honey and one side of garlic bread!” Clay shouted to Lenny, who nodded twice in his vague direction and casually started throwing together some ingredients on the bench in front of him. Clay needed some fresh air from the stench from the kitchen, so he burst out the back. As he was putting his trench coat on over his waiter’s uniform, his android vibrated.

It was his girlfriend, Iris, one of the very few people Clay trusted in this world. She had long, wavy brown hair and gorgeous red lips. Her voice was soft and silky and sent chills down his spine every time he heard it. "Clay?"
“It’s so nice to hear your voice right now, babe”
"I need you to meet me at the bar, the one we went to last week.”
"What is it?"
"I can't tell you over the phone, get here now," then she hung up instantly. He wondered what that was about, when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glance of a man running toward him with a knife in his hand just a few meters away. As he slowly turned, Clay froze as he stared down into his attacker’s crazed eyes and tangled beard. Clay, while quite tall and tough looking at a distance, was really timid and nervous on the inside. While he thought about killing people all the time, stabbing their silky white skin with a long blade, he couldn’t go through with it. He shut his eyes and waited for the incoming hit.

Except it never came. At the last moment before it pieced his skin, Marco Gabbo dashed out in front of him and grabbed the man’s arms with his meaty fists, twisting it around his chest. The arm snapped like a twig in one swift motion and he fell down in pain, only to be finished off with two swift kicks to the head. Sadly, it was only the second unconscious guy Marco had taken care of that day. Clay had seen one earlier that week and was still a little thrilled by it.

“Just some hobo needing a fix,” Marco chuckled, dusting off his suit jacket and sticking a cigarette in his mouth. He was well dressed and charming, with strong cheek bones that hid his surprising age.
“Thanks boss, you’re a real champ,” Clay said, still electrified at the violence that erupted in front of him.
“Don’t mention it kid,” he then turned to walk back inside, leaving the man still groaning on the ground. “Why don’t you take the night off, Clay, you’ve been working hard.”
“You mean it boss?”
“Sure, Trevino and I can take over, we’ve got this covered,” he winked at with his aged face and Clay caught a glance at Lenny and Trevino standing in the darkness inside behind him.

Clay felt it was probably better if he did go, and that the trio were using this as an excuse to get him out of here, to talk about more illegal activities than what Clay could handle. He spat at the unconscious guy on the ground and hurried out of the alley.

Clay Barclay: Current Location: Out of Bar.

Mokrie Dela
  • Mokrie Dela

    МОКРЫЕДЕЛA

  • The Yardies
  • Joined: 01 May 2009
  • None

#4

Posted 18 June 2013 - 10:28 AM Edited by Mokrie Dela, 05 July 2013 - 01:06 PM.

PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
Jesop Borrowitz
Mokrie Dela
Dazed and enraged
Out of bar
Failed wooing of Mitsy, resulting in bruised ego which led to fight with Mr. Mayhem. Said fight ended with Jesop passing out and thinking he was in heaven and/or Hell.
Zach Winters & Sergio Alfonso
Mokrie Dela
Arrogant & tispy
Out of bar
RECENT ACTIVITY
Jesop Borrowitz

This isn't California, Jesop said to himself, shaking the rain droplets off of his leather jacket. He caught a glimpse of himself in the grimy mirror behind the bar ahead of him. He felt naked without the patches that he'd worn for years, but there were somethings you had to let go.
But, he asked himself, how do you let go of family? Of brothers? He missed the warm kiss of the sun on the back of his neck, the gentle roasting feeling that came with the heated leather on his back. He glanced outside, seeing his chopper sitting under the shelter of an awning as the glossy ground winked the city lights back at him.
The barman nodded at him, and he returned the nod, approaching the bar and sliding onto a stool like an Old West Cowboy.
"Beer me," he growled, sliding into the archetype of a Biker as easily as he did onto the stool.
"What one takes your fancy, pal?" Jesop looked up, seeing the selection. He shrugged.
"Coors, I guess." Contrary to ninety per cent of the goddamned world, he didn't like Bud. Coors was his tipple when whiskey wasn't his poison, and he didn't feel like waking up in Hell the following morning. Beer didn't kick him in the gut the next day like Whiskey did, though nothing got you drunk the way Whiskey did. There was beer-drunk, then there was whiskey-drunk.

The bottle slid over the battered bar, catching on one of many scratches and, if it wasn't for the practiced grip of the barman, would have toppled, saturating the exposed wood with the foamy contents. Jesop wondered if he'd still be charged for the beer, if the barman dropped it. He looked around.
A fireplace crackled with life at one end, sitting behind a grey concrete hearth, flanked by black iron tools, the purpose of which was lost on Jesop. Probably for turning the logs, he thought.

The floor was carpeted - intact - and topped with tables which differed to those found in his usual haunts. A few people were sitting in the bar, talking, sharing after-work drinks, drowning their sorrows or feeding their habits. Habits, Jesop reflected, addictions, meaning different things to different people. Beer, drugs, the open road, dingy bars and brawls.
No, he decided, this was not the typical biker bar, or dive bar. It was a nice place, and the barman would rectify any such mistakes.

The coldness of the beer lined his throat, prompting a wheezy sigh of satisfaction as he swallowed. As he felt his stomach chill, he realized he was as far from Cali as could be. Here, in a rainy, chilly night, were the sun was only seen hiding behind clouds and on very rare days, people flocked to leisure in the parks and by the river, as though their entire summer vacation resided in those few hours between work and dinner.
Nine-to-five zombies, Jesop reflected. They were the walking dead, living to work, working to live. Morons.

He looked up at the mirror again, seeing the age in the corner of his mouth, the few grey whiskers in his heavy dark-brown stubble. He raked his fingers down his cheek, hearing the scraping in his ear, and seeing the weariness in his eyes. Years, life, sorrow.
He nodded to the barman. "Get me a whiskey - make it a double."

Jesop Borrowitz Current Location: Bar Main Room.

The Bar
  • The Bar

    What's your poison?

  • Members
  • Joined: 14 May 2012

#5

Posted 18 June 2013 - 04:19 PM

Okay, let's get a few things straight for the ensuing narratives that'll pick up eventually. I believe there's some rules to be set that weren't made clearly enough before:

1. No hardasses or mobsters. Go fill in your desire to be a mob killer somewhere else. The characters must be real, and real mobsters aren't one-line spouting killers who will pull a gun on somebody if they look at them wrong.

2. Death is inevitable but please try to deal with it realistically. People don't need to be killed in the bar, and a definitive rule is that if you DO decide to kill someone, not only will Mickey shoot you, but so will many others. The only people who can intervene with such action are moderator characters.

3. RESPECT is key to this game. If no respect is shown to the writers here, don't expect a warm welcome.

Beyond that. The Bar will NOT be slipping into inactivity as college is done and although the proverbial journey of Uni is impending on my grades. I have time between work to focus my efforts on this.

- Zigs.

VProductions
  • VProductions

    Mack Pimp

  • BUSTED!
  • Joined: 28 Oct 2012

#6

Posted 18 June 2013 - 09:59 PM Edited by VProductions, 18 June 2013 - 10:02 PM.

Benjamin “The Prick” Pricklington

I swung my arm across the bar, accidentally striking a tattooed female. That girl! Wow! She was hot but she looked like one of them girls that carry a double-ender around, obviously a lesbian. She started to grind her teeth whilst pointing at me with her crooked index finger. Slowly, I swayed side to side in my pathetic attempt to cover up my guilt.

“Something the matter, m'lady?” I mumbled, looking at the tiny green umbrella cocktail stick in my glass.

She placed her smooth hand on my shoulder as I desperatly tried to avoid eye contact. Her fruity breath blended with bitter stench of alcohol on my shirt as she leaned closer and closer, towards my left ear.

“Ya' hear? Ya' ever do that again, I'll get ya' barred!” She shouted into my ear, attracting the attention of the other “punters”.

One of the customers just continued to drink a double whiskey, I stared at him with concerning eyes. He looked fixated on the drink. I would have stared all night if the girl hadn't have slapped me on the back and walked away.

“See you, sweetheart,” I joked, waving drunkly.

She turned and began walking towards me, growling under her breath. I jolted, my mouth filling with puke and cheap drinks. The female was now infront of me, her fist raised to the same height as my face.

“What are you d-” I coughed.

That was it, I couldn't hold it in any longer... I threw up, the alcohol filled sick shot out of my mouth onto her knuckles. Like liquid, it slid down her hands and dripped all over her black t-shirt. Her perky nipples were visible through the wet patches. I let out a weak smile and fell off the stool onto the cold, hard floor.

“Ya' pathetic piece a sh*t! Ya' not worth it,” She muttered as she walked away, drownding in my stomach juices and almost digested breakfast.

“Lend a hand?” I asked, glaring up at the whisky-drinker at the bar wearing the leather jacket.

Benjamin Pricklington: Current Location - Bar Main Room

Ziggy455
  • Ziggy455

    I'm the writer.

  • Members
  • Joined: 02 May 2007

#7

Posted 18 June 2013 - 11:17 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 04 July 2013 - 09:27 PM.

PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
Mr. Mayhem
Michael K. Philips
Ziggy455
Alive and Sober
Alive and Sober
Bar Staff Room
Out Of Bar
Michael entered the bar and ordered some drinks. He sat at the bar and retained silence until Mitsy began to converse with him. He is talking to her quietly, relaying a story to her until the moment turns sour. And besides Jesop's paying attention to her. Michael sets off as Mitsy apologizes. As he makes his way down the road, Iris, Clay's girl, falls down and he catches her. Clay approaches and, with vulgarity, mistakes Michael for a junkie. Michael gives Irish a hundred dollar bill for the inconvenience and sets off home. However once he gets there, he's called by an old acquaintance over some past issues and apparently somebody from his past is after them both. With Carly, another ally most likely dead, it was imperative that Michael meet up with Thompson. His choice: The Bar.
Mr. Mayhem is waiting for somebody. Overlooking The Bar from a slum tenement block, he sees a few people leave. One of them being Maria. He watches them shoot off before checking his tools. He's prepared, and it's only a waiting game now before he shows up and when he does, Mayhem will be ready.
Michael K. Phillips.

Michael sat at the bar with the proverbial slump of all the other patrons; hunched over with a far-away look in their eyes. Cigarette smoke thickening the air a little more then needed, but he didn’t mind this either way. The Main Bar Room was particularly empty with a few ragtag members. A man in a noticeably stylish leather jacket was at the other end of the bar, nursing half a shot of whiskey. A man of refined taste considering most of the others were partial to the filth with a frothy head they dared to call beer.

“I was curious the first time y’know?” said somebody in front of Michael. He turned and was greeted with the green smoky eyes of Mitsy whose tattooed upper arms, displaying an aesthetic skin-story, rested on the bar in a curious sort of way.

“I’m sorry?” replied Michael, his view of the man interrupted.

“The first few times you came in; I was curious. I thought you were from the taxman; Paddy’d be pissed if I didn’t clock it. But then I counted the days, and I’ve noticed that for the last three years, you’ve come in here on the exact same date, ordered the exact same drink twice, and left without a word. “ Michael looked down at his own drinks; two scotches. One was empty, the ice in it cloudy. The other he’d just started, this one was Beth’s.

“Oh, It’s just a ritual, I guess.” He tried to seem impassive as he could, he knew Mitsy would be off. The odd bit of conversation was not out of actual concern, but more out of a reason to kill time. She folded her arms but instead of leaving with a smile, she remained rooted to the spot.

“In prep’ for what?”

“Another year—“he said. My words echoed in the glass before he took a sip. As the warm, sweet juice slid down his smoke-stained throat, Mitsy started up again.

“I suppose, but do you mind if we cut the chitty-chatty bullsh*t for a second?” He lowered his glass; letting some of the scotch swill around his mouth. This was new. He gave a shrug, swallowed, and gently put the scotch back on the bar.

“If you want.” He made no notion to stare at her in her eve-green eyes at this point.

“What’s the real story then?” She rested her hands back on the bar and dipped out her behind, maybe out of the job role, maybe out of natural comfort.

“You’re working,” rebuffed Michael with a wave of his hand, “you don’t have time to listen to my problems.” It was time to leave anyway. He wasn’t a talker, and with this fine specimen of a wasted woman wasn’t going to not make him feel like he’d overstayed his welcome. That’s all he ever felt here. Like a ghost returning to a place that had moved on. And it was natural to feel like that when you lost someone. He got up of his stool with a grinding sound of wood on wood.

“Look around; does it look busy?” said Mitsy, louder this time. Meanwhile, from the angle that Michael could see and from Mitsy’s word, he found an essence of truth. A man was on the floor; his hand raised high to the man in the leather jacket. But before Michael could see what transpired, the thought of talking suddenly felt like a familiar, warm notion. Perhaps it was the scotches kicking in. Perhaps it was the fact he didn’t want to go home and stare at four walls and pictures of Beth and Vinny.

“It appears so.” Suddenly, a drunken yell came from the darkness of one of the booths; the lit fire illuminated a twisting shape in the darkness that fumbled about and then returned to a snoring slumber. It was when the final snore emitted from the drunken oaf that Michael felt the churning sense of an inebriated rush hitting his head. Mitsy eyed him and beckoned him back to the stool.

“Enlighten me then, Mister—“ Michael sat back down slowly.

“Phillips, Michael Phillips and no need to introduce yourself, Mitsy Grunewald of Apartment 14, floor 3 of Myson House.” And with that, Mitsy’s kind nature dissipated into one of cynicism and scepticism all rolled into one big glare.

“Are you a fed or a shark?” Her hands rested on her hips now.

“Neither,” replied Michael as he raised his hands in defence. “I’m just well informed. At one point in my life it paid off to know my surroundings. I just never forget a name or a face.”

“Okay…” Her eyes looked up. She swilled it around in her head like Michael had the scotch. “continue.”





AceRay
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#8

Posted 18 June 2013 - 11:32 PM Edited by AceRay, 22 June 2013 - 10:21 AM.

Maria Orosco

As the handsome young waiter entered the bar, the black GMC came to a slow halt a hundred meters away. She had almost lost him when he made a detour into a drug store, but she was quickly back on the chase, trailing behind him, watching him saunter down those dark streets.

It had almost been a year since they ran off, leaving Lee behind. Of course, it was inevitable that she and Howard would drift apart and they knew it themselves. There was no shouting, no fights, not even a single argument. They knew that the flame of passion would dim, as those that are fueled by heartache will end in heartache. They parted with a simple handshake and Howard returned to his new firm where he was on the fast track to partner. Maria returned to where she grew up and married her husband.

She needed to find Lee. It was harder than she thought.

She didn’t except the fact that Lee had disappeared completely, his location unknown. He hadn’t shown his face at his work in months and had been fired and their old home was occupied by an unfamiliar family. None of his colleagues or golfing friends knew anything about his whereabouts, in fact, the last time Maria herself had heard from him was when divorce papers came from some sleazy lawyer, so at least he hadn’t thrown himself off a cliff like she first thought, only taken back his last name from her.

No matter where he was, she had to find him. She didn’t want to have him back in her life, she just wanted to apologize for so many things, for being a poor wife, for neglecting him, for blaming him for the miscarriage, for running away from him. There were so many things to say.

Finally, after almost a month of searching, she hit gold. One day, she was approached in her hotel room by a fat, obese couple with hideous yellow teeth and food smeared over their faces, whom claimed they saw a man similar to the photograph of Lee when they went fishing a couple of years ago. Maybe they saw an ad in the paper she put up or she got careless with asking but it didn’t matter. They said he was sitting at the back of some restraint called “Marco’s Italian Bistro,” reading a newspaper and being served by the young waiter. She discretely stalked the place for three days with binoculars and Lee didn’t show his tired face once. Frustrated, she thought maybe the waiter knew something. It was a long shot but it was the only chance.

She locked up the GMC, tinted windows hiding any chance of seeing the two shotguns on the floor.

As she walked in the door, she immediately saw a man fall to the ground in a drunken state, turning the eyes of almost everyone in the room. Another groaned from a booth a few seconds later. They must have already started early but then again they didn’t matter to Maria. The waiter was sitting a small booth at the back of the room, getting real cozy with a cute young girl. She slipped over the bar discretely, clutching at the black coat and the Glock hid underneath it. She had carried one ever since she saw her first corpse.

Beside her was a guy telling some long tale to the bar girl, whom she ignored. She sipped her beer and watched the kid from the corner of her eye.

Clay Barclay: current location: Bar Main Room
Maria Orosco: current location: Bar Main Room

Mokrie Dela
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#9

Posted 18 June 2013 - 11:34 PM

Good idea highlighting the text ziggs. Makes it clear what interaction if any there is.

The Bar
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#10

Posted 18 June 2013 - 11:36 PM Edited by The Bar, 18 June 2013 - 11:56 PM.

It makes communication and cooperation so much easier when writing. Which is what the whole thing is about. biggrin.gif

I am also terrified of Maria who I suspect is going to f*cking flip out with a Glock and Shotty. sly.gif

UPDATE: Added visual images for the NPCs. Just click their names to see the general idea of what they look like. (And don't laugh at Jone's picture.)

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#11

Posted 19 June 2013 - 04:35 AM

Richard Owens (#2)

I wake up and find myself laying on a booth that was quite comfortable, red and comfy. I look around and realize I've missed something because the tattooed tender looked extremely angry, maybe someone spilled a drink on her because her shirt was wet and you could see her perky nipples that everybody else were staring at. I asked a man who was sitting at the booth behind me what just happened, the response was rather comedic but true.

Apparently he had been attracted to the tender, Missy I think is her name I do not know, but she is playing hard to get. The red hand print on his face explains a lot about his little conversation with the tender, but then I asked why is her shirt wet? I thought he spilled a drink on her on accident or maybe it was intentional, he told me he had... vomited on her with clear liquid. After hearing that I stared onto his face in disgust as I start to feel weak and nauseous, it so happens, I was getting the "I'm going to puke" feeling and I rushed to the Loo.

I released the vomit with such a force that I felt totally weak afterwards. Part of me wants to go home and sleep on my carpeted living room floor, but at the same time part of me wants to get another drink. I went with my gut feeling and decided to go back to the bar and order more drinks just because it was still early at night. I sit on the opposite side of the bar away from the vomited area and a big quiet man tends to me, he asked me what I want but I was still indecisive of what I want to drink. In the corner of my eye I see a man wearing leather clothing drinking Whiskey although he looked a bit down, so I decided to join him.

He was hard to converse with because he looked very intimidating but go past his appearance, I realize he's like me, torn apart and damaged by life itself. We drink the Whiskey together and talked about all of the bullsh*t that occur in this world. As we were talking I notice the tattooed tender Missy or Misty standing behind the bar like a usual bartender giving me a quite a seductive look from across the room. I might be drunk I don't know.

Richard Owens: Current Location - Bar Main Room

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#12

Posted 19 June 2013 - 08:47 AM Edited by Coat., 19 June 2013 - 08:50 AM.

Barry 'Buster' Wiggles

Barry dazed out into the mountain range - completely covered in a layer of snow. House lights on the mountain side flickered slowly as his vision became distorted as rain began to hail down. He wore complete black - top to bottom. Lately it wasn't easy for him. Tragic events slashed his back during the past months. Buster, as they used to call him back in Omemee, Ontario. He needed shelter, and quick. He was lost in this void, which we call 'life'. A light orange neon light slowly danced. Buster ran up to this building and pushed the door open, bumping into something - a person.

"Hey, watch out," the women standing inside this building said.

To his amazement, he knew where we was. When you are troubled and confused, you always end up at a bar. The place felt warm and comforting. The first thing he noticed was a waitress behind the bar counter talking to someone who looked like a snoop. A few people sat around in the booths. A smile grew to his face when 'Old Man' by Neil Young played on the radio that sat on the bar. The waitress, covered in tattoos turned the radio up a little higher before cutting off the conversation with that man. The place seemed welcoming enough, so in that, he sat his fair-end on a stool and asked the waitress for a beer.

"There is a wide variety of beer here. Would you like it to be a surprise?" the waitress joked before grinning.

"Whatever you want," Buster said before turning to the frowning man beside him. He stared at him for a while before the man replied, "You want something?" he asked. There was a pause and Barry replied, "Not really. What's your story?" he asked the man back.

The man beside him turned to him, "That isn't any of your information. But tell me yours if that makes you feel any better,"

"Well," Barry began, "My entire family were slaughtered except my only son. He grew up and turned into a little sh*t and drove his car into a telegraph pole with two of his best friends..." and the room went slowly silent.

"I'm sorry to hear," the man replied, "The name is Michael, and that is all you need to know,"

The waitress returned with a glass of beer and slid it down the bar. Barry looked at Michael and grinned before sipping the beer, "You seem like an interesting guy," Michael said, "I mean, you have an interesting story and all but you just seem like a scattered man," but Barry ignored - rather in some type of dazed void, staring up at the ceiling; wooden beams cross the ceiling of the room. It had never been exactly the same after his family left him from this planet. And now after loosing his job and ending up in a bar, in some far away city, he really was grabbing straws. He had nothing left.

Current location: Main Room bar

Mokrie Dela
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#13

Posted 19 June 2013 - 08:57 AM

He noticed her too. The warm fuzzy center this sh*thole seemed to revolve around. Jesop was a sucker for a redhead - all the better when they're natural though. She had that perfect-looking skin that could only be achieved from too much make up, ironically concealing what was probably bad skin. He could have her, he knew. He could, but he wasn't sure if he could be bothered.
Jesop felt the eyes on him. One person then another. He was readying his fists when someone slumped on the stool next to him. Bar etiquette came into play, though it was one sided.
Don't talk to me, pal. I'll f*ck you up.
But, as a fellow drinker, he was mutually obliged to talk. It wasn't a bathroom after all.
Richard, his name was, as much as Jesop cared - which was very little. He humoured him, not-listening to the man's story, and thinking up his own fictional cliche, all the while staring at the redhead. Richard shared the look too.
Back off; she's mine.
But Jesop didn't really want her. He only wanted her because someone else did. He'd been in enough bar brawls to handle himself, and he always carried a gun back west. He pretty much bad to; rival MCs seemed to take a page out of the East LA gangs' book.
Finally he'd had enough. The whiskey had gone to his head, like a liquid weight, pulling his brow downward.
The barmaid cast a promiscuous glance in their direction, and old dicky boy smiled awkwardly in return, but here eyes didnt see it. She walked off and both men stared at her behind.
"Want to doubleteam her?" Jesop growled. "It's fine as long as we don't cross swords."
Richard slurred his answer, which behind the inhebristion, Jesop knew was a no.
A hand rested on his shoulder.
"That your bike outside?" It was the redhead.
"Better believe it."
"I bet you're real strong to keep that up."
Jesop shrugged. "Momentum helps."
"We'll i do love a biker," she said slipping a piece of paper into his pants pocket. "Give me a call sometime and you can take me for a ride..."

Richard mumbled his refusal at the offer and Jesop looked up, seeing the woman behind the bar, staring at them. He checked his pocket, finding it empty.
"Dozing off on me?" Richard asked.
"Blow it up your ass, pal," Jesop said, standing. He turned and looked at the girl. "You want a ride on the back of a fine American Chopper?"
The woman's eyes lit up.
"Hell yeah!"
Jesop slapped his palm on the bar, high-fiving the battered wood. "That's te way it's done, pal," he said, his hand coming down on Richard's shoulder, causing the man to whince from the not-so-friendly gesture. Jesop beckoned the girl outside.
"Don't get any ideas, though," she said as try exited the bar.


location: out of bar. (With mitsy)
Status: moderately drunk

AceRay
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#14

Posted 19 June 2013 - 09:30 AM Edited by AceRay, 19 June 2013 - 09:53 AM.

QUOTE
I am also terrified of Maria who I suspect is going to f*cking flip out with a Glock and Shotty. 

Ha ha, that's not going to happen at the bar.

Clay Barclay


As soon as Clay sauntered into the bar and laid eyes on Iris Buckley, his whole night brightened and he quickly forgot about the prior attack. The rest of the bar seemed to blur around him as he focused on her incredible beauty radiating from the booth. She looked depressed as he first walked in, staring at her smart phone, but she lit up quickly when their eyes met and a smile burst upon her face. A real beauty; she had flowing red brunette hair that came down to her shoulders, a tight waist and nice calves. She had a nice rear end too.

His mind flashed back to the first time he asked. It was high school, senior year; she was a new student. It was late one evening when Iris just happened to catch the same bus, where they just happened to start talking about life and hit it off. Call it fate, but that one encounter changed Clay’s life. Seeing her every day happy to see him and seeing her laugh with her beautiful smile would make any man week at the knees and finally gave him a purpose in life.

She leeped up to kiss Clay, their tongues briefly coiling together like earth worms and they both sat down in the booth, dangerously close to one another. Clay called for a beer and one came slamming down on the table. Bourbon, no froth, just the way he liked. He downed it quickly

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Clay said, his hand holding hers. She curled her lips in excitement as she waited just long enough to grab his curiosity. He loved it when she did that.
“I got the job.”
“Which job?”
“The superintendent at my Dad’s logging company, of course,” Clay’s mind turned towards Iris’ family. A bunch of burly, strong, angry men with flannel shirts and a permanent frown on their faces who never leave a grudge unanswered. He hoped he wouldn’t cross paths with them again.
“That’s great news,” he really meant it too.
“This means…” Iris’ eyes started to water slightly in the corner of her eyes. “We can’t be together anymore.”
“Oh…” Clay’s voice trailed off as he thought of what to say. For a moment he thought he might start crying himself, but he held it back.

He finally looked around at his surroundings as he softly patted Iris’ head as she sobbed into his trenchcoat. The bar was loud and noisy and there were already a few drunks lounging around the place, although he quickly turned back to his girlfriend.

“Maybe, we can make this a night to remember,” she said softly, running her hand over his chest and looking up at his eyes, winking softly. She got up and grabbed his hand, leading him to the hallway, Clay following close behind and remembering why he loved it when Iris wore those tight jeans, especially from that angle. They caught quick glances from a leather jacket wearing douchebag walking outside with the red haired barmaid but he was quickly distracted with impressing the young lady than anything else.

Clay had decided to wait to meet that special girl before he finally; he made the wrong choice and ended up plugging some ugly chick on the first date in a kitchen bathroom. He always kicked himself whenever he thought of that, and when it came time for him to have a roll in the hay with Iris, he shyly admitted she wasn’t his first. She laughed and told him to relax and he ended up having the best time of his life, her sweaty, naked body bouncing up and down on his crotch in their parents’ bed while they were away on vacation. All those wonderful memories came flooding back to him as they entered the bathroom and she pulled him close to her and kissed him vigorously before pushing him into a nearby stall, causing him to land on his arse.

He started unbuckling his pants. She quickly stripped her leather jacket off, revealing a tight white t-shirt which she pulled over her head slowly, allowing Clay to be mesmerized by her tight firm breasts as they bounced. As she gently caressed her simmering body, she smiled at him with her red, luscious lips. Great lips for kissing, he thought at first.

Great lips for sucking too.

As Iris got on her knees, Clay’s excitement was already nearing its climax, although he then told the little sergeant, as he called it, to wait for the best part. She started by licking the tip of his knob, gently caressing it with her other hand like she was stroking the tail of a cat. Clay let out groans an animal would if it were dying, although Clay felt very much alive. Next, she stuck her lips around the top and starting bobbing up and down, gently at first, allowing time for Clay’s excitement to build. Iris gradually got faster and faster and his moans got louder and louder. After two minutes, Iris’ head was up and down so fast it was like her head had its own hydraulic system, his boner deep down her throat and covered in saliva.

Clay let out more moans and was ready to cum.
“Iris, I love you.”

Gee, I hope somebody doesn’t walk in right now, that would be really embarrassing wouldn’t it? wink wink nudge nudge.

Clay Barclay: Current location: Ground floor toilets.
Status: Moderately drunk and horny

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#15

Posted 19 June 2013 - 09:35 AM

Ace, I'm on the crapper; I can't be dealin with a hard on too!
aint nobody got time for dat

I did laugh when you wrote 'knob' though. And the line:
"Great lips for sucking too" was good
Made me think of Sandra Bullock....

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#16

Posted 19 June 2013 - 09:38 AM

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Wednesday, Jun 19 2013, 22:35)
Ace, I'm on the crapper; I can't be dealin with a hard on too!
aint nobody got time for dat

I did laugh when you wrote 'knob' though. And the line:
"Great lips for sucking too" was good
Made me think of Sandra Bullock....

Oh man, I'm laughing so hard right now at this, I'm just glad I'm the cause of your hard ons lol.gif

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#17

Posted 19 June 2013 - 02:33 PM

Sexy time. inlove.gif

UPDATE: Created a Recent Activity tab that displays a small summary of what each character is doing. Sort of like a gossip page. Imagine somebody's telling you what's going on in the bar. This is updated each time something new happens. It'll be updated soon.

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#18

Posted 19 June 2013 - 02:52 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 19 June 2013 - 02:56 PM.

“I will spare you all the details, out of respect.”

“Sure, sure.” Mitsy’s stare drifted out over the bar, and maybe if Michael had retained some of his father’s burning hot jealousy, he may have found this to be irritancy. Her eyes came back to him and she smiled, ready.

“I was in the army many years ago; Royal Marines – A British unit, and that didn’t work out. I was marked for selection in the SAS. However, after some bad business I ended up out of the army and into the claws of some ex SAS men working under a security firm.” He didn’t want to relay everything. He felt no need to. There was nothing to hide really anymore. And this was basic sh*t that he told anybody that cared. The scotch was back to his lips.

“Slow down, James Bond,” she replied with half a laugh.

“Recap,” he began, swaying my scotch, “I was in the army, I was kicked out, I worked for a security firm.”

“This firm got a name?” she asked as she pulled a cloth out and started wiping down the bar. This was more of an act than a necessity as it was dry, and she wasn’t wiping anything away except ash and cigarette butts.

“Salvum,” I replied with a stern nod; my stare somewhere far away. “Salvum Limited. Now this work detailed clients; rich clients who needed protecting.” I got more into the story now, little tidbits and details coming to me. Mitsy bent down, a little more into the story from her leaning stance.

“Are you any good with that sort of thing?”

“I’m— I was, a licensed professional JuJitsu and Kung Fu specialist as well as SAS regimental combat training. All of that was a long time ago though, like I said. And long story short…I lost people on the job and so now I come here, to where I met he— where I met my clients every once in a while.”

“Uhuh.” She stood up and folded her arms. Talking followed around me as a man approached the guy in the leather jacket. Mitsy gave him a comforting smile and his look was one of delusion. “Was a woman involved?” she asked as her gaze returned to me and my empty scotch glass.

“There’s always a woman involved.” Michael looked down at the glass and started spinning the ice gently; the swilling mix of water and droplets of scotch diluted the water to a light brown.

“Lemme guess. Did she run off with one of your partners in the job? Did she take you for half? Come on, I’ve heard em all, Mikey. What’s your angle?” Her eyes squinted as she looked down at him. The man on the other side, the one all in black gave a chortling laugh, half-crazy, Michael thought. “Cool story, man. Needs more wenches in it.”

Michael disregarded the comment. “She was my wife,” he said with a return to Mitsy; his fingers running up and down her sleeve.

“She took off with somebody from Salvum?” A look of concern filled her eyes as she continued to make drinks. “She must have been one cruel bitch.”

“No, nothing like that…she burnt to death.”

Mitsy stopped and turned; her green eyes widened and Michael could sense the absolute awkwardness in her stance. She put her hands on the bar. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to come off rude. I- sometimes my mouth gets—“

“It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ve got to go…” He got up and gave a sigh.

“Now I feel like an absolute c*nt, I’m sorry! Please let me offer you a drink at least.” Some noise surrounded me and the man and leather jacket had a brief scuffle. Mitsy focused on them and Michael took it as a good sign to escape without dealing with it. He thought that maybe he could have used the pity to his advantage, but he wasn’t like that, even if he wanted to be. He pushed through the double doors and slid out into the darkness; he wanted to go home.

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#19

Posted 19 June 2013 - 04:41 PM

Richard Owens (#3)

Jesop leaves with the smoking hot tender Missy or something like that. I got up and walked over to the window where I watched them drive and Jesop giving me the "I won" face, which got me thinking... I should've agreed to the double team. Anyway, I continued with finishing the Whiskey by myself trying to get piss drunk again. There is now about two more shots left in the bottle so I made my next shot a double. As the last of the Whiskey hit me with a super punch, I needed to visit the Loo.

I made my way to the Loo, or at least attempted to in my drunk state, and opened the door to find what I thought was a porno in the process of filming. A beautiful girl was tommy tanking this mate like a professional. When I walked in she had stopped and the mate loudly asked "What the f*ck do you want!?" A normal man would excuse himself and leave them to their business but of course old drunk Dickey boy replies "I was wondering if I could have next. She looks like she's doing a great job."

I knew I made a mistake but for some reason I couldn't stop and I said "Sharing is caring."... the mate shared a very strong punch to my face and I flew out of the Loo and landed on a table causing it to break. The girl runs out of the bar and the mate couldn't really go after her because his trousers were down. Normally, if a man gets laid out by a man with no trousers, it's best to stay down and say nothing. Yet I decided to say some stupid remark to piss him off even more.

Laughingly I said "Holy sh*t mate, your face is turning red but your balls are turning blue." Let's just say he didn't take it well. He pulled up his trousers in anger and gave me a devastating kick to my stomach and he runs after the girl. I get up and my black blazer is ruined as well as my face which is covered in blood. I go to clean my face and as I did I look myself in the mirror and say to myself... "I can honestly say, I'v experienced this once too many times. Damn the drinking." I put my hands in the pocket of my blazer and I found, a bag of powdered snow. Time for a Real party.

I set up three lines on edge of the sink and snorted all three of them, one by one. In a loud scream I say "I love this life."

Richard Owens: Current Location - Ground Floor Toilets
Status: Alive, Drunk, and High

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#20

Posted 19 June 2013 - 05:09 PM

All action is updated.

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#21

Posted 19 June 2013 - 05:25 PM

DP:

I dun goofed. mercie_blink.gif

Ziggy455
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#22

Posted 19 June 2013 - 05:27 PM


Michael K. Phillips

Halfway down the road, as the faint roar of a Harley slowly diminished into the night, Michael found that he was slowing his pace on his way home. Close behind, the sound of elevated clicks sent off his senses. He turned; the sounds of heavy breathing from a woman making him feel more alert than needed. From the shadows of trees, a woman slid out and continued to run. Her heels scraped and she fell forward; with the scotch in his system, his responses, somewhat dulled, still retained lightning-reflex. As the woman fell forward, he caught her.

“Easy there, no need to rush,” he said as he slowly brought her to her feet. His weathered attire, an old hoody and jeans left the woman with more fear than reciprocation of the sudden fall.

“L…look, I don’t have m…money…take my watch! Please! I don’t want to g…get hurt.”

Michael stared at the glistening watch that she slipped off her hand. He took it gently from her and stared at it: 10:22pm. He looked a moment longer and then handed her back the watch. A look of pure confusion spread across her face. “It’s all I have! I—“

“I’m not trying to mug you, lady. I saw you falling, relax.” She took the watch from him and began to slide it back on. Her quick breaths and terrified face ceased to be a concern. She took a breath and let out a nervous laugh.

“I’m so sorry—I just. I’m panicking.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you live far from here? I can walk you halfway if you like?”

Heavy thuds followed up the path and yells tagged along with them. “Iris! IRIS! Damn it!” The thuds got louder and louder until Clay was upon them. He ran forward and forcefully pushed Michael back; he stumbled lightly but remained still.

“f*ck OFF!” he yelled with a glare. “You okay?” he asked as his hands traced all over her jacket, checking for imaginary cuts.

“I’m fine,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “I panicked. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone.”

Clay’s glare shot to Michael. “What the f*ck do you want, deadbeat? Go score some crack off somebody else.” Iris pushed Clay lightly.

“He stopped me falling down, Clay! For God sake, he wasn’t meaning anything by it!”

“Listen crackhead, f*ck off, I’m not in the mood. Go bug somebody else for change.”

Michael retained a silent demeanour with a bright smile; his teeth were straight and white, regardless of the hits it had received throughout the years. “Change?” He reached into his pocket quickly. Clay reached into his own jacket; to grab whatever he needed for such scenarios. Michael yanked out his wallet, pried it open and skimmed the hundreds of bills squashed into the leather pouch. He pulled out $100 bill from the many others that were stuffed into his wallet and handed it to Iris.

“For the inconvenience, ma’am.” And with that, he turned away to return home.

Mokrie Dela
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#23

Posted 19 June 2013 - 06:33 PM

Why's the position regarding time jumps?
If my guy returns 24 hrs later, do I have to wait 24 hrs or can I jump fwd?

Ziggy455
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#24

Posted 19 June 2013 - 07:06 PM

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Wednesday, Jun 19 2013, 18:33)
Why's the position regarding time jumps?
If my guy returns 24 hrs later, do I have to wait 24 hrs or can I jump fwd?

I'd say for now, until different timelines are implemented, everything is linear and happens the same time everything else happens, for now.

AceRay
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#25

Posted 19 June 2013 - 07:06 PM Edited by AceRay, 23 June 2013 - 03:37 AM.

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Thursday, Jun 20 2013, 07:33)
Why's the position regarding time jumps?
If my guy returns 24 hrs later, do I have to wait 24 hrs or can I jump fwd?

Its real time writing here; if you jump forward, then everyone will have to jump forward 24 hours or else we get stuck in an alternate time scale where your characters live in the future but we're still stuck in the past.

L.L. Gullitt

L. L. Gullitt sat at the back of the van, parked in the alley opposite the bar, with his hands clasped, watching the several monitors flash before his eyes. Dan Tarrance stood next to him and popped a couple of pain killers to relieve the pain. All the coat jackets were off, long sleeves had been rolled up and ties had been pulled loosed, except for Gullitt who was still immaculately dressed. It was the beginning of a long night, at least since the woman walked in.

The firm had set up six discreet cameras that were little more than an inch in diameter inside and around the bar over the past week, posing as health inspectors, repairmen, plumbers and customers. Two were in the main hall with one watching the entrance and one watching the back, one in the downstairs hallway, one in the conference room, one in the backroom and one guarding the outsider entrance in the alleyway. Furthermore, every single room had been bugged with a mike; not a word could be said in the place without their mikes picking it up and relaying it back in the large van. They watched everything and heard every single work uttered, recording all the information.

All this set up with the one objective in mind; to catch Lee Vincenzo.

They were all cops of some form at some stage; ex-street cop, ex-FBI, ex-CIA. “Ex-good guys,” as they often joked. Now they were prostitutes selling their skills to the highest bidder. That happened to be Rolf Klink, boss of some large bank downtown who got all his money stolen. While he can’t pinpoint who it was exactly, his only guess would be Lee Vincenzo, an old employee who ran off one night. With the police giving up on the chase, he was left with only one option; Gullitt’s private firm.

With him were four surveillance guys, all looking intently at their monitors from their swivel chairs, the first of which was Abe, a curly-haired guy with a beard, bit of a belly and of an age of around 40. He got along great with the others, always telling jokes and laughing, but a bit yellow as well. Nikki was the second, younger at 35 with blond hair tied behind her head and a small tattoo on the side of her face of an eagle, whom took the work very serious but partied quite hard on the side. Third was Theo, an African-American, age 37, had small glasses, a goatee and a small afro. He was new to the team but had made a good impression after he almost singlehandedly caught their last client’s target. Last was Link, a short guy with grey hair, probably around 50, who got kicked out of the force for selling weed on the side and was probably the biggest loose cannon on the team.

They were watching the woman most intently. She had been identified as Maria Vincenzo, or Orosco now after the divorce. After Lee made his first appearance at Marco’s, it was entirely possible that she was doing the dirty work for her ex-husband, although why was another mystery.

They had seen her follow the waiter from Marco’s, which was known to be a mafia hotspot. They were watched that guy intensely as well. Was Lee linked with the mafia? Considering the attention the mafia were getting recently, could the FBI be involved? It had certainly happened in the past. They needed answers.

They hadn’t gotten many. So far, she was doing even less than they were, just sitting and watching the waiter until he moved out back.

Suddenly, Abe started laughing quite hard. “Hey, listen to this,” he unplugged his head phones and let the moans and grunts from the toilet ring out over the van. At first, they were confused at what they were listening to but then smiles quickly broke out as Abe showed the couple enter the bathroom from the hallway camera, suddenly regretting they didn’t put any cameras in the bathroom.
“What a lucky guy,” Link said.
“Atta boy,” Theo chuckled.
“Sounds like she’s had experience,” even Tarrance was smiling now and cracking jokes. It was only Gullitt who was still completely stoic.
Then the door flung open and the drunken guy walked in, interrupting the preceding. The hilarity increased in the van as almost everyone burst out laughing as he cracked jokes about being next in line and promptly got the couple in a flurry, the guy punching him a few times as well.
“Enough,” Gullitt said calmly, and they all slowly returned to normality and surveying the faces in the bar. They had a running bet on what Gullitt’s nationality was. Theo and Nikki agreed it was Eastern European, but Link was convinced it was Middle Eastern, with Abe thinking Turkey. Almost everything about the bald-headed man was a mystery.

“They’re leaving,” Tarrance said as the girlfriend walked out, the waiter trailing behind.
“It’s the woman we’re after, do you think she’ll follow the kid?” Nikki asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. “She watched the bistro for three days, maybe on Lee’s orders, and then followed the kid to the bar. There’s no reason why she wouldn’t follow him now.”
“It doesn’t look like she’s moving.”
“Alright, let’s get a couple of you to follow them from a distance,” They were all watching the woman’s movements intently as Theo and Link got on their rain jackets and equipped their Glock 19s and headsets for the rest of the crew to hear, then left the van

Gullitt then smoke calmly and pointing at the alleyway camera. “It’s Trevino Falonelli, from the bistro,” indeed, the thug was hovering outside the backdoor, smoking a cigarette. “What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know, sir,” just then, Trevino moved down the alleyway, out of the camera’s lens.
“Can we get a better view?”
“No,”
“Can we pick it up with the mike?”
“No sir, they’re at the other end of the alleyway.”
“Alright, I’m on it. Terrance, phone Klink with our progress,” Gullitt said and abruptly exited the van, leaving Abe, Nikki and Terrance scratching their heads while listening to the mumblings of Trevino and seeing Gullitt sneak past on the monitor. Terrance starting phoning Klink

Gullitt snuck behind a dumpster and carefully listened to the conversation. He was shocked by what he then heard.

L.L. Gullitt: Current Location: Alleyway

Mokrie Dela
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#26

Posted 19 June 2013 - 07:19 PM

I'll leave it for now then. Jesops currently out of the bar for a day with mitsey
Mitseys free to return to her bar at any point btw, so if someone wants her to return for their narrative, that's cool.

Ziggy455
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#27

Posted 19 June 2013 - 09:05 PM

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Wednesday, Jun 19 2013, 19:19)
I'll leave it for now then. Jesops currently out of the bar for a day with mitsey
Mitseys free to return to her bar at any point btw, so if someone wants her to return for their narrative, that's cool.

Why not write a narrative of whatever is going on with Mitsy and you and then when it goes to Saturday night I'll PM you. smile.gif

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#28

Posted 21 June 2013 - 07:26 AM Edited by Coat., 21 June 2013 - 07:46 AM.

Barry soon notices that Michael, the man who sat beside him, walked off in boredom. His head dropped and he waved his hand to the waitress, asking for a bourbon. The glass of beer slammed down on the table and he sculled all of it within a minute before waving again for another - he was a machine. Glasses over glasses pilled up and Misty kept on cleaning the mess up. His mind began to spin and the room became very blurry before he passed out. He woke up facing the carpet on the ground floor hallway, whipping vomit from his face.

A young lad bumped past him, looking at the chunks of spew. Buster felt tired and needed somewhere to sleep - anywhere. He really had no clue on how long he had slumped him body onto the floor, or what happened during that time from the bar to the hallway. He pushed himself up from the floor, before using the bathroom and washing out his mouth and then suddenly feeling a gurgling feeling in the pit of his stomach. The spew moved up his throat and then swallowed it before pushing the door open and barged into an asian man with a a grey goatee.

"Watch yourself," the man said, before Barry ran out to find an exit into the back alley and spewing all over the ground. It splattered onto the shoe of a short and tubby man. This man had a stern look in his eyes, as he threw his cigarette out onto the pavement and stamping onto it, "You wanna mind who you do that to," he moved his black coat away which showed a pistol on a hostler. Buster couldn't find any words to say - he was in a bit of shock. His stomach gurgled again and he turned to the wall to make the mess.

The other mans phone rang - he answered, "Yeah, it's me.. Trevino.. yeah, yeah. Look, the bistro is calling me back in Lee.. yeah, we gunna have to organize another time to talk... same place.. yeah?" and he ended the call before hearing a scream come from the back door to the alley. Buster looked up, before the young lad called out, "I think the place is wired boss!"


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#29

Posted 22 June 2013 - 10:10 AM

L.L. Gullitt

The two figures shook hands and parted, Trevino passing dangerously close to the suited man’s hiding spot behind the dumpster, thankfully not noticing him. He peered over as if he was about to notice him but stopped at the last second and moved on. As he turned down the street and disappeared into the distance, L.L. Gullitt rushed back from the alleyway and burst inside the van. His heart was racing but he didn’t let anybody show it, the other three watching his every move intently. His face was completely stoic and controlled despite the fire in his heart. “What was it?” asked Nikki curiously.

He pulled out a recorder and set it on the middle table, pressing the play button and sitting back in seat, hands clasp in front of him as normal. Abe, Nikki and Terrance all fell silent. A rough, coarse voice barked out from the rough record, talking about some criminal activities he had been up to recently.
“That’s Trevino,” the second voice followed, much fainter and softer than the previous one.
“That’s the other guy,” Gullitt said. The three others in the van leant in closer to hear. There were talking about all of Marco’s criminal activities and locations. The faint voice knew so much and used terms only a g-man was use in common language. It quickly became known where that other voice came from amongst the van.
“He’s FBI,” Tarrance finally whispered under his breath, the others picking it up soon after. Trevino was an informant, a secret agent, planted by the FBI to filter information to them from the inside. That wasn’t the part that Gullitt was interested in, or even surprised at. The man’s attitude and character hinted at a hidden identity.
“This is the important part,” Gullitt whispered. The other three all huddled in so close their ears were practically rubbing up against the darn thing. Then the man’s faint voice hushed through the speaker once more.
“Vincenzo? He’s being held in the abandoned soda factory down near the docks, right now at least… he’ll be gone tomorrow though…” their conversation rattled on for a half a minute, before Trevino suddenly said an abrupt goodbye and left. The recording ended. Everybody backed away from the small recorder.

Gullitt’s mind was spinning and turning. This could be just what he was looking for. Go to the abandoned factory, obtain Lee and bring him to Rolf Klink. Just like that, boom, another job finished and done, and another fat pay check placed in his off shore bank account. But it was too easy, too simple, too much of a coincidence for this incredibly convenient conversation to take place right where they were currently monitoring. What were the chances of a conversation between an informant and an FBI agent to randomally occur right there?

Then it clicked. The conversation was scripted down to the punctuation marks. The FBI knew that Gullitt was monitoring the bar, therefore planting the conversation right where he could hear it, thinking he would take the bait and ride off, allowing Lee or an FBI agent to enter the bar to meet with Maria at the bar while they couldn’t monitor it. But how could they have found out about the bugging of the bar? Their planting of the bugs was completely professional and tight, there was no way someone could find or identify. He had personally, painfully monitoring it so that it was air tight. That could mean only one thing.

There was a rat amongst his team.

Who could it be? Quickly, he mentally jotted down each one of the team. Was it money they were offering? Nikki’s party lifestyle often included designer drugs. Maybe they were funding her cocaine addiction. Or was it to pay Abe’s bookies? Tarrance always seemed to dislike the moral ambiguity of their works; he could be betraying them to amend his damaged conscience.

His mind then turned to Theo, the obvious choice. New to the team and brilliant in every regard, he was the obvious choice for being a planted informant. But it was almost too obvious; would the FBI use such a blatant ploy? But maybe it was so obvious, they thought Gullitt would overlook it, meaning it was really brilliant and he was the spy all along. He, or even Link, were not even following Clay but instead filtering information to the FBI at that very moment

“What do we do boss?” he kept his hands clasp in front of his face Abe asked the question, leaning on the table and giving a simple order.
“We stay here,” he spoke, his voice completely monotone yet commanding and intimidating at the same time. Abe and Nikki gave concerned looks to each other.
“They just revealed the location of Vincenzo, sir?” Tarrance asked, confused and his facing starting to sweat.
“Those are my orders.”
He then realized something. The reason the bar was of interest to the fibbies was the wife figure. Whatever they wanted with the bar, whether Lee was in their custody or making deals or not, Maria was the key. Take her out of the picture and then their plans would go astray. Calmly, he gave another command.
“Abe, Nikki, go in and grab the girl,” for a moment, they looked stunned, confused even. “Using the fake identities you were supplied with at the briefing, enter the bar and ask her to come in for questioning. If she doesn’t comply, use of force is allowed. Bring her to the van, where she’ll be under our custody.”

While they put on their rain jackets, Abe and Nikki nodded and left the van. Tarrance chuckled and made an off-hand comment about Gullitt’s commitment.

Then it dawned on him as his duo disappeared into the bar. This was their plan all along. The FBI would know he would identify the conversation as scripted, then order Maria to be taken to them. While the two henchmen were in the bar, eliminate the two leaders while they were defenceless. They knew his mind, knew his exact reactions to every situation and managed to plan his every movement so far.

But they didn’t account for one thing; his unpredictability.

In a flash, he dived for the driving seat of the van, sending Tarrance crashing to the floor. He turned the key and the Ford Transit spluttered to life. Jamming the van into reverse, he put his foot to the floor. A thud soon followed and the van bounced up and down, quickly followed by another squishy road hump and he then saw two dead bodies in front of him. He rammed forward and drove over them again, causing Tarrance to lose his balance again. For a moment, he thought there might be road spikes ahead of him, putting his escape to an end and a bullet silently shot through his brain. But if there were, then anyone leaving would have seen the spikes around them, so that thankfully didn’t happen and Gullitt thanked his blessings for that. The van sped off into the night out of sight, always taking back alleys and side streets.

Tarrance made his way to the front seat.
“What… what just happened?” In a split second, a mean looking Beretta 92 was flung in his face. His first instinct was to chuckle at the randomness of it but then saw the seriousness in Gullitt’s face.
“I think you know exactly was just happened,”
“W-what are you talking about?” he cried out. He was visually shaking now.
“You know exactly what I mean, you rat.”
“I told you, I don’t know! Put the f*cking gun down! Watch the road!”
“No.”
“Please, just… just… don’t shoot… please,” the gun cocked.
“No.”
“You can’t do this… L… please… don’t do this,” tears started to appear in the corners of his eyes and in that moment, Gullitt figured he was innocent and lowered the gun. It was once said that one can see someone’s soul when you look into their eyes. Gullitt wore glasses to protect people from looking into his soul. He himself was too afraid to understand what was there. He pulled the van to a stop behind a dumpster in a dark alley.

“Tarrance… I hope I can trust you.”
“You can, I swear it.”
“There’s an informant. The FBI planned to kill us right there, that’s who those men were I ran over. I know it isn’t you, you didn’t try to kill me when their plan went astray… that means, one of the others is and they’re still out there,” Tarrance took a moment to take in this information, before Gullitt spoke up again.

“Trust no one, Dan.”

L.L. Gullitt : Current location: Out of Bar

Ziggy455
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#30

Posted 22 June 2013 - 05:35 PM

Michael K. Phillips

Michael opened the creaky door of his third floor apartment slowly. Inside, no light permitted vision and when the faint dim of a light flickered on, it became apparent that Michael would have preferred the light off; the place was a mess. Clothes and cans littered the floor of the room, destroying any notion of colour that you would have been able to see. The room was tiny, a bed crammed into it with a TV across. A lone window on one side was filled with a set of black blinds. The mechanical beep of the answering machine killed the silence after the door slammed shut.

Michael walked to it, clicked it: the familiar robot drone began.

“You-have-three-messages,” it droned with each word a different tone, a different pitch that made no sense. “Message one.”

“Kane, it’s Thompson.” Marcus Thompson: old friend. The call only meant one thing at this point. “Call me ASAP. You know what we’ve got to talk about at this point.” Click! So it was true at least.

“Message-two.”

“Michael, p…please call me as soon as you can…Something’s come up and I think you need to call me…You can reach me on this number or my emergency number.” That was Carly, and the fact the emergency number had came up only meant one thing; they meant business and they were coming quicker than a priest in a playground. With no time to waste, and the third message disregarded, Michael grabbed the phone. His fingers punched in the number with ease.

Click. “Hello?” said the man on the other end in his rough hoarse voice.


“Thompson…You there?”

“I’m there.”

“Enlighten me on how it is.”

“Exactly how I says it. They’re coming back! They’ve been coasting China for the last year – I thought it was rumours but it’s real alright. They’re heading here with a few new friends and toys.”

“How is this possible though?”

“They’re working for a small group, and they’ve got news on Salvum’s associates. There’s a few names in there that you don’t want to hear,” said Thompson, with a genuine chord of concern.

“Try me.”

“Mosier. Vicks, and Pilot Cadence for one.”

Three gunshots rang out in Michael’s head; each one a memory, each one a concern for the future that he was not so happy to be a part of. Mosier’s one eyed glare, Vick’s ability to sneak – She could have been in the room already and Michael wouldn’t have known. He turned quickly and made sure she wasn’t.

“Checking for Vicks?”

“Don’t get smart on me.”

Michael made his way to the window and flicked a blind down. Down in the street, a car was waiting. Its familiar black paintjob and sense of foreboding made Michael realize that his time in this place was gone. It had appeared that the Mr. Akion did not finish his suicide job, and as such, it was obvious that he’d been killed. How unfortunate. Michael truly felt a sadness as he realized the poor man had never been able to finish what they had started.

“Do you have somewhere safe for us to meet and talk? I’ll explain as much as I can. Your apartment’s marked. They’re tailing you right now no doubt; I’ve got a car on me already.” It was true. But now there were bigger things to worry about. The car wouldn’t be there forever and the phones were probably bugged. There had to be somewhere to meet.

Michael paced for a second before the familiar bar faded from the mist of his mind.

“I know a place, it’s quiet. I’ll pull a favour for a private room.” Michael gave the address clearly and Thompson was his usual smart self.

“Meet me there in half and hour and if you’re followed, take to the alleyways. Meet me upstairs; tell Mitsy, the redhead that you need the room for a moment, if she gives you any shtick then you tell her Michael’s wife burned to death. Do it for him, he’s meeting me here.”

CLICK. It was time to leave. It hadn’t occurred til’ he was leaving whether or not they’d bugged the phones or not and either way he was about to find out when he got back to the bar anyway. He packed a bag with a few supplies; food, water, a knife. No guns. Not anymore.

He got out the door and decided the back passages of the place were safer to go. His next stop was meeting Thompson; without a gunshot in his belly.

Location: Out Of Bar





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