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Ziggy455
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#61

Posted 26 June 2013 - 06:48 PM

That's smart, but how would we go about implementing it this far into the game? Shifty41s_beerhatsmilie2.gif

Mokrie Dela
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#62

Posted 26 June 2013 - 07:54 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, Jun 26 2013, 18:48)
That's smart, but how would we go about implementing it this far into the game? Shifty41s_beerhatsmilie2.gif

We each post and then a link to that post is posted on the first post. It doesn't really matter if its mid page as its an update page...


VProductions
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#63

Posted 26 June 2013 - 08:20 PM

So... is there going to be a new topic or something? Or can we still post?

AceRay
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#64

Posted 26 June 2013 - 08:33 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Thursday, Jun 27 2013, 07:48)
That's smart, but how would we go about implementing it this far into the game? Shifty41s_beerhatsmilie2.gif

Just provide the code for the tables in the first post under [code=auto:0] tags and everyone can fill it in themselves and mange it under there own character updates from there. I'm working on mine right now.

VP: doubt it, we could probably just edit our "hubs" into our first posts in the thread and then we can continue

The Bar
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#65

Posted 26 June 2013 - 08:46 PM

PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
EXAMPLE NAME
EXAMPLE USERNAME
STATUS
LOCATIONS
RECENT ACTIVITY

CODE
[tableb]
[tr]
[th]Patron[/th]
[th]Username[/th]
[th]Status[/th]
[th]Location[/th]
[th]Recent Activitiy[/th]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td][center][font=Arial][b][color=royalblue]EXAMPLE NAME[/color][/b][/font][/center][/td]
[td][center][font=Arial][b]EXAMPLE USERNAME[/b][/font][/center][/td]
[td][center][font=Arial][b]STATUS[/b][/font][/center][/td]
[td][center][font=Arial][b]LOCATIONS[/font][/b][/center][/td]
[td]RECENT ACTIVITY[/td]
[/tr]
[/tableb]

Ziggy455
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#66

Posted 02 July 2013 - 06:13 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 02 July 2013 - 06:16 PM.

Mr. Mayhem



People poured out the front entrance of the bar into the parking lot. Mr. Mayhem slowly found his way outside. Jesop’s cold eyes stared back at him across the lot. He slowly moved down the front steps and onto the cracked concrete with faded paint lines of cars that never seemed to fill up the place. Mitsy and Paddy followed out after him and disappeared into the circular crowd of onlookers, most from the bar, some stumbling from the crevices of the decrepit surrounding area. All of these people were looking for some kind of entertainment. Mayhem was sure they’d get a good few looks in the ensuing moments.

“Alright, you f*ck. Put your dukes up. Let’s get this underway,” yelled Jesop, a fierce glob of spit hitting the concrete from his alcohol-stained mouth. Thirty to forty people crowded around and yelled, spurring on the inebriated biker. He cracked his fingers and walked around left to right, his arms raised. “How many of you wanna see me put this f*cker down?”

Half-drunken slurs followed and the response he wanted really wasn’t going to come out. Mr. Mayhem smiled, lowered his arms, and waited. The air was cold, and that would mean he’d get hot quickly. The man was coming forward, so this meant that the effectiveness of dodging deemed a left or right dodge to be a good shot. The man who drank with his right hand was more inclined to veer that way. So that was his first move.

“JESOP! NO!” screamed Mitsy.

“Let’s get this underway.”

“I bet you hit like a f*cking fa**ot,” replied Jesop as he placed his bottle on the floor; half drank.

“You won’t find out,” mumbled Mayhem as Jesop launched forward. Mayhem flitted to the left, and Jesop went right by nature. With a screaming lunge he turned and moved for Mayhem who stood perpendicular, inexorably calm.

“COME HERE, c*nt!” he screamed at Mr. Mayhem. The biker burst into another run and a swipe with the left fist. Mayhem ducked, spinning behind him with a speed that most could not attain. From the back of Jesop, Mayhem deduced he’d spin right. The burly arms flailed in the spin, and a quick duck settled that. “Stop f*cking moving!”

The burly arms stopped flailing. Mr. Mayhem got back up and moved out of Jesop’s destructive path. He turned quickly now. With each missed hit, another octane of anger would build up deep in this man’s motors. With intersecting grunts between heavy breaths, Jesop gripped Mr. Mayhem who spun his arms, knocking the loose grip off easily enough. Cheers erupted, but the game had only just begun. As Mr. Mayhem slid away from Jesop back into the middle of the human circle, it became apparent that this was a fight that could cost Jesop more than his reputation as a badass biker, or so Mr. Mayhem thought. Mayhem slowly approach him with his arms raised, the cheers of the crowd following. “Now remember, Jesop. I haven’t hit you without trying, and you’ve been trying, wanna give up?”

Striking distance: it didn’t stop another spinning dodge from Mayhem as he lunged to the right, Jesop’s two club-like arms swinging down for a double bash. The crowded erupted into a crescendo of ‘Oooooos’ as his fists collided with the hard, gum-stained ground. “I’LL f*ckING END YOU!” he held his hands together and gave another forceful swipe to his right; mandatory response meant he missed as Mayhem moved back. Jesop’s face was bright red by now, and Mayhem realized that he was the matador, there was only so long until the bull could get a swipe in.

“STOP THIS FOR f*ck SAKE!” screamed Mitsy as she ran in-between them. Jesop let out another scream as he launched himself forward; Mitsy realized this too late. Like a roaring hot train on rails of pure molten anger, Jesop lunged for a final crushing takedown. Mitsy felt somebody pull her out of the way and gently put her back out of the killing path. Mr. Mayhem’s hand slid from hers and as her brown, wide eyes stared up at him, she felt a rush of excitement. Jesop’s ape-like hands yanked Mr. Mayhem away and found their way to his throat.

“Got… you, you little…sh*t.” The brute was sweating now; his words exasperated and long. The corrosive salty sweat stench filled Mayhem’s nostrils, staining them because it followed him like a permissive demon as Jesop launched Mayhem straight into the ground; his head colliding with the floor so hard that for a few seconds, the only company Mayhem had was searing pain and darkness. You were knocked out, wake up, get up, and don’t let it go!

“Anybody else wants…some? Come…on, you freaks.” The dull, grey world of the living slowly came into focus. Mitsy’s face came into view as did Paddy’s. Mayhem ignored them as he slowly got up; blood pouring down his face, dirtying his Armani shirt. Getting up felt like climbing Everest, dull throbs filled his ears as he scrambled to a standing stance. Jesop slowly turned. “You f*cking got a deathwish?”

Blood mixed in between the mashed bone that was Mayhem’s teeth. He let out a bright smile; his eyelids drooping. The look of maniacal terror that Mayhem gave was just short of scaring Jesop to death. He ran forward; Mayhem pushed Paddy and Mitsy into opposite directions outwards as Jesop’s feet skidded. He jabbed left, Mayhem slipped it. His right went up but of course, even with the migraine-level of pain he felt, the hits were slow. A double whammy came down again; his fighting was poor. This continued for minutes as Jesop threw all his remaining energy is heavy swipes. Sweat poured down him; wearing leather doesn’t help. Eventually, the biker put his hands on his knees. “You f*ckin…freak…can’t fight…gotta…dodge, huh?”

Mayhem slowly approached Jesop; the biker looked up with a sullen look. Mayhem’s cheeks puffed up and it appeared that he swilled something in his mouth. As casually as drinking in a bar, Mayhem spat out the remnants of his cheek, saliva and bright red blood hit Jesop’s eyes and faces. He gripped his face and let out a gasp. With a wide open mouth, Mayhem let out a cackling laugh and grabbed the bottle close by. He swiped it down on Jesop’s skull with a crashing splinter of glitter. “ARGH!” he screamed out as he stumbled away from Mayhem who dropped the neck of the bottle; one end of it jagged and broken.



The Bar
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#67

Posted 02 July 2013 - 06:17 PM

UPDATE: I have given an example of the code. I'd like to give this HUB concept a go. Copy and paste it into your original post in this topic and you can systematically update it for others to see away from the main post!

AceRay
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#68

Posted 03 July 2013 - 03:10 AM Edited by AceRay, 03 July 2013 - 07:10 AM.

QUOTE (The Bar @ Wednesday, Jul 3 2013, 07:17)
UPDATE: I have given an example of the code. I'd like to give this HUB concept a go. Copy and paste it into your original post in this topic and you can systematically update it for others to see away from the main post!

Consider it done. cool.gif

http://www.gtaforums...st&p=1062649084

Grand Theft Savage
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#69

Posted 04 July 2013 - 04:11 AM Edited by Grand Theft Savage, 05 July 2013 - 04:53 AM.

This is golden. icon14.gif
So, anyone willing to can enter this game, am I right? I'd like to give this a shot.


PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
Arnold Palmer
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Story coming really soon!

AceRay
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#70

Posted 04 July 2013 - 04:59 AM

QUOTE (Grand Theft Savage @ Thursday, Jul 4 2013, 17:11)
This is golden. icon14.gif
So, anyone willing to can enter this game, am I right? I'd like to give this a shot.

Don't hesitate to come in and have a drink! I'll help you make your writer's hub if you need it smile.gif

AceRay
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#71

Posted 04 July 2013 - 05:40 AM Edited by AceRay, 04 July 2013 - 06:02 AM.

69tR0LlK1Ng

JonR-Az has entered chat. Other users in chatroom:
69tR0LlK1Ng,JonR-Az, xaviatorx, trix$ar, dax411k
JonR-Az: lol, i 4got how awesum ur beard is king
69tR0LlK1Ng: it a swag beard
trix$ar: pics?
69tR0LlK1Ng: http://i66.photobuck...zps0c2f4b55.jpg
69tR0LlK1Ng: #yoloswag
trix$ar: skuks
xaviatorx: gangster XD XD
69tR0LlK1Ng: tis b.itch barmaid was on mi d.ick b4
69tR0LlK1Ng: ten i told her 2 suk mi d.ick
dax411k: lol, u shud ave told hr to mak u a sandwich LOL
trix$ar: LOL, then b.itch slap tat whore
dax411k: then rape her eyeblls LOL LOL LOL :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)
trix$ar: rape lol
JonR-Az: he didnt rely do tat
69tR0LlK1Ng: shut up u fag
JonR-Az: she talkd 2 us 4 2 seconds and ten she left
dax411k: lol
69tR0LlK1Ng: lol, tere r 2 fags @ the bar, tey ware gey cloths
trix$ar: i swer u 2 r @ a gay bar. :)
69tR0LlK1Ng: shut up avi
trix$ar: ur suking jons ballz king :)
trix$ar: 2 fags if i eva saw tem :)
trix$ar: lol jk :):):)
69tR0LlK1Ng: stfu rght now
JonR-Az: do u relly think i wood b suking kings a$$, wood i stoop tat low????? :lol:
nfsdante has entered chat.
JonR-Az: hey dante
nfsdante: hey every1
trix$ar: we wer juts taling about how jon and king are in a gay bar
nfsdante: lol woodnt surprize me lol
69tR0LlK1Ng: every1 stfu rght now ur pissin me off
dax411k: who else iz @ teh bar king?
dax411k: i dont tink tat ur gay king
69tR0LlK1Ng: tanks
nfsdante: kissa$$
JonR-Az: lol, teh biker guy iz angry as d.ick at sum guy
69tR0LlK1Ng: yeh, tere mght b a fight!!!!!!!!!! #yolo
nfsdante: woo hoo!
69tR0LlK1Ng: every1 iz goin outside to c teh fight. lol
JonR-Az: we're lokin throug teh windows, lol epic
nfsdante: whos winnin?
JonR-Az: cant tell
69tR0LlK1Ng: where iz avi rght now? how could he miss tis?
trix$ar: yeh, wat iz he doin? why aint he at chat????
69tR0LlK1Ng: woo givs a crap XD
xaviatorx: The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.
69tR0LlK1Ng: wtf??????????
dax411k: wtf
trix$ar: stfu avi, wtf
xaviatorx: The beast I saw resembled a leopard, but had feet like those of a bear and a mouth like that of a lion. The dragon gave the beast his power and his throne and great authority.
JonR-Az: avi wat r u doin
xaviatorx:One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast.
nfsdante: lol
69tR0LlK1Ng: stfu
xaviatorx:People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, “Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?”
xaviatorx has left chatroom
69tR0LlK1Ng: wtf waz tat about?
69tR0LlK1Ng: wat a lozer
nfsdante: wats goin on in the teh fight
dax411k: omg, check out tis link: http://www.huffingto...on-computer.com
dax411k: copy from source: "14-year-old Fergus Nelson was found dead in front of his computer, where he had his throat slit. On the computer in front of him, police say they found him on an internet chatroom chatting with strangers. More news on this story as it develops."
trix$ar: fake
69tR0LlK1Ng: pics or it didn't happen lol
JonR-Az: no, its legit https://www.stuff.co...lit-of-teen.com
JonR-Az: http//www.nbc/news/teen-slashed.com
nfsdante: OMG RIP AVI
dax411k: RIP Avi :(
69tR0LlK1Ng: lol his name was fergus wat a gay name
nfsdante: dude hes like dead, respect pls
69tR0LlK1Ng: dos it look lik i care lol lol
dax411k: dude not cool
trix$ar: RIP Fergus
69tR0LlK1Ng: woo got ur pantis in a pinch, b*tch??????
69tR0LlK1Ng: trololo
nfsdante: if u dont stop this im otta here.
69tR0LlK1Ng: okay, sry
dax411k: do u tink it was that other guy who waz here??? yagami or whatever
JonR-Az: prob not, well see what develops

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#72

Posted 04 July 2013 - 05:46 AM

Disable smileys to make the ascii-based shenanigans even more emphasised. I think if you did that you'd be on the path to immersion.
  • Moth likes this

Mokrie Dela
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#73

Posted 04 July 2013 - 09:13 AM

I need to get to my computer to update sh*t

Here goes an autocorrected mess


Jesop saw stars, or st least he did. His head was pounding, and his face was covered in a sticky mess. He touched his fingers to his eyebrow, pullin them away to see a dark red mess. Barbeaue sauce? he sniffed it, recognising the metallic smell of blood instantly.

He touched his Mortal wound, wondering what killed him. He sat up, looking around heaven. It wasn't quite what he expected. Heaven was a city, with mailboxes and lampposts. It was dark in heaven, and the lights spread the glow that everyone knew of. That light at the end of the tunnel, Jesop thought.
The pain came back fully. He winced and rested his palm on his head. He looked around again, the white light having changed to orange, and the reds of burning brimstone adding to the mix.
I'm in hell... Fitting.
But heaven and hell were connected. He remembered the Jewish story from being a kid, that God allowed Satan to torment Job, to prove that he was a righteous man. God and Satan would converse, even bet on a man's life.
And in front of him now stood one of God's messengers. He saw Satan's Demkns and minions in the distance, most walking away. None paid him any mind.
He focused on God's messenger, the angel that stood before him, her face bathing in the glow of her golden halo. She spoke with a sweet and soft voice.
The voice of an angel...
She held out her hand, inviting him from Purgatory to heaven. Then he saw the road, and the traffic. She was carrying him from Death and back to the mortal plane.

He blinked and saw Mitsy in front of him. She helped him to his feet and the world spun. His vision cleared and with the returning clarity came his memory.
He leapt to his feet, almost shoving Mitsy aside.
"That motherf*cker!" he snarled. He turned and angled for his chopper. "He's dead." He tried to get in the motorcycle. "I'm gonna return with my gun. He dies."
"Jesop, no!" Mitsy tried to restrain him. "There's something about that guy. He'd probably eat the bullet and shoot you back. Besides, Paddy would take you down. You do this, you will not survive."
Jesop grimaced and clenched his fists. "What do you care? You're a tease. You get hit on, take what you want and then when you've got what you want, f*ck off. You should have told me from the off you were a lesbian."
"Just because a woman wanted a ride on a bike doesn't mean you have to grope and snog her."
Jesop shrugged, a flash of humour in his eyes. "It was a nice grope though."
"f*ck you."
Jesop ran his hands over his head, wiping the blood from them afterward.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because... Look, I dont like men, ok? They're animals. I know some of the sh*t you biker guys get up to too. But there's something different about you. I don't know. You've been through sh*t too. We don't have to f*ck, you know; you can be friends with the opposite sex. Don't get your gun. That guys a psycho."
"This is who I am. I have to kill him."
"And when him and Paddy shoot you?"
"Tell them not to. I don't want to kill him. He's alright. But if he pulls on me.."
"You're going to shoot up the whole bar?"
"If I have to."
Mitsy shook her head. "If you come back with a gun, would you shoot me?"
Jesop shook his head. "No."
"But if anyone comes here with a gun, [i]I will shoot them."
Jesop swallowed say there for a minute.
"Can you not ever give a guy a chance? Try to be with a guy?"
"No -"
"You change who you are." Jesop started the engine of his motorcycle. He cast a final look at Mitsy before riding off into the neon lights that he mistook for burning brimstone.

Ziggy455
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#74

Posted 04 July 2013 - 04:07 PM

QUOTE (Grand Theft Savage @ Thursday, Jul 4 2013, 04:11)
This is golden. icon14.gif
So, anyone willing to can enter this game, am I right? I'd like to give this a shot.

Course you're welcome to join. Change your first post in the game to the coded table, put in the information, and write a story in any of the rooms. Read over the rules and have fun. I update the main page every day or so depending on the income of action. Join in.

Ziggy455
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#75

Posted 04 July 2013 - 06:56 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 04 July 2013 - 06:58 PM.

Mr. Mayhem

Mitsy brought Jesop to his feet a few moments later. Over the dull screams of endearing fans screaming for blood justice, the faint sound of the word ‘gun’ pierced through the taunts and yells. A gun! How cliché. With the searing, throbbing beat in his head drumming to a rhythmic concoction of pain and dizziness, Mr. Mayhem stumbled over to Paddy who had his bundled up suit clenched in-between his old, yet capable hands. The light of the bar coated Mr. Mayhem who found it all too bright. The concussion was taking effect. From the large window of the main room, the one overlooking the poverty-stricken district of this wretched place, a man with an ass-clown beard and smug-grin watched the fight. How odd; the glare of a laptop giving him an evangelical aura. He sauntered back to his internet world where he was probably most commonly known probably with some sort of dull, unimaginative name. Such was life, such was the internet!

As he slipped on his cuffs and black tie, somebody grabbed him from the back. The faint sound of a roaring engine in the distance made Mr. Mayhem realize that the biker had shot off. Perhaps to get more of a crew, perhaps to get treated, the options were endless! Mitsy’s red hot hair faced him now and her eyes almost suited the same colour of doused Henna. “You are a real piece of work, you knot that?”

“Easy now, Mitsy!” said Paddy as he handed Mr. Mayhem his wallet from the jacket. “No identification on you, lad! What’s not to say you’re underage?” he added as he looked at the bloodied mess of Mayhem. His dark eyes pierced Paddy, the eyelids drooped and he bit the inside of his lip with a soft ‘Hmmm’; one raised, bloody eyebrow as his final answer. “Okay, I get it. I’m clutchin’ at straws.”

“HEY!” screamed Mitsy as the remaining drunkards sauntered back inside their second home. “What the f*ck was that?!” Any angrier and steam would just shoot right out of her pierced nose. She’d look like one very sexy, yet half-dangerous bull.

Mayhem let out a crooked smile as blood seeped out of his mouth. “I int as’ thor at.” I didn’t ask for that. “God-damnit! Get him inside; he needs to be patched up.” Paddy jogged back inside while Mitsy dragged Mayhem through the Main Bar and through the back into what were the old remnants of a staff room. A thick stench of stale coffee filled the air. Mayhem’s eyes drooped and he realized if he wasn’t acquainted with some painkillers soon, he’d surely pass out. Mitsy fumbled around for, most likely, a first aid kit and found it with a gasp. “Sit the f*ck down.” She pushed Mayhem, aiding him onto one of the brown, cotton chairs that exploded with a disturbing stench of coffee and puke. Or maybe that was just the injury.

“Stay still. I need to clean the wound,” Mitsy said as she dabbed Mr. Mayhem’s bleeding wound with a wet cloth. He stared at her eyes, watching with the intensity of any half-drunk beast who would sell their soul for a few days in bed with her. She focused on the wound with a determination that Mayhem had only seen a few times before. With laboured breaths and droopy eyes he exclaimed.

“Doctor.” He head drooped a little.

“What?” She asked as she held his head up with a tut and sigh.

“You…wanted…to be…a doctor.”

Her eyes widened and she took a gulp. This only lasted a moment as she cleared her throat and continued to clean the wound. “Stay still, I’ve got to wrap this.” Paddy stepped in with a cough and rubbed his chest.

“How’s the maniac coming along?”

Moments passed but Mayhem couldn’t really comprehend what happened. As two chalky pills slid down his throat, he felt a litter better. A bandage wrapped around his head, he felt like he was back in the hospital. Mitsy and Paddy spoke to each other but all that swilled in Mayhem’s ears was a metallic, distant ringing that followed him for minutes more. Eventually, Mitsy tapped him and smiled as some colour returned to his less-bloody face.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” he replied with sincerity. Those pills were magic.

“You do realize that Jesop might return?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t bother you he might kill you?”

“No.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“No.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes.”

He got up slowly, the dizziness, still apparent but not as strong. Mitsy stared at him. “What made you think I wanted to be a doctor?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head. Mayhem stared at his hand and brought it to his face. Peeking from behind his scarred hands, he said: “The way you looked. The determination and something else perhaps…”

“You are a strange man.” She rolled her eyes and yanked away Mayhem’s hand. “You’re not a typical patron. Why did you come here?”

“That’s a story not meant for ears.”

“What?” She squinted.

“Doesn’t Paddy want you back on the floor?”

“Not yet. You need to tell me what the f*ck your deal is. You just beat a biker without touching him, you smiled the whole time. You’re f*cking nuts.”
“We all go a little f*cking nuts sometimes.”

She turned to leave. Something stopped her. She turned. “I’m sorry.”

Mayhem’s hand had found it back onto his face. It felt good. The thick corrosive stench of bleach filled his nose. He bit the inside of his cheek and let out a slight ‘Hmm’ when Mitsy turned. She looked down to the floor and then back up. “Jesop would have crushed me out there, but you pulled me out of the way. I don’t know what you’d call it, but thankyou.”

“Chivalry?”

“Eh, maybe.” And with that, she turned to leave. Half-curious, half-wanting answers, half-busy. “Go into the backroom when you feel better.” Opening the door to the BackRoom, she gave half a concerned smile and stepped in, leaving Mayhem in the stinky staff room.




Mokrie Dela
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#76

Posted 05 July 2013 - 01:06 PM

Zach and Alfonso had watched the fight from inside, their alco-pops safely in hand.
"Little cun' got what was comin' to him, innit?" Zach laughed.
Alfonso grinned. "Who's that guy you pissed off at Tottenham?"
"Joey Barton?!" Zach guffawed. "He was Newcastle then, I think. He's just a thug, thinks he's hard."
"You got him sent off, at least."
Zach laughed again. "He got himself sent off. Besides, that's nothing compared to you. They wised up to your diving yet?"
"They keep taking me out!" Alfonso chuckled. "You know how agonizing it is, being tackled? Only thing that makes it better is --"
"Getting the free kick!" They both said in unison.
Zach slapped his hand on the bar and demanded more drinks.
"Haven't we got training tomorrow, Zachy boy?"
"Who gives a f*ck?" Zach downed half his drink in one go. "This is more fun."
"Till that psycho turns on us."
"Just go to ground!"
Alfonso laughed, loudly enough to attract the attention of everyone else in the bar. "They always fall for it. Refs are so stupid. Failed footballers!"
The TV in the corner flicked some of the Baseball scores. Soccer wasn't big enough that the Americans cared much - yet. They were drawing bigger and bigger crowds, but it still didn't touch the big Europeans or south Americans.
"You think Juan will take us both?"
Alfonso shrugged. "Getting bored here. Americans being all arrogant. Give me Barca or Real any day. Net some more. We keep linking up, and we're sorted."
"John's getting annoyed by it. He's figured out I won't pass to him. I don't want him taking my goals."
"Like that one against Philli? Not a bad shot. Cleared the keeper, completely a swish --"
"And bang, I come in and take it!"
"You almost put it over. Flamboyant little idiot!"
"Gotta try the scissors."
"Not backward you don't. Anyway I don't think John's gonna pass to us much more."
"Then tackle him. He's sh*t anyway."
"Fifteen so far this season."
"Yeah, only fifteen."
"You're on ten."
"And I've played seven. He's had double that."
"I think I'll take Gary out at training. Coach'll play you more then."
Zach laughed. "You know, maybe we should bring them back here, get them in a fight with that biker or the suit nutbar?"
"That's not a bad idea!" Alfonso slammed his bottle on the bar, cracking the glass and chipping the wood finish. "Come on, I think I will go training tomorrow. Show up the yankiedoodles."
"Sounds like a plan mister sunshine."
"Don't call me that, you pubic-haired scrote!"
Zach beamed a smile. "Teach me some Spanish words."
"Coger a su madre."


Zach Winters and Sergio Alfonso : Status, out of bar

Grand Theft Savage
  • Grand Theft Savage

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#77

Posted 06 July 2013 - 08:01 AM

Arnold Palmer
Martin "Marty" McLennan

Martin sits alone in his apartment. He was staring blankly at the small television in front of him with a dying cigarette between his fingers while sunk into his brown leather sofa.
His cell phone buzzed occasionally and rattled the small, glass coffee table in front of him. But today, he refused to answer any calls. He had been working as a Taxi driver full-time and it was time for a break.
Or at least that’s what he told himself. He glanced at the calendar tacked to his wall and knew this day was special. A day he feared because he did not know what exactly was in store for him.
An old friend, Arnold. This was the day he would be released from prison after a 6 year term. He was only 19 years old when he was arrested for first degree assault, a crime he committed for Marty in exchange for $17,000 up front, but Marty failed to pay him. Instead, he gave the police an anonymous tip that Arnold had stabbed a man half-way to death. This way, he wouldn’t have to pay him. A devious plan, but he made the mistake of not fleeing after doing this.
He figured that Arnold would catch on. But now he was awaiting death. Or so he thought.
Martin heard heavy, and very slow footsteps coming up the stairs toward the third floor where his apartment was. The steps reached the corridor and Marty could tell the person was heading to his place.
He grabbed his television remote and switched the power off, then quickly got up from his sofa and headed to his bedroom. He flicked on the lights and saw it was an absolute mess, along with the rest of his apartment. He rustled his unorganized closet and grabbed a shoe box. Inside was his 38. Snub-nosed Revolver, fully loaded.
3 sharp knocks on his door startled Marty as he took the gun out of the box. He put the revolver on his waist and shoved the box back into the closet. 4 more knocks onto his door, louder than the previous 3. Marty crept back to his living room slowly.
“Uh, who’s there?” Marty said, trying to sound surprised.
There were two loud slams on the door now, followed by a “hurry the f*ck up.” The voice was rough and unfamiliar. Realizing that, Marty went to unlock the door. But before he did, he put on hand on his revolver.
Marty cautiously cracked the door open, peeking out with one eye. Out in the corridor stood a young man with scrappy blonde hair. He was leaned against the wall with his hands stuffed within his pockets, wearing an unbuttoned jeans jacket, black cargo pants, and a long grey scarf tied around his neck.
“Arnold?” Marty asked.
“Hey,” Arnold replied, casually.
“So, you're finally back, huh? How have you been? Your voice is deeper, but you look exactly the same, man.”
“Cut the bullsh*t, Marty,” Arnold said in a very relaxed tone.
The two of them stood in front of each other with nothing between them but an awkward silence.
“Well… I… Listen," Marty began to explain. "I haven’t gotten a chance to-”
Arnold changed his stance, no longer leaning against the wall. He removed his hands from his pockets, revealing that they were now covered in tattoos. He stood up straight and showed that he was much more muscular than before. Marty took a step back into his apartment, afraid Arnold would try to strike him. Instead, Arnold reached down to grab a strapped-duffle bag next to him.
“You owe me. Big time,” Arnold began, with an intimidating yet very smooth voice. “I spotted a bar just around the corner; a short walking distance. Buy me a drink. We’ve got a lot of things to talk about.”
Marty stood at door in confusion for a second. It took him a while to grasp that Arnold was not joking. He pulled his duffle bag around his body and stuffed his hands back into his pockets.
“Come on, Marty. Let's go have ourselves a drink."
“Uh, yeah, let me go grab my coat,” Marty stammered.
He went to his coat rack and snatched his tan trench coat and put on his brown flat cap. Before leaving, he reassured that his revolver was fully loaded. Marty didn’t want to bring the gun inside of the bar, but he did not fully understand Arnold’s mindset and believed anything could happen.
He quickly stepped out into the corridor. Arnold stood by the stairs, watching Marty’s every move with a devilish look. He had the eyes of a demon, waiting to rip someone apart. It was the same look in his eyes that made Marty confident in him as a hitman 6 years ago. Marty avoided eye contact and began to jot down the stairs as Arnold followed.
“I’ve never been to a bar before,” Arnold said.
“Oh yeah? I think you’d like it. Especially this place.”
“So you’ve been there before?”
“Yeah, only twice, though. Last time I was there it got pretty heated. I never went back.”
The two of them made their way to the front entrance of the apartment building. The entire time, Marty had his hands on the revolver tucked in his waist, concealed by his overcoat. Arnold didn’t notice. He simply went to the front and pushed the door open. The two were outside and fiercely greeted by a cold air blowing in their faces. Only the sound of a very loud engine could be heard, coming towards Arnold and Marty. A biker riding alone , heading up the street at full speed. He shot them a quick and careless glance, and then was gone in an instant.


Ignore any mistakes. I'm better at writing scripts...
PatronUsernameStatusLocationRecent Activitiy
Arnold Palmer
Martin "Marty" McLennan
Grand Theft Savage
Approaching Bar
Approaching Bar
Murky Streets
Murky Streets
None
None

AceRay
  • AceRay

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#78

Posted 06 July 2013 - 07:14 PM Edited by AceRay, 07 July 2013 - 12:33 AM.

btw, I've run this idea past Mokrie and he's fine about it.

Hank Borrowitz

The apartment was grungy, cramped with rats running between the shadows illuminated by the single naked light bulb. Dirt and grease dirtied the ceilings and walls, cobwebs masking the corners. Old, rotten food and empty beer bottles littered the floor. The only other light in the room was the TV propped up on a deck chair running some unfunny Adam Sandler.

Xiu took her arms off around Hank and sat up on the edge of the squeaky, rusty old bed that certainly got its use. The old biker dude next to her was smoking a cheap cigarette. Xiu leant over and kissed his cheek, taking a deep smell of his body odor and smoky breath.
“I’ll see you next time,” she whispered softly under her breath. He looked deep into her narrow blue eyes and gave a quick smile showing a broken set of yellow teeth.
“Can’t you stay a lil’ bit longer?”
“Sorry, Two-Face would want me back by now,” she said as she slipped off the bed and meticulously put on the jacket that Hank had so quickly pulled off earlier that night.
“Remember that time I punched him in the face outside the hospital? That lil’ a-hole was screamin’ and shoutin’ like a hurt dog,” a smile lit up on her face as Hank sat up in his bed, revealing his hairy, tattooed chest, before picking up the remote and started to surf a few channels. Picking up the money from the bench, Xiu gave a wave goodbye and walked out the door, leaving Hank alone in his bed.

She was his favourite whore. He must have been seeing Xiu for at least a year now. She was probably Chinese, around thirty with short black hair, lovely long legs and an amazing smile. Not bad for a working girl, at least. She was the only person who had ever seen Hank rolled in a ball, tears pouring down his cheeks while sniffling and crying out for his mother. Hank wanted to grab Xiu and take her far away from the gang, from Two-Face, from his messed up family. But he knew a pretty young thing like that would never run off with a balding, long haired, pig-bellied old biker like Hank.

As he switched between an old tennis rerun and some infomercials, it dawned upon him how hideous he was when he could see his reflection occasionally in the TV. He had thick, ugly glasses mounted upon a crooked nose, above coarse, tough lips. His bald spot was growing bigger by the day and his ears perturbed outwards unattractively. What a waste, he thought to himself.

He was about to turn off the TV, when there was a knock on the door. Quickly sliding on some pants and a T-shirt, which had more than one curry stain flung across it, he slowly creaked open the door to find Forest, his brother, on the other side.

There were originally six siblings in the Borrowitz clan but that number had eventually dwindled down to three. Reuban was the oldest, which meant he was the glue that held everyone together, shouldering and protecting his siblings from the abuse inflicted by Ma and Pa. He was also the first welcomed into the brotherhood, which lead to his downfall ten years ago when he was thirty-five and Hank was thirty-two, found mangled under the wreck of his bike as roadkill, probably with heroin running through his veins. Reuban always did like the heroin, Hank always thought he’d overdose beforehand though. Bucky got into a drunken brawl and had a shard of glass sliced into his earhole. Their baby sister Mandy caught an STD in an airport. It was a pathetic family history, to say the least.

“Where is Jesop ?” he asked as he barged into the room. By passing his bar exam, Forest was the most successful of the brothers by far in terms of being the biker’s lawyer for the constant legal issues that arose and he had an air of importance about him. Instead of a biker jacket, he wore a suit with little Hell’s Angel badges under the sleeves. He had taken the role of the family mediator after Reuban’s death, despite the fact he was now the youngest at thirty-eight.
“I don’t know,” Hank managed to splutter as he took a seat at could be laughably the main table.
“Did he say anything to you? Where he was going?” Forest continued to pace around the room in search of answers.
“No,”
“Was anyone talking ‘bout him?”
“I haven’t seen him for about a month,”
“He’s gone off the bender, the gang kicked him out, and he’s going to get himself killed,”
“Another good old family reunion,” funnily enough, a month ago it was Hank who needed to be pulled from the disparity of his hopeless life, having to be talked off of jumping off a roof and making a nice red stain on the pavement.
“Where does he hang out?” Forest pulled out a cigarette and started to smoke it heavily. The stress put wrinkles on his face and grey hairs on his head.
“I don’t know, that club, that biker bar, that other bar. We can have him found in about an hour ,”
“I don’t want you running around, Hank, I just came to find out where Jesop is. Have you been taking your crazy pills?” that was what everyone called his pills to calm down his violent temper and possible schizophrenia, just say ‘crazy pills’ and it explains everything.
“Of course,” he lied. He had gone off them for about a week and had hidden them under his bed. Forest let out a long sigh and Hank wasn’t sure if he was going to slap him.
“Alright, go get your gear and go to a few bars, I’ll check around police stations and the like, don’t get into any trouble, you hear,” and with that, he burst out of his room and drove away in his Chevy Cobalt, leaving Hank alone once again. Forest had so many cases and problems in his life he didn’t have time to worry about everything Jesop and Hank did, just give them some crazy pills and stick them in an apartment until their next bender and hope for the best, not to mention a crumbling marriage with kids involved, none of which Hank had ever met before.

He chuckled to himself and put on some old, rugged jeans and gloves, before finally picking up his jacket and leaving for the door. “Here I come,” he whispered as he locked up and ran to his bike hidden in the garage.

Hank: current location: out of bar
Hub: http://www.gtaforums...st&p=1062649084

Osric
  • Osric

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#79

Posted 07 July 2013 - 11:46 PM

(First post! This is a little short and kind of done on-the-fly, so bear with me. Also, for some reason, I can't change the color of my font to green)

Spike Connelly

The night was clear and warm, and Spike Connelly was wandering the streets of the town, bored out of his mind. He was from Ireland, and had come to visit some relatives in Virginia, but had decided to go look for something to do on the way as he trekked across America. After arriving in New York City, he took a train to a city two towns over and then the last bus to this town. Due to a scheduling error, Spike was here for the weekend and decided to kill some time, maybe find a place to get a drink and mingle with the locals.

"Damn, it's warm out. And my feet f*cking hurt from all this walking." the dark-haired young man of athletic build thought to himself. Even in a black tank top and plain gray jeans, Spike felt uncomfortably warm as he walked through the quiet streets on this summer night. He was hot, he was bored out of his mind, and he was looking for a drink and maybe a quick meal. Not having a car or an American driver's license made things difficult for him. It seemed ever since he got off the plane, all he did was waiting or walking. But soon, his spirits began to rise as he looked to the side and saw something across the street that caught his attention. Something he was looking for. A bar.

"Thank God." he whispered under his breath before crossing the near-empty street and entering the bar. Spike could grab himself a pint and a snack, and maybe have a nice chat with one of the locals.

He didn't know what lay ahead of him....


Spike Connelly
Current Location: About to enter the bar.

Grand Theft Savage
  • Grand Theft Savage

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#80

Posted 08 July 2013 - 06:46 AM

QUOTE (Osric @ Sunday, Jul 7 2013, 23:46)
The night was clear and warm

Sorry to be that one guy, but isn't it suppose to be winter?

Osric
  • Osric

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#81

Posted 08 July 2013 - 01:26 PM

QUOTE (Grand Theft Savage @ Monday, Jul 8 2013, 06:46)
QUOTE (Osric @ Sunday, Jul 7 2013, 23:46)
The night was clear and warm

Sorry to be that one guy, but isn't it suppose to be winter?

Did not catch that. I can and will fix my post.

aritrabose
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#82

Posted 28 July 2013 - 12:02 PM Edited by aritrabose, 29 July 2013 - 03:55 PM.

Agni Roychoudhuri
Status : Alive and Sober


Agni entered the bar, went up to the main room and sat on a stool. "One Beer."
"Rough night?" Mitsy asked, noticing the gash on his forehead.
"Yeah" Agni replied, humming with 'Welcome to the Family' that was being played on the Radio.
Suddenly a drunk man burst into the room, it was some drunk bastard.
"I am gonna kill all of ya'll, ya hear, all of ya'll, I'll start with that Misty bitch."
"Calm down man, you don't need to kill anyone." Agni said, scratching his beard."And if you do, I'm gonna arrest ya'".
The drunk pulled out a small sawn-off shotgun."Okay Copper, it's you n' me."
Agni got up and cracked his knuckles."Let's do it like men."
The Drunk holstered the gun and flailed his fist, Agni dodged, then returned a left hook.
Mr. drunk cursed with all his might and kicked Agni, who dodged and returned a kick of his own, then repented the deed.
"f*ck", thought Agni "If he figured out the knife wound in my leg, I'm gonna get it."
Agni limped forward with his fist, Drunk punched him.
"Okay, now I'm gonna kill you!" Agni shouted, then quickly took the drunk by the collar and threw him into a table.
The drunk might have been 6 feet 1 inch tall, but this man had 5 inches, 50 pounds and a cool brain that was sober.
"That should teach you your lesson." Agni shouted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That's all I can think of now, CYA biggrin.gif

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#83

Posted 28 July 2013 - 01:12 PM

@aritra

Gonna be quite critical with this, sorry.

1. Avoid fighting.
2. Keep it real.
3. Mokrie's character wouldn't do that.
4. "this man had 5 inches" giggity
5. Use character colours.
6. Mokrie is a man.

Still, I liked the flow.

smile.gif

aritrabose
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#84

Posted 28 July 2013 - 03:43 PM

QUOTE (Vice President @ Sunday, Jul 28 2013, 13:12)
@aritra

Gonna be quite critical with this, sorry.

1. Avoid fighting.
2. Keep it real.
3. Mokrie's character wouldn't do that.
4. "this man had 5 inches" giggity
5. Use character colours.
6. Mokrie is a man.

Still, I liked the flow.

smile.gif

Oh sh*t! I'll edit it right now.

AceRay
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#85

Posted 04 August 2013 - 11:01 PM

There's a 50 word limit right?

Fujimoto Kumiko

Kumiko casually walked into the bar. A fight was finishing as he walked in.

He took a seat at the bar.

He ordered a beer. It arrived in a bottle.

It arrived and he sipped it gently.

He could hear someone typing loudly behind him.

He finished the beer.

Nobody had noticed that he was covered in blood.

Fujimoto Kumiki: current location: bar main room

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#86

Posted 05 August 2013 - 12:05 PM

Jesop's apartment was fitting with his life. The floorboards were bare, and he'd lost many cents down the gaps in them. Perhaps one day the super might have the pipes done and find fifty dollars worth of zinc/copper coins. Such a small denomination didn't bother him; it was only a cent.
There was an old, overstuffed sofa, sitting perpendicular to the lone window which rattled violently every time a train tore past on the el-rail tracks. The other side of the window was his TV - probably the most expensive thing in the room. A coat stand stood by the door with an old shoe rack.
Jesop's bedroom was much of the same; an old, creaky bed and a cupboard badly in need of a new coat of varnish. Most of his clothes were slung over a chair and once useful desk, beside another window with loose panes, a stones through from the rail tracks. His bathoom was cramped and his kitchen was not a room but a corner of his main room. He loved the apartment, even though it was a cliched sh*thole.

Jesop crossed the living room, kicking empty beer and whiskey bottles aside as he approached the kitchen area. There was a single table beside the TV with two old, wobbly chairs. On that table was a pile of chinese takeout containers and empty Pizza boxes - almost empty; one had two slices of pizza left. He picked up the cold food and scoffed it down, finding no half-full bottles to wash it down with, so instead hooking his head under the kitchen tap.

A train rolled past, rocking the apartment in its passage. The living room window was open slightly - it didn't close - and the smell of the city wafted in, although Jesop had gotten used to the vehicle fumes, cigarette smoke and food odors from the multitude of restaurants and takeout shops that lined the road. It was a slice of America's ass-hole, that he lived in, and the first week had been a nightmare with the smells. He either felt hungry enough to eat a horse or, if he had eaten enough, the smell of food made him sick. He'd started buying air fresheners, but they did nothing. In the end he put up with it, often walking to whatever eatery he could smell the most and yielding to its wares.
Alcohol helped numb his senses, as it had since California. Whenever it rained, the water would find its way through the broken window, and the arm of his sofa closest to the window was ruined by damp. He never sat that end anyway - apart from the nights where he fell asleep in front of the TV, and even then only his feet touched that end - and never had guests.

The Pizza tasted off. He didn't even remember ordering that pizza. Last one he ordered was tuna, and he'd ate that in one sitting, as hungry as he was. Had he ordered one since, and been too drunk to remember, or had it been sitting there for weeks?
The cheese was not green, he decided, so it couldn't have been that long, and even if the cheese was moldy, it would only help his perpetual sinus-cold.

He checked the time, and realized it was time for work, working at that sh*tty scrapyard. He slapped the TV on and searched for his keys - they always disappeared, probably because he threw them randomly when he came in.
He frowned at the TV. For a moment he stared in confusion, then checked his phone.
"You dick," he said to himself, realizing that today was not a work day. That meant he may as well head down the Polish supermarket where the booze was dirt cheap. He wondered how long it'd be until they changed their prices or got shut down. That would be a shame. He'd have to find another cheap shop. How inconvenient.
He walked to the window and stared out, up at the clouds. Looked like rain. Probably worth while getting some microwave TV dinners and fries and sh*t, he told himself. He hated going out in the rain for the takeout - he only ordered it by phone when he had enough credit and was too drunk, tired or lazy to go out. He liked entering the shop, to the smell and heat, seeing the menu and talking to someone - to a real face, not the handset of a phone.

He looked down, wondering if tonight was a takeout night and if so, what one. He saw the man on the sidewalk, a piece of paper in his hand, his head turning as though looking for something.
"Looks like Hank," he laughed. Just then the man looked at the building and looked up. Jesop saw his face, clearly through the gap between the building and the track. His window was too grubby for Hank to see him, but Jesop jumped back from the window anyway.
"What the f*ck are you doing here?!" He breathed. "F*ck. How did you find me?"
He had to go out. He had to just run, but Hank had entered the building. Jesop spun, looking again for his keys, hooking his arm through his leather jacket. He tied his dirty white bandana around his head and caught the tiny reflection of light from the metal keys. He snatched them and turned to the door.

From inside his cliched apartment, he saw another cliche. The shadow of Hanks feet danced through the crack under the door. The door shook as Hanks bear-like paw slammed into it, knuckles first.
"Jesop!" The voice eradicated any doubt Jesop had."
"F*ck!" Jesop breathed, backing away from the door. He hurried into his bedroom and to the window that worked, pushing it up and leaning out of it.
"It's Hank! You there?"
"F*ck, f*ck, f*ck!" Jesop rasped, climbing out of the window. "What the f*ck do you want?"

Jesop took a deep breath and leapt. He instantly hit the el-track, not rolling gracefully but ending up face-first next to the rails. He recovered and climbed carefully across the track. He'd seen someone do that once; misstep and touch the wrong track. They stood upright, as though suddenly inflated with air, and their foot started to smoke. They then caught fire, and in the end, resembled a burned chicken leg.

Jesop hurried along the track, to the station that was only a block away. From there he looped round to the rear of his apartment, where he retrieved his bike (which he kept under a sheet of oily tarpaulin). He gunned the engine, knowing Hank would hear it, and tore off down the backstreet. By the time Hank would reach the alley, Jesop would be long gone.
"I f*cking hope that rich f*ck of a brother of mine isn't with him," he said as he sped through the traffic.

There was only one place he thought to go...

AceRay
  • AceRay

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#87

Posted 09 December 2013 - 09:01 AM

Okay, let’s make this interesting.

Fujimoto Kumiko

 

Kumiko called over to Paddy, who moved slowly to the tall Japanese man with short black hair and a slender physique, dressed in the nice suit with a striking red tie.

“We need to talk,”
“What is it?” said the bartender in his heavy Irish accent. He recognized the man before. Often he would take and seat and look calmly across the crowd. He had come in the last few days, repeating the same movements, but of course Paddy did not pay any attention to them.
“In private, if you don’t mind,” Kumiko’s voice was cool and collected as he leapt off the seat and led Paddy into the hallway. He moved calmly down the hallway and out into the alleyway, where sirens could be heard roaring in the distance and the smell of desperation was lingering in the air.

Paddy was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and held him down on the ground, the bartender taken by shock at their strength and the sudden attack. Two men held him down to the concrete as he looked up at Kumiko, who chuckled and leant down next to him.
“Listen very carefully, Mr O’Fallon. We’re going to play a little game,” Kumiko pulled out a small, dirty cigarette from his pocket and slowly lit it, smoke billowing from his mouth. “There’s a bomb in this bar. If you don’t give me some much needed information, I will detonate it,” at this, he pulled out a small button. Paddy gasped at the sight out it, too frightened to say.
It was then that Paddy noticed the blood on Kumiko’s clothes. One of the henchmen, wearing fingerless gloves, waved a knife in front of Paddy’s face from above out of sight. The other guy still held him to the ground.
“Oh, it was such a tragedy, how that poor businessman who didn’t keep his mouth shut got butchered right next to his wife, how senseless.”
“They’ll never connect me for murdering some random guy, they’ll see right through it,” secretly, he knew how corrupt the courts in this city were, but a man with nothing left will often clutch as straws to get out of any situation.
“That’s right, they won’t,” Kumiko stood up and took a small walk. “But they will for your cousin,”
“Does the name, Malachy O’Fallon mean anything to you?” images of Paddy’s broken and shaken childhood flashed in front of his eyes as he remembered curling up in a ball in a Limerick slum next to Malachy and Jodie, his sister. He saw Malachy descend into a whirlpool of alcohol and drugs, moving in and out of prison for the past few years, most likely unstable by now, moving around a lot and hard to track down. He would be the perfect patsy to blame a random murder on. They hadn’t talked in five years, even though he lived around three hours drive from the bar. “Malachy was once employed by Francis Miles Bolton, a wealthy power broker who once employed your cousin, before he decided to cross us,” the suited man once again leant down and stared into Paddy’s eyes. “Look Mr O’Fallon, it’s a simple choice. Tell us where your brother lives and you’ll never see us again and you can go on with your life as if nothing ever happened. Or, find your bar blown off the face of the earth. Your choice,” Paddy didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he hadn’t seen Malachy in so long and he had spent years trying to build up this establishment to where it was now. But in the end, there was one rule he couldn’t break; betraying his family was a crime he would never forgive himself for.
“I refuse, you bastards. Now let me go!”
Kumiko sucked the last bit of goodness in the cigarette before throwing it on the ground and lifting up Paddy’s head. “I know this is a big decision so I’ll give a couple of minutes to reconsider.”
Paddy felt the heavy kick in his chest from the thug’s steal boot and pondered his choice as the slim Asian man watched, his hand waiting on the trigger.
Do what you want to the bar, thought Paddy, I’ll never talk.

Fujimoto Kumiko: Current Location: Alleyway.

 

Here’s the deal: Writers, you have one week (real life time) to stop Kumiko blowing up the Bar. There needs to be a minimum of two writers writing at least three stories between them of 500 words or more each entry, detailing how they stop the bar from blowing up. If you fail, the Bar will be blown up FOREVER. So get writing.


AceRay
  • AceRay

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#88

Posted 18 December 2013 - 03:55 AM

BOOM!

 

Kumiko pressed the button with extreme prejudice, before calming walking away from the explosion with his comrades into the night. The fire cackled and debris flew over the streets. The patrons ran engulfed in flames, screaming at the top of their lungs as their voices began to burn. Mitsy's eyes turned back inside their sockets as her skin burnt to a crisp and her face crinkled, her arm . Dead Eye Jefferson's legs got blown off the in initial explosion, leaving him inhaling smoke on the ground as people died around him. Paddy cursed as the sirens began to arrive around him and put out the fire, tears slowly rolling down his face as the fire raged out of control in front of him.

 

THREAD CLOSED.


Mr. House
  • Mr. House

    Lucky 38

  • The Precinct
  • Joined: 18 Oct 2013
  • United-States

#89

Posted 18 December 2013 - 05:04 AM

Oh well no big deal. This bar had a pretty low rating on whichbar.com anyway, I certainly wouldn't have drank here.


Coat.
  • Coat.

    notorious thugs

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
  • None

#90

Posted 18 December 2013 - 06:03 AM

 

 

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.

 

Aceray, you must of forgotten this rule? No, I can't blame you. You seemed to really like the idea of this topic and I can see you tried to save it as well but in the end, all good things must come to an end. 

 

And as for Nale Dixon - all your posts I've read on this forum have tried to be comedic in some way but just turn out to make you look and sound naive and frankly, annoying.

 

Anywho, I guess this thread is going to be locked now? 





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