90s Noir: The City's Dying Breath - OOC

[Sho Buraiken]

==THE CITY'S DYING BREATH==
=AN EXPLORATION OF 90s NOIR=

Pictured Above: The Vanitas Casino District, 1996

The story so far...

Vanitas, 1976.

Intended to be the next Las Vegas, Vanitas was the poorly-executed dream of young playboy millionaire Francis Blake. Technically classified as a resort, this small collection of casinos, spas, and glamorous restaurants was met with initial success beyond Blake's expectations, and soon a small city of sorts sprang up around the resort. First came hotels, then condos, then apartment buildings, grocery stores... a community was born, which ended up being rather unfortunate for Blake. Instead of visiting and pouring money into the casinos, people were living there, investing their earnings and settling down.

Vanitas, now officially a city, became less and less profitable for Blake by the day. Due to his role in founding the city, Blake was given a seat on the city council and even served as mayor for a term, but his profiteering ambitions didn't mesh with the council's idea of planned expansion. Soon the resort was eclipsed in importance by office buildings, schools, and hospitals. The casinos began hemorrhaging money, and soon Blake's fortune was a comparatively paltry sum. At this point, well-known mob boss Don Cartigo stepped in and offered Blake a loan to keep the resort open for another year.

This was a very poor decision on Blake's part. The resort continued to do poorly, and Blake didn't make nearly enough to pay off Cartigo, especially with the added cost of his rather high interest rate on top of the interest loan. This had been Cartigo's plan all along; Blake sold the resort to Cartigo in the end, and to make up for his "debt", he became the Cartigo family's personal puppet on the city council.

A decade passes. Cartigo now has the city almost completely in his grasp. After paying off more than a few officials, the Cartigo family achieved a majority on the council, despite a rather straight-laced mayor. Cartigo also masterminded the rise of the wildly incompetent Stanley Trappe to the position of police commissioner. Under Trappe's leadership, little is done to crack down on Cartigo's operations, which include drug trafficking, firearms sales, and prostitution. However, some believe that Trappe isn't stupid as much as he is allied with Cartigo; any rackets of rival mob families are quickly and efficiently put down, but Cartigo's operations are never touched, oddly enough.

Vanitas quickly becomes one of the most dangerous places to live, but also one of the most profitable ones... provided you don't interfere with Cartigo's business. Due to the incompetence of law enforcement, the city also becomes a hotspot for private investigators; people and precious items often go missing, and with Trappe heading the police department, little headway is made in righting such wrongs, necessitating the hiring of outside help. These PIs are often given a lot more leniency (once again due to Trappe's lack of skill) than in other countries, often causing them to cross the line into bounty hunter and even vigilante territory.

This all changes in 1996, when Cartigo miraculously dies of natural causes, something very rare for a Mafia Don. The Cartigo operation splinters into many smaller factions under the incompetent leadership of Cartigo's son, Franco. The Cartigo's longstanding monopoly quickly falls apart and the rate of violent crime climbs uncontrollably as a result of factions scrambling for profitable territory. Trappe resigns from his position quickly after Cartigo's death, and is replaced by young hotshot Harold Jefferson, who seems to be above blackmail and is prepared to do "anything it takes" to eradicate the crime problem, something that truly strikes fear into the hearts of the many small factions that now inhabit Vanitas.

The streets aren't safe anymore, if they were ever safe to begin with. With crime on the rise but a newly motivated police force, who knows what could happen next in the black pearl of the United States, Vanitas?

The major players...

Faction Name: The Cartigo Family

Faction Turf: Although the influence of the Cartigo Family use to spread across all of Vanitas, what remains of their operation now stays primarily in the lower east side of the city, the industrial center of Vanitas. What used to be the most imposing collection of arms, drugs, and cold hard cash in the city has now been reduced to three warehouses on the waterfront, although what does remain is heavily guarded, with thugs at every door. The Cartigo mansion, half of which burned down when the Vigotellis attempted to snuff out Cartigo's heir, Bluto Cartigo, remains an eyesore on Rainy Street in Midtown, the upper class suburbs on the north side of Vanitas.

Purpose: The Cartigo family used to have total control over the extremely profitable markets of drugs and weapons, although ever since the operation splintered, the family's been hemorrhaging money trying to keep a hold in both fields. Unable to compete with the many splintering factions undercutting their prices, the Cartigo family is caught up in several turf wars trying to regain their hold on these markets, while selling petty amounts of drugs and guns to stay afloat.

Characteristics: The Cartigo family is now mostly composed of those not smart enough to jump ship when the Don died, so don't expect a great deal of intelligence or competence from any of its members. While the family still has a great deal of footsoldiers in its employ, made men in the family dress in expensive suits and all wear a golden ring bearing a large C on their right hand. Regardless of its unorganized state, Cartigo men are usually trained killers, so it's not easy to push them around.

Important People:
Bluto Cartigo - Don Cartigo's heir and the current head of the family. A young, short, portly manchild of only 20 years, Bluto is neither imposing nor competent in his position. Many believe it was due to his poor management skills that the family splintered. A spoiled brat and an overt cocaine addict, many believe control of the family should never have been given to him.

History: The long-standing jewel in the shit crown of Vanitas' criminal underworld, the once great and powerful Cartigo family has nearly died out following Don Cartigo's death. Now barely staying afloat, the Cartigo family currently battles the police as they attempt to stamp out what remains of this once glorious family.

Relations:
The Vigotelli Crime Family - Furio Vigotelli, Don Cartigo's former right hand man, has recently become the head of his own family since Cartigo's death. Vigotelli, sensing that Bluto wouldn't be able to hold the family together without his father, was one of the first to stab Cartigo in the back, defecting from the family and taking a third of the operation with him. Since then the Vigotellis have been taking advantage of under the table deals to rob the Cartigos of most of their weapons deal contracts. The Vigotellis have been in an open war with the Cartigos since they attempt to burn down the Cartigo mansion and kill Bluto.

The Dukes - Most of the suppliers and dealers who used to handle the narcotics side of the Cartigo family have formed a new gang called the Dukes, essentially pushing the Cartigos out of the drug market by absorbing most of their operation. Many Cartigo footsoldiers have died raiding Duke warehouses, causing both factions to declare open war on each other.

Vanitas Police Department - Stamping out what remains of the Cartigo family has been a top priority of the VPD since Jefferson became chief of police. As a result, several officer deaths have been traced back to Cartigo hitmen, many of whom top the VPD's most wanted list.

Faction Name:The Vigotelli Family

Faction Turf: Aside from a small section belonging to the Cartigo's, the Vigotellis keep to the waterfront warehouses of the lower east side, many of which hold crates of weapons and explosives in addition to lumber and other construction materials. The higher ranking members of the Vigotelli family live in the Gilded Lord Hotel, a swanky, five-star hotel in the casino district of Vanitas. Furio Vigotelli himself lives in the penthouse suite, surrounded at all times by armed guards.

Purpose: Masquerading under the guise of a construction supply company, Vigotelli Supply Inc., the Vigotelli family is the most prominent arms dealer in Vanitas, with standing contracts to many prominent factions across the city. Unlike the Cartigos, the Vigotelli family maintains a facade of legality with the construction supply business, meaning they're under the radar of the police department for the most part. Vigotelli seeks to build a criminal empire to rival that of what the Cartigo family used to be.

Characteristics: Most of the workers for the Vigotelli Supply company double as footsoldiers, so as far as the thugs are concerned, one should always be wary around someone wearing Vigotelli Supply company coveralls or jumpsuits. Made men in the Vigotelli family appear less conspicuous than that of those of other families, usually taking the guise of dock managers or warehouse foremen. While lower level thugs fight with construction equipment and other inconspicuous tools, never underestimate the amount of heat they could be packing; working for the biggest arms dealer in the city typically means high-class toys.

Important People:
Furio Vigotelli - Former right hand man of Don Cartigo, Vigotelli is a middle-aged man who appears humble, handsome, and fatherly, but this only hides his true colors as a cutthroat businessman with profit always at the forefront of his thoughts. A sly criminal genius, Vigotelli is good at maximizing profits while avoiding costly scuffles with other gangs, save the Cartigo family, against which he has a rather large vendetta.

History: The Vigotelli family rose to prominence following Cartigo's death under the leadership of Furio Vigotelli. By acquiring most of the weapons contracts of the Cartigos and buying out a construction supply company on the waterfront as a cover, Vigotelli struck a careful balance between profit and legality. Despite his usual calm, passive attitude, Vigotelli began a war with the Cartigo family by attempting to kill Bluto Cartigo by burning his house down.

Relations: The Cartigo Family - The Vigotelli family is currently engaged in a war with the remnants of the Cartigo family.

Many of the factions of Vanitas rely on the Vigotellis for their weapons, so they hold contracts with several other operations across the city.

Faction Name: The Dukes

Faction Turf: The Dukes make their home on Washington Avenue, a particularly shady and dangerous street well known for meth labs, growhouses, and dealer hangouts -- basically a narcotics hotspot. Housing projects that have fallen into disrepair line the streets, providing living quarters and hideouts for the Dukes and their friends. A dealer on every corner and armed thugs always watching closely to make sure deals go off without a hitch, any cop or other do-gooder would be wise to steer clear. The Duke courtyard, a small enclosure in the middle of the largest project on the street (the Jefferson Estates), serves as a popular Dukes hangout and a meeting place when the shit goes down.

Purpose: The Dukes are in the business of selling drugs, and that's all. Preferring not to dabble in the other muddy business of turf wars and backstabbing, they keep to themselves unless they're really provoked.

Characteristics: The Dukes are a multiracial gang comprised mostly of blacks and hispanics. Preferring to keep a low profile, the Dukes dress in typical urban fashion, identifying themselves largely with their gang color - orange. Higher level thugs and dealers have a D tattooed on the underside of their wrist for easy identification. Most Duke dealers and footsoldiers carry pistols and knives that can be easily concealed, but they're not afraid to roll out the heavy ordinance if need be.

Important People: Ricardo Dominguez - The leader of the Dukes. Formerly the head of the narcotics division of the Cartigo family, he jumped ship and basically stole the Cartigo drug monopoly out from under their powdered noses. A careful drug lord, Ricardo does most of his communicating over the phone or through a messenger, and stays locked up under heavy watch in an unassuming apartment on the top floor of the Jefferson Estates. A man who does not use his own products, Dominguez is a devout catholic and a reasonable man, but he's not afraid to get his hands dirty to get the job done. Happy to deal with anyone, Dominguez is a businessman first and a criminal second.

History: The Dukes were born out of the great schism of the Cartigo empire, and have remained a profitable enterprise since. Due to the fact they operate in such a tightly managed and concentrated area, the police prefer not to trifle in their affairs, as the war on crime often takes priority over the war on drugs in Jefferson's eyes. The Dukes have essentially cornered the market on drug distribution in Vanitas since they began operation, and they often put competitors out of business not by force, but with better prices and service.

Relations:
The Jackals - Given that the Dukes are a gang of drug addicts and junkies whose influence extends only to the end of Washington Avenue, Dominguez negotiated an alliance with the Jackals, a group of violent, nearly insane burnouts who live on the adjacent Kennett avenue for protection. In exchange for discounts on their product, the Dukes are now often accompanied by members of the Jackals on a regular basis to make sure that important deals and deliveries go down smoothly. Many members of the Dukes criticize Dominguez for allying with these brutes, but nobody complains about the extra muscle.

The Cartigo family - While primarily a one-sided conflict, the Cartigos have declared open war on the Dukes in an effort to regain their footing in the narcotics market. Preferring not to get bogged down in such matters, Dominguez often ignores Bluto's threats, dismissing them as the whining of an impudent child.

Faction Name: The Jackals

Faction Turf: The Jackals make their home on Kennett Avenue, another street of housing projects adjacent to Washington. Several hoop-less basketball courts, covered in graffiti and surrounded by rusty, bent chain-link fences line the streets, with a baseball field devoid of grass and stained with blood at the end of the row on the corner of Washington and Kennett. These fields are called Dens by the Jackals, and the big baseball field is simply known as the Diamond. Within the Jackals are smaller, tribe-like groups who each claim a Den for their own hangout. Larger meetings are held in the Diamond, but a gathering of all the Jackals is rare given their reclusive nature.

Purpose: The Jackals are a gang in more of the "Clockwork Orange" sense than a "Godfather" sort of way; they thrive on chaos and brutality, not profit or influence. Their leader dubs the Jackals as a "masculist" movement, hoping to regain the primal, dog-eat-dog nature in which man once lived, but the lower ranking members of the gang think of the gang as a way to do drugs and fuck shit up for fun.

Characteristics: The Jackals are not defined by what they wear, but rather by their preference for elaborate tribal tattoos. Many prefer to go shirtless to show off their impressive ink, but otherwise they dress like common junkies with a more punk-rock heavy metal twist. The Jackals organize themselves into smaller subfactions called Dens, each Den hanging out on one of the many basketball courts on the street. Each Den is themed after a certain animal and has a leader, a position usually achieved by defeating the previous leader in single combat; each Den leader wears a necklace made out of animal teeth corresponding to the Den's animal. Promotion is earned by being the strongest, so Den leaders and above are typically extremely skilled brawlers, usually with some background in martial arts. Any Den leader has the opportunity to challenge the Chief of the Jackals for his position at any meeting, but so many have died in the process that few bother anymore. Due to the chaotic and dangerous nature of the organization, most of the Jackals are young men, but the gang is unique in that they are racially diverse and turn no one down due to color or creed. Even some women have been allowed to join.

The Jackals typically don't carry firearms unless they have to, but expect a lot of melee weapons -- knives, baseball bats, shovels, machetes, hockey sticks; the more obscure, the better. All of the fights within the organization, however, are simply hand to hand and one-on-one, a la Fight Club. The Jackals fight dirty, and are not afraid to seriously fuck up opponents if need be. Because of this, most police officers stay away from Kennett, fearing for their lives.

Important People:
Chief James Dawkins - Most of the Jackals simply call him Chief. Founder of the Jackals and an ex-military psychologist, Chief Dawkins returned from service in Africa a jaded man, filled with greed. After seeing the brutality and profit gleaned from tribal conflict overseas, Dawkins began the Jackals as a social experiment in bringing back the primal, masculine nature of the past and inserting it into the modern world, believing Vanitas to be the perfect blank slate on which to test this idea. Cartigo's operation forced Dawkins to lay low for a while, but since the family splintered, the Jackals has finally blossomed into the chaos he'd envisioned. An extremely muscly tower of a white man, Dawkins is perhaps the most heavily tattooed of all the Jackals, with tribal markings all over his body.

History: The Jackals began as a small sect of deranged young men under Dawkins' rule in 1990, slowly growing while making sure to stay off of Don Cartigo's radar. Ever since Don's death, however, the Jackals have been growing at an alarming rate and allying with other factions.

Relations:
The Dukes - The Jackals, many of whom are amphetamine junkies, have allied with the Dukes, exchanging their manpower for discounts of drugs. Their relationship is uneasy, but honest. Neither side has any intention of screwing the other over yet.

The Street Knights - Being basically the antithesis of what the Street Knights believe in, the Knights are a common target of vandalism and assault by the Jackals. The Knights consider themselves above petty rivalries, but have begun venturing onto Kennett street more often than usual.

Faction Name: The Street Knights

Faction Turf: The Street Knights have different branches in many of the suburbs of Vanitas, but their headquarters is a tidy little office on the corner of Main street and 2nd. Not exactly a fortress, the main office had little more than a conference room, a few cubicles, and a computer bank that holds information on all reports made, patrol logs included.

Purpose: Basically the neighborhood watch on steroids, the Street Knights are a non-profit anti-crime organization that is dedicated to protecting the common citizens of Vanitas from harm. Despite fighting an uphill battle, the Knights do their best to right wrongs when the police can't, which is sadly quite often. The Knights never seek to go on the offensive against crime like the VPD, remaining on the citizen's side more than anything else. The Knights are often viewed as more of a neutral entity than anything, and they are often employed as mediators when opposing gangs wish to negotiate peace. Always cooperative with both the police department and private investigators, the Knights are one of the few truly virtuous entities remaining in Vanitas.

Characteristics: The Street Knights' standard uniform is a bright neon green safety vest and a black baseball cap with their logo stitched on the front, an outfit chosen to make them easily identifiable in case of an emergency. Its member base is composed primarily of ex-police officers, former soldiers, and security guards. The Knights don't ever actively pursue leads or criminals, but rather patrol areas with high crime rates to ensure the safety of common citizens and report any news of suspicious activity that comes their way. However, if they witness a crime or run into a well-known criminal, they won't hesitate to take action and make citizen's arrests. The Knights never carry lethal firearms, preferring to stick with tasers, pepper spray, heavy maglites, and zipcuffs.

Important People:
Marvin Nash - The founder of the Street Knights and the organization's current president, Marvin Nash used to be nothing more than a 9 to 5 rent-a-cop at a department store. When his wife was murdered by a mugger who took things too far, Nash was furious with the VPD for not being able to catch the man responsible. Vowing to make sure that no one else would ever have to suffer the same loss he did, Nash consolidated the many individual neighborhood watch groups across the city under one banner -- the Street Knights. A kind but firm leader with a tough stance on crime, Nash is well into his fifties and still goes out on patrol every day. It is due to Nash's leadership that the Knights refuse to carry lethal firearms while on patrol.

Stanley Trappe - The former VPD police commissioner threw his support behind the Street Knights after his resignation from the office, joining up as Vice President. While some believe this is just a shallow attempt at public redemption for his incredibly lax stance on organized crime during Cartigo's reign, his heart is in the right place and his experience as police chief has made the Knights more efficient than ever. Trappe, unlike Nash, believes that every Knight should be carrying a gun when out on patrol, and is pushing to arm the Knights as soon as possible despite Nash's wishes.

History: Begun in 1988 by Nash, the Street Knights have been making the streets of Vanitas safer one neighborhood at a time. While at first the organization only watched over a small part of the city, new branches of the Street Knights have been opening up all over Vanitas since Cartigo died. While this has been making the streets a little bit safer, it has also earned them the ire of the many gangs whose territory is being encroached upon by these pesky do-gooders.

Relations: The Knights are an independent and neutral investigation who don't ally themselves with anyone, nor make enemies of anyone in particular. They are simply out to stop all crime of any form, and assist those who also wish to stop crime in any way they can.

Faction Name: The Black Eyes

Faction Turf: The Black Eyes have no known boundaries or turf. Where they operate and meet is secret.

Purpose: The Black Eyes are an underground ring of high trained assassins. They will kill anyone for money, provided the price is right and the challenge is suitable. As ruthless as they are mysterious, no one has ever gotten close to their operation. Or at least, if any have, they haven't lived to tell about it.

Characteristics: If someone is a member of The Black Eyes, they will die before they let you know it. As a secret organization, there is no easy way to tell who is and who isn't a member of the gang. They are, however, ruthlessly efficient and nigh impossible to trace. Whenever they select a target, they always send a calling card (a black and gold playing card bearing the Ace of Spades) one week ahead of time. By the end of that week, the target is dead. The way the killings are carried out is varied; some targets have died from gas leaks, automobile accidents, allergic reactions, even heart attacks. If the Black Eyes want you dead, it'll happen within seven days. That card is more of a death sentence than anything handed down in a courtroom; even the electric chair can fail -- the Black Eyes never let their prey escape.

Important People: ???

History: The Black Eyes have been around as long as Vanitas has. Many important people on both sides of the law have met their end after receiving one of those cards. Only one man has been known to be reliably able to contact the Black Eyes: Don Cartigo himself.

Relations: ???

(Submitted by Vulture)
Faction Name: Dixie Mafia

Faction Turf: The DM operates primarily in the blue-collar neighborhoods of Endeavor. Naturally, they've swooped up the various cowboy bars in town, mainly because no one else cares to own the territory. They hang out in the Ten Gallon, a country western joint on the very edge of town.

Purpose: The Dixie Mafia's primary sources of income come from protection rackets run on local businesses, as well as illicit shipments of liquor and cigarettes, stolen and sold at low prices to undercut the heavy vice taxes levied by the state. This money is typically used for completely legal investments, and the mob runs several legitimate small businesses throughout town. These not only provide supplemental income but provide useful cover jobs for members, as well as opportunities to launder illegal income.

Characteristics: The Dixie Mafia consists primarily of white men from the Deep South. Surprisingly for white Southerners, they will accept any race or creed, so long as they are useful, though it is extremely rare to find a non WASP member. In terms of weapons, they tend to exclusively prefer Bowie knives and guns made by American manufacturers like Winchester, Ruger, or Smith & Wesson.

Important People:
Chuck Harrell- Recruited to the Dixie Mafia while serving an armed robbery sentence at the Tucker Unit state prison in Arkansas, Harrell was a good ol' boy who knew to keep his mouth shut about other inmates. The favor was repaid when Harrell was inducted into the Little Rock branch of the mob. Long years of dedicated service paid off when Harrell was sent to Vanitas to oversee the beginning of operations in Vanitas, hoping to capitalize on the confusion. Harrell, a kindly man in his fifties, is well-suited to the job, being patient and pragmatic by nature.

History: Founded in the 70s by various petty criminals in Mississippi, the Dixie Mafia operates in Southern cities like Birmingham, Baton Rouge, and Knoxville. Interested purely in profit, they have recently begun to expand to other cities, becoming more confident and aggressive. They are new to Vanitas and are struggling mightily to establish a foothold and gain respect.

Relations: The Dixie Mafia's primary allies include the biker gang Manhunter MC and the Neo-Nazi street gang the Purebloods. Being new to town, they have no strong relations, positive or negative, with either of the Italian families.

(Submitted by Vulture)
Faction Name: Vanitas Kkangpae

Faction Turf: The kkangpae operates mostly in Koreatown, though they have small bits of territory scattered throughout town- a building here, a building there. They mainly hang out at a garage owned by the boss.

Purpose: The kkangpae styles itself a community organization, and as such they provide protection for many Asian business owners, most of whom voluntarily approach them. In addition, they also function as a placement agency, finding jobs for illegal immigrants (for a fee, of course), and operate a number of underground gambling clubs.

Characteristics: The kkangpae is exclusively made up of Korean men, who have a taste for shotguns and SUVs.

Important People:

Jeong Ho-Seop: A graying Korean man in his seventies, Jeong is a kind, considerate man, yet also extremely vicious- the kind of fellow who will politely ask about your interesting tattoo while beating you bloody with a baseball bat. He has led the organization since the late sixties, and knows his time will soon end. He hopes to leave the group in good hands once he passes.

History: The kkangpae began in the late sixties, when an influx of Korean immigrants to Vanitas found themselves ignored, picked on, and abused as a group. Banding together, the gang was founded to watch out for the interests of the Korean community, gradually growing in strength. They enjoy the firm support of their neighborhood, and it is extremely rare for anyone in Koreatown to come forward with any information on members or activities.

Relations:
The Dukes - The kkangpae and the Dukes have been frequently involved in small conflicts based on race, what with the kkangpae being Korean and the Dukes being primarily black and hispanic. While this has yet to develop into open war, the racial tensions continue to rise everyday.

(Submitted by Mr Odin)
Faction Name: Солнцевская братва: “Solntsevskaya Bratva” or the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood


Faction Turf: Little Solntsevo. Named after the Mafia controlled neighborhood northwest of Moscow’s city center where one of the Russian Mafia’s most dangerous off shoots has been headquartered since the early 1980's. Little Solntsevo in Vanitas is roughly twenty by twenty city blocks but like any neighborhood it has grown and shrunk with the rise and fall of former Soviet bloc immigrants and the development of Vanitas itself. This area sits within one of the older city developments north of the casino district and occupies a small portion of the upper east shore warehouse district and harbor. Having a heavy presence in the smuggling of all things from people to black market electronics the Bratva has been making attempts, often violent, to push into the lower east side of the warehouse district in direct conflict with the Vigotelli Family in order to expand the Bratva's operations along the shoreline. With the 1990’s seeing a heavy influx of former Soviet bloc immigration the neighborhood is currently expanding reaching out past United Street to the west, the immigrants finding the corruption, crime, and violence to be not unlike their homelands.

The neighborhood consists mostly of smaller buildings when compared with the casino district, the taller tenements never more than fifteen floors high. Brick and stone make up the majority of the architecture, carts and stalls fill most of the streets during the day, cable lines high above the street often have clothing hanging out and drying on them in the warmer months, and all together the streets maintain a very old world feel to them. Many of the business signs and advertisements are in Russian or other Eastern European languages and the majority of the population speaks more Russian than English. While business owners will be more than happy to take a tourist's money the people of Little Solntsevo are typically wary of strangers, especially after night. Many of the families in this district are supported by working legitimately at the North Harbor and its various shipping companies. The Bratva also operates more than fifty businesses in the areas and provides protection for double that. A division of the Baltic shipping company at the North Harbor serves as the main base of operations for the Bratva while a combination restaurant hotel called the Mamaison Pokrovka, on 53rd and Aurora, serves as the gathering place for the high level Vory, the leaders of the Bratva.

Other places of interest throughout Little Solntsevo are listed below.

Kolyma bar: Named after Russia’s worst Gulag, this bar is a smoky hole in the wall frequented by low level members of Bratva operations. A few poorly maintained rooms may be rented out above the bar.

The St. Alexius church: This Russian Orthodox church on Peters Street is the head of the cities Eastern Orthodox Christian organization. It is typically the sole place that members of the Bratva wishing to worship attend.

The Ural Markets: Open air markets that set up under and around the overhead rail tracks on Ural Boulevard. These places are the prime location to legitimately find ethnic food, clothing, and items from the Eastern bloc, along with many of the comforts of the homeland. Illegitimately they are rife with low level pickpockets, dealers, and prostitutes if you know who to ask.

Purpose: Many of the Vory of the Solntsevskaya Bratva emigrated to the US and Vanitas to escape the violent realignment of power that was crippling the New Russian government and crime organizations. In the early 1990’s many of the Russian Mafia’s crime families were splintered and the deaths were rampant, in 1993 alone thirteen family patrons were murdered. In order to escape this "house cleaning" the Bratva established a presence in Vanitas and began taking over the smugglers that had been around since the cities early inception. However with the boom of new blood from the homeland the brotherhood is branching out. Currently they bring in the majority of the city's heroin through their shipping interests connected to the Afghan poppy growers through the Baltic Sea. Hashish is another product that the Bratva floods the city with through connections in Afghanistan thru the Eastern Bloc. With the collapse of the Soviet Empire there is also a small but growing trade in Soviet style weapons brought into the city by the Bratva's various shipping fronts. Above all, the Bratva traffics in human beings, mostly poor girls from Russia, the Ukraine, Romania, Georgia, etc. They are brought here through the various shipping arms owned by the faction and are forced to labor in sweat shops or prostitution rings to work off their “debt”. The Bratva has been focused an increasing the volume and scope of all their operations within Vanitas by trying to chip away at the Vigotelli Family’s hold on the lower east side of the city.

Characteristics: Comprised entirely of Russian, Romanian, Ukrainian, Belorussian, Georgian, Armenian, or Azerbaijani members the Solntsevskaya Bratva is a crime family in the truest sense of the Russian mafia. Any member that has been inducted into the ranks of the Bratva has done time; most of them have spent time in Soviet Gulags or prisons. There is a strict code within the Bratva and while the Vory v zakone, the Thieves in Law, are the only ones required to follow it the lower functionaries of the Bratva typically imitate this code to one degree or another wishing to be Vor one day. Many of the common principles of the code are listed below.

-Forsake your relatives: father, mother, brothers, and sisters.
-Never have a family of your own: no marriage, no children.
-Rule and arbitrate the criminal world.
-Keep information secret about the whereabouts of accomplices.
-Demand an inquiry and judgment by a council of thieves to resolve disputes.
-If necessary, participate in such inquiries if called upon.
-Punish any offending thief as decided by the judgment of the thieves’ council.
-Have good command of the thieves' slang, Fenya.
-Never gamble without being able to cover losses.
-Teach the criminal way of life to youth with potential.
-Never lose your reasoning abilities when drunk.
-Have nothing to do with the authorities.
-Never serve in the military.
-Make good on promises given to other thieves.
-Never deny your Vor status directly, if asked the questions 'Are you a Vor?' or 'Who are you for life?’ a vor should always answer: "Yes (I am a vor)", even if asked by police.

The members of the Bratva also are known for intricate and meaningful tattoos, most obtained in prison, that define their history and actions as a member in service to the brotherhood. These cryptic tattoos all have meanings mostly known only to other members or people that have made a dedicated study of them. Each tattoo is only obtained with the approval of a higher member in the brotherhood and is a significant event. These murals of ink tell the criminal life story of those who wear them and anyone caught falsely wearing a tattoo they did not earn would be subject to the most severe forms of punishment.

Some examples of recently incarcerated Vor are shown below.

Besides these traits the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood is known to be a organization that is slow to anger but when roused is capable of terrible violence. Since prison time is required to be initiated into the higher levels of the brotherhood many young members have no problem committing acts of arson, murder, and assault at the order of the Bratva. More than a few of the city’s historic running gun battles have been between members of the Bratva and Vanitas Police Department, the youths responsible captured, incarcerated, elevated within the family, and upon release full members of the Thieves in Law. This anger is typically slow to surface though. As an organization that has endured Soviet oppression and near extermination and with most members spending more than a decade of their lives in prisons, the Bratva is in no short supply of patience.


Important People:

Semyon Veniamin – The current and oldest Vor leading the Solntsevskaya Bratva. Semyon is a man of the Old world born in 1936 in a Russian village. During his time on this earth he has survived WWII, Soviet government crackdowns, political prisons, and gulags. He immigrated to the US in 1984, through various criminal means, when the Soviet Union still existed. Once established in Vanitas he immediately began rising to power in a branch of the Russian Mafia that had come up while he was imprisoned. In Russia it was powerful, in Vanitas it was nothing more than a fledgling trafficking and smuggling operation. Soon Mr. Veniamin was lifting the Vanitas Bratva to a status that all Vor could respect. Mr. Veniamin is a very patient man who embodies the aspects of the cold Siberian winters that slowly sap the life out of any who dare test their power. The old man always wears well tailored and well worn suits and is never alone, always accompanied by his functionaries and guards. His hair is an impressively thick shock of white atop his weather worn head and his voice still seems to carry the exhaustions of the labor camps though none would ever doubt his conviction.

Yegor Iosif – The right hand man to Semyon and current successor to his position, Yegor is a prodigy of criminal networks. Born in the Dnieper Basin in 1956 Yegor is of the old world and came over to Vanitas with the recent fall of the Soviet Union in 1991 quickly beginning to prove his astute ability to manage all the various fingers that the Bratva had in all the various pies of Vanitas. Yegor is a small man, bookish looking, and wears thick glasses over milky blue eyes. Though his frail looking form has often been presumed to mean he is weak the tattoos Yegor bears from his time in Soviet prisons indicate he is no stranger to murder.

Rostislav Timur “The Red Bear” – The chief enforcer of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, Timur the Red Bear is a beast of a man. Born in 1960 in the Ukraine, Rostislav came to America with his parents when he was a small boy and was soon orphaned when members of an Irish crime family tried to rob his mother and father and ended up murdering them. Growing up on the streets of Vanitas Rostislav began using his prodigious size to his advantage and soon earned the moniker the Red Bear. Taken in by the Bratva as a "youth with potential” the Red Bear began busting heads as a low level functionary and was soon imprisoned for arson and assault at the age of twenty. Eight years later he was released from prison and began working for the newly arrived Semyon and Yegor and has been a power to be feared ever since.


History: Named after the Solntsevo neighborhood in the city of Moscow the Solntsevskaya Bratva officially began in the 1980’s. It is considered to be one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the world and is the largest faction of the Russian Mafia but the branch in Vanitas is not the main arm of this family. Despite all Mr. Veniamin had done the branch in Vanitas is still a fledging arm sent from its Russia headquarters to establish a foothold in the now open U.S. market. Steadily growing out of the Little Solntsevo neighborhood the Bratva is seeing an influx of members from the old Soviet bloc’s that are trying to escape the murderous reorganization process that is going on in the criminal world of the former Socialist Republics at this moment.

Establishing itself in Vanitas in 1983 the Bratva was nothing more than a small heroin trafficking group until Mr. Veniamin arrived from the old world in 1984. By 1991 the Bratva had carved out the Little Solntsevo district, made Vanitas a place for former Soviets to come to, increased the heroin and hashish markets two fold and had slowly begun the smuggling of arms and people from the blighted former Soviet Republics. In 1991 the growing Bratva enlisted Yegor into the higher echelons of Vor and he began to expand the operations, connections, and dealings of the brotherhood even further. Yegor was instrumental in forging deals with Don Cartigo, The Dixie Mafia, and the Vanitas Kkangpae. These deals of course were all minor things, mostly affirmations of who held what assets where and how infractions of such deals were to be handled, nothing groundbreaking as far as criminal networks go but they helped to secure the cities criminal world. The result was that things went very well until the Don’s death in 1996. With his death most of the deals flew off the table as factions began scrambling for the scraps that had fallen from the Don’s table. The Bratva secured its borders and its ranks after the Don’s death and has mostly sat back keeping their comparatively small but profitable businesses going.


Relations:

The Bratva has no association with any legitimate authority in the city; it would be a direct conflict of their code to work with any official, even corrupt ones.

The Jackal’s - While not a direct rival, are seen as worthless gutter rabble by the Solntsevskaya Bratva. Their lack of any code of honor or law makes them less than animals in the eyes of the Bratva. The brotherhood does nothing to directly attack the Jackals but the disgust that they have for the Jackal’s is no great secret in Vanitas.

The Vigotelli Family – This is the primary rival of the Bratva due to the fact that the Bratva would like to control the entire eastern harbor and to do that they would have to remove the Vigotelli Family from the lower east side. While armed conflict has not been uncommon the conflict has switched to a more subtle nature as of late. The Bratva is actively trying to use every method it can legal and illegal to gather up land along the harbor front.

And finally, the cast...

(to be decided following the auditions)


~

Hello, and welcome to The City's Dying Breath, an exploration of 90s noir. I'm Sho Buraiken, the GM. It's not my first rodeo, but please bear with me as I try to organize what is likely to be a lot of members.

1)All the rules of the forum apply in terms of behavior, both IC and OOC.
2)No godmodding. This RP will be realistic, at least in terms of combat and your character. I will expect you to act realistically if your character is wounded. Characters may die, too. That's part of Noir -- people die. You can always make new characters anyway.
3)No metagaming. The city is way to big and the scope of the story way to broad to have your character know about EVERYTHING here in the OC. Think about it; do you know about all the gangs and organized crime in your area? Of course not. This also applies to plans made by other player characters; nobody likes that one asshole whose character deduces his enemy's master plan in two seconds. You do not have a sixth sense, so please remember to keep IC and OOC knowledge entirely separate.
4)All important loot to be found is to be dictated by a GM or a co-GM. I don't mind you bumming a cigarette off an NPC, finding a quarter on the ground, or swiping a dead guy's wallet, but I do not want to see people tripping over briefcases full of cash, assault rifles, and address books full of names and phone numbers of all the most wanted men in the city. If you're not sure about what qualifies as important loot, just ask.
5)All important NPCs are to be controlled only by a GM or a co-GM. If someone is listed under the "important people" section of the above factions, or is mentioned in the synopsis at the top of the page, then it's safe to say they're off limits. Other NPCs -- waitresses at a diner, junkies on the street corner, random people on the street -- I don't mind if you control them. Certain characters myself or my co-GMs introduce may also be uncontrollable; typically if we give them a name, some dialogue, and an appearance beyond a sentence or two, it's safe to say they're off limits. When in doubt, just ask.
6)If your character does stupid shit to get themselves killed, like pulling a gun on a bunch of armed thugs in hostile territory or running into a speeding bus, then I won't hesitate to kill them. You've been warned. When it comes to player vs. player combat, I'm much more hesitant to let players kill other players. Such a thing will have to be examined on a case by case basis.
7)Ammunition and guns will be monitored closely; this is not an RP of bottomless clips. This is why it's important to denote the make and model of any firearms used in your character sheet. I guarantee you I will always do the same for the guns of NPCs.

Name:

Gender:

Occupation/Affiliation: (If you're going to be a part of a faction or entity, please try to keep your character near the bottom of the totem pole; I don't want any characters starting off with too much political clout, you see.)

Age: (Have to be at least 16, just to avoid any pesky kids in the mix.)

Appearance: (In at least one short paragraph, describe your character's physical appearance, including hair color, eye color, skin color, physical build, scars, facial hair, tattoos etc. A picture is also acceptable, but please make sure to note any differences between the picture and your intended appearance in text.)

Clothing: (Please try to keep in mind the fashion of the 90s. Because I assume your character won't be wearing the same clothes every day, this is more of a broad overview of your character's fashion choices than it is any specific outfit. If you're a police officer, then don't bother describing the uniform; Vanitas uses the standard navy blue uniforms of most other police forces. Don't forget to include details such as common accessories your character wears on a regular basis; badges, watches, hats, glasses, jewelry, etc.)

Weapons: (Keep it light, and keep it few. If your character is a police officer, make sure to be reasonable with your service pistol; I don't know of any police force that hands out Desert Eagles to patrolmen. Gun control laws are still enforced, so be reasonable. Things like grenades, RPGs, sniper rifles, assault rifles, LMGs are a definite no-no. They may be given to you later (some more likely than others), but you're definitely not starting with any heavy ordnance. Also include ammunition counts, as well as where your character typically keeps their weapons when they carry them in public. Knives and such are also acceptable in this section.

If your character uses firearms, you MUST include three things in this section.
1)The exact make and model of the weapon.
Ex: A Colt Single Action Army with wood grips and a blued finish
2)What type of ammunition the weapons use and how much your character carries on them on any given day.
Ex: John carries his SAA with six .45 Long Colt rounds loaded at all times, and keeps twelve extra just in case.
3)Where the gun(s) and ammunition are stored, either on their person or somewhere else.
Ex: John always has SAA loaded with six bullets and keeps twelve more in his jacket pocket. Two extra boxes of Long Colt cartridges are stored in the trunk of his car.)

Inventory: (Other items of note that your character carries around on a regular basis. Wallets, watches, cell phones, etc. Unless you want to carry a backpack everywhere I suggest you pack light. You must also include where on their person these things are worn/kept. This is helpful in case they're tied up or their pocket is picked; we'll know if it's reasonable for them to be able to reach their stuff in that case.)

Vehicle: (If your character owns a vehicle, list it here. Be reasonable, and make sure their ride matches their social status. Sometimes a less conspicuous car can be better. Only so many people in a city own bright red Ferraris...)

History: (In at least two decent length paragraphs, describe what happened in your character's life up until now. Make sure how to detail how they came to live in Vanitas (very few adults were actually born there due to the recent emergence of the city) and how they came to be employed in their current job.)

Motivations/Goals: (This is not a Personality section, although some elements of your character's personality may effect its contents.

As this is a character driven RP, every character must have something they're shooting for or some sort of goal they want to accomplish. In this section, denote exactly what these goals are and why your character has them. This is very important, so don't breeze through it! Don't pick something lazy like money or something cliche like revenge on the man who killed their parents/wife/daughter/son etc. Try to make it interesting and unique. If you're really cool, you'll pick an ambition that contradicts someone else's; this sets up rivalries further down the road.)

Other Info: (Is there anything else you want us to know?)

Faction Name:

Faction Turf: (Where does the faction typically operate within Vanitas? Feel free to make up locations as needed; I don't have anything too specific in mind for the layout of Vanitas, so long as you make it reasonable. I don't expect any heavily armed group of thugs to be hanging out across the street from city hall, nor do I see any reason why a meth lab would be right down the street from the police department. If you're extra special cool, you can choose to have turf that conflicts with that of another faction to set up turf wars in the RP. Yay conflict! Make sure to include information about locations that are common meeting places or hangouts for this particular faction.)

Purpose: (Why does this faction exist? Are they a gambling operation? Drug dealers? Hitmen? Part of a mob family? Or are they just in it for the thug life? Or maybe they don't have criminal aims at all. Who knows?)

Characteristics: (What sets this faction apart from the others, if anything? What kind of people join this faction? Are they known for using a certain type of weapon, dealing a special kind of drug, wearing certain colors or accessories, etc.)

Important People: (Who are the leaders and/or prominent members of this faction? Provide a brief description of what they look like and why they're important to the faction, making sure to include any other important information as well.)

History: (When and why was this faction started, and by whom? Are there any important events that occurred within this faction that we should know about? What is their current standing considering the sudden changes in Vanitas?)

Relations: (Do they have any partnerships, rivalries, conflicts going on with other factions? It'd be a good idea to ask first if you're going to have some sort of relationship with a faction I created, or with a faction created by another player.)

And that's all the information for now. Seems like a lot, but I'd rather get all of that done now rather than worry about sticky situations further down the road.

Audition Info: I will be accepting characters through an AUDITION process. You cannot reserve spots; I will take any and all applications before the deadline (Thursday, 1/10 at midnight CST) and then decide on who I want to keep. I will choose as many as I consider worth including the story. If you aren't chosen, I expect you to clear out of here without a fuss; throwing a hissy fit over not getting picked won't help your case. If someone drops out, I will find alternates myself, so please don't bug me about it.

WHAT I LOOK FOR IN A GOOD APPLICATION:
-Acceptable spelling/grammar. This is a high-casual RP, and I expect you to be able to put forth the basest of efforts in keeping clean, well-written posts.
-Overall neatness/consistent formatting. Never underscore the importance of presentation, especially in auditions. This DOES NOT mean I want you to use pretty colors or choose a weird font. Just make sure it's neat, easy on the eyes, and isn't inconvenient to read.
-Unique/interesting/compelling characters. Does your character fit with the conventions of Noir? Do they have interesting motivations? Do they have the depth of a real person, or are they a flat character?

The audition will consist of three parts.
1)A completed character application using the sheet provided above. Feel free to ask me any questions about the rules or how you should fill out the sheet. Any sheets filled out incorrectly or incompletely will not be considered.
2)An RP sample of around 300 words. It can be about anything, as long it involves your character and has something to do with the RP. Maybe it's them going on a job or just waking up in the morning. I'm not looking for groundbreaking stuff here; I just need to see that you have acceptable writing skill and your posts won't be a nightmare. Unlike the character sheet, please don't ask for my opinion about your writing sample. I am NOT here to be your writing coach. You can ask me about the topic, but not the content. I'm not your personal editor.
3)Background check. If I'm considering you for a spot, I'll probably poke around in your posting history to make sure you're not an asshole or a flake. Just a precaution to make sure I'm choosing people I can rely on.

You can submit your auditions here in the topic or via PM. It makes no difference to me.

If you have any faction ideas, please submit them as well. Please note that submitting faction profiles will not earn you any points in the audition, nor will it guarantee your acceptance. It does mean that you're a pretty cool guy, though, so I mean... yeah. >_> I understand if you want to hold off on submitting faction profiles until you know you're in the RP.

IF YOU SUBMITTED YOUR CHARACTER APPLICATION IN THE INTEREST CHECK, YOU WILL NEED TO SUBMIT IT AGAIN HERE (OR VIA PM) FOR IT TO COUNT IN THE AUDITION. IN ADDITION,

THE WEAPONS AND INVENTORY SECTIONS HAVE BEEN CHANGED ON THE PROFILE HERE IN THE OOC, SO IT'S LIKELY THAT EVERYONE WHO SUBMITTED IN THE INTEREST CHECK WILL HAVE TO MAKE A FEW QUICK EDITS TO THOSE TWO SECTIONS BEFORE SUBMITTING. DO NOT SIMPLY COPY/PASTE!

[Byrd Man]

Name: John Dee

Gender: Male

Occupation/Affiliation: Private Investigator

Age: 53

Appearance: John is a heavy-set white man with salt and pepper hair. He is about 5'11 and has gray facial hair.

Clothing: Suit and tie when on the job. Jeans and a dress shirt when not on the job.

Weapons: A Smith and Wesson .38 revolver with six .38 special rounds in the chamber and two moon clips (six apiece) with twelve .38 special rounds in his pocket. He keeps the .38 in a shoulder holster. A blackjack, a Mossberg 12 gauge pump action shotgun that holds eight buckshot shells. In addition to those eight, he has a box of thirty buckshot shells in the trunk of his car where he also keeps the Mossberg. As a PI, Dee has a license to carry and conceal.

Inventory: A wallet, a nightstick, keys, and a pack of gum. In the trunk of his car he keeps a suitcase filled with cameras, mics, and other surveillance equipment.

Vehicle: A black 1989 Ford Taurus. In the trunk of the car he has his shotgun, the nightstick, and a suitcase full of PI equipment.

History: John Dee was born in San Francisco, CA. After high school, he joined the San Francisco PD and made his way to Inspector (in San Fran, an Inspector is equal to a regular detective) After years working minor cases and unable to make rank, Dee left San Francisco for a job with the Vanitas Police Department as a detective sergeant. Sergeant Dee, unprepared for what Vanitas really was, succumbed to the temptation and began to moonlight as an enforcer for the Cartigo Family, using his position as a cop to beat and threaten people who owed the family money.

Four years ago nearly two pounds of cocaine disappeared from the Vanitas PD evidence lockup. Although nothing could be proven, Lieutenant Dee was forced to resign from the PD under a cloud of disgrace. After leaving the department, the Cartigo severed ties with him. Dee became certified as a Private Eye and now works in and around Vanitas, investigating cheating spouses, insurance fraud, and anything that comes his way... including the occasional criminal job.

Motivations/Goals: Well, for starters, Dee's big motivation is to clear his name. Although he's guilty of plenty, he is innocent of the theft that cost him his badge. If he can find out whoever framed him, then he hopes he can get his old job back. Also, Dee has a bit of a drinking problem so a big motivation for him will be to do jobs and get paid so he can get more booze.

Other Info:Can't think of anything off the top of my head.



Sample Post:


Dee sat in the parking lot and watched the window for action. His legs cramped, uncramped, and then recramped. Six hours sitting his car, his body reeking of sweat and greasy Korean barbeque. The window was on the second story of the apartment building he sat across the road from. The laundry mat owner yelled at Dee when they saw hm parked in his lot this morning. "You scare away my business, fat man," he said in a thick Indian accent. Dee peeled a fifty from his pocket and tossed it his way. He hadn't seen the son of a bitch since. Dee knew if his mark didn't hurry up, the guy would come back asking for more.

Dee itched for a smoke. Six years since he gave cigarettes up and it still gnawed at him. Like a junkie, Dee assumed he would never fully kick it. Dee was in the process of pondering the similarities between ex-smokers and ex-horse shooters when he saw movement in the window. A skinny man with glasses walked by the open curtains.

"Jackpot," Dee said, reaching for his camera on the seat beside him. The man in question was Sonny Jones. On his own, he wouldn't have rated above the snot Dee blew from his nose. But Sonny boy had married into a pretty rich family. Mrs. Jones thought Sonny was screwing around on her, so she hired Dee to see where all he went. Dee tailed Sonny to this house at three in the morning. That six hours and many cramps ago. Now, finally, there was movement.

Dee took snaps as Sonny came out the apartment building, a garbage bag in his hands. Dee took shots as Sonny went back into the building and came back with another garbage bag. Sonny did this three more times before he loaded the bags up into the back of his truck and drove away. Dee waited, counting seconds. At thirty, he started his car and followed. He followed Sonny from a distance, staying close enough on the small streets, but giving him space on the freeway. An hour later, Sonny turned off the exit headed to Grovetown. Dee kept going and u-turned at the next exit. He managed to catch up with Sonny's truck as he was pulling out of a rest stop. The garbage bags were propped up against an outhouse.

Dee pulled over at the rest stop and got out. Sonny was nothing but taillights and dust, already over the hill before Dee killed the engine. Dee walked over to the bags and stopped when the smell hit him. Nearly twenty years as a cop and he knew that smell too damn well. It was the smell of decay. Dee pulled his pocket knife and grabbed the closest bag. He ripped it open and looked down.

It was a severed foot, the pink flesh gone gray from blood lose. The toenails painted dark red, there was a silver toe ring on the pinkie. A woman's foot. Dee stepped back, covering his mouth. He shook his head to try and get the image out. Dee put his hands on his knees took a deep breath and fought back the bile that was shifting up his throat. All those years as a cop, and the site of a dead body still made him want to hurl. He fought the puke down and straightened up.

"What the f*** did I get into?" He asked himself.

[OrangeInk]

Ryleigh Cooper
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Female
22
*Ex-Dukes*Junkie*Drug Dealer*Hooker*
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Appearance

Ryleigh once had beauty in her youth. Radiant,warm and beautiful. The words that schoolboys once used for her, words that were used within the same times in which her smile lit up the room and her gleaming long blonde hair and smooth skin shined like a beautiful beam of light. But times of terror and turmoil has changed all that for Ryleigh, leaving nothing but a scarred and rugged human being on the outside and a ruthless, suffering individual on the inside. Ryleigh herself features cloudy brown eyes and stands at a height of around 5'8. Her personal build is skinny and frail, featuring blistered, scarred and damaged skin caused by years of continuous drug abuse and sexual assault, including multiple injection scars on her arms and a distinct scar on her left cheek due to past acts of heroin injection. Ryleigh occasionally smells of smoke and sex which is a rather unfortunate effect of her work ethics and addictions. Although Ryleigh may have lost her ways in attractive looks, deep down under the pains of drugs, lays a girl who is still beautiful in her own personal way.

Clothing

Ryleigh doesn't care much for fashion anymore but carries and image of 90's punk rock or a biker and takes pleasure in wearing dark clothing which usually features apparel such as black leather jackets and corsets with the occasional band t shirt, she also enjoys wearing skinny jeans and leggings with the addition of black combat boots. When it comes to accessories she wears the occasional piece of jewelery which includes a precious christian cross necklace. Ryleigh also wears spiked/studded belts and wristbands and also loves to wear fingerless biker gloves.

Weapons

For personal defense Ryleigh carries with her a Smith & Wesson 4506 which is chambered in 45. ACP. The pistol is usually slotted into the back of her belt and jeans and covered by the length of her leather jacket. Ryleigh carries this pistol with her wherever she goes and tends to never leave home without it due to how dangerous the city is and for personal security when dealing with other drug dealers, clients or run-ups with past colleagues who reside within many of the cities major gangs and crime families.

Inventory

• Smith & Wesson 4506 with two Full 8 round Magazines - Gun is slid into back of belt/Jeans while one magazine is in the gun and the other is in her right jacket pocket.
• Wallet - Filled with Money, Driving/Bike license, Forged Weapon License, Credit cards, Etc - Located within right jean pocket.
• Pack of cigarettes - Located within left jacket pocket.
• Metal Lighter - Located within left jean pocket.
• Cheap Prepaid phone - Located within right jean pocket.
• Pack of Condoms - Located within left jean pocket.
• Plastic bags for drugs - Located within the inside pocket of her jacket.
• Cheap Wrist watch - On wrist.

Vehicle

Ryleigh drives a used 1990 Harley-Davidson FLSTF Fat Boy.
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History

Ryleigh was born into a single parent family alongside her sister Brooke and brother Lewis in Nashville Tennessee. Ryleigh and her siblings were raised by their father Marshal who meant well in raising his children and ultimately cared about them, but held some rather terrible and disgusting tendencies within his mind. Marshal abused Ryleigh and her siblings with sexual reasoning due to being a pedophile and also assaulted and bruised them, believing that what he was doing was morally right for their development. Not knowing any better due to their age Ryleigh and the others didn't think to raise any alarms and were ordered to covered there bruses and badly beaten arms with long sleeved clothes. Over the years the beatings continued but coming with age came rebellious thoughts and opinions from friends that knew of their situation and pleaded with them to say or do something about their father. After failing to achieve much in school at the age of 18, Ryleigh left school and returned to her father who yet again dished out another flurry of beatings, but as the belt met with her skin, her brother Lewis who was now twisted and angry approached their father with a knife in hand resulting in the murder of Marshal their father. Lewis was sent of to a mental institution and all efforts to make visits were rejected.

Ryleigh, now devastated by what had occurred within her life, mindlessly left her sister behind and mixed herself in with a bad mix of individuals that aided her torment and pain with an introduction to hard drugs. Becoming addicted to heroin within several weeks ryleigh eventually found herself within the newly rising city of Vanitas and carried out several small drug smuggling and delivery jobs for local friends and gangs. Soon after she became noticed and her name became spread across town as a well known and respected drug dealer who not only offered brilliant services for dealing any drug you could dream of but also giving a good time behind closed doors. With her name becoming popular many gangs took interest in her, one of these being the drug lords of the city known as the dukes. With the exchange of smiles and handshakes Ryleigh found herself working for the dukes as a full time drug dealer which gained her not only respect but a reasonable income.

With time Ryleigh became an expert with bartering drugs, knowing everything to do with the trade and the perfect numbers to make profit for the dukes. But there was one issue that the dukes came to notice. Ryleigh, being highly addicted to use of heroin was using some of the supplied drugs for herself and secretly keeping some of the product to herself while lying about prices to have her own personal free stash of drugs. Immediately she was removed from the dukes and a major negative standing had been put in place between her and the gang.

At present, Ryleigh is pleading for a second chance that she may never receive, and her constant addiction to heroin is eating her inside and out. But something has recently occurred. Ryleigh received a missed phone call from her sister who she had not heard from in 4 years, and was apparently able to track Ryleigh down. But most surprising of all, is that she is also within the city.

Motivations/Goals:

Ryleighs main objective is to get in touch and possibly meet up with her sister who she has been detached from for around 4 years. Ryleigh also must find a way to feed or end her drug addiction while also being able to either make good with the dukes who are now in some cases hostile or aggressive to her and also be able to resume a steady income.

Character Theme

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Re-submission, please tell me if its OK!

Example post:

The blurred, flickering radiance of an aged Vegas style motel sign reflected brilliant shades of neon red into the night time abyss of the surrounding city of Vanitas. The sign illuminated the waiting vehicles which were all so adequately cramped together within the rather shady parking lot, belonging to none other than the motel itself. Used needles and cigarette butts littered the cracked concrete slabs as muffled groans and moans blistered from within the crumbling walls of the filth ridden motel while shivering junkies sat impatiently on the steps, waiting for their next big fix. No one in their right mind would want to live in such an establishment, but there's always someone who rather just have a roof under their heads, no matter how dangerous or uneasy it may appear to be. One of these very people is Ryleigh Cooper.

Ryleigh never had much taste for design, but in her eyes the sperm stained bed covers and cigarette smoke covered windows of her rented out motel room was better than anywhere else, somewhat reminding her of her childhood where she spent 18 miserable years within the mortal hell of her father’s prison, the very place she once called "home". Now, this room was her new prison, and the only way to escape such horrors of the real world was to use the only method she knew how... With widened pupils and trembling hands, Ryleigh tinkered with several silver spoons, a syringe and a rugged old belt which she brutally tied around her arm and tightened with an almighty tug with her teeth. She inhaled deeply as the skin piercing needle of the syringe penetrated into the dry blistering skin of her arm and the magical, godly clear liquid flowed like a gracious river into her bright purple veins. She in-hailed deeply as a feeling of gravity loss filled her being and a gentle spasm occurred, immediately causing her toes to cringe and tingle accompanied by the slight flickering of her cloudy brown eyes.

The room became light, dark and mysterious as her body began to rise upwards towards the ceiling. Was this really happening? Well off-course not, but the mind is an amazing thing and even the most amazing things in life can be tricked. Ryleigh knew this at heart better than anyone else, as her key job involved the trickery of other people’s minds, through the trading of drugs which she did very well indeed, but like everyone nobody is perfect and bad habits... die hard.

The surroundings became cold and silent, paradise surrounded her as her inner being filled with warmth and joy accompanied with a feeling of sleepiness and relaxation...followed by the slight radiance of ringing and darkness. Ryleigh sheepishly awoke the next morning to a thunderous banging at her door, she groaned heavily as she tried to lift herself from the comfort of her bed, but the effects of the heroin nailed her down like a pile of bricks. Giving up immediately she heard the anger filled tones of the motels manager, Travis from outside. "RYLEIGH!" He shouted with a rolled up joint hanging from the edge of his lip. "YOU'RE RENT IS 2 DAYS LATE, GET YOU'RE JUNKIE ASS UP AND PAY ME!.....YOU HEAR ME?!" He continued with rage before turning at his heals and continued on to make his way down the stairs towards his office.

Ryleigh sighed heavily as the torment and sad reality of the "real world" hit her like a cold ice filled bucket of water to the face. "Shit.." she whimpered to herself, pulling her upper body up to bring her forward facing view towards a shabby little desk within her room with a white brick sized cable connected phone which had a flashing red light pulsating next to it. Ryleigh tilted her head to the side and thought for the worst. "This better not be the dukes..." She said abruptly while nervously moving her sheepish body towards the phone and slowly pressing down on the answer phone playback button before sitting back down on the foot of her bed. "ONE NEW MESSAGE FROM ........ UNKNOWN....PLAYING" = "Uh... Hello? I don't know if this is the correct person I’m even talking to right now and it doesn't help that I missed you but i asked around and i was hoping this was Ryleigh...Cooper. It’s your Sister Brooke.... It’s been around four years since we last had contact and I’m within Vanitas, if you're even still alive or willing to talk to me.. Please contact me back at 09837496 as soon as possible, love ya sis."

Silence then followed the message as Ryleigh stared onward as if she just saw a ghost. "Brooke...." She said in silent shock, before looking down towards her cold naked feet and giving of a small flowing tear from one of her cloudy brown eyes.

[DaliKnight]

Let me know what you think:

Name: Peter Hammet


Gender: Male


Occupation/Affiliation: Ghost-writes generic Hard Boiled novels using the shared pseudonym JEREMIAH BACH by day, stalks and carefully plans murders by night.


Age: 28 y/o


Appearance:

• Brown hair
• Blue eyes

Clothing:

• White t-shirt
• Buttoned-up long-sleeve shirt
• Black leather jacket
• Black leather gloves
• Black digital watch
• Blue jeans
• Brown leather belt
• Velcro shoes

Weapons:

• 
• 
  (for emergencies only)
  
  • ​Concealed in a pocket located in the interior part of his leather jacket.
  • Ammunition:
    
    • ​Cartridge: .25 ACP
    • 1 Magazine: 6 rounds (only carries on his person 1 full magazine on the gun)

Inventory:

• Pocket watch
• Packet of cigarettes
• Matchbox
• Cassette Walkman w/ headphones
• Small audio recorder
• Wallet
• Small disposable camera

Vehicle: None. He prefers to walk and "hitch" rides.


History:

Born under the darkness of a new moon, Peter never got to see his pop and mom, because by the time he was three hours old he was the newest resident of Saint Mary's Home for Unwanted Children. Six years passed, and even though the owners of the home did everything in their power to get someone, anyone; to adopt him, no one did. So when the day of his seventh birthday came he was the first participant of the new substitute home program, which putted unadopted kids together in a "traditional" home with the intention of letting them be raised in a "normal" environment and have a "normal" family. Not one week passed before he was moved. All five-hundred-and-seventy-three times.

The week following his eighteen birthday is best not described, as although it was probably his most human one it was also his darkest one. It was the one in which he read his first book (which he chose only because the author shared his last name), and the one in which he claimed the life of his first victim. It was brutal, bloody, and, worse of all, traceable. From that day on, Peter traveled the country, living as a part-time gigolo, freelance writer, and full time observer. It wasn't unto he met a representative from a book publisher which has it's HQ on Vanitas (who later was found dead on a motel room) that he realized he had to settle down. With a new found "home", full of sinful vermin who would look nice hanging upside down with their face skin cut open like a shitty and vane fashion magazine; and an easy job, Peter is now preparing for his biggest piece yet, he's getting ready to hunt the real game.


Motivations/Goals:

When he was twelve years old a bald man with a greasy face who was his father of the week told Peter: "If you reach 30 years of existence, and you still haven't make a mark in this world, you've lived a wasted life; and you might as well be dead, because all you would be is a waste-producing, nutrient-wasting corps..." (among other things), so he has decided to leave his mark in this world, and he has decided that if this world was a person, that mark would be a deep and disturbing scar.

The Free Dictionary describes “repugnant” as: “Offensive or repulsive; arousing disgust or aversion.” The smell in the room on which Peter was standing could best be described as repugnant. On it, right in front of Peter's feet, was lying the lifeless body of a fifty-something man who was passing through Vanitas in celebration of a successful business deal. Like most outsiders, the first club he decided to hit was The Rat King, an “underground” and “exclusive” joint that took advantage of the gritty desires of tourists by giving them the experience that came cheapest to maintenance. Once inside, the man went to the bar and ordered an extravagantly colorful drink which he followed with a hit of cocaine in the bathroom and the slow rhythm of The Smashing Pumpkins' 1979. Everything was going delightfully, and when the man spotted Peter sitting alone in a corner, he smiled because he knew they were going to get better. The man walked towards Peter with a non-charlatan attitude and spoke to his ear, “I just want you to know that if you are feelin' lonely, you just give me the word and I'll give you my company.” Peter smiled and answered without wasting time, “What are your thoughts on bondage?”

Fifteen minutes and thirteen seconds later both men were in a motel room Peter had payed for earlier. He lighted a joint and took a hit. “Did you know that the hallucinating effects of smoking cannabis were discovered by the Spanish conquistador Juan Ponce de Leon on a trip he took to Colombia?”, said Peter as he offered the man the rolled-up weed. “Sure, pretty boy. Whatever you say.”, replied the man as he took a big hit from the joint. The man started coughing, “Damn, this shit is good.” When he looked up he noticed Peter already had some belts in hand and heard his young voice say, “Lay down...”, which he obeyed like a Labrador.


Six minutes and forty-nine seconds later the man came back from a short black-out and noticed that he was already tied up and naked. “I hope you didn't started without me.”, he said to Peter, who he couldn't seem to find. “Don't worry, I got patience...”, said Peter as he look inside a bag, “...but the real question is: Do you?” “Oh you beautiful tease, tell me, what game are we playing?” “We are playing a little game I like to play colonoscopy.” The man chuckled and said, “I'm afraid I don't know the rules for that game, mind telling me how to play it.” Peter putted a chair next to the be and stared at the man's eyes, “Oh, but that's no fun. Instead I'm going to tell you a little story. I guess you have heard about Alfred Hitchcock's film The Birds?” “Sure.” “Well, one day during filming the dude who wrote the screenplay got angry and yelled: CUT! And, if you need to know anything about Hitchcock is that wasn't the kind of behavior he enjoyed.” The man grinned while his blood pressure rose. “Anyway, after some discussion between the two men about something Hitchcock had changed, the wisest of the two figured out how to settle their little problem. Hitchcock, knowing the writer wouldn't turn down a gamble, told him that if he could spend the whole night handcuffed to a column on the cafeteria set Hitchcock would do whatever he asked him, but if he couldn't then he wouldn't even receive his paycheck.” “Huh, that old man sure was something, wasn't he?”, said the fifty-something man laughing, “What happened next?” Peter laughed and showed the man a plastic tube he had in his hand, “You know what this is?” “A plastic tube?” Peter stood up and walked towards the man's legs, “Not just any plastic tube, this is YOUR plastic tube.” The man was confused and asked,“What do you mea...”, but before he could finish his sentence Peter stuck one end of the tube on the man's rectum. “What the fuck are you doing?!? I don't think I like this game very much.” “And why should I care?”, said Peter walking toward the man's head and sticking the other side of the tube into his mouth and deep into his throat. The man tried to scream, but Peter was holding his mouth closed and sealing it with duct tape. The man tried to move, but the belts were to tight. “What are you getting so angry about? I thought you were unto bondage and shit.” Peter took out his knife and stabbed the man on the left armpit. Blood started coming out. The man began to excrete involuntarily, and as the excrement traveled trough the tube Peter made the man and his genitals three separate pieces of meat.


Eight days, ten hours, two minutes, and thirty-seven minutes later Peter re-entered the room escorted by two policemen of large framed , but this time he didn't enter the room as a sadistic torturer and killer. This time he entered the room as the current Jeremiah Bach, he entered the room as a novelist researching what a crime scene looked like for his next book.

(By the way, even if you are not the GM or Co-GM, I'd still appreciate your opinions/criticism.)

[OrangeInk]

Ok, now I've added my example post

Please tell me what you think x

[Gotti]

Name:

Deandre Watkins.

Gender:

Male.

Occupation/Affiliation::

Low level drug dealer associated with Dukes street gang.

Age:

19.

Appearance:

Deandre stands at six foot four inches, weighing 173 pounds. He has a heavy physique, with long arms and legs giving him a reach advantage in most of the fights that he has. He is mixed race, half African American and half Caucasian. Scars are very prevalent on Deandre's face and hands the most noticeable one running along his cheek.

Clothing:

An avid fan of all sports, Deandre often wears jerseys of various teams but most noticeably the Philadelphia Flyers and the Cincinnati Bengals due to both teams colours being orange and black. When doing dirt, he most often wears a black hooded sweater, black sweatpants and steel toed Timberland boots. He owns an assortment of hats but most often wears a Philadelphia Flyers New Era 59fifty.

Weapons:

Deandre does not have an abundance of weapons at his disposal. He keeps a Louisville slugger in the trunk of his car, a switchblade in his pocket. He also owns a Glock 17 with three seventeen round magazines that he keeps in the dash of his car.

Inventory:

An Adidas backpack, Zippo in his pants pocket, cigarettes in his pants pocket. Cellphone in his pants pocket as well. Usually up to 500$ in cash on him at all times, tucked in his sock in a roll.[

Vehicle:

Light grey 1982 Chevrolet Impala, no registration or insurance.

History:

Deandre Watkins was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, raised by his hard working parents, Deandre had anamazing life. His father worked at a local steel mill that paid enough so that his mother could stay at home and look after Deandre. He went to a good school, had good friends and a good future ahead of him. A few months after Deandre turned eleven his father got laid off from his job at the steel mill and was forced to go on a job hunt. Their car was repossessed by the bank because he couldn't keep up with the payments.. His world basically came crashing down on his fucking shoulders. His mother walked right out on his father and him, leaving them on their own. Didn't even say as much as a word, just gathered her things and left in the middle of the night. Deandre became a delinquent at school, stealing from the other children and was constantly being suspended from school for fighting. By the time he was 15, Deandre had been expelled from just about every school in Philadlephia. Luckily, his father got a job offer from an old friend in Vanitas and moved out there, taking Deandre with him.

Deandre expected to fit in on Washington Avenue, his father had told him the stories about what he and his friend used to do. Deandre's father used to work as a drug dealer near the Washington Avenue area. He said they weren't people to mess with, that he caught a charge one time and it messed his life up. Deandre knew his father was young, that there was no way he went to prison from anything more than a year or two. Sure enough after living on Washington Avenue for a few weeks, Deandre's father was murdered in his apartment while Deandre slept in the other room. Two shots to the back of the head with a suppressed twenty two caliber handgun. He found out afterwards that it was over his father's former status as a criminal informant. Deandre slipped through the cracks, with no one to take care of him he went from foster home to foster home until he was eighteen and old enough to live on his own. He met up with a few old friends from Washington Avenue that had a foot in with the Dukes and began helping them with selling drugs. Got himself an apartment and a car but more importantly a name on the streets.

Motivations:

The thing that Deandre wants the most is respect on the streets. He feels shamed by his father's former status as a snitch and wants to alter his family name to one that can be looked at with honor and respect. If somebody owes him money, he will publically humiliate them and beat them. Deandre will not allow himself to be looked at as a pushover.

---------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The street lights reflected light against the mirror of his car, keeping him awake. The smoke from his burning cigarette twisted in to the air, as he rubbed his free hand against his eye. Parked in an empty Walmart parking lot, Deandre couldn't help but laugh at the circumstances. All he could think to himself was "shit, I smoked so much I passed out." The sandwich bag that had once contained a quarter ounce of Kush laid crumpled up and empty on the passenger seat. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, eying the time displayed on the front. "It's fuckin' three thirty and I'm parked at Walmart." Thinking out loud, he opened his phone and dialed a number. The tired voice on the other end sighed as soon as she picked up the phone. "Hello?" Deandre grinned to himself. "Shawn there?" The voice grunted. "No, call back tomorrow. It's three thirty in the fucking morning." He heard the phone slam in to it's housing, chuckled and turned on his car. Putting it in to gear, he pulled out of the Walmart parking lot.



The commercial side of Vanitas was truly beautiful, the neon lights, tall buildings. It was gorgeous, but only when viewed from that angle. When you headed towards the areas surrounding Washington Avenue, it was like going from New York City straight in to a God damn war zone. Gun shots rang out every few hours, followed by police sirens and helicopters. Undercovers posted on streets, watching the corner boys do their thing and waiting for the chance to roll on them. The playground outside of Deandre's apartment building was one of the biggest hot spots, with police frequenting that area every hour on patrols. Deandre parked his car outside of the apartment building, collected his firearm from the dashboard and proceeded inside to go to sleep. Deandre looked at the calender as soon as he walked in and smirked. "Cheque day tomorrow. Gotta' get up early for that shit." He mumbled to himself as he walked in to his bedroom, passing out as soon as his body made contact with the bed.

[ScarletMangekyo]

Name: Alastair Garent

Gender: Male

Occupation/Affiliation: Hitman

Age: 27

Appearance: Alastair is a of taller than average height for a man of 27, about 6'2. He has short shaggy brown hair and faded green eyes. He has a normal complexion for a Caucasian man, more tanned than some. He has no tattoos, no visible scars or anything that would allow a person to pick him out from a crowd. He simply looks like an average good looking guy.

Clothing: Depends on the job and changes as such. Though outside of his work he is often seen in band shirts (if its 96 then his should be fine), jeans and combat boots.

Weapons:

On job: variable dependent on previous successes. Always carries a garrote in his jacket pocket, two knives in his sleeves and a silenced AMT hardballer, standard chrome with black grips, which he keeps in a shoulder holster. The Hardballer is always loaded with a full magazine before a job and Alastair keeps two extra magazines in his coat or pockets.

Off job: carries his knives in his sleeves just in case.

All jackets he wears have pockets designed to keep his knives in place at all times.

Inventory: a lighter and a cigarette case. Carries a wallet when he is off the job.

Vehicle: A red 67 hardtop Chevy Impala.

History: Alastair was brought up in the hustle and bustle of New York, New York. His father was a factory worker that moonlighted as an enforcer for the local family, and he was a damned good one at that. His mother died giving birth to him. Alastair learnt that the money that kept him living average day life was not something he should ever wonder about, but as a child of a notorious mobster...it was hard to have friends. Alastair grew up alone and cradling a hole in his heart from a lack of attention.

Going through adolescence wasn't any easier. He understood what his father did, why he would do the things he had to...and worse yet, wanted to help. His father decided to let his son on a job at the age of 17. Alastair saw what most teenagers would only see in movies and TV with his own eyes. Guns, drugs, blood and piles of illicit money. Alastair's father soon saw that his sons ability to be one of the crowd, unremarkable and indistinguishable, as a great boon to be his man in the crowd for all deals. Alastair was a perfect watchman. One job, when he wasn't on lookout...his father died.

After this, Alastair took his skills and moved elsewhere and became an efficient hitman. One after the other, calls came in to pull him towards crime ridden city of Vanitas. He obliged the calls.

Motivations/Goals: Alastair is no longer motivated by Greed. While the pay is nice, his motivation is the thrill of a kill, exacting the orders given to him. He wishes to make a name for himself to keep his lifestyle the way he is accustomed.

Other Info: listens to lots of metal.

Audition Post.

Pain shot through the hitman as his senses returned to him. There was a sack over his head, how very Mafioso of them. Alastair half expected to find some cement shoes next. The pain was focused in his head, most likely caused by blunt object from behind. The plastic ties that held his hands together told him he wasn't in police custody. Well, it told him he wasn't in a good cop’s custody. Alastair slowly rolled his neck; moving his head left to right, forward and backwards. The pain slowly became less of a priority.

"Alastair Gerant" a voice started, it was to the left of him "you killed many of my men, my brothers!" The man’s voice was deep, the use of the word brother meant either Alastair had very well killed off the man’s brothers...or he was a minority, probably black.

Alastair let out a small laugh "oh? My apologies" even though he was tied up, bruised and had a raging headache; Alastair could not help the sarcasm that slipped from his mouth. He could feel the man’s stare at the back of his head, it made his hair on his neck stand up straight.

The footsteps started to move rhythmically, the familiar clunk of metal as the deep voiced man stepped down a metal stairwell. Alastair moved his arms; they were higher up on his wrists so he could get one of his knives out to slash it. Heavy breathing around him indicated to the assassin that at least three or four men around him “so, we all believe in the adage of ‘An eye for an eye, life for a life’” the thick voice was now right beside Alastair’s ear.

The voice then started to gurgle. Something that sounded like water could be heard dripping. Alastair stood up slowly, his hands free from the binds “my bad” he shrugged a little and gripped the former leader- now corpse by his neck. The others let loose with their automatics, bullets ripped into the corpse. Alastair quickly ran behind a stack of boxes, he was obviously in a warehouse used by whatever gang he had pissed off.

“Fuck, where did he go!” a voice resounded through the silence. Alastair looked around the boxes just as one of the men shot into the shadows. Alastair decided now was a time to leave. Moving around the edge of the warehouse and towards the cool breeze of night time, Alastair looked for his car. He then realized that they had moved him and his car was elsewhere. He’d have to buy a new one; Alastair pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, taking one long drag and delighting in the scared shooting he had caused before escaping into the darkness of the alleys of Vanitas.

[Serge Drevlan]

Name: Julian Cruz

Gender: Masculine (Sex: Male)

Occupation/Affiliation: Former CIA,currently a mercenary who does several different odd jobs to get from location to location. He expects he'll get several job offers in Vanitas as a spy of sorts. His first stop is getting in touch with someone in the police department.

Age: 30

Appearance: Julian is of average height for a man, roughly six feet two inches. He weighs an average amount for a man of his size and Athletic disposition at 180 lbs. He has short dark-brown hair and light brown eyes. Julian's skin is a light bronze color and his face is very smooth aside from his light beard which is well kept.

Clothing: Julian generally wears tieless suits. On jobs he'll wear anything that allows for comfort (ex. leather jacket with some sort of a T-shirt underneath and jeans with sneakers.)

Weapons: Julian carries a Beretta 92fs on him at all times. At home he has a Benelli M3 shotgun for larger jobs which might require larger firepower. He carries two extra clips of his Beretta's 9x19mm Parabellum rounds, aside from the one in his gun, on a shoulder sling opposite his pistol (54 rounds- 18 * 3). When he is carrying his shotgun he will wear an extra bandoleer which will hold his two extra tubular magazines of 12 gauge shells. When he is not carrying either guns they are held in a small metal case underneath his bed or the trunk of his car.

Inventory: Julian carries his wallet in his back right pocket which holds his drivers license and license to carry. He has credit cards and his money in there as well. He also wears a casio watch on his left hand wrist, carries a pack of gum in his pocket and his keys, and on those days when he is especially stressed you may catch him with a freshly rolled marijuana cigarette.

Vehicle: Lexus LS 400

History: Jullian was born and raised on 184th street and Grand Concourse in the Bronx. He grew up in a relatively poor neighborhood with relatively poor family. Despite the huge amount of pressure by friends and even some family, Jullian was never corrupted by the drugs and crime which occurred there. Jullian went to Brooklyn college and earned a bachelor in International relations and went on to join the NYPD. After only a few successful years on the force he was asked to submit an application for a position in the CIA. So he did, and in a few months he was an operative in the Central Intelligence Agency. In only a few years Jullian was the lead in a very serious operation involving a rogue CIA operative and his newly founded terrorist cell.

Julian was at the Vanguard of this operation, going headfirst after the man named Joseph Murphy. Every time he and his crew got closer Joseph would that much farther away. Julian took years to track Joseph down to his headquarters in Guam where the two had their latest stand down. Julian had final snuck up on Joseph, so he called it in. A few moments later, he was told to go after him. The incursion into the base was going well; as well as it could conceivably go. All security systems were taken out just before the operation began, guards were taken out as silently as possible for as long as possible, and Joseph was none the wiser. One mistake changed it all. A guard was able to reach an alarm and alert the remaining people in the headquarters. Julian, seeing Joseph making his escape, took one of his squad-mates and separated from the rest of the crew who began dealing with the rest of guards. The two chased the terrorist into an underground bunker and out to his personal train where a final face off ensued. In the commotion Joseph took the squad-mate Julian had taken with him as a hostage as he backed away into his train. Julian, knowing Joseph was going to kill the man anyway, decided to kill his own teammate. Though Joseph was subsequently wounded Julian was shot in the chest by several of Josephs own shots.

The aftermath of the event was terrible for Julian, he was dismissed from service and his file was blacklisted. Julian was then sent home. Eventually he developed an obsession with Joseph, slowly finding out about his whereabouts from several of his old informants. Years of investigation brought him to the city of Vanitas where he hopes to get even closer to Joseph's location.

Motivations/Goals: Find the location of a terrorist by the name of Joseph Murphy and end him.


Ejemplo de una historia sobre Julian Cruz

Pulse absolutely racing, sweat on the very end of resistance, hands perfectly still. That is one of the most important things in Julian's line of work, a steady hand. He stood, light pouring on him in a shower of embarrassment as it washed over his naked body, his arms bound to a chain attached to the floor and his mouth muzzled. A blindfold covered Julian's eyes and there seemed to be a consistent white noise. However many thoughts occurred to Julian, one remained constant: Stay consistent. The white noise was interrupted by a clang which seemed to cause a deafening echo. The white noise stopped and then there was nothing but the remains of the disruptive metallic sound infused with the shamefully organic sound of Julian breathing heavily. Footfalls canceled the sounds and elicited a soft gulping sound from Julian. The sound of the grated metal being struck by the heavy polyurethane heel was concise and made a perfect description of who'd just walked into the room.

"John..." Julian called, his voice muffled but still distiguishably subservient, as he'd made it.

"I've been hearing rumors, Julian, terrible rumors." replied the man. He was a tall European looking man with long dark hair that had been greased far too much. His suit was grey and impressively clean for someone of his line of work.

"I fucking bet. Who was it, Claude? I keep telling you he'll be the death of you. That fucker has a knife to your throat and you aren't even paying attention." managed Julian. He'd received a beating earlier and had at least two of his ribs broken. bruises crossed his stomach and up his back. A mouth gag was on the floor next to him. It'd been put in while the beating was occurring, as to not let his silver tongue slip into anyone's ear.

"No, shut the fuck up, Julian! You don't get to point fingers here!" John yelled. "My business is threatened, someone has to answer for it. And you're the only one playing the game right now."

"And what about the game, John? Have I delivered? Have you gotten free reign over the trafficking around here? Have any of your weapons shipments been raided over the past few weeks? Have you or have you not driven past me and my agents in Seattle with a truck full of automatic weapons and gotten away through some magical means? Weapons that could have landed you in a federal prison for the rest of your life, might I add. When I could have caught you red handed and I've let you go!" The blindfold working quite a number on Julian, he wasn't sure whether his show was working or not. "Let's talk about that game, John. The game I've been playing with my lively-hood and my life. If I wasn't with you, I'd have caught you a million times over." There was absolute silence. John stood with his hand to his chin and his eyes staring at the blank metal wall. "Get this fucking blindfold off of me" Julian demanded.

Julian, the naked CIA agent in binds had demanded something of one of the most notorious gun traffickers in the Continental United States. And so John walked over to the naked man and removed his blindfold. Julian's bright brown eyes were exaggerated in the bright light and he looked completely unimpressed.

"There, it's off. You happy, shit head?" asked John walking back to the door.

Under the muzzle Julian smiled a little. "Get me some clothes. And let's talk about this transfer you're making next week."

A moment of silence filled the room and sweat had started to collect around Julian's forehead. John turned around and dropped the blindfold on the floor, watched it fall and turned to the door again. "Meet me in the pool room when you're dressed. I don't want to hear shit about you meeting with one of your agents behind my back again, Julian. Never again."

"Alright" Julian conceded. The door slammed, Julian brought his hands up to his face where he could see them. Perfectly still.

[Vulture]

Like that flavor pic a lot. Anyways.

Name: Tobias "Tobe" Dooley

Gender: Male

Occupation/Affiliation: Dixie Mafia (if'n that's alright)

Age: 22

Appearance: A white male of average build with dirty blond floppy 90s hair, blue eyes, and a large tattoo of a Confederate flag on his upper back.

Clothing: Tobe is a huge fan of Hawaiian shirts, typically wearing them with a light-colored suit. His ensemble is completed by a white Panama hat and a gold rolex, as well as an expensive pair of chocolate-brown snakeskin cowboy boots.

Weapons: Tobe generally carries am 8-shot nickel-plated Ruger P90 on his person, along with a spare magazine for a total of 16 rounds .45 ACP. The magazines are kept in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. He also carries a four-inch fixed-blade Buck knife. In the trunk of his car he keeps a over-under shotgun and a plastic ice cream bucket full of 12-gauge 00 buckshot rounds- let's say thirty shells.

Inventory: Car keys, pager (remember these?), address book, expensive leather wallet

Vehicle: White 1993 Jeep Cherokee

History: Tobe is the only son of long-time Dixie Mafia associate Emil Dooley, one of the top men in the Louisville underworld. Unlike his father, Tobe was born to money and respect, all of it earned by his father. He never had to work for it. As a result, his attitude and arrogance spiraled completely out of control. Tobe considered himself untouchable, a gangster's son. He and his friends made trouble all over Louisville, much to his father's consternation.

Finally, Tobe went too far. When a respected local surgeon found Tobe sleeping with his teenage daughter, Tobe's response was to throw the man off a third floor balcony, very nearly killing him. The senior Dooley had had enough. Tobe was sent out of Louisville to Vanitas, to give the local boss a hand with operations. Emil hopes that being in a new town where where no one cares who he is will mature his son, instilling him with responsibility and propriety.

Motivations/Goals: While money is nice, Tobe is mainly after an easy respect. The man wants to be feared, to live the high life. Damn, it feels good to be a gangster.



Sample Post:

The door to Big Harry's poolroom flew open, admitting the blinding afternoon sunlight. The handful of people shooting at this early hour, mainly staff in want of something to do, shielded their eyes, hoping for a look at the newcomer. A young man, dressed with inversely proportionate amounts of taste and expense. The Hawaiian shirt and chocolate brown cowboy boots did little to complement the expensive suit and hat.

"Tobe Dooley's here," the newcomer said. He strolled on into the poolroom, walking as though the world owed him a favor. His voice betrayed a Southern origin, what the particularly astute would peg as somewhere in Kentucky. "And he wants his money," the man continued. He gave a purposeful look at the largest of the pool players.

Big Harry shifted uncomfortably, gently passing his cue from hand to hand. "Look, Mr. Dooley," he said in a tone that was meant to be reasonable but came off more as scared, "I'm not sure I want your protection anymore."

Tobe Dooley scowled. "Really? What I'm asking is not unreasonable, Big Harry. A thousand a month to keep the riffraff out. Hell, I'd say the business you've gotten since we chased those dickweeds out more than makes up for it."

Big Harry seemed to be sweating, from more than just the hot sunlight streaming in. He looked back at his friends for support, then back to Tobe. "I dunno about that, Mr. Dooley. Saul done told me you hired those guys to come in and start fights just to chase off customers."

Tobe cocked his head back and laughed, a wheezing chuckle that sent flecks of spittle through the air, glistening in the sunlight. "Saul's full of shit, Harry. Man, what's wrong with America nowadays that a man can't provide a genuine community service without folks going and tellin' vicious lies about his intent?" He shook his head, full of shame for today's youth. "Shit, ain't nobody respects an honest businessman anymore, I tell you what."

Big Harry, perhaps foolishly in light of the situation, continued forwards. "You really wanna consider yourself an honest businessman?"

Tobe's head snapped back forwards, his eyes narrowing. "You sassin' me, Big Harry? If I wanted sass, I'd go talk to Sasquatch."

Big Harry carried on, obliviously chasing his tongue off a cliff. "Just sayin', man, I don't think I want your protection."

A chocolate brown blur snapped forwards, smashing directly into where Big Harry's legs merged into his body. The big man crumbled with something between a sob and a man, hands futilely covering his groin. Tobe grunted, then glared down at the man, rolling in pain on the floor. "Welcome to Kicked in the Balls City! Population: you." The man adjusted his white Panama hat, then looked up at the other poolroom workers, huddled on the other side of the table, a welcome barrier between them and Tobe. "Now, if any of you other fuckers feel like growing a spine, today's probably not the best time. Otherwise, my friend Bill Ruger will want a few words with you." He twitched aside his light cream-colored jacket long enough to reveal the grip of a nickel-plated handgun tucked into his waistband in a Mexican carry. "Now how about one of you is a good boy and opens that safe for me?"

Ninety seconds later, Tobe Dooley walked out the front door, two thousand in cash nestled safely in his pocket. He consulted his address book while digging for his car keys. Collection day was always busy, but that's not to say it couldn't be fun.

[Serge Drevlan]

Example story done. It's in my original post here.