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Gutter Diamonds

Even in the darkest, dirtiest places on earth you will find that light exists, in faint glimmers of hope, brief camaraderies, and fleeting moments of happiness. Which is a good thing, considering that this is a pretty damn dark place...

Welcome!
To the underbelly of Los Angeles, home to the so-called scum of human society. Here in the dark alleys and shady backstreets you will meet many interesting characters, including, (but not limited to): runaways, drug addicts, black market dealers, prostitutes, local vagabonds, homeless people, gang members, aging transvestites, drunkards, insane hermits, sketchy loan sharks, and couple people who are really down on their luck. Even though they are looked down upon by the rest of the world, these outcasts and misfits exist in small communities of their own and do their best to make due. Beneath the chipping paint, rusting metal, and graffiti covered walls, a few glimmering gems of happiness exist for them.

This is a character-centric roleplay about the life and times of a few peculiar people living in the shady part of modern day Los Angeles. The story will focus on their situations and how they interact with each other during their day to day lives. This is meant to be a mostly lighthearted roleplay, but a bit of drama and tearjerking is always welcome~

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Rules
-Please be nice
-Follow the RP Guild site rules
-No godmodding please!
-There isn't really a required post size for this roleplay, but a paragraph or two is always nice.
-Don't feel pressured to write lots and lots though! Whatever you're comfortable with is fine.
-No one liners though.
-I'm not sure how the pace will be, but I'd like people post every few days at least.
-Everyone is allowed one character to start.
-Additional characters will be allowed for players who stick around for a little while.
-I think three characters would be the final limit though.
-This roleplay is set in modern day Los Angeles, so no magic or fantasy stuffs here. Sorry.
-If you'll be away for a while or would like to drop out, please let me know~
-Have fun!

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Characters



Roster:
-Vince Rike (The RC Master)
-Guy Funnuchi (manapool1)
-Dan D. Nathanson (StarInaBox)
-Dr. Olivia Anya Friz (Madame_March)
-Quinn "Q" Winslow (greenolive5557)
-Joe Vaughan (Snippy)
-'John' (Major Ursa)
-Roxanne/Roxy (Gabby2634)
-Fae Rogers (CherryPrincess)
-Godafrid Pompilius (Mr. Mantichora)

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Posting Instructions

It would be nice if everyone could insert this template at the top of all of their posts:

Character Name
Location

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If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me! ^.^

Fae Rogers
Her apartment, Central Slums

Beams of midday sunlight filtered through a wide, dirty window and illuminated many small particles cascading through the very dusty air within a certain small apartment. A few more small sun beams that had pierced their way through holes in another window, this one boarded up with pieces of scrap plywood, fell on the brightly colored petals of the lilies and pansies growing alongside marijuana plants in a makeshift greenhouse constructed up against one of the walls. A half-eaten bowl of cup noodles sat on the kitchenette counter next to a sink of dirty dishes, adding to the messy atmosphere of the room dyed sepia by years of sun damage and cigarette smoke.

Ripples moved through the coagulating oily broth in the Styrofoam cup as something hit the wall of the adjacent room, and moments later the door in the wall was flung wide open. A rather short girl wearing a tank top, torn up jeans and a pair of cracked chemist’s goggles came running out of the subsequent cloud of off colored smoke, coughing profusely and waving her gloved hands about her face in an attempt to dispel the fumes. She stumbled over to the window, thanking the Lord once again that there was no fire sprinklers installed in her hazard of an apartment building, and flung open the dirty frame. Once the smoke had dispelled, she slid the goggles up off of her eyes, which were smudged with their typical blue liner, and sat them on the plume of dyed hair atop her head. Looking a little dumbfounded by the occurrence, she stared into the small room attached to the main apartment space, wafts of smoke still flowing from the door. “Well…” She mumbled to herself. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

This was but another one of Fae’s failed experiments, not a particularly rare occurrence, but usually less spectacular. Resolving to try again tomorrow, she cleaned up as well as she was able, collecting pieces of shattered glass beakers and making sure that the progress of her working projects weren’t disturbed. Sure, this job was more than a little dangerous in more ways than one, but in her opinion it would always rank leagues above sitting in an office, working tirelessly to put money in some greedy snub's pockets.

It wasn’t long after this incident, that the young drug dealer threw on a thin hooded jacket and pair of boots with worn down soles, and decided to head out on her rounds. It was a bit of a daily routine for her to walk around the slums of Los Angeles, meeting new and regular customers, and just generally socializing as she pleased. There was something about the company of the people living in this area that made the experience of merely interacting with them a very interesting experience. Maybe it was the rawness of their personalities, or the fact that they always seemed to have the most interesting stories to tell, but it made the days more flavorful.

Her faded grey gym bag containing samples of assorted wares and a few of her personal belongings was the last item to be thrown around her small frame before the headed out the creaking door and down the perpetually dirty steps to the lobby. Upon exiting the building, she squinted into the bright sunlight and felt a thin smile appear on her chapped lips. “Such a nice day…”

Roxy Alford
Her workplace, the pub

Roxanne perched on one of the vomit coloured stools, coated in dust. It was still early morning and she was not ready for another long shift filled with obnoxious drunks and men hitting on her. She could hear was the screams from down the alleyway and the rowdy chatter that always goes on in the bar. Ahh, the bar, the place that she would call home if it wasn't for the constant bar brawls and smell of liquor. It was a run down shit hole like the rest of the slums which other lonely souls wandered in looking to drown their sorrows. Roxanne was the one who they would rant to of course. Not the best job in the world, especially with the pay she receives but what can you do? She's lucky she managed to land this job at all.

"Roxy!" A drowned out voice from the back of the bar called "We need ya to get off your ass and start working, sugar! We don't pay you to sit on your sorry ass all day"
She got lucky with her boss, he wasn't some abusive bastard like the rest of the men in the slums but he wasn't somebody to be messed with. Nobody know's anything about him, but there's a lot of nasty stories floating around. Roxanne think's he got lucky, he doesn't have a huge reputation but enough of one to keep the pests away. Unlike her reputations, where you get old geezers pulling you into the back room and touching you up. However, he doesn't appreciate it when Roxanne clobbers them with the nearest glass, he usually makes her work overtime. That's why she's there today. It wasn't mean to be her shift but a group of drunken youths decided to have some fun and the closest object happened to be a metal bar. Yeah, the boss didn't appreciate a twenty year old guy bleeding out on his floor.

She spent the next couple of hours serving people drinks and listening to the droning singing coming from a old lady on the wooden stage. This lady was a regular at the pub, she always wore dark purple and lots of jewelry. As if showing off but not quite. People say she murdered her husband a while back due to him cheating but nobody knows how true it is. A lot of dark rumors roam these part of the slums.
"They could at least hire someone decent to sing... well what do i expect? It is a shit hole..." Roxanne muttered to herself whilst twirling her hair chestnut brown hair around her fingers. She was decent looking, or at least she liked to think so. Her looks got her money so she couldn't really complain but couldn't really boast either. She receives a lot of rude remarks to say the least. Not that she really deserves them, but do any of us really deserve this? Did anybody wish for a life in the slums? Roxanne didn't think so.

Guy Funnuchi, the pub

Guy sat at the bar with his face covered and his shoulders plumped over. He held small glass of an acorn beer, yet it was almost empty, and he was in need of a refill, but he was in no mood to ask for one. He looked at the cuts on his arm and finished off the rest of his drink. He had been rewarded the damage from a fight he was in 2 days ago, after a fighter bashed him with a bottle, and tried to slash at him, only to learn Guy was a little more courage as he thought, and moved in on his opponent.

He had one the fight, but the nasty deal of flesh it removed had not grow back yet, the cuts had become infected and festered more every day, and had become almost unbearable. He knew he needed to go to the clinic, but he needed the money to hire an exterminator, maybe that's why he got infected, all the mice and roaches in his one room home had gotten to him. He looked at his glass as a man sat next to him and started talking smack to him.

He didn't pay much attention, he just continued to look at his glass and grow thirsty with each glass, that was until he heard the man call him a name he wished never existed, it made him want to kill anyone who said it, it was like a trigger word for him. The man called him a hick, which proved yet again that he was drunk, as if the swaying and slurr he had between each and every word. They were in los angles, and in the city no less, yet still he turned to the man and and gave him an elbow to his cheek, as hard as he could. The man flopped to the floor and Guy sighed. He needed a drink. Guy took the glass and shook it a little.
"can I get another round over here"

Olivia Friz
undisclosed residential apartment located near the slums

The best mornings for Olivia are the ones when she awakes before the silent alarm clock blares to life beside her. To her delight, Olivia had woken to just a morning. There is this moment of half-awake bliss snuggled between the sheets of Olivia's full bed. Only a slither of early morning sunlight breaks through the tightly closed blinds and makes a thin line of light across the darken blue carpet. It is in these moments that are the most innocent as the fog from sleep has yet to fade from Olivia's mind. Then the alarm screams to life, shattering the peaceful silence and tranquil fog. Thoughts swarm through her head like a chaotic storm. In one quick movement, Olivia turns off the alarm and springs from bed. Once the alarm signals the beginning of her day, routine takes over. Bed made, shower started, teeth brushed, wash away the last of the fog under the warm streams, shower off. Hair is fixed into a tight ponytail and makeup is placed strategically like a mask, her blouse and pants pulled on like armor. The last piece, a black Glock, is hosteled nestled under her jacket. Olivia inspect herself in the mirror of her bedroom with sharp eyes before collecting her laptop bag, and phone and exiting the small bedroom.

The quiet living room is ignored as Olivia walk toward her front door. Just like her bedroom, it has been left in a organized manor with the curtains pulled across large windows overlooking the city outside.
The Realtor had praised the modern condo, despite its shady location. She called it a cozy space that could host a variety of social gatherings. In the end, its closeness to the clinic was what sold it. A bright day greeted Olivia when she appears outside and heads for her car. In the distance, she could hear traffic, faint sirens and children screaming with laughter. A low rider cruised by and hip-hop plays loudly. This was the L.A Olivia loves, the energy that radiated off the city of fallen angels was always with her.

L.A Hope Clinic

The hope clinic doesn't really look like a clinic, a stone and metal two story building seems to loom over its neighbors. with cameras covering every angle, and arm guards inside, the hope clinic seem more like a fortress. weapons and drugs are taken in the lobby and return upon leaving and gang colors are removed. It had taken a long time, but Olivia had made the hope clinic a neutral and safe place. Olivia remembers this as she pulls into the parking lot behind the clinic and she has to take a moment to breath. Coffee and donuts sit cooling on the seat next to her, but Olivia does not pay them any mind. She mentally prepares for what might be waiting through the doors of her clinc. Her belief in God changes from day to day, but this morning Olivia was feeling catholic and decides to mumbles a small prayer. A loud knock shakes her to reality but the man at her driver window was only a security officer.

"Sorry Doc, looked like you were having a stroke in there." he opens the door for Olivia and she hands him a tray of coffee and donuts box.
"How about you leave the diagnoses to me Ron. But I appreciate the concern" Olivia replies with a smile. The two walk quickly toward the entrance located in the back for staff. With a swap of her keycard, the door clicks open and cool air condition rushes pass them. They make a beeline for her office, stopping at the breakroom to exchange good mornings with the arriving staff and good nights with the departing graveyard shippers. The coffee and are abandoned with the staff and Olivia shuts the door to her office.
"Whats the damage so far?" Olivia ask as she trades jacket for a plan white coat. It buttons into place, hiding her protection from view.
"Two OD's came in last night, according to graveyard, both where stabilized, but one decline overnight treatment and was practically dragged out by her friends . The other is being held upstairs, probably still sleeping things off." As Ron speaks, Olivia continues with her routine. Laptop placed on her desk among the neat plies of paperwork, jacket is hung up, purse locked away.
"Oh, and you better break out the champagne and party coke for this one Doc, No attempted breaks in last night! For once." Olivia laughs though it sounds more like a snort. For once, a quiet evening.
"Ok, I'll be out in a second, go ahead and start rounds Ron." He leaves silently but Olivia only has a moment of silence before there is a knock. "We have a issue in the waiting room Doctor." The tone is soft on the other side of the door, but Olivia could hear the tension in the nurse's voice. She rises and walks quickly out of the office. The day was only just beginning.

Dan Nathanson
Disgustingly Run-down Motel 8

"PFFFUH! ACK!"

Dan seemed to be fired out of a cannon as he sat up, choking on something that had crawled down his throat while he was asleep. Dan grabbed his throat in a panic and coughed uncontrollably. After a few coughs, a small cockroach was hurled out of Dan's throat and on to the end of the bed, only to scuttle away as if nothing had happened. Dan jumped out of his bed and to the minifridge in the corner of the room, flinging open the door and grabbing a water bottle. He tore off the cap and started guzzling the water down, sucking half of it from the bottle before collapsing to his knees in front of the minifridge, gasping for air. "Stupid... FUCKING roaches..."

Dan screwed the cap on to the water bottle and set it on top of the minifridge. He looked back at the only bed in the room, the one that his dad graciously lets him sleep in each night. The cockroach had crawled to the floor and began to scuttle to the corner of the room. Dan wiped his mouth off in disgust. He looked at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. It read "5:59 AM." It was set to ring at six o'clock, so it was time to wake up anyways.

Dan went through his daily morning routines: First, he took a shower, then got dressed and grabbed his backpack for school. That was it. No breakfast for Dan this morning. Or any morning, for that matter. His dad was simply too poor to afford it. There was a five dollar bill sitting for him on the main dresser. This would buy Dan a very meager lunch and dinner. He did eat it, however, andhappily at that. At least, as happily as one could be with a Cup O' Noodles. He has seen some homeless people sitting on the streets who looked as if they hadn't eaten in years. Which, obviously, was a huge exaggeration. Dan took the five dollar bill and walked out of the door to make his way to school.

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The bell rang for lunch period, and Dan scooped up his school supplies and headed for his locker. Once he arrived, he hastily turned the lock and opened the metal cabinet, shoving his belongings inside. Then, he slammed the locker door shut and walked to the schools exits. Dan didn't eat at the school. He would much rather buy a Cup o' Noodles at a corner store and eat on the curb than in the noisy cafeteria. He would get his food stolen anyways. Plus, the school didn't really care, so it was okay.

Dan walked to a nearby corner store. He was a regular there, and the clerk behind the counter greeted him as he walked inside. Dan bought his Cup O' Noodles and payed for it. The clerk would graciously open the styrofoam cup and filled it with water that was used for coffee. The clerk also gave Dan a plastic spoon to eat with. Dan thanked the clerk and walked outside. He sat down of the curb of the street. He stirred his noodles, helping them to soften up, and watched various people who were walking down the street.

Vince Rike
Alleyway

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Vince groaned. His black eye was throbbing and, though he wasn't a medical expert, he was sure that a couple of ribs had been broken. Only adding to the pain was his empty stomach. He hadn't eaten in a weak and Vince felt like he was dying.

The dark haired man lay slumped against the wall of the alleyway, too weak to move. It was just his luck that he had chosen a gang member to try to rob. Just what was he thinking! It didn't help that the gangster's friends were just around the corner. They had given Vince quite the beating. If it wasn't for the sound of police sirens making the gangsters run, then they would've surely killed him.

He looked around. Maybe someone could help him? Yeah right...no one was gonna help a bum like him. At least he could try. A boy sitting in the curb caught Vince's attention. "H-hey..." he managed to call out. "Kid..."

Quinn "Q" Winslow
Her Apartment

Lazy high noon light filtered through the airy purple curtains and brightened the royal purple walls of Quinn "Q" Winslow's small bed room. Her messy room was furnished with only a large bed and a nightstand. Her closet was, although filled with clothing, overflowed into her room. All types of articles of clothing, including footwear, littered her floor, hung from her curtains, and were stuffed into her nightstand, some were even pushed under bed. Quinn rolled over on her plush bed. Her blue sheets and orange blankets were tangled around her limbs and her multiple pillows were scattered around her bed. A soft groan emanated from within the mass of blankets as the light from the curtained windows pierced the messy bedroom. As she untangled herself from within her mass of blankets and fell with a graceful thump to the floor, Quinn rose to greet the day. She rose from the floor, her vibrant orange hair a tangle mess and her blue penguin pajamas rumpled. Staggering upright, Quinn walked to the window and threw open the curtains, letting in the bright, midday light. Wincing, at the sudden and brutal light she opened the second pair of window drapes and looked out at the new day. The sun was shining bright, giving a false hope of a bright new day, with new opportunities.

As Quinn prepped herself for the upcoming day in her bathroom she mulled over yesterday on the job. Quinn was lucky to work at the best rated strip club in the whole of her end of the city underground. It was cleanly and had a good reputation, but yesterday night had been a train wreck. A bunch of recently graduated high school males had entered the club and had caused a ruckus. They were drunk and high, loud and obnoxious and had tried to take more than a look from Quinn. They had requested her services, which included a private dance and some lap dances, but the boys had not been satisfied. They had wanted more, and that was more than Quinn herself offered. She does not offer sex to her costumers but the boys had been keen to get some. But the bodyguards had come crashing in and kicked the boys to the curb. A plus though was that she got a large raise from her employer in order to not press charges against the club.

With a sigh Quinn walked out of the bathroom dressed in a pair of long skinny, black, studded leggings, black faux leather ankle boots, and a loose black tank top with a orange tiger head design on it. Her bright orange hair sat messily on top of her head in a ponytail. A quick scan around her apartment revealed a relatively clean living room and kitchen. Dishes from yesterdays meals sat drying next to the sink. Potted plants crowded her counter and sink. And her plush, second-hand couch sat in front of a tea-stained coffee table which was scattered with more plants and books. After a quick cup of earl grey tea and the contemplation of the universe and the meaning of life, Quinn left her apartment to face the day.

Roxanne Alford
The entrance to the pub, the alleyway.

Roxanne prepared her things and got ready to leave. She pulled her huge coat over her and pulled her hood up over her face. She looked like a pretty dodgy person but it's better to look dodgy than feminine in the streets. Besides, you never know what kind of people linger in the alleys.
She made her way down the streets ignoring all of the rowdy chatter and trying to avoid the smashed glass on the floor, she spotted a man slumped against the side of the wall. He didn't exactly look in tip top condition. She stood there for a while, it really had nothing to do with her but she wasn't one to stand around and watch him bleed to death. Then again, she heard stories about this kind of thing all the time in these parts of the slums. People pretending to be injured in a quiet place, seek help then attack you or something like that. He seemed to be seeking help from a young boy. "Not good..." She mumbled to herself. She doesn't really mind if he attacks her, she's pretty used to handling herself right now but a young boy? Nah, she couldn't sit back and watch.

She approached slowly and knelt down next to the man, yeah, not in such a good condition. But pretty good use of make up if it was an act. "Um... are you okay? There's a clinic quite close to here. Can you walk?" She bit her lip and tugged on her hood, attempting to hide most of her face. She was very nervous, approaching strangers on the street wasn't particularly her thing.

"John"
Bus to the Clinic

Being out and about, and not hooking...he still couldn't get his mind out of the zone. He knew the exactly type of woman wore those leather boots, a guy standing not too far away with a tight shirt and very clean skin and hair was gay, the old woman two seats away was a cat lady...she had a lot of cat hair on her sweater, so...

Bringing his hand to his head, he massaged his temples and...his stop. Getting up, not once removing his tired eyes from the ground, he stepped off the bus and looked around. Street was relatively quiet, the free clinic was a short walk away. Taking some time to relax, he thought back to a moment when he had nothing, than a moment when he had a lot. Maybe he should set up 'shop' in a different, less dirty part of the city, or a different city entirely. Nah. This place...suited him just perfectly, a bitter self thought, to be sure. In a few minutes, he walked through the entrance of the place. He didn't like how the rent-a-cops stared him down, it made him feel less safe, persecuted at times. That's just how these places were, like everywhere else...

Walking up to the secretary in the lobby, ignoring the presence of the other people waiting, he rested an arm on the desk and tapped the flat surface with his free hand, "Hey, 'scuse me, lady? Yeah, I have an eleven o'clock with one of your doctors, I'm 'sposed to be getting an up to date STD test result back?"

The thick black stitching zinged-zagged across the sun baked skin of Mr. Eastwood. Olivia draws herself back to survey her handy work from a distance.The older gentleman who would gave the name Clint Eastwood had found himself the victim of a drive-by shooting a week ago. The surgery to remove the pistol shell and reconstitute the damage done to his lower abdomen had taken Olivia quite a few hours. However, the good doctor was able to stitched Mr. Eastwood together like a human rag doll and sent him on his marry way. Until he stumbled into the clinic today with his stitches pulled open.
Once the stitches have been looked over, Olivia covers the wound with fresh bandages and looks to the older man sternly. "I didn't realize horses were in such a abundance in L.A Mr. Eastwood, but I had assumed you knew horse riding fell under strenuous activity. Obviously I was wrong, So, this time I strongly I suggest taking the bus until that wound heals." With a wave of her hand, Olivia waves the delusional man out of the examine room just as a nurse appears at the door.
"Someone name John is here for his test results, he didn't give a last name."

Olivia snaps off her gloves with a nod and begins to clean the bloody gazes and tools used to stitch up Mr. Eastwood. "Haven't had a chance to look at the results myself, send him in and bring me the results if you would please." She remains with her back to the door, but she can tell when John has entered. She turns and motions to a table and set of chairs on one side of the examination room. "If you would John." She goes for the other seat across from him, hands folded neatly on the table and legs crossed at the ankles. "How have you been John?" She ask with a professional but hollow smile. The warmer side of Olivia was saved for people who needed the comfort, like the young and the dying.

Dan Nathanson
Curb by the Corner Store

Dan slurped up noodles generously. Even though he had been eating noodles for quite some time, the taste had never really gotten old to him. He loved noodles. There wasn't a real reason, they just tasted good. Dan was watching people walk by. There were adults, mostly, homeless people and some high school drop outs and even some people from the middle school and-

"Hey..."

Dan picked his head up. He thought he heard something. The voice was faint and weak, Dan wasn't even sure he heard it.
... Was someone trying to get his attention?

"Kid..."

No, Dan was sure this time. He had heard someone. And a turn off his head revealed who this stranger was. A beaten up stranger, half sitting and half laying against the brick wall that made up the alleyway he was in. Dan sprung up from the curb. Before he ran over to the man, someone else was kneeling down next to him for help. So, instead of rushing over and crowding him, Dan decided to run to where he could get help. Free help.

After about ten minutes of running, Dan bursted through the doors of the L.A. Hope Clinic, one that Dan attended a few times in his life at least, if not more. He didn't exactly remember. But it was free, and one of the first place Dan would think to go if someone needed help. He ran up to the help desk, fighting to regain breath so he could speak what the problem was... "Hey!... There's this guy... In an alleyway and... He's REALLY banged up... It's across from the corner store closest to the middle school, you have to help him!"

Vince Rike
Alleyway

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"Please..."

Desperation filled Vince's eyes as the boy glanced at him, then hurried away. He had to be getting help. He wasn't just gonna let someone die...right? Vince to push away the thought of being left for dead as a someone made their way towards him.

He eyed the stranger carefully. A coat covered most of their features and made them look shifty. Had it been any other day, Vince would've avoided this person all together. You couldn't trust anyone on these streets. But it wasn't any other day. Vince was in pain and needed help

"Um... are you okay? There's a clinic quite close to here. Can you walk?" they asked. Their voice held a feminine lilt.

"I've been better," he responded weakly. He groaned as the ache in his side grew. "Walking is out of the question..." His lips formed a taut line as he recalled attempting to walk away earlier. He had barely gotten five feet from where he was beaten before collapsing.

Roxanne Alford
The alleyway

Roxanne crouched next to him and sighed. What was she going to do? Hopefully the boy ran off to the clinic but she wasn't sure.
"We're going to have to try to move you somehow... Can you attempt to stand up for me? I can try to support you to help you walk. The clinic's only a couple of streets away, It's really really close." She sighed and scratched her head, standing up and grabbing the mans arm to hoist him up carefully. Roxanne smirked under her hood. She was crazy, totally crazy. She should have just left him.
"So, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit..." She laughed to herself whilst studying his black eye.

'John'
Free Clinic

"How have you been John?"

John chuckled wryly at this, the tone of voice she had was one of somebody quite jaded...not much for the doctor ideal, but she had the ideal doctor skills. With a faux gasp and shocked expression, he ran a hand through his hair and looked at her 'sadly', "Don't tell me you didn't miss me, doc! I've been thinkin' of you, doc, since my last visit...thinking of you, late into the dark, lonely nights..." This was laughable, since he was either working at night, or out of his mind on drugs at that point. John wouldn't have even thought of this woman much, if she weren't one of the apparent head-honchos of this establishment, if he didn't have an appointment with her...

Glancing up and down her legs for a moment, he almost lost face, before looking away at a wall chart in a more obvious and genuine boredom, "It's true what they say...people with cash have nicer legs..." There was a silence that fell over him briefly, before he clapped his hands together, and rubbed them audibly. "So, where's dat test results papers? I need the good news to rub inna people's faces."

The Clinic
The morning began to draw to a close and with it the quietest part of the day. In the early hours of daylight, the parents usually filed in with their children, appointments made when L.A seem the most calm. Nurses and doctors armed with booster shots, colored band aids, and cold medicine would aid these children. By noon, all children appointments are taken care of, then more serious appointments and walk ins seem to appear. Such as the boy who rushes into the small waiting room.
Hey!... There's this guy... In an alleyway and... He's REALLY banged up... It's across from the corner store closest to the middle school, you have to help him!" The nurse silently thinks over the decision she has to makes, then she lifts the phone to summon a orderly from the back room. The two men in blue scrubs appears within moments, the more kinder looking of the two kneels before the boy, "Can you lead us to him son?"

Within moments, the three were out in the L.A heat, the boy leading the two larger men. They spot the patient being moved by a figure that seem half his size.
"Honey, let us give you a hand" The kinder orderly greets her while flashing a employee badge. Without waiting for a response, the two men step on both sides of the bruised and battered man and lifted him like he weighted nothing.

Olivia
Olivia remains unfazed by John's comments, honestly she had heard much worse in her life. "Well I am flattered John" Olivia response without missing a beat, "These visits of ours, me collecting your blood and urine samples, you keeping me in mind during your drug-induces hazes, I think we have a real bond John." Their brief conversation is interrupted by the presence of nurse Layla. While she whispers something to Olivia, the doctor catches something in John's expression but only for a moment. She quickly returns her attention to what Layla is saying before receiving the thin orange envelope.

There is another moment of silence as Olivia breaks the seal and reads over the result.
"Well, toxicity report isn't very pretty. But I'll let you read that over in private." There is a shuffle of paper that fills the tense air. "Congratulations John, you are clean as a whistle, more or less." Olivia says with a genuine smile and relief in her voice. She slides the results over for John to review himself.
"Now, as for the drug use, Could I interest you in some fascinating literature? Pictures of decaying faces, fun rhythms to practice, 'crack is wrack!' or 'Hugs, not drugs'?" A sarcastic tone had replaced her genuine tone, but Olivia always tried to push the drug programs on her known users, even if the plea fell on deaf ears.

Vince Rike
Alleyway

---

"Thanks," Vince grunted as he was hoisted up. His legs shook and he placed a shaking hand on the wall to help steady him.

"So, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit..."

"I feel like shit. I, uh, ran into some trouble," he half-lied. What else was he going to say? That he hit beat up for trying to mug someone? Vince mentally scoffed at the thought. It was clear that this person didn't trust him. Telling them that he was trying to steal wouldn't have helped. "Things were said, punches were thrown, and I'm pretty sure one guy had a metal bat."

"Honey, let us give you a hand."

Vince looked towards the source of the voice. The boy from earlier was leading two large men towards them. Panic filled the injured man. Were they the cops? If they were, then he was royally screwed. After his last encounter with the police, there was no doubt that they wouldn't hesitate to arrest Vince.

As the men drew near, the panic faded. Scrubs. Not police uniforms. They were just scrubs. Vince hid a small grin of relief.He let out a surprised yelp as the men lifted him like he was weightless. He cast the boy that led them and the figure in the coat (which he deemed was female by the shape) a grateful look as he was carried away.

Roxanne Alford
Alleyway

"A metal bat huh? Well... whatever was said must have been pretty bad for it to get that extreme." She scratched her head in confusion. She was pretty sure that wasn't the truth but she decided to leave it alone, it wasn't her business anyway. People do what they do in the slums, it's nothing to be proud of but nothing to really be ashamed of.

As he was carried away she waved goodbye at him and laughed. The surprised look on his face was priceless. He should be in good hands now. When she walked out of the alleyway she pulled down her hood and set off to her apartment to get some shut eye. She won't get much sleep later on in the night. She was getting short on money once again, she hated it. The doom of the dark streets and usual assholes haunted her permanently She didn't feel like facing it all and still having to go on the next day despite the pain. She hugged her jacket close to her and increased her speed. Haunted, always haunted. By the lights, by the people, by the constant lingering smell and just the slums in itself. Haunted

'John'
Free Clinic

'Collect my bodily fluids and sticking an object into my body...yeah, sounds legit close.' The difference was, somehow, he should have paid her for this service. He didn't know much how blood and piss was going to tell the doc about the S-T-Ds he didn't have, but that wasn't important to him. Smirking a little bit at the doc's summary of his report, he took the papers handed to him, "Thanks a bunch, doc, this should help me an' my work...till next time, when I needa 'nother up date.." Checking the papers, he let his eyes linger on some of the lengthy parts...though, more for show than anything, since he couldn't read any big words. John wasn't learned like that, but his speech was pretty ace.

Rolling his automatically as the doc started up her small speech about the anti-drug thing, he folded up them papers carefully and pocketed them, "What about 'drugs fo thugs'? Or, like some of 'em workin', drug usin' girls's policy? Crack...for crack?" Chuckling a bit darkly at that last one, he couldn't help but remember that particular hooking lady...god damn, she was BIG. That felt like a lifetime ago..."Look, doc...I haven't done any drugs this week, if you'd believe it. We gots behind on rent for a while, and I had to pay at the beginnin' of this week, else the landlady was going to have her husband shove a bat in me...in, uh, an 'unhealthy manner'." Shifting in his chair a bit, he shrugged while looking over at another wall chart, "But, when I got the cash, you bet your ass I'm still going to buy my shit." Leaning on an arm and looking right to the doctor, John gave her his most charming smile, "How about...you read me one of your anti-drug 'phlets, nice and slow. Ya know? Let me listen and burn it all into my brain...so, I got a nice voice in mind to jerk off to while I smoke my crack, how about them dark and lonely nights?"

Dan Nathanson
Streets of Los Angeles

Contrary to popular belief, Dan never reappeared at the scene of Vince's accident. Before he was in sight of the occupants of the alleyway, he had pointed the nurse and her makeshift transports in the general direction. It wasn't very hard to miss, and they found Vince with relative ease. As the nurse and her transports were preparing to move Dan to the Hope Clinic to get him patched up, he started running. Not in fear, but because lunch period was probably almost over, and he had no intentions of being late. Dan had made it back to school on time, and promptly returned to class.