Provodnikov

West End

sorry for my hiatus; work has been crazy. should have a post up today.

@polyphemus
@sterling

West End

Not to his surprise, but at least to his pleasure, Levin made the first move. "May I offer you a cigarette, Flowers?" Flowers. Tom felt like kissing the Jew for providing him with an adequate way of addressing him. Impersonal but personal at the same time. Not offensive, not pleasant, and not inherently disrespectful - that was most important.

However, before Tom could answer the jeweller, Chasity did it for him. "I think," she said, "that Mr. Flowers only smokes cigars." He didn't respond to Chasity's question about Levin's jewellery. Truth is he did like the Jew's work, but preferred to get it from the Russian in Bethnal Green; Ludmil. The prices were roughly 80% cheaper than in-store, but that was likely because he was a jewel thief - the best in Western Europe, in fact - and had, on occasion, lifted some of Levin's pieces. Those were Tom's favourite in truth. He had a number of rings that came from Levin's hands but did not often wear them in the West End. Too many questions to ask, too many names to drop.

"She's right," said Tom, "but it would be poor form if I said no." He gave a light nod in appreciation and took a cigarette from Levin's case. He placed it between his lips and took out a match book from his breast pocket, struck one of the matches, and lit Chasity's cigarette. He did little more than grunt and nod to answer Chasity's smile before bringing the flame to his own cigarette.

After he put the match out, he turned to see Ashley approaching him with a handsome young man. Of the twins, Reggie was easily the more agreeable. He considered continuing the conversation with Levin and Chasity but they'd started off on their own topic, and it would be rude to turn away one of the infamous Krays. Even in the infancy of their criminal careers, they were known throughout the West End.

"Mr. Flowers," started Reggie, "good to see you again."
Tom's face remained unchanged. "Aye, it is." He nodded. "Done boxing, then?"
Reggie shrugged with a cheeky grin, "don't pay like you."
Tom winked at Reggie and looked at Ashley. "Where's the other one?"
"Fuckin' about with my cousin," Ashley replies with a nod to the stairs, "in the lounge."
Tom grunts and looks back at Reggie. "Got 'im under wraps, have ya?"
Reggie laughs, "Does anyone?"
Tom nods. "Right. Well, get a drink and fuck off, then."
The young Kray nods and heads to the other side of the bar, leaving Tom and Ashley. The chauffeur leans into Tom's side and says quietly, but somehow audibly to the pair at their side, "Yardie's 'round back."

Yardie. Fuckin' Yardie. The Jamaican immigrant, Frayne's pitbull, the Shade of Shaftesbury, thought Tom, and my mate from the bin. Fuckin' Yardie. Fuckin' DeShawn Crawford. Lord knows why he works for me and Mase when Solomon Aldridge - that fuckin' "black rights activist"-- more like a glorified fucking gangster - is just an hour's drive south. Kykes with kykes, blacks with blacks, all that race-bound loyalty bullshit. He didn't buy into it, really. He didn't hate the Jews because they were Jews, he hated the Jews because they cornered a profitable racket. He hated the blacks because they were romanticized terrorists. He hated everyone else because he was a miserable cunt.

Tom nodded and flicked his chin towards the door. "Tell 'em I'll be a minute. Bring 'em a gin."

Ashley slapped Tom's shoulder and left the hotel with a bottle of Tanqueray Dry Gin.

Tom turned to Chasity as he watched Henry Adler storming over in a huff. A kyke, he thought and now a muppet.

West End

@polyphemus "god's fucking gift to gangsters" ahahaha

West End

Tom placed the cigar in his teeth and held it for a minute, allowing his hands to find a place in his pants' pockets. He looked around the room with the same unimpressed look that had become synonymous with the man. Jon, his son, would have loved it. Loud music, free drinks, and a place to crash after the night came to a close? Paradise for the boy. Sure, he would have loved it, but Tom had already decided it wasn't the place for his son - for anyone's son - and so Jon would stay home with his nanny.

One familiar face after another smiled and nodded at Tom as he slowly made his way to the bar. Celebrities, politicians, and gangsters alike all showed due respect to a man who made a life in a sea of death. Nobody caught his attention in particular as he lazily acknowledged each greeting - nobody except for the youngest Adler. Chasity, he thought, the cheeky girl. He pulled the cigar from his teeth and shifted his attention to the barman as he got closer. After ashing the cigar, he flicked his chin up at the server. "Rye."

Tom felt a hand brush his, and so he slowly turned to see who it was. Chasity Adler, the minx, who else? "Mr. Flowers," she said as she attempted to mask some sort of conflicting emotion, "how lovely to see you here as well. Do you know Mr. Levin?"

Which one is he, again? he thought as he called upon his very short-lived rant in the car, oh, yeah. The kyke. Not just any kyke. The kyke. He nodded once as he attempted to make eye contact with Isidor. "Aye, I know the man." He tried not to address him by name. He was due his respect, it's true, but personal prejudices stopped Tom from addressing him as "Mr. Levin" and lack of familiarity stopped him from addressing him as "Isidor."

By now the bartender had placed a glass with two thumbs of rye on a napkin beside Tom's hand, calling for his attention. He nodded and sipped the rye.

West End

"Cunts," said Tom.
Ashley jumped in his seat, startled by Tom suddenly breaking the silence. "What's that, gaffer?"
Tom gestured to The Grosvenor House Hotel with his thin cigar. Vanilla scented, imported, pompous. One of the few extravagant things Tom allowed himself. That, and the Mercury Monterey they sat in.
Ashley looked at the hotel, back to Tom, the hotel, and Tom again. "What, them?"
Tom nodded slowly and suddenly changed to shake his head. He took a drag from the cigar and said, "Fuckin' Adlers, and the kykes, and the Lords and Barons, and the whole fuckin' lot of 'em."
Ashley shrugged his shoulders. He never had any personal prejudices against the Adlers - or any of the Hyde Park gang, really - and especially not the Jews, being that his father was a Jewish butcher in Bethnal Green. That said, Ashley never mixed with most of the people inside. The only reason he here was because he wanted to give his cousin "Pretty Boy" Troy Wilkinson a fine "welcome home" party. Fresh from prison after a bid for arson, not many people knew who Troy was, and even fewer expected much from him. That's where Tom came in. "Sure, Tom, but..." Ashley began to bargain, "the girls, yeah?"
"The birds, Ash?" Tom looked over at his chauffeur with a soft look of disgust. "You reckon that's what's brought me 'ere, 'eh?"
Ashley dolled out apology after apology hoping Tom wouldn't tell him to take him home.
"Relax," said Tom as he looked back over at the hotel. "I'll get you in, ya cunt."

---

A black man in a tuxedo opened the doors to the hotel as Ashley and Tom ascended the stairs. "Sirs," said the doorman. Tom nodded, but Ashley was knackered by his nerves, so he hardly even noticed him.

A curtain of cigarette smoke, barrage of loud music, and the unmistakable stench of turpentine greeted them before any other. Turpentine, what the fuck for? thought Tom, but it soon occurred to him that, were it not for the overpowering smell, it very well could be an aroma of sweat, tobacco, and booze that was there at the door. Better turpentine, then, he thought.

"Tom!" shouted a familiar voice.
Oh, yeah. Blond hair parted to the right, thick, pursed lips, little button nose? "Diana Dors in the flesh. What brings you to the West End?" asked Tom.
"Oh, y'know," she started with a faux coy tone, "stuff!"
Tom nodded and turn to Ashley and said, "Get her a drink."
Ashley nodded and offered Diana his arm. She smiled at Tom as she wrapped her self around the chauffeur. "Bye, love!"
Tom winked at her and nodded.

Fuckin' hell, he thought, what a fuckin' shit show.

West End

i`m saying that i own a fuckin horse and thusly will post

West End

provo owns a fuckin horse

West End

@Polyphemus yes, mate, we've started

West End

TOM FLOWERS

Name: Thomas Gideon Flowers
Date of Birth: August 23, 1916 (aged 37 years old)
Place of Birth: Cheshire, Greater Manchester, England
Occupation: Entrepreneur (owns the Manc & Maiden pub and Mancunian Mint Imports & Experts)
Affiliation(s): Transport and General Workers Union (TGWU), The Shaftesbury Firm
Modus Operandi: Extortion, narcotics trafficking, racketeering
Background/History:

Thomas Gideon Flowers (henceforth Tom Flowers/Tom) was born to Fraser and Susan Flowers, the former being a bricklayer, and the latter being a homemaker. As a result of the way they lived their lives, the Flowers family didn't have a great deal of wealth, which made for an uncomfortable childhood for Tom. Despite the strenuous circumstances that they lived in, the Flowers boy had a strong connection with his father - something uncharacteristic of the time, and, as a result, aspired to lay bricks like his father. But when Tom was 13, his father succumbed to a bout of pneumonia which forced his mother to remarry. Her choice of husband would prove to be an unwise one, as he turned out to be an abusive figure - both to the boy and his mother.

In an act of passion, Tom would eventually stab his mother's new husband to death in her defense, forcing him to flee when he was 13. His mother sent him to live with his uncle Clyde Daily. Daily was an affluent member of London's post-World War I society and a known gangster. He came from his own humble beginnings as he transformed the scraping-by household of a longshoreman into the wealthy estate of a businessman in under 10 years. Daily kept Tom's presence a secret for as long as he could due to him being wanted by English authorities for the murder of his mother's late husband. He succeeded in doing so for 3 years until Tom had foolishly snuck out of Daily's estate and attempted to hitchhike his way back to Cheshire to visit his mother. When he arrived in Greater Manchester, he was soon apprehended, charged, and sentenced to 10 years hard labour.

His time in prison shaped him as a man; his perception of the world was warped, but perhaps less-so than some others he shared his environment with. The reason he didn't develop a "shoot-first" mentality was because of a mentor he had in prison, with whom he shared a cell, known as Wyatt Moss. Moss was 21 years Tom's senior and was expected to die in prison as he had emphysema. As he watched the Flowers boy grow, he did his best to teach him right from wrong, social etiquette, and entry level business tactics so that he could make a living when he was released from prison. Much of the information stuck, it would seem, as Tom would find himself a rich man later in life.

Once his 10 year sentence was served in full, Tom was meant to be released under Daily's watch, but the man had died a month prior to his release. He was given to then-Constable Jon Howe for watching. It was a simple arrangement - not unlike a modern day probation arrangement in America - Flowers was expected to follower a certain set of rules, report to Howe once a week by a certain time, or a warrant would be made for his arrest. The two developed a personal friendship that would prove to stand the test of time as they remained very close friends for much of their adult lives.

Tom found work in a pub on Shaftesbury Avenue called The Crooked Cock as a bartender. He was a naturally charismatic and well-spoken young man and built many friendships with many patrons, including Mason Frayne - a high-ranking member of the Shaftesbury Firm. When Tom was given trouble by a group of drunks who had become belligerent and stabbed him in the gut, it was Frayne who had Tom identify them, and subsequently murdered them both. Nobody was ever named as the killers, but the multiple murders made the papers and called for action from the police, increasing their presence in Shaftesbury.

When Tom was 30 - 4 years after being released from prison and given a job at the pub - his boss died. Tom was the only employee that the owner kept and had no living family, so he left the establishment in Tom's hands, having known that he had knowledge of operating a business. Frayne asked Tom if he would be OK with having some of his friends drink for free in exchange for protection of the same brand he was given years ago, a la the drunks. Flowers accepted and soon found himself the dear friend of a number of London gangsters.

One of the people he`d networked with was a lounge singer who performed in The Whistling Gull in Picadilly Circus by the name of Eleanor Lipscombe. They hit it off early on in 1946 and would later marry in 1947. Eleanor died giving birth to their son Jonathan in December of 1948. The death of Tom`s wife and birth of his son would mark a turning point for him; develop a more concrete end game. Whereas before the plan was simply to work until he dies, it was now to amass a fortune large enough to promise Jon an entire life of luxury.

Tom committed himself to the Shaftesbury Firm and rose through the ranks quickly, often providing counsel to Frayne on major decisions. Some believe that Tom had a direct influence on the standing truce between the three rivaling West End gangs, and also that he is responsible for their standing streetwise, given that he was a veteran of the prison system and employed certain methods of intimidation and violence that he had witnessed and adopted while serving his murder sentence.

He made a point of saving a large portion of the earnings the pub made and eventually started an imports & exports business called Mancunian Mint Imports & Exports, paying tribute to his home with its name. He had since changed the name of the pub from The Crooked Cock to The Manc and Maiden, once again giving respect to his birthplace.

Today, Tom's name carries weight despite being a reclusive businessman. Although he prefers not to attend large scale, public social gatherings, those active in the business world, and gangland underworld, know him by name, and could pick him out of a crowd. He lives in a modest home in the West End, drives a 1951 Mercury Monterey - a car that was worth less than $3,000USD the year it was released. Breaking the pattern of humility in his character is the fact that he dawns a number of golden rings representing his membership of many prestigious clubs, including a ring signifying his membership of the Manchester United Football Club's Front Office. It's said the he was close personal friends with Stan Pearson. On top of his choice of jewelry, he also smoked expensive imported cigars.

West End

INTRO

1950s-era London was a be-there experience. It could be argued that such is the case with all historical eras, or events, but you don't understand: a record high of imports and exports touched London's docks while the reconstruction effort was going full tilt. The demand for skilled labour was at an all-time high, and London's working class was thriving. Long hours taxed the blue collared man, but the pay kept his family fed.

For the first time London was finding itself a staple in popular culture as growing affluence afforded the younger Londoners to adopt aspects of American models of behaviour and music. Manufacturing firms mushroomed as the demand for consumer goods became greater and greater. Cut-and-dried: the 1950s are, to this day, referred to as "the preposterous era."

It's undeniable that civilians and government workers alike had much to gain as a result of the second wind that swept through London, but wherever fortune goes, crime follows. While the honest importers and exporters were making bank with legal wares, there were certain figures at work making twice as much with half the effort through illegal means. Those in control of the illegal side of the docks' activities sat comfortably in the City of Westminster, generally around Leicester Square. The powers that be held a precarious truce that afforded certain gangs certain territories and the rackets that could be cultivated therein. It had been this way since shortly after the end of World War II and saw a rise to the top for three key factions: The Hyde Park Gang, The Shaftesbury Firm, and the boss of bosses, The West-Enders. Each criminal institute had a history of unstable leadership save for The Hyde Park Gang, which remained in the grips of the Adler family.

True is the notion that the general public enjoyed the burst of wealth, but truer still is the corruption it brought with it. The corruption of minds, the corruption of hearts, the corruption of souls: politicians, police officers, and your average every day citizen were all taken aback by an unfamiliar thirst for glory. Where do you fit in all this? Do you need to drink from the chalice of the greats? Is it your duty to stop the immoral from hurting those unrelated? Or are you an innocent bystander taken aback by it all? Everyone has a role in The West End.

FACTIONS

THE HYDE PARK GANG (Hyde Park)
The Hyde Park Gang was founded in 1909 by Arthur Adler, the oldest of 6 brothers. Arthur built up a reputation as a sadist cutthroat who employed the use of intimidation as his primary means of political sway. From holding the fates of a police officer's family over his head, the future of a target shop's well-being, or the very physical wellness of someone in debt, Arthur found a way to strike you with fear. He would eventually be conscripted and made to fight in the First World War with 3 of his other brothers, while the second-oldest of the Adler 6 became wanted for draft-dodging, leaving the organization in the hands of the youngest brother Harry. The young man had not the reputation of his oldest brother, but did have a more business-centric mindset. This would give The Hyde Park Gang more revenue, but less political sway on the streets, which would ultimately lead to downsizing. The gang now finds itself in the capable hands of Joseph Adler, the oldest of 3 brothers, and first-born son of Harry Adler - keeping true to the pattern of many siblings standing in control. What makes The Hyde Park Gang stand out from its counterparts is that it puts to use a council-like hierarchy, seeing at the top the three brothers Joseph, Walter, and Henry. The trio has a younger sister, Chasity, who is thought to play a part in the gang's politics, but isn't known as a member of the organization.

THE SHAFTESBURY FIRM (Shaftesbury Avenue)
Nearest Leicester Square is The Shaftesbury Firm, which is named after the major street Shaftesbury Avenue due to the gang's main rackets calling the avenue home. You can trace the firm's origins to the early 1920s with a longshoreman known as "Cherry" Daily, first name Clyde. He was charismatic and engaged, which drew in other working class citizens who were down on their luck. They could identify with his narrative: a downtrodden, scraping-by, blue-collared man with a family to feed. Not much was passing through London's docks now that the war was over, and a great deal of men were laid off. These men would lay the foundation for Daily's rise to power as they put to use their connections with other longshore firms throughout London and quickly established an intricate trafficking network using the channels. Daily's new-found power and wealth invoked a jealousy-fueled rage among some of the younger members, which would ultimately lead to a coup in 1947 led by Mason Frayne. There was a civil war for over 16 months before Daily was found dead in his bathtub with a gunshot wound to the head, giving the authorities enough reason to call the death a suicide. Brought to the helm with Frayne after Daily's death were cousins Tom Flowers and Tyson Bathess. Before Frayne's tenure as the leader of The Firm, there was an on-sight, shoot-to-kill policy among the 3 rivaling factions. Many believe that Frayne pioneered the still-standing truce in the West End because it only came about shortly after his rise.

THE WEST-ENDERS (Picadilly Circus)
The West-Enders are now and have always been a predatory group of glorified thugs. They call home a majority of the City of Westminster, but designate Picadilly Circus as their heart. From drug-running, arms trafficking, to pimping, The West-Enders were the strongest active criminal regime in London, claiming over 600 active members by 1951. A diverse network of cutthroats, businessmen, and Average Joe’s make up the body of The West-Enders. They were founded in Belfast, Northern Ireland by George Stafford and Kelly McIntyre in 1897 and were active in the sectarian fueds between the Protestants and the Catholics. They lead many offensives and had a hand in many demonstrations of “domestic terrorism”. Through the use of propaganda, The West-Enders (then known as The Shankill Road Coalition) established themselves as “the true servants of Christ”, gaining them much support against the Protestant gangs. The West-Enders mutated and changed with time and expanded their reach, finding a comfortable place in the City of Westminster in 1919. The First World War painted The West-Enders in a bad light in the public eye as most of their members became known draft dodgers. The end of the First World War marked a turning point for the gang, however: their “wanted” draft dodgers were forgotten about while the other Westminster gangs were crushed by an increased effort form the authorities, as the police received new information from “unknown sources.”

Once Stafford died, it became apparent that McIntyre fell into dementia, calling for the leaders of different extensions of The Shankill Road Coalition to contend for grand leadership. Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow, Dublin, Aberdeen, and London were the city’s most likely take control of The Shankill Road Coalition in its entirety. Glasgow leader Bobby Crouch fell from a window to his death, Liverpool and Manchester leaders Gary Green and Shawn Brooks submitted their bid of support for the London leader Ewen King, leaving Dublin and Aberdeen at odds, resulting in King’s victory. The Shankill Road Coalition is now known as The Ewen King Organization, but is known locally as The West-Enders, due to their crippling control over a large portion of the Westminster rackets.

APPLICATION (Character Information)
Name:
Date of Birth:
Place of Birth:
Occupation:
Affiliation(s):
Modus Operandi:
Background/History:

STANDARDS

We would like to see a minimum of 2 paragraphs, or an equally long post (if most of the text is dialogue) per submission. Please don't write a novel, because some of the players will not feel motivated to read your contributions to the story, and we don't want that. We want everyone to write this with us, to shape this universe together.

We'd like to have everyone on Skype so that we can readily communicate beyond the forum to discuss scenes, interactions, the direction of the story, and planned absences. If you do not use Skype or are not yet comfortable with sharing your Skype information, that's fine. Please just PM Sterling or myself. We may be taking this game far more seriously than you are, and that's fine, but please respect our wishes.

We would like to ask you to do some of your own research into the era and the location that the game takes place, but if you can't find the motivation or don't have the right resources, we'll provide you with a small informative package that should get you started via PM. Just remember that the most important part of all of this is the have fun.