Member
Izurich
I went for something a bit different from what I originally imagined, but I think it turned out well.
I grew up in what you'd call a bad neighborhood. Dad left us when I was a kid, so mom raised me. We were always poor, never had much. Things were tough, but I managed to survive long enough to pass high school. Went to community college, but I dropped out. Sorry, mom.
I went from job to job. Flipping burgers, cleaning toilets, whatever I could find. Sometimes, though, it wasn't enough, and I had to get...creative. Let's just say I've had my fair share of run-ins with the law. I don't enjoy it, but I don't have a choice.
For now, though, things aren't too bad. Nick is a...good business partner. He pays my bills, and I help him with his "errands". There's been a few close calls, but it's worked out pretty good so far. Don't know what's next after this, but for now, I'm alright.
Physical Traits
Alan is 6'4", and has an athletic build. He tends to keep his hair short for convenience, and usually has a light stubble. While on the job, he wears the standard bouncer uniform: Combat boots, jeans, and a black polo shirt with "Nicky's" written where a shirt pocket would be. While not on the job, he prefers more casual clothes, usually sweatpants and a hoodie.
Full Name
Alan Gordon Foster
Gender
Male
Ethnicity
White
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Age
24
Motives
Alan is mostly concerned with survival- keeping food on his plate, and keeping himself out of prison. Past that, however, he isn't sure. He struggles to find what path in life he should take. He dreams of a time when he doesn't have to fight to survive, and can live a happy life without worrying about ending up on somebody's hit list.
Until then, he's stuck where he is. His current arrangement isn't too bad, but it could be a hell of a lot better.
Occupation
On paper, Alan is a bouncer at Nicky's Gentleman's Club, a seedy strip club in Baltham. While this is true- when the club is open, he works as a bouncer, checking ID's and kicking out rowdy patrons, it is not the whole truth.
The club's owner, Nicholas White, is a major drug dealer with mafia ties. The club itself is used to launder money, and to house drugs to be sent out to dealers across the city. Alan helps him carry out his business- attending drug deals, moving product, and occasionally dealing with threats to his operations. In return, Alan gets a slice of the profits. So far, it's proven to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Due to the nature of his work, Alan carries a Glock 17 handgun on him almost all the time. While he has had some basic training on how to use it, his accuracy is passable at best.
Alan
I'm alright, for now.I grew up in what you'd call a bad neighborhood. Dad left us when I was a kid, so mom raised me. We were always poor, never had much. Things were tough, but I managed to survive long enough to pass high school. Went to community college, but I dropped out. Sorry, mom.
I went from job to job. Flipping burgers, cleaning toilets, whatever I could find. Sometimes, though, it wasn't enough, and I had to get...creative. Let's just say I've had my fair share of run-ins with the law. I don't enjoy it, but I don't have a choice.
For now, though, things aren't too bad. Nick is a...good business partner. He pays my bills, and I help him with his "errands". There's been a few close calls, but it's worked out pretty good so far. Don't know what's next after this, but for now, I'm alright.
Physical Traits
Alan is 6'4", and has an athletic build. He tends to keep his hair short for convenience, and usually has a light stubble. While on the job, he wears the standard bouncer uniform: Combat boots, jeans, and a black polo shirt with "Nicky's" written where a shirt pocket would be. While not on the job, he prefers more casual clothes, usually sweatpants and a hoodie.
Full Name
Alan Gordon Foster
Gender
Male
Ethnicity
White
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Age
24
Motives
Alan is mostly concerned with survival- keeping food on his plate, and keeping himself out of prison. Past that, however, he isn't sure. He struggles to find what path in life he should take. He dreams of a time when he doesn't have to fight to survive, and can live a happy life without worrying about ending up on somebody's hit list.
Until then, he's stuck where he is. His current arrangement isn't too bad, but it could be a hell of a lot better.
Occupation
On paper, Alan is a bouncer at Nicky's Gentleman's Club, a seedy strip club in Baltham. While this is true- when the club is open, he works as a bouncer, checking ID's and kicking out rowdy patrons, it is not the whole truth.
The club's owner, Nicholas White, is a major drug dealer with mafia ties. The club itself is used to launder money, and to house drugs to be sent out to dealers across the city. Alan helps him carry out his business- attending drug deals, moving product, and occasionally dealing with threats to his operations. In return, Alan gets a slice of the profits. So far, it's proven to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Due to the nature of his work, Alan carries a Glock 17 handgun on him almost all the time. While he has had some basic training on how to use it, his accuracy is passable at best.
With the light still red, and the line of cars in front of him not getting any shorter, Alan leaned back in the old leather seat, letting out a deep sigh. The sun was out in full force, brought down in intensity somewhat by the cheap drugstore sunglasses he was wearing. To his right, another puff of cigarette smoke was blown forward, though the wind from the open windows helped to quickly dissipate it. He turned to face Nick, his 'business partner' and the reason that the car smelled like smoke all the time.
"This better not end like last time." Alan said, a frown coming to his face.
Nick turned to face him, blowing out a wisp of smoke. "You'll be fine. We're not doing deals with the Russians anymore." He took a moment to hold his cigarette out the window, flicking it and watching as the ash fell to the roadside. "Besides, it's not on us. If they can't keep their people in line, they can go get their drugs somewhere else. Not our fucking problem."
"Yeah..." Sitting back up in his seat, he prodded the gas, pushing the car slowly forward as the light went green. "Anyways, who are our new clients?"
Nick let out a hearty chuckle. "Bunch of spoiled college kids." He took another puff of the cigarette before continuing. "Easy money, friend. Very easy money." He leaned up a bit, trying to see over the dwindling line of cars. "Anyways, hang a left here, then go straight."
Alan pressed on the gas as the last car in front of him finally turned, and he made a left, continuing down the road. "Well, it should be easy enough."
"Yeah, should be, but if goes tits up somehow, well, you have your piece, and I have mine." He turned to face Alan. "And, Al, I like you and all, but this time, let me do the talking, 'kay? You're really not much of a talker."
"Hey, I didn't say shit! He was the one that got all up in my face for no reason."
"I know, I know. Look..." He ashed out his cigarette again as he spoke. "I know you like to be the quiet type and all, but to people like our fat Russian friend, they don't respond well to that. It's like..." Another cigarette puff. "You know how they tell you, that if someone's bullying you, you should just ignore them? Well, that's bullshit, because it makes them want to get a reaction out of you even more. If you wanna get them to stop, you either try to play it cool and try to calm them down, and if that don't work, you punch them in the fucking face."
Alan shrugged, eyes focused on the road. "I just don't like wasting my words on people that aren't listening. That's all."
"Well, I can't blame you. But, sometimes, you need to talk to the idiots, even if you don't want to."
"Yeah, well, maybe you should run for President, then."
Nick laughed, and soon Alan joined in. "Yeah, you can be my VP."
"Hey, it's not a bad gig. You do all the actual work, and I go and attend tea parties with the Queen and shit."
They both chuckled a bit more, driving down the road until they reached their destination. Nick tossed his cigarette and rolled the window down. "Alright, turn in here. This is the place."
After Alan pulled up to the spot and parked, they got out, and he instinctively put his hand to his leg to check that his pistol was still there. Even if he probably didn't need it, it was always better safe than sorry, especially in this business. Making sure that his weapon was still with him, they moved down the alley, ready to go to work.
"This better not end like last time." Alan said, a frown coming to his face.
Nick turned to face him, blowing out a wisp of smoke. "You'll be fine. We're not doing deals with the Russians anymore." He took a moment to hold his cigarette out the window, flicking it and watching as the ash fell to the roadside. "Besides, it's not on us. If they can't keep their people in line, they can go get their drugs somewhere else. Not our fucking problem."
"Yeah..." Sitting back up in his seat, he prodded the gas, pushing the car slowly forward as the light went green. "Anyways, who are our new clients?"
Nick let out a hearty chuckle. "Bunch of spoiled college kids." He took another puff of the cigarette before continuing. "Easy money, friend. Very easy money." He leaned up a bit, trying to see over the dwindling line of cars. "Anyways, hang a left here, then go straight."
Alan pressed on the gas as the last car in front of him finally turned, and he made a left, continuing down the road. "Well, it should be easy enough."
"Yeah, should be, but if goes tits up somehow, well, you have your piece, and I have mine." He turned to face Alan. "And, Al, I like you and all, but this time, let me do the talking, 'kay? You're really not much of a talker."
"Hey, I didn't say shit! He was the one that got all up in my face for no reason."
"I know, I know. Look..." He ashed out his cigarette again as he spoke. "I know you like to be the quiet type and all, but to people like our fat Russian friend, they don't respond well to that. It's like..." Another cigarette puff. "You know how they tell you, that if someone's bullying you, you should just ignore them? Well, that's bullshit, because it makes them want to get a reaction out of you even more. If you wanna get them to stop, you either try to play it cool and try to calm them down, and if that don't work, you punch them in the fucking face."
Alan shrugged, eyes focused on the road. "I just don't like wasting my words on people that aren't listening. That's all."
"Well, I can't blame you. But, sometimes, you need to talk to the idiots, even if you don't want to."
"Yeah, well, maybe you should run for President, then."
Nick laughed, and soon Alan joined in. "Yeah, you can be my VP."
"Hey, it's not a bad gig. You do all the actual work, and I go and attend tea parties with the Queen and shit."
They both chuckled a bit more, driving down the road until they reached their destination. Nick tossed his cigarette and rolled the window down. "Alright, turn in here. This is the place."
After Alan pulled up to the spot and parked, they got out, and he instinctively put his hand to his leg to check that his pistol was still there. Even if he probably didn't need it, it was always better safe than sorry, especially in this business. Making sure that his weapon was still with him, they moved down the alley, ready to go to work.