Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
- Andrew Shedim
- Registered User
- Posts: 80
- Joined: 14 May 2015, 02:48
- CrowNet Handle: Bugsy
- Location: Wonderland
Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
In a couple of hours the doors to Wonderland would be opening for the night and the Killer still had lots of work to do. The two kilos he had brought out to sell to the nightly patrons still needed to be cut and separated into the easily moved, and hidden, baggies. Satine had kept him busy in ways that he would never dare complain but he had completely lost track of time and was now trying to get everything in order. Sitting quietly on the couch of his man cave he hastily filled baggy after baggy, pausing only to take a hit from his blunt or inhale a line of the coke from his own supply.
He had had to invest in a higher quality of product recently to appease the patrons of the club his wife owned, not just for himself. It seemed that someone else had been supplying the Redwood area with a fairly decent product themselves, so if he was going to continue keeping his own thing going he would have to outdo his competitor, perhaps even track this person down and have a little talk. At last the final baggy had been filled, everything perfectly in line for getting things moved when the club was opened. As he inhaled the last line he filled his pockets with the baggies and made his way down to the club.
“Juice! Get your *** over here for a second, need to talk to you about something.” the blood thief quickly stopped stocking the bar “yeah boss?”
“I want you and a couple of the boys keeping an eye out for **** tonight. This stuff I got cost a fuckload more than the usual, whoevers slinging their **** around here been cuttin into my money long enough” he patted his companion hard on the chest “and I'm thinkin it's about damn time we put an end to it. So you notice someone else sellin, don't do anything, just come get me, got it?”
“Yep, but think I should probably..”
“Get your *** back to work on the bar?” he smirked “you know neither of us are gonna wanna deal with Satine if you manage to piss her *** off! Just remember, come get me if you notice anything.”
He had had to invest in a higher quality of product recently to appease the patrons of the club his wife owned, not just for himself. It seemed that someone else had been supplying the Redwood area with a fairly decent product themselves, so if he was going to continue keeping his own thing going he would have to outdo his competitor, perhaps even track this person down and have a little talk. At last the final baggy had been filled, everything perfectly in line for getting things moved when the club was opened. As he inhaled the last line he filled his pockets with the baggies and made his way down to the club.
“Juice! Get your *** over here for a second, need to talk to you about something.” the blood thief quickly stopped stocking the bar “yeah boss?”
“I want you and a couple of the boys keeping an eye out for **** tonight. This stuff I got cost a fuckload more than the usual, whoevers slinging their **** around here been cuttin into my money long enough” he patted his companion hard on the chest “and I'm thinkin it's about damn time we put an end to it. So you notice someone else sellin, don't do anything, just come get me, got it?”
“Yep, but think I should probably..”
“Get your *** back to work on the bar?” he smirked “you know neither of us are gonna wanna deal with Satine if you manage to piss her *** off! Just remember, come get me if you notice anything.”
Last edited by Andrew Shedim on 02 Feb 2016, 00:27, edited 1 time in total.
Property of Satine
Shedim*Welcome To Wonderland*The Forsaken
-
- Registered User
- Posts: 243
- Joined: 27 Oct 2014, 02:05
- CrowNet Handle: The Hanged Man
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
He stood in an alleyway; the same one he'd stabbed a dealer in only a short time before when he'd been working with the Motor Club to try and drive the Triads out of Redwood. The gang had taken control of the area, and being as it happened to be where the Handle Bar was located, that posed a bit of a problem for the Nightlords. They'd taken care of the problem in the cleanest way possible, pooling resources, time, legal and news connections to make sure they could shatter the Triad grip on Redwood, and stake their claim.
Since then, Jay occasionally liked to deal a little bit. Most of his 'free time' was spent cutting his way through the ample security of a well protected warehouse or factory, so he could nab items that sold at a decent price. But that cash was personal, and he'd paid ten years worth of dues out of pocket right after joining. Jameson sometimes liked to make a statement. 'I'm here for good. You can't get ******* rid of me.' Had been what he was saying. Nobody had disagreed with him. But he liked to make a little bit of extra cash. He only got his drugs by liberating them from people weaker and more mortal than him, so it was 100% profit. Plus it kept his ear to the ground. The best way to learn about threats to the Nightlords, or to keep track of product coming into the territory was just like that; by listening and talking to 'clients'.
There hadn't been a whole lot of chatter, so Jameson considered business good. He'd been forced to kick a few hoboos out of the alley when he'd gotten there, a scowl and a flash of his gun was enough to send them on their way. They wouldn't send the cops after him because the career homeless didn't trust the police any more than he did. Besides, even if they had, there wasn't a chance it would come to blows. Jameson could be a charming son of a ***** when he wanted to be.
Thus came a steady stream of people. It wasn't hard to find drugs in Harper Rock. One just had to know the signs, and follow them. There had been some teenagers looking to score a little weed. Probably not even out of highschool. They'd gotten what they came for. A lady with an obvious wig came looking for some oxy. Rich people's heroin, was what he liked to call it, but apparently it went by several other names. He'd been happy to turn it over. Pills had never really appealed to him. Too clean. He didn't get high to feel restrained; it was supposed to be sloppy and messy. The lady was probably someone's mother. At least, she looked the part of the WASP. Somebody's wife who needed to take the edge off of a boring life.
Next client was a lady who barely had any teeth. And she was tweaking out. She was fidgeting and looking around nervously, practically twitching every few seconds at every single sound. Jameson knew what she wanted before she even asked him, and he turned her away. When she tried to get forceful, he flashed his gun again, and suddenly she didn't want to buy anything. She skittered away fast. And so after about another hour without any new business, Jameson decided it was time to leave. He was at the end of the alleyway, about to cross the street to get his bike, which was hidden in the opposite alley when he bumped into two guys. They looked like they were from the local college.
"Hey, you with the Wonderland?" One asked. He looked like he was jonesing for something, but Jameson couldn't tell what.
"Sure, what you looking for?" He asked.
"Couple rocks." The other said. Jameson glanced between the pair of them and reached into a hoodie pocket. The exchange was pretty quick, but before he could pocket the cash, he decided he wasn't done with them.
"Who do you normally buy from?"
"We get it from the bar." One of the pair said. Then they were wandering off with their goods.
Right. Wonderland bar. He decided to check it out, so he pulled out his phone, and began tapping away at the screen, searching for a location. The GPS app was a lifesaver. By the time he got to his bike, he was dumping what little drugs he had leftover into a nearby trashcan. That had been one of Ven's rules. Don't wear the cuts when you're doing something obviously illegal. He shrugged on the leather vest over his hoodie. All of the money he'd made went into his wallet, and then his phone went into a pocket with earbuds stuffed into his head. Deftones were telling him about how they wanted to set him on the glass. Occasionally, the music would drop in volume so a clear voice could tell him the direction he needed to go.
His Harley purred to life rather than roared, and he was off. As it turned out, he wasn't that far from the Wonderland Bar, just a few turns, actually. The parking lot was mostly empty. Maybe it wasn't open just yet. He parked and pulled his helmet off. He didn't really need one, but the more he blended, the less **** he had to deal with. Before going in, he texted Ven: Checking something out. Think we might have some friendly competition. More details soon. Then he made his way into the bar. The vest he wore made it clear exactly who he was with, but that was the point.
He immediately made his way towards the bar. There were a few patrons. Newly opened doors, maybe. The night crowd would begin to roll in soon most likely. The guy at the bar was looking around, like he was searching for something. Jameson figured that was as good a place to start as any. He was seated on a stool a moment later, his hand sliding up to pull his hoodie back and away from his head, which free greasy wisps of hair. His hands were splotched with dried on paint of different colors. "So I hear you can get more than a good drink here." He said when the bartender tried to take his order. Right to the point. Normally that was the kind of thing that would spook a dealer, but Jameson looked about as threatening as a mouse, and his cuts already announced exactly why he was there.
Since then, Jay occasionally liked to deal a little bit. Most of his 'free time' was spent cutting his way through the ample security of a well protected warehouse or factory, so he could nab items that sold at a decent price. But that cash was personal, and he'd paid ten years worth of dues out of pocket right after joining. Jameson sometimes liked to make a statement. 'I'm here for good. You can't get ******* rid of me.' Had been what he was saying. Nobody had disagreed with him. But he liked to make a little bit of extra cash. He only got his drugs by liberating them from people weaker and more mortal than him, so it was 100% profit. Plus it kept his ear to the ground. The best way to learn about threats to the Nightlords, or to keep track of product coming into the territory was just like that; by listening and talking to 'clients'.
There hadn't been a whole lot of chatter, so Jameson considered business good. He'd been forced to kick a few hoboos out of the alley when he'd gotten there, a scowl and a flash of his gun was enough to send them on their way. They wouldn't send the cops after him because the career homeless didn't trust the police any more than he did. Besides, even if they had, there wasn't a chance it would come to blows. Jameson could be a charming son of a ***** when he wanted to be.
Thus came a steady stream of people. It wasn't hard to find drugs in Harper Rock. One just had to know the signs, and follow them. There had been some teenagers looking to score a little weed. Probably not even out of highschool. They'd gotten what they came for. A lady with an obvious wig came looking for some oxy. Rich people's heroin, was what he liked to call it, but apparently it went by several other names. He'd been happy to turn it over. Pills had never really appealed to him. Too clean. He didn't get high to feel restrained; it was supposed to be sloppy and messy. The lady was probably someone's mother. At least, she looked the part of the WASP. Somebody's wife who needed to take the edge off of a boring life.
Next client was a lady who barely had any teeth. And she was tweaking out. She was fidgeting and looking around nervously, practically twitching every few seconds at every single sound. Jameson knew what she wanted before she even asked him, and he turned her away. When she tried to get forceful, he flashed his gun again, and suddenly she didn't want to buy anything. She skittered away fast. And so after about another hour without any new business, Jameson decided it was time to leave. He was at the end of the alleyway, about to cross the street to get his bike, which was hidden in the opposite alley when he bumped into two guys. They looked like they were from the local college.
"Hey, you with the Wonderland?" One asked. He looked like he was jonesing for something, but Jameson couldn't tell what.
"Sure, what you looking for?" He asked.
"Couple rocks." The other said. Jameson glanced between the pair of them and reached into a hoodie pocket. The exchange was pretty quick, but before he could pocket the cash, he decided he wasn't done with them.
"Who do you normally buy from?"
"We get it from the bar." One of the pair said. Then they were wandering off with their goods.
Right. Wonderland bar. He decided to check it out, so he pulled out his phone, and began tapping away at the screen, searching for a location. The GPS app was a lifesaver. By the time he got to his bike, he was dumping what little drugs he had leftover into a nearby trashcan. That had been one of Ven's rules. Don't wear the cuts when you're doing something obviously illegal. He shrugged on the leather vest over his hoodie. All of the money he'd made went into his wallet, and then his phone went into a pocket with earbuds stuffed into his head. Deftones were telling him about how they wanted to set him on the glass. Occasionally, the music would drop in volume so a clear voice could tell him the direction he needed to go.
His Harley purred to life rather than roared, and he was off. As it turned out, he wasn't that far from the Wonderland Bar, just a few turns, actually. The parking lot was mostly empty. Maybe it wasn't open just yet. He parked and pulled his helmet off. He didn't really need one, but the more he blended, the less **** he had to deal with. Before going in, he texted Ven: Checking something out. Think we might have some friendly competition. More details soon. Then he made his way into the bar. The vest he wore made it clear exactly who he was with, but that was the point.
He immediately made his way towards the bar. There were a few patrons. Newly opened doors, maybe. The night crowd would begin to roll in soon most likely. The guy at the bar was looking around, like he was searching for something. Jameson figured that was as good a place to start as any. He was seated on a stool a moment later, his hand sliding up to pull his hoodie back and away from his head, which free greasy wisps of hair. His hands were splotched with dried on paint of different colors. "So I hear you can get more than a good drink here." He said when the bartender tried to take his order. Right to the point. Normally that was the kind of thing that would spook a dealer, but Jameson looked about as threatening as a mouse, and his cuts already announced exactly why he was there.
- Faolan (DELETED 7796)
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Jan 2016, 20:43
- CrowNet Handle: WolfMan
- Contact:
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
Faolan was strolling, well more like running. He'd just dumped his last kill of the 'morning' in the nearby woods and took off toward the nearest establishment. He'd texted Aine earlier and told her he needed to take the night away, just do him. In other words, he'd needed to feed and didn't want her to walk in on him seducing the young blonde he'd just dumped. She'd texted back okay and he'd left the flat they shared.
He walked into the bar, hood on his Deadpool jacket pulled up, his other heavier jacket didn't have a hood, so he'd 'invested'. As the bearded man walked up to the bar, he noticed something going on behind the bar, and in front of it. Two men, like any other bar, except one was wearing a cut, and the other was looking a bit anxious. He leaned on the other end of the bar to watch.
Faolan knew that most biker gangs ran drugs, women, or guns. So he figured it was about that, so he said nothing as the younger looking male asked about more than a good drink. A small smirk lit his face as Faolan shook his head slightly, more amused than anything about the dumb way the mousy kid just blurted it. Still saying nothing, Faolan looked to the other man expectantly.
He walked into the bar, hood on his Deadpool jacket pulled up, his other heavier jacket didn't have a hood, so he'd 'invested'. As the bearded man walked up to the bar, he noticed something going on behind the bar, and in front of it. Two men, like any other bar, except one was wearing a cut, and the other was looking a bit anxious. He leaned on the other end of the bar to watch.
Faolan knew that most biker gangs ran drugs, women, or guns. So he figured it was about that, so he said nothing as the younger looking male asked about more than a good drink. A small smirk lit his face as Faolan shook his head slightly, more amused than anything about the dumb way the mousy kid just blurted it. Still saying nothing, Faolan looked to the other man expectantly.
I will raise you from the G R O U N D, and without a sound
you’ll appear and S U R R E N D E R yourself to me, to love
Character Sheet ☣ Journal
you’ll appear and S U R R E N D E R yourself to me, to love
Character Sheet ☣ Journal
- Andrew Shedim
- Registered User
- Posts: 80
- Joined: 14 May 2015, 02:48
- CrowNet Handle: Bugsy
- Location: Wonderland
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
As the hours passed Drew kept himself busy smoking and playing cards with a few of the gangsters he used to sell his goods in the slums. It was still early and the late night crowds were still a few hours away, leaving a clear view of the room; not that he truly expected whoever it was that was making it difficult for him to move his product in Redwood to magically show up but he was a creature of determined habit and he was determined to find who this person was. Removing one of the small baggies of his favored white powder he cut a few lines on the table, quickly making the first disappear with a quick pinch of his nose and a small shake of his head.
When Satine had first gotten Wonderland up and running the Killer was eager to expand his market into a new area. Dealing in the slums had quickly gotten old, virtually every night he had found some form of conflict and though he never had a problem with killing some cheap hood rat he was never fond of garnering more attention from the police than was necessary. The club had offered a much appreciated reprieve from that, he could now continue getting his shipments from New York, have some of his continue dealing for him in the ghetto while he sat back and took advantage of drunk party goers. He did not, however, expect to see so many already had a provider.
A sudden buzzing of his phone caught his attention, a quick slide of the screen and a message appeared “down here” killing his small bit of play time short.
“If you'll excuse me boys” he smirked, snorting the remaining two lines in one inhalation before taking his pistol off the table and tucking it into his waistband “looks like I have business to tend to” and headed for the stairs that would take him back to club floor. Pushing the discreet black door open he headed straight for the bar, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out who Juice had texted him about. Not once since the club had opened had he ever seen a biker step foot in the building and he could tell right away the mousy haired individual was no mortal. One thing that had stuck with him from his years as a blood thief, he could still smell the blood of a vampire.
Nearing the bar he bumped into another hooded man that had taken a seat, offering a quick apology that was little more than a growl, his attention focused solely on the patched jacket of the biker. Taking a seat next to the biker he rapped his knuckles on the bar and was immediately served a shot of a dark crimson liquid.
“So hear you're lookin” draining the glass with a small smirk and removing a pack of Newports from his pocket, lighting one right away, his icy blue eyes lingering on his companion, the fangs that were permanently on display giving him an almost toothy grin “what is it you're lookin for exactly?” unsure exactly of how this would play out, he kept his demeanor as friendly as possible.
When Satine had first gotten Wonderland up and running the Killer was eager to expand his market into a new area. Dealing in the slums had quickly gotten old, virtually every night he had found some form of conflict and though he never had a problem with killing some cheap hood rat he was never fond of garnering more attention from the police than was necessary. The club had offered a much appreciated reprieve from that, he could now continue getting his shipments from New York, have some of his continue dealing for him in the ghetto while he sat back and took advantage of drunk party goers. He did not, however, expect to see so many already had a provider.
A sudden buzzing of his phone caught his attention, a quick slide of the screen and a message appeared “down here” killing his small bit of play time short.
“If you'll excuse me boys” he smirked, snorting the remaining two lines in one inhalation before taking his pistol off the table and tucking it into his waistband “looks like I have business to tend to” and headed for the stairs that would take him back to club floor. Pushing the discreet black door open he headed straight for the bar, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out who Juice had texted him about. Not once since the club had opened had he ever seen a biker step foot in the building and he could tell right away the mousy haired individual was no mortal. One thing that had stuck with him from his years as a blood thief, he could still smell the blood of a vampire.
Nearing the bar he bumped into another hooded man that had taken a seat, offering a quick apology that was little more than a growl, his attention focused solely on the patched jacket of the biker. Taking a seat next to the biker he rapped his knuckles on the bar and was immediately served a shot of a dark crimson liquid.
“So hear you're lookin” draining the glass with a small smirk and removing a pack of Newports from his pocket, lighting one right away, his icy blue eyes lingering on his companion, the fangs that were permanently on display giving him an almost toothy grin “what is it you're lookin for exactly?” unsure exactly of how this would play out, he kept his demeanor as friendly as possible.
Last edited by Andrew Shedim on 02 Feb 2016, 04:29, edited 2 times in total.
Property of Satine
Shedim*Welcome To Wonderland*The Forsaken
-
- Registered User
- Posts: 243
- Joined: 27 Oct 2014, 02:05
- CrowNet Handle: The Hanged Man
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
Bars were not, despite appearances, Jameson's scene per se. His mother had been a drunk, so the vampire had spent his fair share of time in them, even during his formative years, because the Dade matriarch had been friends with small time pub owners, and they hadn't minded the idea of a kid tagging along. Frequently, they would spend all day moving between dives. Usually, there was one for the morning, two for the afternoon, and at least another three that carried Jay's mother into the evening. Moving from bar to progressively worse bar meant more erratic driving, and sometimes it was cut short by a cop. They were lucky they'd never gotten into any wrecks. So Jameson was comfortable in bars the way of all things familiar, like a scholar reading through the contents of a well worn book again. To gain his favor though, one had to be willing to trek through the slums.
The run down buildings, with mold on cracked walls, and visible piping. The mattresses with no adornment laid out on floors, with people stretched across them, and trash cluttered hallways - these were the places Jameson treated like church. He went to worship at the altar of self-destruction regularly, and there was chaos behind his eyes that had grown to life as evidence of his desires. He was naturally a little paranoid.
He knew there were eyes on him almost immediately, not that he minded. Offering a smile across to the bearded guy, he pulled his phone out of a pocket so he could hold it up in front of him. He snapped a quick image, which he then texted to Victor. And then immediately after that: Someone's trying to give you a run for your money. Not that anybody could really beat Vic's beard, but Jameson hadn't really gotten a chance to form a connection with the man, so he intended to but him until that became a thing.
"Get our friend over there a shot of whiskey, would you? On me." He said to the bartend a moment later. He'd noted the man across from him didn't answer the question. He hadn't suspected he would. Not out in public, with so few people around. He just wanted to get someone's attention.
As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long to get what he wanted, because soon another guy sat beside him. He gave a quick once over, looking for any noticeable gun bulges in the obvious places. That part was just ingrained in his head. Too many times, he'd been on the really bad end of a deal gone sour, so he looked for weapons everywhere. That whole 'paranoid' thing again. Blue eyes. The man looked like a scrapper, like the sort of person you want to put your money on in a fight, not because they're the most buff, but because they look like a ******* jackal. He knew the look pretty well.
Fangs. So the guy was some variety of vampire, which would have been obvious to Jameson even without the extra teeth. It was hard to explain, but he could sense his own kind. Like they were just different.
"Business." He answered, not precisely quietly, but more discretely than he'd posed the question to the bartend. "We can go somewhere private if you prefer that." Not that he suspected the other vampire would want to. The pair of them could have a conversation without any mortal ever picking up on what they were talking about. With the bar slowly picking up more patrons, their voices would get lost in the sea of other sounds, like the chatter and clink of ice in glasses, or the play of the music. But you didn't make friends by making assumptions, and it wasn't his bar.
He pushed his phone back into a pocket, which was about the time the bartend brought him his drink - he'd finally ordered a few moments before. He favored gin straight, and sipped accordingly before continuing. "The way I understand it, you run a few different ones out of this place, businesses I mean. So what I wanna know is what I can get from you."
He noted the way the man spoke. It looked like the guy wanted to keep things cordial, and he was happy to do the same. Jameson didn't speak for the MC, and he was just a prospect. He couldn't broker deals or any of that, but he could investigate. So that's all it really was to him, an investigation. Find out what information he could and report back to the actual boss man with whatever. "Name's Jameson, by the way." He didn't mind giving away his real name. The guy it was attached to had a death certificate, and the name on his ID didn't match.
He took a sip of the gin again, before leaning against the bar.
The run down buildings, with mold on cracked walls, and visible piping. The mattresses with no adornment laid out on floors, with people stretched across them, and trash cluttered hallways - these were the places Jameson treated like church. He went to worship at the altar of self-destruction regularly, and there was chaos behind his eyes that had grown to life as evidence of his desires. He was naturally a little paranoid.
He knew there were eyes on him almost immediately, not that he minded. Offering a smile across to the bearded guy, he pulled his phone out of a pocket so he could hold it up in front of him. He snapped a quick image, which he then texted to Victor. And then immediately after that: Someone's trying to give you a run for your money. Not that anybody could really beat Vic's beard, but Jameson hadn't really gotten a chance to form a connection with the man, so he intended to but him until that became a thing.
"Get our friend over there a shot of whiskey, would you? On me." He said to the bartend a moment later. He'd noted the man across from him didn't answer the question. He hadn't suspected he would. Not out in public, with so few people around. He just wanted to get someone's attention.
As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long to get what he wanted, because soon another guy sat beside him. He gave a quick once over, looking for any noticeable gun bulges in the obvious places. That part was just ingrained in his head. Too many times, he'd been on the really bad end of a deal gone sour, so he looked for weapons everywhere. That whole 'paranoid' thing again. Blue eyes. The man looked like a scrapper, like the sort of person you want to put your money on in a fight, not because they're the most buff, but because they look like a ******* jackal. He knew the look pretty well.
Fangs. So the guy was some variety of vampire, which would have been obvious to Jameson even without the extra teeth. It was hard to explain, but he could sense his own kind. Like they were just different.
"Business." He answered, not precisely quietly, but more discretely than he'd posed the question to the bartend. "We can go somewhere private if you prefer that." Not that he suspected the other vampire would want to. The pair of them could have a conversation without any mortal ever picking up on what they were talking about. With the bar slowly picking up more patrons, their voices would get lost in the sea of other sounds, like the chatter and clink of ice in glasses, or the play of the music. But you didn't make friends by making assumptions, and it wasn't his bar.
He pushed his phone back into a pocket, which was about the time the bartend brought him his drink - he'd finally ordered a few moments before. He favored gin straight, and sipped accordingly before continuing. "The way I understand it, you run a few different ones out of this place, businesses I mean. So what I wanna know is what I can get from you."
He noted the way the man spoke. It looked like the guy wanted to keep things cordial, and he was happy to do the same. Jameson didn't speak for the MC, and he was just a prospect. He couldn't broker deals or any of that, but he could investigate. So that's all it really was to him, an investigation. Find out what information he could and report back to the actual boss man with whatever. "Name's Jameson, by the way." He didn't mind giving away his real name. The guy it was attached to had a death certificate, and the name on his ID didn't match.
He took a sip of the gin again, before leaning against the bar.
- Faolan (DELETED 7796)
- Posts: 23
- Joined: 21 Jan 2016, 20:43
- CrowNet Handle: WolfMan
- Contact:
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
Faolan had just sat down when another vampire bumped into him. The man offered a growly apology and kept walking, so Faolan didn't say anything, just observed before a shot of whiskey was placed in front of him. He nodded to the male behind the bar, obviously human, by the look of him. Faolan didn't lift the liquor to his lips, instead he watched the two males at the other end of the bar. He'd learned the hard way about drinking anything besides blood, nearly giving his poor girl a heart attack with his stomach rebelling. Instead, he faked it, just like he'd done when he'd met Aine.
A small fake sip, green eyes moved around the bar, noting the human and vampire population before they slid back to the two males. Jameson one had said, apparently introducing himself. Faolan figured it was a fake name, like the ones he carried in his wallet, Fleur and Aine were the only two that had ever been told his real name. At least since he had been turned.
As Faolan sat there, he kept his gaze averted from the males, instead his thoughts turned inward. To Aine, to Fleur, to Liza. He thought about his beloved teenaged daughter, wondered where in the world she was right now, what she was thinking about, if she thought about him as much as he thought about her. Probably not, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he came back to the present. Realizing that he'd taken to staring at the liquor behind the bar.
With a grunt, Faolan stood and meandered over to the males, Seems you two have some business that needs attending away from the patrons of this fine establishment. Might I suggest, if you'll entertain me, heading outside? He said it cordially, but he meant it. He'd bounced a few nightclubs back in Ireland, and here would be no different. He just didn't want the trouble getting out of hand and spooking the locals. He didn't move, didn't need to, he was big enough to be intimidating as it was.
A small fake sip, green eyes moved around the bar, noting the human and vampire population before they slid back to the two males. Jameson one had said, apparently introducing himself. Faolan figured it was a fake name, like the ones he carried in his wallet, Fleur and Aine were the only two that had ever been told his real name. At least since he had been turned.
As Faolan sat there, he kept his gaze averted from the males, instead his thoughts turned inward. To Aine, to Fleur, to Liza. He thought about his beloved teenaged daughter, wondered where in the world she was right now, what she was thinking about, if she thought about him as much as he thought about her. Probably not, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he came back to the present. Realizing that he'd taken to staring at the liquor behind the bar.
With a grunt, Faolan stood and meandered over to the males, Seems you two have some business that needs attending away from the patrons of this fine establishment. Might I suggest, if you'll entertain me, heading outside? He said it cordially, but he meant it. He'd bounced a few nightclubs back in Ireland, and here would be no different. He just didn't want the trouble getting out of hand and spooking the locals. He didn't move, didn't need to, he was big enough to be intimidating as it was.
I will raise you from the G R O U N D, and without a sound
you’ll appear and S U R R E N D E R yourself to me, to love
Character Sheet ☣ Journal
you’ll appear and S U R R E N D E R yourself to me, to love
Character Sheet ☣ Journal
- Andrew Shedim
- Registered User
- Posts: 80
- Joined: 14 May 2015, 02:48
- CrowNet Handle: Bugsy
- Location: Wonderland
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
The cold blue eyes studied the biker a little closer, nothing about the man screamed he was an undercover cop, not to mention if a vampire worked for the HRPD he'd be looking for something bigger than some guy slinging out of a nightclub. Tossing back another shot of the dark crimson liquid he answered in his heavily accented, gravelly voice “Drew, you can call me Drew.” He removed a tiny baggie of blow from his pocket, sliding it conspicuously to Jameson “you like blow? Know you bikers usually prefer that icy stuff but I don't really **** around with all that.” He gave the bar a knock, having another round of vampire blood delivered in a shot glass.
He cut himself a small line on the hardwood, inhaling it quickly. Giving the room a quick glance he smirked, more to himself. Most of the patrons that were dancing to the loud industrial music were high on something he'd brought to the club but he didn't see anyone that looked like they'd accompanied the biker. Running his thumb across his nose as he inhaled again “looks like you're a bit more at home at The Handle Bar” he chuckled, subtly displaying a bit more of his curiosity. “And don't take me dick or anything but you wouldn't happen to know something about anyone else slinging round here would ya?” The gangster figured now would be as good a time as any to try directing the conversation towards business.
Making sure there was no one directly staring at them, he lowered his voice to the point he knew only Jameson would hear him clearly “I'm just assuming a biker curious about my, uh, business ventures already knows a little something. I'll go ahead and let you know I ain't here to stir some **** up” he grinned “but I have a feeling we could figure something out that would be mutually beneficial. Upstairs is where I usually handle my business, let's call it a vip section. If you have some time man, come up. Play some poker, sample my wares, what do ya say?”
He cut himself a small line on the hardwood, inhaling it quickly. Giving the room a quick glance he smirked, more to himself. Most of the patrons that were dancing to the loud industrial music were high on something he'd brought to the club but he didn't see anyone that looked like they'd accompanied the biker. Running his thumb across his nose as he inhaled again “looks like you're a bit more at home at The Handle Bar” he chuckled, subtly displaying a bit more of his curiosity. “And don't take me dick or anything but you wouldn't happen to know something about anyone else slinging round here would ya?” The gangster figured now would be as good a time as any to try directing the conversation towards business.
Making sure there was no one directly staring at them, he lowered his voice to the point he knew only Jameson would hear him clearly “I'm just assuming a biker curious about my, uh, business ventures already knows a little something. I'll go ahead and let you know I ain't here to stir some **** up” he grinned “but I have a feeling we could figure something out that would be mutually beneficial. Upstairs is where I usually handle my business, let's call it a vip section. If you have some time man, come up. Play some poker, sample my wares, what do ya say?”
Property of Satine
Shedim*Welcome To Wonderland*The Forsaken
-
- Registered User
- Posts: 243
- Joined: 27 Oct 2014, 02:05
- CrowNet Handle: The Hanged Man
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
He exchanged a look with Andrew for a moment before glancing towards the guy who had invited himself over. Jameson wasn't the sort of guy who had fun being a dick to people for no reason. He had enough **** to deal with, without adding enemies to the list. Well. More enemies. The Triads had begun to grow in power, but so long as they stayed the **** away from Redwood, he wasn't about to complain too much. But here was this guy, who was trying to get in the middle of business that could either go very nicely, or could turn south super fast. Was he with the owner of the Wonderland, or was he a third party? Why was he so interested? Jameson's 'narc' paranoia sparked like a lighter at the end of a joint. **** off he almost wanted to say. But Faolan was cute, so he got a small pass. "Look man, give me a few with this guy here and then I'll buy the house a round of drinks or something." He murmured. Of course, if Andrew wanted Faolan along, well that was fine too, but Jay attempted discretion when it came to 'business'.
His hand lifted and he intended to give the guy a pat on the bicep, though whether or not he actually made contact was entirely up for discussion. Instead, his focus shifted to the reason he had found his way inside. Drew. The guy called himself Drew. Well that was easy enough to remember. But he wasn't looking at the man. He was looking at the baggie. The drug snob in him wanted to say no. Because Meth was better. Blow was just fine, but you needed to keep it on you all the time, snorting it frequently enough to keep that high rolling. But that was just a difference in taste, and Jameson's inner addict (I. E. The core of his being) didn't really give a **** about what he put into his body. Not at the end of the day. Not when he could feel good. He was easy. A slut for controlled substances. But they were going to talk about important things. Or that was what he told himself.
So there he was, with a line of cocaine in front of him and him having rolled up a dollar bill and the next thing he knew, he was inhaling right through one nostril, because internal dialogue be damned, he was who he was.
"Yeah." But I'm not here about all that. Except he was. Kind of. He realized almost belatedly that someone might take it as some kind of challenge. Him showing up there. Like a territorial thing, but for Jameson, it wasn't anything like that. Ven was the one who took care of that sort of thing. Jameson was still a prospect, with about as much power in the grand scheme of things as a loyal cat. He shrugged. "But you could say I have a stake in Redwood. I like to make sure everything is all nice and smooth. Call me a patron." And if he happened to report back to Ven that certain establishments were being respectable and cooperative, well that was beside the point wasn't it? He grinned then before lifting a hand, the back of it scrubbing against his nose, like there was something there.
"I might do." He said noncommittally. There were probably some people who could ID his face as a dealer, but he wasn't about to start off a conversation saying Hey, I'm taking business from you. There were more tactful ways to handle that situation. Like supplying Andrew with any blow they came across, and then taking a little of the profit right off of the top. At least, that's what Jameson would have done. Less work on the part of the motor club, and they still made money. Plus they got a new friend out of the deal. Jay didn't have to tell anyone they got most of their supply the old fashioned way. Not from some outside connection, but by stealing it from their competition. Free was the best price, after all.
He ended up shambling up to a stand. There was a voice close to his ear and he leaned a little closer to Drew so he could reciprocate. "No worries, friend. I'm more the 'make love not war' type. Which was mostly true. His spirit animal was literally a rodent. He'd found that out when he went to shape shift for the first time. He turned into a stoat. He could fight with the best of them, scrappy little ******, but that wasn't really his nature. "You lead the way." He finally said before nodding towards the stairs. Worst case scenario, he was walking into some kind of trap. What would he do then? He didn't even ******* know, but that was half the fun. Maybe Jay was a little bit fucked up in the head. Maybe he was a little crazy.
But he followed right along after Drew, when the man headed towards the VIP lounge. "Thank **** for samples. I can't play poker for ****, and I can't lose all my cash to cards and up my nose." He said with a chuckle
His hand lifted and he intended to give the guy a pat on the bicep, though whether or not he actually made contact was entirely up for discussion. Instead, his focus shifted to the reason he had found his way inside. Drew. The guy called himself Drew. Well that was easy enough to remember. But he wasn't looking at the man. He was looking at the baggie. The drug snob in him wanted to say no. Because Meth was better. Blow was just fine, but you needed to keep it on you all the time, snorting it frequently enough to keep that high rolling. But that was just a difference in taste, and Jameson's inner addict (I. E. The core of his being) didn't really give a **** about what he put into his body. Not at the end of the day. Not when he could feel good. He was easy. A slut for controlled substances. But they were going to talk about important things. Or that was what he told himself.
So there he was, with a line of cocaine in front of him and him having rolled up a dollar bill and the next thing he knew, he was inhaling right through one nostril, because internal dialogue be damned, he was who he was.
"Yeah." But I'm not here about all that. Except he was. Kind of. He realized almost belatedly that someone might take it as some kind of challenge. Him showing up there. Like a territorial thing, but for Jameson, it wasn't anything like that. Ven was the one who took care of that sort of thing. Jameson was still a prospect, with about as much power in the grand scheme of things as a loyal cat. He shrugged. "But you could say I have a stake in Redwood. I like to make sure everything is all nice and smooth. Call me a patron." And if he happened to report back to Ven that certain establishments were being respectable and cooperative, well that was beside the point wasn't it? He grinned then before lifting a hand, the back of it scrubbing against his nose, like there was something there.
"I might do." He said noncommittally. There were probably some people who could ID his face as a dealer, but he wasn't about to start off a conversation saying Hey, I'm taking business from you. There were more tactful ways to handle that situation. Like supplying Andrew with any blow they came across, and then taking a little of the profit right off of the top. At least, that's what Jameson would have done. Less work on the part of the motor club, and they still made money. Plus they got a new friend out of the deal. Jay didn't have to tell anyone they got most of their supply the old fashioned way. Not from some outside connection, but by stealing it from their competition. Free was the best price, after all.
He ended up shambling up to a stand. There was a voice close to his ear and he leaned a little closer to Drew so he could reciprocate. "No worries, friend. I'm more the 'make love not war' type. Which was mostly true. His spirit animal was literally a rodent. He'd found that out when he went to shape shift for the first time. He turned into a stoat. He could fight with the best of them, scrappy little ******, but that wasn't really his nature. "You lead the way." He finally said before nodding towards the stairs. Worst case scenario, he was walking into some kind of trap. What would he do then? He didn't even ******* know, but that was half the fun. Maybe Jay was a little bit fucked up in the head. Maybe he was a little crazy.
But he followed right along after Drew, when the man headed towards the VIP lounge. "Thank **** for samples. I can't play poker for ****, and I can't lose all my cash to cards and up my nose." He said with a chuckle
- Andrew Shedim
- Registered User
- Posts: 80
- Joined: 14 May 2015, 02:48
- CrowNet Handle: Bugsy
- Location: Wonderland
Re: Who's Dealing In My Neighborhood (Invite)
Leaning over the bar he grabbed one of the heated bottles of vampire blood they kept in stock for any blood thieves or necurats that happened to visit Wonderland, though mostly just for Drew himself when he decided to hang out in the club proper. “Come with me then” he nodded towards the biker “and you” he smirked, slipping a hundred dollar bill into Faolan’s pocket “just try staying out of trouble in my club” and gave the man a small pat on the cheek. Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to be an outright asshole to someone putting themselves in his business, though normally he would have added a bullet instead of a bill, but he wasn’t about to disway someone spending money in the club he shared with his wife.
Popping the door of the vip floor open he led Jameson into the hidden area. He took a seat at one of the card tables and gestured for the man to take a seat opposite him. Removing the pack of Newports and few grams of his finest from his pockets, he took a cigarette out before tossing the entire lot on the table before him. As he lit the cigarette one of the latex clad servants that dwelled within the house of sin and excess scurried over to the table without a word a sat a mirror on the table. Taking the mirror the gangster tore open one of the baggies, cutting four decent lines of the fine white powder. “Ignore the gimps” he told Jameson with a smirk “my wife insisted we have help you don’t have treat like people.” Pulling another bill from his wallet he quickly rolled it up, inhaling a line up each nostril before sliding the mirror to the biker.
“So, say you have a stake in redwood?” given that Wonderland fell within the district Drew felt a little invested in it himself “assume it was your Night Lords we have to thank for getting rid of those obnoxious *** triads?” Drew had been more than relieved to see them gone, on more than one occasion those bitches had tried squeezing him for cash and he had grown tired of trying to work around them. “Give your bosses a thanks from me” he ran his tongue across his teeth, one of those instinctive cocaine twitches, as he laughed “I dunno, maybe I should send em some fuckin flowers or some ****.” Reaching his hand to the side of the table he opened one of the hidden compartments, several eightballs of coke falling into his palm, he tossed one of the baggies to Jameson “keep that. The **** I get from New York is fire, some of if not the best blow you’re gonna find up here man. Snort it, shoot it, give it to your bosses, whatever you wanna do with it bro.” He leaned back, taking slow, deep drags from his cigarette “but I’m a businessman, just as I hear you guys are. So I want to make sure no one’s toes get stepped on.”
“Get us a bottle of gin over here” he called to one of the latex minions “that’s your poison right?” As soon as a tray of Caorunn and a single shot glass were delivered Drew leaned forward, elbows resting on the table “now let me be up front with you man. As far as dealing goes, I mostly stick with blow, it’s a game I know inside and out. I got some great sticky dank and always get a few bricks of H, these bitches in the club seem to love it.” He laughed quietly as he crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray “but I don’t really **** with ecstasy and molly and all that **** know what I’m saying, I only mess with **** I know is gonna make me some money. Now I do keep most of my business down in the slums, gangstas are my people” a statement he was sure was more than obvious “but with the club, ya know, a motherfucka’s gotta sling where there’s a need and money to be made right?”
Popping the door of the vip floor open he led Jameson into the hidden area. He took a seat at one of the card tables and gestured for the man to take a seat opposite him. Removing the pack of Newports and few grams of his finest from his pockets, he took a cigarette out before tossing the entire lot on the table before him. As he lit the cigarette one of the latex clad servants that dwelled within the house of sin and excess scurried over to the table without a word a sat a mirror on the table. Taking the mirror the gangster tore open one of the baggies, cutting four decent lines of the fine white powder. “Ignore the gimps” he told Jameson with a smirk “my wife insisted we have help you don’t have treat like people.” Pulling another bill from his wallet he quickly rolled it up, inhaling a line up each nostril before sliding the mirror to the biker.
“So, say you have a stake in redwood?” given that Wonderland fell within the district Drew felt a little invested in it himself “assume it was your Night Lords we have to thank for getting rid of those obnoxious *** triads?” Drew had been more than relieved to see them gone, on more than one occasion those bitches had tried squeezing him for cash and he had grown tired of trying to work around them. “Give your bosses a thanks from me” he ran his tongue across his teeth, one of those instinctive cocaine twitches, as he laughed “I dunno, maybe I should send em some fuckin flowers or some ****.” Reaching his hand to the side of the table he opened one of the hidden compartments, several eightballs of coke falling into his palm, he tossed one of the baggies to Jameson “keep that. The **** I get from New York is fire, some of if not the best blow you’re gonna find up here man. Snort it, shoot it, give it to your bosses, whatever you wanna do with it bro.” He leaned back, taking slow, deep drags from his cigarette “but I’m a businessman, just as I hear you guys are. So I want to make sure no one’s toes get stepped on.”
“Get us a bottle of gin over here” he called to one of the latex minions “that’s your poison right?” As soon as a tray of Caorunn and a single shot glass were delivered Drew leaned forward, elbows resting on the table “now let me be up front with you man. As far as dealing goes, I mostly stick with blow, it’s a game I know inside and out. I got some great sticky dank and always get a few bricks of H, these bitches in the club seem to love it.” He laughed quietly as he crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray “but I don’t really **** with ecstasy and molly and all that **** know what I’m saying, I only mess with **** I know is gonna make me some money. Now I do keep most of my business down in the slums, gangstas are my people” a statement he was sure was more than obvious “but with the club, ya know, a motherfucka’s gotta sling where there’s a need and money to be made right?”
Property of Satine
Shedim*Welcome To Wonderland*The Forsaken