Title Translated: More than Gold
Post Order: Miss, Crimsonknight21, Kormazon
Those participating in this RP, I am not requiring strict historical accuracy to the 1920's nor the geography of whatever location is used, as for what was around at the time. Just don't have your character pull out a smartphone, etc.
Bells chimed and snow fell from clouded skies smeared with the blackness of night. An icy nip held true to the air . Few cars drove down the whited out roads as they were still something new and not everyone could afford at the time. Here in New York the famed land of opportunities a soul was soon to pass. One of adequate origin to claim the birth rite to something known as a Mafia. At a ripe old age with a soul as black as coal, but a heart as warm to those of kin as a mother's touch. This sin burdened soul was ready to depart with none to rightfully claim heir.
On the night stand was a radio from which was being broadcast the drop of the New Year Ball to signal the turn of the decade down on Time Square. People all across the country were enjoying the festivities, drinking any sort of booze they could get their hands on. Television was yet to be introduced to the public yet so everyone was huddled around whatever radio they could find, whether it be out on the streets or in a nice cozy room, particularly the Syndicate. His time was coming to an end and his last wish was to see the turn of the decade. People just called him Boss out of respect.
His home was packed with Mafia members. Cars littered sides of the street for blocks down, but only the direct family, those related by blood were privelaged to park out front.. if he had any. With a quilt covering his dying body and eyes kept half open with the excitement to hear that the new decade has begun, the volume in the home was kept at a moderate constant despite the amount of drunks that staggered and laughed on the first floor. The second floor is where all of his higher ranking men stood. They loved him. One of them was even crying in the corner, unable to keep his composure with the thought of their great leader finally passing. Everyone knew who was next in line. Jimmy. Good ol' Jimmy. Never told the Boss 'No' for anything. Had to erase a couple families just to keep the Mafia's confidentiality secured? He off'd them, husbands, wives and children alike.
"And here we go folks!" The boss smiled, knowing full well they were about to do the final count down and welcome the new year. "Five!" THe radio spokeman's voice rang. "Four!" A sudden hush fell over the home. Perhaps in respect to grant the boss the ability to hear the stereo clearly. The ruckus downstairs hadn't quite stopped though. A voice from beyond the bedroom rang telling those downstairs to pipe down. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop from the basement level. "Three!" No foot even dared to shuffle in fear of making any sort of disturbance. "Two!" *Click* "One!" .....
*Click*
...
*BANG!*
"HAP-PY NEW YEARS EVERYONE! WELCOME THE YEAR OF 1920, FOLKS! I hope that y--"
The announcements were barely audible over the eruption of gunfire that took place upstairs. People began to scattered in a panic, except those upstairs. The radio had been shot by a stray bullet ending the welcoming announcement of the newly arrived year. It was a cold.. cold night. Holes riddled both wall and floor, windows shattered, blood swept across the pinewood floor in a cascade of deep, warm crimson soaking into clothes and the wood itself. Splatters decorated the walls. Those who were loyal to the boss through and through made their way up the stairs after all fell silent, the thuds of dying friends and some family hitting the ground ceased simultaneously.
The Boss had passed upon the radio spokesman saying 'One'. It was quiet. Those who had a loved one upstairs that died in the shooting held the corpse whilst it grew cold in their very arms rocking back and forth. It was a clear act of power grabbing. Someone in that room wanted Jimmy dead and they had done just that, but this set on a chain reaction for a Power Grab. Each one killing the next in line until it was a fight for the last man standing. The home was cleared out, for those living, knowing that the police would be on their way from all the ruckus.
A cold.. cold beginning to a new era.
The next day was a quiet chaos. Those who were regulars to the Office, or, Headquarters, sat along the couches and chairs wondering what needed to be done. One man stood up. "Ey', maybe I should--" One of his friends raised his hand to quiet him a moment. "No. You saw what happened last night. You might get yourself killed trying to fill in place for the Boss." He sat back down without resuming his idea.
The network of the Syndicate was in disarray. Places needed to be shook down and now that the police know that the Boss was dead they no longer had to fear of interference of the Mafia for their investigative cases. The office was a 'detective agency' or so it said outside on the door pane; a sizable location to house quite a number of mafia members or friends of. The office where the Boss normally took to upon arrival remained empty. No one dared try to make a move for that door or even go near it.
There were places to be shook down for 'protection' money, people who still needed to be killed, banks to be robbed and so forth. This was all paperwork that sat inside the boss' desk now for anyone to grab and see. Anyone wanting to rise to power needs to become feared, yet respected.
Post Order: Miss, Crimsonknight21, Kormazon
Those participating in this RP, I am not requiring strict historical accuracy to the 1920's nor the geography of whatever location is used, as for what was around at the time. Just don't have your character pull out a smartphone, etc.
Bells chimed and snow fell from clouded skies smeared with the blackness of night. An icy nip held true to the air . Few cars drove down the whited out roads as they were still something new and not everyone could afford at the time. Here in New York the famed land of opportunities a soul was soon to pass. One of adequate origin to claim the birth rite to something known as a Mafia. At a ripe old age with a soul as black as coal, but a heart as warm to those of kin as a mother's touch. This sin burdened soul was ready to depart with none to rightfully claim heir.
On the night stand was a radio from which was being broadcast the drop of the New Year Ball to signal the turn of the decade down on Time Square. People all across the country were enjoying the festivities, drinking any sort of booze they could get their hands on. Television was yet to be introduced to the public yet so everyone was huddled around whatever radio they could find, whether it be out on the streets or in a nice cozy room, particularly the Syndicate. His time was coming to an end and his last wish was to see the turn of the decade. People just called him Boss out of respect.
His home was packed with Mafia members. Cars littered sides of the street for blocks down, but only the direct family, those related by blood were privelaged to park out front.. if he had any. With a quilt covering his dying body and eyes kept half open with the excitement to hear that the new decade has begun, the volume in the home was kept at a moderate constant despite the amount of drunks that staggered and laughed on the first floor. The second floor is where all of his higher ranking men stood. They loved him. One of them was even crying in the corner, unable to keep his composure with the thought of their great leader finally passing. Everyone knew who was next in line. Jimmy. Good ol' Jimmy. Never told the Boss 'No' for anything. Had to erase a couple families just to keep the Mafia's confidentiality secured? He off'd them, husbands, wives and children alike.
"And here we go folks!" The boss smiled, knowing full well they were about to do the final count down and welcome the new year. "Five!" THe radio spokeman's voice rang. "Four!" A sudden hush fell over the home. Perhaps in respect to grant the boss the ability to hear the stereo clearly. The ruckus downstairs hadn't quite stopped though. A voice from beyond the bedroom rang telling those downstairs to pipe down. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop from the basement level. "Three!" No foot even dared to shuffle in fear of making any sort of disturbance. "Two!" *Click* "One!" .....
*Click*
...
*BANG!*
"HAP-PY NEW YEARS EVERYONE! WELCOME THE YEAR OF 1920, FOLKS! I hope that y--"
The announcements were barely audible over the eruption of gunfire that took place upstairs. People began to scattered in a panic, except those upstairs. The radio had been shot by a stray bullet ending the welcoming announcement of the newly arrived year. It was a cold.. cold night. Holes riddled both wall and floor, windows shattered, blood swept across the pinewood floor in a cascade of deep, warm crimson soaking into clothes and the wood itself. Splatters decorated the walls. Those who were loyal to the boss through and through made their way up the stairs after all fell silent, the thuds of dying friends and some family hitting the ground ceased simultaneously.
The Boss had passed upon the radio spokesman saying 'One'. It was quiet. Those who had a loved one upstairs that died in the shooting held the corpse whilst it grew cold in their very arms rocking back and forth. It was a clear act of power grabbing. Someone in that room wanted Jimmy dead and they had done just that, but this set on a chain reaction for a Power Grab. Each one killing the next in line until it was a fight for the last man standing. The home was cleared out, for those living, knowing that the police would be on their way from all the ruckus.
A cold.. cold beginning to a new era.
The next day was a quiet chaos. Those who were regulars to the Office, or, Headquarters, sat along the couches and chairs wondering what needed to be done. One man stood up. "Ey', maybe I should--" One of his friends raised his hand to quiet him a moment. "No. You saw what happened last night. You might get yourself killed trying to fill in place for the Boss." He sat back down without resuming his idea.
The network of the Syndicate was in disarray. Places needed to be shook down and now that the police know that the Boss was dead they no longer had to fear of interference of the Mafia for their investigative cases. The office was a 'detective agency' or so it said outside on the door pane; a sizable location to house quite a number of mafia members or friends of. The office where the Boss normally took to upon arrival remained empty. No one dared try to make a move for that door or even go near it.
There were places to be shook down for 'protection' money, people who still needed to be killed, banks to be robbed and so forth. This was all paperwork that sat inside the boss' desk now for anyone to grab and see. Anyone wanting to rise to power needs to become feared, yet respected.
Scuffed shoes and dirt stained pants idly twitched underneath a shoddy car, near an equally shoddy house. The window's shutters were half-broken and the door partially hung outwards on its hinges. The noise of the nearby construction site drowned out the words of an irate woman, and ships moved past the water way further ahead of the house, carrying trash.
The woman, wearing a cheap, boyish bob of red and hints of yellow, slammed the house's door open, her summer dress a beige with lime green polka-dots, but without sleeves. Her arms were thick with muscle, and her voice was loud and clearer once outside, "Eugeune! Don't you know your onions? There's a sockdollager being held for you know who and I won't have you make us look like reubens! Get off your ass and drive!"
The slider from underneath the car slowly reveals an unbuttoned, dirtied and dusted dark suit with a white shirt hardly tucked into the almost matching pants. A broken nose flattened from contact, a face like a snarl, and deep-set eyes appeared. The man's hair held a silver tone to it, which soon became blackened and slicked, as the man's hands drifted upwards, tussing his short hair up, "Look Ed, everything's going to be jake. I'm just--" Ed (short for Edwina) stomps her foot and tilts her head upwards, her overbite showing, "Bushwa! Don't tell me everything's going to be jake! Just move and don't you dare get half-seas over before driving! We have bills to pay, and you have to look nice, and I swear I'll beat those insurance salesmen to dirt and beyond if they come by--"
Eugene pushes his hands against the slider, his form rising to a height only a few inches higher than Ed's. His hands shove themselves into his pocket, "Ed." His gaze drifts elsewhere, "I was just going to see the old man. Piece of junk hayburner wouldn't start." Ed's hand lifts upward, slowly forming a fist, her fingers cracking, "You better get it working again, then." Eugene's lip pulled upward and his eyebrows cross, "You know what, Ed?"
Much later, Eugene pushed the door open to the boss's place, cloth stuffed up his nostrils and his nose freshly broken. Small flecks of blood decorated his tucked in white shirt, his hair covered mostly by a faded-brown panama, the band of the secondary color no longer visible. His scuffed shoes carried his form towards the bar, seating himself. Lifting his hand as if to hold a cigarette, "Butt me and get ready to pour me some drinks. I'm getting zozzled tonight.." Words passed around Eugene, but he remained a bluenose. Until his head lifts upward, his eyes staring at the ceiling bleary-like, "The hell was that?"
{I found this picture, and it is very fitting for Eugene's character. http://gyazo.com/0e44a090c29d41b52ae213e2d4cb3e28 }
The woman, wearing a cheap, boyish bob of red and hints of yellow, slammed the house's door open, her summer dress a beige with lime green polka-dots, but without sleeves. Her arms were thick with muscle, and her voice was loud and clearer once outside, "Eugeune! Don't you know your onions? There's a sockdollager being held for you know who and I won't have you make us look like reubens! Get off your ass and drive!"
The slider from underneath the car slowly reveals an unbuttoned, dirtied and dusted dark suit with a white shirt hardly tucked into the almost matching pants. A broken nose flattened from contact, a face like a snarl, and deep-set eyes appeared. The man's hair held a silver tone to it, which soon became blackened and slicked, as the man's hands drifted upwards, tussing his short hair up, "Look Ed, everything's going to be jake. I'm just--" Ed (short for Edwina) stomps her foot and tilts her head upwards, her overbite showing, "Bushwa! Don't tell me everything's going to be jake! Just move and don't you dare get half-seas over before driving! We have bills to pay, and you have to look nice, and I swear I'll beat those insurance salesmen to dirt and beyond if they come by--"
Eugene pushes his hands against the slider, his form rising to a height only a few inches higher than Ed's. His hands shove themselves into his pocket, "Ed." His gaze drifts elsewhere, "I was just going to see the old man. Piece of junk hayburner wouldn't start." Ed's hand lifts upward, slowly forming a fist, her fingers cracking, "You better get it working again, then." Eugene's lip pulled upward and his eyebrows cross, "You know what, Ed?"
Much later, Eugene pushed the door open to the boss's place, cloth stuffed up his nostrils and his nose freshly broken. Small flecks of blood decorated his tucked in white shirt, his hair covered mostly by a faded-brown panama, the band of the secondary color no longer visible. His scuffed shoes carried his form towards the bar, seating himself. Lifting his hand as if to hold a cigarette, "Butt me and get ready to pour me some drinks. I'm getting zozzled tonight.." Words passed around Eugene, but he remained a bluenose. Until his head lifts upward, his eyes staring at the ceiling bleary-like, "The hell was that?"
{I found this picture, and it is very fitting for Eugene's character. http://gyazo.com/0e44a090c29d41b52ae213e2d4cb3e28 }
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