Hustle Baby: A Dieselpunk Crime Quest
- Thread starter Laplace
- Start date
- Original
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Kill Tavish. Lady gives orders, lady gets results. Just one guy. Easy as breathing.
Jemnite
CVN-69 Fella
- Location
- 清源书院
[X]- Kill Tavish. Lady gives orders, lady gets results. Just one guy. Easy as breathing.
No better way to prove mettle than through the spilling of blood. Besides, Tavish is not of Panau make. The bobby-heads won't investigate his death. The night coach will make a stir. Batzorig, well, he can wait it's not like that offer has a time limit. But this rent now, it's easiest just to knock Tavish. Nobody will notice just another body in the bay.
No better way to prove mettle than through the spilling of blood. Besides, Tavish is not of Panau make. The bobby-heads won't investigate his death. The night coach will make a stir. Batzorig, well, he can wait it's not like that offer has a time limit. But this rent now, it's easiest just to knock Tavish. Nobody will notice just another body in the bay.
- Location
- Somewhere in the area
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[x]- Kill Tavish. Lady gives orders, lady gets results. Just one guy. Easy as breathing.
KnownParadox
Not a sphere
- Location
- Canada
[X]- Kill Tavish. Lady gives orders, lady gets results. Just one guy. Easy as breathing.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Kill Tavish. Lady gives orders, lady gets results. Just one guy. Easy as breathing.
KnownParadox
Not a sphere
- Location
- Canada
I'm thinking after this (if the lady here has a better offer after this plans will change) we could just go to Batzorig, it's not like it was a time-limited offer. Take the time-limited offer now and maybe expect further hooks later, but keep our options open right now.
- Location
- boundless optimism
Will try to have the update up by next Tuesday.
Bem-vindo ao Panau 3
- Location
- boundless optimism
"Tavish?"
The day after that, Ariel skipped work and found Batzorig in a parlor that almost seemed like it was plucked out and lifted from Azerady, full of plush rugs and shapeless cushions. They even had imported chal, which is a rarity in Panau. Batzorig raised an eyelid. "That pimp? Yeah, he's the one I pay my dues to." There was something metallic, like licking a cold metal tin. "That fat prick, he comes in every day and takes half and says it's for my own good."
"He have any muscle with him?" Ariel had to ask. There is no good reason to charge dick first into an unknown situation. "Thugs, where, who, what-"
"Is this an interrogation? What, you planning murder?"
She drank slowly. The chal tingled on the way down. "Because if you are," Batzorig continued, almost inaudible in the parlor's constant murmur, "I'm for it."
"Just tell me." Ariel's fingers itched. Azerady again. Kick down one door and shoot. Are they twitching? No? Move. Yes? Shoot them again. And then it repeats. But that was then and this is now, and one fat man with some two-penny thugs are in no way the Azerady Royal Guard. She had something planned out for the body already. One of the oldies in the Army of the Free, back when it was scattered cells throughout the thin strip of cities along the coasts and the roads, told her that the hardest part with murder wasn't the act itself, but the body it made. Then again, does anyone here actually care about that?
Batzorig eventually broke down. It didn't even take him a minute. Tavish walked the Horsehead Docks twice a day, along the titualar road. On occasion he would dip into a side street, where the gamblers and the boozers and a paltry assortment of shopkeepers would pay him off for the week. Yet, strangely, he never had anyone around him. Because of this, Batzorig swore up and down that he had a gang behind him.
It did make sense, somewhat. If there was a gang so cutthroat, so dangerous, that their name would be it's own shield, then there would be no need for Tavish to walk the Horsehead without guards. Of course, never once did Batzorig mention the name of the hypothetical gang, so Ariel had a sneaking feeling that it was a line of bullshit. He'd trumpet that out to the sky, and he's not.
Therefore it is with a light heart that Ariel Khatri found Tavish strolling the streets, following him in the flow of the crowd. There's a gun tucked in her pocket, a cheap .32 that costed twenty dollars. Eventually the chance comes. She has him in a back alley, his mark is long gone and the windows are shuttered.
"Tavish?"
"Yes?" He was amazingly fat, a corner of her mind noted as she drew the knife and slit him ear to ear. The blood sprayed all over her face as he dropped to the floor, twitching like a fish. The same corner knew that there was no way to properly hide the body. Too fat. She'd give out in the middle of the street, she thought as she wiped her face with his coat.
[Result: 2d6 (3, 6)]
The body, the body, the body. Simply too heavy to- "hey!"
Ariel whirled around to face the Sanarran at the mouth of the alley. "Is there an issue?" she asked politely, hand on the pocketed knife. He looked about the same age as her, aquiline nosed and what-not. What was more pressing was that he saw the body which was probably some form of criminal blunder.
"Well, yes. There's a dead body there." In the distance waves pounded against the shore. There was a refreshing smell of sea salt underneath the oil and the smoke. "Let's move it. Don't want the cops getting frisky."
That slightly reassured Ariel, who drew her hands out of her pockets. "You get his arms?" she offered the man, who shrugged and did so, grunting under the weight.
"Why didn't ya scream?" he panted. The street was deserted and the mist was thick and heavy, the ocean a short drop from the… what was the word? She wasn't sure.
The body went over with a splash and sunk down. "I was in the army," Ariel said. "General Temur."
"Shit, really? Same. I was in Azerady."
"Small world." She tightened her jacket against a sudden breeze. "Were you involved in the Grand Bazaar Assault?"
"Gunpowder and spices," he agreed. "I stuffed my pockets with saffron and sold them to a guy for cash."
"Damn. I should have done that. Is there anyone else? I missed the first ship."
"Hundreds. Hell, sister, I'm surprised you didn't know. Where you set up at? It's probably the craps. We pooled together money for a building all for ourselves and the landlord can't do shit."
"I've been renting from Ms. Agarwal," she admitted. Here it comes…
"The madame?" The tone was incredulous. Like he was looking at Queen Idiot of all the world's idiots. "How did you not notice? It was the most obvious thing, sister. They got the perfume and the screamin, where were you?"
"I was asleep. Can we not talk about this? What's your name? We've been talking for a long time and I've been calling you man all this time."
The man nodded. "That's fair. Uh, I'm Kuban Baqri. You?"
"Ariel Khatri."
"I knew a Khatri," Kuban mused. "Aimar Khatri. You related? It's a small world, if so."
Ariel rubbed her head. "No. I'm Aimar. I changed my name when I arrived."
"Even smaller world, then," he grunted. "C'mon. Night's still young, let's talk a bit more, comrade to comrade."
[]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
[]- Return to the Agarwal Tenant and conclude your business.
The day after that, Ariel skipped work and found Batzorig in a parlor that almost seemed like it was plucked out and lifted from Azerady, full of plush rugs and shapeless cushions. They even had imported chal, which is a rarity in Panau. Batzorig raised an eyelid. "That pimp? Yeah, he's the one I pay my dues to." There was something metallic, like licking a cold metal tin. "That fat prick, he comes in every day and takes half and says it's for my own good."
"He have any muscle with him?" Ariel had to ask. There is no good reason to charge dick first into an unknown situation. "Thugs, where, who, what-"
"Is this an interrogation? What, you planning murder?"
She drank slowly. The chal tingled on the way down. "Because if you are," Batzorig continued, almost inaudible in the parlor's constant murmur, "I'm for it."
"Just tell me." Ariel's fingers itched. Azerady again. Kick down one door and shoot. Are they twitching? No? Move. Yes? Shoot them again. And then it repeats. But that was then and this is now, and one fat man with some two-penny thugs are in no way the Azerady Royal Guard. She had something planned out for the body already. One of the oldies in the Army of the Free, back when it was scattered cells throughout the thin strip of cities along the coasts and the roads, told her that the hardest part with murder wasn't the act itself, but the body it made. Then again, does anyone here actually care about that?
Batzorig eventually broke down. It didn't even take him a minute. Tavish walked the Horsehead Docks twice a day, along the titualar road. On occasion he would dip into a side street, where the gamblers and the boozers and a paltry assortment of shopkeepers would pay him off for the week. Yet, strangely, he never had anyone around him. Because of this, Batzorig swore up and down that he had a gang behind him.
It did make sense, somewhat. If there was a gang so cutthroat, so dangerous, that their name would be it's own shield, then there would be no need for Tavish to walk the Horsehead without guards. Of course, never once did Batzorig mention the name of the hypothetical gang, so Ariel had a sneaking feeling that it was a line of bullshit. He'd trumpet that out to the sky, and he's not.
Therefore it is with a light heart that Ariel Khatri found Tavish strolling the streets, following him in the flow of the crowd. There's a gun tucked in her pocket, a cheap .32 that costed twenty dollars. Eventually the chance comes. She has him in a back alley, his mark is long gone and the windows are shuttered.
"Tavish?"
"Yes?" He was amazingly fat, a corner of her mind noted as she drew the knife and slit him ear to ear. The blood sprayed all over her face as he dropped to the floor, twitching like a fish. The same corner knew that there was no way to properly hide the body. Too fat. She'd give out in the middle of the street, she thought as she wiped her face with his coat.
[Result: 2d6 (3, 6)]
The body, the body, the body. Simply too heavy to- "hey!"
Ariel whirled around to face the Sanarran at the mouth of the alley. "Is there an issue?" she asked politely, hand on the pocketed knife. He looked about the same age as her, aquiline nosed and what-not. What was more pressing was that he saw the body which was probably some form of criminal blunder.
"Well, yes. There's a dead body there." In the distance waves pounded against the shore. There was a refreshing smell of sea salt underneath the oil and the smoke. "Let's move it. Don't want the cops getting frisky."
That slightly reassured Ariel, who drew her hands out of her pockets. "You get his arms?" she offered the man, who shrugged and did so, grunting under the weight.
"Why didn't ya scream?" he panted. The street was deserted and the mist was thick and heavy, the ocean a short drop from the… what was the word? She wasn't sure.
The body went over with a splash and sunk down. "I was in the army," Ariel said. "General Temur."
"Shit, really? Same. I was in Azerady."
"Small world." She tightened her jacket against a sudden breeze. "Were you involved in the Grand Bazaar Assault?"
"Gunpowder and spices," he agreed. "I stuffed my pockets with saffron and sold them to a guy for cash."
"Damn. I should have done that. Is there anyone else? I missed the first ship."
"Hundreds. Hell, sister, I'm surprised you didn't know. Where you set up at? It's probably the craps. We pooled together money for a building all for ourselves and the landlord can't do shit."
"I've been renting from Ms. Agarwal," she admitted. Here it comes…
"The madame?" The tone was incredulous. Like he was looking at Queen Idiot of all the world's idiots. "How did you not notice? It was the most obvious thing, sister. They got the perfume and the screamin, where were you?"
"I was asleep. Can we not talk about this? What's your name? We've been talking for a long time and I've been calling you man all this time."
The man nodded. "That's fair. Uh, I'm Kuban Baqri. You?"
"Ariel Khatri."
"I knew a Khatri," Kuban mused. "Aimar Khatri. You related? It's a small world, if so."
Ariel rubbed her head. "No. I'm Aimar. I changed my name when I arrived."
"Even smaller world, then," he grunted. "C'mon. Night's still young, let's talk a bit more, comrade to comrade."
[]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
[]- Return to the Agarwal Tenant and conclude your business.
- Location
- Somewhere in the area
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
Connections and mutual history! A good place to start, for any enterprising scoundrel.
Connections and mutual history! A good place to start, for any enterprising scoundrel.
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
KnownParadox
Not a sphere
- Location
- Canada
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
They're probably one of the largest (or at least most skilled) group of thugs in the area.
They're probably one of the largest (or at least most skilled) group of thugs in the area.
StarSerpent
Upjumped Peasant
- Location
- Cowtown, AB
[X]- Agree. Time to stew in nostalgia and failure. That's always fun.
This whole thing about 'not realizing it's a whorehouse' is gonna follow our MC like a bad penny, isn't it?
This whole thing about 'not realizing it's a whorehouse' is gonna follow our MC like a bad penny, isn't it?
Welcome to Panau
- Location
- boundless optimism
"It was pointless."
There were ten comrades from General Temur's Army of the Free sitting in the common room. Blue grey shiksha smoke rose into the air. They shared the pipe and a broken dream, stretching their legs out before the sun rose. "I mean," Kuban continued, "pointless. There was a lot of talk of freedom, but I never saw a drop of it. There was a lot of talk about prosperity, but that was always for the fat ones and not us." He was a born orator, this Kuban. "Now that I think about it, General Temur always did have us bumming around the Panauans instead of taking it to the khagans. In retrospect, comrades of the same sky, they fucked us, these spice merchants from Panau. Fucked us quite well."
"They paid us, didn't they?" Ariel accepted the pipe and let the hot smoke fill her mouth. Nothing was better than this. "Say what you want about General Temur. Say he's a patsy for Panau, or just a thug, but he pays us on time. That's all that's needed. What did you join for?"
"The Republic of Sanar!" rose from his throat. "Every man free! Rejuvenate the nation!"
"He studied in the University of Azerady," someone whispered to Ariel as Kuban began singing the republican anthem, which all made sense. The only things that came out of the University before Khagan Yide shelled it were doctors (good), strange tax laws (bad) and young twenty-somethings with nothing better to do than ferment revolution after studying abroad (debatable). They were the core of General Temur's army, the officers that once set fires after discussing philosophy as revolutionists, guiding the people to a brighter future with their sheer moral fortitude.
At least, that was the theory, Ariel mused as she watched Kuban hit three high notes in succession without pausing for breath. In her experience, the officer that lead her squad spent most of his time wailing about how the gunsmoke would ruin priceless calligraphy. "Was he your officer?" she asked the woman beside her, who shrugged.
"No," the other woman with cheap copper rings on her fingers said. "It was after… the mess." Where General Temur was shot by a sniper, the organization he built shivered to pieces, with soldiers deserting in droves to join warlords and pretending to be citizens all along, as the palace police pursued the army. People were shot in the street just because they sold rice to the army. "He managed to round up everyone and bribe his way onto a ship for us."
Her opinion of him rose.
The song ended to a smattering of applause. "Anyway," Kuban continued. "Panau, brothers and sisters of the same sky. How'd you find it? Are we all enjoying the free air? The electric prosperity? Eh?"
"I've been constantly drunk and my spine feels like I'm eighty."
"Eh, welcome to life."
"It's horseshit." Ariel smashed a fist against the floor. "How much do I earn? Peanuts. How much do the fat ones sitting in the shade earn? Bananas, and giant bunches of them. I can sit around in the shade as well as they do. This thing is going to be the end of us if we keep letting them bleed us dry"
"Ariel, friend," Kuban's face widened into a smirk as he squatted in front of Ariel's cushion. "Are you a unionist? I hadn't thought of it in you."
"No, I just want more money."
A chuckle rippled through the room. A scarred man stood up, his face marred and twisted by a burst of shrapnel ages ago. "She's right, Kuban. You said we would be richer than kings in Panau. If we are, we are the most embarrassing kings known to history."
Kuban turned. "So, then what? I have made my fair share of mistakes, I admit. But do you have any better plan? No? Then you have to live with it. Because we have nothing else but each other."
"You're all brain and no heart. We can do everything the pigs do here. It's a fucking shame and an embaressment that any punk feels free to come to the Horseheads to start shit."
They're right, Ariel realized. When you get down to it, the run of the mill muggers could not stand up to even the worst of the Army of the Free. They could walk the streets and make a couple of demonstrations. Collect some tribute like how the village sent the khagans taxes for keeping the bandits and the fuckers from the next banner over away. It would be better money than anything.
The night turned. The discussion drifted from current matters to an abstract litany of complaints about how cold and wet it was, to how idiotic the current Sanarran khaganate was, to the shin splintering quality of walking on Panau's cobblestones. Then they began singing and drinking, and then she couldn't remember anything past that when she woke up in the morning. It was a comfortable, nostalgic haze.
"Hello, you Sanarran horse-fucks," the man grinned. Light shone past his long, greasy hair, falling past his shoulders. At his waist was prominently displayed two revolvers. "Which one of you killed Tavish?"
Ariel blinked the sleep out of her eyes immediately. "No?"
"Poor answer." The man grinned wider. "If you hadn't,you would have asked who he was. So, I must conclude that you are indeed the one behind Tavish's untimely disappearance. Oh, I'm Vega, by the way. I won't ask your name."
Prick. She felt the ten or so ex-soldiers behind her stand up. It was a good feeling, a rock solid one. "What happens if I say yes?"
"Aha. Now we're haggling over price. Is that shishka? I love shiksha. They don't make it as good in Panau. What brand is it?"
Kuban moved you behind him. "I'd tell that to a friend. You a friend, Vega?"
"Depends, but I ain't askin' you." He looked over Kuban's shoulder. "Let's have all the cards on the table here, zig. Tavish is a stone cold dumbass motherfucker, and I'm not sad he's missing. Unfortunately, he's the only guy that bothers to walk the Horsehead and collect our tax. Following?"
"No. Fuck off," Ariel said.
"Rude. Here's the deal. Tavish is gone, and I think you zigs done him in to get his racket. Therefore!" Vega took a step back and raised his hands in a flourish. "You got it. You can do whatever the fuck you want in this slum. Steal, sell drugs, who cares? Not me, and not my boss. All ya gotta do is cut us in."
Kuban glanced at Ariel. Cold sweat ran down her back. This guy, Vega, was thinking Kuban's gang was under her. Kuban thought Ariel was some kind of criminal mastermind that took a shot at Tavish for his taxes. It was a giant mess. So the only way out was through. "Fine," she said. "Give me a drop and piss off."
"Oooh, feisty. I'll be around, kid."
Before Vega dissapeared down the street Kuban shut the door and marched her back towards the center. "Okay, sister." He said, looming above her with the others around him. "Explain."
"I'm a lost soul on a wayward path."
No one laughed.
"Fine," she shrugged. "I was short on rent and I didn't want to be thrown out. Agarwal said that it'd be forgiven if I killed Tavish. So I did."
"Kill? Ariel, why would she want him dead?" Kuban asked. "It seems awfully uh."
"Final," someone supplied.
"Final."
"She uh. Didn't use those words." Ariel scratched her head. "Fuck. It's done, though. Let's not talk about it. Please?"
"Yeah. We can talk about how this fuck Vega just gave us the go-ahead to run the Horseheads. We can change things, Kuban, and for the better." the same scar faced man stood up. "We can start with the thieves. And then-"
"Okay, okay." Kuban waved his hands. "So we're doing this? Who agrees?" Every hand went up. "Well, I don't vote against the will of the people. Ariel! Our local criminal element. Give us a starting place."
Descent
[]- Batzorig Monkhbat: Gambling is a victimless crime. There must be hundreds dropped in his games.
[]- Ms. Agarwal: Positution is the oldest job. Start with her, bring her onboard, back into the fold.
A/N: Okay, that's the narrative prologue over with. The next update will contain information about the Horsehead Docks, opportunities to seize, and enemies to contend with, shifting towards a strategic viewpoint.
There were ten comrades from General Temur's Army of the Free sitting in the common room. Blue grey shiksha smoke rose into the air. They shared the pipe and a broken dream, stretching their legs out before the sun rose. "I mean," Kuban continued, "pointless. There was a lot of talk of freedom, but I never saw a drop of it. There was a lot of talk about prosperity, but that was always for the fat ones and not us." He was a born orator, this Kuban. "Now that I think about it, General Temur always did have us bumming around the Panauans instead of taking it to the khagans. In retrospect, comrades of the same sky, they fucked us, these spice merchants from Panau. Fucked us quite well."
"They paid us, didn't they?" Ariel accepted the pipe and let the hot smoke fill her mouth. Nothing was better than this. "Say what you want about General Temur. Say he's a patsy for Panau, or just a thug, but he pays us on time. That's all that's needed. What did you join for?"
"The Republic of Sanar!" rose from his throat. "Every man free! Rejuvenate the nation!"
"He studied in the University of Azerady," someone whispered to Ariel as Kuban began singing the republican anthem, which all made sense. The only things that came out of the University before Khagan Yide shelled it were doctors (good), strange tax laws (bad) and young twenty-somethings with nothing better to do than ferment revolution after studying abroad (debatable). They were the core of General Temur's army, the officers that once set fires after discussing philosophy as revolutionists, guiding the people to a brighter future with their sheer moral fortitude.
At least, that was the theory, Ariel mused as she watched Kuban hit three high notes in succession without pausing for breath. In her experience, the officer that lead her squad spent most of his time wailing about how the gunsmoke would ruin priceless calligraphy. "Was he your officer?" she asked the woman beside her, who shrugged.
"No," the other woman with cheap copper rings on her fingers said. "It was after… the mess." Where General Temur was shot by a sniper, the organization he built shivered to pieces, with soldiers deserting in droves to join warlords and pretending to be citizens all along, as the palace police pursued the army. People were shot in the street just because they sold rice to the army. "He managed to round up everyone and bribe his way onto a ship for us."
Her opinion of him rose.
The song ended to a smattering of applause. "Anyway," Kuban continued. "Panau, brothers and sisters of the same sky. How'd you find it? Are we all enjoying the free air? The electric prosperity? Eh?"
"I've been constantly drunk and my spine feels like I'm eighty."
"Eh, welcome to life."
"It's horseshit." Ariel smashed a fist against the floor. "How much do I earn? Peanuts. How much do the fat ones sitting in the shade earn? Bananas, and giant bunches of them. I can sit around in the shade as well as they do. This thing is going to be the end of us if we keep letting them bleed us dry"
"Ariel, friend," Kuban's face widened into a smirk as he squatted in front of Ariel's cushion. "Are you a unionist? I hadn't thought of it in you."
"No, I just want more money."
A chuckle rippled through the room. A scarred man stood up, his face marred and twisted by a burst of shrapnel ages ago. "She's right, Kuban. You said we would be richer than kings in Panau. If we are, we are the most embarrassing kings known to history."
Kuban turned. "So, then what? I have made my fair share of mistakes, I admit. But do you have any better plan? No? Then you have to live with it. Because we have nothing else but each other."
"You're all brain and no heart. We can do everything the pigs do here. It's a fucking shame and an embaressment that any punk feels free to come to the Horseheads to start shit."
They're right, Ariel realized. When you get down to it, the run of the mill muggers could not stand up to even the worst of the Army of the Free. They could walk the streets and make a couple of demonstrations. Collect some tribute like how the village sent the khagans taxes for keeping the bandits and the fuckers from the next banner over away. It would be better money than anything.
The night turned. The discussion drifted from current matters to an abstract litany of complaints about how cold and wet it was, to how idiotic the current Sanarran khaganate was, to the shin splintering quality of walking on Panau's cobblestones. Then they began singing and drinking, and then she couldn't remember anything past that when she woke up in the morning. It was a comfortable, nostalgic haze.
"Hello, you Sanarran horse-fucks," the man grinned. Light shone past his long, greasy hair, falling past his shoulders. At his waist was prominently displayed two revolvers. "Which one of you killed Tavish?"
Ariel blinked the sleep out of her eyes immediately. "No?"
"Poor answer." The man grinned wider. "If you hadn't,you would have asked who he was. So, I must conclude that you are indeed the one behind Tavish's untimely disappearance. Oh, I'm Vega, by the way. I won't ask your name."
Prick. She felt the ten or so ex-soldiers behind her stand up. It was a good feeling, a rock solid one. "What happens if I say yes?"
"Aha. Now we're haggling over price. Is that shishka? I love shiksha. They don't make it as good in Panau. What brand is it?"
Kuban moved you behind him. "I'd tell that to a friend. You a friend, Vega?"
"Depends, but I ain't askin' you." He looked over Kuban's shoulder. "Let's have all the cards on the table here, zig. Tavish is a stone cold dumbass motherfucker, and I'm not sad he's missing. Unfortunately, he's the only guy that bothers to walk the Horsehead and collect our tax. Following?"
"No. Fuck off," Ariel said.
"Rude. Here's the deal. Tavish is gone, and I think you zigs done him in to get his racket. Therefore!" Vega took a step back and raised his hands in a flourish. "You got it. You can do whatever the fuck you want in this slum. Steal, sell drugs, who cares? Not me, and not my boss. All ya gotta do is cut us in."
Kuban glanced at Ariel. Cold sweat ran down her back. This guy, Vega, was thinking Kuban's gang was under her. Kuban thought Ariel was some kind of criminal mastermind that took a shot at Tavish for his taxes. It was a giant mess. So the only way out was through. "Fine," she said. "Give me a drop and piss off."
"Oooh, feisty. I'll be around, kid."
Before Vega dissapeared down the street Kuban shut the door and marched her back towards the center. "Okay, sister." He said, looming above her with the others around him. "Explain."
"I'm a lost soul on a wayward path."
No one laughed.
"Fine," she shrugged. "I was short on rent and I didn't want to be thrown out. Agarwal said that it'd be forgiven if I killed Tavish. So I did."
"Kill? Ariel, why would she want him dead?" Kuban asked. "It seems awfully uh."
"Final," someone supplied.
"Final."
"She uh. Didn't use those words." Ariel scratched her head. "Fuck. It's done, though. Let's not talk about it. Please?"
"Yeah. We can talk about how this fuck Vega just gave us the go-ahead to run the Horseheads. We can change things, Kuban, and for the better." the same scar faced man stood up. "We can start with the thieves. And then-"
"Okay, okay." Kuban waved his hands. "So we're doing this? Who agrees?" Every hand went up. "Well, I don't vote against the will of the people. Ariel! Our local criminal element. Give us a starting place."
Descent
[]- Batzorig Monkhbat: Gambling is a victimless crime. There must be hundreds dropped in his games.
[]- Ms. Agarwal: Positution is the oldest job. Start with her, bring her onboard, back into the fold.
A/N: Okay, that's the narrative prologue over with. The next update will contain information about the Horsehead Docks, opportunities to seize, and enemies to contend with, shifting towards a strategic viewpoint.
- Location
- Somewhere in the area
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X]- Ms. Agarwal: Positution is the oldest job. Start with her, bring her onboard, back into the fold.
The oldest profession is also the oldest source of blackmail, and nothing will buy their loyalty like effective and non-abusive protection.
The oldest profession is also the oldest source of blackmail, and nothing will buy their loyalty like effective and non-abusive protection.
PonKatt
She Who Runs Into Walls
- Location
- US
[X]- Ms. Agarwal: Positution is the oldest job. Start with her, bring her onboard, back into the fold.
Honestly, running the brothal means we can ensure certain standards of treatment for the workers. If news gets out that those who leave bruises get broken bones I certainly won't cry.
Honestly, running the brothal means we can ensure certain standards of treatment for the workers. If news gets out that those who leave bruises get broken bones I certainly won't cry.