[Ziggy455]

LOCK.

This post has been edited by Ziggy455 on Monday, May 14 2012, 18:53

[Craig]

I'll give this a go, as I like the idea, but I can see limitations in just what I can write about.

My character's name is Blind Willie Shortbread.

If you can't see the colour too hot on the default skin, let me know and I'll choose something a little friendlier.

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Craig @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 17:54)

I'll give this a go, as I like the idea, but I can see limitations in just what I can write about. My character's name is Blind Willie Shortbread. I'll update later tonight/tomorrow. If you can't see the colour too hot on the default skin, let me know and I'll choose something a little friendlier.

Limitations? How so? And that color is fine.

[Typhus]

Barty Gabble


Barty Gabble stood in the back alley, exhaling slowly as he finished his joint.

"My mind is open, my mind is open, my mind is open." He repeated as the sweet smoke coursed out of his fat lips.

And it was true, he did indeed have an open mind. It was a shame so many other people didn't. They saw him and laughed, in some distant corner of his brain, he didn't blame them. He was obese, and on a bad day felt the odd stab of pain in his heart. And he wasn't up to date on the latest fashion wear, instead of Adidas and Nike, he favoured maroon cardigans and plaid trousers.
The kids used to laugh, riding past on their bicycles.

"Hey fag! What you wearing?" They'd chortle, circling around him. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you, fag. You look like Val Doonican, gonna' sing a song, Val? Gonna' sing us a song?"

But he would walk along those streets with his head held high, even when the bruises they gave him scorched his flesh like candle wax. Who cared about their words? Dressing that way had made his mother happy, he was her smart little boy, her prince.
And no matter how much the other kids jeered, he kept putting those clothes on out of obligation, out of love. Oh yes, love.
Barty Gabble knew how to love more than anyone else, in his lonely adulthood he had grown to love himself, and what was love if not indulgence? He shovelled food into his mouth as if every fast food outlet in the world was going to shut down the next day. He grew fatter and fatter, but he felt good, real good.

Now he stood in this alley, his old backpack slung over one shoulder. A few moments ago some fool had gone running into the bar, the sound of police sirens not far behind. But the idiot hadn't seen him, no one would see him, Barty was smart, Barty knew the places to hide, the dark places where no one else dared tread.
He looked around restlessly, willing himself to feel serene. At his feet was the bloated corpse of a rat, thick white maggots making the brown fur dance in comical spasms.

Will the maggots eat them too, I wonder?

Of course they would, they always did. But no one had to die tonight. Not if they loved Barty Gabble as much as he loved himself.
That was all he wanted, the true and unconditional love all the poets and great artists spoke of through their works. The love between two people, eyes meeting and lips slowly coming together in a hot and frenzied embrace.
When he was a child they had called him a faggot and a queer, and as an adult they had names for him as well. He saw them sometimes in the papers.
The Love Bug. Cupid. The Matchmaker.
He remembered those names, those cruel, cruel names and felt suddenly at peace. It was the peace of the righteous, the peace of the holy.
Slowly he began to strip, his rolls of blubber pricked by the cold night air. He folded up his clothes into a neat rectangular bundle and placed them behind a dumpster. For a moment he stood there, a bloated nude man in an adult diaper, the worlds biggest baby.
Quickly he took his tools from his backpack. The plastic cherub mask, its small scarlet lips curled in a coy smile and twin rosy splotches on each cheek. The crossbow, a single sharp bolt primed and ready to save him from the sting of rejection.
He would wait here all night, in the dark shadows of the alley. And as the drinking and singing inside calmed down, they would come tumbling out one by one.

"And one of them will be THE ONE." He thought, grinning behind his mask. "My one, my love, my one true love."

Maybe it would be a woman, maybe a man, maybe they'd be poor, maybe they'd be rich, maybe young, maybe old.
He didn't care, he didn't discriminate.
Barty Gabble had an open mind.

[Craig]

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 18:58)

QUOTE (Craig @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 17:54) I'll give this a go, as I like the idea, but I can see limitations in just what I can write about. My character's name is Blind Willie Shortbread. I'll update later tonight/tomorrow. If you can't see the colour too hot on the default skin, let me know and I'll choose something a little friendlier. Limitations? How so? And that color is fine.

Well, maybe I'm not getting it but are we just confined to the setting of the bar?

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Craig @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 18:01)

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 18:58) QUOTE (Craig @ Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 17:54) I'll give this a go, as I like the idea, but I can see limitations in just what I can write about. My character's name is Blind Willie Shortbread. I'll update later tonight/tomorrow. If you can't see the colour too hot on the default skin, let me know and I'll choose something a little friendlier. Limitations? How so? And that color is fine. Well, maybe I'm not getting it but are we just confined to the setting of the bar?

Of course not. The Bar is kind of the location that most people may choose to place their character, where they can interact easily. You can put your character wherever you like. You don't have to go to The Bar.

[Mr.Funny12]

Patrick O' Fennigan

"What a terrible day, what a terrible day" repeated itself over and over in his head. "How do I manage to go on living?" he thought to myself. He was making his way to the bar when he tripped, fell flat on his face. For a few moments he thought to himself "should I even get up?" Finding the energy he kept going forcing his weak legs to bring him through the door of the bar.

He found a vacant seat at the bar and put his head down in his hands. In the background he could hear somebody yell "hey crybaby, take your sensitivity somehwere else!" with the follow up of laughter by others. Lost, sick and desperate to stay awake he bought himself a drink. He never liked drinking but at this point any state of mind was better then the one he was in so he figured he could drink his problems away. He figured he may be able to escape his problems atleast for a little while.

He began to let himself relax. After a while of letting his thoughts come together he heard a voice. A friendly one at that. He looked to his side and there was a man asking him if he's alright. Patrick replied" I'm fine, don't worry about me" knowing that in reality he was a mess and trying to find reasons to keep going and keep living.

He stood up and walked to the back alley. What he saw there were some people smoking, he himself considered it for a moment but never liked smoking. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He just wanted some fresh air. He gazed up at the sky, just letting his immagination take over.

This post has been edited by Mr.Funny12 on Sunday, Apr 22 2012, 21:59

[ItsOnlyAce]

Something seemed different when Carson spoke to the man sitting at the bar. He wished he hadn't left to the back alley. He could tell something was wrong, and he also noticed a predator looking figure in the alley. Maybe I should check in on him again, he thought. He walked towards the backdoor, and carefully cracked the door. A rush of cold air hit his face, and he could see the man outside shivering with warm breath relinquish from his mouth. He seemed to be ok, just cold. Carson walked towards the backroom to take a seat in the corner.

Carson had warrants and was wanted for vandalism and theft, so he tried not to have a regular hangout. He randomly chose this bar. The bar met his standards, dark and gritty. He never liked lively places. It always made him feel overwhelmed and out of place. He always liked to keep to himself. He had a few close friends, but they died during a job back in 97'. Only Carson and his friends brother survived. After that, he moved out of town just to start over his life of crime. He had only been here a few months and was still learning the woodwork of the city.

Soon, a fight broke out because of a stupid pool game, so Carson decided to move to the front of the bar for a smoke. Something to keep him warm in a quiet spot. He sat outside for a good ten minutes and began to feel bored, so he began to walk towards the back alley to check on the man from the bar. He walked into the alley way cautiously, checking behind dumpsters to avoid being attacked by the awkward figure he saw earlier. He finally reached the man he saw in the bar and greeted him with an offer of a cigarette.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Carson" They shook hands.

"I'm Patrick, but friends call me Pat"

"So I guess that makes us friends now?"

"So be it," Patrick replied.

They both chit-chatted a while until, Carson interrupted and asked Patrick if he wanted to go inside. The thought of the man in the alley way haunted his mind so they went inside quickly to have a drink.

[Mr.Funny12]

After being approached by an unkown man, he decided to try his best to not take anger out on anyone who didn't deserve it. Alone, he decided to go inside and have a quick conversation hoping it would cheer him up. After having a seat at the bar, he began his conversation with this new person he'd just met. Patrick has always been anti-social, he was never very good at conversations and making many friends. He be-friend few and trusted even fewer.

The man he spoke with seemed very open minded and Patrick's mind began to clear and was accually enjoying himself for the first time in a long long time. Suddenly, he had to take a leak. He wondered into the halls that lead towards the bathroom. He noticed many pictures hung in this hallway. Patrick enjoyed reading and recognized many people he observed. He made his way to the bathroom to see a very dirty grimy looking place. A man was asleep lying face down and Patrick wanted nothing to do with the scene. He decided to take his buisness elsewhere. The back-alley would be the best place he realized and ventured there. Outside, a very odd sounding character was heard, making awkard noises in the shaded part of the alley. After watering the ground, he made his way back to the bar. On his way there somebody had bumped into him.

"Whatch where I'm f*ckin' goin' pal" the main grunted directly into Patricks face.

He tried as hard as he could to not over react. The anger and emotions took the better of him.

"Hey buddy..." Patrick said, fist ready to strike the man in the face.

The man turned around and then the man from the bar jumped in between the two stopping the fight. Patrick being held back and walked back to the bar starred at the man, hoping in a sense that he would frighten him. After all he was a man of good stature. A towering 6'3 and rugged looking face made him look unfriendly, scary to many.

After calming down he decided to find a quiet place. He found himself in the Secound Floor Balcony Bar and stayed for a while. He took a book out of a jacket pocket and began reading. Very found and interested in reading he began to sink into his book.

This post has been edited by Mr.Funny12 on Monday, Apr 23 2012, 05:10

[TinTinn]

Wussy Reed

Wussy worked as a casual on the bar on late Friday nights, but never paid, it was all in respect. "You know, it's never about the money, but about getting to know people and their lives, a great insight on the modern world," he'd say to outsiders, tourist that asked. His eyes darted across the Secound Floor Bar, whipping a glass cup. People try not to make eye contact with him, as the last person to stare at him was thrown off the balcony. Rumors say he worked in the airforce, whether a pilot or not, no one really had a clue but it was confirmed he worked in the NAVY. On the wall behind the bar in a glass cabinet, was placed a green airforce suit with several metals, but everyone seemed to ignore it.

A man approached the bar, dressed casually, "Hey there matey, do you have any milk by chance," he asked, Wussy looked up from the whipping the cup... and laughed, "Yeah, sure," he turned around and knelled down to reach for the milk. He rose from underneath the bar and slammed the milk bottle onto the table, "So where ya' from?" he asked, pouring the milk, "Salt Lake City," the man said. Wuss finished pouring the milk into a glass before passing it to him, "Salt Lake, is that right. One of me mates and I trained there for a while," he explained, "Trained?" the man asked taking a sip of his milk and piercing his lips together, "Yeah, the airforce," he replied, "Well, thanks for the hit of milk," the man walked off towards the bathroom. Wussy had this paranoia issue, were he'd think the F.B.I are after him for who knows what, possibly guilt, "Prick won't know what hit him...prfft, milk," he uttered and chuckled. He just drugged a customer, which he usually does if anything becomes suspicious or awkward for him, 'He'll be passed out on the toilet floor in no time' he thought.

It was around 12:30 and his shift was over, so he decided to go socialize with some of the customers. He noticed a man out on the Balcony and went to greet him, "It's really cold out here, would you like to come inside, the fireplace is running," he suggested to the man, he noticed he was reading the novel 'Dune' which he read back a while ago, "That's a great novel sir," he added. The man looked up with an annoyed expression on his face, "Yes, it is. I'll be quiet fine outside here, I really enjoy the cold weather actually," the amused man replied, "The names Wuss Reed," he said to the man, holding out his hand for a shake. He grabbed his hand and firmly shook it, "Patrick," he gave his name. After a deep conversation about the novel he was reading, they began to talk about the NAVY and both admitted to work in the airforce and both piloted at the same airbase. Suddenly, the police appeared dragging the drugged man out of the bathroom, "Everyone report to the main room imminently".

This post has been edited by TinTinn on Monday, Apr 23 2012, 05:43

[AceRay]

(Sorry about the Barty buisiness, got a bit out of hand. There wasn't anything about it in the rules, how was I supposed to know? Anyway, I f*cked up and I hope you guys can forgive me.)

Lee Vincenzo

The Vincenzo house was filled with the yells of a screaming couple, Maria Vincenzo shouting a request for divorce to no avail. She had been unfaithful to her husband, to say the least; just two nights prior, Lee had found her in bed with one of Lee’s golfing buddies, wrapped in each other’s arms and smelling of cheap whiskey. It almost drove Lee to tears when she told him to see her in Reno for a separation.

“I’m not having this, I’m not losing you!” The mildly successful banker’s plea fell on deaf ears.

“Howard loves me, that’s the difference between him and you.”

“Honey, it’s not your fault what happened” Just the mere mention of her traumatic experience brought Maria to tears, who promptly ran into the baby’s room and shut the door, leaving Lee standing sheepishly in the middle of the room.

It all went downhill around three years ago. The young couple had a new house and Maria was pregnant with a little baby girl. Oh, how they toiled and sweated in preparation, which made it all the more heart breaking when Maria gave birth to a stillborn. After that, everything just fell apart, with the following pregnancy attempts remained unsuccessful. As Lee’s career began to flourish, their relationship dwindled. Lee began to ponder whether it was inevitable that Maria look elsewhere. He peeked into the Baby’s room, still just as bright and colourful as the day they painted it. Maria was reading through some of the children’s books that they had bought, tears dripping onto the pages. Everytime Lee glanced into that room, it reminded him of his failure. He turned away, a tear rolling down his check, and went to the front door.

He grabbed his leather jacket, the one that creaked with every move. As he put his hairy arms through the coat, his hazel eyes met with the small circular mirror across the hall. Lee took a deep long look into it. “What have you become?” he asked. What Lee saw looking back was something he didn’t like; a medium-sized, blonde haired douche with shadows under his eyes bigger than an ocean liner and a messy moustache keeping his dry mouth company. His face looked tired and exhausted, like it had been beaten by a hyperactive monkey. His grey shirt was tattered and greasy and his track pants were two sizes too small. As he ran his hand down his face, the stubble prickled Lee’s hand and made the dry thing go back down to his side. If you’d meet Lee before, you’d swear he was at least 40 but the truth was he had just turned 31. Lee then noticed his stupidly long face and chuckled, then left with a bang just loud enough for Maria to hear him leave.

Lee concentrated on the road, the only thing that was real to him. His Audi hummed along happily, like nothing was wrong. He would have drowned his sorrows until early morning but he didn’t like the drink. He was a simple man with simple tastes so why should he indulge himself? No, Lee decided to head to the arcade next to the cinemas. The flashing lights and buzzing noises reminded him of his youth, where he’d spend what seemed like days playing pinball.

As soon he burst through the door, he was greeted by a whiff of terrible smells coming from the dozen or so teens scattered around playing the various machines. A shy machine was eying Lee for attention, and he immediately fell for its spell. Lee cradled the machine and pushed all the buttons the right way. The paddles were flapping and Lee felt like a little boy all over again. When he had broken the high score, a small crowd clustered around Lee to see his plight. For the first time in months, Lee forgot about all his marriage problems and lost himself in the game.

This post has been edited by AceRay on Monday, Apr 23 2012, 07:03

[Ziggy455]

Jackson Miller stared at his reflection in the mirror of the toilets. An ink scrawled message sporting a phone number was lazily scribbled on the porcelain tiles it lay on. Miller threw cool water onto his face that caused him to lightly gasp. A crying man was audible in one of the cubicles but Miller didn’t really feel like comforting a crack-head who would only remain coherent for a few moments in his withdrawal. This f*cking room stinks of piss he thought to himself as he picked up the duffel bag next to his feet and slung the strap of it over his bulky shoulders.

Miller was a heavy set man, his broad shoulders went well with his muscular frame that sported Extra-Extra Large clothing that was still baggy. A black and torn black jumper, safety boots and baggy stonewashed jeans were what he had been wearing since last Monday. After another moment of staring at his reflection, he wiped the mirror with a swipe of his cold hand and walked into the hallway; a patron stumbling out into the back-alley budged his was past him as he headed into the double doors of the Backroom. The jukebox played the slow rendition of, I believe to My Soul by Ray Charles.

‘One of these days it won’t be long,’ Sang Ray as Miller walked to the bar, the thick stench of smoke still heavy in the dark air as he slumped onto a stool, the doorway behind the mahogany surface lightly open giving him a view into the Main Room.

‘You gonna look for me and I’ll be gone cause I believe,’ continued Ray slowly, the backup voices adding their input. The sound of two pool balls clapped together while the old man in the corner coughed exhaustedly. Glasses chinked together and the ambience of countless voices mixed together making it hard to separate distinct voices.

Miller turned and raised his arm to call the bartender. A stumpy man with thinning hair and black-rimmed glasses came forward. He leaned his fat elbows onto the wood and looked at Miller.

“What’ll it be there, son?” asked the bartender in his heavy Irish accent.

“Glass of water.” Said Miller with a nod.

“Glass of water?”

“Yeah, water.”

The Irishman lifted his hand to a lazy salute and went off into the other room. Miller hoped it was for a damn glass of water, was it such a hard drink to make? Tap, turn and aim for the glass! He sighed and turned back to the bar. He was going to stay here for the night, perhaps used some of the cash in the bag to buy himself enough drinks to cast himself into oblivion. Yeah, that sounded good. He wasn’t expecting much for the night and wasn’t meeting his brother until tomorrow. He called back the Irishman when he returned with iced water and ordered a dry scotch.

“Four fifty.” Said the Irishman.
He took off the bag, lowered it to the floor and reached in to it to grab a neat stack of notes. He yanked it out and shoved it into his pocket before any prying eyes could notice what he had. He slid out a crisp twenty and handed it to the Irishman.

“Wait, here,” he pulled out the clean crisp stack of twenties and put them on the table. The Irishman’s eyes got much wider, his glasses only magnifying them to humorous proportions. “Must be a thousand or so there. Keep these coming,” He tapped the glass lightly, a smile broadening on his face. The Irishman gave a compliant nod and headed off to reply to another order.

On his third scotch his phone began to vibrate, his ringtone blaring. He lazily yanked it out of his pocket, sighed, and answered it.

“Hello?” he asked, disgruntled.

“Jax?”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, it’s your brother.” He lowered his glass of scotch from his lips and took a gulp.

“Which one am I talking to?”

“The one which you just ripped off for a couple of hundred grand,” the crashes of a lamp exploding down the phone as he yelled a hundred grand. Miller pulled the phone away from his head for a moment. “Now don’t talk, just listen. You’re my brother, and I love you, so just return the money you’ve taken and we’ll call it quits, okay?”

“I can’t do that, this is blo-“ sh*t, were these scotches going to his head that quickly? Was he really about to just scream out all this cash in this unprotected bag was blood money? He slapped himself lightly and smiled.

“I can’t do that Richie. I’m sorry but this money is going to a good cause, not up your arm. I love you too, brother.” The sound of more yells and smashing screamed down the phone. Miller sighed and hung up. f*cking Richie, he didn’t know how he’d gotten so much cash, but he was already worse for wear and coming down off a crack binge, Miller could tell in the way of how erratic he was. Why should he keep such a large sum that he most probably got through some kind of shady business anyway? Miller didn’t like the idea of delivering his brother’s eulogy before his thirtieth birthday. He might have seemed a little bit off or intrusive, but his brother made stupid decisions. Overdosing on crack or heroin was not the way he was going to go.

Viiiiibbbrate, viiiiiiiiibrate! A text came through, he peeked down to the One Message envelope with the name Richie underneath it. He clicked open:

Im goin 2 find u Jax n when i do, u r gunna wish id never found u, hope to c u soon brotha sincerely Richie

Miller gulped suddenly. The house was a few blocks from here, and Richie had never once been to this bar but Miller found himself wondering, thinking of the worst scenario. Before he was able to finish his thoughts a pool ball came crashing into his head, knocking him to the floor. The sound of a brawl taking place echoed as he was knocked into oblivion.

This post has been edited by Ziggy455 on Monday, Apr 23 2012, 18:04

[Mr.Funny12]

After about a chapter or two of reading, a man came into his side view. Not looking for social interaction, Patrick kept to his book in hopes the man would go away. The man proceeded to Patricks side, asking if he wanted to seat inside. Patrick replied,

" I'll be quiet fine outside here, I really enjoy the cold weather actually,"

Hoping to be left alone, he gave some-what of a cold shoulder to the man pretending to ignore him so he would walk away. The man proceeded to converse about the book Patrick was reading. After a while of talking, Patrick hadn't even realized how into this conversation he had gotten into. He was relaxed again, having a good time at that and proceeded on with talking. They conversed about their Military background which Patrick lied about. Learning of Wuss Reeds Piloting of jet fighters made Patrick feel un-fit to him. He had always thought of how cool fighter jets where, and how prestigous the pilots are but didn't have the energy to go to college. He instead joined another role within the aiforce. He also learned that Wuss Reed was stationed at the same base he was, but at a later date. Interrupting their conversation, police could be seen dragging the drugged man out of the bathroom he'd seen earlier.

"Everyone report to the main room imminently." A voice shouted over the whole bar.

As Patrick made his way into the bar, he saw the majority of the Bar gathering. Patrick always paid very close attention to detail and noticed a man with a duffle bag sitting akwardly at the bar. Before any speaking took place a pool ball was thrown across the room, coming to contact with the Mans head who was sitting at the bar. Before you knew it people near the front door were making their way across the lobby towards the unconsious man laying on the floor near the bar. Weilding pool sticks and knives it looked as if murder was going to happen right there. Patrick remember his childhood every time he saw a fight. He was bullied as a kid and abused by his father. When he joined the airforce, he joined a combat role; one of which were he learned and almost mastered the fighting technique of Krav Maga. He couldn't sit idle as the posse went and beat this man to death so he decided to jump in on the scene. The man leading the crew wound up for a full swing with the pool stick he had grasped firmly in his hands. Patrick was their just in time, to deflect the pool stick break it and throw it away. A man came up from behind him with a bat. His instinct took over and he managed to kick out the mans legs grabbing the bat as he fell and again through it towards the alley door. Before he knew it BAM! Lights out. Seems as if a man had struck him from behind with a beer bottle and it broke over his head.

Patrick, standing 6'3 and a weighing alittle over 200lbs hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

This post has been edited by Mr.Funny12 on Monday, Apr 23 2012, 19:53

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Monday, Apr 23 2012, 19:49)

After about a chapter or two of reading, a man came into his side view. Not looking for social interaction, Patrick kept to his book in hopes the man would go away. The man proceeded to Patricks side, asking if he wanted to seat inside. Patrick replied, " I'll be quiet fine outside here, I really enjoy the cold weather actually," Hoping to be left alone, he gave some-what of a cold shoulder to the man pretending to ignore him so he would walk away. The man proceeded to converse about the book Patrick was reading. After a while of talking, Patrick hadn't even realized how into this conversation he had gotten into. He was relaxed again, having a good time at that and proceeded on with talking. They conversed about their Military background which Patrick lied about. Learning of Wuss Reeds Piloting of jet fighters made Patrick feel un-fit to him. He had always thought of how cool fighter jets where, and how prestigous the pilots are but didn't have the energy to go to college. He instead joined another role within the aiforce. He also learned that Wuss Reed was stationed at the same base he was, but at a later date. Interrupting their conversation, police could be seen dragging the drugged man out of the bathroom he'd seen earlier. "Everyone report to the main room imminently." A voice shouted over the whole bar. As Patrick made his way into the bar, he saw the majority of the Bar gathering. Patrick always paid very close attention to detail and noticed a man with a duffle bag sitting akwardly at the bar. Before any speaking took place a pool ball was thrown across the room, coming to contact with the Mans head who was sitting at the bar. Before you knew it people near the front door were making their way across the lobby towards the unconsious man laying on the floor near the bar. Weilding pool sticks and knives it looked as if murder was going to happen right there. Patrick remember his childhood every time he saw a fight. He was bullied as a kid and abused by his father. When he joined the airforce, he joined a combat role; one of which were he learned and almost mastered the fighting technique of Krav Maga. He couldn't sit idle as the posse went and beat this man to death so he decided to jump in on the scene. The man leading the crew wound up for a full swing with the pool stick he had grasped firmly in his hands. Patrick was their just in time, to deflect the pool stick break it and throw it away. A man came up from behind him with a bat. His instinct took over and he managed to kick out the mans legs grabbing the bat as he fell and again through it towards the alley door. Before he knew it BAM! Lights out. Seems as if a man had struck him from behind with a beer bottle and it broke over his head. Patrick, standing 6'3 and a weighing alittle over 200lbs hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Wrong room mate, if you check the board. Jackson Miller is downstairs in the Backroom. You are upstairs in the conference room.

[Mr.Funny12]

I thought I made my character walk downstairs. After the calling of all people into the same room.

"as patrick made his way into the bar" was meant to say he walked downstairs. My bad for not clearing that up.

[ItsOnlyAce]

"I'm glad I went out there before the fight actaully kicked of, " thought Carson. Carson was always a helpful person, despite his profession he had. Carson didn't like the mean wind as it hit the side of his face. He cupped his ears and felt the warmth from his palms. It was too cold to be outside and the wind seemed to be getting worse, so Carson retreated to the back room and watch the gritty men of the bar scene play pool for some entertainment.

Just as Carson walked into the room, a fight broke out, and he saw a pool ball fly across the cramped room. His eyes locked onto the ball as it connected to a man's temple on the side of his head. Carson heard a thud as the man hit the ground despite the fighting in the background. Carson ran to the man for aid.

"Sir? Sir, are you ok?"

The man responded but only with a simple groan. Carson picked the man up, put his arm around his shoulers, and carried the confused man to a safer venue of the bar. He carried him to the confrence room and let the man lie down in the seat of a booth table. Carson quickly went to get a glass of water for the man. When he came back with the water, Carson gently placed it on the table. He then looked down to notice the man' wallet was under the table. Carson slowly picked up the wallet and opened. He read the I.D. card.


"Jackson Miller," Carson whispered under his breath.

The name sounded familiar, but he didn't put much thought in it. He also noticed that he had an awful lot of money in his wallet. He didn't count it, or touch it even though he really wanted to make a score tonight. But out of respect of his privacy, he didn't, even tough he was going through the poor guys wallet. He put it in his pocket, not wanting to weird the guy and and make him think he was stealing his wallet, even though he would be putting it back.

Carson decided he would stay with the man untik he woke up.

This post has been edited by ItsOnlyAce on Tuesday, Apr 24 2012, 03:04

[Dr-Mayhem111]

Mikhail "Mickey" Vikoruv

"How do I enjoy my first day in America?" asked himself in his thoughts. "I arrive from the long flight from Russia to a place where I see nothing but American alcoholics, I think I'm going to like it here." he said to himself out loud. Mickey stumbles upon a need for some strong alcoholic beverages and sees' a bar from a distance. He puts on some decent clothing, picks up some money, and made his way to the bar.

As he arrived to the bar he noticed the place was a mess like a huge fight that just occurred. Although the mess did not bother one bit for he has seen worse in Russia. Mickey finds a vacant seat at the bar and takes a seat then orders some of the bars strongest liquor. As the bartender serves Mickey his drink, he gives him a concerned looked towards Mickey. "Hello sir, is there something wrong?" Mickey asks the bartender. The bartender replies "No, I was just trying to remember if I've seen before." "Well my friend good luck with that because this is my first time here in America and I was thinking of celebrating with some fine liquor." Mickey replies. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought you wre an old customer that used to come here quite often. I'm Wussy Reed, and you are?". "I'm Mikhail Vikoruv but you can call me Mickey." he replies to Wussy. The two become friends and socialized the entire night.

After Mickey went through three bottles of Vodka, he felt it was time to go home. "Well Wussy my friend, it is time for me to go home." Mickey slurred to Wussy. "But you are too drunk to even walk, you can't drive like this." Wussy said. Mickey slurs "Do not worry, I live up the street and I walked here so I'll be fine." "Well I'll help you get home." Wussy says to Mickey. Wussy helped Mickey get home although Mickey was really drunk and he was tripping almost every step he takes, the walk took longer than usual but they both made it. Mickey thanks Wussy and hands him a hundred dollar bill. "Thank you my friend, here take this as a token of my appreciation". "No I can't take this." Wussy said modestly. "It's okay, I want you to have this and besides, I have alot more money." Mickey chuckles. Wussy takes the money and returns to the bar.

[AceRay]

Lee had effectively tripled the high score and none of the kids could believe it. After wasting the pinball machine’s puny score, he had moved to the Metal Slug cabinet. His co-op partner was a short, pimply kid who had sauce on his face and called himself Dragon. His attire was scruffy but Lee grew a liking to him. He reminded him of his own wasted youth.

When they beat another level, there was cheering all around. Nobody had seen skills like this. Lee felt chuffed as he looked around, a grown man in a crowd of children. The lights flashed brighter and brighter causing delight in Lee but as he turned around, a terrible thought struck him. He was just a big kid inside. He caught a glance of some cautious parents outside, looking at him worryingly. There was a big clown’s face painted on the wall, glaring down his soul. The air suddenly felt sticky and suffocating.

Quickly, he excused himself and left. A small kid took his place and choked under pressure immediately. Lee ran out, back to the car park, sat down on a bench and pulled out a stick of gum. As he chewed, he wandered what to do. Going back to Maria and sorting the whole mess out would have been the right thing to do. A man would have tackled his problem and deal with it but, alas, Lee was not a real man. He was a coward, a big kid in banker’s clothes. As the gum began to lose its flavour, he reached for another, only to accidentally grab the old photo he kept in that pocket.

It was the picture from the day he proposed to Maria.

A big oak tree on a small hill filled the background with a clear blue sky over head. Lee had his arm around Maria, who was beaming she had won the lottery. She was wearing that summery dress and thick red lipstick around her lips that Lee always loved. Lee remembered how nervous he was when he lead her up that hill with a picnic in his hand and how happy she was when she uttered “yes” when he presented the sparkly ring to her. She always used to smile around him before the miscarriage. Now, all she ever seemed to do was look out rainy windows, crying.

He looked up at his shiny Audi sitting innocently across the way. In many ways, he had been a better husband to it than his wife. He would clean it and polish it and have it serviced every few thousand miles. He treated that car like it was the best thing on earth. Yet how many times did Lee comfort his own wife and tell her he loved her? All he did was comfort himself after the miscarriage, angry his genes would be passed on. Lee tried to forget his thoughts and made his way to the car, when suddenly something caught his attention.

There was a terrible smashing sound from across the way. Lee peeked over, only to see Dragon running away unsuccessfully from three men in hoods. They caught up and started beating him, tearing his clothes and taking the pennies he had. Soon, Dragon went unconscious and faded into darkness, his body broken and beaten. Except Lee didn’t see any of that; he had drove off in a rush the moment he saw the kid in danger.

[TinTinn]

Wuss and Patrick were moved to the main room, as the police insisted. "Like pigs in a pen," he joked to Pat as they sunk below the wooden stairway. They both knew that crowding a group of drunk and uneasy men wasn't going to be good. Patrick relating a hungry group of pilots to what this situation that was taking place. A fairly overweight man stood in front of them, it was a complete moshpit, Wuss taped the man on the shoulder... it turned around, "Is it alright if you stand at the back of the room, your're kinda taking up the view," he frowned, "What view, the police are here. There's nothing good to see here," they all were becoming anxious. It was taking a while so Wussy began to talk to this man in front of him, finding out his name to be 'Barty' but even though he seemed to be a nice version, a vengeance fulled his life but a softer side of him came out while in a deep conversation, "My parents left me when I was six... I never experienced love before. Throughout school, I was teased because my weight and I was smellier than other kids so if anything, I was hated... I just want to be loved," Barty began to sob, "Shut up! We have problems of our own, we don't have a small enough violin!" a man yelled from a bar. Patrick knew something was going to end back and his eyes focused on Barty as he picked up a pool ball and pegged it across the room, everyone spectated it like an Olympic game javlin. It crashed into the man at the bars head, and suddenly it was truly a moshpit. He lost sight of Bary and Patrick; the man that was drugged was all forgotten about, he tried not to laugh in this situation but decided to head upstairs to take his last shift for the night.

The bar was going to be closed down for the night because all of the blood silt downstairs but everyone in the fight was thirsty and ordered faster than ever. Wussy focused on a particular man sitting at the bar, his paranoia kicked in again,"Hello sir, is there something wrong?" the man asked with a Russian accent, 'Damn Russian. Sarge warned us about them... come to think of it, I did capture a few of them when Soviet Russia was around' he thought, "No, I was just trying to remember if I've seen before." Wuss said, staring up at the wall clock, "Well my friend good luck with that because this is my first time here in America and I was thinking of celebrating with some fine liquor." The Russian continued, 'Fine liquor, alright. I wonder if he's heard anything about moonshine,' the thirsty imagrint licked his lips, staring up at the alcohol, "Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were an old customer that used to come here quite often. I'm Wussy Reed, and you are?" he lied without flinching, "I'm Mikhail Vikoruv but you can call me Mickey." he replies to Wussy, who pours 50 year old moonshine into a cup. Mikhail wouldn't leave Wuss alone that night, so he decided to live with it and talk to him.

After about 20 top up of pure liquor, the greedy Russian was completely sh*t faced, "Well Wussy my friend, it is time for me to go home." he was disappointed in what he said, he wanted him to stay longer to try to kill him, 'FBI ain't getting away tonight!', "But you are too drunk to even walk, you can't drive like this." Wussy said as he hoped he'd say he had to drive, "Do not worry, I live up the street and I walked here so I'll be fine." 'Perhaps I'll knock a brick over his head on the way home and drop him in a soon to be cemented pillar in the neighborhood' he thought, feeling evil. Wussy purposely tried to knock him down the stairs but he held his arm over his shoulder as he limped down the stairs onto the street. He knew that he wouldn't get a chance to kill him, as inside Mikhail's jacket, was a silenced pistol with Russian printing on it, "This is my humble aboad," he said to Wuss as he pulled out his wallet, 'Money? This is too much, and I even thought about killing him' guilt began to rise, "Thank you my friend, here take this as a token of my appreciation". "No I can't take this." Wussy said modestly. "It's okay, I want you to have this and besides, I have alot more money." Mickey chuckles. Wussy takes the money and begins to walk back to the bar. Mickey lied, he said he lived only down the street... but instead, it's three suburbs away. Of course the Russian moved into the most dangerous and poorest neighborhood in the state. Wuss flicked open his phone to see it was almost flat, he flicked through his contacts to see 'Pat'. He rang Patrick but he doesn't pick up, 'Dear god, let's hope he see's I've called!', police sirens wail in the distance and Wuss sits in a bus stop in hope for Pat to call back before the phone goes dead, it begins to rain.

This post has been edited by TinTinn on Tuesday, Apr 24 2012, 12:54

[TUBBSthezombie]

John Wilson

"Good god, how'd I get myself into this" he thought to himself. On a good day he's at the office of Roberts, Singh and McCoy ironing out a viable defense for the latest hard nosed criminal with deep pockets that got collard. He slowly walked into the Bar dripping from head to toe. He had just gotten tossed off a boat by his clients boss. His suit was torn and tattered all over the place, his brand new name brand shoes were scuffed and covered in mud.

He waddled up to the bar and plopped down on a stool, water dripping from his suit pockets. He set his black briefcase down and heard the soaked papers flop to the bottom of the case like wet noodles.

" A scotch please," he asked, "actually make that two. Its been a long day."

As the bartender pours his drinks John slicks his drenched brown hair back to reveal a nasty gash on his forehead. "You should get that looked at," replied the forty something, black haired, bartender said with minor concern.

"I'm okay," John replied, "could've been worse."

"I dunno, that cut is deep and big," the now intrigued bartender stated, "What's your name?"

"Trust me you don't want to know." he replied back with a ounce of fear in his eyes.

"Please. My father is a devout member at a catholic church and I've been a lesbian since age 15," the bartender revealed.

"If anybody knows danger, its a lesbian that was raised by a devout catholic family, I was getting paddled by almost every family member," she confided in him.

"That's rough but I failed at getting a mob member off a murder charge. His family wants revenge and they've been terrorizing my family and friends ever since that god damned jury came back with its verdict," John said in a trembling voice, "just leave me alone before they kill you too."

Now in tears and on his second drink, he slouches off of the stool and finishes his scotch off faster than he should. He stumbled off to the bathroom to relieve himself. He had to use the bathroom since his kidnappers snagged him off his front porch. He was heading to the office to prepare all of the appeals for Walter "The Blade" Scagalia. Walter had been convicted of 5 murders of various people including women, police officers, and warring enemies. The one thing that got Walter arrested was the fact that after every kill he would carve an 'X' into their forehead. It was a knife he had on him constantly and unfortunate for him, that day after killing 23 year old Angeline Vasques, he for got to clean it before he placed it in his car. A beat cop sighted it and soon thereafter place the psycho in jail.

John was haunted with attempting to get Walter free from the murder charges both by himself and his clients unsavory friends and family. It had gotten so intense that at one point he awoke to a thud at the door only to open it and to see a dead bloody animal with a note attached. It was his wife's cat, or what was left of the poor guy.

He arrived at the stall and unzipped his pants when he tipped over and banged his head on the porcelain urinal. His body limp and knocked out cold flopped to the dirty, grungy floor with a thud.