[Eminence]

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 20:11)

QUOTE (Eminence @ Monday, Apr 30 2012, 23:00) QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Monday, Apr 30 2012, 19:31) And each story just reminds me of a GTA fanfic. Are not people grasping the idea of making a flawed character? A real three dimensional one?  I jested about this in the social club about a week ago, but seriously, it's just rich hearing you say that when but two weeks ago you were doing the exact same thing. Just saying. Two weeks ago I realized my mistake, and since then I don't think my stories have consisted of a rehashed GTA character anymore. The ability to find your mistake and change it is what makes you a better person. If you feel like posting up that previous post of yours here to refresh peoples minds, by all means do so. I agreed with you then, I'd agree with you now.

Yes, and that's great - I commend you for it. It's brilliant that you've recognised it, and your writing will be better for it. But... don't get all high and mighty and pissy at other people doing it as though they've got no clue, when you've only just realised it yourself. That's all.

[Mr.Funny12]

Glad you saw my point of view AceRay. Yes my character Tommy is nothing more than an average citizen.

Tommy"Tank" Mckenna


Hearing his wrist watch strike 11:00PM that alerted him.

"Have I really been there for three hours?" he thought to himself.

He looked around the bar, fond of what he saw and he liked this new place. He had already met a new friend, and he generally fit in with the crowd. He liked the thought of comming back, maybe even with friends. He mosied on around the bar, specualting everything he saw. He looked at the pictures on the wall and all the decorations.

He blatter soon gets the better of him and he fast-walks to the bathroom. In there, he see's a dirty stained toilet and an out of order sink. He does a number one in the toilet and goes back into the main room. He trys to pick out employee's, or the owner of the bar. He figures to himself on how it'd be nice to meet them. After all, Tommy needed a job, something to pay for his apartment and' why not give it a shot?' he thought and proceeded on his mission. He liked the idea of becoming a bouncer if he could. His skills matched and he'd make a decent living in a place he liked. He continued his search for employee's to talk to.

[Mokrie Dela]

QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 19:55)

Tommy"Tank"

LOVE the name

[Mr.Funny12]

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 23:24)

QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 19:55) Tommy"Tank" LOVE the name

Thanks. It was suppose to relate to his history. More of a joke really, like how tiny little dogs are named diesel, or how big muscle heads are named tiny.

[Mokrie Dela]

QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Wednesday, May 2 2012, 00:22)

QUOTE (Mokrie Dela @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 23:24) QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 19:55) Tommy"Tank" LOVE the name Thanks. It was suppose to relate to his history. More of a joke really, like how tiny little dogs are named diesel, or how big muscle heads are named tiny.

I dont think you realise the slang.

In the UK "Tommy Tank" is rhyming slang, for wank.

Click here

That's why i laughed

[Mr.Funny12]

Oh, I would of never thought of that. My bad.

[ItsOnlyAce]

QUOTE (Mr.Funny12 @ Wednesday, May 2 2012, 00:38)

Oh, I would of never thought of that. My bad.

Ok, I have to quote the notorious Frank for this one.



[Frank Voice]Your name is Jerk-off![Frank Voice/]

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Eminence @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 19:49)

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Tuesday, May 1 2012, 20:11) QUOTE (Eminence @ Monday, Apr 30 2012, 23:00) QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Monday, Apr 30 2012, 19:31) And each story just reminds me of a GTA fanfic. Are not people grasping the idea of making a flawed character? A real three dimensional one?  I jested about this in the social club about a week ago, but seriously, it's just rich hearing you say that when but two weeks ago you were doing the exact same thing. Just saying. Two weeks ago I realized my mistake, and since then I don't think my stories have consisted of a rehashed GTA character anymore. The ability to find your mistake and change it is what makes you a better person. If you feel like posting up that previous post of yours here to refresh peoples minds, by all means do so. I agreed with you then, I'd agree with you now. Yes, and that's great - I commend you for it. It's brilliant that you've recognised it, and your writing will be better for it. But... don't get all high and mighty and pissy at other people doing it as though they've got no clue, when you've only just realised it yourself. That's all.

I'm not getting high and mighty, look at the rules. I stated it perfectly there when I started this! I've had to constantly PM users and post on here telling them to read the rules.

[TinTinn]

Todd Hoffman

He bought a direct plane ticket, although he didn't choose where he wanted to go. Life back on the west coast was hard, as well as the career he worked in. Todd felt guily deporting from Los Angeles as he was leaving his closets friends and old man people. As the saying go's, 'like father, like son', that statement became true, both working together in a life business. Except it was too hard... Todd was needing that sigh of relief, that's why it was irrelevant where he went. Over the grassy hills and shady paddocks of California, is where the plane glides onto the gravel run-way in a far away city. Todd's resting point, his final checkpoint. Pleased with the scenery, he excepts this mid American town as his knew home. He purchases a a house with the left over money from his old life on the distant spectrum of the cities. Where hay fields and rows of rusty silo's live, where the air is a hell lot more cleaner, and the afternoon sunsets are breath taking.

Todd decides to head into the city after a good nights sleep.

After an hour of exploring the vast metropolis, his lips begin to dry and he becomes thirsty. Just as that thought slips into his head there, stands an at least sixty year old pub. Todd is suprised to find the end of the rainbow, the pot of gold... 'finding gold was a lot harder back in Alaska'. After bursting through the doors and finding his bairings, he settles down in front of a warm fireplace, sitting beside a frowning chap. Todd rubs his workers hands together and aims it towards the fireplace, "That's the spot," he said. The man beside him began to warm his hands and Todd realised that they were bandaged.

"I think this is the best room in the entire pub," the man said. He decided he might as well start a conversation, even though he was the anti-social type.

"Yeah, this fireplace is great. Does it get very cold here at all," Todd asked, moving his body around to mold into the couch.

The man replied, "Actually, it gets very cold but even colder in the Weatherstone district,"

"Actually, that's where I live. I just moved here yesterday, and want to settle in quickly. I'm from California but born and raised in the pine state of Oregon,"

"Is that right. I lived in Oregon for seventeen years of my life before my parents sent me to Military school. From there, my contact was basically cut off from the outside world and I was dragged deeper and deeper into it," the man explained.

"My father fought in Vietnam and made it out alive. When he returned home, my mother had left my father... she said he was gone too long. A friend of my Dad worked at an oiling rig in the center of Death Valley. He began working there but they ended up finding gold rather than black gold. This boosted him into later life interests which inspired me," Todd explained, hoping he didn't bore the man.

Two policemen entered the room, asking the man to talk to them outside. Todd became suspicious but farewelled the man expecting to see him again somewhere else. Music played from the downstairs bar, 'House of The Rising Sun' loudly played and drunks chante the lyrics. It was getting late but he decided to head downstairs for another drink and a game of poker. 'Happy 34th Birthday Simon' banner hung above the stage, and a small mosh-pit of drunks talked boastfully, drunkfully.

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Craig @ Sunday, Apr 29 2012, 22:50)

If I may make a suggestion, how about introducing story arcs or stems? Situations, news and "challenges" in the first post that offer inspiration and guidelines for those aimlessly writing another GTA story that is ultimately improvised. Rewards could even be offered in the bar, such as a connection with another character or an item to use. It keeps things controlled, but loose at the same time, allowing contributors to do what they like. Also (though this may take a bit of extra elbow grease) how about a table in the first post offering a brief summary of what the character last did/who they last spoke to? That way, people could see at a glance what people were doing should they want to add to the arc. Things like: Nero last seen waiting for rendezvous contact in the bar. Blind Willie Shortbread last seen in hallway, responding to mystery contact. It's a bit of work, but it would be easier to tie the universe together.

The Bar is officially updated.

As for this suggestion, Craig, I think it's helpful as can be. Thank you for your insights they help. All suggestions are taken in and at the moment (I have been swamped with college work and such) here is a list of implementations I will be adding within the next 24 hours:

(Kudos to Craig) A brief 'what has the character previously did/spoketo' roster.

(Kudos to Craig) More locations including a basement room, a rooftop and a backgarden.

An NPC list of characters that are in the bar including the owner, bartenders and regulars.

(Kudos to Craig) Situations, news and challenges to keep storylines from being diluted and hashed.

A breakdown of the DICING system and how it will be implemented properly.

And of course as this is a communal effort, suggestions through PM are welcome.

Zigs.

[AceRay]

Howard Scrudder

The street was long, cold even. Rubbish bins littered the pathways and small, hollow trees stood ten feet apart on patches of grass. During the day, the suburb would be pleasant, just to take a stroll or walk your dog. But when night fell, the familiarity ceased and the darkness and fear spread through instead. One could even notice a faint mist in the distance at one end of Leaf Street, giving the thirty-five houses lined up side by side a ghostly feel.

A Mustang, navy blue like the sea, sauntered down the road making a light growling noise from its V8. Howard squinted as he tried to deferent the Vincenzo house from the others. All he could do by was the number twenty-seven. When he got there, his mind instantly recognized. Oh, it was a pretty house. It had a nice fence, vines growing up the brick. A Dainty smell laminated from the house as Howard approached it and stopped.

As he combed his hair in the mirror, H’s mind flickered back to when he first met Maria. The plates clattered and chimed at the dinner party. Fancy men in tuxes made their way around the room, chattering to the other pale faced rich men like themselves. It was at the table near the corner; Howard made his way unsurely and approached them. Maria was next to Lee, her arms folded, eyes still puffy after some tear. Lee was also more reserved than normal, silently sipping his wine as his cousin talked about sports. Maria lazily glazed in Howard’s vague direction. She hadn’t changed much since then. Her hair was still parted to one side, blonde highlights peeking through the chestnut brown hair that comes down to her neck, her button nose still perched a finger length above her cherry red lips. When he finished combing, Howard gulped; picked up the cheap wine he’s bought and exited the Mustang.

He knocked on the door, realized it was unlocked and poked his head in. He called out, a familiar “come in” welcoming him in, still as deep and raspy as he remember. When he turned into the living room, he glanced his eyes at her.

She sat on the window still, a cigarette perched between her fingers, smoke slowly pouring out her mouth. She had a slightly tired look in her eyes. She wore a V cut clack and short black skirt, her stockings slightly torn. After Howard put down the wine, he broke his silence.

“You shouldn’t smoke you know, it’s bad for you.”

“I’m enjoying this time right now, smoking smoke rings all night. Look at this cigarette, Howard. Would you not say that it is like a life being consumed with every puff?”

Howard considered the statement for a moment, reminding himself of her loss. How she cried for days on end, howling. Her resting her head on Lee’s shoulder, him looking more confused and distant than any other time. One time, Maria had an incredibly desperate look when she pleaded for Lee to stay when abruptly announced he was off for a few hours one day like he was escaping from something.

Howard was about to say something when Maria put up her hand to shush him. She finished the cigarette before getting. He loved the way her hips moved from side to side as she moved, causing a growing sensation in his pants. She wrapped her arms around him. Kissed him softly on the check. He could smell the smoke lingering from her mouth.

“I ran into Lee just…”

“Please, I don’t want to hear about it” she whispered softly. Howard tried to relax but his heart was beating in his chest.

“I’ll do anything for you” Maria smirked playfully as he said it. And with that, they embraced.

This post has been edited by AceRay on Friday, May 4 2012, 07:32

[Craig]

You know, it's a shame you didn't post this under a separate account like BUYG was. It saves just having you do it, and then one or two others could be allowed to access it and edit it.

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (Craig @ Friday, May 4 2012, 00:37)

You know, it's a shame you didn't post this under a separate account like BUYG was. It saves just having you do it, and then one or two others could be allowed to access it and edit it.

I thought about that but when I made BUYVG so many people took liberty with it I would lose track of where I was or what I was editing because somebody would mess around with the coding lazily.

[AceRay]

Elmo Snow

The apartment was drab, dull and grey. The walls were bare, covered with bland, beige wall paper. There were holes in the corners, the floorboards creaked with every move and the windows were stained. Every night, hooligans would cause a ruckus outside, along with all the noisy immigrant families playing annoying music and the trains running outside. It was horrible, an apartment filled with emptiness. But maybe one shouldn’t ask for much. What better could fit a 77 year old crook who spent over half a century behind bars?

The parole board gave him this place as well as a job as a clerk at a local super market. All the grabbing and hoisting, putting bread into bags, getting yelled at by the manager for crushing some guy’s crisps with the milk. But Elmo’s youth was over and the old, wrinkly sack of bones was all that was left. Elmo hated his job. He hated his apartment. But most of all, he missed being home.

On the inside, Elmo was a man of importance. He ran the Georgewood Prison Library which was more like a few shelves stuffed full with old books and magazines than an actual functioning library. But it made him feel momentous. He even helped a young thief get his high school diploma. The circle of friends he was with was great fun, they covered each other’s backs from some the more unfriendly folk until they got the idea and left them alone so they could sit and play checkers. But on the outside, Elmo was no one, just some useless sack of sh*t who got a bit trigger happy as a kid and threw his life away.

Elmo was ready to go out for the night. He had his nice, brown suit on with a white shirt and a matching fedora hat to hide his shiny white hair and bald path. His face looked like an old piece of leather left out in the sun for years. But his nose was red and his smile made him instantly likable. It was a shame he didn’t show it more often. Lastly though, he brought his special prize out of its box; a .357 Magnum. Elmo played around with it in his hands, remembering how he’d bought it just last week. Maybe he’d rob a bank or do a B&E. It didn’t really matter, anything that would get him back home would do. He tucked it into his holster and chuckled to himself before locking the door on his way out, a couple of hundred bucks loosely floating ‘round in his pocket.

Elmo could never get used to how fast life had gotten. Cars zoomed past at a hundred miles an hour. Sometimes he’d spend ages standing at the side of the road, trying to muster up the courage to make it across the road. Flashing lights sparkled everywhere. Most of the time, Elmo spent most of his time in the park, feeding the birds. On the way to The Bar, they pasted the oak tree that stood in the middle of it. It was nice and peaceful; it provided Elmo some nice solitude. He would miss it.

When he got to the bar, he got off the bus, the last of the day, and walked over to the bar. He burst through the doors, seeing a host of interesting characters spread out across the room, a fireplace warming the room. As he moved towards the bar, a mutt growling at him. He ordered a beer from the bartender, a beefy Irish guy, probably called Paddy or something. He served the beer and growled at the same tone as the dog. Elmo then looked to his side and saw a man sitting next to him, wearing baggy clothing and jeans that stank. Elmo looked like a fist out of water in his fancy suit. Feeling both lonely and curious, he decided to strike up a small conversation with him.

-

In case you haven't realized, the mutt is Archie and the man is Jackson Miller.

Elmo Snow: Last seen talking to Jackson Miller in the Main Room.

This post has been edited by AceRay on Friday, May 11 2012, 09:21

[Typhus]

Archie watched the man on the stool cry for some time. He didn't usually feel much pity for the apes, but something about the mans red cheeks and shuddering affected him.
Absently he felt the miniscule bite of a flea. Usually this would send him into a fit and he would gnaw on his tail until he swallowed the little bastard whole, but now he just sat there.
Why did he care, anyway? He didn't know that blubbering wreck and he wasn't exactly known for his sympathetic character. So why did he feel a lump forming in his throat?
He shook his head and let out a low growl.

"Tired." He murmured. "Just tired, that's all."

He saw McCormick almost thrust a beer into the sobbing mans hands and put a hand on his shoulder. How considerate.
Archie knew McCormick well, he was one of the Masters hired creatures. Another slave who had to stay in the bar for the amusement of his captor. But unlike Archie, the hireling got to leave. It was hard not to resent him for that.
He remembered when that man first started, how he smiled so broadly when he stood behind the bar and served the primates their drink.

"Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Duggan." He had beamed, eyeing Archie's Master with the sincerest gratitude. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a job in this city."

He remembered that look of gratitude, he stored it away in the deepest recesses of his mind. And over time he saw it wither, fade and eventually vanish. All the stories and fights and pools of glistening vomit had taken their toll on the young bar man.
And now he was patting a man on the shoulder, wet-nursing him, kissing his boo-boo's, wiping away the snot from under his nose.
Archie gave a low laugh at McCormick but felt no joy.

"Having a bad day?" Came a ghostly voice next to him.


Archie look out from the corner of his eye and saw an old face.

"Get the Hell out of here, Tigger." Archie sighed, baring his teeth but knowing full well that they were useless.

The ginger cat walked in front of him and sat down so the two were looking eye to eye. No one ever noticed the cat, or the red line of entrails that seeped out of his body.

"You killed me." Tigger grinned.

"You say that every time I see you." Archie yawned, half-heartedly trying to bat him away .

Tigger shrugged and gave an empty chuckle.

"Oh," he titered, "how rude. How about this? Hello."

"Hi."

"Okay, now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way. You. Killed. Me."

Cats, Archie thought, what insufferable twats.
It was, it seemed, impossible to shut them up. If they were a mere annoyance in life, it seemed their mission in death was to drive everyone absolutely crazy.

"We've been through this," Archie explained, "it wasn't my fault. My old friend, the guy I hung out with before I got stuck here, gave you to me. I didn't look for you, I had no idea you even existed until I was chewing on your neck."

Tigger snorted.

"If it's any consolation, the video was a big hit on YouTube."

The cat shook his head, probably remembering the whole sordid night. Archie had been in training, he had to be vicious, he had to be cruel. His friend had been helping him, making him stronger.
Tigger had been thrown to Archie's feet in a darkened park. His legs bound together with duct-tape, his green eyes darting everywhere, his mouth had been open but his brain couldn't form anything other than shrieks.
It had been necessary.
Cruel, a voice inside him insisted.
But necessary.

"Listen," Tigger snapped, "I'm not here to fight. I've received orders."

"From who?" Archie inquired, not really caring.

"The other side."

"God? You mean God?"

Tigger nodded, his lips pursed together.

Archie let out a laugh, and this time it was genuine. A few patrons turned to look at him, clearly nervous.

"Pull the other one, mate. You can act as mysteriously as you want, but I know what you are. You're just something dodgy I ate, that's all. Maybe that smart-arsed spider behind the jukebox. That's all you are, that's it. Mental diarrhoea."

The ginger cat said nothing for a moment, he just seemed happy to watch, to view Archie as those humans had in the prison.

"You need to stop eyeballing me." Archie warned.

Tigger smiled peacefully, indulgently. Cats always were arrogant, especially when they knew they had nothing to fear.

"I'm here to help you." He smirked, his voice beginning to fade away. "You're going to get your life back."

Archie's eyes widened, from behind Tigger the sobbing man was getting to his feet.

I'M GONNA GET MY LIFE BACK.

"I, sir, am your saviour." Tigger stated, his body slowly vanishing.

YOU, SIR, ARE MY SAVIOUR.

"Thank me."

THANK YOU.

Archie saw the crying man rush out of the bar and heard McCormick's tired giggle. But when he looked back at Tigger, there was nothing there but the floor tiles.

[AceRay]

Lee Vincenzo
Lee didn’t know what to do, it was as if his world fell down around him, crumbled, leaving a brown pelted view. Downtrodden, stepped on. A speck of dirt on a beach. Nothing Lee did made anything better. Lee rested his head on his arm, slumped in the petrol station.

Before he knew it, the store clerk finished restacking the soda and looked Lee disapprovingly, shaking her head “Are you going to say something or what?” she asked him suddenly.

“Sorry” Lee finally managed to mutter sheepishly. The clerk eyed him for a moment, running her eyes down the sorry excuse of a man before going back to her station. After a few more minutes, the clerk looked over again, giving Lee “the look”. Lee took it as a sign to leave and hastily made for the door, his leather jacket squeaking as he moved.

Lee got in his Audi and drove off, leaving the clerk in peace. He twiddled with the radio stations. There wasn’t anything on. He dorve, in silence, not knowing where to go or who to see, just wandering around the dark streets. But, it was inevitable that he should go back to The Bar, where Lee could lose himself.

He pulled up on the other side of the road, a bus pulling away as he parked. After locking up, he made his way across the street, getting over there just in time to see an old geezer make his way into The Bar. Lee’s breath was foggy in the coldness as he rubbed his hands together and went in, immediately overwhelmed by the heat, melting the snowflakes off his jacket. He moved to the bar in the main room, sat next to some crying sob story, the bartender nodding understandably with him. Their eyes met and he asked Lee what he wanted.

“Just water” Lee sat there, siping his drink, while the bartender and the guy talked. It was icy, cold. The old guy had sat himself at the other end of the bar, next to some guy in baggy clothes. Lee switched between watching them and listening to the bartender’s talk.

--

Lee Vincenzo: Last seen drinking water at the bar in the main room.

Just in case you didn't get it, the old guy is Elmo , the bartender is Adam and the other guy is Jackson .

Anyway, Ziggy, can you please tell me how often this topic is going to be updated. Is it every Friday like it has been or every x posts? Thanks in advance.

This post has been edited by AceRay on Thursday, May 10 2012, 06:49

[Ziggy455]

QUOTE (AceRay @ Wednesday, May 9 2012, 22:09)

Lee Vincenzo Lee didn’t know what to do, it was as if his world fell down around him, crumbled, leaving a brown pelted view. Downtrodden, stepped on. A speck of dirt on a beach. Nothing Lee did made anything better. Lee rested his head on his arm, slumped in the petrol station. Before he knew it, the store clerk finished restacking the soda and looked Lee disapprovingly, shaking her head “Are you going to say something or what?” she asked him suddenly. “Sorry” Lee finally managed to mutter sheepishly. The clerk eyed him for a moment, running her eyes down the sorry excuse of a man before going back to her station. After a few more minutes, the clerk looked over again, giving Lee “the look”. Lee took it as a sign to leave and hastily made for the door, his leather jacket squeaking as he moved. Lee got in his Audi and drove off, leaving the clerk in peace. He twiddled with the radio stations. There wasn’t anything on. He dorve, in silence, not knowing where to go or who to see, just wandering around the dark streets. But, it was inevitable that he should go back to The Bar, where Lee could lose himself. He pulled up on the other side of the road, a bus pulling away as he parked. After locking up, he made his way across the street, getting over there just in time to see an old geezer make his way into The Bar. Lee’s breath was foggy in the coldness as he rubbed his hands together and went in, immediately overwhelmed by the heat, melting the snowflakes off his jacket. He moved to the bar in the main room, sat next to some crying sob story, the bartender nodding understandably with him. Their eyes met and he asked Lee what he wanted. “Just water” Lee sat there, siping his drink, while the bartender and the guy talked. It was icy, cold. The old guy had sat himself at the other end of the bar, next to some guy in baggy clothes. Lee switched between watching them and listening to the bartender’s talk. -- Lee Vincenzo: Last seen drinking water at the bar in the main room. Just in case you didn't get it, the old guy is Elmo , the bartender is Adam and the other guy is Jackson . Anyway, Ziggy, can you please tell me how often this topic is going to be updated. Is it every Friday like it has been or every x posts. Thanks in advance.

Every five stories for now.

[Craig]

Blind Willie Shortbread eyed the source of the voice carefully.

"Who is it?"
"C'mere you big softie, I'm messin' with you," came a growl.

Willie got to his feet and played with his hat nervously. It was times like this he wished his footsteps made less noise. He spotted a fire extinguisher further down the corridor and decided that if push came to shove, he'd use that to defend himself. Willie's decision came not three moments too soon, as a large man dressed in a dark green sweater stuck a ham-hand around the door in front of him and groaned like a ghoul. As quick as he could, Willie had lifted the fire extinguisher off the wall with surprising agility, only to be overcome with momentum. With a yelp, he toppled backwards, extinguisher still lifted high above his head like a baby in a flood.

"Ha! Got you!"
The large man stepped into view, readjusting his sweater and rubbing a fat finger under his nose. With a sniff, he grabbed the extinguisher with one hand and lifted Willie up with it, who yelped again. With a firm slap on the shoulder blades, Willie crumpled with relief and blunt trauma.

"What in hell's pants did y'do that for? Scared me half to death."
"That's how you greet old friends?"
The man reached down and picked up Willie's now squashed hat and gave it a shake. Like a paper bag, it filled again.
"Seriously though Eddie, a man like you can't go round playing ghoulie whoulies, you damn near gave me the heebydabejeebies!"
"Aw can it, softie," Eddie cooed, "look I have a job for you."
"A job?"
"You want work right?" Eddie said, placing the hat carefully back onto Willie's head as if he was gluing a porcelain figure together.
"If it pays."
"It ain't a job if it doesn't pay, right?"
Willie pursed his lips while he straightened his hat.
"Go on."
"There's a man sat near the bar in the back room, just came in and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. I don't know how you can drink the stuff personally, but there you go, ain't my business what a man's poison is. All I know is I had a little talk with him and he wants to see a man just like you."
Willie raised an eyebrow.
"Me? Nobody wants a man like me, that's why I'm hired for jobs in the first place. Nobody expects a wallflower, do they?"
"Right!" said Eddie a little too loud, causing a patron to miscue and send a billiard ball flying off the table. It escaped under a nearby stool, "well, that's what I told him. Seriously, this'll work."
Willie's left eye twitched, running things over.
"Well, alrigh'," he said, "but if this goes wrong..."
Willie held a skinny finger aloft to Eddie's face.
"It's not going to go wrong, dummy, just get in there, order a drink and see what the deal is. He wouldn't tell me. Apparently you have something he wants, and it's big. Really big."
Without protest, Eddie took Willie by the shoulders and gave him a persuasive nudge into the back room, his legs moving a little too fast for his body. For the second time in two minutes, Willie was on the floor with a yelp, though his hat stayed welded to his head. When he looked up, he saw his contact sat at a table less than a foot in front of him.
"Hello. You must be Willie, then? I'm Nero."

[AceRay]

Elmo Snow

The Bar was lively and warm, making Elmo feel secure as ha lapped up the beer with chugs, drips, slowly falling down his pinstripe suit. He laughed, chuckled, sipped up the remaining drink, feeling pleased.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy tap on his shoulder. Elmo turned around to see a towering, lumbering thug with a beard that reached his chest and eyes redder than blood. Light shot of the top of his dome like a spotlight shining down. Elmo could tell he was looking for trouble.

“May I help you?”

“May I help you?” he mimicked, laughing with everyone and no one at the same time. “You know, I like your hat, how about you give it to me and there won’t be any trouble” Elmo got up and threw his jacket on the chair, took a fighting stance, knocking the guy sitting there.

“Just try it, buster” The douche grinned, showing a rotten set of teeth. Elmo took a sweep at his face but he blocked it with his lumberjack arms. The guy then took his fist and smacked Elmo right in the face, knocking him stone cold. Before he knew it, he was kissing the floorboards, unconscious.

Lee Vincenzo

Lee looked over again, saw the man fall. It filled him with anxiety and fear. Lee hadn’t seen a proper fight in years. But when the big bouncer guy came and dragged the bastard into the street, Lee’s fears were settled. His attention then turned to the man lying on the ground, appearing almost peaceful in his tranquility. Lee moved over to get a better look.

Suddenly, the fat, Irish bartender swore loudly, cursing the wind. He moved clumsily around to take a better look at him, check his pulse and his fedora. “Dammit Adam, ‘elp me take this sod upstairs” he barked at the bartender with a thick Irish accent, whom made a sheepish look at him and pointed at the bawling man, who was unaware of the commotion. The Irish guy sighed and swore again. His glance turned to Lee, who now regretted his curiosity. “Do ya think you could ‘elp me take this guy upstairs?”

Lee looked around, considered what else to do. There wasn’t anything. “Sure.”

A smile spread across the Irishman’s face, who got ready to move the old guy. “Paddy’s the name, friend. What you call yourself?” Lee moved swiftly as he spoke and grabbed the man’s legs. Lee was barely strong, a light breeze could blow him over but the old man weighed little.

“Vincenzo. Lee Raymond Vincenzo, sir” Paddy whispered something to the man sitting at the bar, who nodded his head thoroughly at whatever he said. Lee got a good look at him; big, baggy clothes, small moustache, furry hair. He pulled out a cellphone, read something; put it back all within two seconds.

Paddy reared his mug again and cocked his ear “Sorry lad, didn’t catch that, had to check something with the customer ‘ere.”

“Lee Raymond Vincenzo” Lee repeated in a flat monotone voice. By now, he had a firm grip on the guy’s pinstripe suit, ready to go.

“Wonderful. Just assist me take this guy away to the storage room upstairs, would ya?” he took his hands and wrapped them around the bugger’s armpits, wearing his fedora and his jacket slung over his shoulder. As they lifted them off the ground, two men walked through the door, a fat one and a skinny one in a coat and hat, not even glancing the old guy, although the fat one did make wavering eye contact with Lee, both smiling and frowning at the same time. As they sat down in a booth with another guy in a fancy suit, Lee and Paddy made their way down the hallway.

“How long you been ‘ere?”

“A few years, sir.”

“Aye, I remember my first few years here. It was so warm and peaceful. It was a real fantastic time, you know? And the girls, oh the girls, they were as fine as cream gravy. You fancy a ride tonight mister?”

“No thank you sir, I’m married” although for how long, he didn’t know.

“Ain’t we all?” Paddy chuckled as they made their way up the creaky stairs, gloomy landscapes of Ireland looking down at them through their picture frames. “Oh, I remember this one lass, oh yes, Emily her name was. Eyes greener than mother Ireland, flowing red hair and a bod you could bounce rocks off, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I do sir.”

“You don’t talk much do ya lad?”

“No sir.” As soon as he said that, they arrived at the second floor storage room. Lee and Paddy barged into the room and were met with a barrage of glasses, mats, chairs and the slight smell of vinegar. The walls were grey and bland, bars on the windows and slight puke stains. Paddy flopped the old guy down on the floor and wiped his brow, Lee placing his legs down carefully before Paddy dropped the jacket and tossed the fedora at him, landing directly next to the old man’s silver hair.

“Do you mind watching over him, lad?” Lee sighed, rubbed his checks and once again considered what else to be doing. He could go back home and confront Maria and Howard but he didn’t want to. He could go looking for Dragon but it would be too hard. No, waiting for the old man was all Lee could do, so he pulled up a chair and sat down.

Lee began to wonder whether Paddy’s charade with him was genuine, as just a moment earlier he was barking orders like nobody’s business. Maybe it was a trick to reel people in before he really sets upon him. Or he was bipolar. He certainly didn’t care for the bag of bones that was flailed randomly on the floor. Lee decided to get him in a more comfortable position, moving his arms and striating him up when something fell out and clanked onto the floor, which caught Lee’s attention immediately, fascinated him.

Out fell a revolver and a couple dozen bullets.


-


Elmo Snow:Last seen knocked out in the second floor storage room
Lee Vincenzo:Last seen discovering Elmo's gun in the second floor storage room

Blimey, I think I just won the most references to other people's characters in one story. Anyway, just match up the colours if its that hard, can't be bothered listing them.

Also, I was also wondering about the main page and the recent activity. Now, Howard Scrudder and Archie (Elmo too, probably) are listed under Lee Vincenzo and Barty Gabble respectfully. Shouldn't they be under "Patron" as they're patrons and not just under that other dude and have their own tab. Or is it just to group one user's characters together, in which case their username should come under "patron" or something.

Also, I notice it says Friday night on the main page. Is it every going to go to Saturday night and Sunday etc or just stay Friday night forever? Because if it will, I'm going to need some sort of prior notice.

Anyway, keep up the good work Ziggy.

[Eminence]

If the whole premise of this topic turns on Ziggy keeping that first post updated, then at some point this whole thing is going to die. I'm not knocking Ziggy - it's just inevitable. I've seen it happen countless times.

A new system is needed, something self-sustaining.