|
|
Post by rain on May 28, 2011 20:32:18 GMT -5
 when the devil wants to dance with you ,YOU BETTER SAY NEVER[/color][/font] because a dance with the devil might last you forever[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center][/color][/font]
The Underground; a fitting name for one of New York’s most popular night scenes. On the outside, the rectangular building that had once housed poor Irish immigrants during the early days of the Four Points, and assorted weaponry during World War II, was really nothing to shake a stick at. Moss covered the rooftops, age and grime coated the cracked, black-painted windows and graffiti stained the worn brick sides. Located at the mouth of the Hudson as it was, sewage had eaten away at the sidewalk around it, and an eternal smell of rot and decay clung to every corner. The area surrounding it was no better, housing the majority of society’s rejects; displaced teens, convicted criminals and the eternally happy ‘working women.’
But did that stop the clientele from forming winding, snake-like lines around the building every night at 8 o’clock sharp?
Of course not. Everybody wanted their danger fix…and The Underground was sure to give it to them.
Once allowed through the velvet rope and past the large, muscled bouncers, the lucky guest would find themselves immersed in what anyone could call the ‘feverish heat of hell’. Pounding music mixed well with other noises- low voices, stomping feet, the high pitched wailing of happy machines- and the smell of other bodies entwined with the tang liquor could make even the most ignorant mouth water. Straight through the high double doors leading into the club were two hallways; the one to the right leading to the dance floor- blue walls, a fully stocked bar, and two levels; one tame, and one…not so- and the one to the left ending in a small casino- orange walls, sparkling lights, and any gambling game the twisted mind could dream up. Winding around the backs of both rooms, creating a U-shaped area fenced off from the normal population was the ‘VIP Room’, housing the club’s more secretive of customers. Starlets, singers, politicians, business tycoons; all of them found their way to The Underground at some point in the night, content to lull their minds with beer and free fun. Finally, atop the entire club sat ‘the Birds Nest’; a long, bullet-proof-windowed alcove that housed the owner and his most trusted staff.
There were no fights in the club; no brawls, jealous struggles, innocent clashes. Security cameras lined the ceilings, and every scantily dressed waitress carried death in their stockings at all times. People were there to have fun, to let go, to learn something about themselves or the world...before the club found another home.
At least, that was the initial goal of the entire operation. Now, his wonderful little enclave was becoming a magnet for trouble.
Really now…life just wasn’t fair sometimes.
Cane ‘The Bolt’ Gallagher, owner of The Underground and currently unhappy about it all, sighed against the steepled fingers pressed up against his chin. Silver dollar eyes were trained on twin scenes below the Birds Nest; the pulsing waves of dancers in the Blue Room, and the sometimes cheering masses in the Gambling Hall. Already he’d spotted two noticeable faces in the crowds, each belonging to a rival. ‘Gentleman’ Johnny Mardella, a bitter foe from the West Side, sat ram rod straight at the bar, seemingly in a deep conversation with one of the waitresses- a new girl that he would have to have a talk to later on tonight. Off in the other room, Nicholas Ransom was scoping out the poker tables, two lackeys following close behind.
At one point in his long, tedious life, the fact that every enemy had their own silly little nickname would have made him laugh; taken some of the seriousness out of this potentially dire situation.
But the life of a mobster was anything but funny. In fact, most of the time, it was just downright tragic.
Picking up the telephone with yet another martyred sigh, he shut his eyes against the blinking strobe lights beyond.
“Yes, Mara,” He said when his assistant answered, strongly accented voice a low, thunderous rumble. “I’m going to be heading down into the club for a little while; have Shel prepare my table for me. Thank you.” Running a hand through his graying hair, he stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his dark grey suit. Straightening his tie and frowning at the papers strewn about on his desk, Cane moved away from the table, rolling up his sleeves while he exited the room.
The night had only just begun, and things were going to get interesting. He supposed that he lived for such things; the adrenaline rush, the anticipation of a good fight. Known for breaking the kneecaps of those that fell out of his favor, it was a well known fact that to anger the Bolt was to get yourself shocked…usually, to death.
But once, just /once/, he would have enjoyed a nice, quiet evening with his paperwork and a tall glass of scotch.
Oh well. Such was the life of a penitent murderer.
A lot WORDS MAGGIE TAGGED Think tailored suit OUTFITtemplate by LISA@GBBS, lyrics by immortal technique CREDITRAWRR! NOTES [/color][/font][/RIGHT] |
|
|
|
Post by Maggie Adele Harris on Jun 15, 2011 22:57:16 GMT -5
 Maggie Harris was in her final year at the Academy and with that came a lot of pressures and a lot of expectations. Those were ones that she wasn’t sure she even wanted to deal with. She was thrown into the Academy not by her choosing so why should she make it her job and goal for the rest of her life? All those ideas were running through her head while she also realized that she rather enjoyed hunting from time to time. The adrenaline rush and high that came with it was something she did love. It was probably the only good thing that she ever found in what she did. Maggie was good at it, she knew that, but she was also very arrogant at times. Probably one of her worse suits that she could get very emotional and not think things through until it’s too late.
So what was she doing now you might ask? Well this young girl was going on a hunt. She’d been watching the person in question for a while. Knew his patterns and watched for how she was going to play her cards. This was what the last four years has been for her, training her to do. If this was what she was going to do the rest of her life she had to know she could handle any case that’s brought to her. This one however was one she found intriguing. The owner of the underground club was someone she had heard about in passing, a man that never aged and whom could move it around constantly. Maggie had used some of her connections to keep her informed the next time it popped up and finally she got the call. Now it was time to find out just exactly what this guy was.
With her arsenal prepared for whatever she might encounter Maggie dressed in her clubbing best. Knowing exactly how to play the part that she had to play to get in the right areas to find her target. She had her hair hanging around her face as she dressed in a purple silk dress that hugged in all the right places but also hide her weapons well. If anything the way she dressed made her look so much older, a good thing since she was already going to be using a fake ID to even get into the club. Maggie felt the need to prove herself, to prove she was doing right with the school. If she could find out what this guy was it would make everything worthwhile. Fluffing her hair one final time she left and headed straight to the address she was given, prepared for whatever was going to be coming her way.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins as Maggie handed the fake ID to the bouncer which said she was a 21 year old named Sarah McKenzie from New York City, NY. This was it, there was no turning back from here. As she slid past the bouncer with a small smile she made her way to the bar, her blue eyes watched as the party-goers bounced and grinded together with the music. Keeping her eyes peeled she headed for the bar, finding that to be her best vantage point as she waited to figure out her next move. Ever so slowly she sat down on one of the barstools, her dress riding up just a bit to show off more of her milk white skin below while still hiding her weapons underneath. With a small smile the bartender got her attention and she ordered a cosmopolitan. She hated the shit more than anything but she figured Sarah McKenzie did. For some reason Maggie felt that playing the more dumbed down version of herself might make this excursion run more smoothly and that was what she intended to do.
With a lick to her bottom lip Maggie turned around in her stool as she crossed her legs and took a sip of her Cosmo as she tried her best to not make a face. Her blue eyes scanned the dancers as she bobbed her head lightly to the music, the sound of cheering raising loudly from the gambling room off to her right. For some reason she had this slight almost nagging feeling in the back of her brain that this was stupid. Hell, Maggie knew it was stupid but she also had something to prove. The school had always beat in their brains that they had to think on their toes and help with the greater good of the innocents. She didn’t know what this guy was or how he was doing thing but she sure as heck wanted to find out. The question was, did the eighteen year old know what she was getting herself into?
Tag: Cane
Word count: 804
Outfit: What's in the picture. XD
Notes: I love you long time! Sorry this is so late! <3 |
|
|
|
Post by rain on Jun 27, 2011 9:12:27 GMT -5
when the devil wants to dance with you ,YOU BETTER SAY NEVER [/color][/font] because a dance with the devil might last you forever[/color][/font] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/color][/center][/color][/font]
So let’s see…he had a couple enjoying a break from gambling off to the side, a few younger kids breathlessly eyeing each other as they strutted back and forth from the pit, and…some other interesting looking individuals.
Strolling over to the bar, Cane nodded at the bartender, who quickly moved over to lean against the counter and shoo away an unhappy looking man scowling at his drink. “Hey, Boss!” He said over the loud music, motioning for him to sit down at the now empty stool. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a scotch, Tro. The club is busy tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yup, just like every night. I’ll be right back with your drink.” Hurrying off, Tro Delacroix, yet another one of his extended ‘family’ went to the back of the bar, pulling one of the many colorful bottles off of the shelf.
Some would say that most of his most trusted employees were made up of the people that he spent time with; his family. There was Dallas at the door, and Tro at the bar, but somewhere on the floor, Shel Nevar, a would-be actress, was serving drinks, and at the back of the casino portion of the club, Rain was probably making sure that no one got too angry at the house. If he happened to find a person that he trusted, he made it a point to keep them close…as if he were afraid that he would never see them again.
But no, he wasn’t psychotically obsessed with those he loved. He was just…protective. A born father figure; that was Cane.
Accepting his drink as the younger man trotted over, he took a slow sip of the alcohol, enjoying the course burn that trailed down his throat. It took a lot to get him tipsy, and this was nowhere near the amount needed to make him loose his head. In short, those around him were safe.
For the moment being.
Leaning sideways against the bar, he observed the dancers flitting on and off of the floor. There were so many drunk women tonight; he could practically smell the predatory looks they were garnering, stumbling around with their drinks as they were. He made a mental note to ramp up security outside, and found himself slowly relaxing. A few of the braver souls found the courage to approach him, but it was just so easy to shoo them away. All in all, it was looking to be a nice night.
A nice night indeed.
A lot WORDS MAGGIE TAGGED Think tailored suit OUTFITtemplate by LISA@GBBS, lyrics by immortal technique CREDITRAWRR! NOTES [/color][/font][/RIGHT] |
|
