The Oddfather, Part I

[Dark Elite_H2]

Well, Mudoko Jedi started it out...someone else can go first.

[Slaveless]

Hm, I might want to, but I mainly wanted my post to be a long one, and since it's getting dark around here, I will try tomorrow.

[Rich]

I would, but I'd rather someone else did, and Mutual Friend is keeping me rather busy with moderating duties tonight... grrr!

[E'l Scrabino]

I think he's doin' it just to make us all ancey and impatient...

...:grabs battering ram: Who wants to join me?

I will! *Takes one end of the battering ram*

[Rich]

Wouldn't it be better if no-one controlled the oddfather... or that if someone meets him, they can control his speech and actions? I mean, its not gonna be a fun role sitting behind a desk every post just telling people what to do is it? If you meet him in your storyline, you can control him sort of thing...

[Dark Elite_H2]

That would be a better idea, Rich.
I mean...what would the Oddfather do? Just sit in his office the whole time and do nothing?

[E'l Scrabino]

Pretty much yeah.
That is all.

[Bullet Magnet]

I'm finally back. Wahey!

I must tell you, I'm chuffed at the response this RPG has gotten so far, I've even won over The Great And Powerful Rich! That's an interesting concept- only controlling the Oddfather when someone meets him. That would pretty much leave him in the hands of Gretin (with Mr Andwidge) and whoever decides to take on Goonie McGoon (c'mon guys!), and whoever they promote to their level. And Rich with Lloyd, I suppose.

I'm surprised no one's started yet, bravo to Mudoko_Jedi for his initiative! Thankyou for your politeness in waiting though

Hmm. How should I start this? Ah, yes...

The Oddfather, Part I

"So you finally come up with my Moolah, eh?" drawled the Oddfather in his unnervingly calm, rasping voice. The two Clakkerz in front of the Glukkon cowered before the mob boss in their shabby clothes as Goonie McGoon took the open breifcase from their quivering wings. Two months ago, these two birds had moved to Nolybab from Gizzard Gulch in a misguided attempt to escape the chronic presence of the outlaws there. Down on their lick, they had sought help from an approachable loanshark, little realising that it would lead to eight weeks of harassment from the mob, and here they stood before the Head Honcho himself, with 380% of what they had originally borrowed. The Oddfather blew cigar smoke into their feathered faces from behind his Mahoddany desk, as McGoon gave the breifcase of Moolah to Lloyd, who too it in a four-armed embrace. Knuckles Andwige was present too, cracking his phalanges in a most menacing manner. Don Glock would not normally meet his "clients" in person in this manner, but occasionally it proved to be a most effective way of keeping the general populace in order. Besides, anyone who tried anything... unnecessary... with both Andwige and McGoon flanking them would have to be either very stupid or else very, very dead.
"Maybe we not kill you after all." The Clakkerz flinched with every word, as the Oddfather's valet handed over and lit another Lungbuster cigar, standing ready with a gold and velvet hack-catcher. If Don Glock could have waved a hand dismissively, he would have. "Remove these creatures. They're making the place look untidy."
a hunchbacked outlaw and a slig, both dressed in black suits, emerged from outside the room simultaneously and escorted the shabby Clakkerz from sight. The basement of the Lucky Scrab Casino was not the Oddfather's best office, but it served well for privacy and providing the best atmosphere for his impressionable charges.
"And now," continued the Don to his cronies. "On to more important measures. I didn't come all the way down here for those two wretches! I want you two-" he indicated Knuckles and Goonie "- to be at the docks by one a.m. Select a few of you best boyz and take the trucks. There will be a delivery from off continent at quay seven. The cargo: pure, uncut Rave. Fifty-thousand moolah's worth of the best stim of it's kind. Remember, this spice is highly illegal, a class 9 drug, so I want no complications with the feds, or it could lead to... unpleasentness. If you can't bribe 'em-"
"Shoot 'em."
"I see you haven't lost your touch. I was going to suggest upping the bribe, but shooting sounds much more cost effective." The Oddfather suddenly became deadly serious. "One other thing. I suspect that the Nolybab Ratz gang have been tipped off on this little enterprise. I am hoping that relationships with the Ratz can continue to go well, but if it proves too much to resist, you know what to do. Though I am confident that you can handle the Ratz, it is a complication you'd do best to avoid. I want things to go smoothly, yes? No foul ups."

-------------------------------

Rackleg stepped off the Gluk-train. A hunchbacked outlaw who had betrayed his kind by taking up bounty hunting. Well, he thought. Not before they betrayed me first. He brushed some filth off his jacket and wondered whether they had bounty stores in Nolybab. He'd heard that this place had a lot of problems with outlaws and other persons breaking the law. Maybe here he would have more luck finding bounties in the wake of the Stranger...

OOC: So. It begins!

[used:)]

I guess I'll join, as this does look rather fun. Mind you, I'm not the most experienced of RPers, so mistakes maybe present in my posts.

Name: Querig
Species: Glukkon
Height: about seven ft.
Occupation: High ranking mafia man
Age: 36
Equipment: His wallet, a dark purple velvet suit, private slig guard/vallet and above all else; his charismatic personality.
Favourite habit: Cheating
Favourite pastime: Burning out cigars on the heads of any slaves that come his way.
Favourite saying: "What can I do for you?"
Relaxation technique: Getting a nice head massage.
Biography: A kind of representative from one of the smaller mafias in Nolybab. So far his family (as well as many others) and Don Glock have been coexisting with a kind of cease fire, promising profit for all, but always willing to do anything to keep the Oddfather "happy." Now Querig has been thinking about ditching the entire syndicate itself and killing the Oddfather in the process, there by putting the families back into a warring state and getting a big bonus from Maggie for Don Glock's death. There are still many strings to be pulled though, and so our story begins...


Name: Tego
Species: Mudokon
Occupation: Rogue Mudokon
Appearance: Baggy black pants, a black leather vest and black snow cap.
Equipment: Spray paint can and his adventurous spirit.
Age: 15
Biography: After spending the first fourteen years of his life working for the brutal meat packing corporation, Karniverse Industries, and being freed by freedom fighter Mudokons, he now resides in Nolybab working for an underground resistance against the Oddfather doing anything to undermine his authority as well as freeing a few slaves in the process. Normally he works alone. When not carrying out orders from the resistance, he likes to go to one of his private places in the city and chill out, spray paint anti-mafia messages on valued glukkon facilities or just antyhing to vandalize glukkon hang out spots.


So what do you think?

[Rich]

OOC: Yay! It begins. And used, they sound good, you should be good at this as you're quite a talented writing person.

Anyway...

Lloyd pulled a box of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket with one hand, and a book of matches from the East st. bar from another. Without putting the briefcase down, he took a cigarette from the box, lit it with one of the matches and replaced the matchbook and box in their respective pockets. He shook the burning match out and dropped it into a large, ornate ashtray on the Oddfather's desk. Turned towards the door, he began to follow the recently departed cronies out of the office.

"Did I tell you to leave?" asked the Oddfather, without looking up from the heavy, leather-bound book he was silently reading from.

"Sorry boss, I was just on my way to drop the moolah off at the warehouse."

The Oddfather looked up from the book, which the valet closed and put back on the empty bookshelf behind him.

"That won't be necessary Lloyd, I wasn't going to give you an evening off. I want you to drive us," he nodded to his valet, "to the hotel."

The large, luxury hotel was in Broadway, a busy avenue in the city centre, the hotel was a front for many of the mafia's operations. The bar was usually full of henchmen. In the basement was a large store of documents, drugs and weaponry. Also, in the lobby behind the check-in desk, the Oddfather had a lavishly furnished office where he conducted many of his meetings.

"I fancy a nice drink in the bar before I retire to my home tonight. Oh, and I need to meet an important guest, a wealthy important guest, I may be requiring your services again by the end of the meeting."

Lloyd sighed.
"Very well." He opened the door and the three of them left the smokey office.

[Slaveless]

OOC: Poor, poor Rich.
Now wait a second. If E'l Scrabino grabbed the other end, which side is ramming?

OK, here's my post. Although this may take a while.

And I really like people's post so far. Very, very intellgent people.

IC: The sun began to set on the complex, modern city of Nabylon. But however, the light did not. The explosion caused by the amazing hotel kept light in the air for minutes in two blocks. You see, the light of evil had begun before the sunrise started to rise. It began with betrayal, mockery, harrasment, and murder. Many things that Nabylon is full of. Yet, the glow of evil had never rested, and like all alone fires, they will spread. This fire may not end, but may not of began it's story, but neverless, it is here. And this story, will begin where this glow left off.

We start at an ocean, some what far from Nabylon, but neverless, part of Nabylon. On this ocean, there is a fishing boat, just fishing for food. In reality, they are fishing for some moolah. Catching some fish is nice, but they see that is simple food. You can sell ten kinds of fish for as much as you could buy a slave. Not a lot really. However, they could get bigger prizes, such as a Searex, a old Grubb artifact, or even a Gabbit. Searexes are used to make patrol, curise, and fishing ships, and their vauble blubber supplies a great exterior for ships. A Grubb artifact could lead to big time moolah in antique shows. But a Gabbit... A Gabbit could led to be come a status of Glukstar. Their lungs could save the entire race of Glukkons, seeing that Lady Margeret needs one.

But tonight's fishing mission does not include any of those priceless animals or items. Tonight has an evil trying to restore itself. And it all starts with four men. The first of them all, is the highly serious, handsome captain. Being a Clakker, his race was known for their loud and annoying bickering, but you might change your general idea about them, if you knew the captain. He never really says much, unless he needs to. However, try to say a joke in front of him, you will be lucky if he even smirks. So jokes around here aren't really acceptble here, for not everyone would even laugh. However, the captain's medals on his breast pocket, on his green sailor suit, alerted all on his respect control of a ship. The second, is a steering man, the one who moves the ship, is a little different. Being a Wolvark, he isn't alway crazy about his job. When the ship is in a halt, this man will do what all Wolvarks do best. Watching television. Even though he may not be the best guy for a steering man, but he is one the only ones who will never commit mutnity. Or make faces behind your back. The thrid man is also a Wolvark, and like the steering man, he is a bit of a slacker. Even though thats true, he is a very good man in controlling a crane, which collects the prizes below. Plus, he is able to shoot in a way you swear can only be done in your dreams. The final and last guy, is a Clakker as well. He knows how to place vauble artifacts, without damaging them, into a fair cargo hold. So he is very careful on his actions, but blabbers too much. Like how much cigars he smokes a week, how is lungs are so bad that it makes his family, how it's so bad that it makes his doctor cry, and how it has made lawyers think that the cigar company should be sued. All bad conversations. But yet, enough backstory and metphors, here's the present.

The crane man, Jum, was once again, lowering his crane by a lever that didn't take much effort to pull down. He carefully took the next few minutes, to shave his beard that had been growing for a while, and ignoring the Kilope, the Clakker, whose talking was very, very pointless. Kilope continued his talking, "So my son says, ‘I need college moolah!’ So I said,..." Jum cut himself, and pulled the crane up and slowly pulled it to the deck.
"Then my son says, ‘Dad! Molly’s dad has a college fund! Why not I?!’ So I told him...." Jum had water drip on the deck and several kinds of fish flop onto the deck. The ones even in the net started flopping out. "Now when my son said next, ‘Dad, I’m running away! Running to the Oddfather.’ So I grabbed my belt and....." Jum was going to press the release button, but he saw something blue and oddly shaped moving in the net. So Jum jumped off his chair, to look at it.

When he got really up close, he saw something odd about it. It was moving, so it couldn’t be an artifact. Yet it didn’t look like a fish. So Jum said, "Hey Kilope, look at this!" He realized that the Clakker was talking so much, that he bored himself to sleep. Jum rolled in eyes in the irony, and saw the thing had found itself to the ground. He tried to look at it carefully, but suddenly realized what it was. It was an Oktigi.

Jum kneeled down to the figure and said to it, "Hey you’re an...." The Oktigi jumped onto his head and started to move his tenticles around the head, and started to suck on something. He started to scream as all nerve control from his brain was being sucked out of him by the millsecond. But thoughts in his head were telling him to be calm and to not move. So Jum tried to relax until his relaxation was gone...

Turf grimly used the Wolvark’s body to smile and whisper, "Finally, a new body. At last I can have my revenge!" Turf stretched his body host powers and grabbed his rifle. He saw that on the deck, he was not alone. There was a Clakker sitting on a rocking chair, snoring very loudly. Being disappointed that this was his new minion, he walked over to him and loaded his gun with some fresh bullets.

Just then, another Clakker came to his sight, and he was on the higher deck. He shouted grimly and furiously, "You there! You don’t take over my crew! You get off him!!" Turf looked at this Clakker very oddly and turned his gun at the Clakker’s head. Turf growled, "Sorry, would this make it up?" And Turf pulled the trigger. The captain fell of the boat and landed into the water for his grave. Turf truned around and said, "So where was I?"

Turf shook the Clakker awake and said, "Tell me about where we are going." The Clakker said in a drowsy voice, "Ah Jum, there’s something on his head." Once the Clakker finally was fully awake, he saw that there was a Oktigi on his friend’s head. The Clakker started to freak out and said, "That’s a Oktigi! A bloody Oktigi!"

Turf narrowed his eyes and used Jum’s mouth to say, "You think I don’t know that? Just tell me where this ship is going and I won’t shoot you!" The Clakker said nothing at first and said, "To Nabylon, happy?" Turf used his host to smirk and whisper, "Excellent." This was all going well. Very well.

[E'l Scrabino]

a hunchbacked outlaw and a slig, both dressed in black suits, emerged from outside the room simultaneously and escorted the shabby Clakkerz from sight.

OOC: Uh, am i the Slig? I'm not very good at starting off my char in RPG's either. 'Lil help?

[used:)]

OOC: That's very nice writing Slaveless. Very poetic.


IC(Querig): Nine o' clock. Nine o' clock in the evening. The clock ticked as it's numbers turned into '9:00.' The room had a smokey miasma being produced by the lit cigars. Furniture was placed in an organized fashion about the room: a few small, red couches and some potted flora in the corners, wilting. A window was open, the hundreds of voices from the street below were channeling through. Eight beings were present: five glukkons and three sligs. One glukkon, dressed in yellow, had an impacient look on his face while another, dressed in red, had a wrathful look, like paramite waiting to pounce. A Mudokon slave was at his side holding a fan, furious at work. The remaining two glukkons simply had a look of pure sloth as their bodies, dressed in blue, swayed from side to side with boredom. But there was one glukkon sitting on a couch with an easy going, care free look.

"So what's the status, Querig?" the impacient looking glukkon said to the glukkon on the couch.

A long silence followed but was then broken by Querig's laughter.

"Smoke!" the impacient looking glukkon shouted. The three sligs jumped with surprise. One of them rushed over to Querig armed with a cigar and a lighter. he placed the cigar and his mouth and lit it. Querig inhaled and then gave a long sigh of smoke.

"Things are fine!" said Querig, "The transaction between Smokey's Stoggies and Glukkons Global went smoothly. The Oddfather will have his moolah in about a week."

"You know," said the wrathful glukkon, "We had to kill all communications between us and your people. How did you find out so quickly?"

"My accountant keeps his ears open."

"You are a good man, Querig!" said the glukkon dressed in yellow, no longer looking impacient.

A slig presented a bag full of moolah to Querig on the table. Querig's vallet retrieved it shortly after it was placed there.Querig let out another long laugh.

"There's one more thing," said Querig.

The glukkon dressed in red had a puzzled look and said, "What other thing?"

"You know!"

"Smokes!"

One of the sligs rushed foward presenting Querig with a box of Hazy Skurvy Brand Cigars, a classic vintage brand. Querig's face glowed with glee as his vallet collected the box.

"Well, I think business is done here, gentlegluks," said Querig as he gave a smug smile and walked towards the exit.

Just then, before anyone could notice, a high scream filled the room. The Mudokon with the fan lashed foward at Querig, armed with a sharp looking knife. Querig looked behind him and the luster of the knife shined in his eyes. The cigar fell out of his mouth. He felt like his body had turned to ice. Then several gunshots were heard and blood splattered everywhere as the Mudokon fell to the floor. The blade flew from his hand and stuck to the wall.

"WHAT THE HELL?" shouted the glukkon in red.

"Are you okay, ser?" said one of the sligs.

"MY SUIT! IT'S WET WITH SLAVE BLOOD!"

"What's to complain about?" said Querig. "It matches the color."

The glukkon in red was steaming with fury, but before he could reply the glukkon in yellow shouted, "SEARCH THE PERIMETER YOU IDIOTS! THERE COULD BE MORE OF THEM!"

The pants of two of the sligs were buzzing with mechanical sounds as they rushed out of the room.

Querig gave another smug grin and said to his vallet, "Come on."

The two left the room but before Querig stepped through the door, he took a final look at the blade. He looked closely and noticed a symbol of some kind. It looked similar to the symbol of the Magog Cartel, only fashoined to resemble a sun. He contemplated this symbol once more before remembering his duties and departed from the blood splattered room.

[Dark Elite_H2]

All very interesting intros, guys. Now it's my turn.

IC:
Teh travel was long and tiring, he immediately knowing that he wouldn't survive long enough to see the dawn of day. His breathing was cool and collective, but deep down, he was anxious and frightened.
Odd, for a hard-core gang leader himself, to be afraid of something. Since his terrible loss to eliminating the Steef tribe after the construction of Sudzerz water company, he was forced to flee the scene, before his Glukkon boss caught him and gave him the ultimate punishment.
The soles of his feet were callous and blistered, every walk a sharp pain. The rocks below his feet were jagged and sharp, making his agnoy even worse.
But the Mudokon held strong, for as long as he could, only to keep his hands burried deeply in to the pockets of his tattered light-brown trench coat, slightly bent over to keep his balance, and his pearly-white teeth clamped together with a devilish determined face ahead.
The desert at night was no more as harsh as it was in the afternoon; the sun's blaze beating upon his already-heated back, sweat dripping off his chin, and his feet burrying in to the hot sand and cracked rocks.
His eyes reached upon a dark hill ahead, a light recessing dimly over the hump.
Were his eyes deceiving him once more? He was too tired to care, and too determined to stop and stare.
He galloped up the hill, slipping down halfway, but clawing his way to the top.His arms fell out of his pockets, and his mouth opening in shock.

I must be dreamin' Ken thought, his eyes widening from the wonderous sight before him. Is this truely a town?
Travelling almost a half week in the desert was long enough to drive him mad. But this would've been his opportunity to celebrate. He kept his cool, his face drooping back to a somber state, and with his hands slowly retreating back in to his pockets.

"Good," his deep hazy, but yet thirsty rasp voice drawled out contently. "This is poifect..." just as he said as he climbed down the hill in to the town.

The streets were bright of overhead orange-flourescent lamps, his shadows casting dark under each. He stopped at the head of the street, gazing around at each of the structures about, and noticing his most favorite place to be; the darkest of alleyways.
He smiled a toothy happy grin, hesitating to move. He contimplated his thoughts about the town first, thinking back to his hometown of Boontown, tragically torn down.

"The foist t'ing I must do while I occupy 'dis place..." he told himself as a memo. As he gathered his thoughts, he began towards the alleyways squished between twin buildings.
He turned his back to the narrow passage, taking one last look for peasents that would wander around for him as quick easy prey.
But as he noticed, he bowed his head down, his stingy eyes closed.

To find new meat... he thought once more, before retreating for the night in to the shadows...

[Mudoko_Jedi]

OCC: slaveless its called nolybab not nabylon.

Kreager sat in the cold prison cell his weapons hanging outside his cell door. He wished he could reach them so he could put a few bullets into the NSSU bastards who put him in this hell hole. 3 days later a new cell mate was thrown in the cell with him, an ugly slig with extremely dark green skin which almost looked black. He said his name was slabbo, he had been locked up because he hade shot an Intern, because of an argument over a sandwitch

Kreager already liked slabbo nad thought that he could use him to bust out.

[used:)]

OCC: slaveless its called nolybab not nabylon.

He knows that. He's using Nabylon for the name of a specific area of the city.

[Bullet Magnet]

3 days later a new cell mate was thrown in the cell

OOC: be careful about time slides like this, Jedi, or you may end up out of sync with the rest of us. It's fine now, at the beginning, we can say your previous post was three days ago.

Uh, am i the Slig? I'm not very good at starting off my char in RPG's either. 'Lil help?

I wouldn't take control of someone elses character (God-modding!) but if you want to make that slig Bacon then that is fine. I suppose you could start by escorting the Clakkerz out, then join Knuckles and Goonie in preparation for the delivery thing.

So it seems anyone can be the Oddfather in this. It would be good to have an individual force directing the mafia characters, but I think this might actually work. It's unique in active RPGs anyway.

IC: Rackleg pulled his waistcoat tight around himself. It had started to rain, and the cold cut right to his skin. He pulled the goggles over his eyes so that the slightly acidic rain wouldn't sting his eyes, and continued his search for a Bounty Store. The outlaw hunter was starting to think that a big city like Nolybab didn't have quite the same system as the outer settlements did, so he decided to seek out a federal building like a jail or an NSSU station. Rackleg could just about make out the Neon letters SU behind a building, so he made way in that direction. With any luck it would be the place he was looking for.
A few minutes later he stood before an undistinguished building with SSU lit up across the roof. The N sparked and flashed. Rackleg was not used the the typeface of the sign, nor to the lack of swing doors at the entrance. He tried the novel sounding door knob anyway and entered the building.
Now this was more like it. Dirty cells lined one side of the room behind familiar bars, a few of whick had occupants. Rackleg presumed that here most inmates would be transferred to a dedicated penitentiary, or perhaps to the show Convict Wrestling that he'd heard so much about (Fatty McBoomboom was apparently a favourite there).
He was unsurprised to see an outlaw in one of the nearby cells. Still wearing his own old brown coat, he was a hunchback like Rackleg, and was sitting dejectedly on an old dirty mattress, sharing his cell with an unattractive green slig. Rackleg ignored them and eyed the posters on the wall. They were nothing like the ones in Mongo Valley, they were clean, crisp and new. Black ink on grey legal paper, he eyes all the crooks and villains listed for every felon imaginable: theft, lynchings, spice smuggling, drugs dealing, murder, trafficking and priest impersonation, to mention a few. But then he saw something that caught his eye. A label printed on some of the posters. Rackleg squinted at it to make sure he had read it correctly. Mafia! So the mob was active here in Nolybab! He scanned the names on the marked posters, Knuckles Andwige, Bacon the Slig, Jimmy the Squealer, Donnie Tightfangs, Goonie Mc- and there, right in the middle, the crimes listed matched only by the number of zeroes on the bounty: The Oddfather!

[Rich]

Lloyd sat in a comfy seat in the hotel bar. Rain lashed at the window, outside, the black car he and the Oddfather had arrived in was parked on the sidewalk of the street. Vehicles still buzzed past the hotel despite the late hour. The city never stopped running.
He sipped the rich Glukkon liquor the Mudokon barman had served him and looked around the room. It was nearly empty, aside from a few mafia cronies, a black suited Vykker sat talking to a Wolvark in the corner, whilst three Sligs played cards at another table. The barman sat polishing the glasses.

A muffled gunshot rang out from the direction of the Oddfathers office, yet no-one stirred, this was standard business. A few seconds later a Mudokon walked into the bar.
"Lloyd, the boss wants to speak to you in his office."

Lloyd drank the rest of the liquor and walked out of the bar into the large lobby. He followed a small corridor up to the door marked 'staff only', where a large big bro slig stood guard.

"Go right in." he grunted.

As Lloyd opened the door, a Wolvark dragged out the corspe of a Vykker, covered in blood from a gunshot wound in his chest.

"Nothing to see here." he said, grinning at Lloyd and the Big bro. Lloyd smiled back. The Wolvark whistled as he dragged the corspe towards the rear exit. Lloyd entered the office to see the Oddfather reclining in his huge leather chair. The valet stood nearby staring into space.

"Ah, Lloyd, long time no see, eh?" said the Oddfather, with a slight smile.
"Haha." replied Lloyd, humorlessly.
"Well, I'll get straight to it, dear Mr. Jones out there has just had an unfortunate case of death, he failed an important task I set him, the money is no big deal, but I can't stand incompetance. However, he was able to impart some useful information before his timely demise."

He paused as the valet lit him another cigar.

"It seems the NSSU have got hold of our boy Lenny, the problem is, they haven't given him back. Now, I don't pay those lousy, bent feds $500 moolah a month for this kind of treatment! You know how important moolah is, we don't just throw it away."

Llloyd nodded. "Yes boss, those bastards need teaching a lesson."

"That's the spirit, now, I also heard from mr. Jones that Kreager, the head of the Ratz; is in there too, got banged up after that business on East st. the other night. Now, we can break out all the fools that're in there and teach those useless cops a lesson, Kreager included, then those Nolybab Ratz'll owe us even more favours, this is too good of an opportunity to miss!"

[used:)]

OOC: I decided to make a small reference to the Godfather in this post.

IC(Tego):The sun was coming up. The night had passed so quickly. Tego was astounded he stayed awake throughout the entirety of it. He looked over to his burner, reached out from beneath his shawl and grasped his thermos. He opened it and took a nice swag of coffee. He felt the soothing warmth flow down his throat. Before he placed it back on the burner, he took a moment to stare at the little blue flame on the burner. Just to stare. The flame was flittering, fighting against the cold, but it was not dead.

The roof top began to shake. Was the building collapsing? Tego jumped with an explosion of energy, almost kicking his thermos was off the building. he looked behind himself and then realized it was just a Feeco train, he was sitting close to a rail road.

Slowly, the energy sank to the bottom of his body and he sat back down. He took another swag of coffee and wondered if he should risk a smoke. As he slowly unsheathed a cigarette from its packet, he remembered the foulness of ths act. Smoking was considered a symbol of the Oddfather and a symbol of weakness by the resistance. He tossed his packet over the edge of the building. He would never succumb to the evils of the city. He took another swag.

He dropped his thermos as a glint of yellow flashed in the corner of his eye. he turned to another building, not far away, and gazed. The informer from the other building was signaling the arrival. White for fall back, yellow for proceeding with the mission.

He slipped his body out from beneath his shawl and scrambled to the wall, escaping from the watchful eyes of any flying sligs in the area. His heart was beating fast. After assuring himself it was safe, he scrambled over to the corner of the roof top.

He searched for the tiny, black sheet of metal. His eyes were racing around for it. Finally, he located it. He moved it to the side and stared down out at the gun in its nook. It was greasy and bold. He moved his hand towards it. He was almost afraid. His let his fingers scoop it up into his hand.

After he got the feeling of holding the pistol, he scrambled to the next corner of the rooftop. When he would tip his head over the wall to take a look, a bullet would come flying through his head. He had to get a grip of himself, he needed to have control. He kept thinking about the possibilities of what might happen. He would die and the mission would be ruined. These next moments would be the ones sealing his fate.

Tego realized that he needed to defeat both enemies: the captain and his own fear. He made up his mind and he threw his head and arms over the wall. He looked down into the street and was staring straight at the glukkon's smug little head. It was him. Without question he pulled the trigger. Tego immediately retreated back to the safety of the wall. He wondered if the thunder he heard was the explosion of the gun or the beating of his heart.

Thinking back to his objectives, he disassembled the gun into its interchangeable parts. He ran across the rooftop and deposited each of the parts into different chimneys. He hoped the clanking of the parts traveling down the metal chimneys wouldn't give away his position.

The morning sun was out. Tego gazed at the horizon for a few moments and then began hoping along the adjacent rooftops back to the base. He looked back once more and realized he had forgotten his burner and thermos. He decided to let them stay there so that he may find them again some day. The small blue flame was still burning.

[E'l Scrabino]

OOC: Will anyone here mind if i use colours for speech in my IC's like i do in TAS? I won't use 'em till someone (mainly Bullet Magnet, seeing as he is the leader of this thread) gives me the all-clear.

IC:

Bacon (): "Remove these creatures. They're making the place look untidy." said the Don, before Bacon and a Hunchbacked outlaw came inside the office and took the Clakkerz from the Don's sight. "Pitiful beings. Utterly stupid. You'd wonder why the Don does buisness with 'em at all..." Said Bacon the the Outlaw as they were walking towards the lift of the Basement, "Yeah, i agree wit' yer. These stupid bird-brains aren't fit to live with Stunks!" replied the Outlaw, "We are too fit to live with Stunks!" shouted a Clakker angrily, "Ok then, you are fit to live with Stunks." Bacon retorted, "Yeah! Hey, waitta minute!" said the Clakker as he and his buddy got thrown into the lift going up to the entrance lobby of The Luck Scrab casino, "Heheheh... Dumbasses..." said the Outlaw...


OOC: Is this alright for a start?

[Gretin]

OOC: Whoops, sorry for being kinda late... These last few days have just been hectic! Hopefully things will ease off a bit soon, though; me having a significant goon and not posting often don't really seem to go too well together I don't have time to post tonight (yes, it's night here), but I should hopefully get to it tomorrow...

EDIT: For some reason it's made my text go all big and annoying... Though maybe it's just my computer...

[used:)]

To El Scrabino: I don't know that much about how a nobel prize winning post should be like, but I was kinda just left wondering what exactly happened. Maybe try and give us some more info on the setting of where your character is at, tell us about the situation at hand. Hope that helps.

[Dark Elite_H2]

Morning had come, and night has fallen. The daytimes came quick, with him only waking up. His beat-down status was critical enough for his to lay in a coma for a week, but he knew and his body knew that there was business to attend to the next day.
He stretched widely, throwing off his overcoat used as a blanket, and scratched under his arms. He stood up off the dusty ground, dusting off his black shorts and white tank. He smoothed back his spikey mohawk, blinking out from the dark alley to the brightness of the sun-lit streets, seeing pedestrians walk by without a care for one another.
He smiled deviously, bending down to pick up his coat, and threw it over his shoulders, and burried his hands deep down, almost an unbreakable habit for him. He whipped out his packet of toothpicks, and plucked one in between his teeth.
I hope 'dis place is like Boon' he twisted the toothpick, biting hard on it.
Once with that thought gone, he trotted out to the streets, not minding the sun hitting him immediately on his sun-burnt green skin.

The local bar; one place where he could refresh and eat up his thoughts.
He slapped his hand on the scraped laminated cherry wood, staring at the bar tender far down. His eyes almost vanished behind the collar of his coat.
The bar tender walked down, placing an orderly elbow on the counter, and leaned towards Ken.
"What can I do you fer, sir?" the ill-looking Mudokon asked friendly-like.
"Small mug," Ken nodded, looking away once he finished his order. He didn't like to drink beer much, but it would always bring him that muggy buzz to hm that he liked.
Once the 'tender walked away, he looked over to a twosome couple jabbering loud over the clanking of dishes and clamour of chatter.
"D'ja hear, boy? The Oddfather got rid o' another o' his goons," a tattered old Clakker, gumless and wrinkled nodded.
Ken moved his body around to the folks, interested than before.
"Ano'der?" a much younger Clakker, most likely his older grandson, frowned. "Who was it 'dis time, Paw?"
"His right-hand hired man, Mr. Vykker Jones. Di'n't t'ink the fellah would please 'de Oddfather,"
Oddfather, hmm? Ken thought.
"But t'ain't a problem now. Hired 'im a new 'itman. Dunno the prospect of the youngin'. But I'm t'inkin' t'e new guy knew the Oddfather 'fore,"
"Really," the grandson drawled. "What's the task fer now?"
"Same as always...One o' 'is boys been captured by the damned security force,"
"You mean...NSSU?" the younger one replied.
"Yeah, 'dat one," the old hag nodded.
"Hmm...it's a shame the NSSU have 'ta mess wit' the Oddfather. He no nice guy,"
NSSU? Haven't I heard that name b'fore? Ken rubbed his thumb and forefinger on his smooth chin, then dropped it down on the counter once more. Whoever it is...
"Yeah. Includin' the Nolybab Ratz gang,"
"'dey's mortal enemies, Paw?" the young Clakker asked.
"You betch'a bottom moolah, son," its grandpa placed a tattered feathery arm around his grandson. "'dey's always start a stree' riot. Damn pecker heads keep me up all night..."
Ken's eyes darted back and forth in a decision thought on the counter, then spun to the couple.
"'s'cuse me," he raised a truceful paw.
The Clakkers frowned at the Mudokon immediately, the elder's arm slipping off his grandson's shoulder. "Yes?" he asked somberly.
"I've been...over-'earin' yer conversation...d'you know where I can find 'dis...Oddfather?"
The elder frowned disapprovingly to him, jumping off his barstool.
"Son," he shook his head. "You's gonna get'cher self in to a lot'a trouble if you thinkin' of messin' wit' the Oddfather,"
Ken kept silent, listening to the coot's speech.
"He'll put a bullet t'rough yer noggin wit'in a sec'nd. Hell, even wit' a glance of yer eye,"
"I know, ya hag," Ken gritted his teeth impatiently. "I ain't thinkin' of messin' 'im up,"
His eyes explained to the Clakker, his eyes drooping to a concerned frown. He clucked his wrinkled beak away from Ken, then back up.
"Find's the hotel tavern 'round the outskirts of 'dis town," he nodded. "'dere'll be some 'o 'is goons inside. You can't miss 'em. 'dey's ugly son-o'-a-bitches. One named Knuckles Andwige, and the o'der Goonie McGoon,"
Ken nodded his head thankfully, turning back to the 'tender, and placing a distasteful hand on the cool mug of liquid back. He jumped off his barstool, and headed for the double-swinging door, about to open them.
"Son!" the Clakker waved back at him.
Ken's head looked over his shoulder, hiding his menacing grin behind his collar.
"Be careful, a'i'ight? I don't wanna 'nother peckerhead shot in 'dis town,"
Ken's grin faded immediately, suddenly smiling down. He bowed his head at the Clakker once more, and bursted out of the bar, and began to walk the streets of Nolybab, in search of his new employer he would deal with.

[Slaveless]

OOC: Ah, thanks to Used for the complament. Anyway, I'm seeing very impressive, intellgent writing around here.

IC: As the city of Nolybab continued it's hectic chaos of crime, the trouble out at sea slowly was making it's way toward a city, that didn't need anymore criminals. Turf had found his way into the sailing deck and found the sailor who drove the ship. Being that Turf's host was obviously being controlled, the Wolvark grabbed the nearest gun and tried to shoot. But Turf had a trick up his sleeve, and after two furious brawls, the ship was heading toward Nolybab, with the remainder of the crew stuffed in a cargo hold.

Being that Turf had a sense of direction over the course of several decades swimming, and with the help of a map, Turf already knew exactly where to go. Clumisly steering the ship, Turf tried to find the exact direction where the nearest ship dock was, being that Turf had narrow experience of ship steering. After being sure that he was on the right track, Turf smirked Jum's face to reveal pleasure of how well the plan was going. Since Turf had not be planning to steer this ship any longer, he went to the ceiling control panel, and used his host's fingers to activate the auto pilot sequence. Seeing that the correct auto pilot lever, button, and switches were on, Turf decided to relax.

Turf used his host to sit without any posture, on a still chair. Turf used his host to loudly exhale, knowing that he must keep his host's body healthy. He listened to the ocean breeze outsied, along with the other sounds, like the waves clashing onto the sea floors and the rest of the ocean, and the beeping of the control panel inside the room he was in. This world was full of remarkble miracles and noises, but yet all is wasted by the Industerial society, of caring about manufactored goods, moolah, and looks. These things made Turf aggravated to no end. But with his plan, the Magog Cartel would change in just days.

Turf got bored already and stretched when he got up. Once his host's body was fully ready for anything in it's way, Turf went over to a table near the control panel. There were two things on the table that caught his attention. The first thing was a framed picture of a Clakker's family. Turf picked it up, drew it closer to his head, and looked at the family closily. They were in a brown shagged wall room, with a mother, a father, and two youths. The father looked like the Clakker he had killed only a half hour ago. Turf's eyes misted with tears has he remembered his family, that had been murdered generations ago. Then he thought of the Clakker family in the picture that would miss their beloved member of the family. Turf knew it was wrong to have killed that Clakker, but he was all part of the Industerial family, and they all tried to kill Oktigi at one time or another. Since Turf was so ireful of remembering of the Glukkons who tried to kill him, he threw the picture at the floor, having it shaddered up on the floor.

The other thing that caught his attention was a radio on the table, being that it was rather very modern, he thought maybe he could hear the news on Nolybab. He turned it on, and flicked through the channels to find the news on Nolybab. At last, when he found it, he listened to the news. "...And that was our new story on Lady Margeret's current condition with her life support. Now in other news, three more criminals have been captured. Slabbo, Kreager, and Lenny have been arrested by the NSSU, and have been taken off the wanted list. But Mr. Jones, a Vykker, was murdered and it has been suspected that he has been killed by the Oddfather. In furthur detail...."

Turf turned off the radio as the auto pilot stopped by the docking registeration machine. Turf purred in pleasure and walked out of the steering deck to look at the city.

OOC: Gonna write later. Maybe I will catch up to the current time zone next time.

[used:)]

"Next!" alarmed the slig guard of the lobby.

Querig noticed that he was next in line. He ascended out of the chair and moved towards the Oddfather's office with his tiny glukkon steps.

Before he entered, the slig raised his arm, halting Querig.

"You know the rules," said the slig, "Your here to pay your respects to the Oddfather, now pay them."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Querig.

He signaled for his slig vallet to come forth an make the payment. The vallet came forth and deposited a single moolah coin into the coin slot of a meepy bank, sitting on a stool beside the slig guard.

"Go on in!" said the guard in a welcoming manner.

Light was fading from around Querig from the shadiness of the office. The Oddfather seemed to intend for his office to reflect his business. Querig felt his heart beat increase in speed as he stared at the back of the Oddfather's chair. The Oddfather's personal slig guard had the same mean look that the glukkon dressed in red had.

He was now a few feet from the doorway when it closed. The Oddfather twirled his chair in a semicircle and was now facing Querig. He was face to face with the fates.

"Querig!" said the Oddfather, "how nice of you to drop by!" He was speaking a wickedly slow pace.

"Yes, Oddfather," replied Querig, "I hope my time is well used in this session and I--" he was cut short by the Oddfather.

"Don't be so tense! We're in a room where everything is right front of you, no lies. Fung, how much do you nap while on patrol duty?"

Without missing a beat, the slig guard replied, "Twice."

"You see?" said the Oddfather, "I tell you no lies."

"I see, good Oddfather," replied Querig, "Now what exactly did you want to see me about?"

"Querig, you are a good gluk. With your help we were able to keep our eyes open about this transaction. It took place so far north that we thought a little moolah might slip out of our sight."

The Oddfather paused for a moment and gave a fatherly, yet almost malevolent grin at Querig.

"But, I'm afraid I will need your help once more," he said, "You see, the NSSU has some of our friends, by mistake of course, and we need your family to giv me support in this matter."

"What kind of support?" asked Querig.

"Oh nothing much, just some of your men to give our men some more company. Of course everything will be handeled through negotiations from the chroniclers, but I feel our own men need a little more support in such a time." He said this in a very deceptive tone.

"Ahh, I see, good Oddfather! How many batalions are you asking for?"

"Don't refer to them as 'batalions'! Sligs are a valued member of the family, and we shall refer to them as so! They are not just soldiers, they are the backbone of this community! Just send over enough men that you think is needed."

"Yes, Oddfather, I will get to it as--"

It sounded like a stuggle was occuring outside in the lobby. Querig felt the pulses from many foot steps, heard the mechanical sound of a slig's pants and the voice of a worried being.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a glukkon wanna be was hoping frivilously towards the Oddfather's desk.

"What is this?!" yelled the Oddfather, "one client at a time!"

"My good Oddfather," said the frantic glukkon, "Mulg is dead!"

"Dead?" replied the Oddfather.

"It happened this morning, at the rendevous point."

"THIS MORNING?! But that's when the exchange for the moolah was supposed to take place! Did the moolah make it?"

"I know! And the worst part is, THE MOOLAH IS GONE!"

The Oddfather's jaw dropped like a waterfall.

"After Mulg was killed," said the glukkon, "Everyone took off. Nobody bothered to pick up the Moolah!"

The Oddfather seemed to still be maintaining his cool, "That was the bribe money for the NSSU. They get greedier each time. We can't afford to pay it on the rate we're making form our local operations."

The room was silent for a few moments.

"Fung!" called the Oddfather, "Who was in charge of security for this rendevous?"

"Umm," replied Fung, "let me think.....oh! It was Grut!"

"Fung, I want you to pay Grut a vists, and bring him a pack of those cigarettes. Right over there next to that framed issue of Slime Magazine."

"But, sir! Those are--"

"Exacty."

The slig moved towards the shelf and retrieved the pack of cigarettes. He then departed from the room."

The was silent for a long time.

"So," said Querig, "How many batalions will that be?"

The Oddfather had twirled his chair away from Querig's face and was now in his original position.

"Send every slig you've got," demanded the Oddfather.

Querig had a grin on his face now. He left the room just as simply as he entered it.

OCC: I hope this post doesn't speed things up too much, just in case you still want to get your characters set up some more.

[E'l Scrabino]

OOC: All the posts so far are ab fab!


IC:


Bacon:
As Bacon walked through the Lucky Scrab, he was fretting. He did not like the buisness that had been going on. Esspecially the NSSU incident. So he thought that he might try to forget things by having an expresso and maybe a little rest. Seeing as there was no rush to head back yet. "Why is it that every time i start to forget things that worry, upset, or piss me off, that something else happens? I was just getting used to the fact that my pet Slog died, and now this!" Thought Bacon angrily as he leant up against a wall with his expresso, "Maybe i should try and cool off by taking a walk outside... Maybe later..." thought Bacon as he went down towards the Dons office to wait for something to happen...


OOC: Hmmmmmm... w00t?

[Gretin]

OOC: Alright, here at last. As no one has yet claimed Goonie I'll just have to control him for now.

IC:

"I see you haven't lost your touch. I was going to suggest upping the bribe, but shooting sounds much more cost effective." The Oddfather suddenly became deadly serious. "One other thing. I suspect that the Nolybab Ratz gang have been tipped off on this little enterprise. I am hoping that relationships with the Ratz can continue to go well, but if it proves too much to resist, you know what to do. Though I am confident that you can handle the Ratz, it is a complication you'd do best to avoid. I want things to go smoothly, yes? No foul ups."

"Aw'right!" Knuckles punched one hand into the palm of the other, "Let's move!"
He and Goonie quickly left the room and a few moments later emerged out a back door of the Lucky Scrab Casino.

Knuckles made a gesture with his arm to Goonie, "Come on, I'm gonna go round up some o' the boys over at the tavern. You comin' or what?"
The two swiftly made their way across the city to the hotel tavern near the outskirts of the town. As they pushed the doors open and entered, everyone in the room looked up then, on recognizing the two, quickly returned to their business, some trying so hard to be inconspicuous they became anything but. Luckily for them, the goons weren't here for them.

Neither said a word, they both knew exactly what needed doing so discussion was pointless. Splitting up, they searched through the building for suitable henchmen of the mafia for the job.
Less than twenty minutes later, a small group of outlaws bunched together with Knuckles and Goonie in one of the back rooms of the tavern.
"Aw'right," Knuckles once again punched his fist into the palm of his other hand, "on to business! The Oddfather's asked us boys to take the trucks on down to the docks to collect a special delivery for him! Now, maybe there might be some people who aren't too happy about that..." Goonie smirked at this, "...but y'all know how we deal with that, right?"

A chorus of voices shouted "Right!"

"Aw'right!" Knuckles motioned to the door, "Let's go!"
They marched noisily out the door and through the tavern out onto the street, where they made their way to the back of the tavern, where three trucks were conveniently parked.
Knuckles glanced at Goonie. Goonie lifted a fist, and Knuckles answered by hitting his fist against Goonie's. "Let's go!" Knuckles called once more, and with that the outlaws boarded the trucks to set off for the docks...

OOC: Hope this works...

[Rich]

The black car was parked across the street from the NSSU building, Lloyd sat in the drivers seat, enjoying a cigarette. On the passenger seat beside him were two briefcases, loaded with counterfeit moolah.

"This is turning out to be an eventful night." He thought as he felt for his gun, hidden in his jacket. The sign outside flickered in the rain, the station had seen little activity since Lloyd had been watching. Until now, anyway. "The feds break the agreements of our bribe, maybe they've made a deal with another gang... I wonder how the boys'll get along down at the docks..."

A phone began to ring inside the car, Lloyd reached for the back seat and grabbed it. Having a phone inside the cars was standard procedure.

"Hello?" he answered.
"Lloyd, things are going from bad to worse" said the Oddfather.

lloyd watched the NSSU gates fly open through the tinted windscreen, several patrol vehicles sped out of the gate and down the street, sirens blaring. Then, after they had faded into the night, two of the large riot vans appeared from the yard and headed the opposite way, towards the docks.

"And it looks like its going to get even worse boss," he said "looks like the cops have had a little tip off about the deal down at the docks, two riot vans are on their way."
"Well, its more trouble, but nothing the boys can't handle. I just hope theres no trouble with the Nolybab Ratz down there. Anyway, it seems the NSSU betrayal is more serious than we thought."

"What do you mean?" asked Lloyd
"Well," the Oddfather continued, "Mulg died at that transaction earlier, things are heating up. It seems a simple bribe doesn't stand for anything anymore. In a few minutes you'll have a lot of support, I've called in a few favours from some old friends."
"You mean Querig, right? He's sending down some of his boys to help us out?"
"Yes Lloyd, and this is the perfect time to hit the station, the sligs are all out playing cops and robbers down at the docks. So wait for the help, then you can go in and pay that fat bastard Reeve a visit and find out what's really going on, then I want him dead, y'hear? No-one messes with us now!"

"This is serious." Thought Lloyd. "Killing the NSSU chief? This is real trouble."

"Yes sir." He replied. "And the prisoners, sir?"
"Free them, I want Lenny back on the streets, and let Kreager know it was us that got him out, those Ratz will give us the respect we deserve!"

The Oddfather hung up. Lloyd looked out to see several cars pulling up, help was at hand. He stepped out of the car and loaded his gun, but left the briefcases inside.
He eyed them before shutting and locking the door, he thought to himself as he approached the other cars.

"This is time for a more violent sort of negotiation."

[Bullet Magnet]

Ooc: Having been recently asked to analyse the story threads here so far, I must say that they are surprisingly complex and very intersting: several are intertwining already.

IC: Rackleg tore his gaze away from the Oddfather's poster. A chill ran up, then back down his hunched back. I have a bad feeling about this, he thought. Life as an outlaw had taught him much about surviving in rough neighbourhoods, and this particular chill usually preceded people dying around him, and excessive pain for himself. The clerk was still nowhere to be seen, and muffled cries and thumps emminated from the back room. The chinkling sound of breakeing glass resounded about the room. Then Rackleg heard a voice.
"Mob scum! I am insulted. You know how much trouble your boy Lenny caused us? You want him back, you pay more, we know your boss can afford it, and we ain't afraid o' him!"
Then he heard another voice. "You think we should teach him a lesson?"
"Nah, let's send a message. Right to the top."
This ominous statement was quickly followed by a spattering noise, some panicked gargling, and a wet thud. This told Rackleg three things: that these feds were crooked, that the mob would soon be descending on this station, and that the deaths had already begun. He reached up to the poster board and tore off as many posters as he could with the one grab. He stuffed them in his pocket and cocked his semi-auto. There was about to be a whole miniture hell opening up right where he stood, and Rackleg knew it.

[Slaveless]

OOC: Ah, thanks Used, but there is still one problem.

According to Rich, everything on this page has happened all in this one night. But according to you, Used, I'm in the day of yesterday. Yet, who is right? Is Rich and I both in the wrong day, or are we both right? Which would be easier to settle out? It all affects in what will happen in my next post. Or at least the conversations.