Sirens of Titan
22-05-2005, 20:05
OOC information
OOC: This is an open character RP about smuggling, the local underground in a nameless city and murder. An unknown crimelord (referred to as The Mystery Man) has started to make a fortune a few months ago out of nowhere with all sorts of small smuggling operations, but is expanding greatly at the expense of the smaller criminals with hits, drugtrade and other illegal operations. Nobody knows who the Mystery Man is, and he lives in the Lowe Manor House, a place where nothing is what it seems to be. Also never seen by the staff, he leaves his orders around on notes scattered through the manor. The police of the city know The Mystery Man is a criminal, but they don’t dare to go near his house. The only thing the city folk know the paintings whisper, and his limitless wealth turns the most friendly and compassionate people in the most greedy and ruthless industrials. One day, a group of men (you!) is contacted by an emissary coming from Lowe Manor House with an assignment. The assignment bit is roleplayed by me, and several people may join, around 8 or so including me to fulfil the missions given to you by The Mystery Man. In the end you will find out who The Mystery Man is. All necessary information can be found IC, and if you don’t know something don’t be afraid to telegram me for further information.
The time setting in this RP isn't set in stone, it's a brutal combination of MT architecture and many FT things like temporal technology, nanomachines and laser energy weapons. Imagine this city as Gotham City, art deco 1920 style with a film noir atmosphere blended in. In such RP’s I may use characters I have used in different nations, but I don’t think anybody has objections to that. Please supply your characteristics in the following format.
Character description:
Name: Guillespeak, Charles
Age: 37
Gender: male
Skills: knife throwing, forgery, and blackmail.
Weaknesses: suffers from epileptic seizures, addicted to his anti-seizure medication, which is taking its toll on his overall fitness.
Preferred weapon: .357 Magnum and throwing knives
Other information: Charles Guillespeak is haunted by his own past, he lost his family in a traincrash outside the city, and lives along with gangs on and off the streets since then. He made money stealing it from his crime bosses, blackmailed the rich and he lived well for a few years until he met the crimelord Jack Napier, who opposed Charles in his business. Charles swore revenge, and killed Napier’s family by pumping their heads full of .357 bullets. Napier wanted to get even, and bribed the police commissioner for about 4 million to stalk, intimidate and make Charles' life a living hell for the rest of his sad days. If Charles did things the right way, he’d be a rich man now without the trouble of being chased by the police whenever he’s the *prime* suspect.
Charles Guillespeak’s name has been mentioned quite a few times in the McClure streetgang murder case, an infamous liquidation of several gangleaders. Charles Guillespeak was behind this, but proving it is difficult. Except the last bit, this all known ICly.
For those interested, this RP is loosely based on the Thief: The Dark Project and a fanmission of T1 named "The Mystery Man".
Thank you, and have a great time!
IC:
The Mystery Man
Rain keeps falling down the crowded streets packed with men and women running around looking for shelter even though they are all wearing raincoats. The neon lights scream out their messages loud into the public, begging you to look at them – and convince yourself you really need the product and or services the commercial signs want you to buy. Hardly anyone pays attention to those wastes of electric energy, and Mr Charles Guillespeak isn’t an exception. Reading his newspaper for about four hours now, with a small break in-between to order a gin tonic or a Scotch on the rocks, he enjoyed his drinks and he takes his time to empty the glass. Sometimes he goes to the toilet, and returns to his table. Looking outside he hears the rain lashing the glass ceiling above him, drops making streams of water, running off the roof into the drainpipe, into the gutter. It’s strange how he can hear such detailed sounds, while it’s very busy inside. Waiters are taking orders, bringing drinks and food, the noise from the kitchen, the traffic on the street. Every now and then a police officer comes in, orders coffee with a drip of brandy and goes back to his watchstation.
Charles looked outside at the dark clouds drifting about overhead, throwing down rain, pushing fresh green leaves into the air from the trees on the opposite side of the street. The headlines of the newspaper aren’t what you call “a good read”. Nothing but bad news, stock options and more personal agony. All the drivel printed in the newspaper can be summed up as bullshit. Plain old bullshit, nothing more nothing less. I folded the paper in a perfect pack of paper, edges straight on top of each other and pushed it down and laid it on the metal rim of the oak table. It was a robust, yet stylish piece of furniture. Ah as a matter of fact, this whole cafe is a stylish place. Art Noveau ornaments on the central ceiling near the small glass-in-lead dome, the vine like woodcarvings and the polished black and white tiles of the dancing floor where a man was playing a piano. The voices of men and women chatting too loudly, showing their pompous golden pocket watches, smoking expensive cigars and sipping from Cognac Very Special, bottled in good year’s long gone. This cafe is my own freehold, no thug big or small dares to enter this place, even with an army of goons standing besides him. This is my place, my house if you please. Not much is happening, it’s rush hour, and people are still running to wherever they need to go. Again I find myself looking at the men and women in the cafe. There’s this big man, a bit overweighed smoking a Cuban cigar while laughing too loud, talking too loud. I can clearly hear every word he says, he has the annoying habit of starting every sentence of his monologue, whenever someone tries to respond, with: “Let me talk” or “This is how I look at it”. In a polite manner, but that doesn’t change it’s a nice way of saying ‘shut up’. Speaks for itself it’s very annoying for those who participate in the ‘conversation’.
“John knows what’s good for you….”
“Let John look at the Wine Chart, he knows about French wines…”
“I have this friend, a truly great guy who has helped me out numerous times who lives in the Autumnfire Hills, not a big secret…”
Damn, what a terrible human product. An empty life, but a filled wallet. You can almost see the money pouring from his pockets when he walks or moves. A genuine fool, waste of life no good to anyone. Once again I was sinking away in my own thoughts when a waiter walked by and spoke to me, softly almost if nobody was allowed to know he talked to me, or seen each other at this moment.
“Mr Guillespeak, I have this letter for you, an emissary from the Lowe Manor has told me to give you this. He said it is of great importance.”
“Hmmm? What is it?” The waiter nodded in a way he couldn’t possibly know, dropped the letter and acted like I ordered another drink. Making sure the surrounding tables could certainly hear it, he said
“Ah my good sir, that wine is indeed an excellent choice!” The now enthusiastic waiter walked off to the bar and immediately returned with a glass of fine wine. I thanked him, gave him a most generous tip and I couldn’t resist reading the letter right now. This was written, in a chic handwriting:
My dear Mr Charles Guillespeak,
It has came to my attention that your services may prove very valuable to me in the near future. A man of extraordinary talent you posses doesn’t go unnoticed by a person in my position. Your true employer has not written this letter, but I am acting as a negotiator between you and him. I, the undersigned, hereby offer you and your colleagues (you will need them) the sum of $750,000 in gold bonds or gold sovereigns whichever you and your associates prefer. The assignment is a difficult one, requires your wits and your body to pull it off without casualties – on our side. A few weeks ago a most precious book known as the Codex Borbonicus (Codex of Predictions) has been smuggled into town by an unsavoury character known as Jack Napier, unfortunately I could have done this myself if the local police chief Bogan could be bribed to hand over the book. Now, Bogan has sent it to the National City Treasury, Trust & Banking Corporation, the wealthiest and most closely guarded piece of real estate in the city. I want you and your associates to steal it.
I can’t wait to hear who my colleagues will be, my friends or adversaries?
OOC: This is an open character RP about smuggling, the local underground in a nameless city and murder. An unknown crimelord (referred to as The Mystery Man) has started to make a fortune a few months ago out of nowhere with all sorts of small smuggling operations, but is expanding greatly at the expense of the smaller criminals with hits, drugtrade and other illegal operations. Nobody knows who the Mystery Man is, and he lives in the Lowe Manor House, a place where nothing is what it seems to be. Also never seen by the staff, he leaves his orders around on notes scattered through the manor. The police of the city know The Mystery Man is a criminal, but they don’t dare to go near his house. The only thing the city folk know the paintings whisper, and his limitless wealth turns the most friendly and compassionate people in the most greedy and ruthless industrials. One day, a group of men (you!) is contacted by an emissary coming from Lowe Manor House with an assignment. The assignment bit is roleplayed by me, and several people may join, around 8 or so including me to fulfil the missions given to you by The Mystery Man. In the end you will find out who The Mystery Man is. All necessary information can be found IC, and if you don’t know something don’t be afraid to telegram me for further information.
The time setting in this RP isn't set in stone, it's a brutal combination of MT architecture and many FT things like temporal technology, nanomachines and laser energy weapons. Imagine this city as Gotham City, art deco 1920 style with a film noir atmosphere blended in. In such RP’s I may use characters I have used in different nations, but I don’t think anybody has objections to that. Please supply your characteristics in the following format.
Character description:
Name: Guillespeak, Charles
Age: 37
Gender: male
Skills: knife throwing, forgery, and blackmail.
Weaknesses: suffers from epileptic seizures, addicted to his anti-seizure medication, which is taking its toll on his overall fitness.
Preferred weapon: .357 Magnum and throwing knives
Other information: Charles Guillespeak is haunted by his own past, he lost his family in a traincrash outside the city, and lives along with gangs on and off the streets since then. He made money stealing it from his crime bosses, blackmailed the rich and he lived well for a few years until he met the crimelord Jack Napier, who opposed Charles in his business. Charles swore revenge, and killed Napier’s family by pumping their heads full of .357 bullets. Napier wanted to get even, and bribed the police commissioner for about 4 million to stalk, intimidate and make Charles' life a living hell for the rest of his sad days. If Charles did things the right way, he’d be a rich man now without the trouble of being chased by the police whenever he’s the *prime* suspect.
Charles Guillespeak’s name has been mentioned quite a few times in the McClure streetgang murder case, an infamous liquidation of several gangleaders. Charles Guillespeak was behind this, but proving it is difficult. Except the last bit, this all known ICly.
For those interested, this RP is loosely based on the Thief: The Dark Project and a fanmission of T1 named "The Mystery Man".
Thank you, and have a great time!
IC:
The Mystery Man
Rain keeps falling down the crowded streets packed with men and women running around looking for shelter even though they are all wearing raincoats. The neon lights scream out their messages loud into the public, begging you to look at them – and convince yourself you really need the product and or services the commercial signs want you to buy. Hardly anyone pays attention to those wastes of electric energy, and Mr Charles Guillespeak isn’t an exception. Reading his newspaper for about four hours now, with a small break in-between to order a gin tonic or a Scotch on the rocks, he enjoyed his drinks and he takes his time to empty the glass. Sometimes he goes to the toilet, and returns to his table. Looking outside he hears the rain lashing the glass ceiling above him, drops making streams of water, running off the roof into the drainpipe, into the gutter. It’s strange how he can hear such detailed sounds, while it’s very busy inside. Waiters are taking orders, bringing drinks and food, the noise from the kitchen, the traffic on the street. Every now and then a police officer comes in, orders coffee with a drip of brandy and goes back to his watchstation.
Charles looked outside at the dark clouds drifting about overhead, throwing down rain, pushing fresh green leaves into the air from the trees on the opposite side of the street. The headlines of the newspaper aren’t what you call “a good read”. Nothing but bad news, stock options and more personal agony. All the drivel printed in the newspaper can be summed up as bullshit. Plain old bullshit, nothing more nothing less. I folded the paper in a perfect pack of paper, edges straight on top of each other and pushed it down and laid it on the metal rim of the oak table. It was a robust, yet stylish piece of furniture. Ah as a matter of fact, this whole cafe is a stylish place. Art Noveau ornaments on the central ceiling near the small glass-in-lead dome, the vine like woodcarvings and the polished black and white tiles of the dancing floor where a man was playing a piano. The voices of men and women chatting too loudly, showing their pompous golden pocket watches, smoking expensive cigars and sipping from Cognac Very Special, bottled in good year’s long gone. This cafe is my own freehold, no thug big or small dares to enter this place, even with an army of goons standing besides him. This is my place, my house if you please. Not much is happening, it’s rush hour, and people are still running to wherever they need to go. Again I find myself looking at the men and women in the cafe. There’s this big man, a bit overweighed smoking a Cuban cigar while laughing too loud, talking too loud. I can clearly hear every word he says, he has the annoying habit of starting every sentence of his monologue, whenever someone tries to respond, with: “Let me talk” or “This is how I look at it”. In a polite manner, but that doesn’t change it’s a nice way of saying ‘shut up’. Speaks for itself it’s very annoying for those who participate in the ‘conversation’.
“John knows what’s good for you….”
“Let John look at the Wine Chart, he knows about French wines…”
“I have this friend, a truly great guy who has helped me out numerous times who lives in the Autumnfire Hills, not a big secret…”
Damn, what a terrible human product. An empty life, but a filled wallet. You can almost see the money pouring from his pockets when he walks or moves. A genuine fool, waste of life no good to anyone. Once again I was sinking away in my own thoughts when a waiter walked by and spoke to me, softly almost if nobody was allowed to know he talked to me, or seen each other at this moment.
“Mr Guillespeak, I have this letter for you, an emissary from the Lowe Manor has told me to give you this. He said it is of great importance.”
“Hmmm? What is it?” The waiter nodded in a way he couldn’t possibly know, dropped the letter and acted like I ordered another drink. Making sure the surrounding tables could certainly hear it, he said
“Ah my good sir, that wine is indeed an excellent choice!” The now enthusiastic waiter walked off to the bar and immediately returned with a glass of fine wine. I thanked him, gave him a most generous tip and I couldn’t resist reading the letter right now. This was written, in a chic handwriting:
My dear Mr Charles Guillespeak,
It has came to my attention that your services may prove very valuable to me in the near future. A man of extraordinary talent you posses doesn’t go unnoticed by a person in my position. Your true employer has not written this letter, but I am acting as a negotiator between you and him. I, the undersigned, hereby offer you and your colleagues (you will need them) the sum of $750,000 in gold bonds or gold sovereigns whichever you and your associates prefer. The assignment is a difficult one, requires your wits and your body to pull it off without casualties – on our side. A few weeks ago a most precious book known as the Codex Borbonicus (Codex of Predictions) has been smuggled into town by an unsavoury character known as Jack Napier, unfortunately I could have done this myself if the local police chief Bogan could be bribed to hand over the book. Now, Bogan has sent it to the National City Treasury, Trust & Banking Corporation, the wealthiest and most closely guarded piece of real estate in the city. I want you and your associates to steal it.
I can’t wait to hear who my colleagues will be, my friends or adversaries?