Siap
19-03-2005, 05:52
OOC: This is a mafia RP that takes place in the Republic of Siap, specifically, the capitol city Esmund. Important things to know are: first, I would like you to TG me if you wish to introduce a character or wish to control a character (I will control the government, but someone can RP a cop or a precinct, and the Romanokovski family. The Northern Seperatist faction, a terrorist/street gang group is open, as is the position for culprits of the first massacre/robbery, as well as any others, provided they get my approval. Also, in the Republic of Siap, guns and many drugs are legal, but heavily taxed and mass transit is more common than actual driving (Siap is semi-socialist). Also, please do a good job, RPing and grammar-wise (I won't be a grammar cop, but you can't have 'and he there went just now then for?...)'
IC: Police cars and News Vans surrounded the Siap Cola factory. Inside, factory workers either lay dead on the floor or were being intensely questioned as a while police sloshed around in an inch of standing soda and blood. The bottling equipment was riddled with bullets, which caused it to spray soda at random intervals in almost any direction. Cans of soda were like traps that would send someone to their face in the disgusting floor. Sgt. Matthews walked around while Lt. Shagussy tailed behind, with a sick look on his face. "Sarge, this is disgusting. I am going to barf." The seargent looked around. "Who did this?" Was it the Northerners? Did they want something here?" He walked into the office. A small room adjoining the office contained security monitoring equipment that was also thouroughly perferated The foreman was laying back in his chair, a bullet in his forehead. The wall had a hole smashed in it and a safe was blasted open. A trail of 50 and 100-credit* notes were strewn across the floor, leading to the freight dock. They were beginning to stick to the floor as the soda became a syrup-like layer on the floor. "Lt. Shagussy, do you see anything wrong with this picture?" "I'm more worried about the smell, chief." The sgt. nearly exploded. "LOOK AT THIS!" He pointed at the currency, now permanantly stuck to the floor. "What was this much money doing in a soda factory! They hire convicts! They don't pay the convicts this much! They give them 5 credits a day! Usually in cigs! Why would all this money be here?"
Jack Romanokovski sat in the chair facing the widescreen TV in the main parlor in the Romanokovski mansion. he stared angrily at the security recordings, which were regularly sent to the server at the Romanokovski estate. His sister, Amanda walked in. "Are you still crying over what those punks did to your soda factory." Jack's fat jiggled as he flushed with rage. "Those f***ing f***ers are going to f***ing die! Who the f*** told them about the f***ing money? They will all die!"
Amanda said, "What are you gonna do? Put in an ad in the classifieds?" Jack bellowed with rage. "I will see to it that whoever hit that factory will endure hell on this Earth!"
He stood up and waddled to the phone. "Yeah. This is Jack. You see what those f***ers did to my factory? Yeah. Spread the word around. $10 million to anyone who gets me some good info on those clowns. $100 million to whoever brings them to me alive! If they bring 'em dead, kill 'em too. i want them alive!"
*Siapian currency
IC: Police cars and News Vans surrounded the Siap Cola factory. Inside, factory workers either lay dead on the floor or were being intensely questioned as a while police sloshed around in an inch of standing soda and blood. The bottling equipment was riddled with bullets, which caused it to spray soda at random intervals in almost any direction. Cans of soda were like traps that would send someone to their face in the disgusting floor. Sgt. Matthews walked around while Lt. Shagussy tailed behind, with a sick look on his face. "Sarge, this is disgusting. I am going to barf." The seargent looked around. "Who did this?" Was it the Northerners? Did they want something here?" He walked into the office. A small room adjoining the office contained security monitoring equipment that was also thouroughly perferated The foreman was laying back in his chair, a bullet in his forehead. The wall had a hole smashed in it and a safe was blasted open. A trail of 50 and 100-credit* notes were strewn across the floor, leading to the freight dock. They were beginning to stick to the floor as the soda became a syrup-like layer on the floor. "Lt. Shagussy, do you see anything wrong with this picture?" "I'm more worried about the smell, chief." The sgt. nearly exploded. "LOOK AT THIS!" He pointed at the currency, now permanantly stuck to the floor. "What was this much money doing in a soda factory! They hire convicts! They don't pay the convicts this much! They give them 5 credits a day! Usually in cigs! Why would all this money be here?"
Jack Romanokovski sat in the chair facing the widescreen TV in the main parlor in the Romanokovski mansion. he stared angrily at the security recordings, which were regularly sent to the server at the Romanokovski estate. His sister, Amanda walked in. "Are you still crying over what those punks did to your soda factory." Jack's fat jiggled as he flushed with rage. "Those f***ing f***ers are going to f***ing die! Who the f*** told them about the f***ing money? They will all die!"
Amanda said, "What are you gonna do? Put in an ad in the classifieds?" Jack bellowed with rage. "I will see to it that whoever hit that factory will endure hell on this Earth!"
He stood up and waddled to the phone. "Yeah. This is Jack. You see what those f***ers did to my factory? Yeah. Spread the word around. $10 million to anyone who gets me some good info on those clowns. $100 million to whoever brings them to me alive! If they bring 'em dead, kill 'em too. i want them alive!"
*Siapian currency