NationStates Jolt Archive

((OOC: Continuation of this:
http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=441398 ))

The yellow light of the dim streetlights in the seedy south end of downtown Sofia cast a pale glow on the black streets, unusually quiet at 10 O’clock in a part of town notorious for its after hours activity. A sea of flickering neon signs, most of which included the letter ‘X’ in triplicate, stretched out down the narrow streets casting multi colored glows on worn concrete and brick facades of squat structures, many with windows obscured by curtains or wooden boards. One shop stood out in particular, however, as probably the most well maintained on one particular avenue labeled simply as 85th street.

The front of the building was the same as the others on the streets, flat, plain brick. The sign hanging over the door read in simple printed letters “Ivan’s Guitar Dungeon.” A red glow shown behind one of the showcase windows, illuminating all manner of beautiful custom made axes, none of which carried a visible price tag. It was a simple structure, but those in the business knew that this was the place to come for equipment of the highest caliber, and if Ivan counted you among his friends, it was also the place to come for some of the best parties on the south end.

On this particular evening, a Tuesday, a sign hung on the door to the shop declaring that for all official intent and purpose, it was closed. A warm breeze blew down the avenue, carrying with it some ragged scraps of paper. One scrap was carried by the gust to a resting position over the handlebars of a Harley Davidson, one of several parked in the entrance to an alley beside the shop. There a man in a leather coat stood, the orange glow of a cigarette tip waxing and waning as blue grey smoke drifted up into the glow of a street lamp. The man glanced casually over at the scrap, a torn piece of newspaper, the visible portion of the headline reading “Machine Gun Blazing to Number One.” The man grinned sardonically before dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it under the heel of his leather motorcycle boot.

He turned and walked into the alley, descending a flight of stairs and coming to a solid iron door. He knocked once and the door cracked open, an eye peering out at him. He saw the flash of gold teeth and the door opened completely. A short, stocky man in a wifebeater carrying a bottle of vodka stood in front of the man. The two shook hands.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic on the turnpike.”

“No problem. I keep saying you gotta move back. The rest of your band’s downstairs.”

The man looked at the bottle of vodka. ‘Black Death’ was the label.

“You got anymore of that?”

“Yeah. The good stuff. You got catching up to do. Your boys are already getting smashed.”

The man grinned and walked through the door.

[tag for future IC post]

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taz0rz

ooc:(Beginning of phase "Evanescence can kiss my ass.)
1st IC post was eaten by server.
No more energy for another 1,000+ word post.

ooc: Some NNDB Style Profiles of the Gulag Witches, first the Singer and Rythmn Guitarist Muwa Mai.

Muwa Mai

Born: Nov. 13 1984
Birthplace: Settlement #14, MP Cambodia
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Asian
Sexual orientation: Omnisexual
Occupation: Musician

Level of fame: Famous
Executive summary: The next Syd Barrett?

Father: Vuan Mai
Mother: Kannitha Agoume
Sister: Tevy Mai


Rap Sheet:

Suicide Attempt
Failure to Appear
Assault
Assault
Reckless Endangerment
Drug Possession
Vandalism
Air Rage
Battery
Battery
Attempted Murder
Assault
Battery
Air Rage
Drug Possession
Shoplifting
Stalking
Battery
Attempted Murder
Manslaughter
Disorderly Conduct
Contempt of Court
Violating Probation
Attempted Murder
Risk Factors: Manic Depression, Schizophrenia

Ancestry: Cambodian Ancestry, Vietnamese Ancestry

Discography:
*13th Street (2000)
*Gulag 17 (2002)
*Napalm in My Hand (2004)
*Black Death Vodka (2005)
*Crushed to a Pulp (2005)
*Bloodstained Hurricane (2005)

Official Website:
www.gulagwitches.com

My Own Fields
Instrument: Jimi Hendrix's Fender Stratocaster. Stolen from a museum.
Influences: Max Cavalera, Syd Barrett, Mercedes Lander, Dan Donegan, Jimi Hendrix.
Voice Quality: 4/5 stars
Guitar Quality: 5/5 Stars

ooc: The Guitarist

Ania Chen

AKA: Lyknov Akhatyev

Born: April 14. 1984
Birthplace: Nordic Settlement #213, MP (aka. Nothingfjord)
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Multiracial
Sexual orientation: Straight
Occupation: Musician

Level of fame: Icon
Executive summary: The best guitarist ever. Period.

Father: Jonathan "Rickie" Chen (occupation: Trailer trash)
Mother: Svetlana Akhatyev

Rap Sheet:
A fucking angel.

Risk Factors: Blindness

Ancestry: Generian Ancenstry, Chinese Ancestry

*#26 on RedRevolution's (MP's People Magazine) Most Beautiful Humans list.

Discography:
*13th Street (2000)
*Gulag 17 (2002)
*Napalm in My Hand (2004)
*Black Death Vodka (2005)
*Crushed to a Pulp (2005)
*Bloodstained Hurricane (2005)
*Polluted Earth (2005) (solo album)

Official Website:
www.gulagwitches.com
www.aniasplayground.com

My Own Fields:
Instrument: Ivan's Guitar Dungeon Black Dragon V1.
Influences: Slash, Jimi Hendrix, Alexei Laiho, James Hetfield.
Guitar Quality: 7/5 Stars

In the back alley:

"Lyknov, please don't tell me that you forgot where the door is," snarled a low pitched, more gravelly than Max Payne voice.

"I'm not lost. I simply forgot where the door is," answered a shy, quiet voice, like that of a little girl's; it was barely audible in the darkness of the alley and the ambient noise of Sofia.

"Damnit! It's fucking pitch black here in this alleyway! I can't see a fucking thing! Just hurry up and find the door!"

"I can't see a thing either. Please, just be patient, this isn't easy," replied the quiet voice. "The door's supposed to be some sort of cast iron panel, and the entire wall of this alley's lined with cast iron panels."

"Just hurry up, I'm starting to sweat from these open steam pipes."

"Well, it's not that bad. At least there aren't any rats here."

"Rats? Umm... what kind of rats?"

"Just standard Generian sewer rats."

Another voice joined into the conversation. The voice, clearly belonging to a female, sounded older and more mature than the other 2 participants in the conversation.

"Ah, the Generian sewer rat. Rattus Genericus. They can get up to 10 ft. long and weigh over 350 kilograms. They're opportunistic predators, and they don't hesitate to eat humans when they can."

"Ugh... that's one big rat. Lyknov, please, please hurry up, I don't want to get eaten."

"Are there any open manholes around? If not, they usually don't pose a problem. Unless of course, they remove the manholes themselves."

"I didn't see any manholes on the way here.... So I guess not."

"I think I just asked that question for nothing. I found the door."

A ghost white hand reached up to the door and knocked gently.

(tbc)

Lew Zinov followed the squat man through the door and down a few steps into a dim hallway. A second door, this one wooden, stood at the end of the hall. The ferocious melody of a driving guitar riff grew louder as the two approached the door. They reached the door and the short man grabbed the iron handle and pushed the door inward to reveal a bar room packed with people in varying stages of intoxication. The Generian guitarist grinned and followed the short man inside. At the bar, a man turned around and his expression delighted upon seeing Lew. He stood up, raising a nearly empty bottle of whiskey.

“Look who’s here!”

The man walked over to Lew as the three other members of Machine Gun briefly drew their attention from their booze. Lew grinned slightly as he shook his friend’s hand.

“Good thing you got here before they ran out of booze.”

“You kidding? Ivan never runs out of booze.”

They walked over to the bar and the other members of the band. In the back corner a tall, pale man sat, a thick haze of cigarette smoke hanging around his head. He waved his hand and the cloud swirled as he got to his feet. He walked over to where Lew had just taken a seat with the others. And laid a thin, spidery hand on his shoulder. Lew whipped around, a ferocious look in his eye, but it quickly changed to one of friendship and recognition.

“Ivan. I was wondering when you were gonna show yourself.”

“Hey, you know how things are. I’ve been busy. You kids done well for yourselves though. It’s good to see you come back here to your roots, you know, your own people.”

“Can’t resist coming back. This is where it started.”

The short stocky man, in actuality the nightclub’s manager, Frank Rudovic, had excused himself from the room to go back to manning the door. He heard a soft knocking and undid the deadbolts, opening the door a crack. His metallic grin flashed and he opened the door all the way.

“Come on. Ivan’s downstairs.”

Machine Gun's drummer, Decadus Maximus, was up to his usual activity of causing himself bodily harm in an adrenaline-endused high. Sitting in the room with his fellow band members, he had an IV line connected to a tank of liquid adrenaline going strait to a vein in his neck. Not only this, he had a bottle of Black Death in either hand.

He was in all his glory. As he took a chug from both bottles, he slammed his head as hard as he could into the wall in front of him, made of concrete. He felt nothing as his notoriously thick skull caused the already crater-like dent in the wall to deepin.

He'd been at it for the past hour.

For some reason he never got any dumber doing this.

He was the band's resident big, dumb, strong guy, being of thickset, having enormous, muscular arms, six foot five. Pretty much a stereotypical Doomingslander. Only he could play the drums. And he did that quite well, indeed.

Finishing off one of his bottles, he looked at it sadly. Suddenly, he had what he thought was an ingenious idea. A wry, child-like smile came across his hardened face. Taking the bottle, he smashed it on his head, laughing hysterically as he did so.

Such fun.

"Oh f-...."

The first words that were about come from Lyknov's mouth were, "Oh fuck, it's you." but she cut herself off. Rudovic was her Uncle's employee after all. A really, really, poorly chosen employee, but an employee nonetheless. So she changed it to a simple, "Hello there Frank." Please don't help me downstairs, I'd rather fall and break my wrists, lose my career and be forced to beg for handouts on the streets of Hong Kong, thought Lyknov.

"I suppose you need help... here allow me to..." Rudovic reached for Lyknov's arm with a smile on his face.

"Fuck off, you seedy little douchebag." Muwa stepped in first, dropping Rudovic to the ground with a vicious blow to the gut that made the man drop to his knees in agony. She stepped into the light, a walnut brown Cambodian girl with with wild, untamed hair, and crazed eyes that gleamed like daggers. Lyknov followed in slowly, a thin, ghost-like half asian sporting her trademark sunglasses and carrying 4 guitars, one in each hand and 2 on her back. A blonde with mismatching eye colors, one green, one red came in next, followed by a hybrid clad in skimpy clothes.

15 minutes later, a man in a Tokyo Tigers t-shirt knocked on the door, long after Zinov had closed it.

"Who the fuck are you?" gasped a still hurting Frank Rudovic.

"Umm... my name's Bob, have you seen a girl in sunglasses, followed around by a crazy looking...."

Probably just another stalker.... thought Rudovic as he pulled out a Generian .45 pistol from his back pocket...

OOC: Mature Content. Read at your own discretion

The fast loud moans of a very attractive Generian drew the eyes of several of the patrons. Rob “Pussymeister” Uhlman, the bassist of the band had been at it for quite some time. The Generian woman’s arms shot around knocking over a box of condoms lying next to the two on top of the bar.

One of the patrons watching was quick to point it out, “She knocked over you condoms!”

Rob managed to get out, “Those aren’t mine.”

The Patron’s eyes just got wider, “Haha, that guy rules.”

Several minutes later the two were coming out of the backroom, they had gone in there just to put their clothes back on. Rob had his arm draped over the chick who had had just been ‘working’ with. He could hear the murmurs of the crowd “My god, he had a different chick under his arm this morning.”

He walked up to the other band members, “Oh guys. This is Tanya, she’s the runner up for Miss Sofia. Tanya, the guys.”

Lew looked the girl over.

"We've met."

Decadus turned towards the new arrival and chuckled knowingly, winking at the girl before going back to his head banging.

Lew looked the girl over.

"We've met."

Rob looked over at Tanya, "You whore! Let's go again!"

He slid his hand down her clothes and they walked into the back room again.