NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Based off the Black Light District (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=557858) thread, this has been created by popular demand. Organized crime-based RP - while not something all that common to ViZion, it should make a great RP considering what the Black Light District is... :) All are welcome to join! Please post the following information in your intro post!

Age:
Sex:
Name:
Nationality: (ViZionarian or other - please specify)
Criminal?: (Y/N; You can RP someone who's there to have some fun and... ends up in a tight situation...)
Organization Leader? (Y/N)
If Yes... Choose Your Turf: (Check club list - if nothing but the street is available, you'll have to battle for your turf...)
Physical Stats: (Height, Weight)
Other Physical Information: (Hair & skin color, build, looks, etc)
Other Information: (Whatever you'd like to say)

List of Clubs (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=557858)

IC:
The Black Light District. Parties. Raves. Clubbing. Beautiful woman. Rich guys. And the center of the not-so-legal organizations. You might be here to party - but more than likely, you're NOT here to be completely legal. And if you are - well, lets just say that will change. Ahh, the Black Light District. And the sweet smell of dirty money, powerful drugs, strong drinks, and the delicious booty.

A large, black Cadillac limousine pulled onto the strip, its interior totally invisible behind tinted and, unbeknownst to anyone outside 'the family', bulletproof windows. With a roar it propelled itself along the street and gracefully came to a stop outside one of the many clubs lining the street.

A driver in a long black waistcoat with matching hat stepped out of the vehicle and walked to the rear passenger door facing the club. Three men in black silk suits stepped out and created a ring around the door of the car. A fourth figure stood up from within the limo's confines. The Dominion Civil Authority's dossier on him reads as follows:

Name: Francis 'Frankie' DeLuca
Age: 45
Sex: Male
Nationality: None (Slaughterian by birth, but citizenship was revoked under Penal Code #45721-A)
Criminal?: Head of the DeLuca Crime Family
Physical Stats: 5'5", 192lbs.
Other Physical Information: Black hair and eyes with no facial hair currently and slight paunch from a lavish diet
Other Information: Never moves without at least trusted guns, has reportedly opened up a small club in the nation of ViZion; INTERPOL forces have not yet been appraised

The short man stared at the building through mirrored sunglasses, scrutinizing it. With a smile and a laugh that shook the street, he ran to the building as his entourage followed. Turning the key and casting open the door, he proclaimed loudly in a thick Italian accent,

"The Alley's open for business! We start the party in five hours!"

With that the group went inside as the driver brought limo around back to a private lot.

Age: 24
Sex: Male
Name: Markus Grant
Nationality: Orbathian
Criminal?: Yes
Organization Leader? Yes
If Yes... Choose Your Turf: StreetShotz Club
Physical Stats: (Height, Weight) 6' 7'', 193lbs
Other Physical Information: Brown Hair, Blue Eyes, Muscular Build
Other Information: See Below

3 Months Prior
Markus Grant was tired.... a feeling he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He figured it was because of the long amount of time he had spent on a semi private jet destined for Vizon. Markus wasn't usually one to complain, however, he wasn't exactly happy about his flight. He never liked flying to start with, the flight was too long and he hadn't gotten a private flight like he had hoped for. It was unfortunate, he wasn't rich enough. Markus contemplated sleeping, but instead decided to take a look at his motivation for the whole ordeal, a magazine article in a popular club magazine.

Markus Grant; Up and Coming Club ''Baron''
The Beginning
Markus Grant was only eighteen when his father was killed. Suspicion surrounded his death, many spoke of a possible hit, the media spent days around the family home and the many clubs, hounding Markus Grant. Many would crumble in the limelight, under all that pressure. Not Markus. Two days after his Father's death, he inherited four clubs and two bars. Shortly after, he held a press conference in front of thousands and millions at home. Markus intended to continue to build his father's empire.

The Decline & Rebirth
Entertainment was something the people of Orbath loved, but with an increasingly tough police presence, and the collapse of the few crime groups which thrived in the entertainment district and clubs, the urban, ''street'' style of club and music which Grant's clubs brought suddenly seemed foriegn in their home lands. Stock prices began to drop and so did the Grant fortune. Luckily, Markus stepped in and spent the last of the fortune, compelling overhauling the clubs to modernize them. He also began to host MMA sporting events, a new but very popular sport in Orbath. Within weeks, the clubs had new life, still nothing like their former glory.

Markus shut the magazine, placed it on a nearby table as his eyes began to droop....

Present Day - StreetShotz
Markus was seated in the StreetShotz office, a place he could nearly call home, after all, since the club had opened three months prior, he had spent most of his time inside the very room. Perhaps that would explain why it was so lavishly decorated. The floors and walls were made from black marble, the couches and chairs black leather and the tables, picture frames and doors a very shiny steel. It would almost look futuristic except for the many pictures, album covers and records which hung around the room.

Markus kicked his rather expensive loafers up onto his black and steel desk, taking care not to spill his glass of imported champagne, or kick his ashtray to far from reach. Four men, all donning nearly identical black suits watched him intently, after all, he had called them and they were waiting for him to tell them what he wanted.

''You are all aware of why I hired you, is that correct,'' Markus said coolly.

One of the four men, a well built and black haired man responded in a russianish accent.

''You wanted people with experience...street experience.''

The room went silent as Markus puffed from a fine cigar.

''That is true, most of the people employed in my clubs are former criminals, many former members of organized crime groups,'' Markus let his words hang over the men in the room. They could feel that there was more coming.

''So why then, would I employ these people in a legitimate business?''

The men were unsure. They certainly weren't stupid, however this was something they had never considered. Before they could answer, he answered for them.

''Legitimate business is hard and grueling. The richest people on earth could still be richer. It is no secret that my father's clubs were not his only asset. It probably is no secret to you all that I am nearly broke. I couldn't make the money I intend to make in Orbath... too many cops, too much in my way. The risk isn't worth the gain.''

Once again the room became silent as Markus puffed from his cigar. Without warning he flung his feet from his desk to the floor, tilting forward. His feet hit the floor with a loud clap.

''Here I can make it big. There is little organized crime, few to get in my way. I intend to become very wealthy and in turn, so will you. That is why I hired you. You are the best.''

Inside the men felt proud, after all, compliments weren't often paid to men of their nature. Outside they remained emotionless and hard.

''Sergai, my arms expert.''

Markus turned his attention to the man with the russianish accent whom had answered his question earlier. He was a rather tall, tough looking man with short hair and an unmistakable scar on his left cheek. Although nobody could tell, he carried a pair of SIG P226 pistols in shoulder holsters under his coat and a rather large knife strapped to his shin.

''Jackson, my drug lord.''

Markus now turned to a young, short black male, with short black hair and a goatee. He was the youngest of the men and looked the most out of place, he didn't seem to fit the expensive suit he wore. He had a Glock 17 stuffed into his waistband, covered by his sport coat.

''Rider, my muscle.''

He turned to a very large, very built white male with buzzed brown hair and deep green eyes. He was the oldest of the men and most certainly the toughest. Thought they couldn't been seen, he had many scars all over his body. He also had a Glock 17 stuffed into his waistband, but he also had a large knife strapped to his shin like Sergai.

''Of course, B... my bodyguard, expert wheelman and professional fighter.''

He turned to a muscular yet short white male, also with buzzed hair, though it was blonde and he had blue eyes. Though he didn't have any scars, nor had he seen much crime, he was a very experienced fighter. This man carried no weapon, but didn't need one.

''I have some contacts back in Orbath, they have been struggling to get a drug shipment into Orbath but can't. They have agreed to sell it to me at a fraction of the cost. I need you to go down to the pier, convince the dockworkers not to inspect this particular ship and we will be in business.''

The four men stepped out into the growing heat, onto the streets of the entertainment district. A car had just been dropped off for them, one of several purchased just for the club. It wasn't as luxurious as what they were used to in Orbath, but the black Bentley Continental would certainly do the trick. Jackson immediately cranked the stereo, blasting some loud rap music and the car sped off through the district, towards the piers. After quite the drive, they arrived at a gate which lead into the dockworkers area. The car was parked just out of sight, so if things got ugly, their car wouldn't be recognized. They approached the booth and B, likely the most physically attractive of the group spoke to the woman inside.

''I'm looking for the foreman, do you think you could help me out?''

Age:24
Sex:male
Name:Emperor Carlos Wesker
Nationality: Imperial
---------
Carlos pulls up the M12 (http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t69/zxc_047/Imperial%20MT%20Navy-Army-Air%20Forces/M-21WarHogLVS.jpg)War Hog that he got from the embassy an gets out.

Carlos dressed in Formal (http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t69/zxc_047/Imperial%20MT%20Navy-Army-Air%20Forces/NewMaleFormaldressUniformMT-PMT.jpg) dress uniform and wearing as standard with BDU and formal ,his Dragoon (http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t69/zxc_047/Imperial%20MT%20rifle/DragoonCombatPistol.png)and Combat (http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t69/zxc_047/Imperial%20MT%20rifle/ImperialArmyCombatKnife.jpg) Knife, looks around before walking to left hand side to open the door for his wife Mate who only a month ago had given brith to thier twins
"you still beautiful and you a good mother" he say to her

Age: 37
Sex: Male
Name: Erich Senghaas
Nationality: Zaheranian
Criminal?: Yes
Organization Leader? Yes
If Yes... Choose Your Turf: The Gentleman's Oasis
Physical Stats: 182 cm, 78 kg
Other Physical Information: Black hair, grey eyes, fit
Other Information: A career criminal since the age of fifteen, Erich Senghaas is one of Zaheran's most feared crimelords. While he has never been arrested, it is widely known that he is a prominent figure in the criminal world, specialising in money laundering and fraud. Despite this, he is respected by the police, as he hates drug dealers and have stopped all selling of narcotics in the areas he controls. He is charming and charismatic, the perfect gentleman in every sense.

The black limousine stopped ouside the Gentleman's Oasis. Erich Senghaas, the owner of the club, climbed out of the vehicle. His bodyguard handed him the cane he always carried. The seemingly harmless accessory had a concealed secret: a 15 inch blade that could be released with a hidden mechanism, transforming the innocent cane into a deadly weapon. It was the only weapon he carried, and so far it had been enough. Many had thought that he was foolish to not carry more modern weapons, but they were all dead now, while he still was alive and more powerful than ever. And now he was here, in Vizion, inspecting his first foreign investment. Not bad for the son of a sheep farmer. He walked up the marble stairs to the main entrance, stroking the mahogny handrail. Not bad at all. The construction team had followed his instructions to the letter. He opened the door and walked in. Soft piano music filled the air. A courteous servant immediately took his coat, another offered drinks from a silver tray. Precious art adorned ever wall, exquisite carpets covered the floors. A group of businessmen in expensive suits were dining, others were reading newpapers or discussing quietly. Erich smiled. This was his kind of place.

Age: 29
Sex: Male
Name: Paul Darlton
Nationality: Belschaft
Criminal?: Yes
Organization Leader?: Yes (sort of)
Turf: Venue
Physical Stats: 6'4'', 17lbs
Other Physical Information: Caucasian, light brown hair, green eyes, medium build, physically atractive
Other Information: The son of Darlton Hotel founder Joseph Darlton, Paul Darlton became a playboy, having a great time but not amounting to much. While in one of a strip clubs back room's he got carried away and one thing led to another, and a girl was dead. His father got him out of the country quickly, and sent him to run his ViZion branch of his hotel empire, hoping to finally make something of his son.




Paul Darlton pulled up outside the hotel in a TVR Grifith. While not the worlds most expensive car, it certainly was one of it's prettyest, and most pointlessley extravagent. The hotels manager was waiting for him, instructed to by his father. He tossed the middle aged man his keys with a wink and strode in to the opulent lobby.

Causually taking of his shades he said one word - "Nice."

There is a building in the Black Light District that most think is but a fortuitiously located warehouse, storing liquor and other club necessities. The building has been there a long time, or most think it has. It takes up an entire block and is a simple rectangle - multistorey brick building with no windows. It isn't really a warehouse, but most think that it is, because the owners desire it to be thought of that way.

The signage is discrete - no neon, no spotlighting, just a small plaque next to a solidly constructed door that says : Cains

But that is all that is needed, for those who come to enjoy a night out, need no other clue, nor want more advertisement.

Even the underground parking garage that is situated across the street apparently serves a different building entirely. And the parking garage has live attendants to vette those who would park there. They also double as very experienced ...janitors.

The Night Life like their privacy.

OOC: This RP is based off of the other thread, but it's an organized crime RP - so please post the information as requested if you are entering it. Note - no zombies or anything in this RP.

Age: 20s
Sex: Female
Name: Ruby
Nationality: Greywatch
Criminal?: Yes [Assassin]
Organization Leader?: No
If Yes... Choose Your Turf: N/A
Physical Stats: 5'8", 152lbs
Other Physical Information: Pale skin, blue eyes, Red hair, looks younger than she is, and his muscular.
Other Information: Changes clothing based on mission but typically wears black clothing with very thin body armor. Also typically wears a trenchcoat or vest. Her shirt is specially made so that it comes up to the bridge of her nose, doubing as a partial mask. Her normal pants are cargos, she also typically carries a cellphone, shade goggles, and a wallet with about $50 in cash and all the other stuff that'd be in a wallet. She also has a gun lisence. She specializes in hand-to-hand combat and bladed weapons. Likes to carry concealed knives with her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ruby had arrived only a few hours ago and she had already found her way to the Black Light District. Her brother had told her about this place and she decided to give it a shot. She was half on vacation and half looking for some work. She'd only brought a little cash with her so a job would be nice, and where else would she look than in the darkest parts of town. She got out of the taxi, bag on her back and looked around, this would be interesting...

Age: 200+
Sex: Female
Name: Jazz
Nationality: IDuC - Carnivalian
Criminal?: Y
Organization Leader? Yes
Turf: Cains
Physical Stats: 5 '7" / 120 #
Other Physical Information: Black hair/ Dark Hazel eyes/ very fair complection/ luscious but not overblown feminine build / drop dead gorgeous

Other Information: "She's the golden girl of the Vampire world, born with not a silver spoon between those perfect lips, but a platinum one encrusted with blood rubies...

More to come...

Age: 25
Sex: Male
Name: Frank Gordon
Nationality: Fraedon
Criminal?: Yes - "Hacker"
Organization Leader? No
Physical Stats: (Height, Weight) 6'3'', 75 kg
Other Physical Information: (Hair & skin color, build, looks, etc) Blonde hair, blue eyes. Fit, but not muscly.

His youthful looks and boyish features perfectly mask the cold, calculating criminal within. His first crime was credit card fraud at age 10, and he is known in hacker circles as "Apple", a tribute to his Apple Air which he is never seen without.



Frank Gordon took another sip of his latte. Not the kind of thing you'd expect to see in the Black Light District - didn't really fit with the place. You could be mistaken for thinking he'd taken a wrong turn, a tourist who'd stumbled down the wrong alleyway. Who were you to know that you were looking at one of the greatest hacker in the history of the 'net?

He finished the latte and dropped it to the ground. Littering - hardly the biggest crime. Humming to himself a tune his mother had taught him, he tapped the "send" button on an email on his patent Apple Air. He had arrived.

"So" said Paul Darlton to the increasingly iritated manager "what's a guy to do around here?"

"This is a club district sir." Said the man allready contemplating early retirement. "I presume you would go to a club. I understand that is all you do seem to do."

"Great, great. Yeah, anymore backchat and your looking for a new job grandpa. Where's the swankiest joint in town?"

"Here sir. The Darlton ViZion is the most opulent location in town."

"Aside from here. It's to stuck up for me."

"You could try the The Gentleman's Oasis sir. It is quite high class, and expensive though."

"Who cares" sneered Paul Darlton "I can probobly aford to buy the damn place."

(bump)

OOC: I assume that you RP the clubs that have not yet been claimed?


The Gentleman's Oasis

Erich Senghaas walked into the heavily guarded cellar of the club. The room was the real centre of the Senghaas Syndicate's criminal activity in ViZion. Weapon racks had been mounted on the walls, displaying an impressive arsenal of everything from pistols to anti-tank missiles. Bullet-proof vests had been stacked up in a corner, ammunition boxes in another. Ten men were sitting around a table in the middle of the room, chatting quietly with each other. They were formally dressed and looked like harmless businessmen, but all had the cold eyes of the born murderer. They were the men the Syndicate engaged to deal with it's dirty business, and they were all experts. Most had killed before, many more than once. They became silent as Senghaas took his seat at the table.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope that you have had a pleasant journey. As you have seen, we have invested quite a lot in this place. Now it's time to reap what we have sown. To start with, we'll sell some "insurances". You know the rules. if they pay they get protection, if not, you'll arrange a little "accident". The same if they call the police. It might take some time before the message to get through, but then we've got us some lucrative business. Understood?"
The men nodded.
"Good. Our first "customer" will be Cool Cats. Take what you need from the arsenal, but nothing to heavy. We don't want to start a war."


Two hours later
Cool Cats

Two black cars parked outside the jazz club Cool Cats. Five men dressed in black suits and sunglasses stepped out and walked towards the entrance. The others waited inside the cars, providing backup if it became necessary. The first group walked forth to the guard at the door. "Good evening. Can we speak to the manager, please?" The tone was polite, but there was a hint of threat in the voice. He smiled wickedly. "We have some business to discuss."