Deep in Mistral City's underworld sit a group of men and women in suits, faces covered in the shadows from their fedoras. The room is filled with hazy smoke, a low buzz of noise hanging over the cities most influential people. Even the police have noticed...
Hey-o all you lovely AU loving people! The askthemobscast blog is having an open casting call for some characters! We’re rebooting the blog and in this fresh start we’d like to see some new people in our group. Currently these are the characters open for application. We’re a very friendly group and welcome anyone and everyone! If you’re interested in applying for our group the application can be found here. We also have a set of rules that will have more additions as we see fit but the current rules are here.
Our rp’s are set in the 1920’s when mobsters were getting started or already were established. The Prohibition is in full swing and everyone wants to take advantage of the easy money that can be made, while at the same time making sure they are the only few benefit from it.
sorry (you can answer privately) if I cannot go back two years and read every thread, is there any way I can know what is happening with specific people? I am sorry if it is obvious and am just missing something.
((Tumblr is telling me this is recent, but if not I apologize uouThe blog is restarting somewhat! So there’s no need to catch up with any of the previous content. We’ll be starting fresh with some new ideas.In the future however, we can consider making semi-regular plot updates! They’d be under a plot summary tag if we do :3 T You could also try going through their tag. Thanks for the question! -Mod Tabs))
Hey-o all you lovely AU loving people! The askthemobscast blog is having an open casting call for some characters! We’re rebooting the blog and in this fresh start we’d like to see some new people in our group. Currently these are the characters open for application. We’re a very friendly group and welcome anyone and everyone! If you’re interested in applying for our group the application can be found here. We also have a set of rules that will have more additions as we see fit but the current rules are here.
Our rp’s are set in the 1920’s when mobsters were getting started or already were established. The Prohibition is in full swing and everyone wants to take advantage of the easy money that can be made, while at the same time making sure they are the only few benefit from it.
(And now, the last piece of writing that will take place in the old verse before the reboot happens. After this is posted the blog will go on a brief hiatus as we plan out what the new verse is going to be like. I hope you enjoy!)
"The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands."
"We have done a lot of good work in our time," he said. There was no urgency in his voice. It was that same, raspy, hollow monotone that he always kept. He put out the smoldering ashes of his cigarette and fell into a coughing fit. That was his way. It was the way things always were. "April is the cruelest month."
His associate was changing clothes. The blood was dripping off of his suit and onto the carpet now. Someone would clean it. Another owner, in time. He was glad he wore black. He preferred his violet suit stay clean. "As wind in the dry grass."
"I suppose that this was inevitable, yes? Good things simply do not last. Empires may not retain an emperor. Mortal men have to die, like the rest of the rats." He wore red under his black jacket today. His skin seemed to glow in the light now. Some might have called it heavenly, but that would have been a lie.
"Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu,
Mein Irisch Kind
Wo weilest du?"
"I don't think that we could ever be described as something good. Fun, perhaps. Never good." He straightened his tie. This was the final performance. The big night. The last big musical number on their last night on stage. This was the closing of the
The Ring Cycle
. This was their God-fucking-damned Ride of the Valkyries. "
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom."
"Fun? Never. Business. Completely and utterly. But, there's work to be done. And I'm simply in no shape to handle the working of the kingdom. Enemies have been buried. Debts have been repaid. We close the chapter of this dynasty on a good hand." He stood from his desk and limped to the window. The view was wonderful at night. The sight of smoke and fire gleaming from the industrial zone. This was a good city. Had been. Could be again. Rome was not built in a day. Ten emperors and a great fires needed to shape it into the power it became. Men will die in the aftermath. Someone right will take the reins. "
The broken fingernails of dirty hands."
"I killed seventy-eight people today. From the first floor, coming up. Fucking cops'll be here anytime. We should probably get a move on with all this shit." He spun the mirror on his boss's desk towards himself. The scalpel dances between his fingers for a moment. It was a practiced spectacle he had taught himself over the years. Silver sparkled and spun until he decided the ballet was over. He reached up and sliced along the cuts. Practiced. Muscle memory. No healing. No infections. "This is cactus land."
"Yes, and we cannot sit here quoting poetry all day. Doctor says I don't have long enough to continue on like that." A dry cackle seemed to poor from his lips. "It's funny. I always thought I would perish in a shootout." He sighed and lit another cigarette. "To Carthage then I came."
"Always said you were gonna finish on your own terms. Not sure if these were ever the terms you expected. Still fun, though. I got to kill and a replace a cat under your watch. Can't say I did that regularly before that." He came to the window to take in the view again. There used to be a tower in the skyline. Now there wasn't. That made him smile his deformed smile. "
For thine is
Life is
For thine is the."
"You've been my best soldier for the longest, Mr. Fingers. If not for me, you'd still be murdering farmers serially in some backwards village." The grin was there again. That was the grin that made Strawfingers trust this madman in the first place. Nothing was good about any of this, and yet he was happy. "Shall I at least set my Lands in order?"
"I can't say you're wrong." He stood behind Israphel. He watched the little twitching movement his reflection made. The movement of the fingers. The faltering of his grin. The twitch in the brow. Little things he'd picked up how to read. "Life is very long."
"Oh, now you're just taunting me, you fucker," Israphel laughed. "Yes, let us get this thing done. I want you to know, Mr. Fingers, that I always took you for insane." He took the long breath from his cigarette and flicked it into the corner of the office. The smoke hung around them for a few moments. He took another breath and straightened his tie. He nodded. "This is the way the world ends."
"I'm not insane," Strawfingers said simply. "I'm fucking crazy." He stepped forward. One arm wrapped around Israphel's chest. The other held the scalpel to his throat. "Shantih shantih shantih."
There was no need to apply much force. The cut came swift. The skin broke quickly. The blood sprayed on the window and the old man gave a couple of gasps. He fell and choked a moment. Blood sprayed onto Strawfinger's suit and he jumped back. The body kept moving, but there was no life in it.
Strawfingers sighed. The bloody scalpel returned to his breast pocket. "Fuck," he lamented. As he made his way out of the office to evade the oncoming officers, he finished his thought. "I should have fucking changed clothes after I killed the old fuck."
I’ll be fiddling around with the blogs theme for a while so if you go to the blog and it’s funky, that’s why.
Also, it looks like we’ll be revamping the blog and putting all past arcs and canons behind us and starting fresh in the new world (one that is just a smidgen less dark), stay tuned!
It's been a hard few weeks. Adjusting to life like this was turning out to be harder than he'd anticipated. Every time he made an attempt to move the tongue that wasn't there he thought of Strawfingers grinning and eating it.
He shook the thoughts away, adjusting his hat down. The mobs knew who he was, despite his efforts. The whole Dinosaur thing was falling apart anyway, it'd never really been his best gimmick. The mask had been shit too. Still, he had his guns and his mask, so he had decided to come out tonight and handle this job before anything else.
Teep pulled the wire further down the back of his head. When it irritated his ears, he knew it would stay on. The revolver was in his hand, Super Jim was across his back (if things went wrong).
He walked up to the doors of the would-be pigeon coop. Inside, he heard the radio emitting smooth sounds. He heard the sound of drunken laughter. Safe houses exactly where no one would look for them. He had been informed that these were Creeper houses. He had no proof, of course. Could have been overtaken, if it was actually a mob base.
The exclamations of how some of them bragged about killing others confirmed for Teep that these were definitely someone who needed exterminating.
Extinction, he thought to himself. That was a good one. He'd remember that.
He walked up to the door and tapped it lightly. The radio drowned him out. Thin wood.
He took a few steps back from it. Teep lifted Super Jim off of his back and set up the bi-pod stand on the bottom. The gun was set up on a small pile of bricks, left on the roof, seemingly all roofs, in the case of suddenly needed repairs.
He laid down on his stomach, lining up the sight on the barrel with the door. He slowly loaded the bullet chain into the side, supporting it with one hand to easily feed the gun. Once he was sure he'd set himself up, he opened fire.
The machine gun's sound had never been good to his ears, he hated how deafening it was to be so close. He fired in short bursts, for gun maintenance and for his own ears.
The wood instantly splintered. He heard the brief sounds of screaming, but did nothing to stem the bullets. The door started to open for a moment, and the gun stopped whoever was exiting.
After two minutes, the bullets run out. Teep waited thirty seconds, a man took a step out, dressed in a leather jacket, his hair with far too much gel in it. The man said something, he couldn't make it out. The man extended a gun at him.
Part of his head disintegrated when Teep fired his revolver. No one else made their way out.
He clicked the bipod up, slung the machine gun over his shoulder again. He made his way back to the fire escape and climbed back down to his car. His guns and his mask were left in the trunk. He moved to the driver's seat and started back home to rest. He needed to see Minty in the morning anyway.
She stumbled on her way out of her apartment. Her shirt hadn't even been properly buttoned, as she'd decided she would handle it on her way. She was still fixing her skirt when she dropped the keys. "Fuck," she muttered, crouching to grab them. She worked them into the top lock and twisted until she heard the click. Theclick meant safe from damage.
She lifted her purse, dropped her keys in, and mad her way down the stairs. She opened the door to the street and the city hit her like a ton of bricks. The scent of the pollution, the powerful sun rays, and the sight before her overwhelmed her senses. She covered her eyes from the sun and rubbed them, checking that her vision was not lying.
A man was waving to her. His pants were black. His dress shirt was white. His waist coat was the most vibrant purple she'd ever seen. His hat gray, a purple band wrapped round it.
"Evelyn," his hoarse, giddy voice called out. "Morning! Morning glory and all things holy!"
"Mr. Fingers," Evelyn said, more to herself, and made her way across the street. She quickly buttoned up her shirt. "What're you doing here?"
"Please, today you can call me Straw. Or Jim. It's not my name, but it's easier than other names, I guess."
"You haven't answered my question," she said, impatiently.
He opened the passenger car door for her. "Israphel has put us together for a job of his. I thought it'd be nice to let my man drive us there together." The man whom he'd referred to tipped his hat to her.
Strawfingers was insane, Evelyn had figured out quickly. It honestly made no sense where he'd come from. His motives seemed to shift hourly. He slaughtered men in one second and was talking about how much he loved hoop trundles the next. This sudden turn of heart was actually natural for him, she supposed. "Alright," she answered and stepped into the car.
Strawfingers shut the door. Click.
Click means safety.
He took the seat behind her and they made their way out of the city. "So, what's the job he's got for us, today?"
"We've got a cop, doesn't wanna play ball," Strawfingers lit a cigarette, "I've got him up in a cabin by my second farm, usual place. Goody wants us to talk to him, make sure he comes to our side of thinking. You know. You do the talking. I do the 'talking'. "
"Goody?" She inquired.
"You know, like John's whole Good Man thing? Goody seems content with Reverend John being dead, but I don't wanna forget him so soon."
"You did perform a massacre, which I still have to get sorted out. That's enough for Israphel."
"Yeah," Strawfingers agreed.
Evelyn sighed, supporting her head on her elbow. She stared out the window. The city fell behind them as the road became gravel, then dirt. The skyscrapers and suburbs became corn fields. Soon, the corn fields turned to wheat fields, the cue that they'd entered Strawfinger's zone.
She heard a click behind her. She turned. Strawfingers was loading his gun. "Might have to put a bullet in his knee," he explained, "they always talk after that." Theclick meant protection.
She stared out the window again, watching the wheat zoom past. The scarecrows in the distant made her feel unease. She knew that there was no straw beneath the burlap.
A finger reached over and stroked her shoulder softly.
"I always loved this skin of yours. Such a perfect olive color. Dark, but not too dark. I had a friend once, used to say there was a difference between Foreign dark and nigger dark. I always said, difference between beautiful dark and field dark."
She turned her eyes to get a good look at him, but stopped on the driver. His face was impassive. Not an emotion in sight.
"What are you talking about?" She asked, looking back at him. She shrugged his hand away.
"I don't like my scarecrows darker than my burlap, is all." He smiled softly.
"What are you-?" Click. The click meant resistance.
There was an ear shattering bang. The bullet burst through the upholstery of her seat. Her white shirt seemed to explode upwards, into a read splatter. The bullet struck the windshield and went off into oblivion. She started gasping at nothing.
The driver stopped the car.
She grabbed the door handle as fast as she could. The door flew open and Evelyn tumbled out. She started crawling away in the dirt, as fast as she could from the car. A hand was grasped over the wound in her stomach.
The door opened behind her. The door slammed. She crawled faster, dragging herself by an arm.
Click. The click meant security.
Strawfingers fired his second bullet in the air. Evelyn winced.
Click. The click meant preservation.
Strawfingers fired the third bullet to her right. Evelyn crawled left.
Click. The click meant refuge.
Strawfingers fired the fourth bullet to her left. Evelyn crawled right.
Click. The click meant insurance.
Strawfingers fired the fifth bullet in front of her. Evelyn stopped moving. She started crying.
Click. The click meant salvation.
The sixth bullet struck her spine. She heard the crack. She felt her lower half experience the jolt and she screeched. She felt her organs tear inside her. The bullet had gone through her groin, she could feel the blood pooling beneath her.
Everything felt hot. Everything was going numb.
She looked up at the shadow that came over her.
Strawfingers crouched down and offered her his cigarette. She took it in her lips and took a drag.
"I sorta liked you," he said. "Tolerated you, at the least."
"Please," she squeaked out.
Strawfingers stood, clicked his heels together. The click meant danger.
He stepped over her. Evelyn felt him sit across her back. She shut her eyes. "Please," she begged, but said nothing else.
She felt the scalpel's cold metal on her neck for a moment, then felt the blood spilling out from her neck.
Everything went black after that. But, before the blackness became all that there was, before she found herself in nothingness, she heard him stand. And she heard:
"You usually send Ms. Evelyn to conduct business."
"And she was a much lovelier sight than you. No offense."
"Sadly, due to other engagements, Evelyn will no longer be in my service."
"Shame."
"It is."
"Who have you got to do your field work for you now, then?"
"T h a t w o u l d b e m e."
"You've all met Mr. Fingers."
"Unfortunately."
"I c a n h e a r y o u, f r i e n d."
"Alright, enough bullshit. What's the meaning of this chat?"
"There's been a few complications, to be blunt. Police officers, mostly. I'm hoping that we can turn this around on them, hopefully."
"That's asking quite a bit."
"I believe in all of your abilities. This can be mutually beneficial. I'll get the Mistral Minute in every store. You'll own the racket. My factories are all set up and I'd be more than happy to get all the radios in production. And, Councilman, sir, I have quite the public outcry on my side, and they'd get you into a higher office by Christmas, guaranteed."
"I'd like a bigger office..."
"I don't know about this, though."
"Yeah, what about the blowback on us?"
"I assure you all that it would be strictly beneficial on your ends. Nothing would 'blow back' on you."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that I might need to pass on this one. As much as I'd love to see the paper around, it's just too risky."
"Especially after your whole fiasco with Voxel Inc."
"Took a lot of round-the-clock work to get you in favor with the public after your bought them out."
"I think you'll find that there can't be any dissenters on this decision."
"Why not?"
"M y w a y o f b u s i n e s s i n v o l v e s a g u n t o y o u r h e a d s."
"What?"
"Yes. On this, I hold the cards. I hate doing business like this, but you must understand that it is for all our interests, which are being threatened."
"So what? We just shake your hand or lose our heads?"
"J u s t y o u r b r a i n s."
[THEY SHAKE HANDS, AFTER A TIME, AND LEAVE THE OFFICE.]
"Y o u k n o w t h a t t h e s e a l l i a n c e s w o n ' t l a s t."
"Of course. I have back up plans."
"I n c l u d i n g?"
"Send a telegraph to the Skylords back in Territopia. See if they're willing to offer assistance."
Sips, why is your "stuff" better than others? What makes it stand out?
“‘Stuff?’” The man laughed, as he leaned back in his seat and put out his cigar on the armrest. He reached over and grabbed a fistful of dirt that was on his desk, letting it run through his fingers. “Let me tell you something about my so-called ‘stuff’,” he said, a glint in his dark eyes. “This here SipsCo dirt is so pure, you could fucking eat off of it and it’d make your food taste delicious. You could wipe your ass with this dirt and still eat off off it.” He sat up and held it up to his face, a sly grin creeping across it. “But you might have to be a little more creative if you want the full dirt experience.” He picked out small white flecks in the soil, and took a deep breath, sighing quickly afterwards.
"That’s all the info I’m gonna give you, so unless you’re gonna buy some of this here primo dirt, get the hell outta my office."
Everything was different now. That was the first thing she needed to realize. She slipped out of the paper thin gown the nurses had given her. She'd been wearing it since the mid-summer, since the shooting. A hand wandered across the bandage, wrapped around the center of her bare chest.
She put both hands on her face, pulling her skin down. This was the first time she'd gotten to see herself in a mirror since being admitted to the hospital, and she could tell she'd lost weight here. They kept her diet strict. Her face was gaunt, her skin paler than it had been. She combed her bed-messed hair until it cooperated and became straight, joining the rest of her shorted locks where it touched her collar bone.
She reached into the bag that had been brought to her. She slipped on her undergarments, sighing at how loose some of it felt on her. Then, the sunday dress, a light green with dark blue lacing. She took another few minutes, combing her hair into submission, examining her figure to see what the stay in the hospital had done to her.
She left the gown on the sink and went back into her room. There was a little piece of green aluminum on her pillow, beneath a sign that read: "We hope you enjoyed your stay!"
She smiled, grabbed the mint from the pillow and unwrapped it. She tossed it in her mouth as she walked outside.
"Here's your bag," she spoke softly. She cleared her throat and handed it to Teep.
Teep took it from her, put his arm around her shoulders, and walked her out to his car.
"Paper work all handled?"
He nodded. It felt nice to go through the city again. The buildings were as tall as she remembered. Massive monuments that she always had to remind herself were made by actual men. The buildings got bigger, and bigger, then smaller. And she kept wondering what was missing, to remember that Voxel Tower used to be there.
Finally, they stopped. Minty barely recognized it. Freshly painted, the little green monster on the top had been replaced entirely, all new neon lights flashings. The glass was no longer shattered, newly replaced windows. Any signs that there had ever been a shooting here was completely covered now.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "Did you do this?"
Teep smirked. Nodded.
"Thank you." She leaned over, giving him a kiss. "And thanks for the lift home." She opened the door.
Teep pointed at himself, then the bar.
"No," Minty answered, stepping out. "I think I just need to be alone here for a bit. I'll see you later." She shut the door; Teep waved and went off while she went in.
The floors were fixed, the back wall freshly plastered, the whole front room just looking so much more appealing than she remembered, but that might have been how long she'd been away.
She walked behind the counter and stomped on the loose board. Still loose.
She moved it aside and lifted a bottle of whiskey she'd kept hidden. Still there.
The glasses had been neatly stacked by, she assumed, Teep. So, she filled a glass and stared at the amber liquid for a while. Her tongue did a once-over on her lips, as she remembered how dry her throat had been. She downed the glass in one go.
A smile lit up Minty's face and she leaned forward on the bar, on her spot, supported by her elbow.
The preparation for the holidays, in some cases, also require reconciliation.
It is an unfortunate practice that needs to be adhered to. Sometimes, there are damages committed to others that simply need to be rectified, for the sake of procuring an assistant of sorts when the tides of the oncoming war are ahead.
These situations were unfortunate, no where near as fun as other holidays, but they were realities. No matter how hard you tried, however, realities could not always be avoided, no matter how fun your own fantasies are.
For this particular set of reconciliation, Strawfingers tracked down the house he'd broken into all those months ago. Getting in was as easy as he'd remembered it being, all signs still signifying that the supplier was still living here.
He left the pet carrier on the man's table. He attached a note to it:
For Mr. Nilesy,
A gift. All has been forgiven.
Your friend,
Strawfingers.
He reached into the carrier, pet the black kitten, which purred and nuzzled his hand, before making his way out of the house and leaving the door unlocked.
Friendly reminder that if you send questions, make sure it's addressed to someone specific, or you make it clear it's to everyone. I have a few sitting in my inbox that I really don't know who to send to, and I may just send it to a random character as doing an all question takes more work especially if it's a more role-play-ie type question :)
