#intro rps

[zephyr-control]

farrow combs

timing is ~2 years ago

It wasn’t too difficult to find them. Aside from the smoking and oozing and general malaise of a closely-packed group of people, it was cold and wet and any creature who minded it smelled like they did. A sharp, tangy bite of discomfort, and Combs followed it like a trail.

He’d been watching them for a good hour or more, loping quietly through neighboring alleys and pausing now and then to prick his ears. He knew that even in the dark of night, with a wind off the sea and fog rolling in, there was only so much a massive dog could do to stay hidden.

Shedding the guise of the Shuck, Combs rounded the corner and surveyed them for a moment. He took in a barrel-chested lungful of air and stared at the few keeping watch, eyes glittering doglike in the dark. Manners were a bit of a mystery to him, but he had a hunch that strolling in as a wild animal may not get him an express ticket to see the kelpie. So he stood, and waited to be acknowledged.

Rhiannon breathed out a gust through her nostrils, eyes feeling heavy. Doing minutely scans of the area caused her to notice the new figure fairly quickly, and she pushed off the wall to stand straight. Rhiannon made an effort to lock eyes with him, position defensive. There was something feral in the interaction, staring across the distance. Thinking on it, there was something especially feral about the figure in general. She looked him over, rolled her shoulders, and relaxed back again against the brick. It was as much of an invitation as she felt like giving to a stranger when her gang was sleeping and vulnerable not far away.

Combs waited until the woman went back to leaning against the wall before he began to pick his way amongst the sleeping figures, walking silently and carefully even with his scuffed shoes. She hadn’t hesitated to make eye contact with him, and he sensed almost immediately that she wasn’t one to tangle with. The kelpie herself, no doubt.

He stopped a couple arms’ length away from her, thinking it wise to let them both keep a bit of distance. “You’d be Rhiannon, then?” he said in a quiet but gravelly voice. “Been hearin a thing or two, one o’which says you’re looking for folks to do with help.”

Rhiannon looked over coolly, appreciating the distance. And the quiet. Water trickled down the wall behind her silently. Waiting a moment to reply, she crossed her arms. Her slow response had less to do with impressing anyone and more to do with lethargy. She didn't feel like confirming that he had the right monster, instead skipping over the question.

"A thing or two, huh?" She inquired vaguely. Safely. Rhy slanted her eyes at him, breathing the air deep. The scent of the ocean filled up her lungs, comforting, and a reminder that water wasn't far away. "Yeah, that might be true." It was. Now was a crucial time to get and recieve favors, right before the move. She had to be cautious, though, in case this guy was looking for trouble. "Why, are you interested?"

Combs cocked his head slightly and stole a glance at the creatures sleeping behind them. “I am,” he growled, gaze flicking back to her. “Name’s Combs. Farrow Combs.” His accent was lilting, at odds with his gruff and feral demeanor.

“Not goin to beat aroun’ the bush none,” he added, shifting his weight and regarding her closely. “’M not lookin for any favors myself. Just a place to settle down a bit, somewhere suitin’ for a Shuck.” He paused. “…But I didn’t figure your neighbors Uptown’d suit me any.” He bared his teeth in a sharp grin, fangs glinting in the dim light. “Thought you might want a lad willin to work for you, throw a bit o’ bad luck at those that do you wrong. ‘S the only real thing I can do, 'side from fightin if I have to."

Shuck. That made sense. She returned his grin with a wry smile, slightly bitter at the thought of the other gang. She looked Combs over, closer now, and considered. The instant he'd mentioned looking for a place to stay, he gained a good amount of favor in her eyes, and now all she needed was a reason to refuse. The willingness to repay that he showed was a nice benefit, but not entirely necessary. So long as he was one of their numbers, could help keep them stable, he was helping. Stability, that was what they needed now, stability and... a way to fix up that potential base. Right. Rhiannon looked Combs squarely in the eye. "You know anything about home repair?"

He blinked. “I do if y’got a home what needs repairin,” he said, and gave a quiet barking laugh. “Not many in Bungay that can’t make do with a tool, even an old dog like me.” A glint of green shone in his wide eyes. “You needin a place to settle down in, then? More like you’ve got one already, but it don’t suit you yet.” He reached up and scratched behind his ear, seemingly ignoring his own claws. “If I can come back t’it when I need to, I’ll help fix up whatever home you got.” Not that he would mind a life of roaming that much, but it would be good to have a place to settle again. Even if it wasn’t much like Suffolk.

Rhiannon let a smile pull at her mouth when he laughed. She was starting to warm up to this guy, although his perceptiveness did make her slightly uneasy. Still, he was being helpful, and it would take a load off her shoulders. Adding another helper to the mix wasn't going to be a bad thing. Besides, Combs gave off a kind of 'lone wolf' vibe, and Rhiannon got the feeling he wouldn't need too much coddling. "I can show you to it once the sun's up. It's not much of anything yet, just some human house that got... emptied." She spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to give away the location or plans to claim it before she had people there. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this on the down low." She glanced at him, guarded trust shining in her eyes. Rhy hoped she got the significance across. The first task, the first thing she'd trust Combs with. Hopefully not the last. "I don't want anyone getting excited."

Combs grinned his toothy grin, and dragged a long claw in an “X” across his chest. “Cross m’heart,” he rasped, and then held out his hand as if to shake. “I’ll go as a dog if it suits ya, no way to tell anyone a thing that way.”

He stared at her while he waited for her to take his hand. Combs knew a thing or two about kelpies, being from the Isles, and one of those things was that it was no small risk to touch one. The gesture would be more convincing than an empty promise, he was willing to bet.

Rhiannon's gaze flicked between Combs and his hand, an eyebrow raising skeptically. He wasn't an idiot. She was sure he knew exactly what shaking a kelpie's hand might entail. With very slight hesitance and a strong grip, she grasped the clawed appendage and shook. No going back now, she supposed. Rhy kept a steady gaze on him as she safely released his hand. After a moment, she looked away, and shoved her hands in her pockets. She wasn't sure how far she could trust Combs, but it was good enough for now, and she liked that he didn't have to say much to communicate. If he was as good at housework as he was at small gestures, they'd have the place patched up in no time. All in all, she didn't mind providing him with a place. He deserved it, as far as she could tell. He was certainly dirty enough to fit in with the rest of them. "Good. We'll leave at sunrise." Shadows to get out of the city safely, light to be able to work in. She spared him a glance, part curiosity and part sincere concern. "Do you sleep?"

“When it suits me,” he shrugged, putting his own hand in the pocket of his peacoat. “An I eat when it suits me, an most else the same.” She had a soft heart in her, but not a foolish one. It was more than a little unexpected but not unwelcome either. A bit of a hard one to figure out, that was for sure. Combs decided to look forward to the task.

“I’ll be a bit slower in th’sun, but I’ll work on the inside parts til dusk I suppose.” He cocked his head again, but this time the other way, like a dog with its ears pricked. “An I thank ya, for putting me up.”

"Alright," Rhiannon aquiesced, deciding not to worry about food and a place for him to sleep for the moment. He could manage. "You need anything, you ask," she noted, cracking her knuckles and blinking tiredness out of her eyes. The sky was going pitch in the way it always did a short while before the sun came up. "No need to thank me. It's a fair trade, and it's what I'm here for." She took a deep breath and stretched, blood burning back into her muscles. One of her legs was numb."'Sides," Rhy muttered, "I don't trust any of the other members with a hammer."

“Depends on what they use it for, eh?” He said, with one last toothy grin. And then with a faint sighing noise, the man was gone, replaced by a huge black dog that was still grinning broadly up at her. Combs was considerably more eerie this way, but also more comfortable, and he also felt that he had nothing else to say on the matter. But he stayed put at least, saucer-eyes staring at Rhiannon with an unidentifiable expression. It had gone better than he hoped, really.

Rhiannon smiled, taking in the new dog form and finally shaking out the pins and needles in her left leg. "Alright," she said, nudging one sleeping lump with her foot and hoping it would wake up the others. Golden sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It'd be dark for another hour, at least, and emptied house wasn't far away. She resisted the urge to scratch fuzzy ears and started off, wondering if they might steal a hammer along the way. "Let's get going."

[zephyr-control]

samson

timing is ~1 and a half years ago

Rhiannon leaned to blow life back into the dying fire. The pile of ashes smoldered, unresponsive. If she was being honest, it only counted as a fire in that it was actually on fire- the stack of newspapers she'd dropped in the middle of the room and soaked in gasoline didn't turn out to be as homey and comforting as she'd hoped. Nevertheless, it was a little warmer in the drafty room, and the soft light made it harder to see that huge hole in the wall. Kind of. If you squinted. A few months ago, Rhiannon had heard about a human family that disappeared from the slums, and had seized the opportunity to steal a house. It wasn't the most glamorous, with questionable dark stains and the residual signs of a fight, but you could tell a family used to live here. Homey chairs, a large dinner table, a couch, and a shattered TV. Rhiannon loved it. It made for a good space to start encouraging the gang mentality. This particular bedroom was mostly empty except for the fire and two cushy, if wobbly, chairs; the bed had been moved downstairs to the kitchen, for storage. It had been cleared out for the purpose of inviting new members in, and thus was a little bare. Hard to tailor a room to someone's needs if you haven't met them yet. There was a patch gone in the cream carpeting, where the fire sat. Safety first, after all. A lone nightstand was behind her, unused and excluded. Rhy was considering using it for firewood when a sound on the stairs brought her back to reality, and she straightened up, a practiced smile lighting her cheeks.

Samson had to be careful getting to the house in the slums, becoming incorporeal until he slipped indoors. He had drifted halfway up the stairs before he realized that just appearing randomly in front of his new boss might not be the best idea. He let out a huff, massive paws pressing down on the stairs hard enough to creak and bend under his weight. His tail wagged as he rounded the corner into what appeared to have been a mortal’s bedroom at one point, but was now inhabited by a kelpie and a small fire. Ignoring the chairs, he padded up towards the fire before plopping down. It didn’t make a difference in the temperature for him. Being dead is always cold. He certainly hoped it did for her though, because judging by the hole in the wall it was probably cold for someone without fur. Samson’s red eyes reflected the red fire, making them shimmer. He spoke without moving his mouth, jaw still held tightly shut. “Hello. Name Samson. You… Rhi-anne-no?”

Rhiannon stared at the being that entered her room, not great with hiding her emotions. She wasn't dissapointed or all that confused, just... surprised. No fully animalistic creatures had approached her gang yet. Thinking back on it, she didn't see them that often around the city. It was understandable, because Zephyr was still densely populated with humans, and being so blatantly -not that- was dangerous. Her eyes brightened. This was someone she could help. Samson's manner of speaking further sparked her interest. It wasn't something to question, and considering how diverse nonhuman species were, not entirely unusual, but she wasn't in close contact with anyone who could do it. Rhy rested her chin on her hand to be more level with the newcomer. "Close," she replied, amused. "Rhiannon. But yeah, I'm who you're looking for." She readjusted, straightening up to stretch and then slouching back down again, but more elegantly. It didn't seem like this guy had any major red flags. That was nice. "Why're you here, Sam?"

“Thank Rhiannon! Got it. Will remember.” Samson said, this time pulling his mouth back into a smile. Hopefully his fangs didn’t make it look too menacing. "Here because help. Sorry, can help. Need help. Both."

Samson's toothy grin was infectious, as little as Rhiannon would like to admit it, and she couldn't help returning one of her own. The doggy charm was seriously distracting. When he spoke, she refocused on his words. 'Help'. That was always a key one, and she tried to stifle the surge of hope that ran through her stomach. "What do you need help for?" Rhiannon hated having to ask simple questions before accepting someone in, but it was always possible Samson had motives that conflicted with her own. He sounded urgent. She flexed her fingers eagerly.

She smiled back at him, and he couldn’t help but wag his tail. “Right! Help. Watch.” He said simply, before his form twisted, black smoke twisting into a new shape. When it was done seconds later, a humanoid shape appeared in front of her. Humanoid but certainly not human. The man, if it could even be called that, was a deep jet black. Apart from eyes and a mouth, it lacked facial features. Fur draped down like a mane around his head and chest. The mouth was filled with razor-edged teeth, and the eyes were the right shape, but were still bright red, clouded with swathes of white. “Am vet. Good doctor. Not human. Can’t shape right. Rhianne help?”

Rhiannon sat back to watch the change, eyes wide. "Wow, uh, you..." She glanced the figure up and down. Mildly horrifying, sure. But maybe that was a benefit. She took it in stride, looking back up. "You got a little to work on there, buddy." Samson was right, he definitely wasn't human. Maybe if they gave him enough coats, and a hat, and... a ski mask... She furrowed her brow. It was humanoid, at least. And he could talk. She could work with that. The irony of a creature such as this one being a vet didn't escape her. Still, that was good. Very good. For all the violence Shynki members were intent on, they didn't have a great aftercare system. Mostly it was 'stitch up and shut up', which was far from Rhiannon's ideal. She contemplated, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and crossed her arms indecisively. (Mostly this kinda stuff was for show. Didn't want members thinking it was easy to get in here.) She exhaled, eyeing Samson. "Alright. And call me Rhy," she added dryly, hoping it'd be easier. "I'll help you with what I can, and in return you do some med work. Can you handle yourself in a fight?"

“Lots of work. Look scary.” Samson said as he quickly shifted back into himself, shaking the black smoke back into his fur. It was uncomfortable staying like that for too long. He scratched at his ear idly, making sure it was formed right. His attention snapped back as she spoke again. She looked skeptical for a second, but it honestly flew over his head. His tail started wagging again. “Thank Rhy! Am good doctor! Will help.” Fighting was the part of the job he was less excited about, but not by much. Admittedly, it could be fun to be scary for once. He rose and stood on all fours, fur bristling and making him appear even bigger than he already was. Had to make a good impression! He was about the size of a large horse, claws shiny and teeth sharp. “Sammy big dog. Sammy dead. Sammy good dog, will fight. Help Rhy.”

Rhiannon grinned, huge and predatory. The bristling, rearing beast in front of her was definitely, positively, absolutely something she could work with. He didn't even have to fight, mostly, so long as he played nurse for the others and looked intimidating. She pushed back her dripping hair with a hand and wrung it out, an excited tic. Little droplets spattered the floor as she stood, wiping a hand on her pants and holding it out to Samson. "Alright, Sammy," she said, pleased. She could start getting him provisions by tomorrow, assuming he needed anything. Maybe she'd just stock up on doggy treats. "Shake on it."

He settled down instantly, tail wagging and smiling as if he was just any other dog, instead of a massive death ghost. She called him Sammy! His ears perked up as she talked. Rhy was very nice, so Sammy would have to do his best. He had only heard that she was hiring, not that she was so great! He was sure she could find someone to help him. His eyes lit up as she held out her hand. “Shake! Know that!” He happily plopped his massive paw into her hands. A good deal for a good dog.

[zephyr-control]

Mesa

timing is ~2 weeks ago

Stillness steeped the concrete recruit room in silence, apart from the shallow breaths from a blood swathed vixen perched atop an ornate throne behind a small black desk. Lola was exiting her pre-interview nap when she heard shoes down the hallway. Her heavy lids struggled against the knowledge she had to interact with someone soon. Breaking the quiet of the room, she leaned on the desk, tapping out a rhythm on the smooth surface with long rounded nails. Before the door opened, she wondered if it would be considered rude to fall asleep mid-question.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang. "Shit sorry." He heavy accented voice mumbled. A tall horned man dusted lightly with his hand were the door hit. He quickly turned to face the boss. A look of confusion appeared on his face. Though soon was replaced with a smug grin. "You are the boss?" He chuckled. "I dominate girls like you nightly." He swiftly walked over to chair and swung his feet onto the desk. "Let us hurry. I have a little brother at home. He gets bored."

Now she was certainly awake, at least. There was a conscious effort to not allow her jaw to swing open. Calmly, she covered a small cough and smiled with lazy warmth. “If you’re looking for a quick interview you can take your grimy ass out of my damn presence or,” she paused, letting her smile fade into a glare, “you can get your fucking dirty ass feet off my table, stop circlejerking yourself to the sound of your own drum and tell me why the fuck lowbrow scum like you is in front of me.” Lola brushed a piece of crimson hair out of her face and stared the demon down. “Or is that unclear?”

As Lola spoke Mesa mouthed allong to her words. He threw his feet down and placed his elbow on the table. "Well, to start the intrview, Senko, I love long walks on the beach and long nights in bed. Oh and five star dinner? Yeah. Like T bone steak, American fries. Red wine." He grinned and winked, flipping some hair out of his face. "How about you and me go tonight?" A random tap from his foot echoed throughout the room.

Was this chump for real? Lola couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity and stupidity, a little bit confused if she was being honest to herself. “What in your wildest dreams makes you think I would ever be interested in that? Fuckin answer the damn question. Why are you here, what on this godforsaken planet would make you good enough to be before me right now?” Her heels scraped against the floor as she walked out from behind her desk, giving Mesa a once over. “And who do you think you are that you can come in here with no name and demand any shred of respect?” What a fuckin character this punk was.

Mesa grinned and took a deep breath. "I grew up in the japanese Mafia. You know? Yakuza. I left because they were mistreating my little brother." He twiddled his fingers, smiling a bit. "I can pass as human, also gang work is some of the only work I know. I'll give you my name if I get the job. I can't risk it you know? Endangering the kid, bad people knowing my name. You could find where I live." He laughed a bit and shrugged again, looking around the room.

“What do you want the world to address you as then? Shitty fuck punk kid?” Lola rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers on the desk. “That’s an awful lot to give away but at least now I know a bit about you. I’m very interested in your work with the Yakuza.” She spoke with a soft curiosity, and quietly studied the tattoo on Mesa’s shoulder. “Would you mind telling me more about that, or why you’re better than the less pretentious sleazeballs who walk in here?”

"Call me Mesa, that's enough, yeah?" He leaned over the desk making eye contact with her. Though the moment he mentioned the tattoo he blushed. "Oh, this, um, my little brother designed it. He draws really well, he is only 11 but is great at art and he designed it for me." He smiled a bit to himself rubbing his shoulder. "I had a gang tattoo there but it needed to be covered up." He took a deep breath and made a serious face. "I need this. I need the money, I don't think you realize what it's like to raise a kid. Money is tight. I don't care how I get it."

Lola sighed. What a chump. “Listen, I don’t know how to put this. Lots of folks need money no matter what their sob story. I’ve been runnin this town since I could walk I’ve heard them all. Why are you good enough to be a part of Iry. I like kids, but I need to know why you’re better than the rest.” A mischievous smile caught on her face, her dimples making a guest appearance. “I know you have it in you to convince me you’re going to be a great asset to us, just prove it.”

Mesa's face twisted into a frown. "I don't understand your worlding, do I have the job?" He sighed and shrugged. "I mean, I'm not sure how I can prove in here....I mean I could prove it but you would be dead. I'm a incubus you see?" He smiled leaning over the table. "And I know you want to sleep with me, you kept giving me this look." Again, he rolled his eyes. "I'm also pretty good with a sword and raising hell," He leaned back in the chair with another sigh, checking the time.

She flicked his nose, hard. “I’m conducting a damn interview I’m not thinking about fuckin afternoon delight learn some humility.” It was sort of a truth, but he didn’t need to know which parts were lies. “Whats your ethic like. This is more than a gang- it’s a family, a culture, a way of life. If I say lick my fuckin boot you do it. Also-“ Lola was still thinking about him being good at ‘raising hell’. She hoped he meant literally, but wasn’t sure. “Also, how fond are you of cocaine?”

When she flicked his nose he recoiled and scooted back a bit. "Shit" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the cieling. "Yeah yeah, I understand, more a gang than a family. Yakuza, remember, we were basically a clan. " His eyes shifted to her when he heard the word cocaine. "I'll sell it,and if we need a cover to sell it to businessmen or something my little brother could become friends with their kids as a cover. Though I'd prefer if we kept him out of it.. I won't snot it though. I need to be alert. Here and at home. I don't have time for addiction."

“Good, you already know how the system works. I don’t have time for junkies dipping into Iry’s… most lucrative venture.” She smiled wryly, pressing her index finger over vampire lips and winking. “Don’t worry about your kid brother, if you’re in our interests so is he. And, you appear to be in our interests.” Though stubborn and voraciously flirtatious, Lola couldn’t turn away someone so like to herself. “Are you prepared to become one of us?”

Mesa grinned widely. "Why would I be here if I wasn't?" He laughed a bit loudly. "Do I have the job? My name is Ryuu Inagawa." He held out his hand for a shake.

“Lola Iry, though I’m sure you knew that.” Her tiny hands gave him a firm shake, a wild grin squishing her cheeks. “Welcome to the family, Ryuu.”

[zephyr-control]

Dallas Campbell-Myszkowski

timng is ~3/4 months ago

The recruit room was so dull; there was nothing in colour save Lola’s towering chair. She stared at the scrapes on the black door made a few months back by an unruly beggar who refused to leave the gang alone. Lola desperately hoped today’s adventures were less obnoxious and twisted the black crown ring on her finger. Flowing locks of cherry hair flooded over the edge of the white fur she was draped in, with a black ribbon around a section to the right of her part. All she could think about was how much more she’d rather be napping right now.

Dallas checked his reflection in the screen of his phone before he went in, slicking back a few unruly locks of hair and straightening his tie. He made a point of always dressing sort of professionally - you never knew when you would meet a potential client, and it certainly didn't hurt to make a good first impression on them. And today, first impressions were especially important. Taking a deep breath and summoning up a personable, definitely-not-a-con-artist smile to his face, he rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt a little before striding into the recruit room like he owned it.

"Dr. Dallas Campbell-Myszkowski, pleased to meet you." He grinned, completely unfazed by Lola's regal appearance, and offered his hand to her.

Unamused steely eyes looked up at him from the velvet throne. “Lola,” she responded curtly, giving his hand a firm shake and reaching into a drawer in the desk before her, retrieving a stick of bubblegum. “You can sit if it’d make you more comfortable.” Her ruby nails pointed to a plastic folding chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Lola sunk back into her chair. She was sitting with perfect posture, but dwarfed by the velvet and fur, one would never have been able to tell. For a moment, she held eye contact with the overly-smiley salesman type man in front of her, before letting out a gentle sigh and rubbing her temples. “So, Dallas, why are you in this shithole of a room today?”

Dallas was pleased by the curt, surprisingly firm handshake, and elected to sit down in the chair Lola had pointed out to him. She looked like she wanted this meeting over as soon as possible, and he told himself that he would be willing to oblige that. It only meant that he had a shorter timespan in which he needed to impress her, so maybe it was best to skip all the patter and cut right to the chase.

"I'm looking to strike up a sort of business partnership with the Iry family," he said, crossing his legs and leaning forward towards Lola. "It would be mutually profitable, of course. Probably even moreso, with your support."

Lola quirked one eyebrow and a semi-snarl came across her face. “You want a partnership. You do realize that this area,” she made small sweeping movements to the room about her, “is less for the steel company and more for shadier business. I can handle my own ventures.” There were hints of venom in her tone, used to conceal the fact she was mostly confused because she had never gone to interview a gang recruit who turned out to just want to do business with her.

“Let me get this straight, still. Are you interested in becoming a part of the Iry team or are you just wanting to leech off the dough because the two evoke mildly different responses.”

"I'm well aware what this area is for," Dallas said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice as he gritted his teeth behind his smile. He continued, digging in the pocket of his vest for something. "If I wanted to do legal business, I assure you, I would go elsewhere. But that's not what I'm talking about. In my, ah, more experimental medical studies, I've discovered a drug that no one else has ever seen, much less used before." He produced a small, corked bottle of what looked like caviar, and set it down carefully on the desk between him and Lola. "It's extremely potent, with aphrodesiac and hallucinogenic properties. And I'd like to find more buyers for it."

That was one she hadn’t ever heard before. Lola examined the bottle of black pearls without touching it. She wouldn’t admit that she was intrigued, but she certainly was. “If no one has ever used it before how do we know you won’t kill all our customers. I’m not in the business of murdering my clients.” Just others. That thought could be kept to herself.

This could be marketed well though, and she made a note to look for sources if this one turned out to be a dud. “Additionally, you must know I can’t just trust anyone who walks in here and tells me they’re going to be a cash cow. Why is this good enough for Iry?”

"Well, I've tested it on a few people. It doesn't kill them. There are side effects of course, but nothing that's not manageable, or even noticable. I'm looking to see if anything can be done to eliminate them entirely." Dallas steepled his fingers, tapping their tips together. "Another thing - it's highly addictive. Six out of the seven people I tested it on got hooked after trying it just once. People will /have/ to keep buying it." His grin grew a little wider, the corners of his mouth creeping steadily towards his ears. "They'll get their friends into it too, i bet. Market it as a new designer drug and the cash'll start flooding in."

Lola snorted and tucked a piece of stray hair behind one ear. “I’m very interested in addictive drugs, but why should I put my faith in you, mousemeat? You’ll also have to relinquish its hold on you if you’re a fuckin junkie, I don’t do business with my buyers- that means no cocaine either. It’s unprofessional and a disaster waiting to happen.” She had her doubts about this kid, but whatever this miracle drug was, it was sure to be a hit, especially with the reckless youth of Zephyr. Her thoughts drifted to the neat sum The Den would pay her for a small supply, but she didn’t have time for green sellers who would fuck up her practice.

"I'm not a junkie," Dallas lied easily, "but I don't really blame you for accusing me of that. A lot of dealers like to sample their wares. I like to have my wits about me at all times, though - there's /so/ much potential for ugly little mistakes if you're not always paying attention to business." He brought his grin back down to what he hoped was a polite, friendly smile, still tapping his fingers together. "Aside from the drugs, I'm also a trained surgeon, and I specialize in discreetly treating patients who can't go to a hospital for any reason." He glanced at Lola, hoping she caught his meaning. "I also don't like people owing me outstanding debts, or vice versa. Fair is as fair does. You put your good faith in me, and I'll be as productive and loyal as you please."

Distrust clung to Lola’s mind. This kid didn’t seem right, but she was willing to give him a shot. “Your loyalty will have to be fucking perfect. I’ve seen enough scum in the drug business fuck themselves up and I am entirely unwilling to compromise even the smallest part of the Iry identity.” She hefted herself out of her chair, heels grating on the concrete floor as she paced from left to right. “If you’re willing to lick my shoe if that’s what I ask, I may just be interested in your partnership, Mr. Dallas.” A dead seriousness ran through her stare as she examined his tapping. There was no way he was as clean and nifty as he tried to make her believe, yet she felt this could work.

"Your wish is my command, Miss Iry." Dallas folded his hands together, lacing his fingers in one fluid motion. His eyes followed Lola as she paced across the floor. He wondered what she was thinking, how little she trusted him, and resolved to find ways to work around that. He'd find an angle eventually. Everyone had their weak spots - clearly, drugs weren't hers, but something else /was/. Maybe flattery. He'd have to work on it.

"I'll be loyal, discreet, and honest," he added, leaning back a little in his seat. "I wouldn't want to work with some scummy drug dealer, either, so I don't blame you for being so cautious about who you have ties to. Important family like yours, it's best to keep a good reputation."

Good answer. Lola smirked, running a hand through some hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “I doubt the honest part, you seem like a sleaze but who in this industry isn’t.” A sweet if not raspy voice delivered the blunt words, and she placed her hands on the desk, leaning in to inspect Dallas.

“I’m feeling risky today, I’m willing to invest in you, kid.” She extended a tiny hand towards him, a wry grin spreading across her face as she thought of the poor adolescents who would be busted on drug consumption because of them. “What do you say?” 

Dallas' smile grew again despite himself, visions of a prosperous new future flashing before his eyes. He shook Lola's hand just as firmly as she had shaken his, if not moreso, letting go after an appropriate amount of time. "You won't regret it, Miss Iry, I promise."

[zephyr-control]

Jackelyne DeFont Introductory RP

timing is ~a few years ago

It was all smooth sailing at first. The shop opened without a hitch, the townsfolk were friendly if a bit jumpy, she'd already found two, if not three potential candidates for her next meal. On top of that, her first shipment came in the morning. Not a bad move, and not a bad town.

That's what she kept telling herself while staring at the bloodied youths before her, the razor mawed one pleading frantically for her assistance. This is what she continued to repeat as they presented the bullet riddled monster's corpse to her, equal parts fear and pride at their accomplishment.

They needed to get rid of it. Put it somewhere no one would find it, least of all the Iry gang. Always gangs with these people. She said she would take care of it, then ushered them out the door.

That's how it started. It's always something innocuous. Word spreads like weeds, roots growing all over town. The sweet smelling flowers mask the smell of rot. The shop keeper with the creepy smile can make all your 'troubles' vanish and send you home with a nice fichus to accent your house. Gang heads overlooked disappeared members for the sake of convenience.

After all, how often do you find a disposal that leaves no trace?

Not a bad move, and not a bad town. That's what she kepttelling herself. At some point, she thought, maybe she'll believe it.

[zephyr-control]

Myra Sasseen Introductory RP

timing is ~6 months ago

In an icy, concrete room, atop a red velvet throne, perched a temptress from hell with her cherry hair loosely plaited over one shoulder and tied with a white ribbon at the end. Her figure was draped in black silken fabric and she tapped blood red almond-shaped nails on the tiny desk before her. She hated this shitty room but the new recruits didn’t deserve anything better. Grayson would appear through the doors in a few minutes with the fresh meat but she was growing impatient. She would rather be sleeping; there were more important things to occupy her time. This better be quick.

This was more of an ordeal than Myra had been prepared for.

She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie, worn loosely and apparently uselessly over the scraps of denim and leather she called an outfit. Lead in through the doors, she straightened out her shoulders, taking in the figure of the woman who sat before her. What was this supposed to be, a throne? Was this a joke or something? 

She cleared her throat. 

"Uh... I'm Myra. You're Iry, then-- er. Miss? Iry...? Jesus, sorry. I don't know what I'm doing."

Unimpressive. “Lola.” She laced her fingers together, sinking back into the cushions of her really pretentious seat. “You can sit down now.” Her eyes dropped to a tiny, plastic, foldout chair on the other side of the desk.

Mostly she looked cold. Lola thought about the fur coat she had in the next room over and cracked a smirk, crossing her legs and looking into Myra’s eyes, calculating. “So. Why are you here, today, before me.” Maybe she should have set up a swively office chair, this wasn’t exactly southern hospitality.

Myra's half-lidded eyes drifted to the chair. She raised her eyebrows and slumped into it, sitting with her legs open and arms folded loosely across herself. Job interviews had never been her strong suit, but like hell she was going to cross her legs for anyone.

"I just want a job. And I like to think I'm decent at fighting, but it's not something to get into solo. You guys have a strong reputation and I think I have a few skills I could bring to the table." She shrugged, tossing her hair out of her eyes. "Plus I really need to start making rent on time."

Lola smiled but her eyes didn’t. “I’m sure you know we have plenty of ‘decent fighters’. Why are you good enough for Iry why shouldn’t I let you get kitchen scrap pay with the rest of the lowlifes in this town?” She kicked her heels up onto the desk, peering around them with bored silver eyes and a smug smile.

“Because, if you want a lot of cash, and nice comfy bed and people to support you, I know you can pull something out of your ass better than a decent fighter.” A little bit of a challenge was issued to all the recruits, Lola direly needed to not be accidentally pulling in a bunch of wishy washy chumps.

She sneered and cast a disdainful look at Lola's shoes, leaning further back in her seat. 

"I make my own brass knuckles. I use crystal because it's sharper and has more facets. All my shoes are steel-toed. One time I bit a guy's ear off. Listen, I'm not going to beg because I don't fancy myself a dog. I don't /need/ a lot of cash and I sure as shit don't /need/ a bed. I'm here because this is a business opportunity. You've got money, I have a collection of bone knives. Don't think for a second I don't know what I'm doing, alright?"

A crackle of laughter came out of Lola. “Much better.” She laid her hands on her tummy, tapping her toe in the air to the beat of the song stuck in her head. “I don’t need any pansies on my side. So did you eat the ear? Wait,” she waved her hand, dismissing the question. “That’s not important. Do you like crack?” Her tone was more serious than it should have been for such an out of the blue question. A piece of her hair fell from her braid and she tucked it back in lazily, letting her eyes drift from Myra.    

Myra raised an eyebrow and shoved her hands back into her pockets, blowing a lock of hair out of her view. "Spat the ear out. But crack? What, you mean coke or heroin? Crack can mean anything." She leaned forward a bit, adjusting herself in the sad excuse for a chair. "I don't go near that shit. I mean, no offense if you do. I just don't fuck with anything that can cloud my judgement, you know? Maybe a cigarette once in a while but that's it. I don't like to compromise myself."

Lola lowered her feet from the table. She was too short for that shit. “Predominantly cocaine. I’m pleased to hear that. I find work mixing with leisure ill advised. No one likes a junkie, not even other junkies.” Myra looked appropriately hostile, as she should. Everyone should be skeptical and slightly intimidated of her.

“I’m also assuming you know that there’s grunt. You don’t have to kiss anyone’s ass but mine. But don’t kiss my ass I hate brown nosers.” She leaned over the desk. “So long as you’re aware I /will/ hurt you if you step out of line,” the tiniest of smiles, “are you in?”