GTA RP Blog

@goldenvegaboy

“You Vian? I followed some weird rabbit hole about some pool repair and, well, it got me here.”

“Huh?? Oh–Yeah, I’m Vian. Vian Vega. Guess you met Bodhi then.”

It’s clear he’s not used to people actually saying hisactual name. Vian’s used to his heister name.

“Right, yeah, he connected the dots…”

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

“Teller,” he said, “Greyson Teller.”

“Bodhi’s, uh….real special.”

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines.

“Nice to meet you.”

Greyson smiled a little, but not much. His sunglasses caught a ray of sun and shot a rainbow off the reflective lenses. The ray carried off of the silver Rolex watch on his wrist. Luckily, he wore it on his left wrist, so he didn’t risk blinding him when he shook his hand.

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I… well, used to run a pretty big business out west… I guess I’m on… administrative leave right now.”

“He’s… a bit of a character, our friend, is he not?”

Vian’s personality didn’t seem to be that of a heister. He was mild-mannered, sweet, almost shy. But when he got into that frame of mind, that almost berserker state heisting, it was like a different person. But it wasn’t who he truly was.

“Don’t need to call me sir–Reminds me of Leroy. I get you. I used to own a bar before I joined up with my old crew, and now the Payday Gang.”

“Oh yeah, big time.”

A quick look over either shoulder brought a more noticeable smile to his face.

“Taylor Gang Originals,” he said with the ghost of pride hanging around his words.

Greyson was very thin: a steady diet of maybe-a-little-higher-than pharmaceutical grade amphetamine caused the pounds to fall off with regularity. Still, he was very pretty.

“I… I drive for the most part now. I can do anything, you know, but I make art behind the wheel.”

He couldn’t help but grin at his pride. He knew that feeling well, having something you’re proud of.

“I used to work with Joe Cabot back in LA, if you ever knew him.”

Vian’s build was muscular. Not overly so, but enough to let people know he was a force to be reckoned with. His accent indicated he wasn’t from the area, much less LA. It almost sounded Cajun.

“My twin used to be the getaway driver for the Cabots. She’s…kinda scary. Not as scary as Vic was. Real big pride in her caddy.”

Greyson recognized the accent and smiled. He lapsed a bit into his “north-of-Vice-City-west-of-nowhere” normal intonation.

“I might have heard of Cabot’s. The... what was it... jewelry store?” he asked with a tip of the hand, “I think they closed up before we were running numbers. But I have heard of them.”

Greyson had stumbled into money very quickly upon his arrival out west, but he was very smart with his money: he drew a fine line between “business expenditures” and “shopping.” He had a penthouse apartment, but it was at the end of a hallway with an elevator that only went up to his floor with a keycard. He had saferooms in the apartment and the building’s ten car garage.

He looked over his shoulder at the Oceanic, a car somewhere between a 50’s GM and an early 60’s Dodge. It was his pride and joy, but never something he would use for work.

“I can respect that.”

miamirasmus

vhs-ninja

GTA: Vice City is still my favorite…

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@goldenvegaboy

“You Vian? I followed some weird rabbit hole about some pool repair and, well, it got me here.”

“Huh?? Oh–Yeah, I’m Vian. Vian Vega. Guess you met Bodhi then.”

It’s clear he’s not used to people actually saying hisactual name. Vian’s used to his heister name.

“Right, yeah, he connected the dots…”

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

“Teller,” he said, “Greyson Teller.”

“Bodhi’s, uh….real special.”

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines.

“Nice to meet you.”

Greyson smiled a little, but not much. His sunglasses caught a ray of sun and shot a rainbow off the reflective lenses. The ray carried off of the silver Rolex watch on his wrist. Luckily, he wore it on his left wrist, so he didn’t risk blinding him when he shook his hand.

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I… well, used to run a pretty big business out west… I guess I’m on… administrative leave right now.”

“He’s… a bit of a character, our friend, is he not?”

Vian’s personality didn’t seem to be that of a heister. He was mild-mannered, sweet, almost shy. But when he got into that frame of mind, that almost berserker state heisting, it was like a different person. But it wasn’t who he truly was.

“Don’t need to call me sir–Reminds me of Leroy. I get you. I used to own a bar before I joined up with my old crew, and now the Payday Gang.”

“Oh yeah, big time.”

A quick look over either shoulder brought a more noticeable smile to his face.

“Taylor Gang Originals,” he said with the ghost of pride hanging around his words.

Greyson was very thin: a steady diet of maybe-a-little-higher-than pharmaceutical grade amphetamine caused the pounds to fall off with regularity. Still, he was very pretty.

“I... I drive for the most part now. I can do anything, you know, but I make art behind the wheel.”

@goldenvegaboy

“You Vian? I followed some weird rabbit hole about some pool repair and, well, it got me here.”

“Huh?? Oh–Yeah, I’m Vian. Vian Vega. Guess you met Bodhi then.”

It’s clear he’s not used to people actually saying hisactual name. Vian’s used to his heister name.

“Right, yeah, he connected the dots…”

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

“Teller,” he said, “Greyson Teller.”

“Bodhi’s, uh….real special.”

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines.

“Nice to meet you.”

Greyson smiled a little, but not much. His sunglasses caught a ray of sun and shot a rainbow off the reflective lenses. The ray carried off of the silver Rolex watch on his wrist. Luckily, he wore it on his left wrist, so he didn’t risk blinding him when he shook his hand.

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I... well, used to run a pretty big business out west... I guess I’m on... administrative leave right now.”

“He’s... a bit of a character, our friend, is he not?”

@goldenvegaboy

“You Vian? I followed some weird rabbit hole about some pool repair and, well, it got me here.”

“Huh?? Oh–Yeah, I’m Vian. Vian Vega. Guess you met Bodhi then.”

It’s clear he’s not used to people actually saying hisactual name. Vian’s used to his heister name.

“Right, yeah, he connected the dots...”

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know... I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

“Teller,” he said, “Greyson Teller.”

@goldenvegaboy

“You Vian? I followed some weird rabbit hole about some pool repair and, well, it got me here.”

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Modernity was the gnat in Greyson Teller’s ear. He found himself stricken with a recurrent case of boredom and a constant malaise tinged with existential dread. Twenty-two years old, bored of everything, but too anxious to do anything about it would sum up a lot of young-adult millennials but sounded odd for Greyson Teller, who was the head of the notorious Taylor Gang Originals SC, a hotshot crew of “enterprising businessmen” from the Los Santos area. He grew tired of Los Santos’s steadily encroaching brand of Western Chauvinism, so he headed home to the sunny shores of Vice City...

#gta rp #oc rp

bodhis-pool-repair

vicecityspeedfreak‌:

“In a word?” the young man asked as he shifted his weight, “Work.”

The aluminum aviators on his face hid his expression but his voice gave the game away. The young pretty boy dressed like something out of an episode of Miami Vice. There was a reason he sought Bodhi out, and it probably wasn’t for an estimate on pool repair.

“I… got tired of moving weight out west. Thought I’d come home, y’know? Get away from the kind of west coast hustle… but if I’m not working, I’m not living…”

❝ I see. ❞

He’s not really the one who this should be brought to anyway; that would be the criminal mastermind himself, Bain. Not everyone made it in with just a snap of the fingers though — His digits feel over the outline of his pockets and pat over the box of cigarettes, just trying to keep them occupied for the time being. Nothing special has popped up recently and it’s hard keeping still when you’re always up on your feet like Bodhi was.

❝ If you need work I might have a few things in mind. It won’t be that easy though, you sure you’re signed up for this? ❞

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot” he said in a bit of a “north of Miami, west of nowhere special” southern accent, “I can handle myself just fine, though. I won’t brag on my previous scores, so I guess I’ll just have to prove myself.

He smiled ever-so-slightly and produced a zippo lighter. He offered it without a word.

“I’m most comfortable as a driver, if I’m completely honest, but I can absolutely handle anything needed of me.”

#ic #bodhispoolrepair

@bodhis-pool-repair

“I was told that you’re the man to see when one has a job to get done…”

bodhis-pool-repair

❝ It depends. ❞

A curious brow is raised, his own fingers curling around a pack of cigarettes he kept at hand. He lights one up, taking a puff from it, the white smoke exhaling past his nostrils.

❝ What is it that you’re seeking for, brother? ❞

Voice calm, rather relaxed.