Post by Stephen on Jul 28, 2014 21:46:16 GMT -5
Tano sighed. He and Laric had been arguing again. Laric had wanted to put a new security system into their house. He tried to tell Laric that they, of all people, didn't need an extra alarm, but Laric wouldn't relent. They had torn the house apart yelling at each other last night and Tano had left for work in the morning in foul airs. He had pulled on his all weather grays in such a hurry that he almost forgot his toolkit. He crouched in the dark behind the stairs to the second floor of Admiral Gorgon's estate, quietly ratcheting the third and fourth step free. Finally, after ten mintues, they both came off He took the long bolts from their mooring and stashed them in his pocket for later. He then placed the steps back where they belonged, and walked into the kitchen.
The kitchen was very clean. Too clean for Tano's taste he decided. The harsh steel counter tops and Black slate table gave an anteseptic look that remind Tano more of a morgue than a place for dinner. He glanced quickly in the fridge and after a very short pro vs con debate, pulled a beer quietly out of the fridge and slid it into the his coat's breast pocket. “Right” he whispered to himself, “work.” He quietly laid his his black matte toolkit on the table and pulled out his plasma torch. With his torch in his right hand, he grabbed a wineglass out of the cabinet and let it drop to the floor and shatter with a tinny clatter. He slid back into his spot behind the stairs in silence.
He could hear muffled footsteps above him, heavy and uncertain for a long minute before he heard a door close upstairs. He saw her at the head of the stairs, half dressed in a bathrobe with a blaster in her hand. She side stepped carefully down the stairs, keeping a wary eye on the kitchen all the while. When her foot hit the third step down, it slipped out under her weight. She staggered forward, her other foot landing on the fourth, which also gave way and she fell sideways through the new hole in the stairs, clipping her head on the fifth stair as she fell. Tano was on her in a second, driving his plasma torch into the back of her head and pinning her to the floor with the force. She shuddered, arms flopping, before she lie still.
Tano quietly walked back to the kitchen and opened his toolkit. A scrap of paper wafted from the upper lid. Two words hastily scrawled on his private statonary in a familiar handwriting. “I'm Sorry.” Tano smiled to himself, opened his beer and quietly left out the back door.
Pete had the long stare. Lots of people told Pete this, and he mostly didn't mind. Pete did things his way and it had always worked for him. When he woke up, Pete brushed his teeth 100 times, took a 22 mintue shower and ate two pieces of toasted bread and a bowl of bran. Pete was very healthy, he often thought. Other people had so much chaos in their lives, Pete didn't know they survived. Even when Pete killed, he did it right. Two shots in the center of mass and one point blank to the head. Always from behind, always from an upward angle. Pete was so nice too, he always left a bereavement card behind, with a small sum of money. Not too much as to seem crass, not so little as to seem callow. If you were going to get murdered, Pete often thought, get murdered by Pete.
Pete currently had Gregor Lieman in his body box and in the back of his removals van. Pete occasionally moonlighted in shipping. Pete was surprised how often that he used his moving van in his other work. He was very pleased with his forethought in this area. As the cabin of his lift van crossed on to his property line, Pete opened his garage and silently backed into his house.
Pete was never wasteful. Once he removed the body of Gregor from his van, Pete quickly removed his only piece of jewelry and sealed it in a small plastic bag, to be stored later. Then, with a small pair of pliers, Pete removed all of Gregor's teeth and placed them in the appropriate jar, sorted and labeled by gender and race. Pete then donned his leather apron and fed Gregor into his home mulcher, to be given to his garden in precisely two weeks from now. Surely his flowers would love Gregor, as much as Pete loved them.
Leena hated jedi. Not personally mind you, but they were such a pain to kill. They had almost a preternatural sense to when they were within crosshairs. It was like Jedi could just sense danger deep within their bones, and that didn't seem very fair to her. And it extended further than that, even if she was hunting someone else, if there was a jedi nearby, they'd still sometimes see her shot coming and stop that. Frankly put, Jedi put Leena in a nasty mood, and when Leena got nasty, she made sure everyone got a slice. Leena pushed her ear length black hair out of her eyes and smoothed her business casual black skirt and tie combo that she loved. She looked through the tram, keeping an eye out for other possible road blocks for her plan. All see saw were tired eyed commuters and an animated pusher in the back car, listening too loudly to music. She forced herself to relax, only one stop to go.
The cable car slowly slid to a halt at a busy terminal. She stood up, leaving her sleek black suitcase behind, tucked between the wall of the car and her chair and strode off into the terminal. She saw her target, and two more jedi, taking sidelong glances around the terminal, looking worried and eying each target with wary eyes. She smiled and strode past them up the stairs to street and glanced at her watch.
They didn't just sense danger, she thought, they were attracted to it. She had seen it herself. If you want to draw a jedi, you place someone else in danger near them. They'd drop what they were doing and storm to the rescue. Leena wondered why this didn't occur to her earlier. She heard the steely screech of the of the brakes releasing below and started counting to herself. At fifteen, she pressed the button on her watch. Down the street, the road bulged upward uncomfortably and rippled. The entire block shook and high rises rained glass in protest. Leena ducked her head into her hands and shrieked, running down the street away from the underground explosion. Best to leave the scene early, she had calls to make and the list wasn't getting shorter.
Welcome to the High Harvest Fair! Some people have made very bad mistakes and crossed those who should not be crossed. The High Harvest Fair marks a great reaping, those who have tallied up to much debt are forced to pay. Both the Exchange and the Hutt cartel are on the hunt, anyone who has crossed them could find themselves on a very long list.
As whispers grow of a new holiday among fringers, those in the know either move to protect their families or get ready for a few weeks of hard work in exchange for great pay. Those out of the know must wait for the news to hit the holo. Either way, it'll be one for the ages.
Looking for any number of rpers to participate in the festivities. With or without me. If you've crossed underworld, make a thread about them trying to return the favor. If you are the type, do dirty deed, for quite an exorbitant sum of money. And if you want to ignore this, that's cool too.
Character Name: Janus Yarloc
Character Faction: Fringer
Number Of People Wanted: Any number of people could join, but ideally anyone who has slighted the underworld, or anyone who kills for money (or passion, or boredom).
Reason For Roleplay: I thought it would be a good idea? Honestly I thought I throw this up there to see if anyone would bite. Have threads with me, have threads without me. Have a thread with a chicken, Have no chickens within 50 feet of you by court order!
Other: Seriously though, I thought we could use more psychotic murders and bitter professionals in our life. And if you do get murdered, get murdered by Pete.
The kitchen was very clean. Too clean for Tano's taste he decided. The harsh steel counter tops and Black slate table gave an anteseptic look that remind Tano more of a morgue than a place for dinner. He glanced quickly in the fridge and after a very short pro vs con debate, pulled a beer quietly out of the fridge and slid it into the his coat's breast pocket. “Right” he whispered to himself, “work.” He quietly laid his his black matte toolkit on the table and pulled out his plasma torch. With his torch in his right hand, he grabbed a wineglass out of the cabinet and let it drop to the floor and shatter with a tinny clatter. He slid back into his spot behind the stairs in silence.
He could hear muffled footsteps above him, heavy and uncertain for a long minute before he heard a door close upstairs. He saw her at the head of the stairs, half dressed in a bathrobe with a blaster in her hand. She side stepped carefully down the stairs, keeping a wary eye on the kitchen all the while. When her foot hit the third step down, it slipped out under her weight. She staggered forward, her other foot landing on the fourth, which also gave way and she fell sideways through the new hole in the stairs, clipping her head on the fifth stair as she fell. Tano was on her in a second, driving his plasma torch into the back of her head and pinning her to the floor with the force. She shuddered, arms flopping, before she lie still.
Tano quietly walked back to the kitchen and opened his toolkit. A scrap of paper wafted from the upper lid. Two words hastily scrawled on his private statonary in a familiar handwriting. “I'm Sorry.” Tano smiled to himself, opened his beer and quietly left out the back door.
Pete had the long stare. Lots of people told Pete this, and he mostly didn't mind. Pete did things his way and it had always worked for him. When he woke up, Pete brushed his teeth 100 times, took a 22 mintue shower and ate two pieces of toasted bread and a bowl of bran. Pete was very healthy, he often thought. Other people had so much chaos in their lives, Pete didn't know they survived. Even when Pete killed, he did it right. Two shots in the center of mass and one point blank to the head. Always from behind, always from an upward angle. Pete was so nice too, he always left a bereavement card behind, with a small sum of money. Not too much as to seem crass, not so little as to seem callow. If you were going to get murdered, Pete often thought, get murdered by Pete.
Pete currently had Gregor Lieman in his body box and in the back of his removals van. Pete occasionally moonlighted in shipping. Pete was surprised how often that he used his moving van in his other work. He was very pleased with his forethought in this area. As the cabin of his lift van crossed on to his property line, Pete opened his garage and silently backed into his house.
Pete was never wasteful. Once he removed the body of Gregor from his van, Pete quickly removed his only piece of jewelry and sealed it in a small plastic bag, to be stored later. Then, with a small pair of pliers, Pete removed all of Gregor's teeth and placed them in the appropriate jar, sorted and labeled by gender and race. Pete then donned his leather apron and fed Gregor into his home mulcher, to be given to his garden in precisely two weeks from now. Surely his flowers would love Gregor, as much as Pete loved them.
Leena hated jedi. Not personally mind you, but they were such a pain to kill. They had almost a preternatural sense to when they were within crosshairs. It was like Jedi could just sense danger deep within their bones, and that didn't seem very fair to her. And it extended further than that, even if she was hunting someone else, if there was a jedi nearby, they'd still sometimes see her shot coming and stop that. Frankly put, Jedi put Leena in a nasty mood, and when Leena got nasty, she made sure everyone got a slice. Leena pushed her ear length black hair out of her eyes and smoothed her business casual black skirt and tie combo that she loved. She looked through the tram, keeping an eye out for other possible road blocks for her plan. All see saw were tired eyed commuters and an animated pusher in the back car, listening too loudly to music. She forced herself to relax, only one stop to go.
The cable car slowly slid to a halt at a busy terminal. She stood up, leaving her sleek black suitcase behind, tucked between the wall of the car and her chair and strode off into the terminal. She saw her target, and two more jedi, taking sidelong glances around the terminal, looking worried and eying each target with wary eyes. She smiled and strode past them up the stairs to street and glanced at her watch.
They didn't just sense danger, she thought, they were attracted to it. She had seen it herself. If you want to draw a jedi, you place someone else in danger near them. They'd drop what they were doing and storm to the rescue. Leena wondered why this didn't occur to her earlier. She heard the steely screech of the of the brakes releasing below and started counting to herself. At fifteen, she pressed the button on her watch. Down the street, the road bulged upward uncomfortably and rippled. The entire block shook and high rises rained glass in protest. Leena ducked her head into her hands and shrieked, running down the street away from the underground explosion. Best to leave the scene early, she had calls to make and the list wasn't getting shorter.
Welcome to the High Harvest Fair! Some people have made very bad mistakes and crossed those who should not be crossed. The High Harvest Fair marks a great reaping, those who have tallied up to much debt are forced to pay. Both the Exchange and the Hutt cartel are on the hunt, anyone who has crossed them could find themselves on a very long list.
As whispers grow of a new holiday among fringers, those in the know either move to protect their families or get ready for a few weeks of hard work in exchange for great pay. Those out of the know must wait for the news to hit the holo. Either way, it'll be one for the ages.
Looking for any number of rpers to participate in the festivities. With or without me. If you've crossed underworld, make a thread about them trying to return the favor. If you are the type, do dirty deed, for quite an exorbitant sum of money. And if you want to ignore this, that's cool too.
Character Name: Janus Yarloc
Character Faction: Fringer
Number Of People Wanted: Any number of people could join, but ideally anyone who has slighted the underworld, or anyone who kills for money (or passion, or boredom).
Reason For Roleplay: I thought it would be a good idea? Honestly I thought I throw this up there to see if anyone would bite. Have threads with me, have threads without me. Have a thread with a chicken, Have no chickens within 50 feet of you by court order!
Other: Seriously though, I thought we could use more psychotic murders and bitter professionals in our life. And if you do get murdered, get murdered by Pete.
Let's do it!
