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Afro Samurai
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Don't leave me, baby! Middle of winter, I'm freezin' baby! - It's cold, and Gucci Mane lyrics work for most any context when slightly edited.
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@The Wyrm thanks lol; sorry if it wasn't that clear, basically they are having a meeting to discuss how they are going to deal with the rivals around their neighborhood and then Shontay and Kentrell get ambushed by some Crips
Hood Politics
March 18th, 1997
Most of the ride was silent. The most interaction between the two came when Bone offered a .40 oz of Ole English and KP took a sip; his hands shook. Sweet scent of cherry stunk up the car’s interior as Bone hit the blunt. Music drowned the nerves much as it could. They reached a stop sign and were soon on the border of the East side of their turf near 117th. Bone halted the car, and popped the passenger side lock. A head nod, KP got out an in the fear and frenazy he forgot to close the door. Bone whistled and said the only words KP had ever heard him say,
“Close my mothafuckin’ door, blood.”
KP did as was asked and the red cadillac departed at Bone’s hest. KP turned, eyes laid on the group of about six men who were shooting dice in front of a dilapidated house encircled by a small metal fence. A rusty weight bench sat in the miniscule front yard as well as a rottweiler. No ‘Beware Dog’ sign in sight. KP parsed chatter amid the six kneeled men as they progressed through their game of craps,
“Snakes, nigga.” taunted Tiny Bear,
“Fuck outta here, bluh, doubles nigga.” retorted Peanut,
“Ain’ no fuckin’ doubles, bluh, roun’ up.” concluded Six Pack,
“I’m in nat.” added a muscled, stocky man. KP had seen him before, older homies called him Twin. Armed robbery, extortion, kidnapping. Word was he might have the longest jacket on the turf. It was him who noticed Kentrell and checked him,
“Aye, bluh, who you?”
KP glanced up at Twin, memory served KP right; he had seen Bear around 111 street when KP was younger. Kentrell responded swiftly as was protocol,
“KP. Where Al at?” Twin frowned, Kentrell couldn’t tell whether it was because of the sun or because Twin was confused,
“Ohhh shit! Lil Kentrell? Baby K? Shonda nem Ke--”
“Yeah, nigga, Baby K.”
“Shiiit! Nigga, the fuck you doin’ ova here?”
“I’m lookin’ fo--”
“I know who the fuck you lookin’ fo’, nigga, why though? Know damn well ya mama don’ play that shit.”
Kentrell chose silence. Twin rose to his feet and moved closer to KP,
“Wha’s all this?” Twin tugged at Kentrell’s red shirt, a little too rough for Kentrell’s liking.
Kentrell kissed his teeth and Twin laughed. The mocking was never subtle,
“Oh you a big boy now, huh? You onna hood now, huh? Kssshh!” he jumped at Kentrell who immediately balled his fist up and stuck Twin in his lip. Realization sunk in; Twin felt the cut along his lip with a few fingers, shock radiated for but the briefest second. The next thing Kentrell knew he was pinned up against the car, covering himself from Twin’s onslaught. The others watched and jeered,
“Gon’ let him fuck you up like that, bluh?” touted Peanut,
“Damn, nigga! Fight back!” of course Tiny Bear had something to add,
“Buster ass nigga!” and Six Pack brought a close to the symphony of deprecation,
Kentrell covered himself and did manage to make Twin miss a few blows, but the ones that landed in his stomach and forearms keeled him over,
“Stupid li’l nigga! Chu never touch me aga--” the door creaked open, all eyes turned except a damaged KP’s and an enraged Twin’s,
“The fuck is y’all stupid niggas doin’ in my mothafuckin’ yard, blood? Twin get off the li’l nigga, blood, and bring yo’ stupid ass and his stupid ass in here, blood!” it was Al, or as the younger bloods knew him, “Evil Al”. Leader of the 117th street clique of the Denver Lanes.
No matter the terror Twin had built in him for Kentrell, it was incised by the OG’s command. He came to his senses unnaturally quick and turned to walk inside. Kentrell gathered himself best as he could and hobbled inside, an arm wrapped around his stomach. Al held the door open for Twin, but not KP--aching arms outstretched to the iron bars around the door and pulled it open before it closed. Kentrell grimaced in pain.
Once inside, there were no less than ten members from both the 117th street clique--many of them newbies like Kentrell--and Kentrell’s own 109th street clique who also had a handful of new faces Kentrell didn’t quite recognize including a few females. There were reputables from the other cliques in the neighborhood sprinkled throughout, too: the 111, 112, 115, 118, and 120. The 109th street clique’s big homie, Killer Tone stood near the back of the room alongside… Shontay? Now wasn’t the time to ask questions, just to listen.
“Sit down, blood.” Evil Al instructed Kentrell, who did nothing but oblige.
On the table lay a map of the turf surrounding the Denver Lanes. They were sandwiched between two sets of Hoover Criminals: one on the south of the Lanes own turf on 109th and Figueroa all the way down to 92nd St and the 107 Hoover Criminals to their West alongside a much smaller Crip gang, the Pimp Town Gangster Crips (PTC) who had cliqued up with the 107s. To the north of the Lanes were the Raymond Avenue Crips and to the East across the 110 freeway lie the 112 Broadway Crips and the 118 East Coast Crips, all who numbered from 50-300 deep per individual neighborhood with the Raymond Avenue Crips being the largest.
The Lanes only allies were the neighboring Crenshaw Mafia Bloods, one of the largest blood gangs on the West Side of Inglewood as well as a small Sureno click who were to the south of the Lanes as well. The only reason the Lanes were still around were thanks to their numbers, anywhere from 150-400 deep depending on who one asked, but only members knew how deep the hood truly was.
Put simply, it was time to push these smaller hoods from their borders.
Evil Al and Killer Tone stepped up and addressed the room. Killer Tone took the floor first,
“Listen, bluh, we quiet out here, bluh. Nigga, Raymonds came thu jus’ las’ week gettin’ at us, bluh an’ what we do since then? Nothin’, bluh. The older G’s ain’ pushin’ no lines, ain’ givin’ no get back, bluh, an’ we can’ move like that, bluh. Krispies and naps mobbin’ thu our shit on the daily, bluh, and homies is spooked like,” then Tone added,
“We ain’t lettin’ no mo’ of that shit go, blood. On Lanes, nigga, this why y’all here. Hood gotta change or ain’ no mo’ flaggin’ shit. Them niggas gone run us out the muhfuckin’ city, blood. So this what it is: all y’all niggas in this room ‘bout to earn them flags y’all like to carry ‘round, blood.” keeping the rhythm of the rally going, Killer Tone continued,
“Tip Toe-” Tone nodded to Shontay, “found out from a li’l nap ‘bout a li’l function nem krispies havin’ ‘morrow night an’ we gon’ hit that shi’, bluh. Ain’ it tho’, bluh, while couple y’all do dat the ressa y’all gon’ hit them snoovas, bluh. KP you an’ Tip Toe an’ Six Pack an’ Bear an’ Twin gon’ funk wit’ me early nex’ time an’ we gone go ova the res’.” and to cap it off, Evil Al spoke,
“The rest of y’all niggas wit’ me. We hittin’ them snoovas later. But on’ worry ‘bout all that right now. Y’all gon’ get up wit’ me after all that other shit die down. An’ listen blood, we got too many enemies for you dumbass niggas to be knockin’ against witout usin’ ya muhfuckin’ heads first. Stay in bounds until we make this move, anything y’all got that’s hot gotta go, blood. I’m talkin’ ‘bout even the silva, blood. Stay in bounds and stay low. Now get the fuck out my house, blood.”
At the dismissal, they all rose and left. Outside, Shontay and Kentrell walked back to the Vista together, although it would be quite a long walk.
“Tip Toe? What type’a shit is that?” Kentrell egged,
“Shut up, goofy. You heard what the big homie said, ain’t shit to play a thirsty nigga out his mouthpiece.”
Kentrell raised an eyebrow, partly in disappointment and partly impressed, “Niggas gone think you a jump.”
“I’on’ give a fuck what niggas think. We in this shit, fuck a civilian.”
“I mean… Darius and Lorraine civilians too.”
“Okay, and? Wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout them. Shit, speakin’ of them I been told L ass I was gone get up wit’ her.:” she said more to herself than to Kentrell,
“‘Bout what?”
“Some money.”
“Oh? Y’all ain’t trynna cut nobody in?”
“Nah… nah, nah, this just between me an’ her.” a little deflation marked the words, Kentrell didn’t say anything he just nodded and made a mental note for later, they turned the corner of 115th and Vermont Avenue, a long strip of land known as the “Lane” or the “Hive” for its uniqueness among other streets within the Lanes turf--it was a stretch of old abandoned factories and fewer houses, it was also where many of the hood’s gangways were. A place where many of the Lanes ran prostitution and drugs, partied, and died. Perfect for,
--
Blue bandanas covered their faces and blue Converse patterned the ground as they ran up the alleyway,
“Aye cuh, there go two of them niggas right there, cuh.”
“Aye, ain’ that the one li’l bitch from las’ night?” Marquise “DuRocc” Thomas squinted,
“Shit’chea, cuh. She a slob?” Vernon “Buddha” Harrison’s heart sunk, but he would deal with his feelings another time, “Who that nigga wit’ her though?”
“Don’t matter, loc’, hurry yo’ ass up fo’ they get away!” Thomas cocked the hammer on his Glock 19; Harrison checked the clip on his Sig Sauer P226 and made sure the safety was off,
“We ain’ got all day, nigga. Come on!” and with that, Thomas and Harrison raced up the gangway parallel to the Price siblings,
Kentrell head the footsteps before he heard the call; in mere seconds his head turned and the world slowed--all he saw was blue.
“AYE, WHAT UP CUH!”
Esketit
posting today or tomorrow
In
Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)
→
6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
The Tempest of the Normal
Amim House
”I believe it is time…”
“Time for what?” Pantheon laid atop the all-too-small Queen size bed which prevailed as the only clean item amid a sea of clothes: dirty, ripped, or more pertinent, ones which no longer fit.
”Time to get a job. I cannot stand to hear your. . . our mother’s daily reminders further.”
Hassan gave himself a good whollop. Regret was immediate.
“Don’t talk about her, shithead.”
”You persist physical violence knowing it hurts us both? We have been together how long?”
“Few months.”
”Are you sure I am the one who is, as you put it, ‘a shithead’?”
“Well… you can shut up, how about that?”
And Pantheon did. Hassan returned to his drawing: a poor rendition of certain people from the invasion of Sherman Square: Hex, Alchemyst, Icon, and a few others, all grouped together and waving, their four-fingered hands waving and each smiling at one another. He heard a door open, had to be Shati. A sly grin grew on Hassan face,
Presently in a teal hoodie which Rahna bought him, some black jeans (Rahna again), and some special ordered black Converse (hey, Rahna, thanks!) Hassan jumped up and scurried out his door to meet Shati at the top of the stairs. He leaned on the railing beside him and wiggled his eyebrows,
“Sooooooo?”
Shati, now a bit taller and mere days before her 16th birthday, stonewalled her elder cousin’s plea. She gave a glance to him from her phone, AirPods still sunk into her ears. A sigh, and then she shouted for Bibi, but Bibi had already left. Hassan did a jig.
“Fine. Fine, fine. FINE! But I swear if I die I’m coming back to haunt you and him. Also, could you not tell Michael you’re going to beat his ass if he doesn’t take me to prom?”
“Wasn’t me, it was--”
“Pantheon, yeah, whatever dude. Just cut it out, yeah?” Shati pattered her feet down the stairs, knee high socks and red and white Jordan Air Max rounding out her outfit of choice. Hassan towed behind and snatched the car keys from their hook next to the kitchen and the two hustled outside. 7:30? School at 8:15? Can do. Hassan hopped in the driver’s seat, Shati in the passenger’s.
“And this time make sure you use the blinkers, thanks.”
“Titi, who’s the one driving?”
Silence.
“Exxxaacctlyyyy.” Hassan mocked,
“You just started driving last week, dummy! Who was the one who taught you how to drive, huh?” she pulled back ebon silky hair and leaned an ear close to Hassan,
Silence.
“Exaaaaaaccctlyyyy.” Shati returned,
“Well, being a superhero is tough business, alright? Taking down a terrorist organization is a pretty big deal, you know.”
“Last I checked those guys are still around. Big bad superhero can’t do his job right, and he can’t drive. Maybe I shouldn’t have been jealous of you after all.”
“...Just.. put your seatbelt on.” Shati gave a smile as she clicked herself in. Hassan started the vehicle and the two were off.
Hassan drummed his fingers along the steering wheel while they rolled along in silence for the first few minutes of the ride. Silence wasn’t his favorite, and so he moved to break it first,
“Speaking of prom, any ideas? Need a good color scheme. Yellow and green?”
“You know I don’t like yellow,”
“That kind of hurts, you know.”
“No, blue and… something else.”
“Ohhh,” Hassan nudged her as she scrolled through her phone, “you and Michael gonna match? Huh? Huh?!”
Shati huffed and pushed his arm away best she could.
“No. Everyone does that.” a stop sign, Shati’s phone rang,
“Hello? Hey, Rahna! Yeah, yeah, okay. Alright, I’ll tell him.” she hung up and turned to Hassan,
“Rahna said she had to speak to you after you dropped me off. Something about a uh… an interview?”
Oh. Hassan felt morning’s renewal leave him; it may have been the lack of leg room in the Camry. No, it was definitely numinous.
“Did you ask her with who?”
“She didn’t say. Just said to meet her after. Oh, and this time could you not forget to pick me up after soccer?”
“Sure, Titi.” Hassan had zoned out, and had nearly rear-ended a soccer mom’s van at the entrance of the high school,
“Hassan! Pay attention!” Hassan slammed the breaks and though he didn’t jerk forward too much, Shati did. One of Pantheon’s massive hands pressed against Shati’s chest, nearly pushing her into the seat.
“Shit! You alright?” the hand dropped, Shati coughed violently and unbuckled herself before jolting out of the vehicle and into the school. Hassan was left sitting there, alone.
”It doesn’t matter how hard you try, she will always hate you. They all do.”
“We’re not doing this right now.”
A cold climbed Hassan’s spine; he could envision Pantheon’s smug grin crawling around his mind. There was no time to waste, he had to go see Rahna about this ‘interview.’
bet
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
March 18th, 1997
Smog snuffed radiance, and spring did little to ease one’s mind. A fan circled its near perpetual dance above Kentrell’s head and he was staring at the fan as it turned. It was mid-day, the stove crackled flame, Darius and Lorraine were up cooking breakfast: eggs, sausage, cheese toast. It was the same thing every morning--mornings began whenever the eldest siblings woke--Kentrell sighed. Excising crust from his eyes and tossing his mess of covers from himself, Kentrell sat on the side of the bed and pushed his feet into the house slippers waiting for him on the rug beside his resting place.
As zombies of morn do, Kentrell lifted himself up and lumbered toward the kitchen. A smell once welcoming and sloughing the monotony of routine consumption, Kentrell (or Tre as his siblings called him) would have sooner found Nirvana if he never had to smell cheese toast and eggs again. Sausage made his stomach churn. Kentrell ate it anyway, he was no cook himself--a deficiency which,as Darrius and Shontay reminded him often, made him goofy. Darrius re-attached he smoke detector once all the hot breakfast had been cooked. Lorraine had disappeared into the bathroom and there was no sign of Terell, Marcus, or Shontay.
Kentrell hated being alone with Darrius.
No sooner than Lorraine went to get dressed for work did Darrius begin his shpiel,
“You found a job yet?” Darrius sipped black coffee while Kentrell toyed with a plate of scrambled eggs, Kentrell’s eyes met Darrius’ own,
“Still lookin’.” a dry enough response from the younger Price boy; Darrius knew it to be incredulous,
“Uh huh. Look Tre, I’ono what you plan on doing, but it gotta be something. Shontay and Terell ass, too, cause I know damn well I’m not about to keep doin’ no’ double shifts at McDonalds for three lazy niggas.”
“Man, ain’ no--”
“Nah, nah, nigga. Shut up.”
“Man, aight. I’ll see what up.”
“I’m serious, nigga.”
Lorraine came out of the bathroom and prompted an end to the exchange. In her return, Kentrell found safety from Darrius scold; Lorraine and Darrius left the house after other random chatter between themselves. Kentrell watched them leave and then finished his eggs and sausage. He went back to his room and threw on the same red t-shirt he had worn yesterday and exchanged his slippers for decaying red Converse sneakers. From inside his drawer he retrieved his red bandana and stuffed it in the back pocket of the khaki pants he had also worn yesterday. Hygiene, then Kentrell was outside.
Beyond the black iron fence which enclosed the apartment complex were a handful of people, all of whom had some designated article of clothing in homage to the hood. Red belts, red socks, hats, shoes, flags. Of the ten or so young men and women standing outside, there were the two he had wanted to see most: Terell and Shontay, and of the duo it was Terrell who welcomed Kentrell--or KP as he was known in the streets--first,
“Woop. What up, nigga. Where you been?”
“Shit, sleep.”
“Sleep?! Nigga, it’s 12:30! Been waitin’ on yo’ ass all day.” KP joined with the rest of the group, to which Shontay gave her own greeting,
“Here come this ugly ass nigga!” KP kissed his teeth and indulged her with a one-arm side hug.
“Ya mama, nigga.” KP’s retorts were never quite tuned for quality,
“Whatever, you ready?” 20 sets of eyes turned to KP, nerves flashed up the boy’s spine and settled in the rest of his body. A millisecond too long passed in silence, they could smell the hesitation.
“On Lanes, nigga, you already know I’m ready. Shit, been ready, blood.” the answer appeased none, but no one feigned belief better than KP and his friends.
“We gon’ see.” Shontay and Terrell had already put in work, exactly what that work was was something Terell didn’t quite know. A cherry red cadillac pulled up in front of the apartments, inside a muscled, dark skinned black man with a scar beneath his eye and a blunt hanging from his mouth screeched the cadillac to a halt. Shontay let her eyes fall to the vehicle,
“There he go. Aye!” she shouted to the car, “What up Bone?!” Bone only gave a nod,
KP had frozen solid in just that short span of time, it took a nudge from Shontay to rev life into him. With lowered tone, she spoke,
“Go ‘head nigga, don’t make him call you ova there.”
KP’s legs carried him. Hands clutched the unlocked door and he stepped in. Instinctively, he reached a hand out to Bone, who merely stared at the hand and then hit the gas.
And in a few seconds it all became real to him.
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