aladdin_sane

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

I have an outline of my post finished. Think I am just waiting on @Furiosa to post

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Was bored so I begin I started to transcribe a list the prominent NPC figures in Sol City. Nowhere near finished still need to craft up a Police Chief, Distract Attorney, and a few more industrialists. Hope this undertaking is okay don't want to over step my bounds. I also did not know if there was a mayor already made.

Notable Residents of Sol City in 2017:

Chan Makara – At age 64 Chan is the current Mayor of Sol City. Son of Cambodian refugees Chan immigrated to Sol City in 1968 when he was fifteen and spent his teen years in abject poverty. Adapting quickly to the American lifestyle Chan was amongst a group of upstarts that in the late eighties founded SOLAR INC. an early trendsetter in the emerging software market. He profited handsomely when the small firm was bought by IBM, but he never let the influx of wealth change his personal values. Chan known primarily for his philanthropic efforts entered politics late in life when he finally became fed up with the direction his adoptive city was heading. A populist candidate Chan’s independent campaign resonated with embittered voters tired of candidates seemingly endowed to outside interests; Chan ever the man of the people lambasted a system he claimed held wealthy individuals and corporations above democracy itself. His vows to dismantle the supposed oligarchy and to hold no person above the law might have not endeared him to the City’s movers and shakers, but he still won a landslide victory over his mainstream political opponents.


Aleksey Matfey Petrov - Chairman of Vencorp International . Aleksey Peterov was born in Russia when Joseph Stalin was still General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and lived to see the restoration of Capitalism in his homeland. When the future billionaire married his sweetheart Natsha he was a political officer in the Red Army. Though once an adversary of the free market Aleksey heavily benefited from the era of privatization and founded Venkorp Kredit which was the fourth largest Russian bank until the financial crisis of 1998; his personal fortune was largely unaffected by the crisis as he had the foresight to diversify his holdings. Venkorp Kredit was rebranded as Vencorp International in 2000 as it morphed from a banking institution into a powerful conglomerate with substantial holdings in businesses across a number of industries spanning the globe. Natasha and Aleksey adopted their nephew Sasha Zhenya Kuznetsov in 2004 and they moved to Sol City in early 2009 due to tensions with the Putin regime. Today at 70 years old his net worth stands around $43.5 billion dollars.

@Pilatus@PrinceAlexus

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Interested to see where this is going to go.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

@Pilatus

I consider that a success then.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Finally finished my post. Hope I tagged everyone in the venue.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Rupert Kingsley

Rupert Kingsley the proprietor of the Swan Song’s spent the last few hours hoping against hope itself that the trio of man-children would lose interest tonight’s event and go be someone else’s problem, but the influx of professional looking security dashed any hope of the taking place. The business owner placed his head into his hands as the head security guard bent down to inform him of the eta of the group. There was just no saying no to these people as permission to them was just a formality; decline their requests and they’d just show up anyways with a newfound intent to wreck your establishment. At least the passive route to these shenanigan spreaders ensured the relative safety of his shop, but most importantly guaranteed that a decent donation to the Soothing the Sol Charity would be received from Vencorp International. It was rather sad that despite the plethora of potential that these lads had for global good they instead were some of stingiest scrooges he ever heard of when it came to giving back to their fellow man and if reports were to be believed their combined charitable donations were shockingly miniscule; it spoke volumes that they had to be strong armed into giving something back to their adoptive community. As the head guard from earlier lead him to the small stage Rupert felt akin to a prisoner of a terrorist group being forced to read a prepared statement that denounced one's core beliefs.

After Max finished his cover song two of those outside security guards of lesser ranks saw fit to make sure the twenty-eight-year-old wasn’t going to make this a set and motioned from him and the band to leave the stage; their demeanor suggested the matter was not up for debate. These guys did not look like pushovers in fact they looked like they just wanted someone to give them an excuse to lash out.

A microphone was forced into his clammy hands, but before Rupert could utter a single word there was a splattering of applause from the assembled audience that up until this point seemed to be mostly enjoying themselves.

“Max Summerson ladies and gentleman. What a talent. What a talent. And the band…Wow what a great band. Am I right. Uh, well you may be wondering what this unexpected interruption is for as it was certainly not in the itinerary of today’s events…”

He felt confusion generally overtake the audience, heard some uncomfortable chuckles, and felt the proverbial daggers being stared at him by the assembled jazz and blues musicians.

“Some detractors have taken to calling our beloved Sol City the Human Zoo as of late. And….And in certain respects I hate to admit that they might be right. Tonight, I am begrudgingly forced to cede time from showcasing the importance of music to multi-billion dollar sideshows for the benefit of their massive egos and for what can loosely be called the press. Send in the accursed clowns and let’s get this bloody charade over with.” Rupert angrily tossed the microphone at the seething security guard and stormed off stage towards his seat in the back. He thought he heard his old friend and fellow audiophile Merle cry out ‘Give em Hell Rupe’, but it was almost impossible to hear over the cacophony of nose emanating from entrance. Send in the clowns indeed Rupert thought the head security guard approached likely with the intent to chew him out for not sticking to script.

=====================================================

Sasha Zhenya Kuznetsov

As the helicopter touched down Sasha contemplated doing a line of cocaine, but refrained from doing so as he desired a clear head for his upcoming performance. In addition to the assembled shutterbugs there was large also swell of sycophants crowding the descending stairs of helicopter; toadies and bootlickers of all varieties who just wanted the runoff of the attention the triumvirate had heaped up them by the establishment. These hanger-ons were perhaps the most diverse group of eccentrics outside of the Howard Stern show as local rappers and less than scrupulous athletes mingled with the city’s premier fashionistas and oddball performance artists; infamous woo-peddler Dr. Allister Huxley was also in attendance and he was currently talking the ear off of a washed up former child star from the 90’s whilst a correspondent from a local gossip rag furiously transcribed the conversation like it was the word of God almighty. A few guards wielding submachine guns exited the luxurious interior of the helicopter once the all clear was given and forcefully parted the swelling swarm of people; once a pathway to the entrance was secured a red carpet was unfurled and the trio were ushered off the illegally parked Sikorsky S-92 VVIP Configuration Helicopter. Lupe Amor Asís was the first of three to emerge Cuban cigar wedged in his mouth his large frame flanked by his team of social media engineers who were responsible for managing his extensive online presence. Clad in his trademark outfit a blue Lacoste Chevron Stripe Track Suit, Red retro Air Jordan’s, and Cazal sunglasses he slowly made his way down the stairs w looking like a prototype Sacha Baron Cohen character that was abandoned at the last minute for being too unbelievable. His hands were adorned with rings from various championship winning sports teams that he never played on; these false accomplishments coupled with the fact he had his private security force beat up people for his own amusement only fueled his reputation as a modern-day Commodus. Once he was on the carpet two twin blondes tepidly rushed down the stairs of the chopper pushing past the social media team to personally escort Lupe into the building; one of the beautiful women carried a golden chalice formerly belonging to disposed Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi which was nowadays used to hold the putrid concoction known on the streets as Purple Drink or Lean. The escorts looked uncomfortable being so close to the infamous womanizer and despite insurances that they were just eye candy they did not trust the fat man’s intentions.

Khorshid Dana Charmchi followed shortly after almost falling down the stairs ala Gerald Ford. He was wearing a Ralph Lauren floral pattern jacket over a puffy blouse; he also had as a testament to his fervent belief in pseudoscience and the supernatural a very expensive pink crystal hanging from a platinum chain around his neck. He is accompanied by a personal bodyguard, servant, and lover known only as Bob; when Khorshid was a freshman and cheerleader at Yale a hotline psychic predicted that a stranger who in the next few months introduced himself as with a name starting with a B would save the young man’s life someday. Bob who was at employed as a barista at a coffee shop on campus when he had the misfortune of introducing himself to the superstitious cheerleader within the vague time period mentioned by the psychic. At first the pair enjoyed a platonic friendship sputtered with little trysts here and there, but soon Khorshid became jealous of Bob’s overall devotion to his wife. Khorshid spent a vast fortune wearing down Bob essentially ruining his life and marriage until the broken man had no choice, but to swear himself mind, body, and soul to his tormentor. If one was too look into Bob’s eyes they might become lost in the depths of his despair. Khorshid aloofly skipped after his large Cuban friend his long curly black hair blowing in the wind as Bob lingered behind looking like a long-broken man just going through the motions of life.

With his acquaintances gone Sasha once again considered taking his nostrils on a proverbial sleigh ride through the snow, but managed to bury his decadent urges for the time being. He had to stay focused on the task as it was up to him to bring a little culture to this drab little city. He applied a little powder to his face before exiting the cabin.

Sasha looked resplendent in his oufit which was comprised of a Jil Sander Black Tank Top, Lavan violet windbreaker jacket, Maison Margiela tapered wool-flannel drawstring trousers, Christian Louboutin platform ankle boots, Tom Ford stripped brown square sunglasses, and a Ippolita 18-karat gold cross necklace. He walked at a slighter slower pace than his cohorts letting the photographers snap pictures of his splendor as like a living work of art he was on display for all to bask in his glory. While initial applause was scattered Sasha chalked it up to jealousy, he was one of the beautiful ones after all and it was no surprise that his mere presence would stun the unfashionable into shameful silence.

If one was outside to watch the scene unravel they would be stunned by the sheer cacophony of sights and sounds… tabloid journalists yelling questions that largely went unanswered, the flashing of cameras taking a steady rotation of shots, car horns from angry drivers stuck behind the makeshift barricade, sporadic applause from the brownnosers, the shuffling of a multitude of feet, and so on. It was equivalent to all the acts of a circus entering the big top at once.

The group, their followers, and more paparazzi entered toward the end of Rupert’s tirade. The trio were slowly making their way towards the stage from the entrance. Guards who fanned out ahead were pushing the hapless out of the way of the procession. A cordless microphone was eventually brought to Lupe.

“You dirty fuckin’ mutt. We three humble wisemen…we three great kings…the triumphant triumvirate take time out from our busy schedules to grace this lowly establishment with our presence and you dare treat us with disrespect old timer. Homeboy you actin’ like you want me to beat some r-e-s-p-e-c-t into those tired old bones. Even here in Sol Shitty you must know I ain’t ever lost a fight. Check my Instagram playa. I can beat you with one punch…man." Lupe stops to take a long puff of his cigar before tossing it into the crowd causing people to scatter.

Sasha never to be outdone makes his way to the front of the group seizing the microphone. “I get that you lash out in jealousy because as you inch ever closer to your eventual expiration date you realize that you never accomplished anything of note music-man. So, listen to this we are simply your betters and that fact applies to every single person in this room. You are all quite privileged to bear witness to our collective greatness each and every day. Thanks to us the Perfect Posse what could loosely be called your lives have meaning even if your too ignorant to comprehend it. Like the muses of ancient myth, we are directly responsible for the cultural output of this great nation and I’d humbly suggest that I am at least personally responsible for this city’s resurgence as of late. Had it not been for my family’s billions this city would have defaulted on its loans during the great recession and continued to be a rotten uncultured cesspool. It would not surprise me that there are diseased minds out that yearn for this city’s degeneration and I can only pity those poor philistines.”

Loud booing can be heard from those not affiliated with Sasha and his ilk though even that does not drown out the inane questions of the entertainment press.

@Pilatus@Furiosa@Robo27@Monacho@King Tai@Voltus_Ventus

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

@PrinceAlexus

Just finished a short post wrapping up the whole journalist thing for the time being. Promise my more major characters will get there eventually...got to set the stage and what not. Also tired.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Merle G. Kersten

Monday Evening, Swan Songs.

Merle G. Kersten had himself a hearty laugh as he thought of the absurdity of what just transpired. Some of the other paparazzi in the room glanced in the direction of the ruckus, but most were indifferent having hardened themselves against criticism. The reporter from the local paper sitting a few feet away shifted uncomfortably in his seat and order another glass of water from a bored looking waitress.

“Lady I have not the slightest clue who you or your father are, but despite sounding you stepped right off the boat from Buckingham Palace I must say you have already acquired the trademark Sol City Ego. I ought to know who you are? How novel. You bourgeois brats are all the same when it comes to a sense of entitlement. Believe it or not this is just utter coincidence, I just happened to choose the first decent paying assignment in my inbox and it just so happens that you personally fit the demographic my temporary eurotrash employer wanted comments from. Nothing special about it or you in particular, just routine business…you know rats actually have to work for a meal. Despite lofty ambitions not all of us have the luxury to work at professions we like as sometime in the real world one must put morals and personal dignity aside to survive another day. If you wish to indulge your deep-seated persecution complex further just step outside I am sure if you and your child solider arming daddy are as infamous as you claim to be one of my camera clad colleagues more versed in pre-brexit English scandals than I would be more than happy to grant you your fifteen minutes in the spotlight. Air your grievances or what not. Perhaps if you are lucky you can join the carnival of the absurd once it shortly arrives.”

And as quickly as he appeared the wheelchair bound man disappeared into the crowd. It was clear the man cared little about a response and perhaps wanted the last word to score some small narcissistic point.

========

If one was paying attention they perhaps noticed some secret service type characters enter the vicinity. Perhaps if outside the record shop proper one could notice that the street was being blocked off and traffic being redirected by similar looking figures. Weaving its way in between buildings a privately owned and operated Sikorsky S-92 VVIP Configuration Helicopter in direct violation of city ordinances which restricted inner city air travel to designated Helicopter Taxis only made its way toward Swan Song’s.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Alright finished a post. This week was not a complete dud after all. Also if my posts were movie scenes there would be a lot left on the cutting room floor and a lot of rewrites. No joke in earlier draft of this post I had a subplot involving the UberLux driver mentioned by me (and only me) a few posts ago. It seems a lot of stuff I write at work ends up scraped.

Sol City [Modern Slice of Life] . (CHAPTER ONE COMPLETED!) . ARCHIVED

Sasha Zhenya Kuznetsov

Monday Morning, Undisclosed Apartment building

Sasha let off an undignified yawn as he attempted to pulled himself off the floor of his crappy apartment; after a multitude of failed efforts he resigned himself to lying still for the time being. Despite its garish appearance at least the off-colored carpet was relatively comfortable. Sasha felt like an utter mess as memories from last night whizzed around in his head causing a slight migraine. Ugh, perhaps he indulged in his vices a little to liberally last night…might have to dial things back in the future. Sasha couldn’t help pondering as he shakily rose to his feet how much of last night’s odd events were chemically induced, the result of his unfortunate tumble, or from a yet unseen part of his inner self. Those weighty thoughts were hastily shaken off as they were obviously better examined by a trained professional perhaps an impromptu visit to the esteemed psychological guru Dr. Allister Huxley was in order. It was bemusing that Dr. Huxley was so derided by the medical community sure the guru was forced to appear on a plethora of occasions in front of the Senate’s consumer protection panel due to supposedly promoting miracle cures, but Primal Scream therapy despite not be empirically proven was always quite exhilarating.

Sasha poured himself a glass of orange juice before taking “The Chairman” off the kitchen counter. While, the $5000 burner phone in his clutch was the Vertu Constellation coated in legitimate alligator skin “The Chairman” was his true preferred cellular device. The android powered phone designed by Swiss watch manufacturer, Ulysse Nardin, featured a kinetic rotor power system visible through the backplate and around 3,000 hand-cut 17-karat diamonds adorning the faceplates; it retailed for around $ 130,000. Sasha perused his missed text messages on his bedazzled phone and it seemed that most were from his beloved Uncle updating him on mundane business matters, what a shame…how utterly droll. Hmm, it seemed he had one voicemail he overlooked from an unknown number. It would be easy enough to just delete it as it was probably spam, but then again perhaps not. Sasha listened to the message, but the recording was so garbled that even on repeat listens he could not make heads or tails of it. All Sasha could piece together was the following conversation that was held in Russian.

Voice one was that of a man who spoke soft and slow, “…Sixteen Hour Flight from Moscow to Sol City is quite daunting to say the least. I’ve never even been on a plane before…”

The retort was by a voice whose age and gender were hard to determine “…I bet he owns his plane that ric...I do not understand we are attempting to even reach…those were not his wish…”

“Enough is enough we are going and that’s… we have to show them that we are not…” commanded the voice of a stern woman.

Before Sasha had time to ponder the odd voice mail any further his expensive mobile device begins to ring indicating that Lupe was trying to facetime him. Begrudgingly accepting the call caused the Cuban’s face to engulf the screen. Of course, the fat fuck was eating.

“Bless up. Like where you been at dude. I have not seen you around the penthouse in days. You on a bender or something. Oh shit, don’t tell me you took that game of kings shit seriously. That was the molly talking not your homeboy here. Ha! The look on your face and your dye job tells me that I gotcha good. You done been punked son. Russia is a cold, boring, shithole, so we all knew you were tough as diamonds. You be some prideful ass mofo though. You lucky you weren’t kidnaped son as this city is filled with the desperate. Speaking of which fuck Sol City dude. You got some Harvey Dent Distract Attorney here. Punk had the gall to tell my father… an esteemed senator mind you…that he is considering moving forward with the case against me. Called me a menace to public order and threatened to throw me back in the slammer like I was some sort of real criminal. Chump is walking on thin ice. For real. Pissant doesn’t seem to whom he’s messing with. Scrappy Doo better learn that he is messing with the Big D-O-G now”

Sasha tempered his seething anger at his bulbous roommate before speaking. “Seriously fuck you fat ass. I could have been killed out here in the ghetto and guess what the DA could’ve added accessory to murder to your litany of charges. Who’d be yucking it up then darling? I warned you that this is not Miami Dade county when all three of us bought the penthouse, so it is your own damn fault that you found yourself on the wrong end of the puritans’ moral crusade against fun. You’re lucky I tolerate your presence pig, so I suppose I’ll do you a solid this once and have my Uncle call the DA’s office on your behalf. He’ll remind Mr. Bigshot who financed his campaign last election cycle and your charges should be dropped. In the meantime, inform my driver I wish to be picked from this tenement up post-haste and make sure Marcus brings some Oolong tea from new tea place down by the harbor. Don’t get the wrong idea… I am still livid that I dyed my hair for a joke. I can’t wear some of my favorite outfits thanks to your ill placed sense of humor”

“Of course. What can I say humor is a harsh mistress Sasha. I appreciate the solid though. Speaking of mistresses, you want to go to crash some shindig at the dustbin record shop later. Got word from a mutual friend of my drug dealer that killer babes are going be present and you know the Partyman loves himself some fresh booty. Before you start yes college-esque events are lame, but only when you are in college boy; Now that we are luminaries these are things are the bomb. Us Three Wise Man…Us Three Kings dropping truth bombs on our parishioners. We be lighting up Instagram and Twitter. So do yourself the biggest favor of your life and say yes.”

Sasha considered telling his cohort to leave him alone, but being admired would be a good boost to his confidence. “Alright. Alright. I’ll go to on condition that I get to sing.”

Once an agreement was reached Sasha exited the dreary apartment and into the passenger side door of his awaiting cocaine white 2017 Lykan HyperSport aka the best 3.7 million dollars he ever spent. The Lebanese really knew how to build a car, with its holographic display system and each LED headlight encrusted with 220 diamonds this was truly a beautiful machine. With an acceleration of 0-125mph in 9.4 seconds Sasha felt sorry those fools stuck driving lesser cars. He smiled as driver Marcus presented him with a biodegradable cup filled with Oolong tea. The tea was indeed delicious and was just the thing he need to jumpstart this already good day.

91st floor Penthouse, Monday Afternoon

Khorshid seemed overexcited to see Sasha back at the penthouse and he embraced his friend in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you Sashy. Lupe had me convinced that you were going to be eaten by the homeless, but in all actuality, I knew it couldn’t be true as your slender figure wouldn’t provide them with the proper nutrition.” Staring aghast at Sasha’s dyed hair color the former Yale cheerleader stopped his blabbering before chiding “My gosh why’d you go dye your beautiful hair? Ugh and you haven’t been practicing your braid dear. Let me remind how to do it.”

Sasha let his dimwitted friend lead him to the couch knowing better than to resist. Sitting down in front of the dullard, the Russian shivered in pleasure as he felt those soft hands begin to tug at the hair on right side of his head; having his hair braided was one his weakness. He bit his bottom lip to suppress a moan; the pain of the pulling stirred something pleasurable deep inside him. He closed his eyes and blissful thoughts raced across his mind’s eye. It was unfortunate that the experience ended as quickly as it did.



It seemed that in the interim Lupe entered the room and know was going on about something or another. It was clear they had some planning to do. He looked up at his Indian roommate and flashed a thankful smile before turning his full attention to his Cuban compatriot.

Merle G. Kersten

Monday Evening, Swan Songs.

To the untrained eye they were perhaps invisible or even indistinguishable from the actual press there doing puff pieces, but the paparazzi of Sol City were descending on the musical event like a swarm of locusts. After all they were the ones with the tip off as an anonymous, yet reliable source called the major sources of entertainment news earlier in the day to proclaim to them that the Perfect Posse would be out today in full force. While most of the lot just mulled about waiting for the actual celebrities to arrive, some of the so-called journalists with agendas to push rudely prodded patrons for quotes or eavesdropped on conversations. Merle G. Kersten was unfortunately one of those unlucky sods that was writing for an organization with some sort of slant to it. Luck of the draw he supposed. The Blaze was a fledgling sensationalist UK based website that had some socialist or perhaps it was social justice motivations behind it, not that Merle cared because a true centrist like himself would proudly write for any organization whose checks cashed.

Using his motorized wheelchair to navigate the growing crowd was not impossible, but it was growing rather frustrating. He decided to just collect some quotations from the first group of twenty somethings he came across and call it a day. He wasn’t here for the circus act like his colleagues as his mission per say was to record reactions and opinions on Vencorp International and the allegations they might be connected to the legal gun trade in Africa. A big issue in England apparently. The Russian socialite rumored to make an appearance later in the evening apparently was the nephew of the guy who ran Vencorp or something. Again, Merle did not care, he only took these writing gigs to supplement his laughably small disability check. He adjusted his Garfield tie (It ironically mentioned not liking Mondays) before approaching a group of people as the little pride he got out of the jobs was that he dressed relatively better than his peers. His suit while not terribly expensive was at least freshly pressed and at least he was not wearing a fedora to cover his prematurely balding head. Waiting for a lull in the conversation Merle sped on over mentally noting that one of women sounded particularly English.

“Pardon my intrusion ladies and gentlemen. I am Merle a free-lance journalist for The Blaze crown and country’s number one source for progressive coverage and I am just wondering if you wonderful people could inform our readers across the pond what you personally think of recent allegations lobbied against locally based conglomerate Vencorp International. While similar allegations of supporting the legal gun trade in Africa have crippled shipping giants across the United Kingdom, it seems our American counterparts are hesitant to take any legal actions against this certain accused billion-dollar company. Is it perhaps that the current administration in Washington wishes to use exiled Russian oligarch Aleksey Matfey Petrov and his company as leverage against Putin? Is it just sickening knowing that the privileged few profit off the misery of others. What are your thoughts on the matter as many wish to know.” While rather monotone Merle managed to talk a brisk pace to silence any potential interruptions. The look on his face told those assembled that any answer or insult they flung at him would not surprise him in the slightest, he seemed quite world weary for a journalist.