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We should set the clocks back a half hour then never touch them again.
2 mos ago
We dumped your tea and kept our guns.
2 mos ago
It's quality over quantity. A good writer can say a lot with a few words.
3 mos ago
Don't give up on your dreams, keep sleeping.
3 mos ago
Own a house and pay some bills and you learn a lot.
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Joel Nicolosi

Joel basically tuned out both of them as soon as they started arguing back and forth like teenagers in an after-school special. The night air was cold and with his healthy disdain for cold weather, he could think of several things he could have been doing instead of mediating rich-kid drama. Still, Siobhan’s aptly curved backside did look exceptional in the jeans she chose to wear out and he had a few ideas about that as well. As they continued to bicker, he yawned and looked back over at Bradley’s car. If he truly came from money, it was definitely an odd choice, Joel was more expecting some computer tuned Lambo or Porsche, but the Z28 was still a smart decision if all he was interested in was going fast in a straight line and blending in with the crowd. Just like with Sio’s Corvette, the parts were plentiful and it didn’t take a very large investment to get under a ten-second quarter mile. Even having been out of the game for a while, Joel felt fairly confident he could get the younger guy to spill on what he was running.

“Who rolled your fenders?” Joel asked quizzically.

Bradley seemed partly surprised by the question and the complete change in subject. “Oh, I have a guy on the northside…”

“Near the airport.” Joel said, completing the sentence for him. “Yeah, I know him, he does good work.” He let go of Sio’s hand and casually strolled over to the car knowing Bradley had already given away the farm, everything else was going to be gravy. He stooped down to examine the body work, confirming that it was indeed the same person. “I built a Fox Body for a guy a while back with a tubbed rear-end and had him roll the quarters on it.” The unmistakable aroma of traction juice wafted out from under the frame around the tires, a scent something like Cherry Dr. Pepper and menthol. “You running pump-gas in this?” It was a bullshit question.

“Hey now, I can’t be givin’ away all my secrets.” Bradley smirked.

Joel chuckled a bit, “Yea, i know the game. You don’t have to tell me.” He stood back up and feigned a glance at the hood again, but it was too dark to see the interior and he was curious if it had a roll cage and what kind of shifter was equipped. Somewhere in the crowd a loud bass system started booming and Joel waited before he continued: “The tach on the hood is a nice touch though, I wish I had thought of that one. I might steal that from you.” He said glancing back with a slight smile and then looking at Siobhan only just for a split-second to see if she was picking up on what he was doing.

“You know, my dad had a Chevelle back in the day with one.” Bradley said. There was a measure of respect in his voice which seemed to lend to what Siobhan had said about the father. “He gave me the idea, I haven’t seen anyone else with it.”

“Neither have I,” Joel replied. Sio was now the furthest thing from Bradley’s mind. People who had nice cars liked to talk about cars and Joel had done it for years as he worked in his shop and random people from Southside stopped by to chit-chat at all hours. It became very easy to steer a conversation even while he was busily working. Joel crossed his arms and looked the car over once more, standing next to it like it belonged to him rather than Bradley. “So let me explain something... to both of you.” He said. There was finality in his tone and a certain measure of authority, something he rarely did, but in the setting, he knew neither of them were even close to his level. “I don’t care what kind of bets or arrangements you had before this and I don’t care who’s daddy’s running for governor, mayor, dog-catcher or whatever, I’ve worked too hard to be putting up with this goddamn bullshit so this is what we’re gonna do...” He paused for a moment taking in the surprise across both their faces. “I’ll be done with her car in another week or so, if you want to race after that then by all means and if not then that’s fine too, but either way, that’s the end of it and not another word gets said about it. We all on the same page?”

@The Muse

Approved, just need @Almalthia or @PrinceAlexus to sign off as well.
@MST3K 4ever

Im not sure where you were going with her Christmas holiday plans, but we have already passed Christmas of sorts in Sol City. The post would still be within continuity, she just wouldn't be going for a while.

Also, here's a link to our discord channel:

@The Muse

Im at work right now as i type this, but I will take a more detailed look at your CS later today. Nice choice of face-claim, btw.
@MST3K 4ever

I really like this one. Just need a thumbs up from @PrinceAlexus or @Almalthia to move to the IC tab.
Paige Kennedy

At some point in the night Paige had finally fallen asleep. She didn’t remember what time, just that it was pretty late. Her eyes blinked open to the quiet hum of night traffic outside and the dim shadows of Milo’s living room. The air in the room was cool with a slight chill. He was always trying to save money and wouldn’t run the heat pump while there was still a fire in the shop. She stared ahead for a moment and shifted a little under the heavy blanket he’d thrown over her for the night. His worn leather sofa was well broken-in and felt like it was about ten feet deep. She didn’t want to get up. It could have only been a few hours, but it felt like days and her thoughts were drunk with sleep. Her phone blinked with new messages on the coffee table in front of her, but she didn’t want to break the comfort or the warmth to reach for it.

Images and feelings wandered drowsily as she continued to look ahead into the darkness. What if we just stayed here? A voice questioned from the silence in the back of her mind. I’m not staying in this shit hole a minute longer than I have to. Another familiar voice cut-in firmly. You will for him. The argument started. She listened to the slow rhythm of her breaths as the mental chorus began to wake up with her: Ana is coming here… Her brow furrowed slightly at the thought. I’m not thinking about that right now. The conversation intensified behind her eyes, but the main subject remained all the same despite the noise. He still loves her and you know it… He would have dumped you for that sickly cripple.

“Shut up.” She whispered harshly to herself.

You’ll always just be a bridesmaid, Paige.

“I’ll fucking kill all of them.” She growled.

Sure you will.

“And I’ll make it look like someone else did it.” She could feel her heartbeat accelerating slightly.

That’s how we do it.

Paige tossed the blanket aside with a start letting the cool air of the room wash over her. Rotating up into a sitting position, her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor and she wiped her hands over her face feeling her hair falling over her exposed shoulder before pausing for a moment and inhaling deeply. Letting the breath back out and dropping her hands away left her mind clear and back to silence. She shook her head first glancing over towards Milo’s room then at the notification light on her phone still blinking steadily.

A part of her was tempted. Club Aether would be open for a few more hours and a drink didn’t sound like too bad of an idea, but she knew she couldn’t and carefully considered her words as she typed a text back to Dustynn. She hoped the girl was still deleting them like she told her:

The next was a text from Marlin. She didn’t particularly want to involve her, but the extra helicopter would be useful if things got out of hand and she needed to move around the city quickly:

Finally, she had an odd premonition about Siobhan. The redhead was tending to keep some of the same bizarre hours as her slightly uncouth boyfriend, but he seemed to make her happy and she couldn’t say too much as Milo wasn’t exactly traditional either. A slight smile crept across her lips as she typed out a text:

Coleman St. John

Cole thumbed through a few local news stories on his phone while he waited, though his mind wasn’t fully focused on college football or the latest news in corrupt politicians or any of the other blurbs that passed by his eyes. For some time his conscience had been after him to talk to Kaylee about his true role in the scheme of things. He had no doubt he could have kept it hidden from the rest of the Institute’s staff; they had enough problems, but she had been a total wildcard and a part of him kicked himself for so easily breaking his rule of not mixing business and pleasure. He realized he wasn’t even paying attention to his phone anymore as he heard a familiar rhythm of footsteps. She had a certain, smart confidence in her stride that he couldn’t resist. Everywhere she went, she seemed to move with a purpose or a goal, even if it was the most mundane task. His thoughts lingered to the last second before he looked up and caught her gaze.

Seeing the spark in her countenance helped bring him back to the moment, but the easy smile he showed her was increasingly being cast with a pang of guilt and moreover a modicum of uneasiness. He knew, to some extent, he was letting his heart guide him more than his mind. “You look good,” He said glancing over her outfit; happy that she decided to take his advice and not burn her leg on the pipes. She looked much more relaxed in casual clothes and he liked the look on her even better. Similarly, he’d tossed his button down shirt aside in his office and put on a less formal, white ¾-sleeve shirt and his black riding jacket. “Then your chariot awaits.” He said motioning over the bike as his smile turned more into a slight smirk. The light of the garage curved unblemished over the polished black fender and fuel-tank as he threw his leg over with her likewise nestling in against his back.

There was a brief pause in his movements as her arms wrapped around him while he turned on the battery and reached for the starter button. Like many other things, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a passenger, but something about her grasp felt familiar and he could sense a tightening in his chest.with an unusual awareness, like he knew he was doing something wrong. In one of their conversations Kaylee explained the nature of her mutant abilities and he thought he understood for the most part, though he wasn’t sure what she was seeing or perceiving- It was another subject they hadn't discussed. Sitting on the bike was the closest they had ever been. Shaking his head dismissively, he thumbed the starter button summoning the engine beneath them to life and twisting the throttle letting his thoughts evaporate momentarily in the exhaust note that smacked through the walls of the garage. Letting the clutch out smoothly, the slow cannonade of thunder picked up momentum as they turned out onto the winding road that led to the Institute echoing through the woods as they headed towards the city.


Joel Nicolosi

Joel was perusing the lineup of cars just the same as anyone else. It was the regular lineup of total junk and stupid money the same as always. He didn’t mind the gawkers that his car was drawing. There were a couple other GT-R’s parked along the wayside setup for the quarter-mile, but none with the refined aero kit or carbon-fibre construction that his sported. He continued to glance around casually as she spoke in his ear. Confrontations were not particularly his style, but despite the hassle of driving all the way out there for her, he was just a little bit curious what exactly was going on. As she whispered he continued to nod and acknowledge those that recognized him, keeping a slight smirk on his face when she pecked him on the lips. He reached down behind her out of sight between the rear of the car and pinched her ass hard without making the slightest change in his expression.

The object of his search, he was pretty sure was just across the small lot in which everyone was gathered. A fourth generation Z28, maroon and lowered slightly in the front-end, which on its own would not have been anything unique, but the beadlock rear wheels and the fat street slicks tucked under rolled rear fenders were not normally a choice for posers. He could see what looked like an old-school tachometer mounted on the hood that he had to admit was a nice touch. Whatever was under the hood, if it was fit enough to match the outward appearance, would be an interesting match against Sio’s Corvette and if the guy was as much a cocky asshole as she described, then it was going to be relatively easy for him to get the information he needed to make sure her car could win, assuming that even happened.

“Let’s see if your homebody wants to make a scene before you get all hot and bothered.” He said meeting her eyes for a moment then glancing away as if he were thinking about something else.

Ban them, make it official
“...most men and women will grow up to love their servitude and will never dream of revolution.”

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
Elsewhere in Sol City...

The metal and the word from the street were heavy at the 501 Club on Tuesday Night. The clamor of conversation rose and fell against the sound of Slayer and old Metallica from a playlist stolen from a long broken jukebox that still sat derelict in one corner serving as a makeshift table for half-empty bottles, sweating glasses and ash trays. It was crowded, not because it was Tuesday, but because that was just the way it always was and the owners didn’t need silly gimmicks to attract their dedicated clientele. Members of the Visigoths 1% gang ruled most of the floor and the one pool table that still had enough balls and sticks to keep a game flowing. A few old hands of the Dellesantos Crew could be seen keeping to themselves around a table to the back. In decades past, they never would have set foot in Visigoth territory without a deathwish, but times changed and for the more seasoned residents of Sol’s underground, it was a lot less trouble to just have a drink, get-along and not think about it.

Not far off from the bar, at a small table adorned by old license plates and a shoddy framed flag from North Vietnam sat three men.

“This is absolute fucking Americano, Yolo.” One man said. He was clearly well-built, muscular, but not lean with a shaved head and a meaty grin. He wore an unpretentious black jacket, jeans and a workman’s boots that had not seen a great deal of work. He drank his beer from a bottle and kept his elbows rested on the table. “I fucking love it, almost reminds me of that place we had in Kansas City, remember that?”

Perky’s.” The other man replied. He was much younger, lanky with sharp features, poorly-cut curly hair, cauliflowered ears and sleeves rolled. He kept his posture relaxed, leaned back in his chair that shifted under his weight uneasily, like every dowel and screw that held it together had been retightened again and again to keep it standing. Yolo had a keen eye and kept a careful watch over those that plainly recognized them as outsiders.

“So, who’s the best lawman in this shit hole, Osvaldo?” The older man said.

The third man across the table looked more blue-collar than outlaw. His greasy black hair curled out from under a grungy and faded Angels hat. Hs facial features wrinkled like an old baseball glove at the the question. “Would need to weigh that one for a moment, senior.” The man said. He ran a hand over his mouth and crossed his other arm in consideration. Being a Dellesantos soldier for so many years had affected his memory considerably and he had to think about who was still alive, who was dead and who he wasn't sure either way. The two men in front of him wanted information and were paying handsomely for it, or at least one of them was, and as long as the family was protected, he didn’t see anything wrong with pocketing some cash on the side. His presence at the table abated the stares of the regulars. The calluses on his boney hands and the age in his eyes meant his intel was unquestioned. He gave a thin sigh of exasperation at the fog of age in his memory before he spoke: “The best tracker is Toly Pierce, he’s ex-KGB, will chase a man clear into Canada…” He shifted slightly in his chair still thinking and looking down at the scarred hardwood table between them. “But he is a bondsman… The best would be L.T. Davis, he is ATF and is fair, will even overlook some things.” Osvaldo nodded to himself with a slight smile at his recollections, but the smile faded back away as another thought approached while Hells Bells dawned in the background and he shook his head grimly. “No mis amigos, L.T., is the best... but the meanest is a woman, a Marshal, Kennedy is her name.”

“Ha! See I told you he’d say that.” The older man slapped Yolo on the back who in turn rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Tell us some more, Osvaldo.” The man said. He rested his chin in one hand aggrandizing his interest.

The old Mexican regarded them strangely. “You already know of her?”

“We’re familiar.”

“She’s hardly been in Sol City over a month and has killed at least two men.” Osvaldo continued. “She is loco, from somewhere in Florida, they say she threatened to kill Elvin Santos at gunpoint for information. Always likes to talk before she does something; I heard she beat a man near to death with a Bible.”

“Crazy bitches are always from Florida, remember that.”

“Just like Shannon.” Yolo chuckled.

“Oh my fucking God, do not get me started...”

Osvaldo’s aged glance narrowed. “What did you say your name was again, senior?”

“Nik…” The older man said. “Nik Giancana.”
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