Just Another Day in Paradise (Character RP)

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Paradise City, the capital city of the Blackhelm Confederacy. A sparkling jewel shimmering along the coast, built where the beaches meets the jungle. In the city of some twenty four million odd people, nearly anything can and will happen on a daily basis. The desperately poor, many unable to feed themselves or their families live only blocks from some of the world's richest and most notorious business men. But this thread is not about the rich. Instead, let's take a closer look at the lives of some of the ordinary people, or not so ordinary people, who call this city home.

A smokey bar, somewhere on the west end of the city....

"Lege atque lacrima!" a man shouted as he tossed his cards on the table. A full house, aces and threes. The other men grumbled as they tossed their credits on the table. From a seat at the bar, Titus Bluevase watched the game unfold. "Cogito sumere potum alterum" he said to the bartender, who quickly began pouring another glass of wine into the dirty cup on the counter.

OOC: People, feel free to RP anybody you want, a tourist, terrorist, pacifist, whore, anyone you want.

[Sorgan]

OOC: I guesse I'll be Nazi Spokesperson like during the time of Nazi America (Yes there was a time like that during the 40s i think). Also is it okay if i start in the middle of a speech


IC: Infamous Jonas Rockwell was stepping up to the podium after a roaring parade for Nazism in Blackhelm. The crowd was clapping as a 120 ft Blackhelm flag was draped down but the animal on it had been replaced with a swastika. Fireworks where going off and he was slamming down his fist on the podium to get the crowd's attention. The crowd stopped chanting and Jonas whispered "Thank you." He smiled a little bit, he wasn't entirely heartless. The crowd sat down from their silent salute. Jonas spoke up and said "For too long, citizens of Blackhelm have been oppressed by the evils of Capitalism. It may be right-wing, but it sure isn't Nazism!" The crowd gave a "Whoop!" and a cheer for what he had just said. He repeated with a smile "Thank you. We need to enforce fascism! And Nazism! And Free Market Ideologies! We need a Extreme Right-Wing Government! Down with the Capitalist government ideologies of BlackHelm!" The crowd roared for more even though Jonas hadn't prepared his speech at all. He look out at the crowd sweating. He said "We need to stamp out anything less then Nazism!" The crowd clapped and whistled. "We must stamp out Democrat views along with Socialist and Communist views! Tear down the wall that has restrained us and set us free!" The crowd pledged their allegiance to the alliance in black helm called "The Boom" simply that and nothing else didn't give the government much hints without investigations. Jonas walked off the stage and another Nazi spokesperson walked up. He was watching from the side lines as his friend General Barrieson was preaching his Nazi Ideologies. Just then a man that was dressed in a blue suit burst through the curtains and the flags behind him yelling "Down with these slobs! Down with Nazism! F**k them all!" He was pulled off by a group of men dressed in black and had to be pinned down every now and then to get him off the stage. The General decided to conclude the parade so anymore outbursts where impossible. The walked out the door through the isles hugging and shaking hands with many along the way. He pushed the door open into the dark night sky and breathed in. The silence didn't last long as protesters swarmed around telling him to stop the Nazi propaganda with violent and vulgar words no man could describe. Jonas and the General where escorted by 10 armed police officers pushing protesters out of the way to their armored car. The sat down in the limo and two other men where facing them. He slammed the door shut and said

"Hell of a parade" Jonas said smileing. The four men laughed and the General spoke up.

He had the certain general sounding voice you would hear in boot camp movies "We best get going with our plans." He spread out their 8 month plan to convert Blackhelm.

One man on the other side said "So just feed them propaganda and parade around and petition until the government caves in?" The other men shrugged and nodded.

The general said "We all agree?" The four men nodded and the General said "That was easier then I thought!" He passed out pillows and said "It's a long way to paradise city, better rest up." The men yawned and cuddled into their blankets and pillow. If a man where to see them now they wouldn't think these Nazis where as bad as advertised.

[Comorostan]

le tag

[Business and Commerce]

OOC-This is Comorostan, using my killer bank puppet

IC-The man wore a white suit, cleaned and pressed so it almost appeared to be shining. He had been casing the area around the Nazi rally for days, preparing. Through a combination of contacts and coercion, he knew the times, and more importantly to him, the exit routes. As the rally started, he had BS'd his way into a nearby building, gone to the roof, set up a folding chair, produced a cigarette, lit up, and waited. As the Nazi speaker entered the car, the man in white produced a cell phone. As it turned a specific corner, the man dialed "226666666"-which in text spelled out "BOOM".

Then the explosives-one in the walk/don't walk indicator on the corner, one in a trashcan nearby, one disguised as garbage in the gutter, and one buried a few inches under the ground in a recently paved-over pothole-blew up. Each explosive was a block of Semtex with a small bag of improvised shrapnel, mostly nails and ball bearings, and together they had a kill-zone that covered the entire limo.

As the explosions were going off, the man in white got up, extinguished his cigarette, and left the roof via the fire escape. In a few minutes he would be blocks away.

[Almajoya]

(OOC: I'm guessing this is open to everyone, since I haven't seen a sign-up thread anywhere. Let me know if I'm taking too many liberties.)

Angelo Kawasaki sighed. It had been a long day, and he was ready to get home and rest for a few hours before going out to work his second job as a bartender in Paradise City's red-light district. His day job, a gas station attendant, wasn't much more on the "up-and-up." He had been robbed four times already this year. The barrel of a gun was slowly becoming less and less scary to him.

His family, a group of five immigrants from Almajoya, had moved to Paradise City, Blackhelm Confederacy, in search of a better life than they had led as shrimpers in Beryl. They hadn't found one yet. It seemed to Angelo that he and his wife spent almost all of their time working, that the daycare was raising their children instead. They could hardly afford that daycare, but it was better than letting the kids run amuck with some babysitter. An idle mind is the devil's playground.

He approached a intersection and waited patiently for the walk symbol. It flashed, and as he made his way across the street, a limo turned the corner, about to pass him. He wondered what sort of celebrity was driving through this part of town at this hour. It would be his last thought, as the bombs went off and the shrapnel tore his body to shreds.

On the other side of town-

Dolcezza Kawasaki nursed her youngest, a beautiful nine-month-old baby girl. She had just arrived home from work- she had tossed off her janitorial apron the moment she entered the shack of a house, knowing that baby Carmella would be wanting. Her son, the three-year-old Jasper, jabbered excitedly about his day, and her oldest, the nine-year-old Angel, complained about hers. Dolcezza barely had the presence of mind to listen. She was tired, and in a few hours, she would be out again.

Dolcezza had a second job that her husband didn't know about. After the children had been put to bed, she positioned herself in front of the bathroom mirror, applying shade after shade of eyeshadow and lipstick. Her low-necked blouse and alarmingly short skirt were hidden under a long coat. She thought it strange that her husband hadn't come home yet, but she figured maybe the brat that worked the shift after his had been late again, and instead of coming home he had just raced from the gas station to the bar. It happened too often, but when it did, he called or sent her a text message. She checked her phone. No missed calls or texts.

After one last look at her children, Dolcezza left, closing the door softly behind her. She glanced at her watch and hurried to her usual corner. Her customers would be waiting.

[Sorgan]

OOC-This is Comorostan, using my killer bank puppet

IC-The man wore a white suit, cleaned and pressed so it almost appeared to be shining. He had been casing the area around the Nazi rally for days, preparing. Through a combination of contacts and coercion, he knew the times, and more importantly to him, the exit routes. As the rally started, he had BS'd his way into a nearby building, gone to the roof, set up a folding chair, produced a cigarette, lit up, and waited. As the Nazi speaker entered the car, the man in white produced a cell phone. As it turned a specific corner, the man dialed "226666666"-which in text spelled out "BOOM".

Then the explosives-one in the walk/don't walk indicator on the corner, one in a trashcan nearby, one disguised as garbage in the gutter, and one buried a few inches under the ground in a recently paved-over pothole-blew up. Each explosive was a block of Semtex with a small bag of improvised shrapnel, mostly nails and ball bearings, and together they had a kill-zone that covered the entire limo.

As the explosions were going off, the man in white got up, extinguished his cigarette, and left the roof via the fire escape. In a few minutes he would be blocks away.

OOC: How did you get past the array of guards and police.Also that Rally is already over how could you have gone back in time and set up explosives.

[Business and Commerce]

OOC: How did you get past the array of guards and police.Also that Rally is already over how could you have gone back in time and set up explosives.

OOC-This is Comorostan, using my killer bank puppet

IC-The man wore a white suit, cleaned and pressed so it almost appeared to be shining. He had been casing the area around the Nazi rally for days, preparing. Through a combination of contacts and coercion, he knew the times, and more importantly to him, the exit routes. As the rally started, he had BS'd his way into a nearby building, gone to the roof, set up a folding chair, produced a cigarette, lit up, and waited. As the Nazi speaker entered the car, the man in white produced a cell phone. As it turned a specific corner, the man dialed "226666666"-which in text spelled out "BOOM".

The bolded parts should answer your question.
I can change it if you don't like it

[Sorgan]

OOC: How did you get past the array of guards and police.Also that Rally is already over how could you have gone back in time and set up explosives.

OOC-This is Comorostan, using my killer bank puppet

IC-The man wore a white suit, cleaned and pressed so it almost appeared to be shining. He had been casing the area around the Nazi rally for days, preparing. Through a combination of contacts and coercion, he knew the times, and more importantly to him, the exit routes. As the rally started, he had BS'd his way into a nearby building, gone to the roof, set up a folding chair, produced a cigarette, lit up, and waited. As the Nazi speaker entered the car, the man in white produced a cell phone. As it turned a specific corner, the man dialed "226666666"-which in text spelled out "BOOM".

The bolded parts should answer your question.
I can change it if you don't like it

OOC: Black Helm just told me to ignore it. And I don't think it is right that you kill all main characters in the area. Not a good story line but I'll just ignore it And get a post up later.

[Comorostan]

OOC-He doesn't have to die, you know. The main objective is to scare him. But again, I can change it.

[Business and Commerce]

OOC-We need an OOC thread

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

"Lotsa good lookin' gals in this country huh?" said Kebert Xela, a recent immigrant from a land nobody was quite sure.

"Sure are" said Titus. English was not usaully spoken, although everyone was fluent in it, unless the speaker was dealing with a non-Latin.

Nothing much was happening in the bar. Hopefully a few new faces might turn up.

[Comorostan]

OOC-Moving on from the apparently ignored assassination attempt...starting over with new character

IC-Jonas Rockafeller stamped out his cigarette on the sidewalk before walking into his favorite bar. The streets of Paradise City were their usual chaotic selves. People ran, walked, biked, whatever'ed around, all going in their separate ways. Jonas sighed. Not heaven, but a lot better than a shanty in Freedomville. Taking one last moment to soak in the chaos, Jonas turned his back on the city and entered the bar.

The place was smoky and dark, as was it almost all the time. A group of people in a corner were gambling; in this city, someone always was. Jonas recognized a few people, nobody too important. Taking a seat next to a man he barely knew as Titus, he heard their conversation and decided to add his two cents. "Too bad the best-looking ones are up in the towers giving the rich bastards blowjobs."

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

"Salve! Nonne Jonas?" Titus said, momentarily forgetting that the man was not a Confederate. Kebert waved a bit and said "ain't that the truth brotha!" before taking a sip of his beer.

"Fucking rich motherfuckers living the high life. You seen Griffincrest just bought a new battleship. A FUCKING BATTLESHIP. You know what I could do with a battleship" Kebert vented.

"Eh fuck him, you guys seen his daughter?" the bartender said.

"So what brings you here Jonas?" Titus asked, leaving the conversation between the other two.

[Comorostan]

IGNORE THIS POST.

[Masburel]

To some, Paradice City is the pinnacle of modern technology, innovation, architecture, and social progression in The Blackhelm Confederacy. To others, like Carmen Kratos, landlady, it was just another city. Originally from Masburels Hachette City, she had grown up in marginally less "luxurious" conditions but had been hoping for so much more. She hoiked her skirt up a little bit more and plastered what she hoped was a sultry smile on her face before heading over to a table with 2 beers for her regulars.

She rolled her eyes at the comment she heard about the women in that night. So they should be! Carmen had had to fork out far too many credits to be truly legal to get them to come to the bar that night.

She put the beers down in front of Titus and Kebert.

"On the house boys" she said, with a wink. She turned and sauntered back to the bar, making sure the only thing the 2 men would be looking at was her wiggling ass. She was lucky enough to have kept the lithe figure of her youth and with carefully applied make-up and a strict anti-wrinkle regime, she could easily pass for 25 instead of the 40something she refused to achknowledge she actually was. When she reached the relative safety of the bar, she snuck a glance back at the table. From the look on their faces she had a feeling she might be getting a bit extra money that night.....

[Agroprom]

Home. Fridge. Beer. Football. That was all Charlie really cared about - his day at work had been just fantastic and he was lucky to still have a job, someone had scraped his car on the way home and the only thing that was really there to greet him when he got home was a pile of mail, mostly headed in bold red writing and bank logo's. He had four credit cards which he had since named TV, Car, Student Debt and Alcohol respectively. The car wasn't really that nice - a banged out old Muscle Car that at some point produced four hundred and fifty four horsepower, and now produced nearer two hundred. And don't be fooled by the student debt - young Charlie had somehow amassed sizeable debts in the two years he was at College, before deciding that Political Science wasn't really what he wanted to do, and dropped out to take up drinking professionally.

So, four years down the line and he was working in a call centre for Blackhelm Confederacy's largest telecom company, which would otherwise be dynamic and interesting if it weren't for the fact that it really wasn't. He generally answered mundane calls wondering what "MMS" stood for on their mobile phone bill, and what the hell VAT was and why it was such a large number!? Topping it all off, he was judged by his Manager to have answered a call in a manner "not suitable for customer service" - it is hard to stay straight faced when called an assfaced jerk-off who was produced as the off spring of a goat and a harlot. So he had a provisional employment hearing scheduled for Friday, which was just fantastic as he was due a raise the following Wednesday. And to top it all off, the girl from Section B that he "got along with" had decided she was moving to the other side of town.

So that was Charlie, a single twenty five year old Customer Service Assistant from Paradise City, who was currently reclined on his sofa drinking Corrs Light beer and watching the Di Bradini Football Competition on TV. Just two more days until the weekend....

[Comorostan]

OOC-My posts are in red

"Salve! Nonne Jonas?" Titus said, momentarily forgetting that the man was not a Confederate. Kebert waved a bit and said "ain't that the truth brotha!" before taking a sip of his beer.

"Fucking rich motherfuckers living the high life. You seen Griffincrest just bought a new battleship. A FUCKING BATTLESHIP. You know what I could do with a battleship" Kebert vented.

"Eh fuck him, you guys seen his daughter?" the bartender said.

"So what brings you here Jonas?" Titus asked, leaving the conversation between the other two.

Jonas shrugged. "Eh, I got some time to spare. The bank's takin' the day off, puttin' in some new wiring or some shit like that. I don't care, means I get paid the same to do less. Now, where's that nice-looking waitress..."

To some, Paradice City is the pinnacle of modern technology, innovation, architecture, and social progression in The Blackhelm Confederacy. To others, like Carmen Kratos, landlady, it was just another city. Originally from Masburels Hachette City, she had grown up in marginally less "luxurious" conditions but had been hoping for so much more. She hoiked her skirt up a little bit more and plastered what she hoped was a sultry smile on her face before heading over to a table with 2 beers for her regulars.

She rolled her eyes at the comment she heard about the women in that night. So they should be! Carmen had had to fork out far too many credits to be truly legal to get them to come to the bar that night.

She put the beers down in front of Titus and Kebert.

"On the house boys" she said, with a wink. She turned and sauntered back to the bar, making sure the only thing the 2 men would be looking at was her wiggling ass. She was lucky enough to have kept the lithe figure of her youth and with carefully applied make-up and a strict anti-wrinkle regime, she could easily pass for 25 instead of the 40something she refused to achknowledge she actually was. When she reached the relative safety of the bar, she snuck a glance back at the table. From the look on their faces she had a feeling she might be getting a bit extra money that night.....

"...ah, such is Fate. Hey!" Jonas waved his arm as he spoke, "how's 'bout a beer over here too?"

[Comorostan]

bump

[The Fanboyists]

Paradise City. Paradise City. To many people, that's what it was. To others, it was just another city.

And to others, it was Hell.

One of those people that saw it as considerably less than its name made it out to be was former captain Sarah Quinn. She, like a number of Fanboyist citizens that had fled during the Great Cataclysm, had wound up in a country far from home, that was totally alien to her.

For one thing, most people here spoke Latin. What was up with that? Sarah only spoke English, and even that was in the Fanboyist dialect (often confused with the American dialect). Ok, so she knew a little Italian, a little Spanish, a little French...but not Latin. Which, on the whole, given that most people seemed to know English as a second-language here or some-such, wasn't entirely a problem.

But then there was the idea that, well, the power in the city wasn't in the hands of the government. Well, it was, but it didn't really feel that way to Sarah, or the five-hundred-some refugees of whom she had become de-facto leader. This was due to Sarah's background.

Sarah was a soldier. A former soldier, a captain in the former Federal Army. She had served in Sambo Minor on guard duty with the rest of her battalion, and had participated in seeing Fanboyist claims through the troubles there, in the defense of the Faustian Mining Enterprises Corporation. As such, she had heard often enough rumors, claims, and stories about the cruel, undherhanded, and violent tactics of the Griffencrest Corporation. And here it was based.

So the way it felt to her and many of her former comrades-in-arms, was that Griffencrest was running everything. Maybe Cladius Griffencrest was running things. Maybe not. You couldn't tell, here in the ghettos. Things were hard enough, scraping by from day to day.

Speaking of...

She and her small group of former soldiers, in addition to effectively leading the small Fanboyist settlement in the Blackhelm Confederacy, also served as a vigilante force for the small community. She had about 50 former soldiers. There were about 500 refugees. It was tiring work.

She strolled up to the tenement doorway. They had gotten a report from some of the neighbors about disturbances the night before, and there were stories of an unhappy marriage.

"Sergeant Anderson?" she called to the man behind her.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Do we have the search warrant?"

"I think Corporal Davis has it." A large, almost bear-like man walked foward confidently, hefting a large sledgehammer.

Sarah smiled cheerfully, turned, and knocked on the door.

"Open up! Military Police of the Federation-in-Exile! We have a search warrant!"

The door failed to open. There was some scrambling.

She pulled her M4 carbine to her shoulder. A suspect probably wouldn't fire on them, not unless they were really desperate, but...didn't hurt to be careful.

"Davis?" The man grinned, walked foward, and proceeded to split the door into three pieces with one swing of the hammer. Two more strokes removed the splintered remains from the hinges.

Sarah and Anderson stepped through the door, carbines at the ready. "Federal MP's! Hands in the air!" Anderson shouted. Instead, a shot from a pistol whizzed by Sarah's face, missing by inches. Instinct taking over, both of the MP's dove for cover.

"We don't want to hurt you!" Anderson shouted over the dresser he had taken refuge behind. Sarah shook her head dissapointedly. Probably did something to his wife, and now he's panicking, she thought. Domestic issues will be the death of us yet.

"Uh-huh. Right. Now, get out," a nervous voice shouted back. Even the voice would be trembling and sweating, if voices could tremble and sweat.

Just another day at the office.

[Global Liberal States]

Samuel Warburton sipped his cup of breakfast tea, sighing heavily. The National Socialist demostration was causing quite a bit of traffic, effectively preventing him from reaching wherever the hell he was supposed to be going. Outside of the small coffee shop, his small, hybrid car was parked as he took a large bite out of a pain au chocolat. Having been a native of Paradise City with connections to the now-overthrown monarchy of Missara - now a republic of that blasted Commonwealth - he was accustomed to the city, and had developed his own middle-class day-to-day routine which was being interuppted by a group of deluded extremists staging a futile demostration whose point was lost on him. Protests never achieved anything; governments failed to care about a few hundred or so bigots bursting a basketball-sized pus bubble unless the pus was acid and it was thrown over Cladius Griffencrest.

The worst thing, undoubtly, that Paradise was failing to provide him with a story for the Paradise Metropolitian. The newspaper was, like her journalistic brethen, focused on the deluded extremists for the day. Otherwise, there was little news to report on. Well, it's not like Paradise City would be producing stories faster than Comaack's wire service, he comforted himself, finishing off his tea, tossing it into a bin. Abstract art covered the walls in the shop, a small counter manned by a political refugee from one of the world's many tinpot dictatorships with the grasp of the local language of an ostrich. He departed the empty shop, his Oxfords marching the ground as he approached his hybrid. He opened the door and got in, starting the car as he had done many days before.

What would Paradise produce for news?

[Masburel]

"...ah, such is Fate. Hey!" Jonas waved his arm as he spoke, "how's 'bout a beer over here too?"[/color]

"Sorry love" Carmen shouted across the room, sauntering over with another beer.
"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"

[Hurtful Thoughts]

Tagging iz phun.

(OOC: I'm guessing this is open to everyone, since I haven't seen a sign-up thread anywhere. Let me know if I'm taking too many liberties.)

BC is a VERY xenophobic country, trust me, trespassers will be shot on sight.

In all likelyhood, if you're not dead yet, you'd be living in a slum-town ghetto under armed guard.

I'll read the rest of the thread later.
I'm wondering if BC'd let 'Paul' wander into that bar after digging his way outof the grave [Or wherever he went]...

[Global Liberal States]

"...With the Griffencrest Corporation's buying of a new battleship..." announced the radio's newscaster inside the hybrid of Warburton's property. That is, until Warburton changed the channel to a classical music-orientated one.

"Fucking Griffencrest," he sighed, turning into the parking lot as a symphony played in its second movement. He had little idea what piece it was or its composer, and hardly gave a coin towards caring. The lot was mostly empty, just outside of a bar he had gone into once or twice. It was still light in Paradise, and he hadn't achieved anything beyond waste twenty credits on tea. Why the hell did a cup of tea cost twenty credits? It made no sense whatsoever. A box of tea bags costed ten, but some poor excuse mixed with the urine of an HIV-infected horse - probably - cost twenty? He sighed heavily again, exiting his car after his moment of venting enragement.

He walked across the uniform concrete into the bar.

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"

Warburton spoke up, in a long greatcoat which hid a business suit and nearly touched a pair of Oxfords. "A glass of the finest whiskey, please."

[Masburel]

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"

Warburton spoke up, in a long greatcoat which hid a business suit and nearly touched a pair of Oxfords. "A glass of the finest whiskey, please."

"Coming right up, just shout if you need anything" She turned back to the bar, grabbing the first bottle of whiskey she came too, not really caring about the quality. Nobody would dare question her anyways, well, not anyone who new about the heavies who were in the backroom, waiting for a call. Taking the drink over to the mystery man, she winked as she put the glass down on the table.
"One whiskey darling, want me to start you a tab?"

[Global Liberal States]

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"

Warburton spoke up, in a long greatcoat which hid a business suit and nearly touched a pair of Oxfords. "A glass of the finest whiskey, please."

"Coming right up, just shout if you need anything" She turned back to the bar, grabbing the first bottle of whiskey she came too, not really caring about the quality. Nobody would dare question her anyways, well, not anyone who new about the heavies who were in the backroom, waiting for a call. Taking the drink over to the mystery man, she winked as she put the glass down on the table.
"One whiskey darling, want me to start you a tab?"

"Cheers," he smiled. "And I suppose you should, please."

He winked playfully, his blonde hair in a rather huge mess due to his lack of owning a comb. The 25-year-old journalist grabbed the glass of whiskey, believing it was the finest brand in all of the Confederacy. He thrusted it back and downed it all in the blink of an eye. "Another glass, please?"

He suppressed a burp for the sake of deceny.