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Once Upon a Time in Oxbow Parish (OOC; NOW OPEN TO ALL)

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
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Once Upon a Time in Oxbow Parish (OOC; NOW OPEN TO ALL)

Postby Cylarn » Thu May 07, 2020 9:07 am

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RP STATUS - Presently OPEN; all spots are available.




The Two Palmyras

The year is 1980, and our story brings us some sixty miles west of New Orleans. Welcome to the Louisiana Bayou, a sunken land of marshes and long leaf pines, where a million meanders and the oxbow lakes work together to obscure any sense of direction. Population centers are few and far in between, where the waterways are concerned. Life is not easy in the Bayou; the timber industry is growing ever-smaller, animal skins and furs are losing their luster, and the floods are steadily chipping away at shoreside shotgun shacks and stilt houses. Yet, the people - the descendants of the French, Italians, Spaniards, Africans, and Native Americans that defined this region - have yet to go anywhere else.

Welcome to Oxbow Parish, a wild district where the only two towns sit shoulder-to-shoulder. What was once the "city" of Palmyra, once a profitable timber center and sugarcane plantation, is now two divided towns that bask in the dim glow of what their once-united town had been, although this glow can be of many different colors depending on whom you talk to. Once home to six different timber company, there are now only two, and as the two largest single employers in the parish, their rivalry reflects an almost identical rivalry of the two families that not only own the respective timber companies, but also exercise their own de facto control of the two Palmyras through a variety of legitimate and illicit operations.

The Fauberts and the Bedards, descendants of the first European settlers to enter the region. Whether you talk to a Faubert or a Bedard, either will tell you that their respective family was the first to settle the parish. At one time, both families operated idyllic plantations in the region and owned hundreds of slaves. However, time brings war and flood and disease. Like the shores of the Bayou that engulf the parish, both families have eroded from their 19th Century trappings of Acadian faux-nobility. Americanized, bitter, and rotten, the Fauberts and Bedards hate the world and despise one another, locked in a seemingly neverending feud for control of the parish. While waning timber hauls have long been unable to sustain the people of the Oxbow, crime has been a primary economic force in the region for almost seventy years. The two warring families know this, as well as any alligator-poacher or thief or hooker.

The Fauberts and Bedards are the primary forces that motivate organized crime in the Oxbow, and ironically, their organizations share similarities. Although the parish is officially "dry" and should be considered quite puritan in its ordnances, the two Palmyras are kept "damp" by the families, who either brew their own hooch or truck in brand-name beverages from across the United States. Establishments that sell drinks, whether they be a social club selling Coors Banquet or a drink-house where you can buy moonshine by the mason jar, get their stock from one of the two families. Stolen goods, often taken from heists outside of the parish, find their way to fences who then sell the goods to bring money back into their respective family. To a lesser extent, both families have dabbled into the drug trade, however to the extent of moving small quantities of marijuana or speed from New Orleans to a predetermined location on the behalf of a larger organization, such as the Mafia.

For the Fauberts and Bedards, the conflict has been going on for such a long time, that all reason for fighting is lost upon them. They fight and feud, and divide the towns, for no other reason now than inborn hatred. The "normal" townsfolk pick their sides and pay their dues, hoping to avoid the worst of it all. Times are changing; oil companies have begun to speculate about liquid gold within the parish, although with no overtures yet to be made, this appears as a pipe dream to many when compared to the derricks being built in the Gulf. Criminal influences in New Orleans and other nearby cities have begun to bring cocaine into the state on a large scale, indirectly inciting the response of federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies.

Where will you stand in these changing days?





I. As the OP, I reserve the right to hold final review and judgement on all subjects regarding this RP. I will appoint chosen Co-OPs, who will assist in administration and RP direction.

II. This RP is rated PG-13, and will be kept within the standards mandated by the NS Forum Gods (Hail to Thee). Although this RP is set during a period of sleazy criminal life in the United States and certainly mature themes will be present within the RP, but explicitly sexual depictions are not allowed. Concurrently, excessive racism in the IC is frowned upon. While this is the American South and racism prevails, this will not be a simulator for racial violence.

III. Once Upon a Time in Oxbow Parish is set within a criminal underworld. I expect your characters to be plausible criminals worthy of the time period. Establishing a clandestine airfield for the importation of cocaine or other drugs is good; being some reclusive serial killer with your own self-exclusive torture porn RP is not good. You are required to interact with other characters.

IV. NPCs are allowed, such as employees, close family, goons, etc. Controlling NPCs of another faction, especially if you are kidnapping, beating down, or killing dudes, requires OP/Co-OP approval. Be mindful that NPCs may die at any time.

V. Have fun. This is not simply an organized crime simulator set within a cool time period; this is your chance to craft a compelling crime story with your own unique character. Don't just RP arbitrary scenes that flatly lay out an action; give up depth! What were the steps leading up to something? Have your character get out and do stuff with other characters. Hell, go start a fight for the hell of it!
North Palmyra

  • North Palmyra First Savings & Loan - Local bank, owned by the Flynn Family.
  • Duvet's Diner - Local diner; specializes in home-style meals and local cuisine.
  • The Welshley Hotel - The only hotel in the parish, and widely regarded as a fleabag. Pornographic films are known to be shot here.
  • The Tiger Club - A social club for local men, owned by the Faubert family. Functions as an illicit bar, with beer for sale and house-sanctioned poker games.
  • Faubert Timber Company - One of two competing timber companies in the parish, the main warehouse and office for FTC is located in town.
  • North Palmyra Police Department - A brick building on the main drag through town. Not very remarkable, other than holding a small armory and a holding cell.
  • Exxon Gas Station - The only gas station in North Palmyra.
  • North Palmyra Town Hall - A general meeting place for townsfolk to attend city council meetings.
  • North Palmyra General Practice - The office of the local doctor.
  • Our Lady of Light Catholic Church - Home to the only Catholic church in the parish, and recognized as neutral ground for both families.
  • Palmyra Country Club - An 18-hole golf course on the outskirts of town, and a place for the few wealthy people in town to congregate and have a drink.




South Palmyra

  • Palmyra Grill - The main restaurant servicing South Palmyra. Offers similar cuisine as Duvet's, but the restaurant is considered to be the parish's closest thing to fine dining.
  • Palmyra Town Bank - The bank serving Palmyra; owned by the Bedard family.
  • Gossett Bridge - The primary connection between the two Palmyras.
  • South Palmyra Police Department - Base of operations for the police in South Palmyra.
  • Oxbow Parish Government Annex - A center housing operations for parish agencies. The sheriff has an office within the annex, and bi-weekly Parish Commission meetings are held.
  • Palmyra Marina Club - An ugly cinder block drink-house set up at the local docks over the Bayou Laforge.
  • South Palmyra Town Hall - The primary meeting place for town matters, although attendance by the locals is usually discouraged.
  • Bedard Timber Company - A similar setup as their rival company in North Palmyra, however this facility utilizes its proximity to the Laforge to transport most of its timber by barge, and saw it on-site with their own mill.
  • Shell Gas Station - The other gas station in the parish.
  • South Street Gameroom - A Bedard-run facility for locals, complete with conventional parlor games as well as "one-armed bandits." It's also rumored that a strip club operates in the "VIP" section of the gameroom.
  • South Palmyra Medical Clinic - A medical facility specializing in urgent care medicine.
Welcome to my newest RP. As indicated in the introduction, this is a crime-themed RP set in the early 1980s, revolving around organized crime in the American South. Particularly, we are focusing on the activities of two crime families that make their home in the Louisiana Bayou, with each family practically controlling their own small towns. This is a competitive sandbox RP; everyone is involved in the conflict between the Bedards and Fauberts in some manner, and every action builds upon the story. Relation is up to you; you could be a direct member of one of the families, a cousin, distant relative, or someone who simply is connected to either family in some manner. In any case, your loyalty to the family, at least in the beginning of our story, is assured and that loyalty has granted you some privilege within the criminal underworld.

Your path is completely open, as to how your character is established. For example, you could live out in the isolation of the Bayou, brewing moonshine to sell in town. The police departments are family-affiliated, so a family enforcer could very well be wearing a badge and carrying a gun and billy club. Want to run a criminal enterprise in town, such as an illegal casino, or establish drug connections with the Mafia in New Orleans? It's all allowed, as long as it is roleplayed in a descriptive, plausible manner.
Code: Select all
[floatright][size=200][background=black][color=#FFBF00](SURNAME, INITIALS)[/color][/background][/size][/floatright]
    [floatleft][box](Image go here, optional, you can also use Appearance below instead if you want, recommend a pic less than 500 pixels wide or tall)[/box][/floatleft][blocktext][b]+++Name:[/b] (Include nicknames and titles)
    [b]+++Age:[/b]
    [b]+++Gender:[/b]
    [b]+++Physical appearance:[/b] (Mostly optional if you have a picture, but put in height and weight regardless)
    [b]+++Identifying Marks:[/b] (Mostly optional if you have a picture, but describe anything hidden in the image, like tattoos)

    [b]+++Ethnicity:[/b] ("Exotic" characters, such as Russians or other out-of-place foreigners are denied. Keep it realistic for Southern Louisiana)
    [b]+++Religion:[/b] (Given that most folks in town are either Cajun or of Irish descent, Catholicism is remarkably big in the parish)
    [b]+++Birthplace:[/b] (Where you were born. Odds are, you were born in one of the two Palmyras)
    [b]+++Criminal History:[/b] (Optional)
    [b]+++Military History:[/b] (Optional, but be conscious of this)

    [b]+++Psychological analysis:[/b] (Personality)
    [b]+++Alignment:[/b] (What family are you a part of? Elaborate on how you are affiliated)
    [b]+++Occupation:[/b]
    [b]+++Biography:[/b]
    [b]+++RP Sample:[/b] (If I know you, then you know that I know you. Feel free to insult me, if you have known me for a while)
    [color=#00BF00][b]#ItWillBeDone[/b][/color] (DO NOT REMOVE)[/blocktext]


Code: Select all
[align=center][size=150][b]Location Application[/b][/size][/align]
[list][*][b]Name:[/b]
[*][b]Location:[/b]
[*][b]Type of Location:[/b] (What happens here? Is it a business? A private home? A club?)
[*][b]Revenue:[/b] (Does it bring in money somehow? Is it dirty or clean?)
[/list]
Last edited by Cylarn on Sat May 09, 2020 3:24 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
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Postby Cylarn » Thu May 07, 2020 9:07 am

List of Characters


Player Characters

  • Roland BEDARD - Current patriarch of the Bedard Family, and the reigning crime boss in South Palmyra. Psychotic, efficient, arrogant; through hard work and cunning, the medically trained Roland has thoroughly and surgically solidified his control over the Bedard Family at large.
  • Timothy MAY - The son of Paul May and Mary Jane Bedard-May, cousin to Roland Bedard. With the knowledge of how to manipulate money and oversight of the local bank in South Palmyra, he serves as the de facto chief of the Bedard's financial accounts.
  • Robert BEDARD - Youngest child of Tom and Arlena Bedard, and Chief of Police for the town of South Palmyra. Despite the resentment he holds for his family during his youth, Robert traded his badge with the New Orleans Police Department to serve as Roland's chief enforcer.
  • Eugene HEBERT - Son of Lily Anne Bedard, and burgeoning trouble-maker within Oxbow Parish. Although he is trying to work at the family store in as meaningful of a way as possible, he holds a strong feeling of hatred for the Faubert Family for what they did to his mother, although he sees his uncle Roland in a negative light for having only returned after the incident.
  • Thomas SWITZER - A dutiful Sergeant of the North Palmyra Police Department. Although quite possibly the only "good" cop left in Palmyra, Switzer has managed to remain in his role by way of avoiding confrontation with the Faubert Family.
  • Coraline FAUBERT - Niece of Jules Faubert; formerly a casino owner in Las Vegas. Following a career as an entertainer and business-owner in the western part of the country, Coraline has returned home with her brood, establishing herself in the gambling world of the Parish.
  • Raymond DELACROIX - A dweller of the Bayou who lives as his ancestors once did, coupled with a rich history in arms trading. Raymond is a rebel by default, but he holds Jules Faubert in high esteem.
  • Melanie SKRINE - Grand-niece of Jules Faubert, working as a professional thief on behalf of her family. She is on a personal quest to find justice for her father, a police officer slain in the line of duty under suspicious circumstances.
  • Diane MAY - An educated klepto, left partially crippled by a severe beating. The sister of Tim May, Diane facilitates the movement of marijuana and speed from New Orleans to South Palmyra, although she seeks to escape from the community. Secretly a friend of Daniele Faubert.
  • Jules FAUBERT - The ancient patriarch of the Faubert Family. Nominally a lawyer, Jules Faubert has spent the better part of his life building upon the criminal enterprises of his family.
  • Daniele FAUBERT - A hardened ex-con and enforcer for the Faubert Family. A niece to Jules Faubert, and the sister of Patty Faubert. She holds great anger against the Bedards, particularly Roland.
  • Judith FAUBERT - An out-of-place Newfoundlander, and the wife of Alexandre Faubert. A dutiful mother and wife trying to make sense of the long-standing rivalry that she has waded into.
  • Alexandre FAUBERT - Son of Remy Faubert and husband to Judith. Currently the manager of the Tiger Club. A devoted family man, Alexandre seeks to get his family away from the coming violence in Palmyra.




Major Non-Player Characters

  • Tom BEDARD - Former Patriarch of the Bedard Family; deceased as of 1976. Known to be a prolific poacher and fence, as well as a planner of several armored car robberies in the 1950s. Passed away due to advanced lung cancer.
  • Arlena BEDARD - Former Matriarch of the Bedard Family, wife to Tom Bedard, and mother of Robert, Roland, and Lily Anne. A proud but bitter Cajun, or Acadian as she prefers to be called, who considers her family to be descendants of "New French nobility." An undiagnosed personality disorder has caused her to be considered quite troublesome to family dynamics.
  • Paul MAY - Former Chief of Police for South Palmyra, father to Timothy May, and brother-in-law to Tom Bedard. A veteran of the 101st Airborne, and well-respected throughout town. Currently battling complications from a stroke, and holds a real fear of Roland Bedard.
  • Lily Anne BEDARD - Middle child of the Bedard Family, and sister to Roland and Robert Bedard. Currently the Chief Financial Officer for Bedard Timber. Due to a shooting by the Faubert Family, Lily Anne is confined to a wheelchair.
  • Patty FAUBERT - Niece to Jules Faubert, and sister of Daniele Faubert. An abduction and subsequent dismemberment of her feet was carried out by Roland Bedard, permanently crippling her.
  • Francine BEDARD - Wife of Robert Bedard, and mother to Michael and Marcel Bedard. A native of Port-au-Prince and daughter of a Haitian exile. While nominally a stay-at-home mother, Francine also assists her husband in keeping track of fees garnered from protection rackets.
Last edited by Cylarn on Thu May 21, 2020 5:18 am, edited 4 times in total.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Rudaslavia
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Founded: Mar 28, 2014
Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Thu May 07, 2020 9:16 am

Phenomenal.
Friends call me "Rud."

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
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Postby Cylarn » Thu May 07, 2020 9:18 am

Rudaslavia wrote:Phenomenal.


Pick a family, and I leave the liberty up to you. In regards with the feud, I suggest you coordinate with Norv.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Rudaslavia
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Founded: Mar 28, 2014
Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Thu May 07, 2020 9:30 am

Cylarn wrote:
Rudaslavia wrote:Phenomenal.


Pick a family, and I leave the liberty up to you. In regards with the feud, I suggest you coordinate with Norv.

I'm personally more inclined toward the Bedards, as the particular rackets they appear to be running in the location descriptions are more in line with the character I have in mind. But I messaged Norv to get his input.
Friends call me "Rud."

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Ontorisa
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Ontorisa » Thu May 07, 2020 10:12 am

Just a quick tag for now. :)
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Rudaslavia
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Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Thu May 07, 2020 10:14 am

It has been decided that Norv will take the Bedards, and I the Fauberts.

It has begun.
Friends call me "Rud."

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Cylarn
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Postby Cylarn » Thu May 07, 2020 11:07 am

Rudaslavia wrote:It has been decided that Norv will take the Bedards, and I the Fauberts.

It has begun.


We shall all build this house together. Wait until we open up for cronies.

Also, fuck you guys; I must now change my character's last name AGAIN.
Last edited by Cylarn on Thu May 07, 2020 11:07 am, edited 1 time in total.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Reverend Norv
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Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Thu May 07, 2020 5:01 pm

BEDARD, R.

Image
+++Name: "The name's Roland Bedard; Doctor Roland Bedard, M.D. That's Doc Bedard, to most folks in the parish; Mister Bedard means my father, even now that he's worm's food. I expect that my name was my momma's doing: Roland, the great romantic French hero, dying for no damn reason, blowing on his horn with no one to hear. I despise this name: its bathos, its parochial self-indulgence. But I intend to give it a different meaning soon enough."

+++Age: "I'm forty-three: more than ten years older than Robert, four years older than Lily Anne. I have not wasted any of those years; I have learned from all of them."

+++Gender: "I am a man, I suppose. But not a man like other men. I am more than the sum of my flesh, and the unexamined expectations of swaggering morons mean very little to me."

+++Physical appearance: "I am neither tall nor short, neither burly nor skinny: five-ten, one-seventy. Or thereabouts, anyway. When I was in 'Nam, there was very little fat on me, and I still look very lean; even now, I can see the corded muscle beneath the skin of my forearms. I do not smoke, do not drink, eat only sparingly, exercise every day. My body looks it. My face is, perhaps, a few years older than my true age, and my hair is already starting to turn salt-and-pepper. My eyes are an unusual color: a sort of blued gunmetal. I like these eyes; they seem truly mine, not just part of the body I make do with."

+++Identifying Marks: "None, really. I have no tattoos; I've never seen the point. No scars, either. I would not be who I am if people could make me bleed."

* * *


+++Ethnicity: "I am white, and Cajun. My mother, and probably Robert too, will tell you about how our people came here four hundred years ago, and carved this place out of the bayou, and so on and so forth. I do not give a damn about any of that. I have known plenty of strong black men, and strong Viets, and weak Cajuns. A man's usefulness is not determined by his family tree. And I have no interest in the useless."

+++Religion: "I go to the Catholic church for holidays. Christmas, Easter, baptisms. Good for keeping up appearances, and I don't mind it. I do believe in God, you know. Not Jesus, whimpering on the cross, dying a victim's death. This is a god for cattle who deserve their culling. But God the lawgiver, God who creates right and wrong instead of being bound by them, God who hands down life and death and silences Job in a roar of thunder? I talk to Him all the time. Really, He is the only one who understands me, and I am the only one who understands Him."

+++Birthplace: "I was born in South Palmyra, right down the street at the medical clinic. I wonder about that, sometimes - in what sense it was really me, that bloodsoaked soft-skinned thing? The Stoics believed that the human soul didn't fully enter the body until fourteen years of age. I think that they may have been right."

+++Criminal History: "Prison is for morons. I've never been arrested. I do not intend to be. Once punishment is factored out, I do not think that crime makes sense any more as a conceptual category. I killed a man in New Orleans, when I was a medical student. It was a learning experience. I killed other men in Vietnam; that was a learning experience too. I sold a half-million dollars' worth of opium, which was less interesting, but very satisfying. Some of those things were "against the law;" others were not. But there was no possibility that I would be punished for any of them. So in concrete terms, what does it mean to say that killing a New Orleans grifter was a crime, but killing a VC sympathizer was not? It's an exercise in sophistry."

+++Military History: "I was seven years with the CIA in Vietnam, mostly in the Phoenix Program. They recruited me right out of a medical residency; they wanted someone with professional skills to assist in interrogation, and my role expanded from there until I was hunting down VC sympathizers all over the Mekong Delta, one hamlet at a time. Best years of my life, really. There was no false consciousness, no arbitrary limitations on human capacity. I could be who I really am. That was exactly what they intended, in fact. So we all got what we wanted, and the only pity is that it had to end eventually."

+++Psychological analysis: "Oh, I'm a psychopath. I mean, come on - I graduated top of my class from Tulane Medical School. Did you really believe I was too stupid to diagnose that much?

"I am qualitatively, not quantitatively, different from other human beings. They are things of flesh: extrapolations from petty prejudice and animal lust, cultural programming and biological imperative. I am not. The medical textbooks would call this a delusion, but they are mistaken, and I can prove that fact empirically. It's quite simple: I can predict other people with near-perfect accuracy, because they are no more than the logically necessary outcome of their programming. But they cannot predict me; they cannot begin to understand what drives me. I do not become anxious or depressed; I do not doubt myself; I am not subject to prejudice of race or creed or color. I accept the evidence of my eyes without hesitation or rationalization. I set my own programming. What better evidence of superiority could I possibly require?

"This is not to say that people are useless. They have their uses. For example, I want to understand as much as I can about the world. Plenty of people are smart enough to have discovered a great deal about it. I am more than happy to learn from those scientists and philosophers; it's why I read so much. I love the arts, too; I think there's a lot to learn from beauty. Or, for instance, I want to destroy anyone who can hurt me. Plenty of people are strong enough, or good enough with a gun, or skilled enough with explosives to help do that. I am more than happy to make use of them; to recognize aptitude, and reward it. Even people's weaknesses are useful. For example, I want to be rich, because I can appreciate certain comforts. People who buy liquor and dope, because their lives have exceeded their capacities, make me money. I appreciate their weakness.

"So I don't hate people, you understand. I am not some sadist, lashing out at humanity for my own hedonistic satisfaction. In fact, I even grow attached to people, in the same way that I grow attached to a car or a knife that works particularly well. I treasure my sister Lily Anne as much as I treasure anything I own, and even the most useless Bedards are still, in some sense, significant to me - they have acquired a kind of entertainment value from their long familiarity, I suppose. Even Momma - irritating as she can be, just because she's so damn uninteresting in every possible way - is like some tasteless painting that's been hanging on my wall for so long that I'll miss her when she's gone.

"Still: in the end, the fact is that people are no more than the sum of their parts. All I have to do is understand their cultural and biological programming, and I can make them dance like marionnettes. But there are no strings on me, and folk love me for it: because they sense that they are in the presence of greatness, and when they are with me, they know that everything will be okay. I don't begrudge them that. After all, they're right."

* * *


+++Alignment: "I am the head of the Bedard family. I have been since '72, pretty much. Pa didn't have what it took to do what was necessary after Lily Anne got shot. I did. So I was calling the shots well before he died, and afterward, no one questioned it when I moved into the big house. I have uncles who are older than me, and Robert runs the police, and Momma still has some influence. But everyone knows that nothing moves south of the Gossett Bridge without my say-so."

+++Occupation: "I guess you could say I'm a businessman, or even an investor. I own a majority share in the bank, the Bedard Timber Company, and the South Street Gameroom. And I take my cut of every pill, drink, girl, and town contract that gets sold in South Palmyra. That's where the money comes from. But my occupation? I still think of myself as a doctor, I suppose. I even have admitting privileges at the Medical Center, although I haven't used them in years. It's my profession, after all."

* * *


+++Biography: "I killed a dog when I was nine. That was when I knew who I was.

"I can't hardly remember anything before that, to be honest. I wonder if that was the moment when I was ensouled, like the Stoics thought; if everything before that was just my body knitting itself together, waiting to become. I grew up, learned to speak and walk and read and write, learned that I was Tom Bedard's eldest son and heir, learned that everything in Oxbow Parish would have been mine but for those damned Fauberts. I learned to shoot rabbits and bow my head in church and go fishing. I learned to stay away from the men who came back from Okinowa or Bastogne when they got too quiet. I must have learned those things. But they happened to someone else.

"But one day when I was nine, I was out west of town with my little .22, and Ralph Sullivan's hound came wandering across the creek. And I wanted to know what it would feel like. So I shot the dog, and then I splashed across the creek and sat down next to it until the blood and the whimpering stopped. I timed it on my watch. It took two minutes and forty-nine seconds.

"That was when I knew who I was.

"When I got older, I figured out that people were a lot like that dog. You just had to take different sorts of measurements. I was smarter than my pa, and a lot smarter than my momma, and I learned when to show that and when to hide it, because the old man got angry when his fifteen-year-old kid used words he couldn't understand. I learned to listen carefully, to find the times when people talk most openly. I started having sex mostly because I was fascinated by the way girls would talk afterwards, the things about themselves they'd just give away for free. I read my way through the library, and wondered how much to believe of what there was in books. I learned math less from school and more from studying the timber company's books, which Pa left to smarter men than himself. I found some discrepancies, and didn't tell anyone for years, because I already knew to save an advantage when you had it.

"All those years, my sister Lily Anne was the only one I really valued. Robert was too little, and my parents were too uninteresting. But Lily Anne - she was younger, and growing up, she always knew that Roland was just Roland. She never expected me to be any different. I always found that extraordinary: uncommon, compelling, unique. She was like a handwritten book; something about her was not interchangeable with other people. She never bored me.

"My folks paid for my college: Tulane. Off to New Orleans. Korea had just wrapped up, and they were worried about the draft. Didn't want me shipped off if the Big One arrived with the Russians. And my momma wanted the prestige of a graduate in the family, though she didn't give a damn for the education itself. So I headed to the big city, and got teased for my country French, and pretended to care.

"College was great, honestly. I wonder, ever since, if I haven't been chasing that feeling a little bit: of learning so much so quickly, understanding the world so much better each day than I did the day before. It wasn't just the classes. Now, I relished those, and got excellent grades, even though I didn't care about GPA at all; why would I assume any professor had the right to judge me? But it wasn't just the classes. It was the city: its Irish and Italian and black and Cajun and Creole neighborhoods, its brothels and bars and libraries and restaurants, its museums and monuments. Everywhere you looked, there was something new to understand. I could feel myself expanding, like a plant unfurling toward the sun.

"I went to Tulane Medical School because I couldn't stand the thought of going back to Palmyra. There was too much more to learn, in the classroom and out. I considered anthropology, or some such field, instead of med school. Mostly, I wanted to understand people. I already sensed that they weren't like me; that they were acting out scripts, following programming that they themselves didn't understand or control. I wanted to be able to read those scripts myself. I figured that the programming had to be partly cultural, but also partly biological. I went to med school to understand the latter part.

"It was enjoyable for a few years. But then it became boring, and ultimately frustrating. I realized that these doctors believed that their job was to heal people, not to answer the important questions. And if you think that way, you'll never understand what really matters. So I kept my grades up, and smiled along when I was invited to professors' homes, and I played them like I've always played everyone, since I learned to do it to Pa to keep his anger and fear away when he realized he didn't understand me at all. And I decided to answer the important questions myself. I prepared for six weeks: finding the vagrant, tracking his movements, preparing the basement in a condemned building in Gravier. Then I bought a surgical kit, and a bottle of chloroform, and I spent three days with him before he died. I learned more from those three days, about how and why people really are the way they are, than I did from the last two years of medical school.

"I think it was sometime during medical school that Pa finally figured out I didn't intend to come back. Robert left too, after that, I think. I had other things to think about.

"I finished med school and passed the licensing exam and took a residency at Tulane Lakeside. It was obnoxious, boring work. I did it because it was better than going home, and I needed the money. I figured that, if I was careful, I could keep taking one vagrant a year without anyone connecting the dots, and I'd learn the worthwhile things outside the hospital instead. But history intervened.

"The real story is long and complicated, but the simple version is this: the CIA wanted to recruit doctors to assist interrogations in Vietnam. This was '65, and the Phoenix Program was just starting up. The AMA decided it was unethical, and Tulane Lakeside agreed. I reached out to the Agency myself: literally mailed them a letter. Three weeks later, I was on a plane to Da Nang.

"I'm not going to tell you the details about the next seven years. At first, my job was to supervise interrogations, and make sure that the Provincial Reconnaissance Units didn't kill detainees before they talked. There have been congressional reports, since, about the exact techniques we used. You can find them at the library, if you're interested. Suffice to say that it was useful to have a doctor around if you wanted to keep the detainee alive for more than an hour or two. Eventually, my new colleagues found that I wasn't squeamish, and I learned to speak pretty good Vietnamese, so I took over the interrogations myself. When we got jumped by the VC, it turned out that my childhood bagging varmints had prepared me pretty well to bag guerillas; I didn't spook when the prey started shooting back. So I started going into the field for snatch-and-grabs, pulling farmers out of villages and - convincing them to identify communist cadres. After '68, the Agency pretty much stopped even attempting oversight of local operations, as long as we were putting bodies in the ground. A bunch of guys on my team started taking ears and stringing them onto necklaces. I set a few hundred terrified villagers to work farming poppies, and opium sales made me half a million dollars in two years. If MACV knew, it didn't care.

"I loved 'Nam. Loved it. Best years of my life. It was a hypocrisy-free zone. Now, I didn't give a damn about the fight against communism; as far as I was concerned, the mandate to get results was arbitrary. But the war was great because, in service of that bullshit mandate, we were judged only on our ability to turn villagers into intelligence, and intelligence into dead communists. And that left no room for canting pieties, or hypocritical morality, or smothering convention intended to suppress human excellence and originality. You could be whatever you were, do whatever you wanted, and nobody gave a damn as long as you were good at it. The guys above me in the Phoenix Project chain of command - they had me diagnosed in six months, and they appreciated me all the more for it. It was a world built as perfectly to liberate me as the normal world is built to straitjacket me. I slept like a baby every single night, and never dreamed.

"But all good things come to an end. Every once in a while, infuriating as it is, a cliche is true like that. We lost the war. By '72, it was clear that the US was leaving Vietnam. But the PRUs - we were so far gone by then that I wasn't sure we were ever going to get an order to pull out. We may just have been a black-bag account at the embassy by that time, an anonymous monthly cash payment that nobody even questioned. There wasn't going to be a withdrawal for us. The only question was when we wanted to walk away.

"I was taking some R&R in Saigon in June of '72 when I got a letter. There'd been a gunfight in Palmyra. My cousin Rick had gotten in an argument with some Faubert boys, and tempers flared, and they pulled their guns. Lily Anne wasn't supposed to be there, but she was. She stepped in the middle of things, tried to calm everyone down. The first bullet severed her spine. She was in critical condition.

"So I went home. Vietnam was over anyway. I put five hundred grand in drug money in a duffel bag, and just walked away from the war, and nobody ever came looking for me. They understood, I guess. The perfect end to a perfect war.

"Lily Anne survived. She'll never walk again, though. And I was very, very angry, because the world would have been a much uglier and less interesting place without her in it, and it very nearly was. But Pa did not like that I was back, and didn't want to turn me loose. He wanted to be cautious, to wait for our moment to pay the Fauberts back, to hew to some convenient code of bayou chivalry. He would have been waiting for years. And I wasn't interested in that.

"Still. I was proportionate. Lily Anne wasn't dead, after all. Old Man Faubert had a niece, maybe thirty years old. I used a tourniquet, and delivered her to the ER when I was finished. Then I mailed the old man her feet. One cripple for each family: the scales were even.

"Pa understood, after that. He stepped aside. Nothing official, no big announcement, but everyone got the message. Things were different, now that I was back, and Pa didn't want any part of it any more. The bank and the lumber company started sending me their monthly earning reports, and Robert eventually accepted my invitation to come back from New Orleans and take over the police. When Pa died a few years ago, the changing of the guard became official. I moved into the big house, and Ma moved into a nice guest house on the grounds, and I took a hard look around and tried to decide what to do with this parish.

"It's been eight years, now, I suppose, since I got back from 'Nam. I still find it a little strange: I really never thought I'd be back, much less filling my pa's shoes. But I have to admit: they've been pretty good years. There's plenty of money, and I can mail-order all the books I want, and buy the occasional painting or sculpture from a gallery in New Orleans. It's not quite as free as 'Nam, but wealth and power can buy you a lot of latitude in a small parish, and the truth is that I don't miss the violence. It was the honesty of the war that I treasured, not the brutality - and Palmyra has an honesty of its own, sometimes. Besides: there are opportunities opening up here, cocaine and maybe even oil, big business. An interesting challenge; one that I'll enjoy figuring out.

"Well, I've appreciated this talk. But we both know I can't have you repeating it. Now, hush, now. Hush-a-bye. I already told you - I'm not a sadist. I'm a doctor. And I promise this won't hurt at all."

#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)
Last edited by Reverend Norv on Thu May 07, 2020 6:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647

A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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Reverend Norv
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Posts: 2781
Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Thu May 07, 2020 5:02 pm

There we go. One truly terrifying psychopath. Now to find some way of curing the vague nausea associated with exploring this character's mind all afternoon.
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647

A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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Cylarn
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Posts: 14757
Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Thu May 07, 2020 8:36 pm

Reverend Norv wrote:-snip-


As always, a good read! I shall update the roster tomorrow.
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Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States
P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 19251
Founded: Feb 20, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States » Fri May 08, 2020 5:20 am

-Snip-


I’m going to write an actual local boy. Stay tuned!
Last edited by Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States on Fri May 08, 2020 11:13 am, edited 1 time in total.
The name's James. James Usari. Well, my name is not actually James Usari, so don't bother actually looking it up, but it'll do for now.

Lack of a real name means compensation through a real face. My debt is settled


Part-time Kebab tycoon in Glasgow.

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Rudaslavia
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Founded: Mar 28, 2014
Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Fri May 08, 2020 10:09 am

My application will be posted tomorrow morning.
Friends call me "Rud."

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Fri May 08, 2020 5:28 pm

My application will be in by either tonight or tomorrow. Once Rud's is up, I will open the RP.
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Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Fri May 08, 2020 7:13 pm

(BEDARD, R.Y.)

Image
+++Name: Robert Yves Bedard.
+++Age: Thirty-two.
+++Gender: Male.
+++Physical appearance: Robert is 6'2, and weighs in at 190 pounds. In terms of physique, he is to be considered a fairly average-looking; not out of shape by any means, but not overly concerned about how "ripped" he might look.
+++Identifying Marks: "Got half of a round from a 7.62mm in my right shoulder, and wounds in mystomach, chest, and left forearm. They left penny-sized brown scars on those spots."

+++Ethnicity: "Acadian," as he refers to himself.
+++Religion: Roman Catholic.
+++Birthplace: Bedard Estate, South Palmyra.
+++Criminal History: No present charges or convictions.
+++Military History:
  • 1964-1969 - United States Marine Corps. Deployed to Vietnam twice with 5th Marines. Honorably Discharged as a Corporal.

+++Psychological analysis: "I'm not my brother; my soul hasn't completely left my body. I am not a hollow shell like him. I feel, and I most certainly don't forget what I feel. Unlike him, I could never put myself on a plane above other people. I have the humility that he lacks. Where he talks to people and simply dissects them figuratively and sometimes literally, I feel things that Roland is doomed incapable of feeling."

"I look out for myself. I was the afterthought of the children; Ma and Pa never looked at me the way they looked at Lily Anne or Roland. Pa hardly looked up when I joined the Marines. I learned a lot of what I was capable over there, and it still wasn't good enough. I didn't enter this life because of my family; I chose it because I wanted it."

"I don't have a diseased mind; I know that what I am doing is sometimes wrong, but at the same time, I advocate for myself. I don't roll over when challenged by someone that doesn't have the right. There are plenty of lives I intrinsically value, but I am quick to understand the cheapness of life. Doesn't mean I don't feel something awful from putting an end to a life."

+++Alignment: Bedard Family, youngest son of Tom Bedard.
+++Occupation: Chief of Police, South Palmyra Police Department. In terms of illegal enterprises, Robert oversees the collection of fees from protection rackets, either by using Bedard muscle or the weight of his office. Robert also has a significant investment in a bootlegging scheme involving the illegal importation of Coors beer into South Palmyra.
+++Biography: "I was the last one born, the last son of Tom Bedard. Now, my oldest sibling is more than ten years older than me, another one by six. The 'nuclear' family, and then Ma got pregnant again. She's said, in the heat of inebriation, that the only thing that saved me 'from the proverbial chopping block of abortion,' was her unflinching faith in God and the Catholic Church. Ma didn't like me then; she still rags on me to this day. Nothing I do can please her."

"In my first real vivid memory of life - that first moment that can recall - I plummeted into the Bayou LaForge on a bicycle at four. Roland, he was fourteen, had promised to teach me how to ride my bike. Never showed me how to peddle or steer; just took me to a long, sloping stretch of earth, and watched me drive straight off the edge and into the Bayou. I couldn't swim, and kept struggling to stay above amid my own terror. He watched me, that whole time. With his empty eyes, just analyzing and studying as I flailed in six feet of water. My only saving grace was our uncle, Paul. Pulled right up in his patrol cruiser, threw his belt off, and dove right into the water to pull me out. Roland never said a word to me, to him. By the time Paul drove us both home, Ma and Pa were both too far in the rye to comprehend anything much."

"I grew up as good as I could, given the family. Truth is, I hated my childhood. On one hand, I was the baby of the family; ever too immature to ever understand anything complex going on. The other, I was the last son of two parents who had never wanted a third kid. It was hot and cold, especially with Ma. She gave Roland what for until he went off to Tulane, but I got it far worse. When Lily Anne asked for something, Ma pulled Hell and Heaven apart to get it for her. If I asked, I was reminded that requests required worth as currency, and to Ma, I was worth nothing."

"School. Not much to say; I got my full education, and never stuck out. When they gave us our diplomas, I'd figured that the best route for me was working for Bedard Timber. After a week of hauling logs and seeing my foreman drown in the Bayou Laforge, I decided that I'd had enough of Palmyra. Thought about asking Roland if I could move in, but ultimately, I joined the Marines. Like I said, Pa didn't care. Ma ranted at me. Lily Anne gave me a kiss on the cheek before I left, and told me to be safe. She was the only one I stayed in contact with."

"The Marine Corps cut me down to a true man. Ma's abuse - locking me in the cellar and whipping me with switches - was my true training. I got a stiff upper lip and took every lick, and more, my sergeants threw at me. Everyone took a lick. I gained a family, while at Parris. I genuinely cared about the men in that platoon; I worked my ass off to help everyone carry their weight. Fix a hospital corner, or remind someone to blouse their boots. Little shit that goes a long way when life is dictated by beatings."

"After Parris and SoI, I was shipped off to California to serve with the Fifth. For two years, all we did was train and try to stay out of trouble. In '66, we shipped out to 'Nam. I wrote to Lily Anne, and she told me to come home alive."

"'Nam. I've heard Roland talk about his war. That wasn't my war. We didn't clip off ears and we didn't run heroin. I went on patrols - long ones, that took me through a foreign land. Had an M16, two LAWs, a fuck-ton of grenades, and by the time I got ready to go home, I'd have given off the LAWs in place of an Uzi that I bought from a toothless but well-dressed Vietnamese man in Saigon. Our patrols took us weeks, where we hunted the same VC that were ambushing us on a daily basis. Our prize was mortar teams; the less VC mortars in play, means fewer dead Marines. My first close kill - one that's not a distance firefight with jungle between us - was with a knife, thrusting downward into the neck of a VC mortar officer that I snuck up on. That stayed with me for a bit. Killing men ain't right, but some things you learn have a purpose. You can learn to move past the emotion of it all, of killing a person. But each time I take a life, I feel it for days, weeks even."

"I saw Roland, once. We didn't talk, didn't even make a move to recognize one another. It was just before Hue, on a search for a VC commander that had been coordinating simultaneous mortar strikes for several weeks. His guys, the CIA spooks and the mean-as-hell Montnagard, 'welcomed' us into a hamlet in which our command had informed us the spooks would pass off intel to us. I played guard over a stretch of road, in the middle of the night, next to the house that Roland, all clad in black paint and a mix of black pajamas and tiger stripe, and my Lead would walk into. Saw them walking out; Lead had the head of the guy we were looking for, but he looked more terrified if anything. Even in that dark, I could see their faces in the glow of flickering torchlight. Roland had this smirk on his face, as if he was taunting us for being appalled at what he perceived as a job well done."

"Hue was my last big fight, and where I made Uncle Sam the most proud. I was a Corporal, a fireteam leader, leading men into a city laced with Cong in every room of every house and structure. God, it was a beautiful city. French, if anything. Sucked that we had to blow it all apart. I got the Star - the silver one - for the act of losing my shit. My nerves were wrecked; giving men orders to go into a room that might get them killed, was just one of many conundrums wracking my brain. The dexedrine, or the speed that had made its way on base, didn't help. During one move on a Cong comms center, a brick hitting me in the jaw set me off. To keep things short, I broke cover and charged their defensive line. Killed two guys stone-flat, sent the other six scurrying inside. I remember getting smacked hard in my body, and getting up like I didn't give a shit. Like some fucking action hero gripped by either adrenaline or the Holy Spirit, I killed those six men - and four more - with grenades and rifle fire before my boys caught up to me. How the fuck did I live? I dunno."

"Right after, the Corpsmen put me on a stretcher and told me I'd been shot four times in the shoulders, arm, and abdomen, and that my jaw was busted. Truth was, I was more pissed about my jaw, but between the blood loss, lapses of consciousness, and the morphine, I did nothing until I came to in Okinawa. Once my option to reenlist came up, I opted to get out. I'd had enough of 'Nam, of the Corps. I am proud of my service."

"I didn't want to come home to Palmyra, so I took advice from another Marine and opted for law enforcement. New Orleans took me on quick. Ended up living in that city until about '75 or so."

"In New Orleans, I got into the Life. Cops can run drugs as well as any damn crook, and more. My FTO showed me how to fake evidence on a crime scene, and bend narratives to work in our favor. Most of the precinct was bent, so any money we made went up the chain. In exchange, you get shelter from IA and a green light to make a cut off of the underworld. My patrol partner, Harkins, and I made close to a hundred grand by fleecing 'protection' money from the brothels that served the port."

"Working Vice was great. I had access to guns, drugs, luxury goods, and the blessing by my Captain to sell shit. That same year, my sister got shot. I took it hard, but I kept myself from going back to Palmyra to commit a blind act of vengeance. For the first time in years, I called Roland and told him what had happened. He already knew, and in a monotone voice told me ti remain calm, and wait for the 'contingency.' I never guessed that by 'contingency,' he meant that he would torture a poor girl the way he did. Everyone understood, even Lily Anne. This was the way we did things; an eye for an eye."

"Roland returned to Palmyra and took charge of things after that mess. In return, I sold him some of what we hauled in from drug bust. It was mostly grass, and maybe LSD if we were lucky to bust Deadheads. He offered me the job of South Palmyra's Chief of Police. I turned it down, on account of two reasons. One, my gig with Vice was working out well, and I was making more money than I could blow. Second, I met Francine."

"My ancestors could power an entire city, with the energy generated from them spinning in their graves, if they knew that not only did I bed and marry a black woman, but now I raise children with her. Francine is a Haitian; tall, bronze, with an intellect that'd put me in the dirt. She was our precinct office manager, and someone that I'd met in my first days on the job. I asked her out, and she said yes. Fairly quickly, things got serious. Did she know about what I did behind the badge? Of course. She was our bookie, after all."

"In 1975, I decided to take up Roland's offer and return home. Of all of the people, it was Francine who convinced me. From her point of view, we were living on borrowed time. 'Palmyra is not New Orleans. That is the Bayou. Beasts of different colors, Rob.' Her words. Roland welcomed me back in his weird way of open arms, and gave me fifty-grand as a 'wedding present.' God, the wedding. Wanna talk about something out of a movie? Not only did it rain, but watching my Ma squirm over the sight of me kissing a black girl was something that cracked me up, in front of the whole wedding assembly. We honeymooned in Hong Kong, and by the time we returned, it was time for me to join the family business."

"As Chief of Police, I've got four goons under my watch, all able to operate under the shield of the law to get things done. We watch the Fauberts, pick up the protection money from the businesses, and ensure that product gets to where it's supposed to go. I got twins, a boy and a girl. My own family, in a house I built not far from the old family homestead."

"I got my own."

+++RP Sample: (If I know you, then you know that I know you. Feel free to insult me, if you have known me for a while)
#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)
Last edited by Cylarn on Fri May 08, 2020 7:32 pm, edited 2 times in total.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States
P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 19251
Founded: Feb 20, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States » Sat May 09, 2020 4:42 am

May, T.

Image
+++Name: Timothy May, “Tim”
+++Age: 33
+++Gender: Male
+++Physical appearance: 1.78m, 75kg
+++Identifying Marks: Tattoos of all major currency symbols over his body, so that it remains hidden when he wears a suit. A dollar sign on his lower right arm is the only one visible when he wears short sleeves.

+++Ethnicity: Cajun
+++Religion: Catholic, non-practising
+++Birthplace: South Palmyra, Louisiana
+++Criminal History: No official criminal record exists
+++Military History: None

+++Psychological analysis: “What my friends would say about me if you asked them? Isn’t that something you ought to ask them? I can’t say what the rotten bastards say behind my back. I guess they’d call me ambitious. A shark, perhaps, if they didn’t want to be nice about it. They would be wrong, I’m not in it for the money. I’m in it for the pleasures of life. Money is nothing, it’s just a tool. But the single most useful tool at that, so that’s why I’m after it. I’m not like those Wall Street investors I work with all the time. They seek money for itself. For them, life is a game wherein you make the number go up, and the number is your net worth. My numbers go up all the time, and I beat them all handily, but that’s not my game.”

“I just wish I could enjoy life to the fullest, you know? But there is always something in the way. What’s the point in a few million dollars net worth if there is always a roadblock. In New York, it’s taxes and the IRS being on your fucking tail all the time. They need to back off. And even then, my good-for-nothing nagging brother has to get all up into my business, thinking he can scrounge off my success. I gave him what I consider breadcrumbs, and he considers himself the king of the fucking world. And then my parents, who all of a sudden had to get sick at the same damn time. Well, two years in between, but it became my burden at the same time. I just wish everyone would get off my back and allow me to enjoy what I have earned without constantly expecting financial or emotional handouts, you know?”
+++Alignment: Bedard family, being the son of Tom Bedard’s sister Mary-Jane May-Bedard and her husband, Paul May
+++Occupation: Legal representative for the Bedard family, director of South Palmyra bank
+++Biography:”You know, growing up in South Palmyra, I used to love Oxbow Parish. I rarely talked about it in NYC, because they’d expect me to be some dumb bayou hick like the rest of them, but I actually genuinely loved it there. If you grow up without much modernity, I guess you can cope with a lot, like the Savage in A Brave New World. Spent a lot of time outdoors, enough for two lifetimes. My dad took me and Rick out whenever he could. In retrospect, I think it was to get me away from either the Bedards or from Roland in particular. My dad once came home with a soaking wet Robert, and ever since, he would not let me play with Roland. Never found out what that was about, but having seen Roland grow up, and having worked with him for a year now, I think I understand where my dad was coming from.”

“So, instead of playing with Robert and Lily-Ann, I spent a lot of time with Rick and my dad on the bayou. We would fish, camp, and sometimes hunt for gators when we were old enough to hold a rifle. I never quite understood what dad did for a living. I just understood that we could have days off from school whenever we wanted, and that dad didn’t have solid hours either. He didn’t want to talk about it much, though we heard his grumbling to our mother when he thought we were asleep. When I became old enough I quickly gathered that it was not something I would want to get involved in. So, we kept our heads down, pretending we did not hear our parents argue about ‘mobs’ and ‘capping’.”

“I was eighteen when Roland left for Vietnam. The letter was read during a family gathering. It was written in Roland’s signature style: purely pragmatic, dictating how we could reach him in case something newsworthy happened, and giving a meticulous list of what he considered newsworthy. It wasn’t a long list. It was a week after this letter that my dad told me he had enrolled me into Tulane. I always found this surprising, but apparently my dad had some money stashed away ‘in case of’. I never asked in case of what, but having gotten older, I realise that it was probably a getaway fund. Although my dad loved my mother, and by extension the rest of the family, something never sat right with him. I suppose I understand now. Also why I had to wait until Roland had gotten out of town”

“So, Off to Tulane I went, to study finance and business administration. For a boy who had lived in South Palmyra all his life, New Orleans seemed like a metropolis. There was always something going on, always a bar open, always strangers to meet. Always a quite girl to conquer. God, that was a change in circumstance. I attended parties like the best of them. I consumed more alcohol then than I ever would, until I enrolled into Harvard Law School. I didn’t see a marsh boat or a gator for almost five years, and to be honest, I was glad to be rid of the filth and the damp and the stink. First I came home every week. Then, every month. Then, for birthdays, Easter and Christmas. I was having the time of my life down there, and I was in no hurry to finish.”

“That was, until ’72 happened. A dreaded pig of a year. It started off with it becoming clear that the Vietnam war was coming to an end, meaning my college education was no longer necessary to shield me from conscription. Then, my dad realised that Roland would be coming back sooner or later, and despite pleadings with Tom, there was nothing he could do about that. Then, in June, my idiot brother got into a fight that cost Lily-Ann the use of the lower half of her body. My dad was furious with Rick. I almost thought he was going to kill him. But things calmed down eventually. Tom managed to keep things from escalating. I had graduated, and there was some talk of me getting in on the family business. At my father’s request, the less dainty side, even though I had had my experience in New Orleans.”

“That did not happen. Roland came back some time after the incident. Drove straight to the hospital. It was the first time I had seen him in years, and somehow, it chilled me. I don’t know if Vietnam had changed him, or that my memories had made him better than he actually was, but there was a hollowness to him. Robert was there too, from his job in New Orleans. He still looked fucked up from his Vietnam battle wounds. It wasn’t a tearful reunion. The atmosphere was tense. There were many stares exchanged, between my dad and Tom, between my dad and mom, between mom and Tom. Tom looked tired and even a bit afraid. Rightly so, it appeared, because a week later a Faubert girl had her feet sawn off and delivered. A month later, a full three months after the deadline closed, my dad told me that I was going to Harvard Law School. Although he never told me, the bribe he paid must have been enormous”

““And you never come back, you hear?” That was what my told me before my flight to New York. I didn’t know if he was joking, but he probably wasn’t. So, like a refugee, I left Louisiana and ended up in Boston. Now, the East Coast was something different. I had heard about liberal coastal elites, but I never imagined it to be like it was. The tail end of the hippie movement, civil rights in the up and up… And a whole new world of luxury. In New Orleans, I learnt about the pleasures in life. In Boston and New York, I was taught the ambition to achieve it. It was all so individualistic… There were no bonds beyond the bonds you chose, and the bonds you chose could be those of ambition. Severed from my family, I made only the friends I wanted to make. These were emotional individuals. Kind individuals. Individuals I did not have to fear from, but ambitious nonetheless. Everything I wanted that I had lacked form my family. I graduated with honours, and it took me all of three days to land myself a job at a major law firm.”

“In that firm, there were almost no bounds. It was us against the government, the sport being not to be found out during your financial shenanigans. There were no gangbangers that would shoot you, or crazy cousins that would hack your feet off. It was extremely liberating. I never had so much money. It was all a game to us. We were playing 4D chess, nothing mattered. We risked large fines, sure, and perhaps some jail time. But we were all loaded anyway, and in the end, there was nothing in the world we could not buy. I ended up with a New York penthouse, a wife and an infant daughter, whom I named Lily-Ann.”

“A year ago, I got a phone call from Rick, whom I hadn’t spoken to in years. After dad had gotten sick two years ago, mom was now also on a downwards trajectory. Rick could not care for the both of them himself, and he asked me to help. I declined. I felt no loyalty to him or to the family. My dad had told me never to come back, and I had no intention to. Rick then told me that Lily-Ann missed me, and that the family missed me. I told him to fuck off. Then he told me he would tell Roland. Now, I didn’t know what Roland was going to do. A small time Palmyra crime lord had nothing against a New York law firm. I could have crushed him myself. And even then, why would Roland even care? Still, the hollow eyes of my cousin haunted me for days. In the end, I gave in. Gave up my job, put my money in a safe account, and moved back to the bayou. Emily was appalled. And so was I. But I would not risk it.”

“Had I taken my money, I maybe could have bought the entire county. But I didn’t. Like my dad, I wanted a way to escape, or a way for little Lily-Ann to get the hell out of town if necessary. Upon my return, I was greeted coolly by the rest of the family. Lily-Ann was still alive. Roland was fully in charge of the family. Robert was the head of police. It was less like returning home, and more like going to prison. As some sort of consolation, Roland gave me the bank to take care of. I wonder if he planned it that way, using Rick as his unwitting pawn. Right now, I am a prisoner, and I am looking both to make the most of my time and looking to escape, if possible”


#ItWillBeDone (DO NOT REMOVE)
The name's James. James Usari. Well, my name is not actually James Usari, so don't bother actually looking it up, but it'll do for now.

Lack of a real name means compensation through a real face. My debt is settled


Part-time Kebab tycoon in Glasgow.

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Cylarn
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Posts: 14757
Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Sat May 09, 2020 7:50 am

Welcome aboard, James!
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Cylarn
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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Sat May 09, 2020 3:24 pm

I am proud to announce that Once Upon a Time in Oxbow Parish is now open to all!
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If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Rudaslavia
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Founded: Mar 28, 2014
Corporate Police State

Postby Rudaslavia » Sat May 09, 2020 3:54 pm

Christ. Alright, I'll get this up as fast as I can.
Friends call me "Rud."

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Cylarn
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Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Sat May 09, 2020 3:56 pm

Rudaslavia wrote:Christ. Alright, I'll get this up as fast as I can.


Baby, don't hate me.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Khasinkonia
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Founded: Feb 02, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Khasinkonia » Sat May 09, 2020 4:28 pm

If anyone would be interested, I'd kind of like to make the wife of a character who's (as they as in Newfoundland) come from away. I feel like it would be fun to play an outsider who ended up marrying in and has feelings about something they didn't necessarily grow up with. Assuming that's something that's in the spirit of the RP, please tell me if you'd be interested in your character having such a thing, although I do think Tim would be a great fit for such a concept.

I'm so happy to see something set in Louisiana that's more dynamic than just gators or Bourbon Street!

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Cylarn
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Posts: 14757
Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Sat May 09, 2020 4:45 pm

Khasinkonia wrote:If anyone would be interested, I'd kind of like to make the wife of a character who's (as they as in Newfoundland) come from away. I feel like it would be fun to play an outsider who ended up marrying in and has feelings about something they didn't necessarily grow up with. Assuming that's something that's in the spirit of the RP, please tell me if you'd be interested in your character having such a thing, although I do think Tim would be a great fit for such a concept.

I'm so happy to see something set in Louisiana that's more dynamic than just gators or Bourbon Street!


The wife of a character would be an interesting dynamic. I'd offer up Francine as a character for usage, since I am not always the best at portraying supporting characters to my own mains.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Khasinkonia
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Posts: 5932
Founded: Feb 02, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Khasinkonia » Sat May 09, 2020 4:54 pm

Cylarn wrote:
Khasinkonia wrote:If anyone would be interested, I'd kind of like to make the wife of a character who's (as they as in Newfoundland) come from away. I feel like it would be fun to play an outsider who ended up marrying in and has feelings about something they didn't necessarily grow up with. Assuming that's something that's in the spirit of the RP, please tell me if you'd be interested in your character having such a thing, although I do think Tim would be a great fit for such a concept.

I'm so happy to see something set in Louisiana that's more dynamic than just gators or Bourbon Street!


The wife of a character would be an interesting dynamic. I'd offer up Francine as a character for usage, since I am not always the best at portraying supporting characters to my own mains.

I can think about it, although I don't have much experience with Haitian culture, history, or life in general, so I'd either have to do quite a research dive(which would delay my writing process or perhaps chat about tweaking a few details.

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Cylarn
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Posts: 14757
Founded: Nov 25, 2011
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Cylarn » Sat May 09, 2020 8:43 pm

Khasinkonia wrote:
Cylarn wrote:
The wife of a character would be an interesting dynamic. I'd offer up Francine as a character for usage, since I am not always the best at portraying supporting characters to my own mains.

I can think about it, although I don't have much experience with Haitian culture, history, or life in general, so I'd either have to do quite a research dive(which would delay my writing process or perhaps chat about tweaking a few details.


It's all good.
✎ Member - ℘ædagog
If you are serving the US and its allies right now overseas, thank you for what you do.
Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award and the Best Crime RP Award for 2013 in P2TM. Recipient of the Best Crime RP'er Award of 2014 in P2TM.

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Khasinkonia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5932
Founded: Feb 02, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Khasinkonia » Sat May 09, 2020 8:51 pm

Cylarn wrote:
Khasinkonia wrote:I can think about it, although I don't have much experience with Haitian culture, history, or life in general, so I'd either have to do quite a research dive(which would delay my writing process or perhaps chat about tweaking a few details.


It's all good.

If you're interested in me making a wife for Robert, I might have an idea that would be suitable to you. We can chat about it in TGs or here for the character I had in mind if you're still interested.

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