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Empire City: The Irish Mob - IC (Open)

Sub Genres
Realistic, Romance

Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Sinead & Emery Callahan
~ Scott Masters ~

Sinead proudly smiled as she wrote some notes into her diary. She'd managed to get performers in for every weekend in November and she already knew December would be a money-maker with customers booking up tables for Christmas parties. With her living away from the Porters, Conor being in jail and her mother living in England, New York had yet to feel like home - it hadn't yet made its way into her heart like Dublin had. However, with the business being so successful in NYC, she could certainly see herself wanting to stick around the place. She just needed to make sure her home life improved.

When the office door was pushed open, Sinead looked up see Emery enter the room. To Sinead, her youngest daughter looked so grown up in her blue top and tailored black trousers. She was proud the teenager had made the effort for her first day and she knew the girl wouldn't expect special treatment on the job. Before she could speak, the woman's eyes were then drawn to Peter who also stepped into the room. She returned her husband's smile as she got up and walked around her desk to catch up with her two family members. "Oh, and here I was thinking you came for a job too," she said, with a playful pout. Her eyes lingered on her husband's face for a moment, hoping his presence in the place was a positive sign and wouldn't be a one-off. When he mentioned she looked busy, she shook her head. "It's nothing I can't go back to later. Though I did just get another band booked in for November," she said, excitedly smiling.

Sinead wasn't ready for Peter to leave the club, not when he rarely stepped foot in the place as it was. "I'm going to give Emmy the tour of the club. You can join us, Petey. You haven't seen much of the place since the redecoration," she offered him.

The woman led the two out into the public area of the club. She briefly stopped by the bar and smiled to the bartender who was cleaning the glasses. "This is the main bar, but we'll come to that later. The first point I need to make here, Emmy, is that you don't enter that area. You're too young to drink alcohol and too young to sell it, so you don't go there while this place is open." Her daughter was only going to be working during the afternoons whilst meals were being served. She would have to wait until she was older to work in the peak hours.

"Roger that, Captain!" Emery said, with a mock salute. She quickly straightened up when her mother silently stared her down. "I know, I know. Be professional..."

Sinead couldn't help but smile at her daughter. She knew the excitement would pass and the girl would soon be too busy to mess around. "I'm going to start the tour from the main entrance, especially as I want you to shadow the hosts for a while. I just know you'll be a natural with the customers and showing them to their tables..." As they walked towards the main entrance, Sinead sent Peter a warm smile. They hadn't yet had a conversation that day, but he seemed to be in a better mood than he had been the day before.


573902Having not taken a break earlier in his shift, Scott had decided to light up a second cigarette. Following the exchange he'd just had with Sinead, he hoped the presence of her husband and daughter would cheer the woman up. He was aware Emery was starting her first shift that day and he was quite looking forward to the new addition to the team. He was concerned about her age and would make sure to supervise her as arranged. However, the girl had visited the club a couple of times in the past and she seemed like she could hold her own. He just needed to make sure she didn't show too much attitude to the customers - even the few troublemakers they had the displeasure of dealing with from time to time.

He watched the black 1969 Ford Mustang that had slowed down on the street across from the club and he was expecting those inside the vehicle were about to pull into a parking spot or ask for directions. He was distracted from his curious observations as he heard someone call his name. Her turned to the two security guards working by the jazz club entrance. He quickly stubbed out his cigarette and rushed over to the two Porter-employed men, expecting the matter was important. "Scott, come settle an argument. Brigitte Bardot or Raquel Welch? Who would you rather--" the security guard was cut short.

The loud sounds of two gunshots halted any conversation, instead shocking the men into silence. That silence was filled with the sound of the screeching and rumbling sounds as the driver of the Mustang put their foot down on the accelerator so they could speed off down the street. Whilst the first bullet had missed any target, the second one had lodged itself in the back of Scott's left shoulder, the bar manager apparently having unwittingly shielded the security guards from being on the receiving end of the gunshots. It took a moment for the pain to set in, but soon enough, Scott let out a long, deep groan as the pain radiated around his shoulder and back. One of the security guards rush to his side with the intention of leading him into the jazz club in hopes someone there could deal with the wound that was now causing a bloody mess down the back of Scott's shirt.

"It was the pricks in the Mustang!" the other guard shouted out to two nearby Porter gang members who then proceeded to climb into their own car and speed off in search of the shooters.

@Bella:D (Peter)

@Inb4Cloaker @Sushi Muncher ...just in case y'all were heading there.

Sushi Muncher

70 yo aircraft carrier. Perfectly Legal!
Bailey Baker
All That Jazz, Upper Manhattan, New York
July 3rd, 1971 (Midday)

Interacted: Farrid (@Inb4Cloaker)
Mentioned: N/A

High Speed Low Drag

It definitely was indeed the first thing she wanted to set straight, albeit absurdly questionable. Farrid's answer only made her feel ever more flushed than she already did. The man was quite gentlemanly, despite his frank words. On one hand, she was quite ashamed of herself for throwing that statement out there, but on the other, she wanted to hear what Farrid thought of her. For most, the luscious eyes and the yearning of the flesh were more than enough to gratify one's perception of a relationship. But Farrid was not one of those men. From his simple sentences, to that of his earnest words, Bailey was ever more convinced of his forthright cause. The girl never had the intention of dissuading the man from whatever would occur between them in the future, but was more than inclined to draw the line for the two of them. It was something that she needed, and she felt that Farrid would comprehend as thus. In his eyes, like many times before, Bailey had picked up shattered pieces of what made Farrid the man he was. Like her father, there was a certain melancholy of unspoken emotions inside his head and heart. She did not mind it, and was instead be willing to pursue their joint paths. After all, the girl had long revered his silent ugliness, as she had locked away hers.

Pulling the trigger was an easy way out, one that the redhead would not dare trod. As hesitant as she was, Bailey had seen Farrid's conviction ever more clearly than how she saw her own thoughts. There was no room for debate. The southern girl took a sharp inhale, before blanketing the man's idle hand with hers. Her delicate touch was soon followed by a firm grasp.

"I'm sure you'd have guessed it by now... we country girls never back down from a challenge. And I sure as hell am wasn't gonna pull the brakes on this one..." Bailey shook her head lightly.

"You'd best brace yerself for the long road ahead, Farrid. I will make your life hell on earth." she claimed, tightening her grip upon his hand, before turning away briefly.

That was the last thing she heard from herself, as the girl tried to clear her head. She wanted to be herself. She had to be herself. Bailey pressed herself, letting her sentiments took over, as she eyed the passing streets to alleviate her spinning head. What used to be numbers floating around in her head, were now replaced with Farrid's face. Bailey wanted to bite the man, and just let her teeth sink into his skin, just so she can vent. Her fuzzy heart, her frustrations, and her clenching teeth, were all a part of her coping mechanism. She felt helpless, but in it, the girl had found some sense of comfort from Farrid's sincere and reassuring words. Seldom in her life did she needed such things. Embedded deep within her mind was the selfish thought of losing him. Bailey has always been at conflict since long before, and doubt was no less a familiar acquaintance. However, having witnessed Farrid's conviction, Bailey quickly recollect her sentiments. Pulling together what remained of her strengths, the girl's breath began to stabilize as she dwelled in the silence that followed. After all, she wanted to hear him say those words for the rest of their future. However selfish that may be, she wanted to only be selfish with him.

Queens, and then Manhattan. The colored streets quickly fade into a dull gray, despite the lively and busy streets. The negligent populace of Lower Manhattan had donned for themselves the masquerades of old. Everything about them tends to spiral down to one thing - business. From the emergent suits and luxurious dresses, to the monotonous arrays of black vehicles that could be found in Manhattan, Farrid's truck would stood out among the passing vehicles and masses. The two finally came to a stop after their long drive, as Bailey scanned the streets. The place she had wanted to go out for lunch stood grand on the other side of the road.

"How about it? Never had the chance to frequent this place like I used to..." turning over to Farrid, Bailey cracked a smile his way.

In the background, a black vehicle would pull past them. While within the redhead's peripheral vision, her gray eyes had their priorities fixed upon Farrid. Before the man could reply, shrieks of rapid whip-cracks and shattered windows prompted the gunrunner's attention. Bailey's hands moved on her own, as she pulled Farrid below the window's seat, where the two would cover each other behind concealment. The sounds of ejected casings befell the solid asphalt and pavement, as the sounds of tire screeches quickly prompted the hasty retreat of the gunners' vehicle. Bailey raised her head, eyeing the assailant's flight, before turning towards Farrid.

"Hey! You alright? Come on! We've gotta go!" Bailey stated, as she took off her seat-belts, and drawing her concealed thirty-eight short from her thighstrap. Aside from her Walther, the girl have had a backup defender, to which she was glad to have with her in the moment - but she was even more relieved to see Farrid still intact.

The redhead unhinged her door, and quickly took cover behind it. Her hand steadied upon the door frame, as Bailey's revolver pointed forward. The hammer fell back at the command of Bailey's thumb. Before long, the vehicle had made a sharp turn, out of her line of sight. The girl in black lowered her handgun, as she examined Farrid's posture. An audible click of her revolver de-cocking could be heard. Her eyes diverted towards the club, of which were riddled with bullet holes. The front pavement were painted in scarlet trails.

"Dagnabbit...!" she exclaimed beneath her trembling breath.



Yes, I put pineapple on pizza. Sue me.
Lucy Porter
574001 Lucy noted the chocolates given but knew now wasn't the time to make jokes about the sugar rush those kids would be crashing from later on...she was too worried about her cousin at the moment. When asked if she was alright, Lucy shook her head quickly, leaning into her husband as they walked towards the office. Once the door was closed, the woman's shoulders slumped over a bit and when they were sat down on the couch, she completely leaned against James. "You'd be right." Lucy murmured softly. The air smelled of stale cigarettes...once again, she would have to jump on the opportunity to chew James out later.

"I went to pick little Olivia at the station, Arlene is no where to be found after her shift last night. I am her next of kin, so they called us to look after Olivia." After a moment, Lucy sat up a little straighter, her eyes looking around the office a moment. "Some Detective..Smithson if I remember correctly, he was quite nosy. But I wasn't going to budge. I would watch for these ones, love, his little threat didn't slip under my nose like he thought it would...and I don't take to kindly to those." The woman shook her head slowly, "He suggested we stay out of Connecticut...Which he should know by now that we won't take that advice." Lucy's brows furrowed, maybe she was reading too much into it all..."Its normal for us not to trust those fools, but something definitely didn't sit right about this man.." She just couldn't put her finger on it.

Realizing she was probably going off tangent, Lucy cleared her throat before looking James in the eyes, "They found a diamond bracelet...so she couldn't have voluntarily just left....and she would never do that to Olivia." Arlene was on the more wild side compared to Lucy but when it came to her little one, she knew she wouldn't leave her.
with: James @Misty Gray

Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Savannah Callahan

574034Savannah had been about to ask Tanya if Syd was around, but she instead watched as Danny and Owen showed up from one of the back rooms. She observed the two young men, trying to work out if they were looking a little shifty or if having the family she had meant she just spent too much time around people who were up to something, therefore rendering her overly suspicious. Either way, she figured none of it was anything she needed to concern herself with. Besides, it seemed like the woman behind the bar was already on Danny's case, judging by the way she hit him. This caused Savannah to feel the need to stifle any laughter, but she couldn't stop an amused smile from showing on her face.

The grin soon disappeared when the young man in question looked to her and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm afraid I saw everything," she drily told him. "I'm sure whatever you did, you deserved it," she added, in a similarly playful fashion. She sent Owen a glance before looking back to the barman. His question of what he could get her soon reminded the blonde of why she was there. "I'm actually looking for my cousin," she answered him. Realising that might not have meant anything to Danny and Owen, she decided to elaborate. "I mean Syd. Is the boss here?"

Regardless of the answer, Savannah decided she would stick around for a bit anyway. After so many hours in Andre's presence, she needed a break and something to relax her. "I'll have a Vodka Martini, please. Also..." she began, briefly looking around the place for any clues. "Do you serve any food here? I fancy something that will complement this beautiful sunny weather," she asked.

@Pyroclast (Danny) @Fletchawk (Owen)

James Porter

With his arm around her shoulder, James gently pulled her into him a little closer as she leaned in. He softly rubbed the top of her arm as he picked up on the fact something was troubling her. Regardless of how busy his day had been and the kind of business that was weighing on his mind, he would always make time to reassure Lucy. When she started to tell him about Arlene and how the woman hadn't returned home after leaving for her shift, he furrowed his brows as he searched in his head for reasons why.

There was mention of Detective Smithson and James let out an irritated groan in response to the name. He'd had past encounters with the cop, as had Mitchell. The Detective fancied himself as a challenger to the mob; to organised crime in general. He'd attempted to make his mark in the past, but had soon been put back in his place by lack of evidence. James had met men like him in over the years and they'd never succeeded, so he didn't intend on letting Smithson get anywhere either. However, like many matters, the situation would need to be approached carefully. Smithson was a pest, but getting rid of the man could only be dealt with delicately. "I know Smithson," James confirmed. "The man's a nosy bastard, alright. Can't be bought, so we have to play it smart with him." He didn't attempt to hide his irritation at hearing the man had made a threat towards Lucy and the family. "Well, you heard the man, Luce. I guess you and I won't be going to Connecticut," he knowingly told her. "I'll send some guys there to keep an eye on things around Arlene's place, search around, and ask questions. I'll get in touch with the cops on our payroll and find out everything they can tell us about the case. It's best you stay in New York, for Olivia's sake, if nothing else. And I'll be able to find out more from here, rather than heading to Connecticut and having their cops breathing down my neck."

When Lucy returned to the subject of Arlene and how the woman wouldn't have disappeared on her own accord, James slowly nodded his head. He couldn't deny alarm bells were sounding in his mind. The woman had always kept in contact with them. Though she'd given up on the family business after Olivia was born, it didn't mean she was short of old enemies. James knew all too well that people held grudges. Arlene's former days of working for her father and then for Liam had meant she had no shortage of enemies back then. When Olivia's father, Julian, was killed whilst out on a job, Arlene no longer felt safe and decided to move out of the city. Since then, the woman had focused on giving Olivia as normal an upbringing as possible. It simply didn't make sense for them to believe the woman's disappearance wasn't concerning.

"I'm not going to lie, Luce. We've got to treat this as serious. Your cousin made a lot of enemies in the past and we've got to figure out who's still holding a grudge. Who would have known where to look?" he rhetorically asked. "The sooner I get our people onto the trail, the better..." he told her. About to stand up and get on with some phone calls, he hesitated and sat back, turning to Lucy. "How is Olivia? Do you think she understands what's going on?" he softly asked.

@Bella:D (Lucy)


Add alcohol and stir!
Jason Costello

1557505259963.png Although Gwen claimed to agree to his suggestion that they shouldn't force a friendship if they weren't going to get along, he could tell by the strain in her voice that her heart wasn't in it. She was giving off a lot of mixed signals, going from shouting at him to complimenting him, and he was struggling to keep up with how she was feeling about the whole situation. But he didn't understand his own feelings yet either, and sensed that she was equally confused. The best thing would be to each go home so that they could collect their thoughts until they heard back about the castings.

When she then went on to suggest that it would be easy for him to keep things professional between them since it had been his idea, Jason only grew more confused and it showed in his expression. What the hell did that mean? Did she honestly not see how conflicted he was about the whole thing? She had no idea, no idea at all about how much he had missed her, how hard it had been to accept that he couldn't go after her after they had gone their separate ways. He didn't imagine that he would ever see Gwen again, especially after he had ended up back in prison. Now, suddenly, she was standing right in front of him...and she thought this was easy for him? Either that, or she could see and was just making a dig at him, back to being hostile towards him. Lost for words, he simply stared at her in disbelief.

Jason's heart jumped when she used her old nickname for him and a deep feeling of nostalgia washed over him, causing him to look away. It was clear to him now that no amount of time or distance could fully break a bond between two people who had been as close as they had. The taste of her lips when she had kissed him just now on stage, the scent he had caught when she had pulled him into her - it just brought him right back. He really had loved her. If only he had known it at the time...

Trying not to show the pain in his expression, he listened on as Gwen spoke of her aims in life and the boundaries she wished to set between herself and Jason. It took every effort to keep his eyes on her; every word she said stung and he didn't really know how to respond. She seemed to think that he must have someone else to take care of now besides himself; he didn't know how to tell her that that wasn't true. Of course, his mother had recently reached out to him, and he was sure he could get in touch with his sisters if he wanted to, but he wasn't sure that he did. They had all abandoned him, left him with nothing, just completely cut him out of their lives. Left him, an impoverished 10-year-old boy, as the sole carer of his disabled Nana, without ever contacting him again until now. Despite coming to New York, he had chosen not to visit them for lack of trust in his ability to act civilly towards them. The only people in his life now that he talked to on a daily basis was the old couple that ran the shop beneath his apartment, and their cat, Tamara, who had practically moved in with him. In truth, Jason was totally alone. Had their present encounter not been spoiled by past regrets, he would have considered seeing Gwen as a relief - a familiar face that, despite all the fights they had had, he still associated with love and happiness above anything else.

"Right," he agreed, clearing his throat to make his voice sound more level. "Yeah, of course. So have I. And ye changed your name, so..." His voice softened as he gestured to her, signifying that he wasn't bringing up her marriage to argue with her but rather to acknowledge her achievements in life. Her getting further than he ever had. "I mean, look at us, Gwen - we're nothing but strangers, now, are we?" Jason was trying to play it cool, for fear that he might say something that he'd regret if he let his true emotions come through. "And listen, we might not even get the parts, so...Until we know for sure, let's just mind our own business. We've nothing to do with each other any more - I've got my life, you've got yours. Go home to your husband and forget about me. Like ye said, we are nothing."

@Bella:D Gwen

Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Maddox Parker

Maddox sat back and allowed Syd to answer the question about his support network without interruption. It was beneficial for his patient to reflect upon and acknowledge all of the people he had around him who could help in his time of need. Given his history of suicide attempts, Maddox felt it was important that his client knew he wasn't alone in the world. As long as he knew he had family around him, it would go a long way in deterring him from making further attempts on his own life and instead seek their help in the first instance. It felt like had come a long way and was presently in a good place, in terms of overall well-being.

It was clear the Porters were a close family, with Syd's words making reflecting how they all needed and supported each other. Maddox would have had to have been living under a rock to not have some idea of who James Porter was and the family's influence over the city. However, knowing it was a sensitive topic and one he would do better to stay out of, he didn't ask Syd questions about the Mob's business.

As Syd spoke of his family's losses, Maddox was able to keep up, having heard of each of the names in previous sessions to know who they were to Syd. He mentioned how his parents had lost their own fathers, drawing a slow, understanding nod from the counsellor. There was mention of Conor's wife, Aliana, though the couple were presently separated. There had been passing mentions from Conor about one of his wife's former loves who had been killed, though the prisoner hadn't wished to talk about the man in question as yet.

Syd went on to speak about Lucy and Sinead being his emergency contacts, but mentioned how the latter was on medication for manic depression. Having spent much time with patients suffering from the same disorder, he had a wide understanding of the woman's condition. "With the medication and counselling, she should be able to avoid, or at least minimise, the emergence of an episode." With mention of her marital issues, Maddox expected she would be seeking professional help during a high risk period of her life.

Maddox sent Syd an encouraging smile when he concluded that he owed his parents his life. "It sounds to me like you're all very close and supportive of each other. It's important for you to keep hold of that knowledge. Your parents and other family members know what you've been going through. Should you ever feel in need of support when I'm unavailable, you should never be afraid to seek the help of your loved ones. You've mentioned your parents in particular would be there for you, so you shouldn't feel uncomfortable about involving either of them. Do you think that sounds reasonable?

@Pyroclast (Syd)


Add alcohol and stir!
Syd Porter

574288 Syd nodded when Maddox assured him that Sinead should be able to manage her own disorder. "I know," he shrugged. "But I'd still rather she concentrated on herself. She's already supporting her husband and my three cousins. She tries to take it upon herself to look out for everyone, but if it'd mean coming at the expense of her own health I'd rather not be one of those people. Besides, she knows I have my mam." Of course, Lucy always seemed to have a lot on her plate, too. With Shannon having stayed behind in the UK, Syd saw his mother as being something of a matriarch for their large family. She took on a lot of duties, kept on top of business matters yet still made sure to check up on Syd between everything else. Since, for the two of them, the topic of his health was always in the foreground, it made it easier to show his true colours to her. Lucy had seen every side of him by now so even though it still wasn't always easy for him to admit when he needed her, he knew at least that there was little left that would shock her.

In the four years that they had known each other, Syd believed that Maddox had come to understand his situation very well. They had explored it from many different angles and revisited certain issues when the time came to reevaluate them, and at this point Syd almost trusted the man's judgement more than he trusted his own. While he was significantly more sound of mind now than he had been in the last decade, he was still prone to despairing thoughts and knew that his emotions could sometimes get in the way of progress. Since his adoption into the family, Syd's highest motivating factor in life had been to give back to his parents; after all he had put them through and everything they had done to support and help him since Skye first fell ill, that motivation had only amplified. Yet, making it up to them often fell between two options: not wanting to add to their concerns, and not wanting to lie to them. Often Syd found himself torn between these options, which made making the right decision very difficult without Maddox's guidance. That the counsellor was now recommending him to not hold back, but rather be ready and willing to involve his parents and seek help from them when he needed it, Syd understood that lying to them about his well-being was the worse of the two. The man was right - he shouldn't feel uncomfortable about asking them for more help. But he knew that when he was in such a state of mind that required the help of his family, that logic often went out of the window.

"It sounds reasonable, yeah," he told the man, with a calm smile. "I know you're right. I agree, totally, it's better to ask for help. They have the right to know - they'd want to know, they'd want to help me..." There was a noticeable uncertainty to his tone; he was trying to say all the right things, what he thought Maddox wanted to hear. "But I know myself, doc...your words are reasonable, but at the point when I need help, my head doesn't always see reason." The sadness returned to his smile, but it didn't falter. Syd took another sip of water before reclining comfortably in his seat and looking to the counsellor. "I'm okay at it, though. My mam checks in on me often enough to know when I'm trying to hide something. She's one of the strongest women I've ever known, but I know that after all her efforts to watch over me, she'd fall apart at least a little bit if I...if I left her. And she's, like, the matriarch of the family, one of the people holding this whole thing together, so it's very important that she's okay. I gotta look after her, too. Help her stay strong, while not shutting her out." Syd frowned for a second, still slightly unclear about how to do that. However, he understood Maddox's reason, and so remained determined. Looking back to the man with a confident smile, he added, "I'll make more of an effort to keep both my parents involved. That can be another goal...that, and Roxie. Does that sound okay?"

@Misty Gray Maddox

@Bella:D Lucy (mentioned)


Chili Mac MRE
Farrid Al-Assad

Farrid had made his best attempts at reaching out for the woman’s opinions on what happed earlier, but his elaborate dance of brushing around a direct confrontation made such acts futile. Now that he finally found his footing, and discovered what it would take to talk to the redhead, he was able to seek answers to questions that would be otherwise out of reach. Every time he spoke to the woman about a matter that was beyond just normal small talk or casual discussion, Farrid could feel his chest tighten as he anticipated the response. He always expected to hear the worse; that his doubts were not unfounded, and she had indeed been caught up in the moment. It would be a simple path if she backed out, and left this uncommon combination of hearts to dissolve like an unrealized dream, but to his relief and pleasant surprise, she had no intention of feeding the medics worrying attitude.

Her words moved the prior insurgent, and once again cut through the fog of uncertainties he bore on his shoulders. Farrid could hardly believe that the woman hadn’t tried to take a step back from what they had managed to assemble in the mess of chaos they created. He knew they were an unlikely duo, made even more strange by their profession and obstacles that would prevent them from achieving milestones that most couples attained through more traditional methods. He couldn’t think of any movies or books that involved being held at gunpoint as a vital part of achieving a first kiss between a couple. This only made him more eager to see what other unusual paths they would take on this road to exist side by side. His feelings towards their strange dynamic, as well as the mutual feelings of the redhead, gave him motivation, and the hopes for a bright future.

“The longest and bumpiest roads can lead to the prettiest sites, sometimes. If this all works out, going through hell will be worth it.” The man replied, Baileys comforting touch doing much to alleviate his worries.

Assad could’ve sat there all day, talking to the woman and resting easy under her delicate grasp. There was still so much he wanted to discuss, and there were so many new possibilities for the life they would lead. For the mountain of positive outlooks, there were also a few scenarios that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to address without reluctance, though. One day, be it months or years from then, the medic would no doubt have to confide his past in her, in the hopes that she would not resent him for it. In what ways would he discuss how he drove technicals towards non-combat zones, knowing full well what the gunner atop his truck would do? Or how would he explain the scars along his skin, should she ever want to familiarize herself with his body? Then again, she may never ask him to elaborate on the factors that made him into the man he is today, and she may be content with the way he is, regardless of the roads he followed to get to where he is. Either way, Farrid was ready to make the sacrifices it would take to preserve what they had created, and he would give his all to the gunrunner.

The Syrian man would have to pry his eyes away from the woman who mesmerized him with her conviction, unable to remove the content grin from his face. Red had turned to green, and his truck found its way across the intersection and onto the path of the restaurant. Following a few turns and a slow creep through a parking lot opposite of the building, Assad did his normal song and dance of looking for a parking space, along with wishing he had the ability to replace his truck with something that had more armor and bulk. The wish stemmed from the desire to simply push smaller vehicles out of their spaces and appropriate them himself. There were some things he thoroughly enjoyed back home, and of them all, forcefully relocating a smaller car was one of his top favorite activities. Granted, he didn’t have to pay insurance for committing such acts back then. After settling into a spot and shifting his vehicle into park, the medic halted the steady hum of the truck engine while he unbuckled himself.

“Ah, I’ve heard about this place, people say it’s good. This’ll be a fairly new experience... for...” Farrid continued as Bailey trailed off, not paying much attention to anything aside from the building. However, the abrupt silence from his passenger caused him to glance over.

He didn’t have nearly enough time to lay eyes on her face, however, as the sudden sounds of ballistic ejections tore through the void of normal street life noise. Unlike his partner alongside him, Assad did not react with a self preserving attitude. Instead, his vision shot towards the location of gunfire while instinctively reaching for the Browning Hi-Power that was tucked beneath his seat. Before his hand come come in contact with it, however, the gunrunner seized his body and brought him down beneath the cover of the dash. Emitting a grunt of confusion, the shocked driver remained concealed with the gunrunner as he hugged her low, waiting until she checked for danger before acting. Unable to instantly respond to the woman's voice, the medic instead finished his act of reaching for his weapon. The moment his hand came in contact with its sturdy grip, Farrid swiftly racked the slide with his free hand before pulling the handle to his door and shouldering it open.

Dropping out of the seat, the medic deliberately lowered himself to the concrete below with a dull thud. From the position that he fell, on his left shoulder, Assad bared his teeth and peeked around the front of the large tire, arms outstretched as he aligned the sights of his sidearm. Without much thought, Farrid shifted his view of the fleeing vehicle to the scene all around him, searching for any possible threats or a second group of assailants. The vehicle that drove away was too far and at an angle deemed unreasonable for the medic, so he refrained from putting rounds down towards it. Aside from that, his position was a last ditch defensive effort, and his spot on the concrete would not allow him to keep a stable sight picture on something that was now well out of engagement range. When Farrid sensed that the conflict had ended, and felt as though he was safe to move, the prior insurgent lifted himself off the ground while maneuvering around the rear of the truck towards Bailey. Upon reaching her, the medic trusted the gunrunner and her drawn weapon to cover him in the event of another surprise, and he lowered his sidearm to initiate field care.

“Are you injured?!” He exclaimed, his concern laden voiced accompanied by his hand grasping on her shoulder, his widened eyes searching her figure for signs of harm.

Gone was his sense of humor, and, for as long as the medic suspected a possible injury, Farrids body remained rigid. Typically, he would try to joke with those he was assisting, as laughter and keeping the sense of doom at bay could be a great assistant when it came to sustainability in a patient. However, the underlying tone in his voice was devoid of this, and his gaze held an aura of fear for the redheads health. He couldn’t find it in himself to express humor for the split second that he felt she was in danger. After he confirmed that she was untouched, the medic withdrew his arm and stepped back.

Alhamdo lelah, I thought... God, you scared me.” Farrid ran a hand through his hair while he spoke, setting his handgun on safe and heaving a sigh of relief before taking in the rest of the scene.

Between the bullet casings and fresh red fluids that had been spilt onto the ground, Farrid’s sunglasses reflected the building he and Bailey were supposed to enjoy lunch at. Instead, it seemed that the medic would be working on a Saturday. Reaching into the open door beside him and the gunrunner, Farrid lunged for the bag that hung on the back of the passengers seat, and yanked. With the small metal hook it was attached to being dislodged from the fabric, the medic wasted no time shouldering the bag and tucking the handgun he held through his belt. The blood on the ground was his calling, and like many times before, he would follow it to the source.

“I love the place you picked out dear. Reminds me of home.” He commented, shaking his head at the thought of a ruined lunch and an injured person. Farrid then swiftly took off towards the establishment.

“Next time, I'm cooking!” He yelled back over his shoulder as he crossed the street, aware that this was not the type of romantic moment he envisioned having with Bailey. Thrilling? Yes. Romantic? Absolutely not. His dress shoes noisily clopped on the pavement as he partially opened his aid bag, and steadied his nerves as he prepared to act.

Farrid saw activity out in front of the establishment, and caught glimpse of the potential patient inching his way through the door. Instead of speeding his way directly into the fray, and risking the possibility of startling the people who were likely on edge out front, he slowed his pace and waved a free hand in the air during his approaching.

“I’m coming to assist! Friendly!” He yelled,
ready to embrace whatever needed to be done to assist the injured. Time to make his money, Farrid thought.

موعد العرض

Mentions: Club Personnel @Misty Gray
Interactions: Bailey Baker @Sushi Muncher


Yes, I put pineapple on pizza. Sue me.
Peter Callahan
Peter chuckled lightly as his wife playfully pouted at him, stating that she thought he was there for a job as well. Stuff with the Porter's work was pretty slow at the moment, but Peter didn't really think about coming back to the club. It was Sinead's scene, and he didn't want to crowd her. He nodded in approval as she said that she booked another band, his expression clearly impressed with her work ethic. "Ahhh I'm not sure you'd want me working here now that you have Emmy, that would mean double the trouble." He teased lightly, reaching out and lightly punching his daughters arm. At the suggestion of joining the ladies on a tour of the club, Peter hesitated, only because he was afraid that if he was out too long, he would grow anxious. It wasn't enough to get him to leave just yet, so he opted to join the two. "Sounds great." He murmured lightly, doing his best not to look too nervous.

It was hard for Sinead to understand what he went through, but when Peter could hardly understand himself...it made things even more complicated. The sweat was beginning to break out above his upper lip and the familiar twitch of his left eye was back. It was hard to be out in the open. The reminder of this lead him to reach into his back pocket, patting the lump that contained a smaller handgun. It was rare he went anywhere without it anymore.

As Sinead led them to the bar, Peter took a good look around and he liked what she had done with the place. Sinead made a point that Emmy wasn't allowed to go into the bar area and Peter crossed his arms seriously and nodded once, nonverbally backing her up on the matter. The response their daughter gave was amusing, Peter couldn't help but crack a smile.

Following his wife, they made their way towards the main entrance, his eyes on her as she encouraged Emery. Everything seemed okay and Peter almost felt like he could relax.


Immediately Peter was in high alert as he reached for his girls and pulled them away, "Get back!" He shouted to them, most likely startling others inside the club. His wide eyes looked to door before he reached into his back pocket, grabbing the handgun, he raised it towards the doors. "Stay here." He ordered Emery and Sinead before moving towards the doors and slowly opening one of them. Using it as a shield of sorts, he looked around the perimeter as he pushed it open slowly. Seeing nothing at first, he wondered if his mind was playing cruel tricks on him again. But as he opened the door a little further, he saw Scott's bleeding form being carried in by one of the security guards.

Peter didn't hesitate as he rushed forward towards the injured man. "Who the fuck was it?" Peter asked harshly as he reached the men in the middle and helped carry Scott the rest of the way. At this point, it wasn't new to him that these type of small events normally led to bigger things later down the road. It was better to get the info now.
with: Scott/Sinead/Emmy @Misty Gray

Gwen Bryant
There was a visible flinch that appeared as Jason mentioned her last name, something she hadn't been able to officially change. His voice was soft, clearly not trying to hurt her. But just the thought of that man brought up vicious feelings in her. Clenching her teeth together, she fought hard not to shout at him, she couldn't blame him, all he was doing was point out the obvious. These were all things Gwen would think of if she was rational, but unfortunately, the man before her brought out the irrational in her.

Gwen's face twisted in disgust as Jason told her to go home to her husband, to just forget about him. And he thought that was easy? The redhead shook her head, furious now. "You think I didn't try?" She spat out venomously, "And husband? Is that what you think? I'm married?" Balling up her fists, the woman turned away from the man. Her eyes were burning red with tears as she squeezed them shut, pressing her balled up hands against them tightly.

The fire she was feeling couldn't be contained, she didn't know how he did it, making her feel so crazy. Sucking in an inward sob, Gwen shook her head a few times. "I've got no life because of you!" She turned on him now, taking her hands and shoving them hard against his chest. "You left me and everything fell apart! I had no choice but to leave you, you left me without one!" She was shouting now but she didn't care anymore. How could he look at her like that on stage? Everything was just a giant act to him.

"I felt like one of your conquests or whatever you want to call them. Life experiences? Now you are telling me to just forget about you!" The tears were streaming down her face now, her hands moving into her hair as she moved it back out of the way. "So go back to your life, do what's best for you, like you've always done." She left him to stand alone with those parting words, her whole body shaking as she clenched her fists again, nails digging deep into her palm. The redhead was quick to grab her daughter before heading out the auditorium doors. Once she was out into the open air, it felt like she could finally breath again...not having to be in the same room as Jason anymore was already doing wonders for her.

Kissed and Dissed: Jason @Pyroclast
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Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Sinead & Emery Callahan
~ Scott Masters ~

Sinead yelped at the sound of the gunshots and did so again as she was immediately pulled away from the door by Peter. She flinched a little and was about to reach for her concealed handgun until it dawned on her that she'd left it in her office. New York wasn't like Dublin or Chicago. She'd spent the last few years feeling secure, therefore feeling no need to carry around a crude weapon with her. Did this mean the peace was at an end? She took a series of deep, struggled breaths as she forced herself to overcome her anxiety. She felt someone grip her hand tightly and looked down to see Emery was grasping her to give reassurance. Sinead always knew her youngest daughter was the bravest of the Callahan women, so it was no surprise to see Emery wasn't panicking.

With the support of a security guard, Scott entered the club. The bar manager gritted his teeth as he struggled to block out the pain that was still intensifying around his shoulder and back. When Peter rushed towards the man, Emery stuck her neck out to the side to take a look at what was going on. The man's shirt and neck were covered in blood, as well as his right hand which he'd briefly touched the wound with. "Damn, that's a lot of blood," the teenager muttered. She'd spent her whole life growing up in the mob, so not much shocked her anymore, especially as she'd always been curious and inquisitive into the family's dramas. "Another day at the office, huh?" she calmly asked Sinead, hoping her mother could feed off of her calmness.

The security guard looked to Peter when asked who it was, knowing Scott had his back turned to the gunman at the time. "There were two blokes in a black Mustang. I think Scott here got in the way of the bullet intended for my chest..." he explained, relieved at dodging the bullet. He then used his thumb to indicate back outside. "A couple of our lot were parked up on standby, so they've gone off in pursuit of the wankers. Whoever's responsible, Porter's gonna string 'em up, right?"

The second security guard remained outside the club entrance, by now clutching at his sub-machine gun as he watched the streets like a hawk. Any customers wishing to enter the business would be turned away until he was sure the coast was clear. His eyes fixed on Farrid and Bailey as they made their way towards the club. His hand gripped tighter onto his firearm whilst the medic assured him he was friendly. After a brief pause, the security guard nodded his head in approval, having recognised Farrid as Porter-employed. "He's inside," he grunted in confirmation, allowing both Farrid and Bailey to enter the building.

Back inside, Sinead looked around to see the confused and worried expressions on the faces of the customers. However, she decided they would have to wait for a moment and she instead rushed over to Peter's side. She was relieved to see Farrid enter the building, knowing of his medical skills and Scott's need for exactly that. "Okay... Take him into the back. The first room on the left is the staff room, you'll be able to help in in there," she instructed Farrid and anyone else who would be needed to assist him. Sinead then looked to Scott and briefly gave his right arm a gentle squeeze. "You'll be okay," she reassured him. Despite her words, her mind was programmed to think the worst. When she let go of his arm and watched him being led away, the amount of blood soaking the back of his shirt did nothing to ease her concerns.

Seeing her mother's hand trembling a little, Emery nudged her and glanced to the confused-looking customers. She knew Sinead had a fear of blood, but she also knew they had other people to reassure. "Mum, how about we offer them free drinks? Grown-ups love free alcohol," she pointed out. When the older woman nodded in agreement, Emery walked away and grabbed a notepad from the bar before approaching the dining area. "You're all safe in here. My advice is we all stay inside where nothing bad is going down. That man got hurt outside but he's getting help in here, because we all know it's safe here," Emery confidently told the customers. "In the meantime... You all get a free drink each and I'm here to take your order," she informed them, flashing a pleasant smile. Just another day in this crazy family...

@Bella:D (Peter) @Inb4Cloaker (Farrid) @Sushi Muncher (Bailey)
(Wasn't sure if Peter and/or Bailey would help with Scott or help with securing the place. Your choices.)
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Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Maddox Parker

Syd had seemed to acknowledge he had people close to him who he could ask for help in times of need. As expected, the younger man wasn't so convinced he would be able to call upon them when the time actually came. It was difficult to overcome depressive episodes and that's why Maddox knew he still had a lot of ground to cover with his client. They had made great progress already, but it was always going to be a long and complex journey for Syd's overall recovery. "I understand. Which is why it's important we keep having these sessions," he reminded him.

Maddox mirrored Syd's more laid back posture, leaning back in his own seat too. He listened as the man spoke of his mother, Lucy. It sounded like she was a glue holding together what was Syd's -and Conor's - complicated family. "Don't be afraid to open up to your mother and support her in return. The picture you've painted for me is that she would want to know you're okay and if you're struggling." Maddox returned Syd's smile as he took the initiative in setting himself a further task. "That sounds good. We can discuss both Roxie and your parents' involvement in our next session."

With the session coming to an end, Maddox got up from his seat and walked over to his desk to retrieve a piece of paper. He completed and signed off the prescription then handed it to Syd before the man could leave. "We'll keep you on the same medication and dosage for now. There should be a little more than enough to last until your next appointment with me," he explained. Maddox then opened the door for Syd and shook the man's hand on his way out. "I'll see you soon, Syd."

Maddox collected the two empty glasses from his office so he could leave them by the reception desk ready to be cleaned by the appropriate member of staff. He had a few minutes before he was expecting Conor's lawyer, Mitchell, to arrive for their meeting about the prison inmate's case. After placing the glasses down, Maddox leaned against the large reception desk, which was located directly opposite his own counselling office. It had been a busy day but Maddox was certain he could finish up once he'd finished his meeting with Mitchell.

"It was 'Rosemary's Baby'!" Laura's voice suddenly piped up. She was following up on an earlier conversation she'd been having with the doctor.

Maddox turned to face the secretary, a smirk present on his face as he shook his head in playful disbelief. "Wait. So, he took you out to see that on your first date and you still ended up marrying him?!" he lightly teased.

@Pyroclast (Syd)
Mention: @RayPurchase (Mitch) - ding dong!


Add alcohol and stir!
Jason Costello

574683 Though he wasn't sure exactly why, Jason could see clearly that the fury in her eyes had returned. Gwen attacked him for mentioning her husband, which he didn't understand. "Well...yeah," he replied, honestly. She had changed her last name since he had known her; didn't that usually mean a woman was married? As she turned away from him and raised her hands to stem the flowing of tears from her eyes, Jason stole a glance at the finger on her left hand. No ring. Feeling a little awkward, Jason got ready to apologise for his mistake, but before he could, she spun round and gave him a hard shove, telling him that he had robbed her of her life. The small act of aggression surprised him a little and he stumbled back, gripping the table behind him for support. He managed not to overbalance, however, and quickly straightened up. Whatever was going on with her, he was determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him submit to her.

Her words contradicted themselves and Jason sighed. So she had a life to get back to, yet also had no life because of him? People were still returning to the green room after their auditions and the moment they stepped into the room, their conversations were silenced by the heated argument between Gwen and Jason. Everyone was packing up as quickly as they could, but their awkwardness didn't bother Jason enough to apologise to them. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop Gwen's little tirade.

Though Jason had done his best to be patient in letting her vent her anger, his patience was cut short by some particularly hurtful words. "Conquests?!" he yelled, defensively. "Are ye jokin' me?! What has ye sayin' all this shite? D'ye not remember anythin' of what we had?" Jason stared at her almost in horror, upset to think she had spent all this time thinking she had meant nothing to him. "Christ, I was -" - in love with you. He caught himself before the words slipped out, his hands reaching up to his head in despair. "And ye wanted t'forget me! Ye knew exactly where t'find me, but ye walked away from me and I let you, 'cause I knew ye'd be better off forgettin' me and movin' off with yourself! And, clearly, that's exactly what ye was doing." By this point, Gwen had stormed out of the room; Jason caught the door before it could swing shut and sprang into the hallway to watch her leave. "Cop yourself on, Gwen! Ye won't be makin' it on Broadway if your head's not screwed on right!"

With that, she was gone. God, what had he said to make her fly off the handle like that? Jason's blood was boiling, his face hot with anger. The sound of the door swinging shut was amplified by the empty metal bin that Jason kicked across the room. A few people dared to look his way, but he didn't look back at them. Maybe a drink would bring him back down... No, he had got over that dependence - that was in the past. Even with Gwen now gone, the tension in the air was still lingering. Once he had taken a few deep breaths, Jason grabbed his coat and walked calmly down the corridor, swinging it at his side while whistling the tune of the number that he had performed. The show was over, now. He had done what he had come to do and, however badly, dealt with what he had been made to deal with.

When he reached the exit, Jason closed his eyes and took a breath of fresh air. What he didn't realise, however, was that Gwen was standing not too far from him - when he opened his eyes and noticed her he couldn't help but curse under his breath. But that wasn't all - there was a child with her, too. Jason gazed at the small red-headed girl. She was young - younger than 11 as far as his eyes could tell - so he had no reason to panic. Yet again, he was lost for words...except this time, it wasn't for Gwen.

@Bella:D Gwen, Lorelei


Add alcohol and stir!
Syd Porter
Mention of suicide
574759 The counsellor seemed to have the perfect balance of wisdom and understanding. The man knew both when Syd needed a push and how to push him, while respecting that there were certain things holding him back. Syd hardly ever felt that the goals Maddox set for him were beyond his capabilities, and therefore often left him feeling motivated and confident to help himself. Even so, he did occasionally beat himself up about the fact that he was still coming back. Maddox was right, it was important that they continue the sessions together. Eventually, there would come a day where he no longer needed them - at least, that's what he always told himself. Ever since he was released from the pysch ward under the condition that he received regular psychological examination, Syd had been unable to predict how long he would be in therapy for. He had never imagined that 9 years on, he would still require help. On reflection, it sometimes made him feel weak. He was the mob boss's eldest son, a made man; having a strong mental grip was imperative not only to the job but also to deal with the reputation that his name carried.

The public, the press and the authorities all had a close eye on the Porters - Syd's previous suicide attempts had already drawn attention to his mental instability and now that the mob had relocated overseas, he wished to rebuild the image he knew he ought to be carrying. That was, in part, why he had invested so much into his nightclub - to prove to the world that he was capable and strong. Perhaps it had worked, but Syd knew by now that a rumour was all it took to ruin a man's name. He was supposed to be intimidating, powerful and tough, and while it did take a great deal of strength to get through the problems that he had, he knew that whoever had their eyes on the mob would see only the weakness. The momentary weakness that made a man point his gun at his own head. Regardless, it was the way it was, and coming to the counselling sessions and taking the medication seemed to be the only ways for him to keep a firm handle on things. No matter what it did for his self esteem, Syd knew it was better than giving it up altogether and trying to get by on his own.

With a quick glance to the clock on the wall, Syd sat forward and nodded at the man's conclusive remarks. He was pleased with the way the session was ending, and felt inspired to do well. Syd stood up when Maddox moved over to his desk to fill in his prescription, and he soon had it neatly folded and stored in his pocket. Relieved that he was to remain on the same dosage of Doxepin, Syd politely thanked the man with a genuine smile and shook his hand. "See you next time."

When the door closed behind him, Syd took a deep breath. After a somewhat wild night and a rather awkward encounter with Roxie and Mitch earlier on, the session with Maddox had helped him to reach a state of peace. "Have a good one, Laura," he nodded, as he passed the reception desk. Retrieving the prescription note from his jacket, Syd began to make his way downstairs towards the pharmacy.

@RayPurchase Mitch
@Misty Gray Maddox
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Sushi Muncher

70 yo aircraft carrier. Perfectly Legal!
Bailey Baker
All That Jazz, Upper Manhattan, New York
July 3rd, 1971 (Midday)

Interacted: Farrid (@Inb4Cloaker)
Mentioned: N/A

"I-I'm just right as rain... " Bailey replied.

From her point of view, Farrid was the one that scared her when he grasped her shoulder. One of the things that she had despised the most had taken its course, albeit hostile rounds were directed at the club - sparing the couple from an ill fate. Farrid had followed through with his words, and she did hers. While it was not something they had in mind for a date, it was somewhat an eye-opening one for Bailey. The girl confirmed these feelings with solemn courage, as the two studied the bloody aftermath across the street. Following Farrid's movements, she closed in behind the medic, as the two made their way towards their predestined location. But the romantic thoughts would have to wait, as the Syrian commented on the place.

Bailey could find a subtle sense of humor in the man's remarks. However, his stern visage, fixed on locating the wounded, had its grievous effects. As they traversed through the bullet-riddled lounge, Bailey kept her sight on the road with her revolver steadily grasped in both her hands, covering Farrid as he went about his job. The girl did not reply to the man's remarks, as she herself was caught in an adrenaline rush of her own. Despite this, Bailey did find it quite intriguing aside from the usual work behind a desk. Sparing the casualties, and unpleasant predicament of a drive-by gundown, it should suffice for a date. After all, the two were not your usual pair of wine-and-dine type. It brought them closer, Bailey thought, as she had learnt from Farrid's quick call to treat the wounded man, rather than give chase. While left unspoken, Bailey knew it in her heart that Farrid was the one.

"I'd very much like to see you cook. At least we won't be shot at... Who would'a thought that our first date would turn out to be so uncivilized..." she commented. Her heels upon the littered glasses announced the two's arrival.

What was once a bustling street with intermittent honks here and there, was now silenced by the recent events. Bailey let out a heavy sigh, as she circled the tables around her. It would not take long before New York's finest arrive on scene, especially in Manhattan. Bailey picked up her pace and caught up with Farrid, as the two settled upon the man, of whom were drenched in blood. Setting her revolver aside, Bailey took a knee beside Farrid. While it was not the first time she saw someone getting shot up, there was still a repulsive sensation that crept up her spine. Bailey could not help but ponder upon the thoughts of her being on the receiving end, and how she would feel. It was not a pleasant image, let alone being the one to witness it. On the other hand, Farrid presented a calm demeanor, despite the looming stress that she was getting.

"Four hands are better than two. Anything I can help with?" she turned towards Farrid, offering her help in any capacity she could accommodate. On the other hand, the girl was quite irritated by the assailants that took off after their little stunt. They had robbed Bailey of her laid-back weekend and lunch date, and the famished gunrunner would be sure to return the favor in kind.



Chili Mac MRE
Farrid Al-Assad

With the gunrunner close behind, the medic nodded to the submachine gun toting guard as he was granted entry. When he passed through the door and into the club, Assad did something rather unusual. As if he had noticed something of vague importance, Farrid arched his head up and seemed to eye the ceiling, along with pointing an index finger straight up. With his free hand and extended finger elevated around shoulder level, he muttered something incoherent before lowering his head and arm to the position they previously held. He tried to keep his movements as discreet and fluid as possible, unwilling to reveal the purpose for his momentarily strange behavior. Prayer wasn’t something he partook in often, but when it came to assisting others, he didn’t dare disrespect the tradition of reaching out for extra power in his skills. Leveling his eyesight on the patrons, Farrid removed his aviators and slipped them into the breast pocket of his currently clean shirt.

It didn’t take long for him to spot the victim of the shooting, and when he did, it took even less time to identify the wound, even from a distance. With his back to the medic, Farrid was given a clear view of what he would be working with that day. Visibly relaxing, he cleared his throat as he continued to make way towards his soon to be patient. He was thankful that the injury he saw wasn’t extremely severe; had expected torso, or worse, head trauma. Before making any further assumptions or thinking over a treatment route, Farrid made sure to wait until he could physically address the wound. He didn’t know if there were other sites on his body that had taken damage, and he had to be thorough in his search for more life threatening injuries.

“Got it, he’ll be fine. Hope-.” Farrid caught himself before finishing his sentence, instead offering a warm smile to Sinead as he passed by. He had taken a liking to finishing his phrases with the word, ‘hopefully,’ but perhaps now was a good time to start dropping that habit.

Doing his best to reassure the woman, the Syrian followed the guard and injured man back to the room they were designated to inhabit. Immediately after entering, Farrid spoke to the guard.

“Alright, sit him down on the ground and talk to him. I don’t care what you say, just make sure he responds.” He explained quickly and in a low voice to the guard, dropping his bag near where he would be treating the injured man. Typically, Farrid would engage the fellow in talk himself, but with the guard nearby, he saw an opportunity to divert more of his attention to the wound rather than distracting himself by speaking and working.

“Yes, please keep anyone who doesn’t need to be in here outside, and standby, I may need you to hold pressure.” He replied to Bailey, nodding at her in an act of appreciation.

The medics hands found their way onto Scotts body instantly, but they did not go for the obvious injury first. Instead, he swept his palms along the back of his neck, arms, legs, and sides, anticipating the ability to rule out the need for tourniquets or chest seals. After his rapid blood sweep, Farrid then focused his efforts on the gunshot wound on his upper left shoulder. Without warning, he withdrew a small pair of shears from his bag and snipped away a portion of Scotts shirt, leaving a decently sized hole where the fabric used to be. With the wound exposed, Assad wiped away the steady flow of red for a glimpse of the hole, and rechecked to ensure that there was not an exit wound. A brief view of the puncture was all he needed, and his left hand released the shears without a second thought before snatching a piece of compacted, olive drab packaged gauze. The medic tore the wrapper off with his teeth while keeping a hand near the injury, ignoring the warm liquid that had tainted his otherwise clean hand and white shirt cuffs. The sight and feeling of blood never bothered Farrid, but the smell did sometimes, hence why he would wear a shemagh or other form of face mask while usually treating his casualties. He was deprived of such luxuries at the time, however, and chose to breathe mostly through his mouth in an attempt to negate the metallic stench.

There were several routes he could take to staunch the flow and clean the wound, but Farrid was not trained extensively in the art of taking his time or remaining patient. In his mind, cleaning the wound, removing the piece of lead, and altering the underlying bone damage could be postponed until he was at a more permanent place of care; his clinic. His current goal was to remove the man from where he was, and bring him to a place that allowed Farrid to provide more definitive care. As soon as the gauze was freed from the package, he began to peel the hemostatic fabric in small strips and fill the wound, angling the packing to go towards the torso as he swiftly utilized all the gauze. The thought of providing morphine or cleaning the wound crossed his mind then and there, but it was quickly shrugged off on account of the fact that dulling the mans senses would counteract his effort to keep him awake and aware. Alcohol was readily available to treat the injury, but in Farrids experience, warm water and soap was just as affective. Plus, booze could hinder the healing progress, as well as make Scott more agitated by the wound he was already dealing with.

After he provided his intervention, the medic surveyed the drastically slower blood flow while keeping the pressure on the compacted gauze. Casting a relieved glance over at Bailey, Farrid acknowledged that one of the hardest and most important parts of the process was completed.

“Bailey, keep pressure on this for no less than three minutes. If it starts to soak completely through, tell me and I’ll pack it again. Otherwise, we need to go to the clinic so I have more resources at hand. I’ll clean it there, see about the bullet, and get it all set to heal.” He spoke to the gunrunner initially, but shifted the focus of his discussion to Scott as he told him what was about to happen.

Looking at his bloodstained hands, the medic simply frowned and silently mourned his white button up. With blood already on his sleeves, he didn’t care much for trying to keep the rest of his clothes clean. Wiping the red coloring off of his hands and onto his shirt, he removed most of the bodily fluids and began to pack up his bag. Truthfully, he could perform more interventions here, as well as remove the bullet if need be, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. At least back in the clinic he’d be more comfortable, and able to set longer term care in place. Without much change to his facial expression, Farrid maintained the loose tunnel vision he accumulated during the process of helping Scott. Thoughts of romance and courteous interactions with the gunrunner had been stalled, albeit temporarily, until the matter at hand was taken care of.

“It’s time to go, the sooner we get back, the sooner you’ll be better.” Farrid said sincerely, exhaling softly as he tried to make the best of the situation. Within seconds, his attitude brightened as he proudly prepared his next joking quip.

“You know, before we arrived, I was really worried that you guys didn’t serve shots here.”

موعد العرض

Mentions: None.
Interactions: Bailey Baker @Sushi Muncher Sinead & Scott @Misty Gray

Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
~ Scott Masters ~

Scott was helped to the back room by Trevor, the security guard. Once inside, Trevor helped the injured man to sit down on the floor and briefly hesitated before kneeling down opposite the bar manager. Farrid told him to keep talking to Scott to ensure the man continued to respond. "Alright," the guard agreed, quickly nodding his head. "Hey, Scott. That's what you get for having two smokes in one break. Don't worry, I won't rat ya out to that lil boss lady out there. You've suffered enough," he teased him. Scott simply nodded his head and weakly smirked back at Trevor. Unconvinced by the response, the security guard decided to keep going. "You didn't settle the debate. Brigitte Bardot or Raquel Welch. Who's the hottest?"

Scott remained silent for a moment as Farrid assessed the rest of his body to check for any wounds other than that of his shoulder. "Trev, mate..." Scott began, making clear eyes towards Bailey as he acknowledged it wasn't a conversation to be had, especially around ladies. Still, for the sake of giving an answer, he let out a deep breath. "Both are beautiful--" he began. Before getting more words out, he sucked in a deep breath and flinched as the medic began wiping the blood from the wound in his shoulder. "Brigitte. I suppose," he committed to an answer.

"Ha! Wait 'til I tell him I was right!" Trevor triumphantly reacted. The man then paused for a moment before thinking of more things to say to keep Scott attentive. "I guess I owe you a few drinks, huh? That shoulder of yours saved my ass back there. I'll pay you back, yeah?" Trevor watched as Scott nodded in response but failed to look at him. "Oi, Scott. Look at me. Ya looking a bit pale. Guess I've finally got a better tan than you, right?!"

"Bullshit," Scott exhaustedly replied, but lifted his head again to look back at Trevor. He gritted his teeth as he once again felt pressure being put onto the wound as Farrid and Bailey continued to tend to his shoulder. He then looked to Farrid as the medic said it was time to leave. Feeling warm and a little dizzy, he couldn't agree more. "Air sounds good," he replied, a little breathlessly. He managed a small grin at Farrid's joke. "Apparently... shots are my speciality," he drily played along.

With that, Trevor helped Scott to his feet so he could walk the man out to Farrid's vehicle. "You need me to come with you or should I stay back here?" the guard offered.

@Inb4Cloaker (Farrid) @Sushi Muncher (Bailey)​


Well well well...
Mitchell Van Gerwen

Mitch settled into his seat after Roxie had taken hers. Slipping his sunglasses off he hooked them into his shirt pocket, and glanced about the small restaurant, despite its hole in the wall, and slightly rough round the edges appearance, it was getting busy even now, most likely helped by the warm and sunny weekend afternoon, but still hopefully a testament to its quality as well. He leans back in his chair as he listens to Roxie, his hand resting on the table as he nods along.

“Sounds like a great neighbour to have, if there were a couple of restaurant owners in my apartment block, I’d definitely be using that connection to my advantage,”

Before he could say anything else, a classic cliché of an Italian grandmother appeared, massive personality, friendly demeanour, and the personality to fill an entire room. He looks on with an amused expression as the woman fusses over Roxie, a pinch of the cheeks and talk of her not eating enough, it was ticking all of the cliché boxes so far, but in a nice way mind you. He grinned at the woman as Roxie introduced him.

“Got to say lovely little place you’ve got here…”

He wasn’t able to get any more out however as she turned upon him, yep a pinch on the cheek for him as well. She was like the grandmother he never had. Well not strictly true, but his grandmother had been a dour old Dutch woman, bony thing with a vicious little yappy dog, far more likely to give you a spoon of cod liver oil as a child than any sort of treat or sweet. Easy to see where his dad got his parenting skills from. He grinned back at Roxie, sharing her laugh, his cheeks slightly red from the old woman’s fussing.

“Well I can see why you come here, definitely a more personalised service, may have to start coming here more often. Hey sure it will be delicious, I’m more than willing to put my faith in Nanny than my own shaky understanding of Italian food, ashamed to say the last Italian meal I ate came out of a can,”

He unfolded his napkin, placing it over his lap carefully. Tan suit and a white shirt, definitely a bad combination when it came to sloppy eating. And right now he didn’t want to come across as a slob, things were going far too well.

“Dutch Cuisine? We’re talking meat, pickled fish and potatoes, does exactly what it says on the tin with no flare of fanciness, or at least that’s what I was brought up knowing. Only redeeming qualities are the beer and cheese, but apparently those two alone don’t exactly make it fine dining,”

At this point Nanny arrived carrying a pizza quite easily the size of Mitch's face, but given the fact that his diet today has consisted of a mug of coffee and little else, he was pretty much happy to fall upon said pizza, the bigger the better. It was just a standard Margarita, mozzarella, tomato sauce and a smattering of herbs onto, but by God that's all that was needed. The cheese melted in his mouth, and the crispy base with the smooth tomato sauce was sweet and subtle with flavour ours of herbs. He lowered the first eaten half slice.

“I'm going to apologise now, I may not be doing a lot of talking whilst this pizza is front of me. Always the problem with too good a restaurant, far too preoccupied with the food. If you're not careful you lose complete track of time. So I'm going to quickly utilise this rare moment of me not eating. What have you got planned for the rest of the weekend?”

As he nodded along, steadily devouring the pizza in front of him his eyes momentarily drifted over his watch face. Shit. His by now ever present smile, dropped as he looked up at Roxie.

“I’m going to have to apologise profusely now I’m afraid, I’ve got an appointment in an hour and your pleasant company has caused me to completely lose track of time. All I can do is offer you my sincere apologies, and say that I’ve had a lot of fun with you today, and in repayment I’ll get the next lunch, dinner or drinks, choice is yours,”

He reaches into his pocket and removes a pen and business card, and scribbles on the back of it, sliding the card over the table.

“My home number’s there, if you can’t reach me there, then I’ll be at the office, which is on the other side of the card. You’re a great girl Roxie, and it’s not like I say that to all the ladies. I’d love to meet up again, if you’re up for it,”

A grin back on his face he slides his chair up from underneath him, he gives her a one armed embrace, and a peck on the cheek. I mean any more than that would be trying your luck, but he thought this had been successful enough for a peck goodbye.

“And don’t forget to tell Nanny I’m going to have to come back to try everything else on the menu,”

With a wink he leaves the restaurant, walking down the street with a spring in his step, it’s only when he’s round the corner and out of sight that he breaks into a jog. A brilliant afternoon, and if it wasn’t for this meeting, it could have stayed that way, no rest for the wicked he supposed.

25 stress filled moments later

Mitch pulls up outside of Maddox’s office, thankfully a parking spot was available outside. It hadn’t been a fun journey that was sure, not only was he leaving pleasant company behind, but he had hurriedly rushed to his apartment, a quick wash and change to a far cleaner, and more business like grey suit, as well a chance to check on Rex. The old boy was fine, the maid had seen to the food and drink, and hell he seemed to relish time alone in the apartment. He quickly checked his tie in the mirror, perfect. He grabbed the file on the passenger seat, all relating to Mr Conor Sullivan, he almost had to restrain a sigh. If he’d just kept his nose clean then he’d be out by now, and Mitch would have a lot less paperwork to deal with. But give him credit, he’d taken his comments onboard, been on his best behaviour, and now they had a real shot with this parole board. Part of this was surely down to Maddox, the shrink was working on his magic, and making real progress. That was the basis of today’s meeting, touch bases and see where they were, they had a real shot here to get him out.

He entered the stairwell to Maddox’s office, his leather shoes echoing against the stairs, why he hadn’t chosen an office with a lift he just didn’t know, these shoes were to impress, not for the wearer’s comfort. He could hear noise above him as he ascended, clearly someone coming from above. He slowed slightly as they came closer and closer, looking up and catching a familiar face. With the folder in his right hand, his left clenched slightly at the sight, of all the goddamn people. Syd. What the hell was he doing here, I mean who else in this building other than Maddox, no one of note anyway, he had to be his shrink as well. So the guy clearly has problems with him, that would have been bad enough, but now the guy who hates him is also seeing a shrink?! Christ this just got worse. Keeping his eyes on Syd he gives him a curt nod of the head.


His tone is a bit more accusatory than he would have liked, but Syd’s appearance took him by surprise, I mean he was expecting him to be about this morning, but here, in this very stairwell, that wasn’t planned. He should have had something planned, I don't know try small talk maybe. Too bloody late now, one word, that's all you could muster. The silence after that single word rung out is now near deafening.

(Interactions @Bella:D Roxie @Pyroclast Syd
Mention: @Misty Gray Maddox)


Add alcohol and stir!
Syd Porter

575611 Syd had only descended a few steps of the staircase before he heard someone coming up ahead of him. His attention was on his prescription - he didn't need to read it, but liked to check the details nonetheless - and so it was only as he drifted to the left to allow the other person to pass by that he looked up and saw who the person was. At once, he halted on his step and hurriedly balled up the paper before shoving it into his trouser pocket. Syd was barely acquainted with the lawyer; in fact, he only knew his name because he considered it a duty of his to learn the names and faces of everyone working under his father's command. Having been the one to recommend Doctor Parker to his Uncle Conor, he could have made the connection as to why Mitch was there. It made sense that Maddox would have business with the lawyer who was currently helping his incarcerated uncle, but that wasn't where Syd's mind went. Instead, it was made blank by the sheer embarrassment of meeting him in the medical centre. It was like being caught; his deep, personal secret had been spilled to the wrong person, his biggest vulnerability exposed to the man to whom he most wished to uphold an intimidating image. Of course, while personal, it was fairly widely known by now and Syd had long accepted that. It was different, however, to be unexpectedly confronted; worse still, by someone in whom he held such contempt.

Syd's whole body had tensed as he instinctively glared in Mitch's direction. The man spoke his name, which only worsened the situation; if he hadn't said anything then they could have both moved past each other. They still could, he supposed - he wasn't afraid of being rude to the man. However, having been hired by his father, Syd understood that Mitchell Van Gerwen must be the best lawyer that money could buy who was willing to work in the mob's defence and therefore it would be foolish to get on his bad side. If he ever needed legal counsel himself, Mitch would be the man to supposedly help him. It was only worth developing a personal relationship with an employee if that relationship was functional; otherwise, it was best to keep things professional. Syd understood this, but even so, somehow the man standing before him held the power to vex him by doing very little. From his clean, innocent face to the way that he spoke and the oddly accusatory tone in his voice, every surface detail irked him before he could even work out why.

"Yes?" he sarcastically answered, sending the man an expectant look. "Did you have something to say to me?" Syd looked the man up and down, only then realising that the fact that he was here probably meant that he was not in fact spending the day with Roxie like he had imagined. Well, he had imagined worse, but he couldn't be certain as to whether or not that had even happened. Still, the realisation eased his mind a little. What was most bothering to him for the time being was the accusing way in which Mitch had spoken his name, as though making some kind of dig at him for being in therapy. Perhaps he was just overreacting, paranoid to the point of thinking that a lawyer would judge a man for needing help. After all, his job was to help troubled people. But in that instant, Syd did feel judged. Perhaps he was only projecting his own insecurities onto the man, but he still couldn't prevent the effect that it had on him. In fact, it was all he could do not to push him down the stairwell right there and then. Instead, he simply cleared his throat and took a few steps closer. "You'd wanna watch yourself, Van Gerwen," he murmured, voice so low it was almost a whisper. "Don't you dare think you can intimidate me." Syd was not at all comfortable with the dirt this man had on him - first the incident at the party, and now the counselling - but as far as he could think of, there was no way to make the man forget about it. All he could do was try to make him afraid to use it against him. If he did, Syd wasn't sure he wouldn't seriously injure the lawyer, and, rationally, that was something he didn't want to do. It wouldn't be professional at all, and James certainly wouldn't be on his side. He supposed he would just have to watch himself, too.

@RayPurchase Mitch


Queen of Melanin

Aliana Cartwright
Leo Sullivan

There was a sort of disappointment Ali felt when Conor didn't reach out to her in comfort, yet strangely she was relieved he hadn't. If he had, her heart would ache even more and then she would definitely have broken down in tears. She wasn't in the market of crying in front of people anymore; especially after the break down of losing Tommy. It'd been her worst break down yet and she was sure if he had touched her, it would have been repeated. Instead, he gave her the softest smile; something she could say she had missed in their years of being apart and not seeing him. For a split second she forgot she was sitting across a cold table in a prison house. Luckily, hearing the guard shout at another prisoner made her come back to reality. To break their eye contact, Aliana acted as if she were searching for Leo, who was busy talking another guards ear off. Once she turned her attention back to him, he asked her to keep an eye on the two of them. She nodded her head, having already made it a mission to save her friend's marriage. Why she had become so invested, she didn't know. There had to be another reason besides just wanting to see Sinead happy and distracting herself from her own failed marriage. When she got out of here, she was going to have to figure it all out.

For now, she listened to Conor explain how things were going for him on the inside. She figured it was tough, based off of the things her father told her about the place. But hearing him say it, she could tell just by the sound of his voice. She leaned back in her seat, idly playing with her jewelry while he talked. "Well," she stated, clearing her throat and making herself look at him, "I'm glad you're making an attempt and that you're getting better. A part of me is surprised you're seeing a shrink." There was no malice in her voice, moreso shock and understanding. He was truly making all of these attempts here in prison and Ali wanted to break down again. She felt she had abandoned him here in prison, simply because she was unhappy and heartbroken. Even though they weren't married, she still could have visited him a few times.

Him asking how she was doing made her focus a bit more. She leaned back in her seat, pushing her hair back and shrugging her shoulders. "Same as usual, I guess. Running all the businesses, making sure they stay afloat, making sure Leo doesn't wreck havoc upon the city." Just thinking about all of the work she did each day made her tired before she continued speaking. "I'm so busy, I don't have any time for me. Just the other day some guy asked me out to dinner and to fit him in whenever. I told him I'd give him a call in 8 years." She joked, implying she wouldn't have any time until Leo graduated. A small smile crept on her face at the mention of her father being in prison with Conor. A small part of her was glad the two of them were talking and getting to know each other, considering Allen was soon going to be apart of her life again. The topic of visiting him was brought up and she threw her hands up. "I literally have no time to even do that. That's why I still send the letters... I've always had time to send letters but coming here and back during a day like mine? Impossible." She sighed, realizing a lot during her interaction with Conor. Time was always something she lacked, but it wasn't until she sat here talking that she saw how little of it she had.

Conor (@Misty Gray )

Misty Gray

Things and Stuff
Conor Sullivan

Conor had followed Aliana's shift of focus and he too sighted Leo with one of the guards. There happened to be a small number of prison staff members who Conor did get along with and Leo had luckily found an audience in one of the more tolerable ones. As far as he was concerned, he hoped his son's only interactions with prison wardens was in the context of him visiting and hopefully never finding himself behind bars. Of course, Conor would blame himself if that should ever happen.

Aliana once again unconsciously drew attention to the bracelet, but she thankfully spoke up before Conor had to dwell on how inferior it suddenly made him feel when he compared himself to St. Tommy. He didn't want to feel bitter about his old friend and he hated that he was feel any resentment at all. Tommy really had been a good friend, but with Conor's broken marriage on his mind, he felt any ill feelings were simply being amplified.

"Believe me, I was surprised too," Conor replied to his wife in a friendly manner. He allowed a brief smirk to show itself as he thought about his initial sessions with Maddox. "I gave Dr. Parker some real shit at first. I thought he was a bit of a square, with his fancy words and posh accent. Turns out, he ain't so bad. He's really helped me, Ali. He's been real patient and I don't want to let him down." He looked her in the eyes, his face completely sincere. "I don't want to let any of you down," he added.

Conor listened as she explained how she was busy running the businesses and keeping Leo under control. He appreciated that she'd been looking after his businesses as well her her own. The thought of being able to manage the places himself and allow Aliana to free up more of her time was another thing motivating him to get his parole. Before he could reassure her it was only temporary, she mentioned having recently been invited out to dinner. She made it clear that she had refused but seemingly on account of her being busy rather than the fact she was still married. Against his own will, Conor couldn't help but feel jealous and perhaps even threatened that other men were looking at the woman he still loved. "8 years, huh?" he repeated, trying his best to hold his tongue from speaking what would of course be his next words. "I don't suppose you told him you're still married, did you?" he remarked. Despite being separated, they were still married as far as Conor was concerned. Parole or not, he wasn't willing to accept things were over for good and he didn't wish to consider the possibility of a divorce.

Aliana made it clear she still wouldn't be visiting her father, using her lack of time as the reason she couldn't. Conor wasn't sure if he should push the topic, even though he felt bad for Allen. "That's a real shame, Ali. The bloke's suffered enough in this hole. Still, I'm pretty sure he appreciates the letters. He really cares about you, that much is clear."

@Melanin-Gxdess (Aliana)

Sushi Muncher

70 yo aircraft carrier. Perfectly Legal!
Bailey Baker
All That Jazz, Upper Manhattan, New York
July 3rd, 1971 (Midday)

Interacted: Farrid (@Inb4Cloaker), Scott / Trevor (@Misty Gray)
Mentioned: James Porter (@Misty Gray)

High Speed Low Drag II

Bailey conceded to Farrid's words, as she shoot a glance every now and then from where they came. She watched her man at work, doing what he did best besides driving her around. The girl remained silent throughout the course of Farrid's tactical field care, as to not distract him. The medic's hands moved fro and forth in a consecutively swift manner. Bailey's rush of adrenaline had spared her from being repulsed at the sight of blood. But as time passed, everything around her had gradually set in, to which the gunrunner could only hold in her breath at times. Eyeing the broken bottles of liquor that were scattered all over the ground, Bailey could really use a shot or two right now, she thought to herself. Prompted by Farrid, Bailey turned and quickly throw her hands forward, applying pressure upon Scott's crimson-dyed shoulder. She tilted her head, but have had no luck with locating an exit hole. The bullet seems to have burrowed itself somewhere within Scott's shoulder. For now, this was the least Farrid could do to help stem the bleeding, but Bailey knew what was coming next. They had to relocate the man back to Farrid's place for proper treatment and to remove the shrapnel. It had made sense for Farrid to avoid the morphines prior to his bandaging in order to keep the man conscious, the girl thought, as she quickly accompanied Farrid and Scott towards the prior's truck.

Scott seemed to be conscious enough to speak as another figure lent his hands. While Bailey did not know Scott personally, she was somewhat relieved to see the man mostly intact. After all, it was a family's business, and things tend to get quite personal as a result. The recent drive-by had proved that, and Bailey was not going to let this slide, neither would the Chief. Perhaps if the Happy Phantom was on scene, things might have turned out differently. But as fate would have it, the gunrunner and her Syrian driver's lunch was ruined, the club shot up, and a casualty to boot. Thinking about the situation did little to frighten the seemingly fragile lady, but rather agitated her more than it should. Discerning from her contemplation, Bailey turned over to Trevor, of whom had offered to escort the trio.

"We'll manage. It's better for someone to stay behind and keep an eye on things before the cops arrive. Get the word out when you can, we need eyes on the streets to avoid another drive-by." Bailey answered, as she unlatched her revolver's cylinder for a quick check of ammunition, before holstering it on safety.

The gunrunner habits kicked in, swooping an empty shell from the ground, as she made her way to the passenger side of Farrid's truck. Forensic details were a part of her job as an arms dealer. Everything had to be accounted for - origins, serials, repackaging and every rounds ever fired. It all came from somewhere, one just need to look hard enough. Where Farrid is good at patching people up, Bailey took pride in her work to deliver the very thing that gives him plenty to work with. The irony of their rough, awkward, yet bitter-sweet relationship thus far. Perhaps with luck, Bailey could look into their opposition's locale of supplies, and even the identity of those who made the purchase. While it was not a new concept to fond over, every intricate details mattered. After all, the innate nature of humanity are singled out to one consistent factor - they always make mistakes. The cynical Texan had her sight fixed on tracking down the troublemakers.

As she helped Scott into Farrid's truck, Bailey examined his bandages briefly to make sure it had not soaked up like Farrid mentioned before. Thankfully, the gauze and bandages were intact, albeit repulsive to the unprepared. Bailey quickly grabbed her coat, and blanketed Scott with it - in hopes of preventing him from succumbing to a sudden drop in body temperature. Closing the door, Bailey leaned back in her seat and let out a heavy sigh, all the while conjuring up a cigarette. She offered one to Farrid, as they began to drive off.

"Hang tight, Scott, Farrid will fix ya right up... The boss is not going to be happy about this." Bailey remarked, as she hovers the spent shell in her hand, studying its rigid casing.

"Famished, shot up, and casualty on hand. One helluva way to start a weekend." the weary girl continued, as she cast her gaze upon the road before them. As much as she hated the thought, Bailey have gotten a not-so-casual date with Farrid thus far. Something to remember, and perhaps be quizzically questioned in hindsight once they get out of it.

Her mind wandered off, contemplating on how nice it would be for Farrid to conjure up a home-cooked meal. Maybe she should have agreed to that instead of going out. But then, the two would have missed the main course that they tend to be offered on-the-house most of the time - getting caught in a firefight.



Add alcohol and stir!
Danny Vaughan

576641 Danny rocked back with a hurt look on his face when Savannah sided with Tanya. "Wow," he tutted. Turning to Owen, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Tell me straight, did you write 'loser' on my head this morning?" She was right, though - he deserved all the punishment he got for slacking off and he knew it. However, Danny had never been one to take himself too seriously, and so as long as he didn't go so far as to lose his job, he didn't much care what people thought of him. "All work and no play..." his parents would often say to him, as a reminder not to turn out like a dead-eyed corporate sell-out. Whatever he was getting paid to do, he would find ways to make it fun.

Rather than order anything, the young woman told him simply that she was here to look for her cousin. Danny leaned against the bar and slowly nodded his head as though he understood, waiting patiently to see if there was anything more. There were plenty of customers waiting to be served so he didn't really have time to have a conversation, but he wasn't exactly in the working spirit and he felt somehow drawn to the young woman. A smile crept onto his face as she finally clarified that she was the cousin of his boss. "Oh, Syd? Nah, he called in sick today." Propping himself up on one fist, he sent her a knowing look and quietly added, "Saturday morning's curse." Danny enjoyed making fun of his boss - he knew Syd had had it in for him since they met. The only reason he had been offered the job was so the mobster could keep a close eye on him and control his means of distribution and the only reason Danny had accepted it was because the pay was significantly more generous than his old job with East Harlem.

"Vodka Martini, sure," he smiled at her. Her accent was so soft he barely understood what she was saying. It was obvious now that she was family of Syd - though the man didn't speak so softly to him. Danny moved to grab the ingredients for the cocktail but didn't turn his back on her, and when she asked him about the possibility of food he brought everything back over to her. "Depends what time it is - we stop serving at 6. You're telling me you've never dined out at your own cousin's club?" he lightly teased, handing her a menu. With most of the options containing meat or seafood, the young man didn't have much of an opinion to offer. He watched her scan it, taking in her appearance as he stirred and strained the cocktail. Before he knew it, a warm smile had set on his face that he couldn't suppress. "You want me to take a message?" he asked. Once the final touches were added to her drink, he slid it over to her. "For Syd, I mean."

@Misty Gray Savannah
@Fletchawk Owen


Well well well...
Mitchell Van Gerwen

Mitch scoffed and turned his head, he had been about to go on his way, leaving Syd to whatever hole he was too go and brood in. Including this they had met 3 times over the course of the past 24 hours. He’d tried to be civil, he’d tried to be friendly, but clearly that wasn’t getting anywhere. He may be James Porter’s son, but pussyfooting around wasn’t going to do it anymore. Just cause he’s the son of the boss he thinks he can just throw his weight around, and Mitch still wasn’t exactly sure what Syd’s problem with him was, he’d only just met the guy, and now they were both in a stairwell with him sending vague threats his way. Fuck this. He scratches at his nose, leaning forward slightly towards him. His eyes flicking over him.

“Didn’t quite catch that Syd, what am I going to regret exactly? You going to throw me down this stairwell, is that it? I’m a professional, I don’t go around bandying around empty threats to people in shadowy stairwells. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’m not going to have it. What the hell is your problem exactly?”

He meets Syd’s gaze, attempting to stare him down, his voice hushed and deadly serious. There was no doubt in his mind that if Syd really wanted to he would be able to quite easily knock seven bells out of him, surely he wouldn’t do it however, he was clearly a bit unhinged, but he wasn’t an idiot. Mitch was already feeling a bit emboldened with standing toe to toe, I mean he should have just left it there, keep himself level headed and on the moral high ground, but he just couldn’t help having a dig.

“This isn’t about Roxie is it? Cause if it is it’s too late, you made a fool of yourself and near enough made the poor girl cry, while I acted like a gentleman,”

A wry grin appears on his lips, his eyes still locked on Syd's.

“And having spent the afternoon with her, I think your ship has sailed. She does have a very nice apartment too,”

(Interaction: @Pyroclast Syd
Mention: @Bella:D Roxie)


Add alcohol and stir!
Syd Porter

576836 The two men stood close, almost uncomfortably so. The lawyer began to speak back to him, acting all high and mighty, and Syd could already feel his right hand begin to twitch. Though he didn't doubt that his father loved him, he knew that hurting Mitch risked losing some degree of his father's trust and respect. As the boss, James determined the group values of the mob and so Syd had spent the last 12 years adhering to those values. He didn't want to bring any disruption, or to be considered a liability to the mob. He had already been forced to leave the business once before due to being sectioned so he understood how difficult it could be to get back in touch with all their affairs. Now, at least, Syd considered himself to have got back on track and to be doing a professional job for his father and colleagues. If Mitch took that away from him, he would have nothing left.

The twitching of his hand was becoming harder to subdue by the second as the lawyer boldly attempted to provoke him by bringing up the events of James' birthday party. He asked if the problem that he had with him was about Roxie, and Syd's glare only grew darker. "You don't have the first clue," he slowly drew out. His voice was quiet and deep, yet not quite steady. Mitch was loving this. He was the better man, the gentleman, Roxie's knight in shining armour; Syd was the fool, unable even to prevent his hands from curling into fists. Of course, it made sense, if the lawyer was judging Syd based on what had seen of him so far, that he wouldn't have much respect for him. But what Syd couldn't stand was that Mitch had no real idea at all of what was really going on. He didn't know about Skye, his problems with women, or that he was on medication, let alone any of the efforts he was making with Maddox to become better. All he wanted was to be better, yet all Mitch was doing was reminding him of the bad things he had done - the bad things he was doing. The lawyer was lucky that he got to be the good guy in this situation. It was Syd's goal to be as functional as Mitch. After everything he had been through, Syd had tried hard to get himself in order. Nine years on, he was the owner of a thriving nightclub, he had regained an active role in the mob, and had managed to stay on top of both. He wanted to be proud of himself. But he couldn't be, not when Mitch was standing there in front of him, showing him what he was so far from being and rubbing it in his face. The man didn't seem to acknowledge how lucky he was - as though he was taking his health for granted. The irony of the man's gloating inside a counselling facility was almost laughable, but in that moment nothing could override the hot anger brewing in the pit of Syd's stomach. Everything Maddox had said to him had now gone from his mind. The calm feeling he had left the office with was now gone entirely, replaced with utter resentment. His heart was beating fast; he could feel a familiar darkness fall over him and began to grow afraid of himself, of what he might do.

Don't do it. He's not worth it. Remember the mob's values. Remember your vows.

His breathing had become fast and heavy as he poured his energy into keeping his fists where they were. It wasn't often the case that Syd found himself in such a situation as this. Violence was saved for the enemy and, more often than not, only used where intimidation was necessary. Most of his altercations involved unfavourable deals, unfaithful business partners and occasionally the police, but not many were so personal these days, and were rarely off limits. Syd knew he wasn't allowed to hurt Mitch, but he was losing control. "Go," he growled, a touch of fear in his tone. The lawyer wore a grin on his face as he stared him down - all the while, Syd's fingernails were digging into the palm of his hand. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want to lose his father's trust, to cost Conor his lawyer, to lose his position in the business, to lose his club, to -

But the man opened his mouth again and before the image of Mitch and Roxie together in her apartment could even fix itself in his mind, Syd's anger reached its breaking point. His hand shot out and grasped the man tightly by the throat, lifting him onto his toes and pressing him into the wall with all the strength he could muster. "I said, don't." Syd could feel a hot, stinging sensation behind his eyes and he thought they might be watering slightly, but he kept them fixed firmly on the man whom he held suspended. His grip tightened. "First thing to understand, Mitch: I don't make empty threats. Second, you've got one job, and that's to get my uncle out of prison. You use any of this against me, you tell anyone about this, and I'll make sure that's the last fucking job you ever do. And if you don't do it -" He reached with his left hand and retrieved the gun from its holster, tapping it lightly against his own forehead before flicking off the safety catch and ramming the barrel into the lawyer's temple. "- I will fucking kill you."

The echo of a door swinging shut at the bottom of the stairwell around the corner prompted Syd to let go of the man. He managed to slide his gun back into its holster just in time for a woman to reach the stairs and make her way past them. Syd kept his gaze fixed on the man and stayed silent until the woman was out of earshot. "You know, you seem pretty pleased with yourself, Mitch. Think you're above me 'cause I'm not right in the head, is that it? That you're a big shot with the ladies 'cause you end up back at her apartment the day after you meet her? Yeah?" His voice had turned soft, now. Syd nodded in mock agreement, while beginning to retrieve his cigarette case. His hands were still shaking. "But the truth, Mitch," he continued, before placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He took one, heavenly drag, and blew the smoke in the lawyer's face. "Is that even with your head screwed on, you're still a fucking asshole."

Almost forgetting about his prescription, Syd reached into his pocket and straightened out the creased piece of paper that Maddox had signed. He looked up to the top of the stairs, sending his mind back to the peaceful environment of his counsellor's office. Somehow, he felt better now. He waved the prescription in the air so the lawyer would understand that Syd had nothing to hide, that his seeing a therapist wasn't something the lawyer could use to inflate his own ego in future. With that, he turned his back on the man and began to make his way down the stairs.

@RayPurchase Mitch


Clever thoughts mean nothing unless acted upon.
576983Unless he was on an expedition into his mind, Danny was a talker. So Owen was already settling himself in when he asked for advice, knowing he could be there for a while. Which was fine by him since the trek to Midtown had worn on him more than it normally would've.

Only speaking to affirm that he remembered their faces, Owen listened to Danny recite part of his past. While Owen had heard most of it through bits and pieces, he hadn't realized that Danny had been on such poor terms with them. As he made a mental note not to mention Danny's name, one of his roommate's coworkers popped through the doorway, barely giving Owen a cursory look before chastising Danny.

Accompanied by a cocked eyebrow, Owen ribbed, "A straight job, huh? Is that what you call this?" Owen then waved Danny along before he had a chance to start in, as he was teasing more than looking for an actual answer, "But yeah, I get it, better to face the man sooner rather than later. I was just seeing if you had any sway with them before I face the music," flashing a brief grin before the effort of standing pulled it away.

Following Danny back out towards the main area of the club, Owen reminded himself that he was still looking rather rough around the edges, "Uh, yeah, but I'm gonna use the restroom first, gotta smooth myself out real quick." As he diverged from Danny, he followed the obvious signage towards the restroom, absentmindedly checking the coin return of the payphones as he passed. Turning up with naught, he pushed through the door to the men's restroom, bumping into a man leaving as he entered.

576984Fortunately, the restroom was left empty, although a bit pungent. But it made little difference to Owen, for he smelled worse things just on the way over from the Willis bridge. He'd given reflection in a window a quick once over on his way over, but with an actual mirror, he was able to fully assess the damage. The puffiness of his lip had already mostly receded, but it was still tender. As painful as it was, he also partially removed his shirt to reveal the reddish blotches on his back and sides, and a few particularly nasty ones were already starting to darken. "Fuck me..." escaped his lips as he eased his shirt back on.

There wasn't much he could do about the smudges scattered throughout his attire, but he was able to clean himself up a bit. There wasn't much to dwell on otherwise, as Owen knew that he'd have to tell them about the package being taken, but it was afterwards that he was more worried about. Running as a courier wasn't going to be a viable source of income with his ribs busted up, even if East Harlem kept quiet. He knew he might have to fall back on some old skills if things got tight.

The bar was neither busy, nor empty, but a flash of red caught Owen's eye, and Danny's beaming face was not hard to find thereafter. "Something that goes down easy, Danny. Then I'll take off," Owen said as he slipped between empty seats nearby, saying Danny's name purely to make sure the man hadn't tuned out his surrounding.

@Pyroclast [Danny]
@Misty Gray [Savannah]

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