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Post by Treyvon Johnson on Jul 2, 2006 21:20:15 GMT
"Cool. Thanks man."
I nod and smile as I enter the club. I decide to get something to eat first, so I look inside and canvas the area. Mike did tell me to take my time.
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 4, 2006 12:33:18 GMT
It's quite busy here, and you spot quite a few likely 'targets', who might be pursuaded to 'pop outside' with you for long enough.
After about 30 minutes of working your magic, you manage to work yourself into a position where you are, at least, as far as everyone else can see, 'kissing' her neck.
How much are you wanting to take?
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Post by Treyvon Johnson on Jul 4, 2006 16:10:47 GMT
I'll drink until I'm full if possible.
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 6, 2006 21:46:27 GMT
Done
You straighten up, subtly making sure there are no lingering signs of blood on your lip, or the girl's neck. She stands there, mostly leaning on you, semi-concious. She'll be up and about, though probably a bit hazy, in a few minutes.
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Post by Treyvon Johnson on Jul 6, 2006 22:36:26 GMT
I give her a peck on the cheek and straighten her up, making sure she's supported by the wall before I tip my hat, smile and swagger back into the club. After a quick look around and head over to the bar and nod at the tender.
"Johnson. I'm here for a meeting in the back?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jul 25, 2006 10:08:00 GMT
The tender nods at you, and points to the door next to the bar. You step up, take an unnecessary breath, and open it. You follow a corridor to the right for a few meters, and step in through another open door.
It looks like your the first here, from your group anyway.
The room is small, and quite dark, the low lighting focused on the table in the middle, less like a board meeting, than an underground poker game.
Seated at the table are Michael and the woman you rescued yesterday, on the far side of the room from you. Both of them look in a considerably better state than last night.
"Take a seat" says Michael. "We'll get started when the others arrive."
Moving to RP board
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Post by Storyteller on Aug 20, 2006 10:01:51 GMT
You walk out of the boardroom first, then glide through the club, flashing several smiles, in all the right places.
You step out into the cool night air, finding the sudden change in volume pleasing to your ears.
Are you heading back to your haven?
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Post by Treyvon Johnson on Aug 21, 2006 5:56:30 GMT
I hail a cab back to my apartment and change out of my club clothes and into something more street appropriate; namely, black oversized sweatpants, a white beater undershirt and a large black hoodie. I put on an old pair of army boots I picked up from an old friend and begin gathering up my tools.
I keep the handful of twigs in my hair and make sure my glock is full. While I've never been much with knives, I still make sure I've got a pocket shank just in case. As a final touch, I place some old, cheap rings on the fingers of each of my hands, to add that special pow to my punches, before slipping on a pair of black, fingerless riding gloves.
I don't know why but I take a glance in the mirror and watch my blurred form for a few moments before heading back outside to the cab I had waiting for me. The driver balks at the transformation. I don't say anything besides where he should drop me off so I can wait for Wic and Jess.
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Post by Storyteller on Aug 21, 2006 20:35:22 GMT
--->Main board.
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