Mafia Roleplay

[Sarchu!]

[/b]
Two families, known as the Rockets and the Brains (although their actual last name is unknown- they have to have an air of mystery about them of course) have been around as long as most people can remember. They each gained power in their own ways, the Rockets in Kanto and the Brains in Sinnoh. However, it wasn't long before the Brains decided that Sinnoh just wasn't enough for them to exercise their influence over. No, they needed more. So they set their sights on Kanto, and when they did even the delicate balance was irreparably altered. It wasn't long before the whole East side belonged to those from Sinnoh.
Clearly, this did not bode well with the Rockets.
They had managed to keep control of the West side of Kanto, but it wasn't enough. As far as they were concerned, it was their turf!
The strange exception to this rule was Celadon City. It was right in the middle of the territory cut, and was therefore occupied by both sides. Both set up casinos and other companies in the city on their own sides and competed for years to gain the business of the tourists that flock all the time to the glitzy place. They had shows, casinos, bars, hotels... You name it, they had it. It didn't take long for each side to get royally pissed off at the other for stealing their business. They knew something had to be done; but what?
Enter the present time. Giovanni's forces have just taken over the Indigo Plateau, the center of operations of the special police force dedicated to bringing both families down and to justice. Thankfully, many of the actual officers were able to escape the takeover, and have taken up residence in Celadon where they continue to work to stop the families. Especially now with the increasing violence, of course, which even they have noticed. It is a hard job, especially since many of them have to stay undercover to avoid being the next victim.
The breaking point had finally hit when Giovanni took the Plateau. Was Celadon City next? Palmer refused to give it up when it was such a source of income for them, and both sides hatched plans to try and get the other to surrender.
Namely, the assassination of the heirs to the business and other important people (and whoever got in their way, really.) Each side worked long and hard on the plans, and have their top agents working on fulfilling them. People are being injured left and right as they struggle and scramble to be the first to succeed. However, as time goes on it appears that they need a "back-up plan." Therefore both sides agree to a "treaty" of sorts, where they formally split the city. Neither really plan on believing the treaty of course; it's all a ruse, intended to get the important members in the same room together. For they were having a party to celebrate the cooperation between the two "companies" in the grandest ballroom in Celadon, right in the middle of the city. A huge ball with lots of people dancing and dressed fancily... The perfect time to get a clear shot of the enemy.
The ball is a week from now, and plans are being finalized. Each group is still trying to kill the others, of course. Hopefully they won't even have to resort to going to the ball at all if they can get their job done. However they have the rivaling family to deal with, and of course those pesky police officers who are slowly but surely catching onto the whole thing.
Who will win? Will anyone win? It's up to us as this story unfolds.


Setting:
Celadon City, a city of glamour and glitz. Full of Game Corners and Casinos and less than desirable businesses is where this roleplay is set. Smack dab in the middle of the two family's territory, this city has the West Side (in control of Giovanni) and the East Side (in control of Palmer.) Tensions are always high in this city between the two organizations, although the tourists that flock to the city for the shows and games tend to not notice. How could you when you're busy spending all you money? However, even they are beginning to notice as everything seems to escalate between the two now that even the Elite Four center control is in Giovanni's grasp and fighting has broken out more and more. As each side's plans start to come into action, will even the clueless people get dragged in? Either way, this city is the perfect spot for crime.


Characters:
Police Force
Volkner - Field Agent
Brock- Field Agent
Lucas- Forensic Scientist
Crasher Wake- Senior Officer
Cynthia- ?
Maylene- Undercover Agent

Giovanni's Mafia
Giovanni- Head of the Family
Riley- ?
James- ?

Palmer's Mafia
Palmer- Head of the Family
Damion- Heir to the Organization
Paul- Damion's Bodyguard

Other








IMPORTANT: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know who your character is going to be! I would like to list them here, unless you have a reason like them being undercover or a double-agent or something that you don't want anyone to know. Honestly, though, it would be easier if we all just knew where we stood.
ALSO. PLEASE do not reply here UNLESS it is in-character! Use the c-box to talk to others about the plot, and PM me or someone else who has the power to change this post about who your character will be. Also PM me or someone who can change it if you see any mistakes/would like to add something/whatever. Thank you, and please enjoy the roleplay. [/ul]

[nickbo]

"Awesome!"

[/b]

Damion was supposed to have outgrown the cooing part. In fact, he was never supposed to have endorsed in the whole 'cooing' action, let alone say 'awesome'. Perhaps that was why he attempted to keep it a low, discreet murmur but... Well, he still cooed up at the building. It was quite the sight, however, so perhaps such was necessary. Its identity as a casino was most obvious (since when would a casino be inconspicuous anyway?) as the whole building practically seemed as if it was on fire. The bright bulbs of red, orange and yellow flickered rather erratically and although it seemed rather crude the blonde admiring it found it the most fascinating thing ever (well, ever at that moment anyway). Perhaps it was because his attention span was satisfied and... Well, that tended to be a miracle. He was even staying still. That was safer though?

After all, who would want a Mafia heir springing about Celadon City like an moronic excitable Poochyena?

Admittedly Damion wanted to spring about in a sense; excitable Poochyena would have described him perfectly. There was the sense of impatience and... Well, scruffiness. A Poochyena's fur is rather unkempt after all and everything about him was unkempt. His hair looked as if the one of its goal in life was to defy things gravitational and the bangs that actually were obeying Newton's law managed to get in the way of his obnoxiously bright orange eyes. His outfit even held the messy look as; the light tanned trench coat had definitely seen better days and was rather worn down in parts. It even fluttered behind in the slight breeze for extra effect the very reason he got it 'cause it looked cool and well.. There was the obnoxiously bright green scarf. What? It wasn't as if he was supposed to wear a suit or anything! He certainly didn't want to scream 'MAFIA HEIR KTHX' where ever he went.

"Sunset Station..."[/color] Damion begun to murmur, his eyes trailing over the neon'd name. Well, it wasn't the most original of names but whatever, it was awesome regardless! This was interesting! This was where he wanted to go clearly! Hence why he turned back to his companion though 'turned' might have been slightly incorrect. It was a more rushed, uneven spin in his excitement and his trench coat flickered around as he did so. The blonde's attention remained on the other though and almost he lost balance (even stumbling a few steps) he regained such, thrusting a finger up at the Casino's bright neon lights in a pose worthy of a solid 'Objection!'. It seemed rather pointless; after all, they were not that far away from it... In fact, rather close to the entrance.

"Paulpaulpaul! Can we go in here? Can we?"[/b]

Perhaps it was a little immature for a boy of eighteen but once again, let Nickbo rape use the 'excitable Poochyena' simile. In the blonde's mind, however, it seemed alright. Well, it seemed alright to his ADD-infected mind anyway.

"C'mon, it'll be quick..."[/b]

Besides, Damion was a force to be reckoned with when ADD-infected.
[/blockquote]

[Wrath]

All casinos were the same to him. Bright flashy lights that dazzled the unwary into heeding the visual siren’s call. Stupid names that hinted at glamour, to distract people from the whores, the gambling, and the drinking one would really find within the doors. Someone, probably an unwitting tourist, fooled by the ingenious bright-light ploy, opened the doors and wandered in, glassy-eyed with wonder.
One of the boys standing outside of the ‘Sunset Station’ casino shuddered visibly in disgust as slot machine music and the sounds of chips cascading on top of one another wafted through the open doors.
Harsh black eyes, topped by thick purple eyebrows, lifted slowly open in response to the hideously familiar sound. The purple-haired teen released a breath through clenched teeth, a non-verbal protest to the migraine-inducing sights and sounds.

Other than that, however, Paul made no complaint, despite the growing loathing in his gut. Because after all, he was there to protect. To watch over. With this thought, eyes flicked over to, and softened at the sight of, the blond in front of him. Sadly, however, the other boy seemed to have fallen for the cunning casino trap as he was staring in awe, and cooing things that were indecipherable over the noise.

But yes, Paul was indeed there merely to guard the other boy. Not to whine or bitch about casinos. He remained in his slouch, therefore, hands shoved into low-riding, dark-grey jean pockets. The precariously low pants were held up by a studded belt, but despite this the waistband of his blue-purple plaid boxers was visible above the denim. A nondescript black sweatshirt topped the outfit, all in all giving the 19-year-old a rather badass appearance. Well, intimidation was a good way to keep people from coming near you, or your charge. And you needed every advantage you could get when your charge happened to be the heir to a whole Mafia, and you were in the middle of a territory-dispute with a rival gang.

Paul, who had shut his eyes to unsuccessfully try and protect them from the fire-coloured flashing lights, opened them again when he heard his name being chanted three times. He was used to this from the blond-haired boy before him, but still the pleasant familiarity of it softened his practically murderous expression. He turned to him, betraying no emotion even as the 18-year-old green-scarfed boy before him practically begged him to go inside.

Why did Damion even ask? Didn’t he know by now that Paul would go wherever he went if it meant keeping him safe? Paul was really nothing but a silent follower that was supposed to protect the blond; Damion didn’t need Paul’s permission to go anywhere, but Damion often asked. It was…endearing. And Paul always struggled when having to tell the childish boy no. Even if it just so happened he wanted to enter a demonic place of pure evil full of disgusting, pathetic losers who whittled away their life savings on watered-down booze and stupid card games.

It wasn’t like they were entering a burning building (Even though those hideous flashing lights made it look on fire) so Paul couldn’t say no on the grounds it was unsafe. And then the blond boy added that ‘it would be quick’. Well, when he said it like that…Paul just really couldn’t say no.

“Yes, Blondie. We can go in,” [/b] He growled grudgingly, however, there was definitely a note of affection in the cold tone. With that, Paul straightened, moving closer to Damion’s side, ready to follow him in the moment he should begin to move. His eyes were wide open, now, however, as he knew firsthand how quickly the boy could shoot off. Blowing out a light sigh, as he suspiciously eyed the casino again, Paul really wished it wasn’t so hard for him to say ‘no’ to Damion.

[Sarchu!]

[/i]. Relatively new to the force, she had apparently proved herself worthy for this assignment. The higher-ups knew that should could take care of herself. She was accomplished in fighting, and of course had Lucario who could be awfully cranky when surrounded by criminals.

That didn't stop her from feeling almost unsafe in the casino, however. She had no protection against guns, and some creepy people, but... She had to be brave.

Be brave, be brave, be brave.

It was for the mission. It was for the mission.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the music stopped and the girls took a bow (Maylene a little shakily.) They headed backstage to various cheers, and the eighteen-year old let out a long sigh. Thank goodness! She had quite a long break now, before she had to go back up and humiliate herself again... At least she was paid well enough from the casino for this. Deciding that she really needed a drink (non-alcoholic, what were you thinking?) she headed out into the main area with some trepidation.

It was crowded enough that people didn't pay her much attention, for which she was obviously grateful. But the crowd made it awfully hard to walk through, especially in the heels that she could barely stand in. Uttering apologies every time she ran into someone, she tried desperately to get over to the restaurant where she might beg for a glass of water.

"Excuse me, pardon me, oh i'm so sorry, here, let me get that... Sorry, sorry, sorry!" The patrons hardly looked at her as she wobbled through, nearly falling over with every step she took.

The only thing getting her through this was the idea that it was for her highly important mission.

And that glass of water. And maybe a nice bath at the hotel to soothe her aching feet.

[/ul]

[Fidge]

[/color] [/ul]

[Mim]

She was not cheating.
Honest.
Marge had nothing up her sleeves. Hell, she didn't have sleeves, either.
Yet her guests were losing like no tomorrow.

As suggested by the Casino's staff, Marge wore the short-sleeved version of the usual dealer's top; a crisp white button-up with black vest fitted snugly over it. Her forearms had felt strangely bare without the red gauntlets usually strapped over them, so she had replaced them with soft leather, one thin strip of black crossed and tied onto each arm. The Casino's symbol dangled from one wrist, the little pendant winking in the blinding lights that embodied the gambling house Marge had landed herself in. The lack of sleeves provided good enough reason for players to think that their games were clean and fair, yes? Employees could avoid more conflict that way and concentrate more on raking in more profit for the gambling center and for themselves.

"Sunset Station". She'd felt like the casino was just right for her, what with the flaming lights and dizzying atmosphere. She'd been floating around the job market anyways (her last "job" required a sneaky aftermath) so she'd signed into a position at the casino.

Result; Marge was standing at a circular table trying not to laugh at the men leaning either on or over the wood, respectively dejected or eager. The players were either depressed over their consecutive losses (or tiny wins) or leaving not-so-subtle islands of innuendo and whatnot in the puddles of drool somehow sliming their way over the tabletop. It could be considered that Marge had been hired for the ability to last a night with at least two or three buttons on her shirt undone. 'Course it wasn't just the top that kept eyes on her, even if it was a top that left no room for guesses on the 21 year old's gender. Marge had the skirt, just to the knees, and the heels, both in black. Yes, definitely sexy enough to distract blackjack players out of their every chip and coin. If the casino hadn't been so heated up with the cries and tempers of gamblers abound, she would have gone with dark hose as well. Instead her pale skin showed from knees down, upper arms to hands, and from face to the base of her neck.

Marge began to wonder if these people were even making any efforts at playing anymore. Her end of the table was littered with chips, the mess of rainbow plastic somehow warped into another lure decoration scheme. While it was plausible that the dealer was just too lazy to sweep the winnings into the storage box set into the tabletop, whenever a spot opened at the table another man would dive into the game, apparently drawn over by the chips piled randomly around the place.

While flicking a new round of cards out to the players, Marge's eyes fell onto a strange pattern of movement bobbing through the crowd around her table.

A pink-haired girl attempting to walk in heels, cute.
Walking in a casino, not so.
Then again, she did have one of those dresses on, and the feathers pretty much sealed her position as a dancer. The wobbly gait brought the tiniest curve of the lips to Marge's expression, slight smile showing her condescending fondness for the familiar situation she saw many casino girls in. (Most of those women were older, though, and more prone to being drunk instead of just unused to heels.) As the last set ended Marge swept her prize (the casino's prize, really, but some of it would be coming to her anyways and that amount would be boosted by her nice advertising) into the storage cache. With the snap of a lock she slid the box's lid into place, then shoved the cards into a holster on the belt slanted across her waist with a practiced movement. "Break time, boys. Swing by Em's table or something." Ignoring the complaints rising from the players, Marge waved them off to another table and turned to forge through the crowd. She ran a hand through short black hair that felt strangely cool due to the absence of her usual "traveling cloak" and its hood, then scanned the people around and away from her with a quick turn of the head. Amber eyes found the girl from earlier, and Marge wove through other people toward the younger woman with the easy slink of one used to disguises (that often required heels for some reason). Marge sifted through the gamblers with gentle, quick bends and turns, first one shoulder then the other turned to push through the cloud of alcohol-breath and body heat that filled the place. It wasn't so hard; she stood a bit above most others due to the shoes, but not too much.

The dancer was headed unsteadily for the restaurant, something that made Marge snort a little while twisting carefully around a pair of tipsy slot machine addicts. Thirsty, maybe? She looked in her older teen years, she had that serious look already bred into her eyes. Marge shrugged around another group of gamblers (at the craps table) and slid neatly into the least crowded path that led to the restaurant. She let her pace settle, remaining behind the pink-haired girl. She could have darted past into her preferred seat at the bar, but watching the other teeter around was addicting and funny.

[Banette]

Well, he was bored.

While young in years, the chief of Palmer's personal defense force was, to some, surprisingly diligent at his job. Ever watchful, there was never another who had gotten past him yet. Nor would they- he or another kept watch around the clock to prevent any potential disasters to his boss's person.

Not to say he wasn't without his limits, however- if Boss Palmer wanted some privacy for "fun time", the seventeen year old welcomed this as a break and took the night off. No further questions.

... Well, not to say he didn't leave the man completely unattended, but that was, in fact, none of his concern at the current time.

Pushing the round-lensed sunglasses up off his deep grey eyes, he paused, holding them a moment to inspect the lenses. Satisfied with their current state, he placed them atop his head. Appearing irritated upon doing so, he once again removed the sunglasses to flip his long red hair back off his face before replacing the glasses. That done, he gave a satisfied smirk. He felt cool now.

He wasn't foolish enough to walk out in the street in his usual work attire, my no- that would only lead to trouble. Instead, the boy opted to dressing as one of the tourists that could casually be seen waltzing around, taking pictures of everything and anything.

In his opinion, this type of disguise included a tacky, bright red Hawaiian-style shirt and cargo shorts with a fairly noticeable bulge, and sandals.
The shorts DID have pockets, yes, but alas, they were only big enough for loose change or batteries, maybe. Refusing to go out unarmed however, Silver simply opted to kept a pistol in his shorts. Hey, nobody expects a crotch shot. Plus he found the entire image of it humorous, so why the hell not? He did what he wanted anyway.

While he wasn't planning on showing anyone pictures of random hookers, he kept a camera dangling around his neck purely to help the rest of the image. He didn't figure it would come in handy otherwise, so... Overall, he figured he pulled off the image of a casual tourist quite nicely.

While continuing his stroll of boredom, his eyes happened to catch sight of... The heir and his body guard. Hm. Loitering outside the Casino? It didn't exactly seem to see their scene to begin with...

Well, if they were planning to go in, he figured playing with them a while would amuse him. He had no interest in slots, but knowing Damion, they wouldn't be there long anyway before he lost interest. So, he approached, a contented smirk on his face.

"Now, ladies, you should know better then to walk around the streets at night alone. Do you know how unsafe it is around these parts?" He asked calmly as he shuffled over, hands in his pockets.

[Dragon]

His territory. His game. His rules.

And don't you fucking dare get in his way.

It was time. The large steel doors to one of several main elevators smoothly opened to the side, revealing a small chamber of glassy mirrors and crushed velvet carpeting. And a man -- a very intimidating, proud looking man who reflected upon himself within that space enough to produce an army dripping with power and grandeur. Black dress shoes glistening from a fresh polish stepped out onto the floor at 5:32pm exactly -- an evening ritual that seemed as punctual as the man was practical about such things.

The man of the hour. Boss Rocket. Giovanni.

It was not unlike the Syndicate Leader to have a list of favored whereabouts, those places he would visit and look after whenever a busy schedule would permit. There was little need for worry concerning security -- men were positioned within every room of every building ready to blow the 'competition' away with the snap of a finger. Or if the target was too deliciously set within their sights. Orders were orders, after all.

The Sunset Station was one of his first and finest casinos -- a marvel of industry and one of the few places that actually felt like home amidst the trash littered within Celadon city limits. His city limits. It would be recognized before the week was out with no doubt in his mind. The fools.

A smooth, dignified gait carried the man across brightly colored carpeting, the sights and smells and euphoric sensations of the place filling his senses and giving such pleasure as to elicit a fluent grin. His course set, Giovanni meandered without shame (and with great boast) amidst the seedy crowds, laying his eye upon a set of blackjack tables -- the row of sparkling bottles across a maple bar -- the luscious curves of a seductive dancer -- the shifting eyes of an intoxicated gambler down to his last dime --

All familiar. All worthwhile. All his.

Several eyes seemed to follow the Mafia Boss in return, many of them familiar to a man that reeks of command and higher class. Others were simply curious towards the sleek, ivory shadow that padded silently behind. Decorated with a rich, golden collar, Persian returned the glances with haughty slits, the ruby gem embedded in the feline's forehead catching upon the glow of brilliant, flashing lights. Her Master seemed to reflect the pokémon's sentiments for formal dress -- an elegant pinstriped suit of black and gray with a golden tied neatly tucked behind the blazer.

Giovanni certainly didn't need any gaudy coloration to attract the kind of attention being given at the moment. Those who knew who he was couldn't do a damn thing to detract him from his observations at the moment, let alone his future plans in general. Just let them try...

[nickbo]

"Awesome!"

[/b]

He cheered it certainly louder that time that's for sure. Well of course he was happy; Damion had gotten Paul's approval! ... So maybe the idea of his bodyguard accepting what he wanted to do wasn't revolutionary but it still meant a lot! The blonde acted unreasonably excitable about the approval though but then might mention he was always excitable. Truthfully that would most probably die down eventually; the blonde would always grow a bit too impatient in situations and demand to go elsewhere. Paul dealt with that though, right? He had to anyway; the other was his bodyguard after all! One might be insufferably apologetic to anyone who would be enforced to look after Damion though since... Well, the blonde was slightly difficult to tolerate sometimes.

One might say he might be difficult to tolerate because he made himself so damn killable or something. Nickbo has discovered, via delight of spell-check, that 'killable' is apparently a word. To get on topic, however, one of the reasons Damion insisting on making himself so 'killable' was the fact that be tended to be slightly... 'Annoying' sometimes. Only annoying to those who didn't like boundless sources of energy... And annoying to those who did not like constant chattering... And annoying to those who liked not getting constantly barricaded with fines and speed mentions. And annoying to... Well, anyone eventually.

It appeared Damion respected Paul in a sense though. Maybe that was hinted by the fact that hadn't already burst off running yet; in fact, he was staying delightfully still (aside for the slight bounce) for the moment anyway. He was gearing to move though. About to maybe. There was, however, a voice. That implied something so sacrilegious... Something so... Slow.

It implied he was female.

That was blasphemous. Nobody implied he was a girl! He was obviously the manliest man ever! The blonde appeared to be startled by such an implication of otherwise... Well, 'ladies' was feminine right? AND HE WASN'T FEMININE! N-nor was his hair fluffy! Just to add! 'Do you know how unsafe it is around these parts'? Damion could totally look after himself! ... Okay, so maybe he had a bodyguard but whatever! The blonde had spun around in a rush, immediately intending to do something rash. The mafia heir was most probably going to do something unpredictable and most possibly stupid. He had been, anyway. The sight startled him; yes, he was startled again as his mind attempted to program what he was seeing.

"S-Silver!? It looks like you've been raped by Hawaii!"

It was true in his opinion. Utterly true. There was just no way the person so... Violated could be Silver. No way. He even returned a startled gaze to Paul beside him, jabbing an accusatory wave in the general direction of the supposedly molestered-by-an-island man and exclaimed to the one beside him, "Paul! You guard bodies right? Aren't you supposed to stop this sort of thing happening!? It can't be too fast for you!"[/color]

The blonde was being most obnoxiously loud about this one might say.[/blockquote]

[Wrath]

Damion was rather easy to please. He was almost always in a good mood that bordered ADD-ful enthusiasm, so bringing joy to him was about as hard as getting a playful little Skitty to chase its tail.
So if you were like Paul, and you found every one of his excited actions utterly adorable, this was definitely a plus. When Damion spoke his practically trademark word, ‘awesome’, Paul’s eyes softened with affection. He watched him bounce about with glee, glancing away only briefly to eye their surroundings for anything or anyone suspicious. But, the boy didn’t actually move to go in. This was something fairly new, and Paul appreciated it. It was easier to protect someone willing to be protected.

“Go on in,” [/b] Paul told him with light grin. He left out the ‘I’ll be right behind you’ part he considered adding, as he saw it as redundant. Damion should have known by then that he would be.

At that point, however, another voice spoke up. Paul would have turned around hastily to face the newcomer, but the owner of that sarcastic tone was one of the few people he actually trusted. That said, Paul did turn around to face him, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands further into his pockets.

“Nice to see you too, Silv—PFFT.”[/b] Paul began quietly, breaking off his sentence to give a rare laugh. He eyed the younger boy’s outfit with a raised eyebrow, still chuckling slightly. What was Silver thinking, dressing like that? He looked like…well, he looked like a damned tourist. He fit in well with the others, but….well, it was ridiculous. And amusing. And Paul couldn’t resist the urge to make fun of him a little. But of course, Damion was faster.

Paul grinned at the blond’s words, not seeming annoyed whatsoever by the boy’s obnoxious volume.
“Hawaii? Heh. You look more like one of Palmer’s little honies.”[/b] He commented quietly, instinctively trailing his eyes left and right as he once again scanned for danger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Silver? If Pedomer offers you extra money to put on a certain outfit and come to his bedroom late at night, say no.” [/b] Paul sighed with mock-concern, the smirk on his face slowly widening.

Sure, Palmer was technically his boss, seeing as the man could have Paul killed should he wish it, but that didn’t mean he had to like the guy. Especially since Damion didn’t. He’d seen Damion left lonely and miserable because of the man’s absence often enough to know that he didn’t deserve a son like Blondie. Paul was his bodyguard, after all. He was supposed to protect him. And if Damion just so happened to need protecting from the pain his bastard of a father often put him through, then Paul saw that as part of his job description. Insulting the man subtly around Damion was basically a habit nowadays.

Giving a quiet snort, Paul processed the noticeable bulge in the front of Silver’s pants, looking back up at his face.

“So you finally hit puberty, I see. Congrats,” [/b] Paul added sarcastically. It was all fun and games, of course. Behind the teasing, one might have heard a rare note of relaxation in Paul’s tone. Being around Silver made him feel as if he didn’t have to be on constant alert every moment, because there was someone to watch his back as he watched Damion’s.

Perhaps that was why Paul offered the boy another grin, this one free of any sort of mocking, as if to remind Silver he was only teasing.

[Banette]

"Pft, I wish, Damion. I could do with some more vacation time...." The tourist-y fellow gave a small sigh, a dreamy look overtaking his expression briefly. Sure, Palmer paid him for his services, but the older man was annoying as hell.

Shaking the mood off, he decided it would be best to explain why he was dressed like this. To attempt to put it in terms that the blonde would understand (and probably ignore) was typically a bit of a chore for him, but he did manage somehow.

"It's called a "disguise"- you dress like you've been "raped" by Hawaii to blend in with a crowd of people who were "raped" by Hawaii. If you look like one of them, less people will know who you are, therefore, less scary people coming after your ass to kill you."

Satisfied with this explanation, he overheard Paul addressing him with his usual mockery. Well, of course he'd make a comment on his choice in outfit- he was practically expecting it. With a look of faux-offense on his face, he turned to look up at the older teen with a pout on his mug..

"B-But Paul! How could you say such a thing? Why, I was kicked out of his room onto the street! Have you no sympathy?" He cried, maintaining his pained expression for a moment before dropping the facade, chuckling a bit to himself. Perhaps it wasn't exactly the most intellectual thing to do, laughing at your own jokes, but what could he say? Being around these two lightened him up.

"Heh, I'm sure you don't know the feeling, as you have your ass for ventilation." He paused briefly to point to Paul's choice in pants that evening "But trust me, this tourist getup is a LOT more comfortable than being crammed in a suit." Glancing at Damion casually, he mentally questioned as to how he could tolerate wearing his own suit for so long, but then figured he had probably broken it in with all the scurrying about he did. It made sense, sort of.

Upon overhearing the comment about "puberty" (which he had already started years before, thank you very much) Silver simply smirked and folded his hands. "When did you become a pedophile, Paulie? Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare at another man's gun?" He asked, stepping closer to Paul, whispering in his ear.

"But since you like it so much, I might let you touch it if you're a good boy." He purred in a sort of mock seduction, before removing the pistol from his shorts and pointing the barrel a few inches away from the underside of Paul's chin. His expression was not of malice, rather, a sort of mocking amusement that Paul had had during the earlier commentary.

"Bang."

[havoc]

“Whoa! The lights!”

Well, no matter what anyone said, everyone at one point or another needed a break of some sort. You couldn’t function 24/7 all the time or you’d burn out. So that was exactly what she was going to do. Have a bit of a rest from her mundane everyday life and all the running about and suchlike.

And so she’d ended up here, in the busiest city in the whole region, Celadon City, the place where noi tourist ever got a good night’s sleep due to the place’s rather loud and active nightlife. The whole city was just do…alive! It might not be considered the best holiday resort type place tocome and relax at from the stresses of your normal life, but come on, you hadn’t lived if you were 18 band you hadn’t spent the whole night up clubbing in Celadon. And so this was her perfect opportune moment for just such and experience.

Leaving most of her junk behind in the cheapest hotel room in the area (which was hella difficult to find; there weren’t any decent lodgings within the boundaries of the city for under 300 a night) and putting on a fresh layer of clothing, she set off to explore and experience everything the evening had to offer armed only with camera, purse, phone and room key. Obviously she hadn’t bothered buying a town map, and almost as soon as she had set off towards where she presumed was the city centre, she became rather lost.

That was precisely the way in which she had ended up outside the glitziest, most jaw-droopingly extravagant casino in the whole district- by chance. She eyed the place with visible awe and was instantly attracted to it like an unfortunate Venomoth to a flame. The whole place emanated a sense of money and power, fame and fortune, sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll; how could anyone walk past without being captivated by this fascinating display of colour and the promise of riches just lying beyond the eaves of the polished glass doors, waiting for the right person to come at the right time and win it big?

“Sunset Station.”

What an appropriate name for such a place. The deep meaning behind those two simple words could be seen by any who stopped and looked for it. At first glance it might seem boring and blasé, but spend a minute contemplating the meaning behind the glass tube filled with electrolysed gas and it became clear. You got the sense of the time and patience someone spent before naming the casino in such a way. The meaning was then made clear too; Sunset, bringing with it the prospect of romance but soon to be followed by the much more deceptive darkness of night, which cloaked the danger and mystery of that time; Station, a place to stop at for a bit, but also a crossing of paths, a promise of a journey, a pledge of adventure, assurance of excitement… the subconscious appeal of this mystifying building was unnoticeable by all who simply happened to glance up into its neon sign hanging over glass doors.

She frowned slightly. Honestly, reading so deeply into things was unhealthy. Shaking her head to clear it somewhat, she caused the red scarf to flutter slightly in the cool evening breeze. The long strands of her dark blue/black hair were ruffled by that breath of fresh air, and then fell back past her shoulders. She wore a white short dress, with two ribbon-like straps holding it up above her shoulders, and a pair of black sandals on her feet. A small black bag hung off one shoulder, containing all her important items. All in all, her outfit did not fit the whole tourist theme, being slightly too formal for such respects, but what the hell. She couldn’t very well wear a t-shirt and baggy trousers as that would just be…odd.

No, she was fine as she was. But what wasn’t fine was the sense of curiosity and excitement that had been induced in her by the dazzling building. She just had to go in. So Dawn walked through the doors, into the bustling casino beyond, ready to discover what this fun-filled night had to offer.

ooc: just quick shit. sorry. deal XD

[Lucas]

He had only been sent on a small errand; that was all. Rowan had only wanted him to make copies of the schematics they had managed to unearth. So why was it that Lucas found himself marching into the riskiest move of his, and most other's, career?

Little over an hour ago, Lucas had been in the basement of the makeshift police facility in Celadon. He had been examining the files they had stored on the station's database--what information they had on the Rockets, the Brains. A particular face had interested Lucas; it was that of the Brain family heir, whose name was unknown. There were plenty of predictions, rumors, but nothing solid. The only evidence there was of this boy's connection to the family was a photo depicting both him and the head of the family. He was blond, pale, thin. He held a striking resemblance to the Brain head. He also did not look too happy in the photograph... Lucas found himself pouring over the picture, deciphering what was going on in those magnificent orange eyes, what might be troubling that boy in the photo... Before he had come to a conclusion, his mentor had interrupted his study.

"Lucas, I've made an important discovery," Rowan had declared, approaching Lucas from behind and staring pointedly down his nose at him. "This will help the movement against these notorious families... It may even bring this all to an end." His voice was gruff, stern, hopeful. Lucas listened to him dedicatedly. The white-haired man held out a roll of paper, their contents concealed. "You'll need to make copies of these." Lucas, knowing the man always meant business, had quickly taken the papers from his hand.

"Yes, sir."

Rowan raised one unruly eyebrow. "Hop to it!" he had barked.

And Lucas had done so. Now that he was on his way back to the Forensics Lab, he had passed by Sunset Station Casino--and had realized who was standing in front of it. He held the newly printed papers to his chest, still warm off the machine, thick and threatening in his hold. They told him that he needed to return to the police station--that he had work to do and secrets to keep. But that boy... It was him. There was no doubt in Lucas's mind that the boy standing in front of the casino was none other than the Brain family heir. Lucas had mulled over that photograph enough to recognize those wisps of blond hair, those orange eyes; even the (obnoxious) green scarf was the same. He was surrounded by two people, one of which appeared slightly intimidating... the other looked to be some tourist reject. Lucas had never understood those Hawaiian t-shirts.

Even if he knew what he had to do, he was a little stumped on how to go about actually doing it. He certainly didn't blend in with any crowd that would congregate at a casino: over a white button-up shirt (sleeves rolled up above his elbows), a gray sweater vest clothed his torso, one thick, white stripe going across his chest. His pants were baggy and slightly casual though black and business-like, an appearance that clashed with his red and gray sneakers. On top of his work attire, Lucas wore a red scarf that swung around his neck: he got cold rather easily, and as a result was prone to sickness. Over the eighteen years of his life, Lucas had found that wearing a scarf reduced his chances of illness somewhat. Another unique attribute to his wardrobe was the red beret topping his head and hiding his black hair from view, save for the few strands that stuck out around his ears and neck.

He certainly didn't blend in with the studded, streetwise ruffians and flashy, high-heeled girls. He swallowed carefully, keeping his distance while observing the blond boy. If he was going to do something, he had to do it now, while he still had the chance... But he wasn't a police officer, he was a scientist! He wasn't an agent trained for undercover work or whatever it was he was getting himself into... He was Lucas Koki, Professor Rowan's assistant. Lucas Koki, a boy who wanted peace in Kanto more than anything, if not for him than for the sake of those who deserved it. He began walking towards the blond. Oh, what was he getting himself into?

They were getting closer. Their forms were getting bigger in Lucas's view; that meant they were getting closer... His footsteps were getting louder... The paper in his arms felt like it was getting heavier...

"Oof!"

A fit of cruel laughter followed Lucas as he tripped forward. Apparently some passersby had deemed it entertaining to stick out a foot in Lucas's path: that was alright, he was doing something far more important! As he careened toward the ground, caught off guard and startled from his stack of paper, the boy performed some quick maneuvering. In a swift movement he had gathered his balance and swept the paper from the air, and in the next moment he was straightening the stack within his arms, albeit with flustered features. Once he looked up, he realized he was standing very close to the boy he had been staring at, to the boy who still sat in his computer...

"Ah," Lucas muttered, blue eyes sweeping over the scene and quickly snagging onto the gun pressed against someone's chin. Their faces--they didn't appear to be threatening or frightened! They were doing this in public?! Lucas wasn't sure; the gun scared him out of his wits and he didn't know what to do; he definitely didn't want to die.... "I like your..." he peeled his eyes from the gun and fastened them onto the blond, though his mind was having trouble following. "Scarf." he croaked, smiling despite himself.

(( um fail? idk D: ))

[nickbo]

So apparently Silver wanted to be raped by Hawaii?

... Well, who knew; the blonde found it impossible to understand the words. The other then went to explain that other people had been violated the same way. Damion was trying to understand this awful dilemma; he was even paying to the situation with an abnormal amount of attention! Apparently this was a 'desguys'. Yes, Hawaiian rape could be categorized as a 'desguys' but... He thought he got it. People didn't want to attack those who were sexually predatorized by islands. Which sort of made sense? The blonde would sort of pity those who looked the same as Silver and... Well, when he attempted to survey the surroundings he realized far more people looked like that. ... Hawaii really got around. People gave actual consent to look like that?

Paul's words, however, brought his attention span back along with a slight smile as he glanced back towards the other. 'Course his bodyguard would be able to make Damion happy! The blonde thought it made sense anyway... Somehow. He wouldn't let himself fret about what he thought since obviously he preferred his own simple way of thinking. Paul was awesome 'cause he could think up and say things like that! He didn't voice that of course; that was totally unmanly to say those odd feelings, right? The smile grew wider though, as the other continued. Well... So what? It felt good to have someone insulting his father.

So maybe he shouldn't have felt that. Any normal child wasn't supposed to sort-of despise their parents (well, parent really) but, of course, there was the ever cliched fact that Damion was not normal. Nickbo hated typing that sentence but there was no other way around it; mafia heirs were not very usual so therefore not normal. Nickbo is rambling now as clearly her illness has infected her brain and she is currently combusting. Her mental state is not the subject of the reply though; clearly Damion's father complex was far more important. It wasn't like he fully hated the man! ... The blonde just didn't know what he felt towards his father. It was rather difficult to form an opinion on a man who had played such an impact in his life yet managed to be never there. Of course, that meant he still enjoyed the mocking. Yet for being so impulsive most of the time he almost seemed shy when Palmer was brought up. That meant he intentionally stayed 'Quiet' or something equally horrifically out of character though he did still seem to appreciate the words.

Damion quickly lost interest in their conversation though and one might thank that; his slight innocence was still intact as he once again glanced impatiently back to the building. He wanted to go inside and see it! It was getting boring out there and well... Time was being wasted! As he became once again mesmerized by the neon lit flames the blonde became quite oblivious to what was going on in the background with the talk of crotch weaponry and whatnot. He wanted to go! Paul allowed him to, right? So... He could just run off, right? He was pretty sure Paul would be fine with that and the boy practically been counting down in his head.

The blonde had been ready to burst off in fact. Had it not been for a slight flash of unusual movement somewhere he would have. It wasn't bizarre for Damion to suddenly get distracted yet in Celadon city that would be an incredibly easy thing to do; there were flashing lights everywhere and constant movements of people so perhaps getting distracted then would be odd. However it was... Paper. Someone was carrying paper.

Paper in Celadon? The only sort Damion really saw of that was the currency kind. That person was actually carrying paper though. Actual paper. Who actually carried actual paper? The sheets were almost flying from the other's hands but... In a dramatic turn of skill the slight trip had been avoided! That was... So fast! An amazed gasp even escaped him at this display of speed and glancing fully to the person he immediately took to squealing, "Awesome! Awesomeawesomeawesome!"

[/color]

At first Damion had thought the other to be fast anyway. The other chose to look before he spoke though. Immediately this action confounded him and he found himself glancing back towards where the other did. Nothing interesting was there, was it? When he glanced back to Silver and Paul nothing seemed to be out of place for him. The close contact didn't seem to matter to the blonde - at least, it shouldn't have (he didn't know why he didn't want Paul close to Silver. Maybe because Paul was supposed to be guarding Damion's body instead?). The gun failed to register in his mind as anything threatening even (which really wasn't a good thing too). The blonde swiftly glanced back to Lucas, perhaps saying aloud as if by accident, "For someone who can move so fast you sure can't speak fast at all."

What? It was true so surely there wasn't anything wrong with saying it, right? Hence Damion had quite the blunt, naive expression on his face; wide, orange blinking eyes and the smile twisting into a slight pout. He then realized that the other boy had complimented him though. Well, saying he had a nice scarf (although such was done blasphemously slowly) was good! Hence the pout was replaced with a quick grin and he forgot about the close space (maybe not realizing it was there in the first place) and leant in further.

"Yeah! The scarf's awesome, right?" he nodded enthusiastically, the rushed slur returning to his voice as he once again became excited. Damion took a glance over the other though finally. He wore... Odd clothes. And... That French thing, what was the hat called? He couldn't recall what it was named; beyrat? Behrey? The other's appearance still managed to bring a smile to his face; the kinda dorky thing... Was almost kinda cool! Not that he'd say that of course. He was eighteen; he shouldn't think that sort of thing! Trying to snap his mind off it he convinced himself he only believed this coolness thing was because the other had a scarf too! Clearly all who wore scarves were amazing, spectacular and fast people. E-expect for this new person on the 'fast' thing.

"Your scarf is nice too I guess," he did add, but more in an afterthought then anything else. Damion, however, seemed to have the subconscious need to ruin any slight compliment as the words that shortly followed were, "... 'Course that behrey thing looks hella girly though."[/b][/blockquote]

[Wrath]

The bright casino lights, flashing at regular intervals before him, were starting to give Paul a headache. With Silver here, he felt safer, and so he shut his eyes tightly for a moment, giving the sore things a brief rest. However, he refused to not be on full alert around Damion for very long and so he reopened them, giving the surrounding region another suspicious sweep. Nothing caught his eye, and so the 19-year-old turned to look at Silver when he once again spoke. The words made him quirk his lips into a smirk.

“Mm. Getting raped by an island does sound like a great vacation,” [/b] Paul muttered sarcastically, mockingly mimicking Silver’s dreamy look to the best of his ability. However, his stony, disciplined features could not muster the same degree of theatrics, and he soon gave up.

The purple-haired teen watched Silver’s face as he turned to Damion, speaking to him as one would a particularly slow child. Though Paul was very fond of his Blondie, he knew there really was no other way to talk to the blond if you wanted something to stick in his ADD-filled head. The surly bodyguard shook his head very slightly, eying the blond warmly as if an inability to process information was a positive aspect. But when it came to Damion, Paul thought it was.

Then the red-haired male turned back to him, setting his features into an expression of feigned hurt. Paul stared, still smirking vaguely, and gave a snort.

“Ohh. Threw you out ‘cause he was unimpressed with the equipment, eh?” [/b] Paul asked, shaking his head in mock-pity. He dropped the mask and let his amusement shine through as Silver did. The purple-haired male gave an almost relieved-sounding sigh. Not that being around Damion wasn’t a pleasure for him, but sometimes it was good to be able to exchange teasing and banter with someone who was capable of holding up a conversation without losing interest three seconds in. Paul offered Silver a stiff but definite expression of appreciation.

Paul smirked down at himself as his pants were pointed out, and he shrugged nonchalantly, unashamed by the fact his undergarments were visible. He nodded at Silver’s comment. Personally, he never wore suits. They were fitted and fancy and made him feel like a pompous twit. The Brains had tried to get him to wear one when guarding Damion for a while, but they gave up on it.

“Fehh. Suits are stiff and uncomfortable. They suit you pretty good, Silver,” [/b] Paul commented with a grin. With that he looked Silver up and down again, giving an amused snort. “But actually, that ridiculous outfit fits you well, too.” [/b] It may have been a compliment, but the tone it was spoken in wasn’t praising.

Paul pulled one of his hands out of his deep pockets absently, revealing the brass knuckles looped around that hand, rubbing one of his aching eyes. Maybe Damion had the energy to run about all day, but being on full alert all the time took a toll on Paul. His voice was suddenly more tired as he replied to Silver’s next words.

“It’s only pedophilia if I’m an adult and you’re a child. Are you calling yourself a child, Silver? Heh. You said it, not me.” [/b] He told, blushing very faintly at Silver’s proximity when he whispered the words into his ear. There was nothing wrong with being flustered by closeness, anyway! It wasn’t like that meant he liked—Paul cut that train of thought off immediately, swiftly gazing around once again, searching for suspicious people or anything out of place. Then, as if Silver were purposefully trying to fluster him, he continued speaking into his ear, using a rather seductive tone. It was teasing. Games. Of course it was, but Paul still felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“With an offer like that, I may hafta show you mine,” [/b] Paul told quietly, without a hint of mocking, or any other emotion for that matter. He wasn’t immune to the innuendo, of course, but he wasn’t about to mimic Silver’s ridiculous tone. The stony expression made way for one of amusement and surprise because, well, Silver then pulled his gun from his pants. ((LULZ. –cleanse-tagg’d-)) Literally. Paul saw the pistol, watched as Silver placed it a few inches away from his face. He smirked, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. In response, Paul unzipped his sweater a little, reaching into a pocket within and pulling out his own gun, pressing it to Silver’s forehead for a moment.
Perhaps pulling out guns wasn’t the smartest thing to be doing in front of a famous, ritzy casino, but Paul didn’t really care. That said, however, he replaced the gun soon after, putting it back in its secret compartment.

And then, Paul’s protective bodyguard senses were alerted to something suspicious. Someone was staring at them. And not at him or Silver, but at Damion. Staring at a couple of boys with guns Paul could comprehend, and he immediately regretted having pulled out his firearm. After all, what was he fucking doing, attracting attention to himself like that?! He could’ve gotten Damion hurt somehow! He turned to look at Damion with something like guilt in his eyes, but he realized that the blond was looking elsewhere. Looking at the boy that had been staring at him.

Paul’s harsh, dark gaze settled on the boy with the feminine hat, and he tensed, his expression became practically feral. The nerdy-looking boy with the sweatervest didn’t look like much of a threat but…He was near Damion, now! He had almost fallen over due to a couple of idiotic prankster tourists who had tripped him. The boy maintained his balance despite this, but catching his balance had set him directly before Blondie. He said something to Damion. Complimented his…scarf?

Whatever he was doing, no one got that close to Damion on his watch. Paul reacted immediately, letting loose a protective snarl. First of all, he pushed Silver lightly out of his way; the red-haired boy was in-between him and his charge. Simultaneously, he ripped his hand out of his pockets, revealing his other hand, this one outfitted with vicious-looking spiked knuckles. Secondly, he closed the remaining distance between him and Damion, sticking an arm out and pushing the boy back with a gentle but sure motion.

This done, he moved up toward the black-haired, red-scarfed intruder, straightening from his slouch and standing completely straight. His lip curled, his expression was hard, and the metal hinges on his spiked knuckles squealed lightly as he squeezed the fabric of the boy’s scarf in his hand, yanking the boy up and closer to his murderous face.

“The fuck do you think you are? Clear out now before I make you.” [/b]