(no subject)

[nestingdevil]

Open PSLs | Just throw up a subject line and GO FOR IT! All's green!

Comments

THE 'YORK | ➥ THE DEVIL'S NEST

[nestingdevil]

Pink as deep and bright as gum-drop gelatin floods the asphalt. It extends from all around; the black-mirror windows vomiting their guts, the sky-scratching advertisements flipping pixel after pixel until the whole world's numb to them. Down in the 'York, it's common ground - the night's favorite(d) paint brush, drawing every blank-slate citizen to the vice they crave the most.

And he? Ah, he. He's been in the business a long, long time.

Greed exposes his forearm to a humming tape-strip as it ignites from the front end, back. It strums on bright. Relaxed. The look of it like blood, following countless tubes to a source. He taps the thin plate of synth cauterized to his wrist and a single wheeze of steam slips through his claws. Bolts turn, twist, pop open, and sigh. The Sin shallowly inhales on his cigarette and while the smoke weaves a story's tapestry between his teeth, he eases a D-Cell sized vial out from his pocket. Much like the very limelight pouring in, the liquid behind the glass is a putrid red. A dead-rose shade twinkling, winking, with lives long-Expired.

He tests his knuckles, curls his claws, and with a lengthy hiss of vented-heat, the 'Pak snaps into its compartment. The timing, all-too-easily masking the jingle of a slowly-opening door.

Snccchnt.

The bar's silver-tongued smell teases inside with sunken-neon as its herald. Greed slides the case back over the crease in his arm and the skin above it squares itself together in a mapping pattern. "Boss," Dolcetto's voice vibrates above the noise. "-crowd's startin' to get heavy. Martel's runnin' check and Roa's got the door." Hinting at his voice is an edge of nervousness - a low-rank(ed) whine, caught in its throat. Greed's smile breaks thin. He rips himself off the gun-steel crate below him, making his body sway like palm tree that's taken one-too-many Miami hits. He edges his thumb between the swings of his sunglasses just so and as the pair spread for him as quickly as a set of fuck-ready legs, the Sin's eyes briefly fume. They throb, expand, engulf. Satan's hot-tipped poker, ready to set the night ablaze.

Lazily, the fur-thin collar of his jacket wraps his neck. "Oi, oi, oi. Don't be so nervous, Dol. You're starting to make me think you're still afraid of me or something. Didn't we go through this already?" Greed talks around his cigarette while he goes to work. He adjusts his rings, centers his chains. "You're one of mine, remember?"

"Doesn't mean I should interrupt," Dolcetto jumps in too quickly and practically shrinks inside the doorway. "Not - ah, shit."

"Oh-? You're doing it again, friend," Greed's thumb snaps and beneath the blue-violet hurricane of lights, the gold wrapped around his fingers shine like diamonds. He gives the leopard-print pattern on the front of his jacket a light stroke. "-anything interesting yet?"

Quickly, Dolcetto (re)centers himself, letting his pipe cliff off his lip. The LED lights on the side of it breathe yellow. "The usual, for now. Couple of Half(ers) had a tiff in the alley, but Ulch' took care of 'em proper." The man sucks and the fan inside the smoking bowl generates a cloud.

"Still too early to tell. Ha - ! Either way, it's Friday night. I'm sure it's bound to be interesting." With the last pieces in place, the Sin walks toe over toe - forcing his body to crack right 'round at the ankles. "Keep the floor busy. Have Bido and the 'Doc run flow to the main bulk." Greed slinks forward. The titanium spikes set on his shoulders flair out of his leather jacket like an artificial cobra, spreading its hood. "As for me, I'll make sure they get what they came here for." He extends his hand and the curtain of purple beads on the other side of the door frame part over his wrist.


➥ OOC NOTES|

➥ The Cardinals: Artificially made humans. Specifically classified and basically deemed fictional by any government source. They are said to have been created at the start of The Great Plunge. Exactly how they were made is up for debate, their existence more so. Rumor has it they run off an illegal Cell Pak called "ALCH-7". Other street names include: RedRUM, The Devil's Eye Socket, The People's Republic, and The Philosopher's Stone.

➥ Archs: Post-Plunge Cardinals. These are of public record, though few exist out of military compounds and most were decommissioned after The Cambridge Accord. Stories say some were made from young children orphaned after or duringthe 'Plunge. They don't have the same lasting properties as The Cardinals themselves, but they share some unique abilities including semi-regeneration, advanced combat, longevity, and unique abilities per Arch.

➥ Uranium children. Plutonium Pups. 'Nuke Fucks: Whatever the name (derogatory or otherwise), these people have different abilities following the 'Plunge. While these abilities are by no means a product of any nuclear fallout, popular media has created a slur campaign over the years to give these citizens a dirty/diseased prejudice. They aren't. Like the Arch(s), these people have a variety of abilities due to exposure after the 'Plurge, be it before they were born or otherwise. They don't have the same regenerative properties, but what they lack in immorality, they make up in variety. Some are also science experiments gone south that have either escaped, been released, or have slipped through The Expiration line.

➥ Grifts: Androids, robots, what have you. Some are formally living people put inside a machine. Others aren't. There isn't too much stigma about Grifts as other pieces of society, but there's a smaller, rumored group that have a complete consciousness, giving them more independent thought.

➥ Half Grifts: Cyborgs, AUTO-mail. These are people that have had some of their body parts replaced by mechanical/robotic means. Soldiers, ex-Military, citizens. Uranium Children can be Half-Grifts. Arch(s), Cardinals, and Grifts cannot.

➥ Shooters: Humans who dose themselves on a regular basis, giving them abilities, modifications, or transformations. These abilities are milder. Shooters are hooked onto whatever choice supplement they use. Depending on how strong or powerful the ability, the addiction's severity increases or decreases. Shooters can be Half-Grifts, Uranium Children, or just normal humans. Arch(s), Grifts, and Cardinals cannot be shooters. They can inject themselves, but nothing will happen.



➥ York: York is a huge city locked on the edge of No-Man's-Land desert. Leaving the city isn't a wise idea, but if you're looking for the truth, there's a few willing to make the journey. The desert outside the city is a wasteland of sand, buried military vehicles, and scrap from the 'Plunge.


➥ The Devil's Nest: Located in the District of Dublith-2, The Devil's Nest is an infamous bar shoved onto the first and second floor of a high rise building. It is known for criminal activity, housing unwanted(s), and overall, being a place where rumors and seedy characters mingle alike. Though who runs it, well.

No one entirely knows.