Post by Kenna Mitchell on May 23, 2021 22:17:07 GMT
A spring rain had come to London that night. Keeping most people off the streets on the east end, save for a few straggling bodies here and there. One such body, scurried down the street, holding shall over her head as she lightly ran from the rain. Knowing her destination wasn’t too far as she took cover from the rain in a building that had seen far better days. Still, the strong bricks held despite the boarded up windows, and she ran up the quick steps, knocking at the door.
She waited a few moments before she could hear the sliding of metal, and then a torch light appeared, showing her soaked face. Bright blues peered up at the door man who instantly recognized her and gave her a grunt in greeting. “Yer late.” He grumbled. “Nice to see you to Bert.” Kenna said sarcastically as Bert pushed the door open more, and she hurried in. Removing the shall from her head, she wrapped it around her shoulders as she made her way in.
Randal smith had taken an old abandoned store front, and patched it up to suit his needs. Converting the main part of the store into a bar for his goonies, while the upstairs was turned into apartments for his inner circle. The basement was turned into his own little torture dungeon where it’d been sound proofed as much as he could get away with. Randal’s actual home, and the place Kenna, or Oralee as everyone knew her as, thought of as a prison, was several blocks over. It’s location was secret, even to some of his own henchmen.
A meeting had been called, and like usual, Kenna had to wait to sneak out of the Fox’s townhome when the time was right to make her way over. She knew she was late, and she knew adoptive father wasn’t going to be happy about it.She hurried down the back hallway, hearing the usual noise from the bar, but instead of going in the back way, she took a turn at another intersection of the hallway, and hurried to the room Randal liked to have his meetings in. She took a deep breath, when she reached the door, already dreading what awaited her on the other side.
She opened the door slowly, trying to not make a noise in case he’d already started, and peeked in. Seeing several men, and a woman positioned at the table with Randal smoking a cigarette in the corner, leaning against a wall. No one was talking, which made her more nervous, as it meant they’d been waiting on her. A switch was flipped, and it was like Kenna had left her own body as she started to dissociate. Drifting on in, and closing the door behind her quietly, she made for the chair on the back wall. Setting dripping self down on it, while she held her hand in her lap, and used her magic to warm her blood so she wasn’t a shivering mess on the chair. She met her adoptive fathers disapproving gaze, and held it, before he let a puff of smoke out, and walked to the table.
Randal Smith was a tall, thin man. Sunken cheeks with thinning strawberry blonde hair. His hair line was receding, and he kept his hair cut short. A bit of stubble covered his jaw, with specks of grey and white, showing his age. His clothes were that of a working mans, however minus the dirt and grime. They were clean, and tailored to fit his thin framed body.
He put out his cigarette in the ash tray and then stuck his hands in his pockets. “Now that we’re all here,” He began. His voice was gravely, and hoarse from all his years of smoking. His eyes were Kenna for a moment before he glanced at the rest in attendance. “We’ve got a soon to be problem boys.” He all but growled. His displeasure clear, as he started to pace. “The Hanged Man’s crew has been moving further out of West side. We’ve learned from Danny that he’s got yet another merchant now on his payroll, and he’s going to have complete control over the west end and the upper south side before the end of the season.”
Kenna could see the tension in Randal’s shoulders, as the Hanged man was their current rival. A man that had seemingly rose up out of nowhere one day as he’d taken over the Copper Ghost gang and their territory. Changing the name and making it known quite early the Hanged Man was not to be trifled with. From what Kenna had heard among the whispers and rumors, no one even knew what the Hanged Man looked like. They merely knew his right hand, a man by the name of Calvin Dietrich helped him run the show. They owned the club “The Gallows” on the upper west side that, according to rumors, looked like a fancy gentlemen's club with some alterations.
The difference between the Hanged Men and Randle’s? The Hanged Man showed his wealth. Put on the show, and had a calling card Everyone knew, and yet hadn’t been caught yet. Randal much preferred to be more subtle. Little did anyone know the mounds of money he sat on. Randal only cared about one thing and that was Randal. Fear. Making sure everyone knew who was in charge, and that there was consequences to crossing him.
The fact the Hanged Man was expanding into territory Randal no doubt thought to be his, was enough to anger the man. "If we don't get the North side, we'll be in more trouble. Same with the half of the south, if that fucker thinks he can just come in and not expect us to do anything, he's in for a wake up call." Randal all but growled.
Mr. Jeckyll Cillian Dunne
She waited a few moments before she could hear the sliding of metal, and then a torch light appeared, showing her soaked face. Bright blues peered up at the door man who instantly recognized her and gave her a grunt in greeting. “Yer late.” He grumbled. “Nice to see you to Bert.” Kenna said sarcastically as Bert pushed the door open more, and she hurried in. Removing the shall from her head, she wrapped it around her shoulders as she made her way in.
Randal smith had taken an old abandoned store front, and patched it up to suit his needs. Converting the main part of the store into a bar for his goonies, while the upstairs was turned into apartments for his inner circle. The basement was turned into his own little torture dungeon where it’d been sound proofed as much as he could get away with. Randal’s actual home, and the place Kenna, or Oralee as everyone knew her as, thought of as a prison, was several blocks over. It’s location was secret, even to some of his own henchmen.
A meeting had been called, and like usual, Kenna had to wait to sneak out of the Fox’s townhome when the time was right to make her way over. She knew she was late, and she knew adoptive father wasn’t going to be happy about it.She hurried down the back hallway, hearing the usual noise from the bar, but instead of going in the back way, she took a turn at another intersection of the hallway, and hurried to the room Randal liked to have his meetings in. She took a deep breath, when she reached the door, already dreading what awaited her on the other side.
She opened the door slowly, trying to not make a noise in case he’d already started, and peeked in. Seeing several men, and a woman positioned at the table with Randal smoking a cigarette in the corner, leaning against a wall. No one was talking, which made her more nervous, as it meant they’d been waiting on her. A switch was flipped, and it was like Kenna had left her own body as she started to dissociate. Drifting on in, and closing the door behind her quietly, she made for the chair on the back wall. Setting dripping self down on it, while she held her hand in her lap, and used her magic to warm her blood so she wasn’t a shivering mess on the chair. She met her adoptive fathers disapproving gaze, and held it, before he let a puff of smoke out, and walked to the table.
Randal Smith was a tall, thin man. Sunken cheeks with thinning strawberry blonde hair. His hair line was receding, and he kept his hair cut short. A bit of stubble covered his jaw, with specks of grey and white, showing his age. His clothes were that of a working mans, however minus the dirt and grime. They were clean, and tailored to fit his thin framed body.
He put out his cigarette in the ash tray and then stuck his hands in his pockets. “Now that we’re all here,” He began. His voice was gravely, and hoarse from all his years of smoking. His eyes were Kenna for a moment before he glanced at the rest in attendance. “We’ve got a soon to be problem boys.” He all but growled. His displeasure clear, as he started to pace. “The Hanged Man’s crew has been moving further out of West side. We’ve learned from Danny that he’s got yet another merchant now on his payroll, and he’s going to have complete control over the west end and the upper south side before the end of the season.”
Kenna could see the tension in Randal’s shoulders, as the Hanged man was their current rival. A man that had seemingly rose up out of nowhere one day as he’d taken over the Copper Ghost gang and their territory. Changing the name and making it known quite early the Hanged Man was not to be trifled with. From what Kenna had heard among the whispers and rumors, no one even knew what the Hanged Man looked like. They merely knew his right hand, a man by the name of Calvin Dietrich helped him run the show. They owned the club “The Gallows” on the upper west side that, according to rumors, looked like a fancy gentlemen's club with some alterations.
The difference between the Hanged Men and Randle’s? The Hanged Man showed his wealth. Put on the show, and had a calling card Everyone knew, and yet hadn’t been caught yet. Randal much preferred to be more subtle. Little did anyone know the mounds of money he sat on. Randal only cared about one thing and that was Randal. Fear. Making sure everyone knew who was in charge, and that there was consequences to crossing him.
The fact the Hanged Man was expanding into territory Randal no doubt thought to be his, was enough to anger the man. "If we don't get the North side, we'll be in more trouble. Same with the half of the south, if that fucker thinks he can just come in and not expect us to do anything, he's in for a wake up call." Randal all but growled.
Mr. Jeckyll Cillian Dunne