open rp post
Nov. 14th, 2014 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
anything you'd like to play? anyone you'd like to play with?
send me a poke, a prompt, a character, or a starter post, and we'll set this party in motion.
send me a poke, a prompt, a character, or a starter post, and we'll set this party in motion.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-25 09:30 am (UTC)At the sound of Ira's voice, Waxey stifles a sigh, shakes his head.
"Sure. Bring him in."
There're worse things than meeting with Albany's chief headcase. Things like catching a dose of the clap. Waking up to the sound of feds crashing into your living room. Getting shot in the foot (ha fucking ha). Remembering that Meyer fucking Lansky exists.
All right, all right. As far as associates go, Warden's tolerable. Usually. The man may be an officious prick, but he conducts business with a cool head and keeps his city under control. It's no small feat, given the fact that Albany's an honest-to-God freak show.
Waxey hadn't known how much of a freak show until a couple of years ago, and even now he's sure he hasn't heard the half of it. Which is fine. Which is probably best. He's got enough to handle without wracking his brains over a bunch of creatures that shouldn't exist. (It's what he tells himself, and it's true: these days, fending off the law - not to mention New York's bullshit - takes all the focus Waxey's got.)
The problem is, whether or not he thinks about the freaks, he can't escape the fact that they do exist. That some of them exist in his city. And that there's not a fucking thing Waxey can do about it. (Yet. If he can just past this hump. If he can hold out until the federal government finds another target, he'll have time to deal with them.) The only option is to work with the prick who leads 'em and make a dollar out of it as best he can.
At times, Waxey burns with resentment over the knowledge he doesn't hold. The business opportunities he's missing because he doesn't know their codes. It's another reason to keep from thinking about any of it. It's another upset he doesn't need.
And fuck knows what kind of upset Rankin'll be bringing this time. The man hadn't given any details when he'd called; just said he was looking to meet, talk a little business. Uh-huh. Warden's got to have some reason for this impromptu visit, and Waxey would be willing to bet it's not good news (God forbid he should have such luck). He can only hope it won't cost anything.
Moving around to the front of his desk, Waxey throws a glance toward Marvin. The man stands stationed beside the door, all alertness beneath his casual posture. "You ready for this, Marv?"
There's a knock - Ira giving a moment's warning - and the door swings open, curtailing Marvin's reply. It's time to get to business, whatever the fuck it may be.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-25 11:04 am (UTC)There's the relations with other cities to worry about, which actually sort of worries him. A year ago there were different people, people that thought him a freak, but still people he knew, spoke to. Now it's a new group, a younger group that most likely wouldn't even think twice about taking the outsider, the freak out. (It's the same damn thing, but even more obvious now. Nucky, Arnold, Johnny, even the stupidly old guard Italians that tried to take the areas that were his in New York are gone. Waxey is the one of last ones, and with the way the wind is blowing it looks like he's gonna go too, leaving Warden alone with a bunch of kids he barely knows anything about.)
The only reason why he's still here is that they wouldn't know how to kill him... or the army he's gained in the east while these silly humans have their petty squabbles.
They know they would be crushed if they try anything.
But the reason why he's here is to discuss something-someone small, but is potentially huge.
A little mayse that could literally start a war (or a couple, seeing how New York rolled with that Italian business) over someone so meaningless, so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things in the underworld that he would nearly laugh at it if wasn't for the bloodbath that went down in that Burlesque theater.
Charlie knows, he knows. That lady needs to be caught. (If only she could just be taken out, like any other human or even supernatural species, but that can't be.)
So after discussing with the Paranormal boss of Philly, he talks to the human boss.
He walks in confident as ever, cane in hand and gives a hand. "Waxey. How have you been?"
It's no reason to be sour. (Even when worried and unsure of his position, Tobiah Rankin is still sure he's better than these people. Always.)
no subject
Date: 2015-03-27 01:57 am (UTC)Waxey takes the man's hand, gives an abrupt shake. There's nothing hostile in the gesture; Waxey just doesn't care to linger over pleasantries. "Warden. I'm drawing breath, what can I say?"
It's almost surprising, the way he's gotten used to dealing with Rankin. Inexplicable as Rankin's domain is, as many secrets as he's got, he's at least been a reliable partner. He hasn't tried cheating Waxey out of his hard-earned cash. Hasn't made attempts to push into Waxey's territory. Transactions are accomplished on time, and the man's careful not to make unannounced visits.
Business hadn't been easy at the start. Waxey'd mostly kept a calm head around Rankin, but he'd also lost countless hours of sleep thinking the partnership would go sour, thinking maybe it'd been a set-up all along. That maybe Rankin intended to finish what his sadist of a second hand had started. It hadn't helped knowing Rankin was also conducting business with Luciano.
Still. There'd been no deep signs of hostility. And as far as New York went, Waxey couldn't fault the man too far for insuring himself on all sides. If he can't exactly trust Warden - he doesn't - he can rely on the man's business sense and his own position in Philadelphia. He's got the city, he's got the unwavering loyalty of his men, and the money's still coming in. The feds may have a few eyes on him, but he's slipped their grasp before, and they've got nothing on him. They'll never get anything on him.
"And how are you?" He bites back an urge to ask just what the fuck Warden's doing in Philly in the first place. Patience. He can be patient when he needs to. He's learned that.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-27 04:32 am (UTC)As for moving in, Warden would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted. It would be simple, show the backward, overconfident humans who is above them in the food chain. (And the bosses in his own commission would gladly go with it.) But Warden is satisfied where he is, and it's not worth the bloodshed, as much as a sadist he is.
Things like that are best done... individually.He has no personal gripe with Waxey, none with the new youthful kings. (Except the fact that like the old ones, they... ignore him a lot of the time. Except when needed. It annoys him, constantly being in the shadows.)
"I've still standing, still in business. Although there are several things I could do without." One of which is a person.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-27 07:20 am (UTC)Oh, he's glad he's not six feet under. Glad no one's gotten close enough to take a knife to his throat. And he knows that in a relative sense, he's fortunate: a lot of gangsters don't make it to his age. But this isn't an easy mess to live with, and it's starting to get old.
He tells himself it'll get better. If he has to, he'll find a way to make it better.
"Ain't that always the way."
Waxey can think of one or two, ah, things, people he could do without. He tries to keep personal grievances from interfering with business. Most times, he's fine maintaining relations with people he doesn't like--he'd managed for how many years with Horvitz, kept up a running trade with Thompson, and there've been plenty others. It's only occasionally that someone comes around who overthrows all thought of civility. Someone who boils Waxey's blood so sharp he can scarcely think. Someone who thinks he can hijack your booze and walk all over your territory, threaten you like you're the kid here, play like he's the reasonable one, like he's Mr. Fucking Hotshot.
Fuck Lansky. Fuck New York and their arrangements that conveniently shove Waxey to the side. They hadn't planned on the grip he's got on his city. They hadn't planned on his men sticking with the hand that feeds 'em. Shows what New York fuckin' knows.
Anyway, that's not anything to worry about now. Not unless the 'several things' Warden's talking about include those assholes, and Waxey doubts it. He's too wrapped up with those too, and so far as Waxey's seen, Albany's got no beef with New York. (Because there's nothing to be done about that freak city. No one knows what the fuck it is, so no one can touch it. Not yet, anyway.)
"You want to take a seat, get it off of your chest?" He gestures toward a cluster of furniture - a sofa and few chairs, all pricey and all reasonably comfortable - clustered away from his desk. "I can offer you a drink, a smoke."
no subject
Date: 2015-03-27 08:43 am (UTC)Very few things inspire that kind of anger from him. (One of which are certain miserable cunts and their enablers that seem determined to disobey you at nearly every turn and ruin everything you worked for.) And it does involve those busy young turks. Sure Waxey might benefit from Luciano and possibly anyone else working for him dying horribly, but everyone else? (Including himself.) No. Who would even believe it anyway, a grief-filled broad taking on New-fuckin'-York.
Maybe if everything goes to hell, they'll see it as it really is. But Warden has little faith in most humans except for their fear of what they don't know and ability to kill or do worse to it. (And Aramat's...talents don't exactly quell fear, it creates it.)
There's so many ways this can go all to shit... Aramat needs to contained.
"Thanks." He sits down in a chair. One thing he liked about Waxey, he had great taste in furniture. Train seats are a pain, and Jerry always was cheap. (But being a werewolf, maybe he and his pack might chew the furniture.) "Have anything nice to smoke?" He sets his yellow tinted glasses down nearby, messages his temples. He swears he's starting to age like a human now due to all the stress.
"These past months have been...stressful." He opens his eyes, the shade a strange glowing shade of purple.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-28 10:53 pm (UTC)What Waxey wouldn't give to put the brakes on aging or regain a few of the years he's lost, even to slow the process down a few hairs. Just to feel a little less like he's living on the edge of an exit. Sure, he's sharp as ever, but it feels like ages since he had any solid energy. Headaches come more constant, sometimes blurring the whole world into a muddle. He tries not to think about his aches (he takes it as a point of pride that he rarely uses the cane anymore), but they're getting harder to ignore. And none of this improves his looks at all--which were, all right, never much to begin with.
"It's been my experience the federal government isn't interested in making our lives easier. And they ain't the only ones."
Waxey settles onto the sofa, trying to piece out Rankin's mood. He notes the eyes without dwelling on them; they're another abnormality Waxey's almost gotten used to. (And they're not the most unsettling eyes he's seen. That honor belongs to the sadist in the alley, reflected recently - only for a moment - in the bizarre broad who claimed to've been with Mickey.)
And then Ira's crossing with the humidor. Of course Waxey has something nice to smoke. Ever since he made his way into the upper echelons, he's made a point of maintaining a stock of costly cigars. Shows he's going to keep living high, no matter what sort of shit his enemies throw. Shows he's still on top.
They don't taste half-bad, either.
"A good cigar's the surest cure I know for anxiety." Waxey nods as Ira opens the case, offers Warden his choice. Thank fuck Ira doesn't make a stink about playing the good lackey. "Just got these in last week."
no subject
Date: 2015-03-29 04:13 am (UTC)"I swear, couldn't they do something useful for once? The better of us kill and harm no one but our own. This pointless stretch of time called prohibition is nearly over and no one has quit drinking, bums crowd the street and they focus on us. They give me a headache, but... in my case I still have anonymity, in a way." Most still don't believe in the world neighboring them, so that affords him some peace. (And aside from Albany, he doesn't court any civilian attention. Unlike some young men from Chicago.) He swears the only thing more stupid and single minded that a regular human is a human government agent. "But it's true, we have more to worry about than that."
Another reason visiting Waxey isn't bad. He doesn't bogart the nice cigars he smokes. (And after that whole thing with Ty, it's a miracle the man isn't traumatized by his own hobby now.)
"Wonderful, as always." He looks over the selection, and picks one out.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-31 03:45 am (UTC)Not that handing out a few cigars has ever kept Waxey from demanding a larger cut of the action or wheedling partners into the short end of a deal. Not that it ever will.
"There's no telling the mind of a fed. Especially the ones who get it into their heads that they oughtta be chasing acclaim." Thank fuck they aren't all like that. Particularly on the level of local law, plenty of assholes're willing to take cash over a few minutes of fame. Those're the ones who recognize they're better off siding with gangsters than with the thankless government, who understand that the horrible awful criminals are the real powers behind each city.
Waxey's never understood why he shouldn't have both fame and wealth. That was the idea of this country, right? You can have it all if you grabbed it by the balls. Not everyone can make it to the top, but there's nothing to stop a guy from trying. And Waxey had done a hell of a job pulling himself from obscurity.
As far as he's concerned, anonymity's the same as absence, as having next to no position. Still, there are days Waxey could admit it'd be nice to be a little less of a target.
"Duty don't mean a thing to them anymore. Not when they got a shot at seeing their name in the papers." It's bullshit, and Waxey stops himself before he can get worked up. He takes a moment to cut the end of the cigar, flicks his eyes back to Warden.
"So. Dare I ask what it is that's got you worried today?"
no subject
Date: 2015-04-01 05:01 am (UTC)"If they wanted attention, they should've just become actors."
"Thank you." He takes the cigar to his lips, but before he goes to light it and smoke. "A former eraser of mine has gone rogue. I've been trying to hunt her down and bring her back to Albany." He pauses for a while, wanting Waxey to take this information.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-01 06:48 am (UTC)That is not what Rankin came here to discuss. Please. Not that it especially matters to Waxey one way or another, but... But. Waxey's got a pretty good idea of who the 'her' is Rankin's talking about. He's got a pretty good idea he's met this 'her.' And he doesn't need to be caught up in Albany's drama.
Waxey tells himself it could be someone else. He doesn't believe the coincidence. And he just ain't that lucky.
Accustomed as he is to unwanted surprises and unexpected news, Waxey keeps his expression impassive. For now, he figures it's best to hang back. Let Warden works his way to whatever it is he wants.
When he speaks, his tone echoes with casual disinterest; it's his usual voice for business. "That a fact?"
He uses the moment to light his cigar, taking his time working up an even burn. "Is this something I should be worried about?" Because it's the kind of question you ask when you hear an assassin (such a melodramatic fucking title) has gone missing. Or 'gone rogue.' Whatever the fuck that means.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-02 05:25 am (UTC)And he prefers Albany handle this mess.
"Depends. Have you heard of any strange things here?"
no subject
Date: 2015-04-02 09:00 am (UTC)It might be easier to mention the broad straight off. But Waxey's still not certain she's the object of discussion here (hey, mostly certain ain't a hundred percent), and he's not in the mood to cough up information like some overeager stoolie. This is his city; if Warden wants something, he can ask directly, never mind the bullshit guessing games. And if Warden's got reason to believe his quarry was in Philly (if he already knows), he can come out and say so.
As soon as Rankin gives him something specific to work with, Waxey'll probably be more forthcoming. It's not as if he's got anything to hide. And much as he'd like to stay away from Albany's bullshit drama, he isn't keen on jeopardizing the relationship with Warden. At this point, he needs to keep all remaining alliances intact.
"I hope you ain't telling me I need to be on the watch for men disappearing under mysterious circumstances."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-02 09:47 am (UTC)Warden takes out a picture of a smiling woman at what looks to be a party, her features are uncommon, she looks curvy, nearly chubby, her hair is dark and coiled and she's dolled up in a beaded dress. Despite that, Waxey may know that face.
"I'm looking for this woman, a Miss Aramat Drawdes. She may look a bit different than in this picture. It's a little old. I hear she cut her hair short."
"My sources tell me she's been around your territories. Because if she was around mine, I would know."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-02 07:31 pm (UTC)Thing is, he'd had no reason for it. She'd looked fucking pathetic. And from what he'd heard, his city's not in any trouble. If she's got a beef with Albany or New York, that's their problem, and not a big one. There's only so much damage a half-a-corpse can do. (He's mostly convinced of that. Anyway, she's just a broad, right?)
The woman in the photograph doesn't look like a walking corpse - she doesn't look so bad, at all - but the face is recognizable. It occurs to Waxey that this is the woman Mickey would've known and... done whatever with. Been a half-assed half-husband to. It's a thought he doesn't need to be having.
"Your sources." And how much do Rankin's sources know? About this, about anything. He doesn't like having them in his city.
Whatever they know, Waxey'll answer on his own terms. He gives the photograph another glance. "She passed through here, yeah. A few weeks ago. As far as I know, she's long gone."
Or not. She hasn't caused any trouble that he knows of, but that doesn't mean she's good and gone. Fuck, she'd better be. Waxey does not want Warden's men nosing around his territory.
"We had a nice chat."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-03 12:46 am (UTC)"Did the miserable little cunt do anything to you? Your men? Anyone else? You don't have to lie. I know she doesn't look like much of threat being so tiny and feminine but one of her specialties was mind games. Luring people to a false sense of safety."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-03 04:42 am (UTC)Warden's another story. The man reads like a composition of deceptions, weaving bullshit stories with half the words he tells. Which is fine; that's the nature of this business. If you want to run a city, you've got to be prepared to bend the truth. Knowing as much, Waxey isn't prone to buying Rankin's assertions. Especially when Waxey's had a chance to form his own impressions of the lady in question.
And what the fuck is this, did she do anything to you?, you don't have to lie. What the fuck? As if Waxey requires permission to say whatever the fuck he pleases around Warden or any other prick. As if he could've been... what, scared into keeping mum? As if he wouldn't have been on Warden's ass if he'd been attacked by one of Albany's freaks. What the fuck kind of bullshit is this?
Waxey keeps his irritation at a simmer, takes a draw on the cigar. Tastes the smoke. Releases it. "Next to some of your people, she was an angel.
"You want the truth, I'd be surprised if she's still alive. She didn't look so good when I saw her."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-03 01:13 pm (UTC)It's because the first time it happened, Waxey was afraid to talk. That's why.
Warden may sigh out loud, expelling smoke. "What did she look like? Sickly? Injured? It still doesn't matter. Gordon... she's a freak." He usually doesn't like using that word to describe his men and women, it reminds him of humans and their blatant misunderstandings.
But Aramat isn't one of his employees anymore, she and that bitter witch are just creatures that need to be found and punished.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 02:44 am (UTC)It'd all worked out eventually. Waxey's eye for business had overcome his antipathy, and anyway, finding out what he was dealing with had made more sense than jumping at shadows for the rest of his life. Now that he's got an idea of what he's facing in Warden (more of an idea, anyway), Waxey's more inclined to speak up.
And now that he's got an idea of what he's facing, he finds it very curious that Rankin's calling the woman a freak. It's clear she'd done something to piss him off; the question is what (it could have something to do with the woman's beloved shitheel, her anger over that), and whether Waxey should give a shit. Whether Warden's got hidden motives at work here.
"I know that. Hearing it from you's a surprise.
"I take it she did something drastic to inspire that kind of ire."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-04 03:58 am (UTC)"Very drastic. She destroyed a mutual acquaintance's territory in Atlantic City, killed three men, injured a couple more. And I personally don't want to think about their mental states after that. She used to work for me, so I've been tasked with catching her." He sighs. "Because killing her in the normal way? It's actually tricky, even for my men."
Which leads to the awkward position of telling a newly crowned crime king of New York City and his right hands how a tiny little broad can get riddled with bullets and get back up like was it nothing and continue fucking up men left and right. (At least they took it well, he thinks.)
no subject
Date: 2015-04-09 06:38 am (UTC)But Albany and New York have some kind of alliance going (not much Waxey can do about that), so of course Rankin's got to account for his people. There were probably some tense confrontations over what'd happened, and Waxey reminds himself not to smile at the thought. Maybe those confrontations account for Warden's venom. Maybe he's just pissed the broad got away from him. What was it she'd said about Warden, about him saying she'd be pulled back in no time?
"The club." Waxey nods, rolls the cigar between his fingers. "That was, what, half a year ago? You're a little slow." Nothing barbed in that remark; it's just an observation. Er. Mostly.
He's not sure what to make of Warden's final remark, so he smirks. "Anyway, the way you put it, it sounds like the woman's indestructible." Which is absurd. (Yeah? Albany's got its own rules, and sickly as she'd seen, Drawdes'd shown remarkable strength. Maybe he shouldn't think too much about indestructible. Maybe it's a good thing he hadn't tried shooting her.)
no subject
Date: 2015-04-09 10:48 am (UTC)Pretty much both. He's spent years trying to get New York on somewhat amicable terms with him and this little miserable bitch has to throw a wrench in it over some idiot not worth the ground she walks on. He's even told Luciano that Mickey was lucky that he pissed off Lucky instead of himself. He would've shot him too... in front of Aramat. Just to show her the price of stupidity. (And just to watch to crumble more. It's a vice, he'll admit it.)
He scowls, just a bit. "I'm not." He's been hunting that woman for half a year.
"She can only be stalled, never killed. Bullets do not work."
no subject
Date: 2015-04-20 04:49 am (UTC)Of course, there's the possibility that she didn't need to be concerned. Because if Warden's telling the truth, it sounds like this woman really can't be ended. It occurs to Waxey that there's got to be humor in that: the immortal broad with a death wish.
Assuming it's true. (It’s occurred to Waxey that Rankin might exaggerate the truth in order to build a more intimidating image of his so-called realm. The maddening fact is that Waxey can neither prove nor disprove his own suspicions. Not yet.) Because it sounds like a stretch, even for Albany. Because that sort of shit shouldn't be possible. And anyway, hadn't she said something about figuring she'd die on the East coast?
If Waxey feels any alarm about this immortality business (of course he fucking does), he swallows it. He's learned to take Albany's ever-unfolding strangeness in stride, accepting each revelation as another potential headache, filing it for future reference even if he doesn't believe it.
(Jesus. What you could do with a lifeline like that. If you gave a shit about it. If you could figure out how to play your cards, adapt to the times. The money you could make.)
"You say she can’t be shot. What does work?"
no subject
Date: 2015-05-13 10:18 am (UTC)He tries to not let some of his bitterness of 1928 seep in his voice, the fact that he lost one of his best people, the fact that for four years she was out of his control. It nags at him. And now she's back and pissed at him for the doings of humans when he warned her about it when she left.
"Bombs. Things that explode. Her entire body has be destroyed. Thing is you can't really make it stealthy thing. And it isn't cost effective. So the only other option is capture."
no subject
Date: 2015-05-14 05:30 am (UTC)He almost smirks at the vicious sack of shit's reference to 'the eternal dope'; it ain't a bad name for Mickey. And Warden's got a fair point about Doyle: who the fuck knew why the shithead had stayed? He'd always been more of a jump ship type of guy. Maybe he'd gotten sick of running. Maybe he'd gotten to the point of thinking some sleazy boardwalk club was enough. Maybe Nucky Thompson'd been sucking his prick; doesn't fucking matter. Mickey's a whole lotta nothing now, just another corpse in the ground.
(Almost true. Not quite. Because it's pretty clear Mickey's also a memory for Aramat Drawdes. And thanks to her, Waxey ain't entirely forgotten the prick, either.)
And all right, all right, at least the broad isn't entirely immortal. It could be worse, right? "Good to know you got options.
"And that you ain't coming into Philly with those bombs."
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: