ANGELS AND OUTCASTS | MEETING 06/23

[Wolfsbane]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]”Everyone please gather up for a meeting,” A loud voice called, belonging to a large dark haired man who stepped down the hotel stairs, into the main lobby area. He waited a moment, resting himself against the ever-abandoned front desk as the members of Los Santos approached. The group had been fairly small, and despite being around for a few months, it had only just seemed to grow.

”Firstly, I wanted to welcome all of our newcomers. It’s no secret Los Santos hasn’t been the busiest in the past couple months, and so we greatly appreciate the extra hands on deck. I’ll be hosting a meet and greet soon after this meeting so we can all introduce ourselves- I know some of us aren’t the most... friendly, but this group was founded on the idea of brotherhood and family, so I hope we can live up to that.” He paused, glancing at those gathered that he knew from experience not to be friendly.

”I’d also like to announce that because of both the prolonged stalemate of our group and the new growth in numbers, I am looking to promote members to ranks as high as headhunters for now. Keep this in mind if you’re interested- I’ll be looking for those that are active community members that can set an example for our city.” Bane was anxious to have those ranks filled. If he planned on expanding the group, he had to have people among him he could rely on, after all.

”Speaking of growth, I want us to reach out and plan our alliances and relationships with other groups. I’m planning to host an event in the next few days and invite other, friendly groups. Our goal is to introduce ourselves as a strong group and to seek out equally strong allies. Also, I’ll be giving out some tasks to do around the city to help distribute the chores we need to do. I’ll give out these tasks later this evening if you’d like to participate, and I’ll also need some help delivering invitations to these groups about this event, so if you’d like to help out with that too, please attend that meeting.”

”That’s all I have for you now. If you have any questions, feel free to speak up. Other than that, I think I’ve said all I need to. Thank you all for attending, and again, welcome to all our newcomers.” Bane dipped his head in greeting to those, exhaling lightly as he finished speaking.

[VOLATILE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]V's never cared much for meetings. The cohesiveness of Los Santos isn't lost on him — he gets the point of all this shit; that doesn't mean he has to like it. He'd been lounging in one of the ancient creaking chairs down here with his fingers curled around his weapon, feeling the pricking burn of them and waiting for the lord and savior of this glorious shithole to walk down. He does, of course. Right on time. Volatile's hand stops clenching, now open as he uses one of the curved claws to clean out from underneath his nails. It just ends up leaving more dried blood there, but he doesn't give a shit. Doesn't even look down, golden eyes intently on Wolfsbane's face. Though V's not the sort of person to bow down to anyone, the guy's earned his respect. A few inches taller, not quite as stocky, but he's caught a few glimpses of his scars. Seen the weapons he carries. No use fucking with him unless he wants to make it permanent. At the moment, he doesn't.

A small, rough laugh breaks his silence at the idea of being friendly, unafraid of meeting Bane's pointed glance. Brotherhood sounds a little too nice. Not something he'll hate, not something he'd ever hate, just — sour, maybe. Meet and greets and alliances, bah. Why bother being someone's friend when you could just intimidate them into giving you their shit anyway? That's how he was raised and all he'll ever know. "'Other friendly groups'?" he quotes with a laugh, "let me know when we're getting back to the fun shit, boss." But with that, Volatile rises to his feet and leaves with a wave, heading off to do god knows what. He'll find out as he goes.

[CAUSTIC]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;font-size:9.2pt; text-align:justify"]Volatile's twitching was driving him up the goddamn wall. Most things about him irritated the hell out of Caustic, but maybe it was worse playing the waiting game. He wanted to do something fun that wasn't fighting V for once. As entertaining as it could be, neither of them were all that interested in killing each other- not all that seriously, anyway. Stealing from V just led to another fight- the same in reverse. Neither of them really had anything the other wanted, so noticing Wolfsbane head on down had his gaze abandoning V's clenching hand to watch the boss talk. Sure as hell beat staring at Volatile's boredom; seeing him itch made Caustic itch, and this really wasn't the best place for a brawl.

The curl of his mouth matched Volatile's laughter. No, they weren't exactly the type to roll out the red carpet for anyone, and he wasn't liable to start. A dysfunctional kind of family at best, but Caustic could behave himself for a little longer. If getting these allies meant roughing up the people who weren't, then he was all for it. "You're just an impatient pain in the ass," he commented as V stood, mirroring the movement, and he passed Wolfsbane a two fingered salute as he pushed by Volatile.

[Devilad]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: nyala; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Figures with human worn faces follow after a voice. A precious piece crafted of brimstones and hellfires, it knocks on every doors and walls; unholy hotel trembles. Behind words, familiarity is found, gently brushing against memories that were taken in moments like this—when the lord would smile upon their followers with their teeth too soft / too sharp, eyes gleaming out of love / hatred, fingers twitching from nervousness / angriness; demeanor deformed all in the end.

Tender hand holding onto greedy hand, they surrounds themselves with the presences of blessed / cursed before they settle by staircase’s side. Though, the loner will only ignore and cross its arms at the group’s conditions, the lover will listen and hope for the best in the group’s future. Los Santos, with a name stained in red and purple / blood and bruises, was deemed a small group, yet, throughout the months, it continues to grow with roses; a garden it becomes that is made out of pretty eyes / edged teeth.

Through silence from the Druglord himself, warm soul leans closer to cold soul, their lovely fingers tucking the other’s shirt. When hazel eyes meet brown eyes, the lover speaks of honey and milk, “Got anything in mind for the Big Bad Bane to talk about, bud?” To them, between all of the glorious gold stained lines, there is only content. Excitement burns through celestial veins over what Los Santos has to offer, especially during this time of the group’s growth.

A shake of head the loner gives in response; a silent no. While it holds little care towards Los Santos in general, as long as it provides comfort and joy to the lover, it can tolerate it in a way that the lover can appreciate of. It begins to tap, tap, tap on floor, constant motion leaks impatience, crawling underneath its fidgety presence. Go, go, go. A whine pushes through dried throat and its chin fall onto the curls, seeking softness of the other.

The lover giggles at its small suffering and shakes their head, youthful eyes shining in childlike amusement. Always, is it on a rush, never really knowing how to breathe a little more softly. “Hey, relax, we have all of the time in the world,” they assures, giving the loner’s hand a kiss; a silent promise.

They glances back to Wolfsbane and smiles, giving him a thumps up. A man with silver bones and starlight heart. Certainly, do the lover believe he can make stars above burn brighter for him. For his people. “Gotcha, my dude!,” they says directly to the Druglord, their voice a bit more louder, filled with great energy.

At that, the lover and the loner leaves the main lobby to their room—a piece of what they can call a home / shelter.

[marsy]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.2pt; line-height: 1.2; letter-spacing: 0.7px; word-spacing: 1px;"]HE SAUNTERED INTO THE MAIN LOBBY just as Bane started his descent down the stairs. Ros fiddled with his pocket knife in one hand and had the other in a back pocket of his jeans, dark eyes once hollow pooled with vigilance and respect as they landed on the leader—a man he'd grown to call a friend.

He'd been in Los Santos for awhile, now—long enough to really get to know Bane, more than he'd ever bothered to get to know anyone else. He came into the group with empty eyes and nothing to fight for other than his own survival, cynical and unsure. But as much as his doubts clouded his mind, he stayed, and he was glad he did.

It was the first time in awhile he could trust someone, and the first time in what seemed like forever that he grew to respect someone.

But it was easy to respect Bane. He was very headstrong, maybe even hotheaded, but unlike many hotheads and headstrong men he'd known in the past, Bane had the ability to learn and grow. Maybe the Bane of the past was one of the young men people thought couldn't be salvaged—he would always be all teeth and gnashing and blood, forever—but the one Ros knew was more controlled, and a man Ros was happy to have as leader ( and Ros hated being told what to do ).

Ros' lips twitched upward at the word friendly, and the look Bane passed to some of the group around them. Ros wasn't exactly friendly, but he wasn't unfriendly. He couldn't say the same for some other particular members of the group, but he also couldn't really blame them. In this world, aloofness is what kept most people alive.

A soft smile curled his lips as his gaze swept over the crowd, proud of what Los Santos was becoming. He made a mental note to welcome the newcomers later, and then turned his full attention to Bane. He strode up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, patting it gently, a silent greeting—and a good job in his eyes.

[ABD AL-MALIK]

[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.15; padding: 4px;"]These people were attack dogs. Some were better trained than others, but all had sharp teeth and bites that equalled, if not exceeded, their barks. There weren't many here that Abd al-Malik wouldn't put life-or-death trust in — but that was a poor misestimation of his level of faith. Their violence was cause for wariness, for the slow cultivation of that urge to run that he'd otherwise let wither and die for obvious reasons. This was a reversion, a development of compliance in a place he ought to fight against. He'd immersed himself in gang violence once before and his mother's harrowed sleeplessness had put him quickly in his place — but he'd always had hunger to blame. At the very least, he'd gotten himself to a point where that didn't matter anymore.

Abd al-Malik had never understood the function of meetings, but his limited time here had promoted enough of something, be it respect or curiosity or that strange, unnameable tug that wasn't quite intrigue but compelled him to listen anyway, for him to be there, following Wolfsbane's descent with dark, guarded eyes and only mostly understanding the lord's words. An opportunity to claim authority; the need to forge new alliances; and the future handing-out of chores that Abd al-Malik knew he'd wind up wrapped in. If there had been anything else, it had been lost on him. (Hopefully, if such things existed, they weren't important.)

It wasn't all bad. The dogs were baying for something more bloody, but he couldn't care less. He flashed Wolfsbane a silent thumbs-up, waiting for the small (yet overbearing) crowd to recede.