09-27-2017, 10:49 PM
CHARLIE "LUCKY" LUCIANO
won't stop 'till we're legend  BIOGRAPHY
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Charlie had been living here for a little over two months now, but that didn't mean that he had explored every single building that the Badlands had to offer. The city was vast and it was unlikely that he could've combed through all of the abandoned stores and businesses that lined the streets. His collarbone had been healing up, so he didn't feel shitty enough to keep himself confined to his room anymore. Charlie, with no raids currently in place, felt a sense of boredom gnawing at him. Charlie had been feeling a little adventurous today, however, so he decided to go looking for someplace interesting.
The Italian man found himself walking into a little antique shop on one of the streets that he was unfamiliar with. He kept his guard up, as he couldn't assume that the abandoned place was automatically safe. There were people that disrespected the borders, and there were also Northerners that could be spying on them all from the stores. Things were tense, so now wasn't a time to let loose.
The rotting, wooden floorboards creaked under the slow steps of the man. He wore a navy blue suit, keeping his appearance classy (to no surprise). His dark eyes scanned the walls and the shelves of the shop, his eyes trailing over trinkets of the past. Even if this stuff was from a hundred years ago or maybe more, there was still electricity back then. What a time to live in, he thought. To have power must've been nice. There wasn't a lot of things left since the store appeared to be looted for jewelry. There were a few vintage mirrors and dressers, though.
What really caught Charlie's attention, though, was a large box-looking contraption. Out of curiosity, he walked closer to it and ran his fingers over the smooth surface of it, dust collecting on his rough fingers. He hooked his fingers under the top and attempted at opening it, revealing whatever was under the hood. And there it was: a phongraph. Wow. He hadn't seen this old of a music player since he was a small child, perhaps two or three. His grandparents had a record player and they would use it whenever he and his family visited their home. It wasn't just any phongraph, either; it was a hand-crank. This meant that cranking the handle on the side generated it's power, and therefore, no electricity was needed. It was a true antique. It was also quite fitting for this situation, seeing as nobody had power, anyways. Were there any records laying around? Charlie glanced over on the ground and saw a crate with only a few old records on display. He took one into his hands and examined it, thougn there was no use in doing so. He didn't know how to even read.
Charlie did know how to operate a record player, though. He slid the vinyl out of it's sheath and placed it on the needle before grabbing the handle sticking out of the side and cranking it for a minute. The record began to spin and Charlie reached for the needle that would ultimately produce sound from the record if made contact upon the surface. He had hesitated for a moment. He was going to hear music. Actual music. The very thought was enough to send chills down his spine. He didn't even care about what kind of music it was; Charlie was just eager to hear a sound other than silence.
He rested the needle onto the spinning vinyl, and suddenly, soft music began to play. An orchestration of trumpets and clarinets sounded from the phonograph, and Charlie stood in awe. It was an old genre of music: swing. Honoka had been dancing to it a few days ago. He was taken back to his childhood, where he would sit on the couch and watch his grandparents laugh and slow-dance to this music. They were old and couldn't dance as well as a younger person would, but they possessed just as much spirit. Charlie loved to watch them; he was always so captivated by the way they would move in time with the music. He didn't miss a lot of things about his childhood, but his grandparents would always hold a place underneath the surface of his dirtied soul.
The Council Member stood by the phonograph, quietly listening to the tune as it spun and produced music that echoed throughout the shop.
// song ref
The Italian man found himself walking into a little antique shop on one of the streets that he was unfamiliar with. He kept his guard up, as he couldn't assume that the abandoned place was automatically safe. There were people that disrespected the borders, and there were also Northerners that could be spying on them all from the stores. Things were tense, so now wasn't a time to let loose.
The rotting, wooden floorboards creaked under the slow steps of the man. He wore a navy blue suit, keeping his appearance classy (to no surprise). His dark eyes scanned the walls and the shelves of the shop, his eyes trailing over trinkets of the past. Even if this stuff was from a hundred years ago or maybe more, there was still electricity back then. What a time to live in, he thought. To have power must've been nice. There wasn't a lot of things left since the store appeared to be looted for jewelry. There were a few vintage mirrors and dressers, though.
What really caught Charlie's attention, though, was a large box-looking contraption. Out of curiosity, he walked closer to it and ran his fingers over the smooth surface of it, dust collecting on his rough fingers. He hooked his fingers under the top and attempted at opening it, revealing whatever was under the hood. And there it was: a phongraph. Wow. He hadn't seen this old of a music player since he was a small child, perhaps two or three. His grandparents had a record player and they would use it whenever he and his family visited their home. It wasn't just any phongraph, either; it was a hand-crank. This meant that cranking the handle on the side generated it's power, and therefore, no electricity was needed. It was a true antique. It was also quite fitting for this situation, seeing as nobody had power, anyways. Were there any records laying around? Charlie glanced over on the ground and saw a crate with only a few old records on display. He took one into his hands and examined it, thougn there was no use in doing so. He didn't know how to even read.
Charlie did know how to operate a record player, though. He slid the vinyl out of it's sheath and placed it on the needle before grabbing the handle sticking out of the side and cranking it for a minute. The record began to spin and Charlie reached for the needle that would ultimately produce sound from the record if made contact upon the surface. He had hesitated for a moment. He was going to hear music. Actual music. The very thought was enough to send chills down his spine. He didn't even care about what kind of music it was; Charlie was just eager to hear a sound other than silence.
He rested the needle onto the spinning vinyl, and suddenly, soft music began to play. An orchestration of trumpets and clarinets sounded from the phonograph, and Charlie stood in awe. It was an old genre of music: swing. Honoka had been dancing to it a few days ago. He was taken back to his childhood, where he would sit on the couch and watch his grandparents laugh and slow-dance to this music. They were old and couldn't dance as well as a younger person would, but they possessed just as much spirit. Charlie loved to watch them; he was always so captivated by the way they would move in time with the music. He didn't miss a lot of things about his childhood, but his grandparents would always hold a place underneath the surface of his dirtied soul.
The Council Member stood by the phonograph, quietly listening to the tune as it spun and produced music that echoed throughout the shop.
// song ref
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THERE'S NO RETURN FROM WHERE I'VE BEEN
❝ TRIED TO PRETEND THAT I'M AROUND . . . ❞
————————— BIOGRAPHY / FORMER BOSS OF THE BADLANDS