CLOSE MY EYES, CROSS MY ARMS | “MANDATORY” MEET AND GREET

[Wolfsbane]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]Los Santos was founded on Bane’s idea of family. Having lacked any form of it, it only made sense the man had founded this group on such a principle. Past faces of old friends were blurred by the forgetful quality of time, old lovers remembered in the emptiness of his sheets at night, former children grown into adulthood and thrown onto their own paths. Wolfsbane had created the group from a small band of friends, friends who had all dispersed over time, and now the man was left looking around the city, unsure of the people who surrounded him.

Many of them he had known for some time, but that time was limited, and so their bonds were not solid. Bane trusted some on minimal levels, wary if he turned his head, they would pull the rug out from under his feet. But despite the claws and clashing teeth and bloodstained clothing, these were Bane’s people- these were Los Santos; these were The Saints. Wolfsbane was grateful for their loyalty thus far and their patience, and though some carried an unbudging violence and anger in their eyes, Bane cared greatly for their protection nevertheless. These were his people- a little bit broken, a little bit unnerving, a little bit odd- but they were his people.

And so, the man settled himself in the main area of the city, atop an abandoned car’s hood in the street nestled by the cemetery and the hotel. Perhaps the spirits of their past ones would enjoy this meet and greet as well. ”Everyone, please gather up,” The familiar call echoed down the abandoned streets, a pause following as usual as the group members approached, leaning against faded pastel walls or other abandoned cars.

”Our new growth in numbers has brought together both old and new faces. I know some of you aren’t fond of these, and I understand, but I ask we all at least introduce ourselves and get to know the people we will fight alongside in time.” He could not force these people to get along, but he could ask they at least know each other’s names.

”I’ll start. My name’s Wolfsbane, I’ve been here for about half a year, and I founded this group with the help of some old friends,” He looked around, looking at the couple who remained that had helped him begin the group. ”I’m knowledgeable in combat and have a limited experience in medicine. I’m always around to answer questions or help out if you need it. My goal in this group is to expand it and for us to be strong, starting with our loyalties and trust in one another.“ He figured that was a good enough layout for the others to base their introductions off of: name, some basic information about themselves, their skill sets in the group, and their goals. He looked around at the faces among him, ”Who’s next?”

[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;"]( ooc: this is an eh post, yikes )

When denied home, people with will carved places for themselves with their fists. Malik had been a quick-footed sharpshooter once, an errand runner with an unmentioned baggage and a cargo the cops'd hang him for if they caught him. He'd ever cared for money until money had become the only thing standing between his mother and pain, between his cousin and death, and he'd suddenly been as obsessed as the hole left behind by his father. Cash created rifts, severed bonds, ruined families — Malik had had his, but it had been torn open by the absence of a man he could only fully remember asleep, when his dreams took him back to being six and stumbling in the shadow of someone who'd left him far behind.

So family was blood, but it wasn't just blood. It was the people who stayed behind even when running made more sense. It was the people who held you close and told you heaven was warm and light and full of laughter when you were ten years old, blind and wasting away from a disease that shouldn't have been eating you alive. It was the people who held ice to your cut cheek and didn't ask how it'd got there, just told you that there was always an alternative. It was the people who offered you food straight from their own bowl and who promised you their home as your own out of the goodness of their own heart. And home was the sky, the sand, the sea, the white shores of Sardinia and the winding streets of Milan.

Abd al-Malik wouldn't call Los Santos a poor alternative, but it wasn't quite embedded in his heart. He wanted it to be, in a way, but its people were slower to warm than those he'd once known. Still, he wanted to know them, and Wolfsbane was offering him the most blatant opportunity to do so he'd seen in a long while. It prompted him to settle on the hood of a nearby car, eyeing familiar and foreign faces alike. "Ciao, sono Abd al-Malik, I'm.. I've been here... ah, non ricordo..." he gestured vaguely with his hand- "some time. I know combat, e medicine, e language. I speak Italiano- Italian, Sardo- Sardinian... Spanish, e French." He kept his eyes on Wolfsbane, hands twisting in his lap. "I don' know- I don' know what my goal is," he huffed a quiet laugh. He wanted to sing, but that would hardly further the group.

[honey j.]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; width: 435px; font-size: 8pt; color: #808080; line-height: 120%; font-family: arial; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1.5px;"]—-  & honey knew very little about what a real family was supposed to be like. she had never experienced what it was like to be cared for by a parental figure, the only kindness being shown towards her by her brother. while most children would be raised in a warm and caring household, without the worry of whether or not they'd be once again locked in their bedroom again. stuck. the last interaction she had with her step father he had taken her skateboard from the girl and snapped it clean in half. honey was left with trying to fix it the best she could with duct tape before she ran out.

away from him. away from her step brother. her mother. they were all dead to her now, basically. and all that she had left of them was the repressed anger she felt towards them.

❝ i'm honey, ❞ she starts off, keeping her head low and her voice low. she kicks at the dirt with her toe of her show, her eyebrows knitting together. as far as she could tell she was one of the youngest, if not THE youngest, person at this thing. once again, she seemed like a little weak girl. ❝ i've been around a while, i guess. unlike mr. language man here, ❞ she jerks her thumb in the direction of abd al-malik as indication of who she is speaking about, ❝ i only know english. the only thing i'm good at is skateboarding, but my board is busted. ❞ seemed like a good enough way to introduce herself.

[Devilad]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: nyala; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Behind the ever familiar call, heavencloud and hellfire appears. They head towards a abandoned car nearby and climb over to sit upon its roof, with a heart that beats of curiosity / disinterest, with eyes that shines of eagerness / boredom. They watch as the area is gradually filled with outstanding colours, from ivory, to sanguine, to gold; adorned with bared teeth, unsheathed claws, and widened eyes.

They finally look over to the Druglord who wishes everyone to introduce themselves to the willing ears and eager minds. While such concept of tearing one’s skin a bit to the glazed eyes at first isn’t something the loner can handle well, the lover finds only ease in it. Even when they know, with tender fingers and soft organs, they can bleed too easily by those who seeks more than flesh and bones, they will let them have their blood like it is water; it is what makes them brave in the end.

In the middle of Wolfsbane’s introduction, when they find his gaze landing on theirs, the loner acknowledges him with at least a brief nod, as the lover gives him a playful wink. The look they received prompts them to recall the creation of Los Santos: there was wonder / suspicious, there was willingness / cautiousness; open heart / clenched fists, big smiles / narrowed eyes. Coming down to this very moment, pride in the Druglord’s ongoing success with his group sings in the lover’s soul. Nothing comes from the loner but a twitch of its dried lips, though, for someone whose bones are made of iron, that has to mean something.

Once Wolfbanes along with Abd al-Malik and Honey have finished their own introductions, the lover seeing no one else is willing to go next, they decides to take the lead from there. “I don't have a name—I don’t find myself sticking with names anyway,” they starts, voice filled with honey and stars—sweet and bright, “This guy beside me claimed to have a name, but because it’s an edgy type of person, it doesn’t like to give its name to others. So, feel free to call us whatever, we’re cool with any—well,” they glances over to the loner with a teasing smirk, “It’ll eventually get used to some certain nicknames in one way or another.” That earns a roll of eyes from the loner.

“We’re two of Big Bad Bane’s said old friends, so, we’ve been pretty much here since the beginning,” the lover continues, giving Wolfsbane a wave. “The edgy guy and I are great with combat and healing, especially since I have to deal with its bullshit, so I gotta teach it a lesson sometimes or handle its wounds from its stup—” Their sentence cuts off with a surprised squeak when the loner jabs them in their ribs. They smack its hand away with a, “Anyway, I’m definitely good at scavenging whiles the other’s so with hunting.” They quickly sticks a tongue out to the loner before they adds, “Oh, we’re also into arts and crafts, so just a note, if you need some art supplies for therapeutic reasons or such, please don’t hesitate to come to us.”

Their eyes shine brighter at the final part of the outline, almost is the lover bouncing in their seat. “I don’t know what its goal is, but I know for mine is bringing joy and comfort to everyone so they can feel like they can be their most selves without much judgement and such.” To conclude the introduction, the lover gives up a double finger guns at everyone, smiling as always, before they falls into the loner’s embrace and listen once more.