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Post by 𝕺𝖒𝖊𝖓 on Feb 5, 2020 9:06:43 GMT
  In open space in Sector 3-1 resides a satellite unlike any other. It is no transmission tower, science research facility or government facility. It is privately owned by a man who is an enigma. Where he came from, what he used to do for a living and why he decided to build this satellite are a complete mystery. To ask him is to receive only a smirk and asked if you'd like a drink in response. It's location remains the same, occasionally it will move but only as necessary. It's orbit geolocked around an inhabited moon known for its black markets and large rambunctious hive cities. Why he chose here is unknown but what is known is that this satellite has rules. Rules everyone respects and adheres too. Because here is peace, here is freedom and here is Gallery 66. Rules I. This is neutral ground. II. Respect everyone and everything. Do not harm one another or the satellite. III. No violence. Want to fight, take it to Bar Mindbound and settle it with the game. ⠀⠀⠀ III.I MINDBOUND is the only form of competition or fight allowed on XV0066. IV. Gamble as you want, Drink as you want, fuck as you want. V. On XV0066 no bounties, no wars, no gang crimes are permitted. Leave that outside the satellite. This is not an excuse to believe you can hide on XV0066 for your freedom either. The Owner and his organisation will remove you should you overstep your stay. Outfitted with multiple floors for nightclubs, casino, bars, Mindbound arena's, Biodome gardens, restaurants, hotels and shopping complexes, XV006 is an oasis for everyone. There is something for everyone.  
Gallery 66. The Pride and joy of the owner and proprietor of XV0066. A small seated bar with personalised service by the man himself often accessable only to those with deep pockets and a clean record upon XV0066. Able to sit only at most twenty five patrons at a time this bar is filled with the universes most expensive and exquisite spirits. If you like spirits on the rocks or mixes, all is available. A strict dresscode is enforced of suits and cocktail dresses. This room has seen enemies become friends, shady deals and more.
 
Club Monolith is the largest bulk of XV0066 as a large multi-story casino and nightclub. The first two upper floors reside a nighclub and dancefloor with three visible bars. While the floors beneath are filled with various tables and machines alike blasting music and vibrant neon lights constantly flashing. Every vice is there for your indulgence. The last floor of Club Monolith is filled with cigar lounges, dance floors, vip rooms and the exotic dancers. Indulge yourself.
A relatively new addition to XV0066 as such isn't open for business just yet. Under construction ✿
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Post by 👑 TYRANT 火 🗝 on Feb 21, 2020 0:21:22 GMT
| Kismet. |
“Fuck. Hand me a light, would you?”
A stoic voice asked from the confines of a futuristic limousine. Someone apparently needed a bit of Indica prior to tonight’s events. Dual occupants sat across from each other. The second man brandished a Zippo to light the other's joint. From the outside, an ambient pulsation echoed all but faintly. Neon luminescence could be seen through tinted windows. They were parked across the street from renowned nightclub: Club Monolith. The man smoking took a deep inhale, adjusting his gaze in the club's direction. Sable hues contemplated in silence for only but a moment.
“Remind me. Why do we have to do business here of all places Rafi?”
Tonight, the Maggia and Fenrys criminal empires would renegotiate potential terms to regarding the economic jurisdiction between both parties. A man of dark complexion and few words, Rafi is the proxy and trusted adviser to the Clovis--leader of Fenrys: Tyson Lockhart. The former Black Crown of WAR; an once respected lieutenant colonel now turned crime boss. Rafi tucked away his Zippo as he answered his boss.
“You know better than I, that this is the only club in town that the Maggia don't own. ‘Neutral territory’ as so to speak sir, please don’t let your temper get the best of you tonight.”
“Pay less mind to my temper and more so on your protection Rafiel. Any error that happens here will be on them tonight. Not us.”
Less than a god but no ordinary man, drugs did nothing but calm the constant aggression conceived via supernatural experimentation. Soft lips pulled another hit off his joint tranquilizing his rage for the time being. A soft sigh accompanied smoke supplied for a French inhale. Whereas vision hadn't strayed from its fixation. XV0066 was known to be the premiere hotspot for the insanely wealthy. A testament to this was the line outside the venue of Club Monolith. Beginning at the door, it stretched all the way to the side of the building. To a well-respected narco, this made little significance as both men exited the hover vehiclle, making it towards the bouncers. Instantly, they were ushered into the enrapturing establishment. Needless to say, this wasn't their first time brokering a deal here. Hopefully it would be the last. Hopefully.
“Rafi go find Luchino, let him know I'll be making my way up shortly.”
Rafi gave a quick nod before he navigated the ocean of patrons dancing with ignorant bliss. Numerous tables of ageless games of fortune were stationed to and fro, along with the various slot machines with coruscating neon lights. The narco is also keen to other forms of entertainment on the upper floors as well. Gambling, prostitution, dance and spirits, Club Monolith is no less than a nocturnal paradise for the rich and the wicked. Such exclusivity made it perfect for illegal transactions to occur unnoticed and uninterrupted sans the bloodletting of course. Once at the bar, Tyson ordered himself a drink and stole another toke. The acerbic scent of marijuana should’ve gotten him kicked out. Hell, it should’ve kept him outside in all honesty. Yet here he stood with ivory locks slicked back, dressed in a grey three piece suit. From the outside peer inward, he could've been just another aristocrat with a gambling addiction. Or maybe nomadic business waiting for his favorite call girl. In the land where money talks his business was his own. Blending in perfectly with the ambiance, he enjoyed his smoke.
As he sat down in wait, thoughts of the impending deal flickered in the front of his mind. Fenrys' connections were becoming numerous. Too numerous to manage in fact. Tonight's deal with the Maggia is critical to the long term success of his own criminal empire expansion. If everything went accordingly, he'd established a wider foothold in the trafficking and smuggling sector of the Ish'Val galaxy. Further than most mafias chose to venture. Once one ventured within the government's radar there wasn't much hope in regards to the organization's future. However not many organizations had been ran by the galaxy's strongest Martian.
☩══♛══☩
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Post by Magk8ball on Mar 7, 2020 9:53:01 GMT
L’ I M P I C C A T O The light ringing of a wristwatch alarm provided Nero with ample persuasion to wake from his rest. Rising to an upright position, He traced fingers across the bridge of his nose. His head was cloudy, his vision remained unfocused, his breathing felt shallow, and, for a moment, he failed to imagine that he had awoken at all. Damp clothing nearly missed the waste-bin, the obscene musk of a restless sleep was thick. It still nauseated his senses, yet he was certain the cold sweats weren’t the issue; indeed, the neon lit interior of XV0066’s bridal suite was welcome reprieve from his lilac scented nightmares. Steam permeated the hotel’s bathroom, and, as Nero scoured thoughts of the night from his flesh, he distracted himself by recounting why he was here. It had been a simple letter. Nero, meet me at “Gallery 66.” Dress nice. Delivered to his home, and packaged with a hotel reservation. Borne in a plain white envelope, the sudden vacation would have elated most; unfortunately, Nero lacked the luxuries afforded to the majority. He could count the individuals with his personal mailing list on one hand. Nero moved back into the main room and grimaced as the steam was replaced by frigid air. He moved to an ornate dresser, and, opening the first drawer, he picked out clothing befitting the evening. He had decided against formal wear, and, instead, focused on casual comfort. He took from his dresser a plain shirt sewn from white silk. The shirt was tucked into pants of a black velveteen fabric, and, to hide the point of connection between the contrasting tones, was accented by a leather belt fastened around his waist. Above this, he adorned a double-breasted suit top. The coat was cut short with fabric matching that of the pants. To finalize the outfit, Nero fastened his cuffs with a metal pin in the shape of a stylized number twelve. Once dressed, he stood before the dresser’s mirror, the glow of flickering neon behind him, and took a solitary moment to ready himself before leaving the hotel: fixing his tie, adjusting his suit pants, and thumbing vainly at his dark hair. A hand trembled briefly as the scent of lilac came to mind, and Nero quickly ceased his preening. He stared into his reflection. The chime of the room’s service line separated him from his thoughts, but Nero welcomed the intrusion. He retrieved the device from his bedside table. “I’m on my way… Mistressa… It’s a Rosé… Garbled chit chat echoed through the room until, finally, Nero smirked. Preparations were complete. In only a few moments of time, he had left the confines of his room, and was making his way through the hotel. Gallery 66 was glamorous. The amount of spit and polish taken did not go unrecognized. As he took his seat at the bar, Nero closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax. He could smell the wine as the bartender slid his glass into arms reach. The soft music complimented the bar’s regal chic. Tapping the rim of his glass, Nero took a long sip. All there was left to do was wait.
- Nero
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Post by 𝕺𝖒𝖊𝖓 on Mar 10, 2020 7:51:20 GMT
SYN DE RAIS
No one entered XV0066 without his knowing. Everyone knew the rules, they were his rules. It had to be considered not the wealth, but the insurmountable power and presence needed to control a neutral territory in a universe consumed by conflict. Here bracer and crime lord drink together as friend rather than foe. It was here that deals were struck in peace and wealth was seeped into the pockets of one man and his organisation. An organisation more elusive than old Jerusalem’s templar orders or the illuminati which followed its president. People had long forgotten the name to which this place belongs but what remains strong was the constant fear that those who fail to cooperate with his rules will die.
Tonight, that man was on the prowl within Club Monolith. Dressed in an attire of crimson silken slacks over black high shine oxfords, black socks covering the flesh between. His upper body was covered by a long sleeve black button-down silk shirt which was tucked into his slacks. Where they meet was anchored in place by a black belt with a silver buckle. Over his black top he wore a matching crimson silken vest that paired with his slacks. A silver necktie finishes up his attire. He moved effortlessly between patron alike, that was until he approached the man with silvered hair. Reaching the man Syn took forward and removed the joint from the male and placed it between his lips and whispering into his ear. “You know the rules, pay attention to them or you and your friend will be… removed.” Patting the man’s back softly, Syn moved his way through the crowd, stolen joint still between his lips.
Once outside of the club, Syn threw it to the ground and stomped on it snuffing flame out. A soft exhale through his nose caused Syn to shake his head. It was with no regard to the fact he was immune to chemical substances but rather the taste that he disliked smoking weed. Once the action was done however Syn made his motion towards an elevator. Pressing a key card to the control panel the doors closed with a soft hiss and began to rise. He had a meeting with an old acquaintance of his.
The doors opened and the scents of whiskey, wine and cigar smoke reached his nostrils, but the otherworldly beauty of the setting always pleased him. Syn in his time had become rather pleased with what he had created and as such became used to the refined. Syn’s lips would twitch into a small smirk as a male came into view at the bar, fingertips curled about a wine glass. Stepping forward through the populace, Syn sat himself to the left of the man. “Lilac haunting your dreams again, Nero?” Syn asked, if one listened enough there might have been perhaps a glimmer of worry for one of his very few friends.
- Wrath
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Post by Magk8ball on Mar 11, 2020 8:39:14 GMT
L’ I M P I C C A T O
“When did you get so domestic?” Nero waved his right hand in a grand sweeping gesture. Waving his fingers in a sarcastic waggle, he motioned broadly towards their elegant surroundings. “The bar I understand, but the hotel?” He paused to take another sip of his drink. It was to Nero’s pleasure and surprise that Syn kept a bottle on hand. The wine was rare, old, and expensive. The rosé required grapes to be fed water from the Aveh’n region. A tall order given the regions harsh lack of water and inhospitable nature in recent times. Nero had only secured three bottles. One was to be served at his wedding, another remained locked within his private collection, and the third had been consumed the day he met Mr. De Rais. “A hotel seems to retail. You’ve always struck me as an individual who prefers his cash flow to be a bit more-” As he turned his chair to face his gracious host, Nero’s lips curled upward into an uncharacteristic smirk. “White collar~” The words slipped from his mouth gently, but he could not contain the steady drip of sarcasm. Despite his harmless jab, Nero was pleased to see his friend wreathed in success. A neutral ground afforded many delights to those with coin, and those without would always be waiting, hungry, at their heels. Any proprietor worth his salt would take full advantage of those desires; furthermore, it was no small feat to maintain a station of this size. Nero raised his glass to eye level. Jewel purple eyes spun in circles, chasing the liquid as it twirled in his grasp. He thought, for a moment, about speaking to the quality of the wine, the density of its legs and its amenable viscosity. Anything was preferable to discussing his nightmares. The glass hit the table as his pleasant mood was replaced with an irksome twist of the mouth. “Yes, I am quite bereft of sleep. It seems, as of late, that I am doomed to suffer at my own hand.” He tapped his forehead gently. Despite his dull expression, he kept his tone jovial. “He is still there. No medication, meditation, or mutilation can remove him. I have tried them all.” The glass hit the table a second time, now bereft of its contents. Even in discussion, Nero would prefer not to disclose how bad things were. It took everything he had to avoid commentary on Syn’s manner of dress. He hadn’t failed to notice the elegant clashing of silver against red. It was a good look, but he would have preferred something more robust. Perhaps zaffer…Cast against gold…Perhaps to quickly, Nero tore his eyes away from Syn’s tie. “Although, quite thankfully, I’ve managed to keep him under control for some time. Surely this wasn’t the reason for your invitation?”
- Nero
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Post by 𝕺𝖒𝖊𝖓 on Mar 12, 2020 11:43:48 GMT
T R E A S O N
“Domestic? Hardly” Syn’s words flowed effortlessly across his tongue as his hand extended out towards the bar and in perfect synchronicity a crystalline glass of single malt whiskey was placed between his gloved fingers. “It is more than a hotel my friend there is an entire cityscape beneath out very feet, and I own every single inch of it.” Taking a sip from his own glass quietly Syn’s crystal clear aquamarine eyes bore through each member in the bar tonight. Of the small selection there was a smorgasbord of arms dealers, mafia boss and criminal masterminds across from corrupt bracer and corporate hound. “You cannot get any more ‘white collar’ than this room Nero.” There was a hint of boredom upon Syn’s words. Subtle but there none the less.
Shifting his attention back towards Nero, a friend he’d long since assumed had either taken to surrendering himself to the peacock within or died trying. “I see you found the bottle I kept from our visit.” Syn seated himself upon the bar stool with his back pressed against the bar. “I’ve had offers of entire bloodlines for that bottle.” The smirk upon Syn’s lips was paramount to jest. “Sadly, for them I dislike children.” A soft laugh escaped Syn’s lips, a sound that not many had ever heard before. The man’s madness and destruction paramount to the joy he felt. This of course was the rarest of exceptions. “I did think of accepting then killing them for it later, but I knew that should that bottle ever leave my hands I’d have to deal with that insufferable peacock’s aggression for years to come.” If one person were to understand the uneasy predicament the Avehian prince was in it would be Syn. His fractured mindscape a testament to destruction. “Mutilation even? My oh my you have become quite desperate. Perhaps taking a wife is the next part of your list.” A wry smirk spread across his lips before they sealed around the glass allowing amber liquid to flow into his mouth. Letting it settle before swallowing Syn continued. “If I wasn’t quite the sadistic and selfish man, I’d put a bullet between your eyes and let you sleep for eternity.” A hand rose upward, and a melody began to play throughout the bar on que. A symphony of classical instruments with a backbone of synthetic. Lowering his hand, Syn allowed the music to fill the bar before he gently presses a hand upon Nero’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t call you here for that. I found out you were alive and so I called you here. I have feeling I will need to call on you soon enough. Perhaps I will need you to become a regular in this bar.” Syn chuckled softly, sipping at the rest off the scotch. The music finally settled into a rhythm as a variation of ‘Sinnerman’. “I am needed in many a place and spies are a plenty to work out who owns this satellite. I know some whisper of possibly attempting coup d’etat.”
- Syn
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Post by Magk8ball on Mar 14, 2020 0:10:24 GMT
L’ I M P I C C A T O
“Bloodlines seem like such a steep price for wine.” Even as he spoke, Nero relished in a sip of his fragrant drink. He cleaned the glass of its contents and set the empty container aside. “I am surprised he lent you the bottle.“ A heavy head rested against entwined fingers. The subject was disagreeable, but, as it had already been breached, there was little harm in dusting it aside. Peacock was a good name for Nero’s unwanted passenger. He was flamboyant and arrogant; thankfully, he was not in the driver’s seat, and such tendencies could be suppressed. The little habits slipped through on occasion, shadows in the mirror, but Nero remained in control. “I was under the impression the pair of you had finished it off. At least this clears up the holes in my collection. Next time-“ A soft chuckle interrupted his solemn demeanor. “Should there be a next time. Do me a favor and have him take down a receipt. It saves me headache when I come around to counting.” Nero tapped his forehead at the mention of mutilation. Whether it was his own thoughts or the room’s lingering aroma, something drew a dreadful pale to his cheeks. He tapped the counter and watched as his glass was filled to the brim. At the rate he was drinking, there wasn’t much more to be had. “A wife might be entertaining. I’d love to see how he leaves her for me when we swap. You know how he gets. If something isn’t beautiful, he disposes of it. If it is-” He paused. His fingers traced what, on most other beings, would be a violent ugly scar; however, Nero’s brow remained unblemished. It still throbbed on occasion. The idea of forcing an end to his existence was pleasurable, but he had walked that road before. “I tried cutting him out. It didn’t work.” He looked to the palm of his hands. “I tried leaving this body, leaving him behind. He followed me. Finally, when I tried killing the both of us-” Fingers clasped tightly, and knuckles stretched white. Nero sighed, and relaxed his posture. Setting his hands against the cold counter top, he relished the small pleasure. A soft fragrance had taken the room. “Well, I am here now, so that went about as well as expected.” The onset of music brought with it an amused chuckle. It was a beautiful piece, but it wasn’t to his style. In spite of that, Nero couldn’t deny if fit the venue. He wondered briefly it they had known the piece before their employment. Had they been instructed to learn, or perhaps chosen for their knowledge? It was a simple thing, but, again, Nero’s mind rested on simple pleasures. “You are looking for an outside contractor to work as hired muscle? You need to be in many places, and have people who’d be happy to catch you offguard.” Nero chuckled, and sipped his drink. A light twinge of pain caused him to set the glass down. “Sounds to me like you need a shapeshifter-“ The sentence got away from him. Nero’s attention drifted to a cut on his lip. The glass was sharp. Perhaps he had shattered a section when he had forced it to the counter earlier, but he couldn’t remember. His thumb collected the red pigment, and he stared down at it briefly. Such beautiful sanguine...
They, perhaps unconsciously drew the pigment across his lips. The motion resembled one of contemplation, but the effect was evident. A dash of color brought life to his face. A streak of sanguine against his own pale hue. Pursing his lips, they spread the color evenly across; after all, it was the nature of beauty to be immaculate. The cut had already repaired itself.
“A shapeshifter-“
A genuine laugh burst from the Aveh’n as he regarded his friend. His grin spread wide.
“If only you knew one, eh?”
- Nero
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