Author Topic: ◤ — LEARNING TO WALK AGAIN / INTRO.  (Read 152 times)


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« on: August 17, 2019, 12:03:56 AM »
( mentions of bodily injuries, light graphic descriptions )


That was how one could describe Charles Luciano. Exhausted, definitely beaten, and perhaps a bit lost. He hadn't looked the most collected upon arrival to the town — he had looked like a goddamn mess. Ruffled clothes stained with dirt and sweat, his naturally curly hair stringy and dangling gracelessly, his lips chapped and tasting of stale blood (and, more noticeably, the right side of his face sporting an ugly scar). Once upon a time, he had lived like a king, residing in the penthouse suite of a oceanside casino and proudly staking his claim at the top of the local "foodchain". At one time, he had an entire mafia at his command, who fulfilled his wishes at the snap of his fingers.

Now the glory days were gone.

He was the leader who had fallen from grace, his throne now nonexistent. The people under his regime were likely dead, moved on, or currently serving the new leader of the city... whoever that was. Perhaps the group had crumbled after his disappearance — it had all happened so suddenly, after all.

Charles had managed to escape the living hell he had been subjected to for months, dehydrated and starved and confused. He didn't necessarily care to find his way back to the Badlands — it could have been miles and miles away, for all he knew. No, he needed attention urgently, and that was how he had stumbled upon this place: Los Santos. This post-apocalyptic band of survivors operated in a similar fashion to his old crew; perhaps this was just the universe's way of trying to be humorous. Charlie had been hesitant to stay in this place, as he had not stained his hands with crimson in a long time. He had not dealt with the business of dealing product or carrying out orders since he himself led his group.

However, he ultimately decided to see how things went. That was the best way he could put it. Now that he was liberated from his stony cell, maybe it would be beneficial to contribute to something once more. After all, the "business" was all that he really knew. It was his specialty, if you will. If he had nothing to strive towards, no goals or rewards to reap from life, then what really was left for the former gangster? It certainly would be better than being a loner and dwelling on his misfortunes. If he thought about Kit again... if he thought about the child he never knew... he would probably end up consumed by insanity.

The man had managed to clean his dress shirt of most of the stains that had built up onto the fabric. Only a few small tears remained, and they were quite unnoticeable. Charlie still had yet to gather a full wardrobe, and until he did, he had to work with what he had. He sat on the porch of one of the old buildings that morning, simply basking in the sun's warmth for a bit before taking to the streets. A wandering dog had caught his attention, however. One of its eyes was missing, and its body was covered in scratches. It seemed that he found something in common with the canine.

Charles beckoned over to the dog — a pitbull, to be exact, "C'mere." The dog lifted its cranium and cocked it curiously before approaching him. He scented the rough, calloused hand of Charlie and swiped its pink tongue over his knuckles. The Italian had never owned a dog, really. He had always been too preoccupied with other matters. However, nowadays, he could probably stand to have someone to keep him company. Glancing at the pitbull's missing eye, he sighed softly, and muttered, "You 'n me both, buddy." He stroked its head.

( just gonna pretend that he's been here for a short while or so :> your character is free to have been acquainted with him or whatever, up to u!! )

Offline skywalker.

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« Reply #1 on: August 19, 2019, 06:03:41 PM »
that was something josiah could relate to heavily. tired. worrying about los santos, especially after the loss of two of their members due to his stepping up. he saw the way these people trusted bane - he could even relate - but to see they were only loyal to him and not the group as a whole made his skin crawl. it was probably best that they left; it meant that those who stayed were truly loyal to los santos and there was no room here for betrayal. they were hopeful for the future and believed in josiah's capabilities to lead, alongside his wife.

of course, he had seen charlie around the place. he had never spoken much to the man, though, only exchanging brief hellos and seeing him appear at meetings. as far as jo could tell, he was a decent guy. he didn't know about his history, who he was before joining los santos, but people were always capable of changing. they could go through hell and come out changed - either for the best or for the worst. josiah himself had gone through hell and he didn't come out much better. he was more shut off, and his trust was hard to gain.

coming up to the familiar man, josiah raised a single brow looking down at the one-eyed canine. ❝ this one's been through it, hm? ❞ jo spoke up, reaching down to pat the pittie on his side and give it a few scratches. ❝ just means he's a real strong fighter. look at em', he's still kickin'." ❞ the aussie continued, his voice a bit more awkward and unsure. he wasn't good at speaking.
[ aka bee sixteen discord: SKYWALKER.#1416 any pronouns. ]

Hoot thinks your username is rlly cute ? ? ??

Offline van

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« Reply #2 on: August 19, 2019, 08:59:42 PM »
carters scars weren't physical, and truth be told, she was grateful for it. not for vanity, she didn't have the spirit to be vain, but because scars told a story. the bigger the scars, the louder the story. they talked about pain and sin, about the things you'd chosen to do and the choices you'd been forced to make. even in perfect silence, they spoke volumes. everyone had a story, but scars were putting the text in bold and upping the font to thirty-six.

no, her scars were beneath the flesh. lines and holes, telling a story in the more subtle ways. in the way she struggled with eye contact, in the way that they hardly had mirrors in their home, in the way that she clenched her jaw around people. the text was small, a dark grey, less easily read. she didn't ever want her story to be easily deciphered, she didn't want people to read it like a slash across the throat or a wounded eye. but, hypocritical as it was, as much as the blonde didn't want people to read the words on her page, looking at charlie, she was curious what his story was.

one foot in front of the other as she moved along a few yards behind her husband, arms crossed and eyes trained on the canine, occasionally shifting up to the man, she paused a few feet away, lowering herself to a crouch as she peered at the dog. ❝gotta wonder how the hell he survived that, though.❞ she mumbled, a sympathetic crease in her brow. ❝i mean, medically speaking. he's gotta be pretty damn tough to get through it, no pain medications, no way to deal with infection.❞ she didn't look at charlie, to her credit. just kept her gaze trained on the dog. ❝any ideas as to what you'll call him?❞
a weekend on a boat in california
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