03-02-2017, 08:34 AM
The smart, rapping sound of polished dress shoes and stiletto heels echoed along the streets of Tier 5. Trash blew in the wind as the fashionably dressed troop of Gentlemen Jacks proceeded in a slow, purposeful manner, looking down alleys and in doorways. They were visibly armed with submachine guns, baseball bats, and switchblades but appeared to be on a mission of pure reconnaissance. Harlan led the procession in his grey pinstripe suit and snazzy bowler hat, while behind him Rika and Chatter were occasionally stapling posters to telephone poles and building doors, emblazoned with the logo and address of the Luxor Social Club, along with an invitation to “get up on the line”.
Next, a derelict encampment. Harlan spoke eloquently and passionately about the neighborhood, about the raw deal that the inhabitants of the lower tiers had gotten and about how this was going to change. Things were going to get better, and he was here to kickstart the initiative. They gained a few more recruits from that one, bums and shivering junkies casting off their ragged blankets and chem use detritus to join the procession. The styles of street dweller and stylishly dressed business attire clashed horribly, but Harlan knew his little recruitment drive would be all the more effective. They would leave as broken, wretched people and return as ladies and gentlemen.
He had a surefire cure for any chem addiction his new followers suffered from, although in truth it was merely the replacement of one drug with another. No matter. His remedy didn't leave people crawling, shivering wrecks, no, quite the opposite. It gave them vitality, strength, the agency to reach out and choke a living from the throat of the system. Harlan had been cooking up this plan in his head ever since he’d seen the state of this city. It was ripe for such a scheme, the dependency on chemical escape from the dreary existence of lower tier life readily apparent from the first glass vial he crushed underneath his polished shoe.
The Ravnos let Charlie take point on the next location in the Gentlemen Jack’s whistle-stop tour of their little corner of Tier 5. He’d needed no coaching on how to introduce an “insurance” plan to the local businesses, and they were more than happy to sign up. Charlie probably had experience working with more reputable outfits in his youth before playing iceman for the Metalheads, and Harlan respected that he had an underling who understood the direction he was trying to take this in. Argus hadn’t had the brains to work up a good old fashioned protection racket, and the denizens of the Metalhead’s turf were at the mercy of the predations of rival gangs. They were all too happy to fork over reasonable deposits in exchange for the promise of a swift and merciless defensive response.
Here and there, the conman had heard mentions of “The Westside” as major players on Tier 5, and stored that info away for future reference. They had apparently coalesced out of a number of disparate gangs under the overall leadership of a charismatic young woman, and from the way the locals spoke of the coalition, Harlan was absolutely sure they would come calling against an upstart like himself. Which was why this recruitment drive was important. He needed a solid footing to be able to answer back any challenges, or to simply not be completely overrun at the negotiation tables. Which was where his junkie solution came in…
Over the next few days, the Luxor Social Club started to fill, the Ravnos expanding construction on the upper floors to include extra dormitories, housing facilities, amenities, and other such niceties. Word had spread and the Gentlemen Jacks gained a sizable boost to their numbers. From the four Harlan had started with, there were now nearly forty members, all locals or leftovers from disbanded outfits. Which was good, because it meant that they all seemed to know each other and get along rather well. That sense of brotherhood would only grow once Harlan had perfected his ‘miracle supplement”, which is why he was currently crouched over staring at a glass beaker with a scrawny, weaselly man by the name of Lazlo.
Lazlo was a cook, and not the food kind. He’d been with most of the older gangs that made heavy money off of the chem trade, with a quickness of wit and fleetness of foot that had kept him alive through lab explosions, stormtrooper raids, and gang wars. Another survivor, like Harlan himself. “Soz you wanted to cut up Slip with something else, boss?” Lazlo asked. Slip was a fairly standard chem, a yellowish-brown powder that when eaten or snorted acted like an amphetamine.
“I did. Something I learned how to make back home, real easy. But it doesn’t have much effect unless it’s cut with an upper, see?” Harlan produced a jar of dark red powder, the substance flaky and somewhat shiny. This was in fact his own blood, dried and preserved using a handy little Thaumaturgic ritual he’d scammed a southern Tremere into teaching him. Harlan would, of course, not be explaining the finer details of the properties of vampiric blood to his cook, nor the rest of his gang. All they needed to know was that when they took it, they would feel healthier than they ever had before.
Lazlo took the jar and proceeded to open it up, inspecting the powder and rolling it around to see how it moved. “Looks pretty fine...gonna have to process the Slip a bit more to make sure it mixes properly, but should make a pretty good product.” Harlan nodded, quite pleased with the way things had been going. With this new chem distributed, the people of the neighborhood would find themselves much more amiable to the Ravnos and his operations. Which was good, because he needed more of those ‘credits’ they used here as currency, and was considering scoping out an upper tier bank as target for a heist.
“Oh, and one more thing, Boss. What do you want this to be called? Needs a snappy name, something to market it as.”
Heh. That was easy. Vampire blood and speed?
“It’s called Amaranth.”
Next, a derelict encampment. Harlan spoke eloquently and passionately about the neighborhood, about the raw deal that the inhabitants of the lower tiers had gotten and about how this was going to change. Things were going to get better, and he was here to kickstart the initiative. They gained a few more recruits from that one, bums and shivering junkies casting off their ragged blankets and chem use detritus to join the procession. The styles of street dweller and stylishly dressed business attire clashed horribly, but Harlan knew his little recruitment drive would be all the more effective. They would leave as broken, wretched people and return as ladies and gentlemen.
He had a surefire cure for any chem addiction his new followers suffered from, although in truth it was merely the replacement of one drug with another. No matter. His remedy didn't leave people crawling, shivering wrecks, no, quite the opposite. It gave them vitality, strength, the agency to reach out and choke a living from the throat of the system. Harlan had been cooking up this plan in his head ever since he’d seen the state of this city. It was ripe for such a scheme, the dependency on chemical escape from the dreary existence of lower tier life readily apparent from the first glass vial he crushed underneath his polished shoe.
The Ravnos let Charlie take point on the next location in the Gentlemen Jack’s whistle-stop tour of their little corner of Tier 5. He’d needed no coaching on how to introduce an “insurance” plan to the local businesses, and they were more than happy to sign up. Charlie probably had experience working with more reputable outfits in his youth before playing iceman for the Metalheads, and Harlan respected that he had an underling who understood the direction he was trying to take this in. Argus hadn’t had the brains to work up a good old fashioned protection racket, and the denizens of the Metalhead’s turf were at the mercy of the predations of rival gangs. They were all too happy to fork over reasonable deposits in exchange for the promise of a swift and merciless defensive response.
Here and there, the conman had heard mentions of “The Westside” as major players on Tier 5, and stored that info away for future reference. They had apparently coalesced out of a number of disparate gangs under the overall leadership of a charismatic young woman, and from the way the locals spoke of the coalition, Harlan was absolutely sure they would come calling against an upstart like himself. Which was why this recruitment drive was important. He needed a solid footing to be able to answer back any challenges, or to simply not be completely overrun at the negotiation tables. Which was where his junkie solution came in…
Over the next few days, the Luxor Social Club started to fill, the Ravnos expanding construction on the upper floors to include extra dormitories, housing facilities, amenities, and other such niceties. Word had spread and the Gentlemen Jacks gained a sizable boost to their numbers. From the four Harlan had started with, there were now nearly forty members, all locals or leftovers from disbanded outfits. Which was good, because it meant that they all seemed to know each other and get along rather well. That sense of brotherhood would only grow once Harlan had perfected his ‘miracle supplement”, which is why he was currently crouched over staring at a glass beaker with a scrawny, weaselly man by the name of Lazlo.
Lazlo was a cook, and not the food kind. He’d been with most of the older gangs that made heavy money off of the chem trade, with a quickness of wit and fleetness of foot that had kept him alive through lab explosions, stormtrooper raids, and gang wars. Another survivor, like Harlan himself. “Soz you wanted to cut up Slip with something else, boss?” Lazlo asked. Slip was a fairly standard chem, a yellowish-brown powder that when eaten or snorted acted like an amphetamine.
“I did. Something I learned how to make back home, real easy. But it doesn’t have much effect unless it’s cut with an upper, see?” Harlan produced a jar of dark red powder, the substance flaky and somewhat shiny. This was in fact his own blood, dried and preserved using a handy little Thaumaturgic ritual he’d scammed a southern Tremere into teaching him. Harlan would, of course, not be explaining the finer details of the properties of vampiric blood to his cook, nor the rest of his gang. All they needed to know was that when they took it, they would feel healthier than they ever had before.
Lazlo took the jar and proceeded to open it up, inspecting the powder and rolling it around to see how it moved. “Looks pretty fine...gonna have to process the Slip a bit more to make sure it mixes properly, but should make a pretty good product.” Harlan nodded, quite pleased with the way things had been going. With this new chem distributed, the people of the neighborhood would find themselves much more amiable to the Ravnos and his operations. Which was good, because he needed more of those ‘credits’ they used here as currency, and was considering scoping out an upper tier bank as target for a heist.
“Oh, and one more thing, Boss. What do you want this to be called? Needs a snappy name, something to market it as.”
Heh. That was easy. Vampire blood and speed?
“It’s called Amaranth.”
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”