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M.S.R.P. II • View topic - Family Reunion

M.S.R.P. II

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 Post subject: Family Reunion
PostPosted: Wed Feb 15, 2006 6:23 pm 
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Rented Bedsit - Present Day

The first drops of rain had just begun to fall when Chris emerged from the bedsit he had rented for the week. It wasn't exactly a royal suite, and he wasn't too happy about being holed up in Old Redford, but it was the best he could find on such short notice. He'd had to pull a lot of strings to find out that this day was the one. Pulling his coat on, he headed down the stairs onto the pavement and into the cab he'd called twenty minutes ago.
"State prison." He told the driver, settling back against the leather seat.

Michigan State Prison - Present Day

It didn't take the cab long to get to the prison and Chris knew that the person he was waiting for wouldn't show up for at least another half hour. He leant forward in his seat and rapped the bulletproof screening between himself and the driver.
"Can you hang around for a little bit? I'm waiting on someone." The driver shrugged, picked up his radio and checked in with the dispatcher, then turned back to Chris.
"I got an hour till my next job, so I can wait about forty minutes for you." Chris thanked him, rested back in his seat and shut his eyes. It had been over ten years since Chris had seen the person he was about to offer a ride to. It was the simplest of gestures for a ten year reunion and anybody would be nervous enough at that, but Chris had more to sweat his brow out for. As the driver shut off the engine, Chris let himself drift back to the day everything had blown to shit with the man he was waiting on.

New York City - 1996

He was wearing his blues, his hands gripping the dashboard as his partner swung the patrol car around another corner. The siren screeched, cutting them a clear path down 12th Avenue. The sun gazed down on them, bouncing off the windscreen and reflecting back on the crowds of people on the sidewalks. Nobody turned their head as the car sped past, casting its blue and red across the street and splitting ears with its battle cry. It was nothing different for these people. Chris braced himself as his partner slowed only slightly for the corner of 57th.
"Slow it down, Johnny, ya not gonna make that corner!" Chris warned, clenching the side of his seat for stability. Johnny grinned, and eased his foot on the accelerator a little. He spun the wheel as fast as he could, sending the car into a squealing ninety-degree turn. He touched the brakes, straightened the car and floored the gas, shooting off down the road which was already being cleared for them.
"Nothing like a high-speed drive every now and again, huh Chris?" He laughed, glancing across at his passenger for a split second. Chris relaxed again, taking his gun from his holster and checking the clip, then chambering a round.
"Up here on the left." He said, getting ready to swing his door open. Johnny nodded, slowed down a little and kept his eye out for the turning as Chris holstered his gun and took the shotgun from the center panel. As he pumped the chamber, Johnny swung the car onto the right road and screeched to a stop at a blockage of patrol cars and a couple of SWAT trucks. Chris was first out, his shotgun in his hands. He made his way through the blockage to a familiar face at the forefront, holding a megaphone and a Revolver. Sergeant Muller.
"Muller! What's going on, we got a call for emergency backup!" Chris said, ducking down by the hood of Muller's patrol car. Muller turned his griefed face to his younger colleague and lowered his megaphone.
"We got a gang of junkies inside. Recon said there was only three, so we sent in a four-man squad. Recon got it wrong, there's at least eight of the fuckers up there. We heard gunshots, shouts, then nothing over the squads radios. That was twenty minutes ago." He pointed over to the second of the SWAT trucks, "We're preparing a second team now, but you know the policy. If you can talk 'em down..." His words trailed off and he held up the megaphone before pointing it toward the building again. Chris looked over to the truck and watched as SWAT member after SWAT member filed out the back.

Michigan State Prison - Present Day

Chris hadn't realised he had fallen asleep, but he knew he'd be feeling it all day. His head had been rested against the backseat, lined up straight with his back. He was going to have one hell of a sore neck all day. He shifted in his seat, and pushed himself up. Resting his elbow on the door, he glanced out the window and watched the prison gates.

New York City - 1996

Johnny had joined Chris and Muller at the patrol car heading up the blockage. Muller was still yelling into his megaphone, desperate to reach a resolution before the twelve-man SWAT team went in. Chris kept glancing across at the truck, eyeing the twelve men stood by it, hefting their MP5's in their hands and staring with cold, dead eyes at the task before them. They lived for this, and even though they looked ready to spark, whirr and die, they were looking forward to exchanging bullets with a few crack dealers. Suddenly, they all ducked down and covered their heads. Chris frowned. And then heard it. The bullets of a submachine gun, fired from a high window in the building, bounced off the road and the truck, forcing the SWAT team to sprint across to the forefront of the blockage and seek shelter. A bustle of twelve men running at once is not, even for a crackhead, a hard target. The crowd split as one of them caught a bullet, straightening him up to his full height like an electric shock before his body fell to the ground in a heap. Johnny leapt up, rested his Beretta on the hood of the patrol car, and fired back. The submachine gun bullets ceased and Johnny took cover again. He hadn't hit the gunman. Hell, nobody would've hit the gunman from Johnny's angle, but he'd sprayed the window with bullets and given his colleagues a three second window to get the fuck behind cover. Muller tossed his megaphone aside. Negotiations were out the window.
"Send in the SWAT team!" As the remaining eleven SWAT members made for the building, Chris and Johnny shot forward and dragged the wounded man to safety. Even before they had reached him, Chris had known the man was dead, but his dignity could still be saved. He'd only caught one bullet. No need to catch anymore, whether he was dead or not.

Michigan State Prison - Present Day

"Hey buddy, I can only wait like another ten minutes." The drivers words snapped Chris out of his reverie. He had been staring at the prison gates but not really taking them in, now that he was focused properly on them, he saw a young black man walking out, wearing a t-shirt and jeans that looked ten years out of style. That's because they were.



"This is him." Chris said, opening the door and stepping out. He pulled his coat tighter around him, trying to keep the cold out, and approached the man. His name was Craig Walker, and his surname was not coincidentally the same as Chris's. He was the younger brother of about four years. They hadn't seen each other in ten. As Chris neared, Craig recognised him. For a second, the younger brother stared, remembered and then he loathed. Turning sharply, he started off down the road.
"Craig, wait up!" Chris called, jogging to catch up with his sibling. He reached out to grab Craig's shoulder and stop him. Craig spun around again, shoving Chris violently away.
"Fuck you want, man!? I ain't got nothin' to say to your ass." He snapped, looking his brother up and down, as if weighing his strength just by vision. Chris said nothing in reply at first. He simply stood. He hadn't thought this out before, he'd just wanted to make things right.
"I just thought... you could use a ride. I'm still ya big brother." He finally said, gesturing toward the cab and waving Craig forward with his other arm. It wasn't going to be that easy. Ten years of loathing was not easily replaced by an offered ride. Craig guffawed, looked at the ground and shook his head.
"Ya unbelievable, man. Un-fuckin-believable." He said, turning on his brother and starting to walk away. Chris sighed, held out his arms as if in defeat and then tried again.
"Eh, I'm just tryin' to make shit right, bro. Gimme a fuckin' chance, huh? This shit wasn't easy for me neither, ya know!" He called, taking a couple of steps after Craig, who whirled around and advanced back, his chest heaving and his fists clenched.
"Hard for you!" He blasted, "How the fuck you gonna say that, nigga! You act like you the one who did the ten mother fuckin' years! You don't know shit 'bout hard times, bitch! You been free to think about that day, I been locked up in an eight by four, you son of a bitch, so don't fuckin' talk to me about hard times!" Chris nodded. His brother was right. Of course he was right. Chris knew he was right, but he still blasted back:
"What the fuck was I supposed to do, Craig!? I was a cop! It was my fuckin' job! How the fuck was I to know they'd drag you out that fuckin' crackhouse, huh!? Matter of fact, I had no reason to even think about you bein' in that place! I thought you was smart, Craig! I knew you weren't a blue boy but I didn't think for a god damn second you were a dope slinger! So don't make me out to be the bad guy here, punk, cos I was doin' what was right by me!" After that, they both fell silent for a while. Looking at each other. Both of them about ready to walk away from this. But there was something in Craig's eyes. Something he was thinking hard about. Something his brother had said.
"You was a cop?" He asked, his voice softed, "You ain't a cop no more?" He continued, his rage falling. Chris said nothing. He simply kept staring. He was still too mad to talk nicely and Craig saw this, so he went on, "What happened?" Now Chris replied. Not with words at first, but with actions. He started off toward the cab, then looked back and beckoned his brother.
"Come on." Craig hesitated a few seconds, then followed, climbing onto the backseat next to his brother. In silence, they drove back into the city.

REQUESTS:

1x NPC DRUG KINGPIN/DEALER - CRAIG WALKER


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu Feb 16, 2006 1:57 am 
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An hour or so, please.

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Professional RPing eh? Try pretentious, boring, and snobbish.
When a staffer says your piece looks great- don't believe them. They're pulling your leg, trying to get you to stay here. The real critics are long gone and stabbed.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu Feb 16, 2006 2:14 am 
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I'm very familiar with how you roleplay. Remember Billy Hart's funeral? I was there.
I was a bit surprised when I was reading New York City - 1996. I did not realize I was reading something which involves a SWAT thingy activity. I don't know what to call it. It was at this point when I got really confused- so I pushed myself to read on and finally got it. He he he... Surprised too.
I liked the manner they reunited. Subtle. Probably what I'd expect from two grown men who're brothers. I was anticipating them beating each other up when Craig has started to walk away from his Chris the second time, but I think the subtlity you applied is way more fitting in a none soap opera way. Short and sweet. Somehow reminded me of that one scene from Fast and Furious 2. I think that's the title, only your story involves two black relations, not one curly white boy and a bald burly black guy.
I'd prefer this piece one over that movie thing.

Go ahead and do what you must with little Craig. Feed him, take care of him, and love him like one of your own.

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Professional RPing eh? Try pretentious, boring, and snobbish.
When a staffer says your piece looks great- don't believe them. They're pulling your leg, trying to get you to stay here. The real critics are long gone and stabbed.


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