Hale's House of Boys

Hale's House of Boys

0 INK

Be wary of flirtatious smirks, boys, and don't bite off more than you can chew.

3,642 readers have visited Hale's House of Boys since CharlotteV created it.

Introduction



Image
Image
Image
Image
Image
Image
Image
Image
Image
♦♢♦♢♦Image
XXXXXXXXXXX━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♦♢♦♢♦
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX
XXXXXX

Deep in Chicago's Red Light District is the cities most well kept secret. Hale's House is an exclusive type of paradise, with a very specific menu catered to your hearts desires...as long as your tastes are on the masculine side, that is. Inside, you'll find the best boys in the business.

The house was opened in 1986 by Oliver J. Hale, who was only twenty-five years old at the time. He and his wife, Debbie Price, already owned a number of licentious clubs up and down the strip, but Hale's is more than it appears. Once you step through the front doors, your asked a question - up or down?

The basement holds the lounge, where an intimate atmosphere allows time for the clients to talk to the Boys and relax. The bar is well stalked and the cook often makes a specialty of the night. Upstairs, for those more particular with how they spend their nights, are the bedrooms. A floor run by the Rent Boys, it's usually much quieter. The rooms are soundproof, and often booked by appointment, but sometimes a little extra cash for a Boy downstairs might just get you in.

There's also the penthouse, but only those who need to know can get up that high. The security is tight, because most of the Boys live there. Each with their own accommodations.Life is good at Hale's, but even in a world fueled by the casualness of sex - passions run high. Friendships end, bonds strengthen, hearts break. Tensions run deep, family runs deeper, and at the end of the day. Well.


Boys will be boys.

♦♢♦♢♦━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
XXXXXXXXXXXXXImage♦♢♦♢♦
X
{Isaac Lisiewicz}
Image
Boyfriend || 24 || Francisco Lachowski || Wiley

{Greyson Ross}
Image
Dancer || 24 || Stephen James || Ivisbo


{Jordan Fox}
Image
Rent Boy || 19 || Lucky Blue Smith || J.D.

{Maximillion "Max" Evans}
ImageImage
Fuck Boy || 21 || Max Thieriot || CharlotteV

{Valentine "Val" Cervantes}
Image
Fuck Boy || 23 || Samuel Larsen || Bartholomew Finch



"Welcome to a world where red means go and your morals can be left at the door."

Toggle Rules

FIRST AND FOREMOST
WHILE THIS IS A SEX DRIVEN ATMOSPHERE, IT IS NOT A SEX DRIVEN RP. ITS A SLICE-OF-LIFE RP JUST WITH A TWIST.

This RP is tagged 'Adult' for-
  • The possibility that violence, language, substance abuse, or sexual situations will occur. Please do not join if you cannot be mature about any of those things.
  • Please do not join if you are under the legal age.

This RP is tagged 'Literate' for-
  • The expectations that posts will be no less than 300 words long, well written, and easy to follow.

No trolling, spamming, cybering/phonography
Keep the drama IC. Disrespect, hate speech/Intolerance, and continuous arguing between players will not be tolerated (IC DRAMA ENCOURAGED)
Do not discuss rape NO. EVEN WITH THE SUBJECT MATTER. THIS IS NOT OKAY. DON'T DO IT. (Literally fuck you if you fight me on this.)
Do not godmod

Explanations about what the 'roles' mean will be in the OOC
For that matter, if you're reading this, your reservation password is your favorite Arctic Monkeys song (if you don't have one, just put R U Mine). Also, don't be obvious. just throw it down at the bottom of your post without context.
If you have to leave, please just tell us. No hard feelings. Respect our time, we'll respect yours.
Please don't leave someone hanging in a post. If you know you're going to be busy, remove your character from a situation.

Reservations are posted in the OOC
To reserve a character supply me with their name, age, and a faceclaim (I'm trusting you).
There's a password. If you don't know it, shame on you for not reading the rules. You're rude.
Lol, no, you cannot make a female character.

Reservations will last no more than 48hrs without a decent WIP.
YES. Thanksgiving is Thursday. If you need an extension, ask for it, but I do need that WIP.


A REMINDER ON RPG RULES ON ADULT CONTENT
No cybering on any portion of the site, even in non-public areas.

This means in PM's as well. If you absolutely must continue a scene that gets too racy, then finish it off-site.

Adult content is permitted on RolePlayGateway. It must 1) be tagged appropriately, and 2) be collaboratively written so as not to clutter the story. Sexually explicit (kissing, fondling, etc.) interactions must be concluded immediately in the responding author's post and must be separated by at least 5 posts of other non-adult writing. Help keep RolePlayGateway smut-free by working together with your game's players to meet this requirement.

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 8 authors

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wiley
Image
Image


Isaacs lost interest before Jordans even gotten his mouth around the syllables. Words going in one ear and out the other. Boring.

"Some dude upset Max I think?" Jordan informs. Isaac doesn't care if his disinterest is showing in the slight hum he gives. Acknowledgment without furthering the topic. But apparently, the kid doesn't care that Isaac couldn't give two fucks. Studying the other with a critical eye, Isaac can tell theres more than that. Kids practically got his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Drug brain, the quickest way to loosen up a quivering tongue.

"I dunno man," Jordan mumbles but Isaac doesn't strain to catch his words. "Debbie's going to kick their asses."

"Debbie's not here." Isaac reminds quietly, pressing his tongue against the backs of his teeth in contemplation, knowing that this time of night is usually devoid of the queens tepid stare. But amused still at the prospect of her returning early and wiping the floor with the fighting fish stacked up by the bar. Theres too much riding on chance. Reminds him of Russian Roulette, a sensation like shock tickling up his spine. If a fight does break out Isaac wants to be witness to it. Like a junkie begging for a hit, its been a quiet few weeks since Violence has shouldered into his life with its heavy handed sweetness.

"I'm gonna find Oliver," Jordans voice just barely slips past the sudden, solid wall of dizzying blood lust thats stuck its claws back into the folds of his brain tissue. A memory of bones cracking under the pressure of a closed fist satisfying for but a moment. His bloods up, a reaction to the rooms tension and he wants to see fists flying against the odds. After a moment, he realizes though what Jordan has said. Off to find Oliver, who will most certainly break up the fight before its even hit a crescendo.

And just like that he's been doused. Flame gone but wick withstanding as he turns away from the raised voices. Long before they can consider him an eavesdropper. He can't even be bothered to turn back once Oliver rushes past him, looking harried as he goes. Its no shock that the voices subside, leaving a singular thought to swim over the backs of his eyelids each time he blinks; Lame. A missed opportunity to see if anyone here is really worth their salt. Isaac tempers the thoughts of how wrong it is that he had been practically wishing for a fight. How he's slipping back into that dangerous beast of a mindset.

Jordan is no longer in sight, likely floundering out in a riptide. Too far out to throw a Kisbee Ring. Isaac gets the fleeting thought to find him and show him what its really like to taste insanity. But he's not that motivated, has too many things to do and most of all is too weary to go on much longer. The nights here are long and wrought with writhing bodies. Isaac's on the easy side of things, doesn't have to deal with nightly showers and messy rooms. Not that he minds, rather, he prefers working the personable route.

Got too much pent up aggressions to take it as far as the bedrooms most nights, but sometimes, sometimes its okay to live a little. So long as he's got his mind out of the void.

After a long moment of staring at nothing at all he marches his way up the stairs, back to the penthouse. Bone weary when he slips past the security into the suite, and drags towards his room with no real purpose at all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz Character Portrait: Greyson Ross

0.00 INK

#, as written by J.D.
Image
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
Image
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙


By the time he's standing within a feet of Oliver he's already forgotten that Val asked him not to. Memory shot, an effect of too long spent with his head underwater. Drowning out the brain cells that he doesn't use anyways. All at once, the nerves get to him. He's not used to Oliver, not in the way that he's used to Debbie. He almost forgets what he's doing there altogether.

"Jordan?" Oliver prompts, as if they had been holding a conversation - and maybe they had been. Theres something like delight in the mans voice, and Jordan assumes its due to the fact that this is one of a handful of times they've ever talked face to face, without the buffer of the other boys between them. Jordan needs to reign in those stray side effects before they get out of hand, can't be outwardly showing his hands, not with the threat of his toys being taken away.

Jordan shakes from his thoughts before the silence can stretch out into concern. Its dangerous, this line he's standing on. A tightrope over the gaping maw of a canyon. Any moment he could fall, shattering into shards of glass at the bottom. "Oh uh," Jordan stumbles over his tongue, whats he to say anyhow. Theres some weirdo, make him leave. Sounds childish in a way, too much like a fear of nothing at all. But really, what more is there to expect from a neurotic mess.

"Val said to come get you?" He didn't, but Jordan doesn't remember that bit of the speech. It had been too many words strung together, leaking into an incoherent head. "Theres some guy - " Oliver is already standing, but he doesn't look overly concerned yet. Jordan reels in the desperate need to stumble away, out of arms reach. "Anything more specific?" Oliver teases, in good nature, but it makes the fluttering of anxiety spark in Jordan. His stance widens, defensive.

"Tall, Tattoo'd, intense." Jordan shrugs, chewing on his lip. The more he spoke the more interested Oliver looked. "Looked like Val was gonna pick a fight." He doesn't know him personally enough to say for sure, but it seemed that way at least. "Probably should have led with that kiddo," Oliver doesn't quite drop the smile but theres a sharper look to his face now, and Jordan knows that isn't his fault but it still feels that way. He's the one who delivered the news after all.

"By the bar," Jordan mutters but he's already on his way, clapping a hand on Jordans shoulder as he goes. And Jordan for the life of him does not let himself follow, wants nothing to do with whatever the hell is going on out there. But he does linger, even as guests trickle out in a steady stream and his coworkers begin to file their way up the stairs. Back to the penthouse for a rest before the next nights activities can resume. He waits until he knows that he can't anymore.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz Character Portrait: Greyson Ross

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ivisbo
Image

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz Character Portrait: Greyson Ross

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ivisbo
Image


Greyson Ross

“Wake up, cold sweat, scratching, itching
Trying to escape the skin that barely fit him.”


The smoke from his joint sent a plume out the window that mimicked the never-ending greyness above. It was dawn, the first light of day illuminating the scattering of snow across this ruined portion of the city. The nightlife had settled only an hour ago, leaving a discomforting stillness across a usually tumultuous neighborhood.

He wasn’t sure at what point it had snowed, he’d been nose deep in his own white powder as soon as he’d shut the door on Max and Val. He’d immediately needed to slip into the haze of drug and memory- his back against the musky box spring and head collapsed against the old mattress. There was a crack running across the ceiling that had descended along the wall and he was having a hard time remembering if it had existed when he was a resident of this room. All that was left was his bed and an old overturned box. He’d abandoned everything when he’d left three years ago, but obviously someone had not wanted his things lingering. There had been posters and photos on the wall that he could tell had been ripped down- scraps of color were still tacked up by pushpins. Everything had a layer of dust, so he knew that Hale’s didn’t even use this as a guest room… the abandoned space amongst a house filled with life sent a creeping shiver down his back. He'd assumed himself forgotten, but there was still a dusty space left for him here.

With thoughts still circling that crack creeping along the ceiling, he rose from his prone position as the sun pulled itself above the silhouetted buildings and ended up on the windowsill. Joint smoldering in hand, bare back and feet locking him against the molding wood, a position that was once so habitual to him he had moved without thinking.

Val had been quick to deposit him in this vacant space, so clearly provoked by his appearance and irritated by Oliver’s immediate acceptance. “I assume you still know where everything is”. Pissy for sure, Val’s voice had been calm but edged with a sort of malice Grey had once attempted to avoid. But he now found that contempt interested… and felt the need to see how far he could push the man before he lost this summoned control. Maybe a bad idea, in retrospect, as he needed the least amount of resistance on his return.

He probably should have just shut the door, but Val's anger had begged him to push just a tad further, “I mean” He’d sent a pitying look at the musky room and faked a cough, “It's pretty sad looking in there. And since they’re closing up downstairs, you two have nowhere else to be? I definitely still know where your rooms are”

"We have plenty of places to be, all of which are not here, with you. And If you show up at either if our rooms I’ll gut you" Val hadn’t even finished his sentence before Grey had shifted enough that he could see Max’s hidden form.

Max had always been easy for Grey. He was like a golden retriever- at some point he traded brain cells for pure excited friendliness. Their first meeting Grey had found him amusing instead of annoying… and that was really all Max needed. Most people (Val included) could handle tiny doses of this kid, but Grey found that naivety and pliability intoxicating. So he kept him around, sought out his attention- and he might have been the first person to ever to that for Max.

Grey exhaled smoke out the window and pictured Max's quivering form, barely hidden behind Val but momentarily safe from Greys icy eyes. Max was refusing to meet his gaze- he probably knew he couldn’t handle it. So Grey had settled for a small, gentle smile...a look that had earned him unwavering devotion three years ago.

<b>”Ah, no… but he’s right”</b>. Max’s voice had been a shaking mess, his tone tight as he tried to hide his discomfort. Grey'd decided to take pity on him- he'd needed another fix anyway and Val’s glare was threatening to set the hallway on fire.

“Well sleep tight boys. I’ll see you guys for pancakes in the morning” He'd managed to catch Max’s eyes with that comment, a little light flickering in there from their old routine. That was really all Grey needed to reaffirm how easy this would be.

God damn.

ImageHis joint was almost burning his fingertips by the time he stubbed it out and closed the window. The room was cold, a chilly sort of cold that only came from these snow-covered mornings. He pulled a sweatshirt out of his bag and kept the hood over his head before exiting for the warmth of the hallway.

The house was dead, the nocturnal routine of Hale’s ensuring that the early morning hours were reserved for returning sex workers and dead-to-the-world drunks. He assumed it was around 7 or 8am, but time seemed to slip away from him here.

Val was right. He knew where everything is, so much so that the Bisquik was still in the same place in the kitchen. Pans, measuring cups, spatula- everything still in its rightful spot, like Hales had stood still while he was gone. The only thing missing was maple syrup... and Grey had to convince himself that the missing ingredient wasn’t intentional. The syrup had been a <i>thing</i> back in the day and after seeing Max’s reaction, Grey was beginning to see that his ghost was a taboo subject here.

He made a stack, overloading a plate to fulfill their old ritual. The kitchen was a warm, buttery, pancake filled glow and Grey couldn’t help but feel a little sense of ‘home’. He usually wasn’t awake for this kind of breakfast anymore and rarely cooked for himself, choosing to either order in or skip eating entirely. This was all for appearances- to soothe the grumbling Hale house at his return. Grey was only slightly annoyed to find he was also comforted by the meal.

Pancakes safe in a warming-up oven for the rest of the house, he took his over to the table. A few beer cans and ash tray lay out on a table that looked sticky to the touch. Grey ignored it, avoided putting his elbows on the dirty surface, and pulled another joint out of his pocket.

The house was still as he ate slightly, cindering weed in one hand and fork in the other. Grey anticipated someone would rise early- none of the routines here were ever entirely synchronized- he was damn excited to see who it would be. Maybe that little white-haired fuckable thing he’d seen eyeing him like the last drop of water last night? Hopefully, it wouldn’t bee the Queen Bitch, as he needed a little more coke in his system before he dealt with her. Oliver would be easy... but he was really hoping he'd hear the hurried footsteps of his old golden shadow. The pancakes were really for him, and Val, and appeasement for the years gone. He knew it would take more then that to eradicate the shadow of his ghost, but it was a start. He certainly didn't need curious eyes following his every move once he started pushing.

Max would be a fun addition to an already nostalgic morning and Grey decided that if he didn't show up soon, he'd have to bring a few pancakes to his room.

Grey took a drag, smiled, and exhaled, mingling the striking smell of marijuana with the warmth of the pancakes.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy Character Portrait: Greyson Ross

0.00 INK

xxImage
═══════════════════════════
═══════════════════════════
Image
═══════════════════════════




Max doesn’t sleep.

He could blame it on the A.D.D, if he doesn’t take his meds there’s no reason for his brain to shut down. He could rationalize it that way. It’s his head, not his heart. But it’s a lie, because his heart is broken and he’s staring at the shattered pieces trying to remember how to put them back together again.

His window frame was broken once. Would just fall down if he tried to put it up. Max had said he’d call a handyman but Grey had told him not to worry, he’d fix it. He couldn’t, he’d eventually just nailed the damn thing shut. Max had been upset as hell but hadn’t ever had the time to change it. After Grey had left, he’d admitted it was going to stay that way.

There’s a poster in the corner of the room that isn’t his. It’s buried under others that are, but that one is torn at the top. On the back of it, he and Grey had played about five hundred rounds of tic-tac-toe while they were both a few joints in. (The only drug that got through Debbie’s policy was marijuana. Most of them agreed it shouldn’t be illegal anyway.)

There’s a pillow case that was Grey’s tucked under his mattress, a pair of socks hidden away in his drawer, a book on his shelf that he’s not even sure Grey ever read that was stuffed with his photos, and a motorcycle helmet balancing on his desk. Grey’s voice swims through his mind, clear as day, “you'd look good on it, try it out".

Snippets of a life he’d once had. Pieces that he’d stolen when it had all come crashing down. He remembered destroying Grey’s room with Val. Taking it apart piece by piece until it resembled nothing of the man that had once occupied it. Because it was too hard to leave it that way. Like Grey was coming back.

It’s snowing outside. Max loves the snow.

He turns his back on the window and pulls his covers over his head. His bed is soft as fuck, he really splurged on it once he started making good money. But when he buries his nose in the sheets it just smells like him. And he resents the fact that he suddenly misses months of being buried in Grey’s bed. Of soaking up that scent until it was gone.

He should have slept with Val. He should have begged and pleaded not to be left alone. Max was never good with being alone.

He throws the blankets off and pulls himself out of bed, doesn’t bother to put a shirt on or change out of his pajama pants, just runs his fingers through his hair a few times. It’s fucking early, eight in the morning. Most of the house would still be sleeping, morning was a deadzone for people who worked the night. But Max can’t sleep, and there’s video games in the livingroom.

He wishes Isaac were up, so maybe he could pick a fight. Get some other emotion rolling through his body to replace this shit that hurtshurtshurts. He’d even take Jordan’s company. They weren’t really close, but Max would damn near pay to look into blue eyes that didn’t hold him in a vice grip. That didn’t rip him bare to his soul and take fucking control of it.

He needed Val. But Val had a meter of energy he could allot to Max at any given time and with Grey back in the picture, back in their house, back in their lives, Max knew better than to waste that energy. He’d save it until he couldn’t stand without it.

He remembered Grey’s smile just hours ago. Small, gentle, the same even on a face that had a sharper jawline than in his memories. Grey had never found him annoying. Had never run out of energy to give him. Max closed his eyes tightly and rested his forehead against his door, his hand resting on the curve of the knob. His chest was tight and his bones were heavy. It’d been three long years since he hadn’t felt like living.

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he can sneak downstairs and get some whiskey. Drink himself silly before any of the staff members realize what he’s done. Before he has to come back and share with the others. Maybe if he gets just drunk enough, he can pretend like he’s okay.

He opens his door and pushes himself out into a living space as quiet as he’d expected, but blood rushes through his ears when only three steps in he realizes what he’s smelling. Pancakes. He’d hardly thought Grey was serious, much less that he’d be awake this early.

Max isn’t sure if it’s curiosity or masochism that draws him towards the kitchen but the fact of the matter is that one is just as deadly as the other. He finds Grey at the table, occupying a seat that had long ago stopped being his, joint in one hand, fork in the other, stack of pancakes in front of him. The nostalgia hits Max in the stomach like a cannonball to a pile of bricks. Autopilot says he should be bouncing on his toes, pushing himself into the space between Grey and the table to balance on his lap, a ‘good morning’ in the form of a shotgun kiss that tastes like maple syrup.

Maple syrup. They don’t have any. Max had thrown it out the goddamn window, and no one had had the balls to buy more since. “Let’s literally go fuck right now, after we eat. Or here. During breakfast. Maple syrups gotta be a kink somehow.” Val had been so frustrated, Grey had been so amused. Max had been…

Sweet tasting shotgun kisses were a thing of the past, and Grey’s lap was no longer a place Max should want to occupy. He should have stayed in his room. He should have asked Val to let him stay with him. But he’s in too deep now.

“That pancake mix isn’t yours,” he mutters as he drifts into the kitchen, back tense and hands shaking. They used to all three sit on that end of the table. Max had carved their initials on the underside of it once, after the first time they’d all had a good night. He was pretty sure it was still there.

Max fucking loves pancakes, and he hovers over the pile staying warm, wondering what kind of hell he’d put himself through if he chose to take one. He could, and just go back to his room, shut the door, lock it.

He thinks it says something about how much he hates himself that he grabs a plate and fills it up before heading to the table. He sits as far from Grey as he can get, puts his feet on the edge of his seat, knees pressed against wood. Distance is good, he thinks, but the downside is that from here he can see Grey. It’s not the low lighting of the bar or the shadows of a darkened bedroom. It’s morning light, and Grey is just as handsome as he ever had been. When Max had known him, he’d been smaller, softer around the edges, only his arms covered in tattoos. But even with a sweatshirt on, Max could see the additions to his bulk, to the ink that covered his entire neck, to the sharper definitions in his face, the longer hair.

Max jerks his gaze away before he gets caught in those goddamn eyes and shoves a pancake in his mouth.

He’d thought Grey was dead. With every fiber of his being. He’d watched the news for almost a year, waiting for his body to be found. He never imagined he’d be sitting here, across from him, again. He never imagined that his heart would be so weak that he would want to, while his brain was telling him to run.

View All »Arcs

Arcs are bundles of posts that you can organize on your own. They're useful for telling a story that might span long periods of time or space.

There are no arcs in this roleplay.

View All » Create New » Quests

There are no quests in this roleplay.

Events

Soon™.

Game Master Controls

Welcome home, Promethean. Here, you can manage your universe.

Arcs

Arcs are bundles of posts from any location, allowing you to easily capture sub-plots which might be spread out across multiple locations.

Quests

You can create Quests with various rewards, encouraging your players to engage with specific plot lines.

Add Setting » 1 Settings for your players to play in

Settings are the backdrop for the characters in your universe, giving meaning and context to their existence. By creating a number of well-written locations, you can organize your universe into areas and regions.

Navigation

While not required, locations can be organized onto a map. More information soon!

Add Group » 0 Factions to align with

There are no groups in this roleplay!

Collectibles

By creating Collectibles, you can reward your players with unique items that accentuate their character sheets.

Events

You can schedule events for your players to create notifications and schedule times for everyone to plan around.

The Forge

Use your INK to craft new artifacts in Hale's House of Boys. Once created, Items cannot be changed, but they can be bought and sold in the marketplace.

Notable Items

No items have been created yet!

The Market

Buy, sell, and even craft your own items in this universe.

Market Data

Market conditions are unknown. Use caution when trading.

Quick Buy (Items Most Recently Listed for Sale)

Open Stores

View All » Add Character » 12 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Max Evans
Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes
Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy
Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz
Character Portrait: Greyson Ross

Newest

Character Portrait: Greyson Ross
Greyson Ross

"Formula for success; violence, drugs, and sex"

Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz
Isaac Lisiewicz

"Sex, drugs, and Rock n Roll have nothing on me."

Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy
Samuel Jordan Foxworthy

"Don't worry, I'll take real good care of you."

Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes
Valentine Cervantes

"Lets play a game, I promise, theres no murder or maiming involved."

Character Portrait: Max Evans
Max Evans

"I've got a great ass and I'm blonde. You'll be surprised what that gets me around here."

Trending

Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes
Valentine Cervantes

"Lets play a game, I promise, theres no murder or maiming involved."

Character Portrait: Greyson Ross
Greyson Ross

"Formula for success; violence, drugs, and sex"

Character Portrait: Max Evans
Max Evans

"I've got a great ass and I'm blonde. You'll be surprised what that gets me around here."

Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy
Samuel Jordan Foxworthy

"Don't worry, I'll take real good care of you."

Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz
Isaac Lisiewicz

"Sex, drugs, and Rock n Roll have nothing on me."

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Samuel Jordan Foxworthy
Samuel Jordan Foxworthy

"Don't worry, I'll take real good care of you."

Character Portrait: Valentine Cervantes
Valentine Cervantes

"Lets play a game, I promise, theres no murder or maiming involved."

Character Portrait: Isaac Lisiewicz
Isaac Lisiewicz

"Sex, drugs, and Rock n Roll have nothing on me."

Character Portrait: Max Evans
Max Evans

"I've got a great ass and I'm blonde. You'll be surprised what that gets me around here."

Character Portrait: Greyson Ross
Greyson Ross

"Formula for success; violence, drugs, and sex"


Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » Hale's House of Boys: Out of Character

Discussions

  • Topics
    Replies
    Views
    Last post

Most recent OOC posts in Hale's House of Boys

There have been no posts in the OOC topic for this roleplay!

cron