Leo Hines's Story

L's eyes fluttered open from the hardwood floors and his glance met the beams supporting the ceiling of the base. Unlike other people, he didn't have a home outside the building, was a very early morning person, and a terrible night person. He let out a deep sigh and stared up with open eyes, mind drifting off in thought, thinking of the treaty that today would bring.
The Poisons are definitly going to break the treaty. Leo was always a pessimist first.
With their hot-headed leader it's to be expected. But it equally makes sense for The Sirens to break the contract. They're obviously a very tight-knit group of females but it's highly unlikely to think of them actually getting along with anyone, The Keys are the mannerly type, the type who doesn't wish to get touched by them, while The Poison leader still has that aforementioned erratic pattern of violence and hot-headedness. What of The Keys? It's possible that they abhor the rest of the gangs for their lack of everything gentlemen-like. They might actually destroy us. Maybe The Sirens will. Or The Poisons. Perhaps The Bullets will.

He pondered that last lonely thought for a little while. Through this contract any gang could destroy the other three easily but to what end? What mattered if one group reigned supreme? Richard Grant would still destroy them and fighting each other would only be making that easier for him.
It was surprising to think that Grant had never considered them a factor or perhaps he had. Maybe he had already sent his men undercover. Perhaps he thought everyone is going destroy each other. Matter of fact everyone was going to destroy each other.
L would admit that he was one of the first advocators of the idea of overthrowing Richard Grant if anyone asked what he thought of it.

After half an hour of laying on the ground he caught a glimps of the sunrise from a wndow and the bright warm orange hue that surrounded.
It was beautiful.
Guess that's what finally made him get up and move towards the kitchen. He was the only one in the living room of the base so it was good to cook breakfast. Today's a special day; when the treaty will be signed upon with the Sirens, Keys and Poisons. Something sweet...pancakes. So half an hour would pass before he could create four plates with stacks, each topped with a healthy amount of syrup, L's own kind that's basically boiled suger distilled, a creation that normally satisfied his own sweet tooth desires. In front of each plate was indidual pieces of paper that read: "Red" "Dark" and "Tien" messily scrawled as if someone was writing with their left hand but not before shattering ever bone. Writing was just too hard to grasp for Leo.

"What else...what else?" He had said to himself in confusion but then remembered he had to look presentable in the meeting. He found a suit that he hid underneath the sink and put it on, uncomfortable with the unusual tightness of the tuxedo and the tie (it was a clip-on), but he decided to bear it out and might as well be used to it. So he sat on the contemporary sofa and held his own plate of pancakes in one hand and a fork in another. It took no time to finish the meal but he still savoured every sweet moment of its existence. Terribly tempted to take the other plates, L found himself pulling a familiar book off a shelf, The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, an old book with weathered yellow pages.

He dropped his plate in the sink and sat in a contemporary chair, knees up to his chest, slightly hunched over, and started to continue reading where he left off. Maybe it would take his mind off the matter and how despite this was a treaty it wasn't going to treated as such. That in the end, the Bullets were going to ally strongly with the Poisons, a position L can't tell is beneficial or harmful. Some people, regular Bullets, started to arrive one by one as Leo held the book close to his face and large eyes went left-to-right on pages. It'd been amusing to find the expression on the other's faces to discover that breakfast was made for them, it wasn't a regular thing, but Leo was just too drawn into the worn-out pages and black ink to care for their reactions or the looks on their faces.
Oh Quasimodo, you poor, poor, bastard.

Buck rolled over in his bed, groaning loudly. His back popped, and his bones creaked as he sat up - his fedora still latched to his scalp. He scratched his chest lazily, rolling his opposite shoulder as he looked around the room. It was... very bland. The walls didn't even have paint. Why paint a house to look good if only you see it, right? He yawned, tossing his feet over the edge of his bed. He reached under the brim of his hat, and rubbed his eyes, looking out the slatted window. It was morning. Moreso, the morning of a new day. The gangs, rivals since they had formed, were joining together. Frankly, as one of the Key's oldest supporters, he hated the idea. He'd taken a shot at some of those other gang members, and he knew that they knew that he took potshots at them. He'd probably be heckled. Although.... frankly, he didn't give a damn. They'd have to get over it like he would.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Riiiight..." He murmured to himself, in the glowing dawn of the day rising.

Buck walked over the clothing rack he had nearby, his suits hung neatly. He'd pick one randomly; they all were identical anyhow.... He began to dress himself. He pulled his stark black trousers up to his waist, and buckled the suspenders to his trousers. The white dress shirt came over next, covering Buck's aging, semi-muscular chest. He pulled the suspenders over his shoulders, and clasped them in place, before pulling on his dress jacket.... Before he took it off again. He moved over to the end table next to his bed, and opened the drawer. The black leather holster seemed to gleam as he picked up the Python his father had gotten so long ago for him. The thing was antiquicated in it's time; it was worth a fortune now. But Buck wouldn't let this thing leave his fingers dead. He'd wrap the belted holster around his waist, at a reverse wear - he'd have to crossdraw. But it kept people from sneaking up behind him, and taking his weapon. He walked back over to his dress jacket, and slipped it on again. It covered up his revolver seemlessly. It was a phantom in his clothing, and untill he made his first shot... that's what it'd be.

Buck then went to his bathroom, and retrieved the black steel razor-bladed knife that resided there. A little known fact - his close range weapon really was his shaving tool. The weapon had a folded steel blade; sharp enough to peel skin off a man with more than a little force. Buck used the knife to give a few touch-ups to his gruff, wooly facial hair, making sure his beard was trimmed neat. He always wondered why he paid more attention to his facial hair than his actual hair, which was... actually quite messy. Noone ever saw his face. Not even the other Keys had seen it. But maybe, it was because he always wore his fedora. He diverted his thoughts back to shaving.

The old fellow walked out of the bathroom, folding his blade, and sticking it into his pants pocket. He gave his face a rub over, to make sure he'd not nicked himself anywhere. Confirming his smooth face, he decided it was time to grab something to eat...and fulfill another need. Buck would move his way to the kitchen of his home. It wasn't much. There wasn't even an actual stove - just a little kitchenette, really. But what he was after wasn't much of food right now. On the small round table in the middle of the room was a pack of cigarettes. Buck went straight for them, opening the pack, and withdrawing the last crinkled smoke from it. He felt around his suit... and eventually found a siver lighter. All of his suits had at least one in them. He flipped the lighter open, holding his fine smokable with his lips, ignited the end. He took a few puffs, making sure it was lit. The cheap ones either burnt like matches, or didn't stay lit. Assuring flame was present, he took a long drag, before setting the pack down. He enjoyed the soothing feeling of nicotine reentering his system after a light sleep. It took the edge off of the morning...

Buck went to his small icebox, and opened it up, pulling some of the contents out. It was last night's dinner, a bold soup with chicken. He looked at soup's container, before putting it back over a stove eye, and twisting the dial. Instantly, the stove kicked on, the eye quickly begining to glow with heat. Buck sat back in one of the two seats at the table, taking another drag on his cigarette. He looked back to the table, on which a small plastic ashtray sit.. in which, he tapped the monochrome ash into. He'd nestle the bent smoke into one of the 'fingers' of the ashtray, and moved back to the stove. The soup was bubbiling with new life, which made the rough-neck flip the stove's dial to off, and switching it to a cool eye. Buck looked around... and instead of reaching for the bowls... he'd go for the glasses. He'd pick out a moderate sized glass, and poured some of the hot soup into it. While Buck dressed nice, he was still a roughneck by life. Soup in a bowl took two hands to eat. He'd sip it from a glass, so he had one free hand. To smoke. To defend himself. To pinch his nose to help him get over the taste of his father's home-made soup recipe. He chuckled lightly. He never really liked it. It wasn't BAD, but it wasn't good either. But it kept his backbone from touching his belly, and it was filling and nutritous.

And that's what he did. Buck sat in the chair, and sipped on his cup-o-soup, occasionally chewing a bit of chicken, or a vegetable. His hand went back to his cigarette and took another puff. He sat there... eating (drinking?), smoking.... thinking. He was taking his day in strides at breakfast.
Ain't gonna be a great reception at the begining of our joining. Noone's gonna get a long in the begining. Especially me. He reasoned. He looked at his glass of soup. Hate the fuckin' Siren's the most. Bunch of girls in bright clothes. With whips. I remember when I could pay to sleep with those kind of people. Not that I would've. Too upstart. They think they can do everything. 'Don't underestimate us. Don't underestimate us. Don't underestimate us.' is all they say when you try to say something negitive.

"Those who claim they're being underestimated, often underestimate their opponent's ability to estimate their estimates." He said to himself, taking another long draw on his cigarette.

Poison. Rockers. They're also pretty upity. They're not in your face about it though. And they seem to have tact; instead of running in screaming 'Don't underestimate us because we're girls', they seem to have rational thought.' Buck reasoned with himself. They at least stay under the radar untill. I think I'll have the least conflict with them.

"Yeah. I'll eventually pick out a reason to hate them too." He said with a monotone voice, taking a heavy glug of his soup-drink.

Bullets. Gangers. Rappers. Breakdancers. All rap and hip hop is 'Sex, drugs, sex, beating women, sex, drugs, sex, selling women'. And then half of it claims that it's their real life. Not something I'd listen to, honestly... They're like the Poison fellows though. Other then their choice in music, I can't say that they're all that bad.

"Maybe I just hate The Sirens a lot. When I sit down and think about it... the other two aren't that bad." Buck said. He pulled another drag from his cigarette. Or... at least tried to. It only took him a second to find out he was sucking on a smoldering filter and had just finished breakfast. Buck would place his cup in the sink, and push the butt of the cigarette into his pack. He'd go back into his bedroom, and bring out two more packs. And as he was heading out the door, he'd reach over to an umbrella rack, littered with not only umbrellas... but his rapier. Yet something else to go around his waist. He picked up the scabarded weapon, and held it in his hand. Really, it was modernly useless. The rapier was used for gentleman's duels. The colichemarde, and estocs were more commonly seen in real combat. The only thing more uncommon was a foil. But Buck opened up his jacket, and unbuckled his belt. He slid the sheath for his weapon on upside down. His own rapier was very special. It had a latch on the scabbard, which made sure it wouldn't fall out on it's own. It's blade was shortened. It was overall fairly short for a rapier, really. But that's what he needed. With the blade sticking up, he could tuck it behind his back, behind one of his suspender straps. It held the blade close, against his back. The soft leather also dampened the shape. It was quite concealed.

Buck pushed open his door, stepping into the outside world. He turned to lock the place, before setting off into the ruined streets. He was a very short walk away from the Key's hideout....And on his way there, he would peel open his new pack of smokes, pulling out the first crinkled cigarette.

[centre]Misery Dharcholme[/centre]

Misery woke up on the floor of the room she is using. She yawned sleepily streching her whole body out. As she left her room she remembered that she had a meeting today with the other gangs the keys, the Sirens and the the poisons. Misery groaned and said aloud

" I suppose I should go and get ready for."

She walked back to her room. Misery looked in her wardrobe, she was not going to wear her usual out fit. Instead she looked out one of her two suits. Misery went for the black one. she got dressed, the trousers showed of he hips and the sour jacket was low cut by she had a white top on under it, she also put on a pair if heels in which she could still run in if she had too. After all she was going to make a treaty with three other gangs she did not trust, but she was sure none of them trusted her or her gang.

She was dressed and she was now deciding who she was taking with her and she knew she was taking Evader for sure and also Tyrell. She started to think about the other gangs

The Sirens: A Bunch of whip swing pink girls, Misery did not mind pink but she also thought that there is a tolerable amount of pink and to much pink and the sirens go overboard with. The amount of the Color they wear could repaint the whole Bullets hideout and almost makes misery abut sick. And she trusted them the least
The Keys: the classical gang she never had much problem with them so she never had a reason to dislike them but she still did not trust them, yes more than the siren but still little.
The Poisons: this was the gang that always left her wanting to know more she trusted them the most out if the other two gangs but still not as much as her own gang.

She could not shake the felling that one if them would do something to jeopardize this treaty. Misery walked out of her room and walked to Tyrell's room knocked on the door and shouted

"Hey Tyrell, wake up you lazy bag of bones we have business to take care of."

Misery stood there waiting for him to answer the door as this was his room with his stuff and she did not like her privacy being intruded on so she would not do intrude on anyone else. She stood there with her hands in her pockets and her head down with her long red hair falling over her face covering her blue eyes.

"Oh my Jesus! Misery!", Tyrell mumbled under his breath as he awoke. He pulled his head up and slowly moved his power ranger sheets off of him. He had went to bed late last night despite knowing he had to wake up for the treaty. Like usual he made his way to the door slow and dreadful as he opened the door. Misery's red hair was all over her face. "Misery, why do you look like you just got in a fight with your hair dresser?" He raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head as he made his way to the bathroom.

As he brushed his teeth he pondered on the treaty. Hopefully no one would break it.  He had never been a negative person but he would have his ears raised for any sort of rotten plotting. He had no hatred for any particular gang but a very loyal bullet. So he guessed he sort of had a vendetta towed all the other gangs. He had little trust for anyone besides his gang. It took him a while to trust anyone besides Misery. 

He walked to his closet, tooth brush in mouth, and Deodorant in hand. He opened the closet door and thought of what to wear. Maybe his usual purple suit that he happened to have about 10 off and his purple shoes. He quickly dressed himself as he made his way back into his bathroom. Tyrell put away his brush and deodorant as he made his way past Misery. "So what's for breakfast?" He flashed his teeth at Misery. 

"AND DON'T COME BACK!" Red stumbled out of the underground club, and shoved the bouncers off his arms. He glared at the woman who stood in the entrance, as her guards slouched back to her. "Not like I want to return to this shithole." The club owner crossed her tattooed arms, furious expression becoming even more wrathful; "You wrecked my club Red! A total massacre! I swear- If I ever see you again, I will KILL you!" She spat the words at him like poison. Red's scowl turned up into a smirk; "Yeah Lisa, you and the hundreds of others who want my hide... Well," He met her eyes lazily, saluting the woman with bloody fingers; "I'll be off now. It was fun." "RED! Shove it up your-" He laughed over her tantrum while he walked away; "You'll miss me."

It's been too long since the last time I was in a bar fight. Red smiled down at his arm, the gash across it seeping blood Another scar to add to the collection. He shrugged off his jacket under a flickering street lamp, and removed his white tee shirt. The streets were dark, and silent; the sun only just showing it's rays over the city's horizon. Red wound the cloth around the wound, pulling the makeshift bandage tight with his good hand, and his teeth. How was I supposed to know she was his girlfriend? ... Shit. The skirmish had escalated; people racketing each other up, 'till the whole club was fighting. Strangers hitting each other just to hit shit. The bass playing in the background, chicks screaming, bottles breaking over heads. Insane. Red's smile faded, as he pulled on his jacket over his bare chest. Another club he would never return to. Didn't really matter- nothing lasted long here. Slitted eyes took in his surroundings as he ran his fingers through his hair. He was forgetting something. Taking a deep breath of cold morning air, he tried to rid his head of the fog that always settled over it after... Drinking, and partying, and drinking... ~Yo ho ho, and we drown our woes...~ In alcohol. Lots of it. Bless the damn stuff. It was such a release, not having to act civil... It brought out the best in him.

"Ugh, what was it?" Red shuffled down the cracked sidewalk, hands in his pockets, staring down at the cotton bandage that was slowly turning red. "Goddamn it. I can't remember." I hate when I can't remember... Dark green eyes regarded the brightening horizon with disgust, his strides becoming slightly longer. Better get "home" before Dark gets fussy. She always had something she wanted him to do. To "fix". Usually if she told him, he forgot; and she had the nasty habit of putting him in his place. That place wasn't fun. If she threatens my beer again- I am moving out. Red liked to believe he had a choice, but the truth was; he owed her, and her gang, for saving his sorry ass two years ago. They gave him lodging, some cash, food ... and put his "skills" to work. Whatever morals he still held kept him coming back to them; like a dog on a leash. That, and he got bored far too easily.

The long trek took him to the better part of the city; the cleaner, less chaotic part. The main reason being it was Bullet territory, and anyone who valued their reproductive capabilities knew not to fuck with the Bullets. Red's mouth twisted; Step out of line, and they just might send their psycho dog after you... He wasn't too fond of being told what to do, but then again, the restraints he worked within were often blurred. As long as he got his, Red was fine with doing their dirty work. He ascended the stairs slowly, shoving the key into the lock, and announcing himself by throwing the door open with a bang.
Red strode into the dimly lit room, his eyes going straight to the table as a sweet smell assaulted his nostrils. "Someone make pancakes?" He crossed over to the plates, staring down at the flapjacks, then across to the tactician. His stomach rumbled. "Thanks man... What's the occasion?" He pulled out a seat and sat down heavily, taking a stab at a pancake. Whoa, sugar much? After he had scarfed the last bite, he stood, taking the plate to the sink and dumping it there. His stomach growled again. Ugh. Don't know if that was smart... If this comes back to haunt me, I'ma be pissed... Red glanced awkwardly over at the thin man who sat strangely in his chair reading. L creeped him out. On a daily basis. But... He did have a strange sort of kindness when it came to his fellow Bullets.

Crap, that's right...! Dark was going to be so cross with him. Red groaned internally. Some sort of intense shit was going down today; What was it? A meeting? Right... A meeting of Gangs. He sighed, stripping off his jacket, careful of his injured arm. Damn. I'm not drunk enough yet for this sort of thing... Not that he couldn't give less of a damn about the other gangs; he hadn't actually had any encounters with them in the past, but why now all of a sudden? He would be walking in blind- everything about "the others" he had to go on was basically stories, and background information that L had provided him with over the years. Sure, there had been some skirmishes with them once in a while- but nothing huge. Nothing that required a "Meeting".
Eh, whatever. Maybe some fun will come of it. Throwing his jacket over his shoulder he walked into the hall, on the way to the bathroom, stoping at the sight of the Bullet's Leader. "Oh, 'scuse me Boss..." Red flashed her a smile, maneuvering past her; half naked and splattered in blood- something actually quite normal for him. He winked, a teasing glance; "Like what you see?" Ever the flirt, Red... No self-control. Well of course. Being serious is no fun...

The man shut the bathroom door, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat. "... I look like hell..." He sighed to his reflection, then stripped as he pulled off the makeshift bandage and stepped under the hot torrent, letting it wash the night away. Red dried himself quickly with a towel; ruffling freshly-washed hair, before opening the cabinet quickly and pulling out a roll of bandages. Running low... Going to have to get some more later... He wound the bandage around his arm with an expert hand, covering the wide, but shallow gash. Meh. It was decent, at least he didn't have to stitch it this time. Grabbing his discarded clothes, Red made his way to his room. Let's see... that shirt, those pants, a jacket, and.. a tie. Should be good enough for the Boss... He laughed to himself quietly; Gotta keep up appearances... Wouldn't want them thinking I'm a street boy. Red didn't bother adjusting the loose tie as he narrowed his eyes in the mirror. "I can't wait to play this new game."

Tein flashed his pearly white at her and she just turned up the corner of her mouth.

"I don't really know what we are having, but first I will have to go and get Red up "

Dark then saw Red run by he and said

"Oh, 'scuse me Boss...".................."Like what you see?"

She groaned at him and said

" Well now we knew hes up and now I wonder If L's up..."

She had a thoughtful look upon her face and she was walking towards the kitchen. When she got there she saw L there, sitting in a suit and and his legs at his chest. This boy had never really scared her just sort of creepy but Dark did not really mind. She looked around the Kitchen and she smelt pancakes, She looked at L and smiled a little but enough to say thank you. Dark walked over to the table and sat down, took of her dress jacket and ate the pancakes. She looked at L and then round the room. She said to L

" It is good to see that you are wearing a suit"

She looked back to the plate she was almost finished. when she was in fact done she picked up her plate, walked over to the sink and washed the plate as she was not in the habit of letting anyone wash her dishes. She dried it and put it back in its cupboard. Dark got a drink of water and sit back down as today off all days was not the time to have a drink in her opinion, if all went well today then she will side down and have a good drink with the gang. Dark took a sip of the water and the said to both L and Tein

" What do think about the treaty we are 'hoping' to make?"

Dark knew what she thought but she wanted to hear the thoughts off her gangs as most off all her decisions are actually based on what the group think, even if the group did not realize it but She did take a hell of alot more consideration for her gang. Dark lifted her arm and laid her head on her hand and wrist waiting for their answers.

Tien knocked on the bathroom door. "Your alive once again, I don't see how you do it Red". He made his way down the stairs as he heard Dark's question. 

"What do think about the treaty we are 'hoping' to make?"

Before answering the question, Tien ate his pancakes in less than a minute and put the plate in sink for someone to wash and put up later. He sat down by Dark and put his feet up in Red's chair, despite the fact he knew he would be made when he came down. He wasn't scared of Red, and if he asked nicely he would move.

"Well I really don't care much about any of the other gangs in the treaty. I only care about how it affects us". Tien turned to L and thanked him with his fork in the air. Tien began talking to Dark again. "I think maybe one of the other gangs will break it, but that just means we have to be ready for anything. Not to mention lesser gangs trying to break it up". Tien knew how much Dark depended on the gang to make decisions sometimes. So he tried his best to cover all of his doubts. 

 

As Leo read his book, the door opened with a bang, and he turned his head so the corner of his eye could catch the figure. Red. Evander, his name actually was though. L remembered the very first time he had seen him, lying on the couch across his chair, looking pretty messed. He remembered that day specifically because it was when he had (unsuccesfully) stolen a bunch of painkillers from the doctor to quench his morphine addiction. The doc promised not to tell anyone but promises are cheap. When he left, L's center of interest became Unconscous Red. Only so many hours can go by before even L can get tired of staring. So he started to poke the limp body with the end of a broom. It was fun.

For a short while of course. Imagine Red's surprise to find a creepy skinny guy staring over his body. The rest was history. The only problem was now conscious Red who L can't understand his routine of drink, fight, flirt, get hurt doing one of the three and repeat for some strange reason. Unconscious Red was so much easier to understand: He just...layed there. That didn't mean he hated Red. Matter of fact he secretly envies the bastard, for his strength, suave with the ladies, handsomeness, about everything that L didn't have. Did that give L reason to hate him? No, he decided. It's not like Red is intentionally like that just to rub it in L's face BUT if he was...well, he was doing too much of a good job.

Wait...he said something...something about an occasion? Oh well. Just as his eyes were going to back on the book; he heard Dark's voice. He sighed and threw the book behind him quickly. L knew that when Dark was up, everyone else would be up soon, and all the sweet quiet time will be over. Dark was a beautiful woman, the sort that you'd expect would be the daughter of a wealthy man, not the leader of a notorious gang but it hadn't affect her beauty either way. It was strange how she was slightly withdrawn from the gang and took comfort in books, just like L. He remembered seeing her in a fight only once, kicking the enemy with such a fluid movement of her leg as if she was slicing the air in half. She complimented his suit, L didn't say anything but his lips were slightly curved upwards, and he nodded. Dark nearly finished her pacakes when she asked what they thought of the treaty.

L turned his head to only just notice Tien. Interested in what Tien wanted to say, he stayed quiet, and wondered if gold or rubbish was going to take his voice.
...Rubbish. L thought, smiling back at the paradox of Tien, who's worries was of someone breaking the treaty.
"No one's going to break the treaty." L announced. "It sends the wrong message: 'Richard Grant is not our enemy but everyone else is.' It's suicide if a single gang breaks the treaty of four because the remaining three has enough man power and capability to easily wipe out the single defiant gang." He stopped for a minute and started to rock his body back and forth.
"The treaty is the easy part and I whole heartedly support it. It's what happens afterwords that counts. Let's say a year has passed and we haven't accomplished anything. Do we go back to fighting each other or extend the treaty? What if we liberted a Politia controlled city? Or a country? What if, despite all odds and bounds of logic, all of us take down Richard Grant? What happens then? Unite the gangs together? Kill each other and winner takes over the city, country, possibly the world?"

L paused, took a deep breath, and walked back into the kitchen. He pulled out a low drawer and layed his weapons inside out on the table. There was a thin clclidrical shaped grenade with multiple holes in the body, a butterfly knife, and a trenchknife with a small sheath that is going to hang from his belt. As he hid each weapon under his clothing, except the trenchknife which hung on the waist of his dress pants, he spoke again: "Assuming that we don't die during the process. I don't know why lesser gangs are trying to stop the treaty unless maybe they were being payed by someone as an incentive. I'm positive we've already got Richard's attention and we can't go back."

Tying up his laces, Red grabbed the spiked brass knuckles that resided beside him on the bed. He stuck them in the back pockets of his jeans as he made his way down the hall, and back to the common room. "Hey L, you think it would be a good idea to bring the bat-?" He stopped in the entrance way; L sat with his back facing him- the tactician was speaking to his commanders. Red shut his mouth, trying to hear.

"... treaty is the easy part and I whole heartedly support it. It's what happens afterwords that counts. Let's say a year has passed and we haven't accomplished anything. Do we go back to fighting each other or extend the treaty? What if we liberted a Politia controlled city? Or a country? What if, despite all odds and bounds of logic, all of us take down Richard Grant? What happens then? Unite the gangs together? Kill each other and winner takes over the city, country, possibly the world?"

Red stared. Shit. Aaaand that was why he was the tactician. L was just too smart. Always ahead of everyone else. Red had learned not to question him during his time with the Bullets. Often, L would suggest a target, and the boss would send Red out on "assignment". Sometimes they were people with seemingly no connection at all to the gang's affairs, and yet, a few days later, Red was always glad he got to the fucker first. That was L's skill- preemptive strikes. The strategies that kid came up with.... Dude needed to get himself a girl.

So... Richard Grant huh? And a treaty between the gangs... Red frowned. He didn't like that idea. It meant he would have to deal with controlling his disposition; it had been hard enough to get used to the three personalities that resided with him in the base. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was it was not a good idea. Why should he temper himself for those they had been in constant bloodshed with, from before he had even joined their ranks? He was sure he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Red's hands clenched in his pockets. It was his job to keep them safe... Or at least in one piece. From his point of view, this meeting could very easily turn into a bloodbath. All for what? To bring down that tyrant Richards? Red's devil-may-care attitude, and his stubborn refusal to die, had allowed him to get out of some very sketchy situations in his sad excuse for a life. But even he questioned the sanity of this treaty. Richard Grant's empire was strong... His men were strong... and they had the annoying tendency of traveling in packs.

Red strode over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He mulled over what L had said, but found it hard to wrap his mind around that future "what if". He didn't do long term. He took his orders and acted immediately. The man took a swig, and set it on the counter; watching L pull out some weapons, and shook his head. He keeps them in the strangest places... I swear I could open any cabinet in here and find a switchblade, or a butterfly knife, or a-

Red cast a glance at the stun grenade and chuckled. It was a sort of merciful kindness. He'd never seen him use it, but Red preferred a more hands-on approach. L usually fitted him with different weapons depending on who he was going up against. However, all three gangs had different styles. Red smirked. That was fine. It was a peaceful "treaty" after all... And he knew how to improvise. Cooler heads had better prevail. Otherwise... Red grinned, remembering the last time Tien had to tackle him. Did they really expect him to work alongside rival gang members? Well... I suppose if they're hot, I won't complain too much... Red finished his water, running a hand down his face as the buzz from the alcohol slowly wore off. He was pretty sure Dark wouldn't let him take a bottle with him.

L spoke again; "Assuming that we don't die during the process. I don't know why lesser gangs are trying to stop the treaty unless maybe they were being payed by someone as an incentive. I'm positive we've already got Richard's attention and we can't go back." That was true. It was strange to see so many new gangs popping up all over the place. I guess that settles it then.

Straightening his jacket, A sly grin crossed Red's face; "Well. We're not getting anywhere just sitting around. Let's crash this party."

Dark Listened to what everyone had to say, but she knew she still had to go to this meeting. When L brought out the weapons Dark smiled. Dark stood up and walked over to the cupboard under the sink, opened it and and right at the back she kept her trusty R-92 Revolver and Brass knuckles. Dark put her foot on the sink and Put the revolver in her boot and the brass knuckles in her pocket.

Dark turned back the the group and said

" Pick your weapons, but nothing to conspicuous something easily hidden."

She looked straight at Red when she said this. She tilted one side of her mouth in to a half smile. She looked at L and Tein and said

" You know what weapons I'm talking about right."

She waited to see what they picked and she figured she would have to change where she put her revolver.

(All people in the bullets I'm going to get us to the Meeting)

Dark and her Gang to the meeting place in record time, yes they were already late and no doubt they had already had started the proceedings without her and her gang.
She walked though the door and said

" A little common courtfulness will go along way"

She said down and looked around her, her eyes stopped at the leader of the Sirens.
She had to cock back down the vomit, the pink was making Dark sick.
Dark said

" Shall we move on or are we just going to sit here until we all die of old age."