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Price

"I don't give a shit if you cry, but I gotta be there when it happens. 'Cause I felt fireworks the first time I saw you. You get me? We got to go the full mile, if you want this to work."

69 views · located in Sol Avenue

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Curtsive

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So begins...

Price's Story

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Character Portrait: Price

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Low-life cat-callers.

"If you're gonna show that much belly, you might as well give us a dance, huh?" C'mon, baby!" came a voice, from a group of two men and a woman, all three of which were sitting in an alley just adjacent to where the woman was passing. Smoke drifted from the alley to the streets, where it drifted into the air to be collected by the city smog above.

"Stop bein' a prick, huh?" the woman said. "Bitches here are crazy, and acting like a prick isn't gonna get you laid."

The third looked up, and a slight bit of recognition washed over his face.

"Hey, wait," he said, and gestured for the attention of the woman. "Malissa?"

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"Who's that? You know her?" The woman asked, a brow raised. She crossed her arms and stood back, with a slight sneer on her face, as if the other woman's presence disgusted her.

"Didn't know you had game, Jimmo!" the other hooted, only long enough to get two palms to the chest. He stumbled backward, caught his footing, and in a few moments, his surprise dissolved into anger. "What the fuck was that for?"

"This is the bitch who took my money. When I went to Golden's. The one I told you about." he said, and nodded back to 'Malissa', to whom of which, he'd offered a malicious smile. "Were you intending to pay that back? 'Cause I wasn't paying for you to butter me up. I don't pay for no social hookers."

"He's desperate enough, though," chimed the woman.

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"Bitch," Jimmo murmured, and his feet looked ready to take after the woman. "Get back here! You took a lot of fuckin' money from me!" he screamed, and took off after the woman. At first, he lost his footing, but took on after the woman in due time. Like any traditional street thug, he had a switchblade on his hip.

Two heads dipped around the corner to watch the two disappear down the sidewalk, before ducking back into the alley again.

They were drug dealers, not loyalists.

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He was getting winded.

But he had a wad of cash, to impress the ladies, on him that night. Apparently, that didn't work out too well. That, a rollex, and other valuables. His wallet, which had a picture of his late grand mum and baby sister, both of which he hadn't seen since the day he'd met Malissa.

And no one takes Nan's picture and gets away with it.

When she winded around the alley onto the next street, he stopped momentarily. Both to catch his breath, and to shout at the woman.

"Just give me my shit back!"

The setting changes from lady-une-drive to Wing City

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"Booth two, Mr. Nayden." a security guard bellowed, and pushed Price into the room. He was orange-clad, and still bearing a weighty pair of handcuffs. He'd been escorted by a beefy security guard with a chip on his shoulder to a fake-lacquer chair, where his shoulder was promptly pressed upon until he was seated.

"Don't need to man-handle me, Harvin'. I can sit down well by my damn self."

They were seperated by hard mesh and half-walls, rather than the conventional, tv-like 'glass and phones'. Perhaps it wasn't in the budget. Even though the guard behind him quickly dispersed to man the exit of the visiting room, everyone in it could still hear the idle chatter of, well, everyone in it.

It took a second for him to get comfortable; for Price to lay down his hefty set of cuffs on top of the allotted table and kick his legs forward and get a good look at Maggy. With a sharp breath in, he started.

"Who..."

And then, he remembered. He turned to look at the guard, who was stoic-faced and protecting the exit, still. All akin to the queen's guard.

"Ah, fuck. Harvin'? I'm sorry, I didn't mean that thing about your mom. I swear. I think I'm done here."

'Harving' ignored him.

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"Price, please. Only people with giant sticks up their asses call me 'Mr. Nayden.'." he said, his eyes flitting from Harving to the woman that sat on the other side of the mesh. Thankfully.

"Well, that's what happens when you're in prison. They dress you up however they want, here. You don't exactly get a choice in color, lady. You wouldn't take me for the 'binding wrist accesories' type either, would you?" he said, and thrusted his hands apart. The cuffs on his wrists gave a resounding clang.

"Unless you've got Angelboy's head on a plate or a Capone way to break me out of here, then I'm not interested."

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"Excuse me if I'm a little sour, considering to establish my rep in here I've got to beat up a guy with his biceps divided into asscheeks and a swastika tattooed on his eyeball, alright?" Price hissed. "And I somehow doubt you can get me out of here. It's fifteen plus. I possessed and shot someone."

He leaned back in his chair, and pressed a knuckle to his face.

"You and I'd be on better grounds if you gave that snitch a face-full of lead, though. Same offer as I gave everyone else. I might be in prison, but I still have a bank account."

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"Alright." he said, and brought his hand off his face. A slight smirk came to the corner of his mouth. He'd play along.

"I don't give a shit if you cry, but I gotta be there when it happens. 'Cause I felt fieworks the first time I saw you. You get me? We got to go the full mile, if you want this to work." he said, and hushed his voice. He pressed his hand to the mesh, before the security guard barked at him, and his hand lifted off of it.

"Got it?"

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"Two days, huh?" he said, with a bemused grin. "I'll be looking forward to that, then."

He smiled at her, like he smiled at a child's macaroni doodle. Two people killed or not, breaking someone out of prison was a big deal. He wondered if she'd been in an asylum by the end of it.

"Sounds like a date."

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He sat in the back of the truck, with his eyes to his feet and two guards to his sides. They had fancy cuffs on him; ones that attached to the wall behind him so he couldn't pull any stunts with the guards. And, damn was it boring.

It was an armored van, really, though not the sort that they used for SWAT teams or high, high level prisoners, but the sort that they used for first-degree assault, drug possessing, criminals. It looked pretty inconspicuous by itself, past the tinted windows and big 'WCPD' lettering on the side.

From the jailhouse to the courthouse. It was a city away, and even police vans with criminals in them stopped for red lights.

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When the gunshot had gone off, one of the guards to Price's side hopped to his feet. The other instinctively ducked. They both pulled their guns from their holsters, and the braver of the two got to opening the ceiling window of the van and propping himself uptop, while the other stood closer to Price, gun tucked to his chest.

The latter of which tapped his partner's leg.

"What the fuck's going on?"

"We're speeding up, Bridge. Driver probably heard gunshots, forgot to turn the siren on. No one's in pursuit, but -"

The van clipped a car as it veered off-course. The driver was dead, with no one in the passenger. The guard on top struggled to stay on as the vehicle's back end swerved and shifted, before it tipped over and skidded across the ground, sending him careening violently to the ground.

The passengers inside were in for a ride just as well.

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He wasn't coming out that easy.

Because, well, he couldn't. The van wasn't exactly built for ensuring the prisoner's safety when it one-eightied, and as a result, his head had bounced off the back of the steel-plated van like it was in the hands of Mr. Magic Johnson himself. That, and his wrists were still cuffed to the back.

The guard, however, wasn't. He had a gun, and as shaken and shaky as he was, he'd stuck his hand out the hold with it and shot off a few rounds at Mz. Maggy Dalene.

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The guard withdrew his gun, and pressed himself to the inside of the van. He unclipped his radio from his belt, and clenched his hand around it.

"This is prisoner transport vehicle ... 213, I need backup. One - two - officers down. Unsub is armed with guns and explosives. We're on, uh... Broad? Shit."

He shoved his radio into his belt again.

"Alright. I'll put the gun down. What do you want, anyway? You want this scumbag?"

Meanwhile, Price was still locked in to the opposite side of the van, and it having been rolled on it's side made his binds painful to wake up to. All he'd seen and heard were static and static at the time being, though.

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"If you cut off my hands, we can't follow up on that deal with a pair of these -" He thrusted his wrists against the restraints again, it offering a loud clang, "- and the bedpost, like you wanted. Remember, doll?" he asked, tenuously. "Where's the other guard? Did you take care of him? 'Cause, darlin', we need to burn rubber if we're going to make it anywhere, and we can't do it in the middle of plain sight and a squadron after our asses." he hissed.

He seemed to be regaining his senses well enough.

"Check the front seat. I don't think the guards keep the keys on them, in case somethin' goes wrong and the prisoner or one of their friends gets a bust, like this."

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"Yeah, believe it or not, Magdalene, a radio requires a set of fuckin' hands to operate, so if you'd hurry up."

He drew a breath in.

"The radio said he's coming. He said -" Price raised his voice. "- That he's gonna cut out ... The escape route leading away from the van? He's going to push them to ... you? Whatever the fuck that means. Maybe they have another car."

He stomped his feet against whatever flat surface he could find underneath his shoes, until he found his way to the body of the officer. When his feet got there, he kicked that.

"Just get me out of these fucking things so we can ditch out through a side road."

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"Hey. Mag." Price started. "Unlock me. I have an idea that'll get us out of here scot free, if that's the only cop out there."

He pulled at the cuffs again.

"You got to let me do some of the muscle work, and that's not just 'cause I've almost been concussed and my wrists're almost severed. Let me go out first, but wait up."

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"Alright! We're coming!" Price shouted, after an amount of silence. He was quick to give Maggy the cold shoulder and place his hands on the utility belt of the dead officer. He slipped one of the tools into the palm of his hand, and crawled out of the side of the overturned van.

He put his hands on the back of his head, and whatever he'd taken was neatly tucked into his palm.

"I got a rep on the street. Sometimes people do things for me that I don't ask them to, thinkin' it'll earn them some credit. I'm not lookin' to be affiliated with this." he said, to DuPuis, and approached steadily.

The setting changes from wing-city to Main Street

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"It's alright, Mag. You can come out. They have places for people like you, and it isn't prison." he said, looking back toward the head that peered out of the hole. While he talked, he kept walking toward DuPuis, as if he hadn't heard a word the man had said to him. "We can get out of this together, you just got to put your guns down and your hands on your head, like the copman said."

When he looked back to the cop, he looked back in astonishment.

"Ah, shit, sorry. One-track mind, you know. I was in Psychology classes when I was a little younger, and I started work on the police academy. Didn't get too far, obviously."

Price kneeled, and gave a modest grin at DuPuis.

"That girl back there? She'll do anything I say."

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"Alright. How do I do this?" Price asked, and slid the cuffs over with his unmanned hand.

He looked back at Maggy as she climbed out of the van. With a smile and a nod, he untucked his other hand from his head. He'd pressed down on the capsule in his palm as hard as humanely possible when it'd come up, and the cop's eyes were off him, and gave a fine line of pepper spray into the lawman's face.

After all, what self-respecting criminal control guard didn't carry something to detain them with?

The setting changes from main-street to Solinus Sea Coastline

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"Where's Ken and Barbie?"

The place brought a perpetual sneer to the corner of Price's mouth, but housing was housing, and it was out of the way enough for him to feel fine with it, even if the walls were blindingly bright and the place smelled like salt and sea. It was an upgrade from the dinky jail-cell he was in, and a far better one than the armored van. When he'd seen the loveseat and tv, he made for it.

"You know, I don't even know if I'm mad at Angelboy anymore, other than for being a two-faced snitch. I'm not in prison. But, if I ever get caught - my time's gone up from fifteen to death." he looked from the tv, which flickered on when he'd pressed down on the remote, to Maggy. "I'm conflicted on who to blame that on."

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"What've you been plannin'?" he chimed. "Other than breakin' me out, that is. 'Cause maybe you're right. I can't be seen on the streets anymore. Not with two guys dead, and fifteen years on that."

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"I'm a little less cool with getting pretty cuts and dying my hair than you are, Barbie." he said, bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose. All in all, he could've used it. Price had dreads. Well-kept, but dreads nonetheless, and that was hard to change. His clothes were never high-end; always something worn, and now? A tattered orange prison jumpsuit.

"What's your gain in this? I've been with enough women to know that you want something more out of me than my affection, kona. Fireworks are bullshit, and we aren't no Bonnie and Clyde."

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"Hey, hey. I never said I wasn't up for the job. I was just askin' what your price was, alright? 'Cause I ain't up for gettin' stabbed in the back, and if it turns out that this bust wasn't for anything because you didn't cash out, well," Price put his hand over hers, and gave her just the same smile as she'd given him. "That won't make me a happy man."

He let go of her hand.

"You can get Angelboy if you like, but he's not my first concern. I'm steady on keeping away from the cops. I got a taste of prison life already, and anyone'd be full of shit if they said they liked it."

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"Alright, alright. I'm convinced."

And it wasn't just because her leg was on top of his.

"I barely sell drugs anymore, I just break people's fingers when they don't cough up. It's what I'm good at, Barbie. You expect me to become some cake baker in Solinus?" he asked. "Though I wouldn't mind havin' a new name."

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"I need a way to keep workin' my business. It isn't good if I just disappear. I have a front man, uh... Hoyt. He manages my accounts, incase anything ever goes wrong, and so I don't leave a paper trail. All I need's a way to make sure I can get my money in and out with him. He's in Wing City. I can get someone else to take up the golf club for people who miss payments." he said. "It ain't worth going to prison for."

"As far as I'm concerned, that's all I really need, Barbie." he said. "And you?"