GMs:GypsyRose & KieraJade
The Game Premise:This game is somewhat inspired by Sons of Anarchy, but will not contain any canon characters, settings, or storylines. What it will strive to capture is something of the original feel of Sons of Anarchy.
There is an overarching plot in the background that will very much shape the club leadership’s viewpoint and long term goals, but it will NOT be the game’s main thrust. The Hellions were started back in 1972, and had carved out a substantial bit of territory on the south end of Vegas and beyond. Their club charter ended in 2005 when the club, already weakened by a war with the Brujas, was taken down by the FBI and the NID. While awaiting trial, the club’s leaders and veterans were isolated and executed by their enemies, and those few remaining scattered, going outlaw or throwing in their allegiance elsewhere.
Ripley Russell & Gabriella Lane are the daughters of the Hellions former leaders. They know their fathers were betrayed on the inside, and getting revenge on those involved is a point of honor. However, the club comes first – that’s part of the code, one their fathers’ followed, and one that they honor themselves.
With the backing of Cabot James, a powerful – if shady -- Vegas businessman with fingers in a lot of pies and political aspirations, Ripley and Gabby have been offered the chance to resurrect the Hellions. While they expect that their gender, and allowing women into the club as full members, is going to draw ridicule and ire from some quarters, they are prepared to show that they are tough enough to get the job done.
There will be
episodic plots that revolve around club business – much like was done in the series. These episodes might deal with buying or selling arms or drugs, affecting an object lesson on someone who’s making trouble, being targeted by law enforcement or another club, or moving in on a new bit of territory. These plots will be guided by the GMs, and will take precedence over any other threads, and will have a posting requirement of (to be determined).
There will also be
player driven plots that the GMs may or may not direct. These plots will suggested/handled mainly by players. Some examples might be two club members conducting a private deal that does not largely impact the rest of the club, going after someone for personal reasons, doing a stint in the county jail for a singular offense, or anything at all that pertains to the character and should not be acted on by the entire club.
And, of course, there will also be
sexy times. Some of it may well be club business – prostitution, celebrating at the club’s bar hangout, a ‘lesson’ that involves NC or closing a deal that requires a bit more than a handshake and handled in the primary threads. In the main, however, sex in game will be left up to the individual characters.
This is not a ‘hookup’ game. The GMs will not be creating random NPCs for the sole purpose of making sure every character has someone to sex up – though, of course we might well write NPCs involved in sex if we have the time/inclination – but that should always be handled by individual agreement, and will always take a back seat to club business (ie, keeping the game moving forward.)
The Players:While the club leadership is female, we would like both male and female characters in the game. While we do not rule out lesbian or gay characters on that basis alone, straight or bi-sexual characters will likely be prevalent. Just as we expect some of the game's action to revolve around the female bikers getting shit for being female, 'getting shit' would also apply to characters who are gay or openly bi-sexual, though we do intend to gloss over the full brunt of such discrimination using artistic license.
The Characters:We would prefer everyone have a primary character that is a member of the new Hellions. Secondary characters will be allowed after the game is underway and the player has established some history, but will likely be limited to characters that are affiliated with the club rather than another biker. Examples for secondary characters would be: ‘bitches’, law enforcement, locals, bartender, mechanic, drug dealers, arms smugglers, various fixer types, etc. that aren’t expected to hang around more than a few episodes.
Character death is possible. It is very likely in the case of non-posting characters. While we will be happy to write anyone out of the main action for a time (the characters are engaged in criminal activity, after all, so that should be easy enough) when we are given a ‘heads-up’, but players who stop posting without notice should expect that their characters may be subjected to every bit of nastiness we can think of that’s expeditious or useful to the plot – accidents on the highway, drug overdose, murder, rape, comas, lengthy prison sentences, food for the fishes, left to die in the desert, buzzard chow, you name it.
The Writing:The idea, an impossible idea, was born the same day Ripley Russell awoke to the knowledge that her father was dead. The certainty was as implacable, as emotionless, as the ringing of the telephone that had heralded the news, as was the knowledge that she was going to find a way to bring her father's club back.
Her mother had done everything she could to disassociate Ripley from the biker lifestyle. She'd been her father's high-school sweetheart, and the fascination of the bad-boy biker hadn't lasted through brushes with the law, rivalries, or the trials and tribulations of the biker code. There'd been nothing between her parents but bitterness and anger, and by the time Ripley was a teenager, her mother had deeply regretted taking what she'd considered the 'high road' in not destroying her daughter's affection for her father.
It would have likely been pointless, in any event. Ripley had gravitated toward her father, toward the bikes, toward the bikers and their intense loyalties, intense rivalries, from the start, even before teenage rebellion kicked in. Of course, the teen years and her mother's demands only intensified those feelings, and the harder her Mom pushed, the more she pushed back. By fifteen, she had simply refused to live with her mother anymore, and had left 'Rita' -- her given name -- far behind. Her home was with the families of other bikers in her father's club, or with him when circumstances allowed.
She'd wanted to be part of the Hellions, and in some ways she was, but always in an unofficial capacity. She knew a lot about the business, both the good and the bad, right and wrong, and she'd done things that she wasn't proud of in retrospect. It had been the wife of her father's lieutenant who'd sat her down and opened her eyes, in the woman's typical hard-assed but straight forward fashion, who'd showed her that if she wasn't careful, she'd end up being nothing more than some dumb-ass biker's bitch.
Ripley didn't want to be someone's bitch. If she wanted to be anything, it was her father, but the older she grew the more she started to see that it wasn't possible, at least not in his club or in any of the existing clubs. They were too entrenched, and even the women who were solid support for their men were expected to put up with a lot of shit that Ripley'd sooner shove down their throat.
After a brief stint in jail for a bit of stupidity, Ripley started getting her act together, and with support from her father, she went to a vocational school, learning both mechanics and some principles of art and tattooing. She's worked in garages, bike shops, and tattoo parlors, and while she still has views on personal property and responsibility, standing up for yourself and exactly what society should be able to tell others they couldn't do, she found she could get along better in the real world than she thought she could.
It was a good thing, too, as it was about the time she was finding herself that things went bad for the Hellions. A feud with another gang heated up hot and heavy, dredging up a lot of old grudges from the past, and all the stops were pulled out. People that never should have been pulled into gang business were, and they got hurt badly, and the police moved in hard and fast.
Even that didn't end it, though. Her father had known he wouldn't last long in jail. He'd been able to pass along some information to Ripley, but he urged her to get out while she could. To let it go, and for a while after his death, she had.
But some old bones, some old longings, didn't stay buried. They clawed their way out of the ground and started tearing into your skin, so when she got an unexpected offer of help to reinvent her father's old charter, to take the life she wanted and make it suit her instead of changing to suit it, she couldn't not try ... even if she knows there's more to the story, a reason why the chance got thrown at her out of the blue.
One way or another, she's going to find out why, and leave her mark. Along the way, she'd met others with the same mindset, the same stubborn drive, the same need to cut against the grain. The Hellions are gone, but that's not what she wanted, anyway. She wanted something better ... something that took the best of the old and fused it with vision and hope for the future, with little bits of necessity thrown in for good measure.
The Hell's Belles could be a reality. It wouldn't be easy, but easy was for pussies. Better die trying than never try at all, and that was the good from what her father had taught her that she wanted to represent.
It was early evening, and the temperatures were just slightly on the chilly side for the season. Ripley was glad for her leather jacket, and the comforting weight of the gun in her pocket. It wasn't her only weapon, but it was the only one that was going to get her arrested if she was pulled over and searched, but there was no way she was going to this meeting unarmed.
Both Cabot James and Rodney Fielding had had a long association with the Hellions. Her father had always liked and trusted James, as much as you could like anyone destined to be a politician. The quote was her father's, and Ripley agreed with it. Rodney was a different story. His father was with the Black Pistons, but Rodney himself had remained on the fringes. It was pretty easy to see why in retrospect. Rodney was loyal to Rodney first and foremost, though he traded on his father's name enough to get himself an 'in'. He and Gabrielle had been a 'thing' back when Gabby was young and stupid, though in truth, Gabby had never been stupid, just horny.
That was something that Ripley couldn't give her friend much grief over, though she hoped that ol' Rodney wouldn't try to use their potential business dealings to get back in Gabby's pants. This time, he might be leaving his balls behind ... and, hell, Ripley might even help her play ping-pong with them, see if she still had the wrist action.
She shook her head and snorted, and rode on. They were going to meet up on Joshua Tree, just past the Walking Box Ranch Road, and Ripley was running a little late, as usual.
Cabot James was older, the age her father would have been if he'd still been alive, but there was ab-so-fuckling-lutely nothing 'paternal' about Cabot. He had been hot enough to melt rubber, and Ripley'd spent a summer getting herself off to juvenile fantasies of the older man. There was a time or two when she still thought about him when she was in a day-dreaming mood, particularly when there was no steady fuck in her life. Hell, he was still hot enough to melt rubber, but she was under no illusion that he'd called her up because he was hard up for someone to warm his bed on a cold desert night. No, when he'd called, he'd been all business, despite the friendly reminiscences of the past, and condolences, asking her how and what she was doing.
Despite his questions, he'd been keeping up with her, and Gabby too. She knew more or less what he was doing as well. Bikers were close-lipped, but the little circle of friends, even distant friends, was something they took seriously. Even without that resource, it seemed that Cabot's political ambitions had only grown, and it seemed like he was getting serious about becoming 'King of Vegas' as her father had once teased. When he'd dangled the possibility of reviving the Hellions, orchestrating a little support so she and Gabrielle could pick up where their fathers left off, Ripley hadn't given in to her impulse to tell him he was fucking crazy and slam the phone down.
Had it been Rodney calling, she would have burnt his ear to a crisp, whether he was calling from some bar payphone, or one of those fancy bluetooth devices, with her reply, and done it with extra viciousness to make up for the fact that you couldn't slam phones down anymore without cracking the screen.
But Cabot James was somebody she knew to take seriously. He had a lot of clout, a good bit of money, and a wad of influence big enough to choke a horse. If he said that it could be done, then there was at least a chance. Ripley would have rode through hell for a chance to be a full fledged biker -- not just some broad, somebody's old lady, some weekend warrior. It didn't matter what the life had done to her dad, or that he'd likely been betrayed by someone he held closer than a brother to have died like he did. It didn't even matter if she died the same way. It wasn't how you died, it was how you lived, and Ripley had always wanted that life so bad that she'd have risked it all a hundred times over on a chance smaller than Cabot James' word.
That made it the kind of want that was dangerous. She could see the warning in her Dad's eyes even through the haze of memory, but she also knew that he'd understood. He'd lived, breathed, hoped, and dreamed the Hellions. He'd given it everything he had, burnt bridges and every chance at any other kind of life. "It's like telling a fish that they could have legs and walk on land. That dumb-ass Disney crap story aside, a fish wouldn't even know what the hell you were talking about to want something so foreign to its nature. When it comes right down to it, some of us got it so deep inside that there ain't no other way."
Her dad would've understood.
Hell, her dad was probably riding beside her, wondering why in the hell she wasn't giving it more gas. "Move your ass, girl!"
Ripley's grin was wide as she tore off, no longer concerned that there'd be any cops out here to give a fuck how fast she was going. Reviving the Hellions -- now THAT was a dream worth anything.
“You know the beauty of pink, motherfucker? While you're busy laughing, it gives me time to draw a good bead on your balls. Say goodbye to 'em -- you never used 'em for nothing anyway."Gabriella Lane had been 19 when she uttered those words to the man that had stood laughing over her, ham-hock fists clenched. The next sounds were the small shot from her gun, his scream and grunt of pain, and then the great shaking of the floor as he toppled over, clutching his groin.
She had rolled out of the way, gave him a kick in the chest for good measure when she stood. And then gotten the hell out of Dodge.
Pink was something that had lit Gabriella’s way ever since. It was a deceptive color that was most related to being weak, innocent or childish.
No trait she, or the women she ran with, possessed.
And currently, it was the color of the skin-tight exercise pants she wore. Bracing one foot in front of the other, the eldest of the Lane children raised her gloved fists and readjusted the black tank top over her curvy frame. The logo of the first bar she ever worked at was emblazoned on the back, but too many washings had worn away some of the screenprint off, making it the perfect shirt to wear to the gym.
Something to burn off the sweat and grime in and not worry about the outcome.
Two quick jabs put her fist into the bag, there was a pause, and then an easy uppercut. Her muscles warmed with the routine that she’d had down by heart now and soon, a soft sheen of sweat took over on her brow.
And a shit-eating grin took over on her lips.
They could do this. As sure as each of her punches connected with the heavy hanging bag, Gabriella knew that she and Ripley were being given a chance to seize what was theirs. To right old wrongs and forge a new path, a new future, for themselves.
Gabriella had not always been so cock-sure. Growing up the daughter of a lieutenant in a biker gang, watching her mother and aunt go through men, whiskey and homes like they were all tissues to be used one and done, she’d hung in the shadows, learned what she could, taken care of business, and stayed out of sight. Until one of those young men in her father’s gang had found her, brought her into the light and promptly left her there.
Where she met Ripley.
Also a Hellions daughter, the two had become fast friends, following much of the same path once they were set straight on it. The roads were put in front of them, and they could choose one or the other. Most of the time, they tried both until something stuck. Mishaps, break-ups, trip-ups, mistakes and sometimes winning a round or two were all part of the game. Surviving their world coming crashing down was all part of the learning experience that brought them to where they were today.
Ready to do battle.
Gabriella had worked in bars all her life. And now she was getting ready to own one with her best friend. Not only that, but they were forging alliances that would raise the Hellions from the dead and turn them into Hell’s Belles.
Now, pink would decorate the back of the leather vest she wore. It would light the sign outside of the bar/night club she co-owned. It would act as a beacon. And it would match the shade of lipstick she put on in the morning and be the war-paint she and the other girls used. Pink wasn’t for pussies, and if this didn’t work, she’d make damn sure it decorated all their caskets in the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gabriella could still see the words of the text message in her mind’s eye. Pull out every letter in the little gray bubble.
“Can’t wait to see you, Cheeks. Wear those pants I like.” With a grit of her teeth and a narrowing of her eyes behind the mirrored aviators, Gabriella twisted the grip on the gas a touch harder, sending the engine of the matte black Triumph Thunderbird purring louder between her legs. The speed it pumped into the tires as they took her down the stretch of highway fed the ire that still burned for the man that had the gumption to send her such a chauvinist message.
More balls than brains, was Rodney Fielding. But he was a means to an end at the moment. And once that end was reached, she was going to make damned sure he never sent another text like that again.
Could you type without thumbs? Maybe fuck without a cock?
Her painted matte lips twisted up in a sardonic smile against the wind that tried to whip her dark locks into a frenzy. A well-placed black bandanna and long braid took care of that problem, however. And the leather jacket fit her perfectly. Well-worn, cut with an eye for design, and just the right amount of give to hide the piece at the small of her back.
Since that fateful call almost a year ago between her and Ripley, she hadn’t gone anywhere unarmed. She’d never had to use the pretty pink-handled pistol, but being prepared never hurt anyone.
Good boyscout shit, and all that.
Gabby let the tension and anger bleed from her shoulders into the bike and road. She became a part of the machine and asphault, even as she let her left hand drop and rest on her thigh. Blind anger wasn’t a good mix for tonight’s date. This kind of cocktail called for more control.
In front of her, Ripley was an easy two-lengths ahead. They rode in an easy, perfect formation that was built on years of friendship and trust. It didn’t matter who led, or where they went, when you found something like what she and that girl had – you fought for it. Body and soul. You rode or died for it. You bled or cried for it.
And most importantly, you reached for it and once grasped, held on with both hands tight.
Tonight, they had a chance to reach once more. The Hellions deserved this ride. Deserved this chance.
They could be up against any number of Rodney’s and Gabby would’ve run them all over for the possibility that Cabot James had hinted at. But even as their speed picked up on the mostly deserted highway and their bikes ate up the miles with a hunger only matched by the girls astride them, she kept her eyes on their twelve and six.
Gabriella was determined not to have history repeat itself where she, or Ripley, were concerned.
The rest of the prologue can be read here, if anyone is interested, but reading isn't necessary for the game.
LINKS:Game Info & Approved Character SheetsGame Discussion (OOC) Thread
The Cast: (so far)
Character
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Rita "Ripley" Russell
Gabriella "Gabby" Lane
Mia "Chastity" Locke
Jack Walker
Benecio Santos
Galit Avigdor Levi
Meera Krishnan
Noelly "Nelly" Rodriguez
Jason Thompson, aka Havok
Marlena Adair De Santis aka "Marlie" / "Dare"
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| | GypsyRose
KieraJade
Rhedyn
TyCaine
Aiden
Napanee
rekhaiyer
HoneyCrisp
Doomblade403xxx
Kokaine
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