Gangs of England ((Mobster/biker RP, open. Accepting.))

[Rendin Verta]

Wednesday, September 10, 2008: 1:23 PM

In the past 24 hours, Paul had taken the new initiate "Bishop" to the sanctity of the stronghold. The fact that other warehouses lay surrounding it made it feel all the more secure, as it wasn't just one large target for the world to see. Add to that, several subtly fortified positions were set up along the perimeter, such as the sniper's nest in the central building, and barbed wire attached to the inside of the ledge on the roof, and on the edge of every window. It was straightened, so it would be harder to see, and anyone climbing up would fall to their death.

Paul was in the garage, field stripping his Beretta 92Fs, as well as a Taurus Raging Bull that Bishop had lifted off of the Initiation target. The body was now a flat heap of flesh in the car crusher in the junkyard downtown, in the trunk of what was an old piece-of-junk Volvo. Paul's Jeep Liberty was also inside the garage in case his car had been identified. Marlowe was waiting for the leader of the Devil's Rejects, Jackson MacMillan, to show up for a meeting.

[Valkore Fraust]

((X, gonna drag you around due to the time shift. Nothing drastic, though.))

Sobered up and ready for a ride, Jacks took his glasses and swung his keys. Spike had spent the night there. Jackson knew about the meeting and switched bikes for Spike while he was out. Good friends, the two. Jackson was wearing bright jeans with slight tears in them and black timberland's. As the two got on their bikes, they started them and the garage echoed with loud exhaust muffling. Beautiful sounds. Jackson's weapons were holstered, handles facing the opposite way on the back of his waist. The garage door opened, and a line of big men on bikes waited. The engines even louder. "Let's cause hell," Jackson shouted getting to the front, Spike right to his side. After a bit, the line stopped at a coffee shop's drive through. Truly a funny sight. The Devil's Rejects then headed for Paul's warehouse. The front gates were in view, the choppers lining up to get in.

[Rendin Verta]

John, the stronghold security guard, nodded at the bikers, and opened the checkpoint, allowing the bikers to enter the courtyard. The garage was to the right, not to be confused with the false door on the outer left building, a clever ploy to fool enemy surveillance. The security guard held a button on his control board, which activated the garage intercom. "Mister Marlowe." he said, "The D.Rs are here, sir."

The announcement made Paul walk over to the garage door. He pressed the large button which caused the reinforced door to slide upwards. Paul did not walk outside, but instead awaited the bikers to show.

[Valkore Fraust]

Jackson raised his hand and waived it around, then turned it to the right. The Soldier ranked bikers all turned and stopped to the side of the Garage. The higher ranks, Treasurer, Sergeant of Arms, stayed with Jackson. He and the others parked their bikes parallel to the front of the Garage. Shutting off his engine, he placed his hands on his lap. "Still alive," he said nodding. "We're doing a good job."

[Rendin Verta]

"Good to see you, mate." said Paul, making a hand motion towards Mac and the bikers. "Bring the bikes inside, lads." Paul wore a black T-shirt, and blue jeans, with black sneakers. It was not a day for dressing professional, as field stripping weapons could get rather messy, as was fixing up vehicles.

[The Strangers Oddessy]

Spike held his head and sighed. "God damn hangover," he said and followed Jackson along. "Jesus, never! Let me get that drunk again," He said and sighed lightly. "s**t," He said and looked around. "I'm lucky I could ride straight," he said and smirked a bit.

[Valkore Fraust]

Jackson patted Spike's shoulder and chuckled. He got up and pushed the bike in. The others following suite. "Few things on my mind, how's about yours, Paul?" Asked Jacks. "Interpol was snooping around my warehouse, they're getting suspicious of the stolen weapons."

[Rendin Verta]

"Aye, well, I told you the weapons wouldn't be safe there. Look, if it gets too hot, you can grab a van and bring 'em here," said Paul. As soon as everyone was inside, Paul shut the garage door. "We'll start the meeting in an hour. Till then, feel free to use the garage to mod up your bikes."

[Valkore Fraust]

"I would do it," Jacks said sitting on the seat. "I'd rather make sure there's no set up cameras. I don't want them having proof we've got something to hide."

[Rendin Verta]

"We'll figure something out." said Paul, leading Jackson to the table where his Beretta lay in pieces. Paul sat down on the stool, pulling another out for MacMillan. Beside the taken apart 92F was a box of nine millimeter bullets, as well as four magazines. "So, we've got a new member today. Good one, too. Killed that bloke Kent the crack dealer. We drove the body down to the junk yard and stowed it in the trunk of a Volvo. Good stuff."

[Valkore Fraust]

"Wankah," Jackson replied. "Any Guinness? Had some last night, Spike had enough. Twit doesn't know when to stop partying." Jackson laughed a bit then looked at Spike. "Good kid."

[Rendin Verta]

"Not till the meeting. Don't wanna be hammered while discussing....operations....understand?" said Paul, not even looking at his friend. His eyes and hands were focused on his Berettas, which, while they still lay in pieces, started to resemble a weapon as Paul put them back together.

[Valkore Fraust]

"Won't get hammered withing an hour," he said unholstering his 1911's. "Coke, at least? And I see you're still using 9 mil's." Jackson took out one mag and locked the slide back. A .45 round lay near the 9 mil box. Jackson laughed a bit and released the lock.

[Rendin Verta]

"I know some of your men. No self control in some. Just to be safe." Paul looked at the .45 bullet. "You're right, I need to get a .45 at some point. I'm pretty used to the 92s, though." that said, Paul pointed to a small black refrigerator. "Diet coke, cherry coke, coke zero, you name it."

[Valkore Fraust]

"They can tame themselves," he said looking for a fridge. "We've got Kimber 1911's in. I know what you mean by getting used to a size. .45's have a good kick."