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Vegas Mafia AU. Real classy-like. In summary: NEON AND GLITZ, a lot of you (especially upper officers) are PRETTY WELL PAID for your dubious services, and can afford to ritz it up. Cash, glamor, champagne, company, it's all yours. Your apartment is probably lavish and furnished with ridiculous tributes to your favorite animal, and your master bath almost certainly has a jacuzzi. Maybe it's not tasteful, but who the hell needs taste when you've got style.

Of course, maybe all your earnings went to the slot machines and you live in the seedier parts of town...but no worries. It's your money, and there's always more where that came from.

Whatever your preference:

Welcome to Vegas.

THE BASICS:

Everybody here is human. You've got a job, a backstory, and your fair share of vices and virtues. Cop, Nurse, Small business owner, Politician, whoever you are, you're probably firmly in Harrison's pocket. There are his more direct employees (dealers for the casino, security officers, lawyers, cleaning staff) and some for his less-than-legal businesses (drug-dealers, burglars, collection agents, hitmen). It's up to you what kind of background you have.

Still, the world's a weird place. Especially in this town. You may have one supernatural talent OR object (that is the same as one of your approved natural abilities OR an artifact). If you would like this to be turning into a small animal, or levitation, or a green thumb, fine. This does not give you a battle advantage or effect your dice, but is more for flavor text. It should be a low-skill talent or trick. Not everybody in this Kingdom has an ability, but many in Harrison's crew do.

The whole of the territory stretches about 4.2 miles across an imaginary and exaggerated Vegas Strip. There are bars, strip joints, casinos, restaurants, hotels. Plenty of places to wile away your time. On the edges of those miles, the buildings are a little less glamorous and a little more ratty, and some are outright abandoned. But they've got their uses.

HQ is the tallest building in the city, with the core of operations in the penthouse suite. There is a lavish pool on the roof that overlooks the skyline. A casino stays open 24-7 on the ground floor. The symbol of the operation, an enormous eye, watches in neon blue from near the top of the tower. The eye is in other places, advertisements, billboards, graffiti.

The organization itself is called The City Watch, or The Watch. Ranks within the organization are as follows:



RANKS:

The Boss (King), the Underboss (Queen), and the Advisor (Bishop) form a three-man ruling panel, the "Administration".

When the Boss gives orders, he issues them in private either to the Advisor or directly to his Lieutenants (Rook, Knight).

The Underboss (Queen) Second in command, the underboss takes over command temporarily if the boss is sick or captured. Aggressive, powerful, and with only the boss ranked higher, the appointment is for life. Unlike the Boss, the Underboss sees their fair share of action in the field, and they pack serious heat. Not a smart play to piss this guy off, that's for sure.

The Advisor (Bishop) is a counselor to the boss, with the additional responsibility of representing the boss in important meetings both within the boss's kingdom and with other kingdoms. The head Advisor is a close, trusted friend and confidant, the mob's version of an elder statesman. He is may have various connections or ways of garnering information (Politicians, Hackers, Economists), anyone that has a finger on the pulse of information. Advisors are devoid of ambition and dispense disinterested advice.

The Lieutenant (Rook, Knight) A high ranking made member of the Kingdom who heads a "crew" of soldiers and has major influence in the organization. They report directly to the Boss or Underboss. Their crew is in charge of their own earnings, a cut of which goes to the Administration. They may do this through drug manufacturing and distribution, a protection racket, loansharking, racketeering, gambling, or other methods. Sometimes the Lieutenant manages a legitimate business (Restaurant, Bar, Hotel, etc.) so their taxes look legit. They've spilled blood on their way to the top, and are brutal in a fight.

The Soldier (Pawn) - Lowest level in the hierarchy. However, a soldier still packs a lot of prestige and respect. In order to become a soldier, they must prove themselves to the Kingdom and take an oath of loyalty and silence. You might murder your worst enemy, but you would never rat him out. Since the soldier took the Oath, he is considered untouchable by other criminals. If somebody wants to kill a soldier, they must have permission to do so directly from the soldier's boss. You try it without permission, and you might as well start working on your last will and testament. Younger, more inexperienced soldiers usually perform grittier, simple tasks such as beatings and robbery, but their jobs can vary, depending on the Lieutenant they report to. It is possible for them to move higher in the ranks, if they kill a high-ranking member of another Kingdom. This, however, is a tricky career move. If the ranks are full, the Soldier better have more favor with the Boss than the current holders of the position they're after, otherwise...

The Associate (Wildcard) - Haven't taken the Oath. They may be an unofficial member of the crime family who work in the rackets or carry out odd jobs. (Counterfeiter, Bombs, Hitmen, Doctors, Drug Runners) Many of them have their own ambitions or careers, and may simply be a corrupt Politician or Businessman. This is anybody that does business with the Kingdom who isn't a "made" man, or somebody who's taken an Oath. Still, for someone that's ambitious, there's plenty of opportunity to get their hands dirty, and they always get paid for their trouble.

OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS TO KNOW:

Hunter/Weapons are individuals. The relationship you give them (Brother/Sister, Boss/Bodyguard, Married Couple) is up to you. Shared HP pool. Turns are also shared. This can apply to Reapers/Familiars as well.

Mounts/Reaper Weapons/Horsemen Weapons- These are not "summonable", but may be an object you own. The "mount" is more likely to be translated into a vehicle- Motorcycle, Speedboat, Car, Towtruck, that would fit your character and the setting. They would have to park it and keep it in a garage, like everybody else. (Tank, Fighter Jet, Commercial Airplane, don't fit). Weapons, likewise, are something you might keep on you. Guns, knives, small and concealable street-fighting gear.

Minipets- May show up as real animals (a house pet, think dog, cat), or objects. Harrison has two semi-automatic handguns which share the names of his minipets. A prized purebred Wishing Crescent may be a beautiful diamond ring, or a pampered persian.

Technology: Modern. Tablets, cell phones...in fact, the world is brimming with tech and ads for the latest video games and movies.

The City Watch's miasma color is Blue, and its power is Protection/Salvation.

Take a Hit - The Watch makes a lot of its money from the production of a certain drug, known by its street name: Royal Blue. Crew members can pop a pill to restore health.

To heal, Roll 2d12 with a -6 modifier.

"Can't say it's good news," Harrison said, tucking the card key inside his jacket.

"Heh, you kidding?" B0nez said, picking up his blackberry, "I thought things would never get moving. We've had too many admins from day one."

"Us among them, maybe." Harrison gave the locked door a long look, then lit a cigarette, "but that's power, for you. Can't hold the stick without somebody else getting the shitty end." He breathed in the expensive smoke. "Clear the Casino out. We gotta call a meeting."

==

B0nez had contacted their employees. Anybody they did business with or that was in their debt. The guys from the racket, entertainers they'd helped to the top, hell, even the lawyers. Most of the police force was here in plainsclothes. There weren't too many people in his town who didn't work for The Watch.

The gambling tables had been moved into storage, leaving long rows of foldable chairs and making the whole place into a conference hall. Mellow, jazzy music played over the speakers.

Two long buffet tables lined each wall, offering a rainbow of hors d'oeuvres. Hand-rolled duck meatballs, skewered lobster, pates, tiny and decidedly fancy hamburgers. Anything that could be roasted, grilled, sauced or sauteed and served on bite-sized portions on tiers of glowing glass was arranged invitingly for his guests. The dessert section boasted enormous chocolate fountains and cakes in every size and color. There were also trays of genuine twinkies.

The bar was open.

Harrison didn't eat or drink. He sat, calmly, at the head of the room, on a stage normally reserved for the live band, in a high-backed blue chair from one of the business suites, and watched the clock.

B0nez fiddled with a heavy black box, typing occasionally into a small, grainy screen.

When both hands of the clock stood upright, the music switched off, and as stragglers wandered to take their seats and conversations dwindled, Harrison stood to address the organization. He didn't call meetings often, and he never called meetings that involved everybody. But big things were happening. The wheels that kept all Seven Kingdoms locked together were turning. Silence settled over the hall.

"Had a talk with the Voice," he started, congenially, "Guess we all knew this day would get here. There's Seven Kings, and Seven Kingdoms. But there used to be one King, and it looks like things are heading back in that direction." Harrison smirked at B0nez, who was typing. Public speeches weren't the pirate King's strong point. "One Kingdom, anyhow. The Voice canceled all Truces. The other Kingdoms got the same message. As some of you know from personal experience, mergers aren't always nice, eh? Heh.

There's seven lights, and all but the brightest one's gonna go out. I'll tell it plain. My head's on the chopping block, here. So what I need's a handful of dumb bastards to stand on the chopping block with me.

I gotta pick four," Harrison said, quieter, "The Voice wants my best.

An Advisor- somebody willing to tell it straight, even what I don't want to hear, and go where I can't. My smartest.

Two Lieutenants. One, a guy who fights against the odds. My bravest.

Another, with spirit and resolve. A protector. My strongest.

Last, an Underboss. Somebody close to me, unrivaled. My most powerful.

The Voice called for more than that. Everybody else willing to fight, and die, for me, you're needed. You're a part of this, a Soldier, and you'll have my power and protection. It's not just my neck you'd be saving. Everyone in the organization's at risk. It's them or us. We're not playing roulette over destiny. You want to protect what we've all built, protect our family, you've got to fight. There'll be blood, but hell, that's nothing new. And if the Voice wants bright, no place is brighter than Vegas.

So. I'm going to turn the music back on. You can eat, or talk, or use the bar, and if you're not interested then you can leave your destiny up to those of us that are. For the rest of you: Stop by up here, tell me who you are and what you've got to offer. After everybody's got a chance to speak, I'll make another announcement."

The jazz music kicked back in.

Harrison retired to his chair, watching as his employees stood from their own seats, and gradually formed a queue.

B0nez continued to focus on the black box.

If Harrison knew how to do one thing it was throw a little party. Though this party wasn't like the others, this was business, in all honesty she had missed most of the other parties. Sammy was often too busy dumping a body, threatening to shoot someone, or simply just shooting someone in the first place to attend them.

Leaning back in her chair, sunken violet eyes watched the Boss with mild amusement, this one of course had been mandatory, all jobs, all dates put aside for the one person and considering the news it was rather important after all. "So things are going to hell in a hand basket?" She watched as others got up again, some mingled, one bigger fella moved forward first to talk to the boss as well.

It gave Sammy time to fix her long trench coat, obsidian black, she made sure to adjust the holsters strapped at her sides, two large pistols barely poking out the coat, another smaller one tucked into the large heavy boots tipped with metal skulls. She likely had a few knives somewhere too, after all a hired hitman had to be ready at all times. When space finally cleared Sammy moved up smiling a toothy grin to the leader in front of her.

"It's a pleasure to see you in person, I'm used to B0nez telling me who the next target is. Samantha Lee, Sammy if you want, I've done jobs for you in the past indirectly. Messy, jobs." The grin grew wider, "Can't say I ever thought we might be fighting the other kings though, seemed like they all kept to them selves and we enjoyed our own piece of paradise."

She moved to pace a bit before Harrison arms crossed, "Simply put, I like violence, I like fighting, killing, and generally I try not to make too much trouble for those I work for. Not that I've had much work from anyone else, you've kept my payroll... very full. And for that, I'll gladly continue to do whatever you need."

She pulled her jacket open reaching for a pocket that held a small metal case, inside she pulled out a simple card with just a number and the letter S stamped on it. "My personal number. Not many people have it, if you need anything I'll pick up by the second ring." With that she stepped back to the party long trench coat fluttering around her as she moved towards the nearest plate full of red bleeding meat.

The skinny man that had been hovering against the wall as the attendees all stepped forward to speak didn't seem like he was going to make a move. In fact, he kept eyeing the door warily. Unfortunately, the much girthier, muscle-bound man beside him made sure he didn't make a break for it.

Jerry owed it to Harrison. In fact, he had owed it to him for quite some time. He had an addictive personality, but honestly he had been doing REALLY WELL for a long while. And then not so well. And then suddenly he owed quite a bit of money to the casino. And then quite a lot more in his frantic attempt to make back the money. That had all been years ago, though. Since then he had certainly found quite a few things he was a lot better at than gambling. A natural talent ever since he was a child.

And he had only been caught once, long before he had come into Harrison's custody. The scars disfiguring the left side of his face had certainly taught him a lesson about timing and control, but the mental image of those flames consuming the house around him never seemed to upset him- quite the contrary. Harrison had learned what the man was good for, although as far as most people not in the know were concerned, they didn't see past the janitorial jumper and shy expression behind his thick glasses.

He was good at cleaning. Amongst the bleach and soap in his cart lay several automatic rifles, hand grenades, bricks of a chemical compound of his own devising, and who knew what else. Not that he needed it. If Harrison had needed something cleaned, he even swept away the ashes when he was done. No one ever questioned seeing a janitor. Even in buildings that didn't belong to Harrison.

He had met Roger Haol back when he was still thinking about college. He had lost quite a bit of money betting against him before realizing the tenacity behind the short, rough guy. That night in the alley with those guys and those baseball bats had been what cemented their friendship. The boxer went by Roar, both in the ring, and casually as well. He liked it better than Roger, and often broke the nose of whoever used his real name, Jerry included. Since that last concussion he wasn't allowed in the Ring much any more, but he had his own uses in their little family.

Jerry was shoved forward to say his peace.

He adjusted his glasses. "You know I am still in your debt, sir." He cleared his throat, "And that I am.... good at what I do." He glanced around at those he worked beside, but who might not know what it was he actually did besides literally mopping up at night. He was always there, though, somewhere in the building. And between him and Roar, trouble was kept to a minimum, as was Harrison's competition. "I've done a lot I'm not proud of," He fidgeted with the lighter in his pocket before straightening, "And a lot I am. You know I would protect your business with my life- it's my home. What you've given me is all I have. So my ah... talents are at your service, sir."

That said, he shuffled before creeping back to hide beside Roar again, casting Miss Candace a few shy looks over the boxer's shoulder.

Everything came down to chance in Rep’s life. It was almost poetic that he was stood here in a casino when it threatened to take another spin of the wheel on him. At least he wasn’t afraid, nothing scared him anymore and since coming here, there wasn’t much left that could surprise him.

Before the Watch he thought he had it all, a cushy job where all he had to do was crack games and copy CDs en masse, plenty of money, a fantastic PC. It had been simple, not stressful in the least, with plenty of time to go out drinking and clubbing. Every night was a barfight, and no one could touch him. He was a hard man and his natural ability played into his hands, anyone mistaking him for a nerd was swiftly corrected. Surrounded by luxury, violence and people who seemed like they were invincible, it was easy to be convinced it would last forever. But Rep had always made enemies easily, and when you worked off the grid, there was no unfair treatment tribunal to complain to. They’d needed a mule and fast after their previous guy got locked up for slitting some b*****d ear to ear and Rep, thanks to some ******** with a long term grudge had found himself bullied into the job. It had sounded like a lot of money, enough to upgrade his entire set-up and go on holiday with pocket money left over, that was why he did it he told himself, it wasn't because he'd been dumb and arrogant.

He thought it would change his life and it had, but not quite in the way he’d hoped. He got caught, imprisoned. Set up. He was angry, so ******** angry. He’d been in the prime of his life, the full bloom of his career. He’d only just begun to fill his house full of half the s**t he wanted to own, and was faced with never seeing it again. He snapped, lashing out, causing havoc, attacking anyone he was housed with in the prison. He hadn’t needed weapons, he had his own innate ones built in, his claws claiming several unsuspecting victims before they had enough. Finally he was forced into solitary confinement, and with no hope of ever going home, he’d hit his lowest point.

And then a guardian angel stepped in and offered him a way out. Apparently word of his capacity for violence reached ears in high places.

Fallen from grace he’d got up, found his wings again and flown. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to climb the ladder. Nothing. His body was an expendable bartering chip and friends were nothing but transitory stepping stones on the way to the top. Flirting turned up exciting returns and he’d found there were certain people willing to grease the wheels. Jordan had been most welcoming and the wily man was already close to Harrison. Both of them were going places and he had been more than happy to insinuate himself between them as baggage, doing whatever needed to be done to stay there. These days some in the watch called him a trophy wife, but never to his face. Spoiled was an understatement, dripping with gold, dressed in illegal furs, and provided with anything he wanted, he found himself in a place where he truly had it all. His position afforded him many indulgences and he was more than happy to revel in them, he’d come a long way from the fallen computer brat who’d found himself in prison many moons ago. As the power and influence of the organisation grew so too did his sadism, enabled by his position within the Watch, he became the man sent in when all negotiations failed, when all that was left to do was take no prisoners and salt the earth. To those he'd crossed, he was a maniac, a psycho with a narcissistic streak a mile wide, to those within the organisation he was a spoiled brat, the boss's pet eye candy.

He stood in a jingle of ridiculously high carat jewellery, tiger striped fur boa trailing behind him on the ground and swaggered to stand before the stage, pausing only to ditch a twinkie wrapper in the lap of a slender immaculate woman in a tailored suit. She sighed at him and went to take it to a bin.

Smiling up at Harrison, he purred. “Well Ace. You know who I am.” He cast his gaze around the gathered people in the room, curling his lip slightly in disdain. “For their benefit, I’m Rep. What I do here is well… I do a lot of things. Primarily remind the bastards who cross us what the ******** they are dealing with, give them a little ******** fear to go with that respect they show us. Pricks step out of line; I’ll help remind them where that line is, even if I need to nail them there by their feet. But I do a lot more than that, nothing that concerns those gathered here. ”

An enormous white tiger with a diamond studded collar padded out of the crowd and lay indifferently at Rep’s feet, grooming a massive paw. Looking back to Harrison, Rep sought his gaze and smirked. “You know you have my absolute loyalty. Everything I have to give I’ve long ago offered to this organisation. And I’ve proven it time and time again, because words are too often lies and bullshit. Nothing’s changed Harrison. If you want me, you have me.”

And with that said, he bowed and stalked away from the stage, back to the refreshment table. "Tracey." he hissed at the same woman from before. "Get me a cup of that chocolate. <******** yesterday."

As the other employs of Harrison's neon kingdom stepped forward for their introductions, Roar spotted where the quiet Janitor's eyes were locked. Witha smirk, he grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him toward Candace, "Aint no time like the present, kid."

With a nervous yelp, Jerry floundered, and after straightening his jumpsuit wobbled his way toward her with a look of a man on a mission. They had known each other for quite some time... or at least, he had seen her around Harrison's office countless times and might have followed her home once or twice, all innocently of course, but rarely had gotten the courage to actually talk to her.

"Ah.... so... um. Interesting times ahead of us, huh?" He managed weakly. Roar's advice echoed in his head, and after a scarred wince he added quickly, "C-could I ah... buy you a drink? Maybe?"

Throughout Harrison's speech, hundred of eyes stared, transfixed, on arguably the most powerful individual in the city, each and every individual in the room unable to look away. Green or veteran, kind or cruel, pawn or queen, all of them stood still while he spoke, his body the focal point. Some stared at him with hatred, a boiling anger for the injustices of a corrupt system. Others, jealousy for the riches and unparalleled influence which he, and he alone, possessed. Still others, there was a longing admiration in their gaze, a desire to be close to this figure who controlled their fate, had a hand in every second of their day, from the coffee shops they frequented to the money they threw away at the night clubs and casinos. It was these who consisted of the mindless masses, the ones who Harrison wasn't speaking to at all. But they all looked at him with respect. And for the first time, in as long as any of them could ever remember, all of these stares had been gathered together, in a single confined space, until the gazes became indistinguishable, a sea of faces: the king's subjects.

All the king's horses and all the king's men...

Off to one side, a pair of amber eyes joined the others, watching with a thinly veiled scowl, sullen indifference creating a balance of hard lines on the somewhat handsome face. A cigarette hanging precariously between his lips, Nukpana leaned against a table of hors d'oeurvres positioned strategically towards the back, the glowing plates casting odd glows on his jet-black hair and tanned complexion. With the exception of the plates, there was little light on this end of the room, letting the Native American blend far easier than he ever would have under the glitter and the radiant neon lights. Among all the glitz and glam, he looked scrappy in comparison. His hair had been sheered off on one side completely, the straight, raven locks woven haphazardly into a braid to hang over his other shoulder. A pair of dirty jeans made up most of his attire, shredded at the knees, hanging far too low on his hips. No shirt. Instead, his arms were covered in black tribal tattoos, thinning at his chest to snake down beneath the waistband of those jeans, dipping out of sight. The only glitter he wore were the rhinestone studs that traced idle patterns around the pockets, and the string of blue diamonds that acted as his belt.

But compared to them, in their fine, clean cloth, some littered in the jewels, he was downright plain. But not because he couldn't afford better. In a city of glamour, working under one as powerful as Harrison, riches were plentiful, if you knew where to look. The diamonds were a tip off that the mangy demeanor was a statement. It was a personal choice, a description of him he need not voice.

Nuk was from the underground. Born the b*****d child of a hooker, member of a disreputable gang of thugs, he was part of the outer ring of the city, one of those who operated entirely outside the public eye. There weren't many who didn't work for Harrison, but most kept up pretenses regardless. Doctors, lawyers, politicians, cops... Nuk was the most honest of them all. A drug dealer by trade, he and the rest of the gang, nicknamed the 'Skinwalkers' prowled the the dark alleyways, mugging, dealing, and kidnapping, and reaping the benefits of the crime ring. Of which there were many. Personal favors were traded just as often as wads of cash. There were drugs to play with. Whores to ********. The endless circle was ever unbroken, a twisted, sadistic merry-go-round from which they could not escape. And for most who lived in this vicious, pitiless world, they didn't want to.

But Nuk didn't care about any of that. He didn't lust after blood, or power, or money. The girls who hung off him gave him no pleasure, and he avoided the drugs he'd seen crumble countless of his brothers. The truth was, Nuk dealt drugs to keep his sister out of debt. A cocktail waitress for one of the casinos, she lived in a one-roomed apartment in a better part of town only with the help of the weekly envelopes he delivered under her door, as thick with cash as would slip beneath the crack. He hung with the Skinwalkers to protect her from the sex ring he knew was all too real, keep the rapists afraid to touch her. These were the chains that bound him. He had something to lose.

That was what you called 'investment.'

The speech was over, but Nukpana didn't look away from the stage, even after the others had returned to their droll little chatter, the scowl remaining etched in his expression. Not for the person -- Harrison meant nothing to him, no better or worse than any other mob boss who might take his place -- but for things far beyond what any individual could control. It was unavoidable, and so the young man uncrossed his arms from his chest, pushed lazily off the hor d'oeurvre table to saunter towards the stage, shoulders hunched, head dipped, hands shoved into his pockets, the lit end of the cigarette trailing smoky tendrils behind him. He stopped only when he'd reached the edge of the stage, watching the redheaded man snap an order at someone before returning his amber eyes to the Kingpin.

My liege.

"Nukpana."

That was the only introduction. No last name. No title. No job description. A smart man could guess. And Harrison was undoubtedly a smart man.

"I'm a shapeshifter. Whatever that means to you, fine by me."