How To Make New Friends In La

The Gulag [Avg NPCs: 60]
Flashes of soft neon light splash out across the ceiling and walls of this well
appointed establishment. Built in tiers the whole building has a cold feel to
it, possibly from the perpetually chill air circulated through the building or
perhaps the innate nature of the cold cinder-block construction furniture built
of wrought iron, an exaggerated thick layer of rust permanently running the
length of the bar-top. A single long bar runs the length of the wall, a
stairway next to it leading up to the second tier where a dozen small round
tables sit around the railing looking down upon a small dance floor inset deeply
into the floor of the room. Light shades of blue neon light play about the room
and a snow machine drifts delicate flecks of white down upon two high platforms
where pairs of scantily clad blondes grind against each other to pounding
Russian rock played by a DJ in a rear booth.

* Exits *
east - The VIP Room [Avg NPCs: 10]
south - Santa Monica Boulevard
(Elijah) An attractive man with green-silver eyes and spiked, short black hair is walking along (App 4) [ (null) ] |Jesus of Suburbia|

Standing near the main bar of the Gulag, the familiar, slender figure of Sybine stands unmistakable with her loose red hair. She's wearing a short white skirt that looks like it could have easily been stolen from a high school cheerleader, and a long-sleeved white teetshirt that hugs her small body tightly. The usual leather collar hugs her darkly bruised throat, and a pair of silver, knee-high dress boots are laced tightly on her feet.

An attractive figure sits in a back, corner booth of the nightclub, the seats next to him filled with admiring young adults, all making casual conversation with each other while the handsome man sits quite still, staring out at the dancefloor with poisonous indifference, something serene, yet dangerous, about his present apathy. He's dressed in casual clothing as usual, though he seems to have forgotten his shirt. Blue jeans are slid up on his legs, though his chest is visible with the large, black mark of the dragon devouring its tail. The man only wears a darkened leather jacket over his torso.

After ordering a drink and stearing nearly clear of the mass of bodies, Sybine allows her attention to turn to the room with an appraising stare. Her pale green eyes find the familiar features of Elijah easily among the groups of youths, and her head tilts to the side lightly as she watches him. Lighting a cigarette, and looking fairly intoxicated, the girl stays near the bar for now, returning her glances to Elijah here and there, obviously not wanting to interupt for the moment.

Elijah suddenly reaches out, his eyes still staring dully off into the distance, fingers curling around the back of one of the teen's neck. He pulls the youth close, turning to plant a kiss or two on the youth's lips, before moving his own to the man's neck, making a show of the delicate kisses he pushes into the man's skin. Now his lips suddenly widen, and he turns his head so that the two are shadowed, while the others around then continue chatting and drinking obliviously.

Sybine pays for her drink with a short slip of her hand into a pocket at the waistline of her skirt and takes up her beer before making her way slowly towards Elijah's table. Her hips sway lightly as she moves, and as she draws closer it's clear that the usually gruff beauty cleans up nicely. Her eyes are shadowed and outlined with a soft blue that brightens her green eyes, and her lips are painted with enough red to keep them looking wet. She rests both hands around her bottle that rests infront of her stomach as she stops just at the edge of the table, only a couple of eyes turning her direction as she approaches. She takes a short drag of her cigarette before waiting silently, careful to not draw attention to Elijah while he embraces the young man at his side.

Elijah and his victim let out a groan of pleasure in unison, the handsome man's eyes fluttering closed as he drinks enough to knock the youth out. Space is created between the pair, giving the table a fleeting glimpse of the handsome man licking the youth's neck erotically, before he simply lets the unconscious man sag against the seat. Now he turns his head from his vantage in the back of the booth, staring with the same dead eyes at Sybine. "Hey." He says, his voice sounded contented and somewhat bubbly with the addition of alcohol and fresh blood to his system.

Sybine cants her head to the side a little, glancing between Elijah and his recent victim for a moment with a faded expression of indifference. "Getting started without me tonight?" she chimes lightly, a smile now coming to her lips as she looks him over, and she takes another drink from her beer. "I don't feel so bad being the bad influence since you're enjoying yourself without me." She grins slightly, leaning against the edge of the table with one hip, crossing her ankles over one another. Under the club lights, and her lack of much covering her thin legs, the sparkles of glitter hug her skin. Her voice is delicate and child-like, the faint slur at the end of her words herald rumor of her extensive time drinking tonight already.

Elijah smiles, raising one black eyebrow as he watches her. "It wasn't much. The kiddies are all drinking." He turns his silver-green eyes, something unsettling crawling into his features at the sight of the admiring, happy, young adults. "How about…" He begins, reaching inside of his leather jacket before pulling out a rather large steak knife. "You all get the fuck out of here before I cut your faces off and nail them to a canvas. You'll be the new fucking deviant art image. OUT." He says, slamming the handle of the knife down onto the tabletop. Naturally, the drunken youths stand and begin to scurry away, their passed out friend carried along like a sack of meat. "There." He says, turning his silver-green eyes back to Sybine. "You can sit now."

Sybine watches the interaction as a smooth smirk crawls onto her painted lips. "Oh, I like you, Elijah." she tells him, her features fading into a friendly smile. She sets her beer down on the table to free one hand, her cigarette in the other as she looks over her shoulder at the receeding teenagers. "That was classy," she answers before turning back around, and when she does, she chuckles to herself and meets his gaze with a smirk. "Probably offend you if I said I'd rather stand?"

Elijah slides the knife away, tilting his head as he stares at the woman, something in his eyes suggesting that he's clearly buzzed. "Why do you want to stand? There's a full fucking booth right here." He says, his hands sitting idly on his jean-clad thighs, body hunched and slid halfway down the seat, his leather jacket barely covering his pale, lean chest and its new decoration.

Sybine sighs dramaticly and slides into a seat across from Elijah, pushing her free hand back through her curls. "It was a question. You're not supposed to answer it with another question." She takes a sip of her beer before setting it back down on the table, propping her elbow on the tabletop and her chin in her hand. "Still doing the weird thing?" she asks after a moment, using her free hand to idly motion towards his chest.

Elijah shakes his head. "Not here. In front of everyone. There's probably someone at the bar watching us right now." He says, though he seems rather unconcerned with this fact as he raises his head, staring at the ring around his finger. "I don't need to alter myself anymore, right now. That can wait until later. The only thing I'm inspired to do is mutilate others."

Sybine shrugs up one shoulder, her expression not shifting from happy indifference, even at the change in topic. "Shonk says practice makes perfect for you guys," she notes in a casual tone, the thought clearly not bothering her. She takes another drink from her beer before leaning back against her seat, resting her hands in her lap. "What brings you to the Gulag, then?"

"Shonk talks to you about us? Huh. Interesting." He says, a black eyebrow rising on his forehead. "I came for food. Now it's time to get out of this congested shit hole." Without further comment the man stands and strides towards the door, the flaps of his jacket sliding over his sides, revealing his pale chest as he pushes out the door.

Elijah leaves south.
You follow Elijah.

Santa Monica Blvd & North Doheny Dr
Bright neon signs bathe the sidewalk in harsh light, and each side of the strip
is lined with bars and nightclubs ranging between high class establishments to
buildings that are little more than densely populated Raves. The street is
packed at any time of day with people and cars, making parking an issue for most
anyone. To the east, Santa Monica Boulevard continues to boast something for
almost everyone. To the south, however, is Doheny - what most would call 'a bad
neighborhood', not a full fledged ghetto but still down trodden. Vagrants roam
the streets panhandling from the occasional club goer, while hookers stand on
the curb with their 'assets' showing in an attempt to pick up Johns. Two-way
traffic travels down single lanes, and the street lamps are mostly intact with
only a few broken which leaves plenty of illumination in the night. Between
many of the buildings, dark alleys offer places for the less savory population
of the strip to do their business with mild obscurity.

(You must have IC permission, or request it, to enter the sewers.)

* Exits *
east - Santa Monica Boulevard
south - North Doheny Drive
down - Sewers beneath Santa Monica and North Doheny
(Elijah) An attractive man with green-silver eyes and spiked, short black hair is walking along (App 4) [ (null) ] |Jesus of Suburbia|
(IC)(Samuel) A lanky man in his midthirties, with brown thinning hair (App 2) [ None ] |None|

Stepping down the street, the figures of Elijah and Sybine are walking close together towards North Doheny. The thin redhead is dressed in a white skirt and long sleeved shirt that ressemble a cheerleader's outfit, and her arm is looped about her companion's. Elijah is dressed in a pair of simple jeans and an open leather jacket with nothing under it. "He doesn't specificly," the girl seems to be saying, giving Elijah a slow lift of one eyebrow. "Just, in general, yknow?"

A rather lanky man, reaching under the six feet in height is leaning against a wall. He is currently wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses and is slightly balding on top, his hands are rather big and burley and are currently shoved into the pockets of the mans jacket. He keeps watching people walk by for a few moments, but reaches into his jacket and picks out a pocketbook, wich he begins reading under the streetlight. After a few moments of squinting at the pages the man shakes his head and deposits the book back into the folds of his jacket, sighing, casting wary eye around himself.

Elijah continues walking alongside Sybine, turning his head to stare at her as she loops her arm around his, a slightly uncomfortable look sliding over his features. "You know, it's not good for you to do that." He says, slowly reclaiming his arm from her grip. "Lenny would kill me. We kind of have this… Rule." The black-haired figure says, sliding his hands into his jean pockets, the flaps of his leather jacket hanging down to hide most of his chest.

Sybine snorts softly, taking on a rather close impression to a seven year old. "Lenny," she says, stressing the name with a sour tone, "knows that I can very well take care of myself, thank you very much." She nudges him slightly with her shoulder, but seems to respect his distance as her demeanor fades back into casual happiness. She brings one hand up to idly scratch at the edges of the leather collar that encircles her throat, and tuck her hair behind her ears. "I'm used to it, I guess. He scares just about everyone."

The balding man in the hornrimmed glasses looks up, for a moment fear flashing in his eyes, "What?" demands the lanky man before looking at his jacket, where he slipped in the book, "Yeah, I guess, then alot of other things we do are bad for us, but we do them anyways, you know what Im talking about" mumbles the man, tucking his chin against his chest. "Fucking ozone, you know, everyone knows, fucking cars, hybrids, fucking banks, you know"

"It's not just him. It's a rule for /everyone/ that's taken." He says, tilting his head to the side far enough to crack his neck, before straightening his head and glancing over at the balding fellow. "He's batshit insane." Elijah says, raising one black eyebrow as he surveys the fellow. "Hey buddy. What's your name?"

Obvioulsy making it a point to prove she's ignoring him, Sybine's arm loops with Elijah's once more as he addresses the ranting man. "Everyone's a little crazy… as cliche as that sounds coming from my situation." She uses her free hand to pull a pack of cigarettes from the waistline of her skirt before a lighter is produced from inside the front of her skirt. She fusses with them mindlessly a moment before managing to get one out and light it, returning her attention between Samuel and Elijah.

"Batshit insane? It's odd what people we call batshit insane when we want to stay sane ourselves, right?" He shakes his head, "Sam, names Sam" mumbles the man, looking towards the people walking by, giving the impression of a man waiting for someone, " You got a name yourself? Anything you want?" The man gets a dirty hand out of a jacket pocket, "You see that shit? Smoking, fucking more dangerous than anything on the planet, and still people do it, If I was lighting pieces of paper on fire people would think I was batshit, but if I light one of those cigs up, people think im normal, fucking crazy" He licks his lips for a moment before asking, "Could I bum one from you?"

Before the man's even done with his rant, Elijah pulls out a pack of cigarettes and flings it at him, his reply expeditious and blunt. "Whatever, Sam." He turns his attention back to Sybine, features stoic and cold. "I said /no/." The handsome man jerks his arm away, staring with his lifeless eyes into Sybine's, head tilted forward slightly so that shadows crawl done his face, the streetlight above illuminating his thin body. "There's a fucking code of /honor/, Sybine."

"Fuck your code, Elijah. You know way, way better than that if you think a few words are going to at all make me listen when you do this shit." She glances at Samuel for a moment, her expression lightening as she rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Fine." She pauses for a moment, taking a drag of her cigarette. "For all your talk of enlightenment and attachment, you get hung up on the littlest fucking things."

The lanky man catches the cigarette pack and gets out a cigarette with a dirty fingernail, "Thanks man, you want the pack back?" He asks quietly, watching past the couple to the end of the street, "Man calm fucking down before the fucking cheese gets here, right?" He takes a drag from the cigarette, "Nice, nice, jesus christ I need those, I fucking hate that you know, fucking needing these things, but you know how it goes" He gives a bit of a shake, "Fucking right you need a code, some things you dont do, some things you do, a man gots to have a code"

The stoic man turns back to stare at the lanky man, turning his back entirely on the woman before striding forward. He tilts his head to the side, reaching out to take the pack as he examines the fellow. With an analytical expression, his silver-green eyes move up and down, tracing the details of the man's figure, memorizing the intricacies of his mannerisms. "Where are you from, Samuel?" His voice is surprisingly gentle now.

Sybine shifts her weight out to one hip as Elijah steps away from her, keeping her cigarette between her lips to stretch her arms over her head and shake away what seems to be the last bit of anger. She lets her arms fall languidly at her sides before she steps towards the two men, hanging a foot or so behind Elijah's left side.

"That's an awful lot of questions man, for a guy that hasnt even told me his name, giving away smokes and asking questions, You a cop? You gotta tell me if you're a cop" He takes a long drag on his cigarette and scratches his baldspot with a dirty hand, looking past the man he's speaking too and looks at the end of the street, "Im from Michigan, born in the Fucking US of A man"

"I /hate/ cops." Elijah replies, settling next to the man, leaning his back against the wall. His leather jacket parts momentarily, giving a flash of the lean chest within. He reaches over, taking the pack of cigarettes, though he continues to survey the man. "Why are you so edgy, Sam?" He asks in the same gentle tone, turning his gaze back to Sybine, a flash of anger in his eyes before he averts his attention again.

Scanning Elijah for a moment, Sybine stays where she stands a few feet away from the two men, and instead of reflecting Elijah's anger, she laughs softly to herself. She tosses her cigarette towards the street, letting it bounce a few times before hitting the gutter, and she sweeps her hand back through her hair. Taking a few slow steps foward, she leans her shoulder against the wall to match Elijah's position, though she manages to keep the taller man between herself and Samuel. The playful smile stays on her lips as she turns her gaze between them as they speak, and she takes as many pains as possible to be sure that her arm brushes Elijah's jacket sleeve.

The lanky man reaches into his jacket and gets out a pack of his own cigarettes, getting out one with the same dirty fingernail, lighting it with the end of the other cigarette, "Fucking hate cops" He echoes, looking around, "Because I dont like cops, that's why, and because this is a fucked up place where everything and everyone is aiming to fuck you right in the ass untill you scream uncle, that's why" He flicks ashes of his cigarette, "And I dont like screaming uncle to no-one" He smirks, "Did you know that thirty procent of the american population think that they belong to the richest five percent of the american population? Fucking laughable"

Elijah raises an eyebrow, sliding one of his own cigarettes between his lips before producing a pink lighter, which he raises to the tip of his cigarette. "You remind me of someone I used to know." He says, lighting his cigarette, the small flame rising to illuminate the man's handsome face. "Call me Elijah." His head turns, the cherry on his cigarette flaring as he inhales, sliding his lighter away at the same time. "It's a matter of showing respect, Sybine. It's much more that the 'littlest fucking things'." He seems to hold this conversation in a much lower, confidential tone with Sybine, while listening to the man on his other side simultaneously. "It's a matter of my image in my… community. A few months ago I wouldn't have given a shit about image or respect. But things have changed."

Sybine shrugs up one shoulder, tossing her hair out of her face. "I haven't hit that kinda bottom, yet, I guess, Elijah. You'll have to excuse me." Her voice drifts out with all the sarcasm she can muster, and she pushes herself off of the wall. "So, you go ahead and worry about it. I, on the other hand, am going to go enjoy my night."

"Im supposed to take that as a compliment, am I?" He shrugs and flicks ashes of his cigarette, "Fucking pleas're to meet you Elijah, so what do you, except get your ass cursed out on the street, yeah?" He looks past Elijah and at the girl, "Good evening" He mumbles

"Nah, it's kind of an insult." Elijah replies, his features still stoic and analytical. He turns his gaze back to Sybine now. "I'm not worrying about it. But you can't touch me and shit. It's complicated." Now his silver-green eyes flit back to Sam. "What do I do? I study. I'm kind of a student. Of sorts. How about you?"

Sybine shifts her eyes between Elijah and Samuel for a moment before she turns her attention onto Elijah fully. "I said 'fine, didn't I?" she snorts softly, taking a stride to place her leaning against the wall near Elijah again, obviously settling the issue enough to stay. "And honor or not, you don't have any reason to be afraid of him. He's kinda a puppy once you get to know him."

"I get it, a fucking comedian, I love it, so avant garde" He shakes his head, "Im a mechanic, you'll call it greasemonkey"

Elijah turns his head to peer at Sybine, mouth opening as he stares at her. He simply shakes his head and turns back to Sam. "What kind of drugs are you into, Sam?" The handsome man asks in an entirely straightforward voice, his features as stoic as ever.

Sybine allows a wry smile to fade onto her lips under Elijah's appraisal, and as his attention turns back to Samuel, she takes the time to light another cigarette. With Samuel's announcement, she seems to perk up a bit, scanning over the man for a long moment. She doesn't interupt the two men while they converse, but seems to pay close attention to each word exchanged.

"I dont do drugs, fucking things are dangerous for you, Im high on life, cant you tell?" He smirks, "Nah, seriously man, dont do drugs, I dont like being dependant on things, like this fucking society, fucks you up, the more dependant the more liable to be fucked over you are, believe me"

"You don't do drugs? Weird. Are you just paranoid as shit, then?" He asks, idly ashing his cigarette over the concrete. He glances back at Sybine, shrugging once as his black eyebrows rise on his pale forehead. "Maybe you should try some pot or something. Calm your nerves." Elijah suggests, a slight smile stretching over his lips. "Oh, I believe you. Addiction's my middle fucking name."

As though Elijah's words remind her of something, Sybine flicks her cigarette to the side and reaches for her cigarette pack once more. "That is not a bad idea," she comments idly to herself before tapping a thin, handrolled joint from the pack. "Shonk's checking my pockets now, otherwise I'd likely be way more fucked up than I am." She leans her shoulder back against the wall to light the joint, obviously not concerned with her surroundings, and wraps her free arm around her midsection. One toe taps against the pavements softly as her nerves are clearly still on edge with her short interaction with Elijah, but the same rather goofey grin remains on her lips.

"Paranoid? Fucking healthy respect for the dangers of this planet man, that's i'd call it, you know what I mean?" He looks around, "We're destroying the planet, we're destroying ourselves, why the fuck shouldnt we be wary, eh? You fuck someone enough times, they're bound to start fucking back, right?" He shakes his head, "No fucking way, the fuck would I want to loose my edge?"

Elijah nods his head to the balding fellow, raising the cigarette to his lips again as he takes a long drag, narrowing his eyes against the cloud of smoke that flutters up through the air. "That's all fine and dandy, but you're just wasting the time you have. Find a center, Sam. Find a fucking center within. You know? This world sucks, man. So find contentment for yourself." He says, ashing the cigarette again as he looks back at Sybine, the burnt tobacco fluttering to the ground next to his jean-clad legs. "I thought he didn't care if you got fucked up?"

"He doesn't care if I get fucked up. He just doesn't want me /so/ fucked up around you," the readhead answers in a simple tone, her eyes turning between Elijah and Samuel. She takes slow hits, holding the joint between her first two fingers like a cigarette. "He doesn't trust you, yet, I think. You ever touched me while I was fucked up and I'm pretty sure he'd make your face into a mask." She motions with her hand dismissively, looking up to the street boredly. "I thought yuo weren't supposed to get drunk," she retaliates pointedly, tossing Elijah a slight scowl as he points out her drug use so blatently.

"Oh, why dont we all fucking shove a heroin syringue into our arms? Who the fuck gives up like that, the fuckin sound of a quiter, you ask me" He shakes his head, "This country is worth fighting for, this society is worth changing to the better, aslong as we dont just fucking give up, finding our gooey center, hippie bullshit man" He looks past Elijah and at the woman, "Jesus fucking christ woman would you fucking stop talking about your goddamn pimp for a second already? Im trying to talk to my man here about some real fucking thing and you just keep babbling about your goddamn pimp and how he keeps you safe, get a fucking switchblade and go freelance already with this bullshit. "

"Holy shit." Elijah replies in a quiet voice, staring at the balding man, before glancing back at Sybine, his features as stoic as ever. A quiet, cold chuckle begins to escape his parted lips now, and he turns to stare at the bald man. "It's not about drugs, Sam. It's about raising yourself up. You know? Using your own potential to dig yourself out of a hole you didn't have a choice about." He says, casting another glance behind him at Sybine, clearly waiting for her explosion of anger.

Turning her eyes with a snap towards Samuel, Sybine's painted lips press into a rather unattractive scowl. "You rancid little shit," she spits towards Samuel as she comes forward in a short step past Elijah's side, raising her joint between her first finger and thumb to push it directly into Samuel's forehead. "And if my fucking pimp was here, I'd more than happily enjoy him fucking your throat until it turns inside out."

There is a sizzling sound as he joint connects with the mans forehead, "Motherfucker!" cries the lanky balding man, "Ahh, fuck!" He places his hands on his forehead, cradling the burn, "I just wanted to you stop talking about your pimp, for fucks sake, Im sorry if you were offended, but you did totally mention him like in every sentence, I thought it was getting on my nerves, no need to put a fucking cigarette out on my forehead" He touches the burn and winces, "All right, i'll be going, christ, dont..shit, Sorry" He continues cursing and begins walking away, obviously intimidated by the woman

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sybine. I find a single intelligent person in this whole city and you do something stupid." He stares after the man, frowning as he looks back at Sybine. "Hey! Samuel! Beer on me!"

"Of course!" the redhead exclaims as Elijah speaks, tossing her hands up softly. "He calls me a fucking hooker and you want to buy him a drink. Even the stupidest man I've ever met has more sense than to call me a whore, Elijah. You have fucking fun with that 'intelligent person'." She snorts softly and spits on the sidewalk at Elijah's feet before turning on her heel to step in the opposite direction as Samuel.

"Christ man, bitch put out a cigarette all over my shit, how am I gonna be trolling for ass on a bar looking like archie from the fucking comic?" he waves his hand, "I'll see you around man, i'll be around here tomorrow night, you can buyme a fucking beer then, i'll be the cunt with the pockmarks", he begins walking down the street before turning around and calling after the redhead, "LIKE I KNEW YOU WERE SOME MONGOLIAN FUCKING WARLORD THAT PUTS JOINTS OUT ON PEOPLE, WELL SORRY, GHENGIS CUNT!" he then turns and legs it, using the distance already gained between them to run down the street.

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