s i n ⋆ c i t y ; advanced rp. discussion

Bar + stripper club + gang meeting place. Owned by Dylan Clarke's aunt.

Aleksei Zhutov walked into the bar. The booming music and multiple distractions that were in his path made it hard for him to reach the drinks he needed to down. The club was neutral ground. But that didn’t stop Aleksei from glancing around and deciphering who was who. He wore casual wear, a leather biker jacket on top of an almost white shirt (blood stains hadn’t come off well) with black jeans, protecting his shoes were trainers that were close to worn. The Russian lumbered onto the bar stool, and banging his fist on the table to make his presence known he ordered vodka shots to soothe down the uncomfortable feeling. He lacked his comrades, they were busy back in headquarters finishing off a snitch. And Aleksei was tired to hear his pathetic screams.

Taking the first shot, he muttered “Ypa” to himself. No one else was there to toast with him. He glanced around seeing the female bodies dance to their tune. He self-consciously touched the scar that deformed his face. A knife cut slashing across his left eye. Not damaging the eye itself, but damaged enough for him to look anything but handsome. He focused once again to the shot glasses, and played with the empty one in his hand. He didn’t want trouble tonight. And as he thought this, another shot was downed.

Amara was having an uneventful day. One of her least favorite parts of being gang-less was the fact that she was always too far away from company, thus explaining her lack of friends. But, somehow she still had an ample amount of enemies, or rather annoyed victims to her petty thievery and such, floating around the crime scenes of LA. Today she didn't have much on her agenda, which explained her outfit. Normally, Mara would have to change into certain characters to get what she wanted-- some including the damsel in distress, or a seductive and borderline licentious woman. However on this particular dar, Amara decided to dress up as how she wanted rather than what she needed.
She decided on a one shouldered long sleeve black top that clung to her like second skin, and neatly tucked itself underneath a pair of taut gray jeans that finished just above her ankles. Her sneakers just managed to maintain its off-white color, enough of a dim shade to allow her jacket to steal the show. Currently, it was slung over her shoulder, but the folds still couldn't diminish the vibrancy and energy of the studs and red leather.

Swinging the door open, Amara slipped inside the speakeasy. The manner of her entrance suggested inconspicuous intentions, but can anything take away the constant attention that she received? And perhaps she wanted the attention-- was it the hair pulled back to show off her delicate features, or was it the bell attached to the door that denied anybody true concealment?

Choosing one of the few stools left at the bar, Amara called for the attention of the bartender without regard of even scanning the restaurant.

Aleksi glanced at the bartender whose eyes looked up at the ringing bell. The Russian bear didn’t bother looking, he wasn’t the one interested in who he’d meet. But from a mirror that reflected the bottles on display he caught a glimpse of what seemed to grab everyone’s attention. He had to admit, she was decently beautiful. And just like that he took the third shot of vodka. The liquor burning down his throat and leaving him warm on the inside. The flash of red appeared and the girl sat beside him. Out of his good eye he scanned her and faced forward again. He let the bartender go to her first before his fist came back down on the table to demand another round.

He was brute, not considering how to behaviour next to a girl. And yet at the same time he was even more shy to start up a conversation. His accented voice merely just ruining whatever thing he wanted to say. So he remained quiet. Just the occasion glance here and there. It didn’t hurt to look.

He drummed his finger on the bar table waiting for his order of shots. Then checked his phone to see any new messages but it seemed no one needed him.

Amara may not have her usual crowd, she did have usual places she liked going to and the speakeasy was one of them. As she settled into her seat and dropped her jacket on the hook near her legs, the bartender gave her his usual acknowledgement of her presence, in the form of a nod, and slid down one of her regular orders, which was a vodka soda. The bubbles fizzed just before reaching the tip of the glass and went back down as her hand stopped its trek across the table. Amara had done this enough times to calculate how much force she’d need to avoid spilling her drink either on herself or on others (it’s happened before and had even escalated to cursing and a fist thrown here and there).

“What’s the staring for,” She calmly asked while sipping her drink, her stare still lingering on the bartender before panning over to the man seated next to her.

Amara was well aware of the entrance she made and the disruption she caused for everybody in the speakeasy, and yet she targeted the large man next to her. She liked a challenge and establishing her dominance, or at least attempting to.

As they made eye contact, Mara cocked an eyebrow as if to prompt an answer. She liked human connection and has been especially yearned for it, but nobody could tell considering her argumentative seemed to obscure her compassion. Finishing a long gulp, she set her drink down on the table and slowly tapped her nails on the glass, the sound entertaining her while she awaited a reaction from the man.

Aleksei looked at the girl that spoke up. A mixture of irritation and surprise expressed on his rough face. “I thought this was America” he said, his tongue trying to pronounce the words in the least accented way. But he still sounded like the foreigner he was. Nevertheless he continued. “Freedom of looking and whatever else” he muttered going back to his shots laid before him. He noticed the drink she ordered and groaned. “See this is why Russians hate Americans. Always ruining the good stuff” He cursed in Russian and passed her one of his shots. “You either drink right or don’t drink at all” he said before retracting back to his corner.

Aleksei looked down to what was now two shot glasses. Which made him question why he gave her the shot glass. He asked, reaching back for the glass. “No, I change my mind. It’s mine” he said with a tight smile and sighed in pleasure to have more than two glasses. T

He looked over at her. “As you were” he motioned to her ‘vodka soda’. The sight of it made Aleksi curse in his mind. Thinking about all the things that were ruined by Americans. He expected that would be the end of it, keeping his eyes away so that she wouldn’t ask why he was looking again.

Amara wasn’t surprised by the irritation that she caused, this was something very familiar to her. Instigating trouble for both herself and others will always be a favorite for a past time activity, but the heavy accent took her aback seen in the slight tilt of her head. She hasn’t come across any member of the Bratva gang in quite some of time, it allowed her a time of relaxation and the opportunity to build up her confidence of being on her own. Or at least, until now.

Turning back to her drink, Amara responded to the Russian man, “Because frankly, I’m not an alcoholic,” her tone building up a mirrored annoyance as he teased a shot of whatever liquor he was passionately downing.

But it was true, Amara only ever allowed herself some light drinking. She was a lone wolf— the horrors of a drunken woman living in the grimy side of LA was well known. It’d be stupid of her to take anything past her tolerance or even close to it, but for some reason she still wanted to prove herself. And without another moment to think and control her impulses, she called out for the bartender with a wicked smile.

A tiny shot glass slid down the table, a red jewel toned glass matching seamlessly with her jacket. The liquid inside seemed to radiate its strength, taunting Amara just as much as the Russian man. As she caught the glass, she tipped her chin up and downed it in the same manner as the man, an arrogant wink finishing off her show.

“Don’t insult my vodka sodas,” Amara added, playfully but also deviously lacing an intentionally heavy Russian accent with her words.

Aleksei caught a glimpse of realisation in her eyes when she figured out he wasn’t any foreigner. But a member of the Bratva. He raised his eyebrow when she confessed she wasn’t an alcoholic. “I’m not either and yet here we are in a bar” he said, motioning to their surroundings with his hands. A spark of amusement tugged the corner of his lips upwards. Just to add to her annoyance, he took both shots together and slammed them down. A celebratory “YPA!” echoed along with the crashing of glass. Some of the other fellow club goers glanced at the Russian, putting hands to their hips at their guns or weapons that they failed to hide. He gave a side glance to them and growled. “Racists” Before turning back to his position and grabbing a napkin to remove some shards of glass on his hands.

He looked over to the girl, who now had a red glass instead of the vodka soda she carried earlier. He nodded in approval and at her wink his shoulder shook in laughter. “Aha, you’re competitive” he said wagging a finger to her. He leaned in. “You don’t need to impress me. Not interested in girls that drink” he smiled, pulling away with the same wink that she gave him earlier.

His jaw flexed when she mimicked his accent. Aleksei knew it would come sooner or later. After years of being laughed at, he thought he would get accustomed to it. But it still cast away the smile he wore and hunched his shoulders away from his company. “Then don’t insult me, засранец” he muttered, taking his wallet out to pay for the drinks.

(view spoiler)[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uia6y... at 0.19 to see his accent XD literally just searched tom hardy Russian accent ahahah (hide spoiler)]

The sudden increase in volume from the Russian man sent shocking bolts that racked her body. Normally, loud noises always hinted at violence and automatically charged her limbs to be on alert. Her stringy muscles tightened, the leanness apparent in her body type as she focused on her surroundings to double check that she was safe. Amara, despite her elegance when on a mission of stealing food or money, still experienced social awkwardness. She was pretty, and rather than embracing it, she learned how to use it to advantage. Which explains perhaps the surprise that yet again took hold of her when the man’s facial expressions transformed into scorn and was that... insecurity? She could only understand from personal relating to the flickering of eye contact and loosening of a confident posture.

Furrowing her brows, Amara tried to recount the conversation. How could he go from thinking that she was interested in him to a cold demeanour of something that seemed like hurt? Twisting her chin over the slender dip of her shoulder, it was Mara’s turn to scrutinise the man. He was rugged with both the rough edges on his clothes to the calluses on his hands and the sharp muscles that were rigid in his arms. He seemed... weathered but the youth presence of his eyes still remained and were intriguing.

“Hmm,” Amara murmured as she switched back to sipping her vodka soda. It wasn’t smart to act out in anything that seemed like a rejection to a man, especially a gang member. Terrible stories still haunt her in her dreams to the shadows that linger wherever she goes. She’s already acted enough on her impulses— there was only so much Mara could do on her own tight hold of attitude. Survival was her priority after all.

Aleksei glanced at the girl who was looking at him, he pulled out a few extra notes to pay for her drinks and whatever else she would order. It was roughly enough for just one more drink. Sure he was conscious about his accent but he didn’t need to act it out on her. He looked at around the bar catching few familiar faces that he tortured. He looked back at the girl. She wouldn’t be safe if he left. Especially considering he had talked to her. So he propped himself to the stool next to her. “These men behind me” he started. “Don’t, don’t look” He cursed in Russian. “They want my head” He chuckled as if it was the funniest secret he was giving to her. “And if I leave, they will want yours. So…take this” he said. He slipped his hand to his pocket to took out a small, pocket-sized pistol and moved it over to her. “You obviously can take care of yourself, but think of it as a parting gift from your hero Aleksei” he smiled. He took her vodka soda and drank it like it was water. He grimaced. “How can you drink this?” He muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

The tension from before rolled off. It was confusing for her, that was certain. The way his mood fluctuated. But Aleksei wasn’t the best at social surroundings. He didn’t know how to control his emotions and most of the time he just learned to leave. But the men behind them now didn’t want to leave the poor girl alone. However professional she may be at survival.

“Now, I can stay…but no more accents except for mine” he said. He was trying to say no more teasing but he couldn’t find the English word, so he took the substitute.

The stereotype that women are complicated and difficult are completely overrated. Men are the truly confusing species. Amara had managed to annoy, entertain, and then annoy the Russian man before her, but all of this created the result of him paying for her drink. She has had experiences with men at bars, but never has something quite like this happened before.

Without notice, the man leaned in, closing in the distance until his breath tickled the peach fuzz on her cheek and neck. Amara, out of reflex, twisted her body until her back hand was resting gently on the grips of her knives stuffed in the waistband of her jeans while her other hand came up to create a barrier between her and the Russian. Menacingly eyeing him, the shards of blue and green pulling at the dilation of her pupils, Amara quickly tried to decipher the Bratva gang member's intentions. His demeanor was still relaxed, save for the words coming out of his mouth.

Relaxing as she listened to his explanation of the men behind them, Amara pasted on an easy smile, even flicking her pony tail over her shoulder to create a delicate and soft persona. She understood immediately how to act, but worry still lined the edges of her smile. Alcohol was in her system-- a stupid, stupid choice of her's that she would have to bookmark as a never again type of thing-- but how well could she fend for herself? Mara relied completely on her quick instincts, from her knife throws to the punches or kicks that she could send out, but what use could they be when she had drinks?

The pistol the man slid over was slightly comforting, and their act of an easy going conversation helped when he downed the rest of her vodka soda seen in her genuine grin that slipped out.

"Stay? Don't they want your head?" Amara drawled, feigning an unhurried and care free facade. Resting her chin on her hand, she turned her head to face the jugs on the bar, using the glass reflection to check out these thugs that apparently wanted blood. Pot-bellied, drunk, equipped with weapons, and smug. The revolting aura practically radiated against her back, clinging to her revealed skin.

No one was more complicated than Aleksei. He never had any relationships that lasted longer than a month, mainly because of his lack of affection or insecurity of his own appearance. He wasn’t a Russian that was cold as the winter. Yes, he was strong, and big. But that was where the classification ended. He blamed his mother, who was Italian-Russian. No one could explain the weird mixture, but it definitely made Aleksei, a bipolar being.

He eyed her movements, as a hitman that was a principle rule. Figure out your prey before your prey finds you. Of course, the girl wasn’t his prey. It was a figure of speech. He was approaching her, and he had to be careful not to scare her when he meant well. Least for the time being. He noticed her eyes, making no comment about them except hold that menacing gaze of hers with the coolness of his. Even impressed more so by the change in her actions. He waved the bartender for drinks. The bartender was filling shot glasses with the vodka but Aleksei would of impatience scooped the bottle for himself. He grabbed a soda can that was unopened from the bartender too. Aleksei gave it to the girl. “For you” he muttered as he placed the tin can in front of her.

He laughed, shaking his head. “With a burning desire. But I want to drink” he shrugged. “So they’ll have to wait” he said, tagging a swing of the bottle. He gave her a side glance. “It’s fine though, I’m prepared to not die today” he smiled, patting his right side and moved down to his right hip. Not revealing the weapons he hid, but just hinting them to the girl.

The confidence oozing from the man's words put her even more on edge. The realization that he could very well get her killed was beginning to dawn on her. From past relationships, if you could call it that, Amara had gotten herself dragged into the crossfires of somebody else's drama and violence. She had escaped fortunately, but the emotional scathing of the disaster had scarred her more so than the physical wounds ever did. Mara now knew to steer clear of anybody with an ego on survival, even if it was supported by experience. Squinting her eyes at the man, she wondered why she was still conversing with him. The smart thing was to go back to joking with the bartender, pay up with her own money, and ditch the place before guns, nasty jokes, and the likes would even surface.

And yet, she stayed in place with her elbows casually resting on the bar table, her legs neatly crossed, and her jacket still on the hanger and not in her hands, ready for the move to flee. Was she really going to let her desire for human contact outweigh the confirmation of safety?

Apparently so.

The man might have said it was all 'fine,' but honestly when did that statement ever ring true? Seizing the soda can, Amara finished the last of it off in a single fluid motion. It wasn't because he was offering it, it was more because she needed to regain complete sobriety. But just in case, Amara didn't clarify that. Insulting men while drinking was probably one of the stupidest ideas she could come up with. The Russian man in front of her seemed different from the guys behind her, now hooting and hollering like the typical idiot she often came across, but she couldn't exactly hand over her trust quite yet.

For some reason, the air was changing and becoming... heavier. Tension was rising, Amara could feel it down to her muscles and bones. Call it survival instinct, but her body was once again taut. Studying the man's eyes, wondering if he got the same sense, Amara tossed a giggle alongside with a flip of her ponytail, and spun a lazy circle in her stool seat. To anybody else, it may look like a tipsy girl finding amusement in spinning in her chair, but it was really a tactic for Amara to scan her surroundings discreetly. Correct to her suspicions, the gang behind her were preparing for something. She couldn't say what, at least until clamoring and thundering bellows were announced. Smiling at how accurate she was, Amara secured her jacket and flipped out her weapons. She wondered what the Bratva member would do.

Aleksei thought the girl too jittery. Her eyes moved around and her hand always went to flip her hair. It wasn’t convincing him that she was relaxed. But kept his eyes on the same mirror she looked at, keeping eyes forward and a hand on the vodka bottle. The Russian was about to warn her not to turn again, but she gone done it. That was enough for the others others to stand and the tension to be humid in the air. He groaned, dropping his head to his hands which rubbed his eyes awake. Aleksi took another swing of vodka and turned to meet the gazes of those in the standoff. He looked over at the girl. “I didn’t finish my drink yet” he muttered, motioning to the bottle only halfway drunk. He wanted to at least start fighting when he was three quarters down it. Not that he’d told her about that.

Nevertheless at her action to expose all her weapons surprised him. He looked from the gang to her and motioned between them. “You see that?” He said in laughter, shaking his head. He acted like she’d done a magic trick that had gone right. Aleksei didn’t really feel the tension amount until he heard the other gang members clicking the safety off their weapons. He smirked. “I thought we were doing this Wednesday! You are too eager, my friends” He heard the retort of his rivals. Who said something and added ‘dirty communist’. Aleksei sighed, and quickly unfurled his gun shooting the speaker dead.

He lit a cigarette while the commotion began, letting it rest on the side of his mouth. “Who’s next?” He asked to the audience. Then the shooting spree began. Aleksei thought the girl could manage herself. He kicked a table and brought it close as a defence and place to rest his arms while he shot. He was enjoying this, fighting for his life. It made him laugh as he would put a new clip of bullets and take a puff of his cigarettes. When he felt a presence above the makeshift barricade, he jumped up and slammed the face on the bar table. Then shot twice in front of him catching two more before heading back down to the protection of the table.

Of course he was completely calm, he wasn't a woman out on her own who had to check over her shoulder constantly. This certainly wasn't how she wanted to spend her morning, but she'd already made her move and had turned the bar into a cage of violence. Not only was she with an arrogant, mood shifting, Russian Bratva gang member, she had also just recently bought new versions of her throwing knives, pistols and whatnot-- they were still fresh, glimmering, and quite painfully expensive. Nonetheless, the smoothness of the handles practically slipped into her fists, the ease enticing a shiver of pleasant goosebumps to tickle her arms.

Leaping over the table, she shot a warning to the ceiling, pumping out all the dust and mold that had collected in the wooden planks above them. However, of course, nobody could hear it over the rest of the gunshots piling out into the table she was now crouched behind. Despite her experience, and the blood she endlessly wore on her sleeves, both metaphorically and in actuality, Amara was never eager to take a life. Her jealousy of those with families and friends, even gangs, has left its gauging and permanent scars. The feeling of loneliness tore through her every now and then, the intensity of the pain fluctuating to the point where she lived for those 'okay' days and broke down on the awful ones. Thus, explaining her grabbing the bottle of alcohol, flicking the cap off, and emptying the rancid liquid onto the men, aiming for their eyes, before smashing the glass and shoving them into whoever was in . front of her.

It wouldn't be enough, but Amara was losing interest in the fight. Leaping up, she punts the table in front of her with her heeled boot, with an exclamation, "Oh it's like bowling!"

Alexei was impressed by the girl’s shoots. Some accurate, others mostly to impose injury. He shot to kill. Leave them with a message to not bother him again. Yet, in their small minds, they didn’t seem to ever get the message.

The Russian laughed contently as the bullet flew in the air. Glancing over at the girl he grinned maniacally. “Come on, let us make our escape” he announced, extending his hand for her to take. He had enough strength to raise the table, gun in another hand and shield them until the back exit. The usual one he’d taken many times before. The shooting was a weekly event, and Alexei had gone to figure out the tricks to a quick getaway and a better plan of offence.

He lifted the table with a grunt, the wood was splintering from the bullets the passed through. It wasn’t hold long, but he calculated it would be sufficient time for them to reach the exit. “Come on, come on, I want to remain alive” he jested. Even amidst the chaos and shouts, he remained surprisingly positive, joyful almost. Everything that violence should not bring a man. Yet it did for Alexei. If his parents could see him now…the grin on his face flattered and so did his concentration. The memories, him at only seventeen, reaching home to find nothing but an eviction notice, the drawers empty. No sign or message left. A bullet whizzed too close to his head, snapping him back in concentration. His grin didn’t reach his eyes as they did before. In his eyes, if one was observant, they’d see the pain of the past.

Alexei shot twice, hearing a thump, supposing he got the attacker. Just a few more minutes before the table would fall and break.

Amara was always still shocked each time she witnessed killing. The concept of playing God and taking away lives on your own accord never went over her smoothly. Maybe it's her issue of losing control, or maybe its the completely cruelty and lack of emotion that it takes to go through with murder, but all that Amara was certain of was her anger. In between her own shots to the legs and arms and even shoulders, Amara would steal looks to study the Russian man 's face. It terrified her to see the stark contrast from his pained eyes to his maniacal smile. In a simpler and painless time, she wondered what his face would like then. He had handsome features, from the strong statement of his jawline to his sleek angles of his cheekbones, but all of it seemed so... weathered. Hurt. What happened to push a man into such torment?

The gang members were now closing in on them, the table losing its density as bullets plowed through. Without another moment, Amara let out a slip of a breath and shot down the chandelier fixture in the ceiling, snatched the sleeve of the Russian man, and flung her body out the speakeasy.

Once landing outside, Amara twisted her feat into the pavement, leaving her focus to seize the man.
"What did you do that for?" She shouted, throwing her hands , still holding onto the knives and guns, into the air. Her brows were cast downwards revealing her emotions, in case the volume of her voice didn't already hint at it. It was rare for Amara to reveal what she was truly feeling, but passion can never quite be controlled by anyone.
"You didn't have to kill them. Who gave you the right to take something that isn't yours?" She growled, before moving away from the entrance of the restaurant. The last thing she wanted was to return right back into the midst of the brawl, or rather murder. It was downright idiotic of her to think she could go around screaming at a man who could just as easily kill her, but Amara was upset and so she had to make it known that she was. She rarely got the chances to, might as well take advantage of it now.

Alexei let himself be pulled by the girl. While turning his body to get a few shots to the remaining members. As the spilled into the street, Alexei’s nostrils filled with the new air of the outside. Gone was the humid, alcoholic scent mixed with metallic smoke from the fight. He took a deep breath, letting his lungs get in the good air. He leaned on the wall as he heard the girl’s voice rise and her arms fly. He let himself watch her, inspecting the close details of her face that he wasn’t able to in the bar. Something spoke to him, the expressive nature of her blue eyes. In the bar, he’d see that same face adapt so easily to the tension. Of course a beautiful face beholds so many mysteries, and lies too. Versatile, an excellent quality for gangs. He was about to speak back when he heard the tumbling of bodies from across the door. He took her hand, pulling her into the deep alleyway next to the bar, and pressed the dark clothes on his body to cover her. “Try not to stab me while I help” he murmured.

Alexei soon heard the shouts of the gang members and running left past the alleyway while so spotted around the entrance of the bar. His arms flexed, tensing, hoping they’d leave them soon enough. Until he heard the last footfalls leave, which must’ve been a 15 minutes later. He stepped away.

“For a girl that doesn’t like bloodshed you rarely hesitated back there” he retorted. He tilted his head to one side. “You could’ve slipped away” he continued. Alexei was changing the subject, going around it instead of answering her questions and accusations. He ran a hand through his hair, the gel that held back the long locks were coming loose, so when his hand left, strands tumbled onto his forehead. “They want me dead, I merely call self-defence…” he sighed, letting out a long shaking breath. “There were roughly twenty, I killed,” he stopped in thought, “more or less eight” he estimated. “A right that isn’t mine?” He smirked, “Ah, за́йка, it is what it is” he murmured. Unable to find any good reasons to give her.