Forsaken: A Film Noir RP

[radical edward]

Welcome to my newest RP. This time, we're doing something different: A film noir RP. What's Film Noir? It's a gritty, bloody detective story with crime, cops, and jazzy soundtracks. Think movies like "The Big Sleep", "Chinatown", and "The Maltese Falcon"
Our setting is the city of Forsaken. It is a haven for crime with a police force that is in need of serious reform. Enter the new police Chief Gary Jennings. He has seen enough of the corruption on the force, and he will stand for it no longer.
But it will not be easy. The crime boss Al Dracon (to be played by someone besides me) has no plans to give up his hold on the city.
Character Sheets
The police force:
Name:
Rank:
Physical Description:
Eyes:
Race:
Hair:
Bio:
Personality:
Special Training (can be left blank, this is your specific training that helps you in law enforcement. Can be things like martial arts, dog training--like the k-9 cops, you get the idea.
Dracon "Family"
Name:
Nickname: What the other criminals call you.
Physical Description:
Eyes:
Race:
Hair:
Bio:
Personality:
And here are my characters:
Name: Gary Jennings
Rank: Chief
Physical Description: A well-built 55 year-old who looks as though he seen some battles. He has a scar on his left arm.
Eyes: Gray
Race: African
Hair: Black
Bio: Gary grew up in Forsaken, and did not succumb to the siren song of greed. He kept the straight arrow path and despised the criminals that plagued the honest citizens. He vowed that he would bring down the Dracon family or die trying.
Personality: Gary is your typical police chief, calm and understanding, but not someone you should cross. He's old, but he can still fight if he needs to.
Special Training: The training that comes with experience and moving through the ranks of law enforcement.
Name: Derrick Wolfe
Rank: Detective
Physical Description: He seems lean, as though he works out.
Eyes: Brown
Race: Caucasian
Hair: long brown, in ponytail at end.
Bio: Derrick grew up in Chicago and went to Catholic school. He became a detective and was newly appointed to Forsaken, with a good report from his superiors. He's not worried about having to start new, and is no ordinary rookie. He's 35 years old.
Personality: Derrick became a cop because he was a big fan of detective novels and movies. He is an eager man, looking to prove himself to his peers.
Special Training: Years of academy training, with special training in homicide investigation. He is also skilled in martial arts.
OK, the rest is up to you!

[Phantom_Sorano]

Per request (as in he told me to), I will be playing a detective. And it's a girl (surprise)…(Rockie told me to).o_O

Name: Dianna Poena Dike (Di)
Rank: Detective; Lead Detective
Physical Description: Moderately tall with a lean and muscular build; generally wearing a ruffled up pair of slacks, old leather suspenders, boots, cream shirt with a overly loose tie, a button or two missing at the top and a splash of a familiar coffee stain, and long black detectives coat. REFUSES to wear the precinct hat.
Eyes: Hazel
Race: an fairly darker skinned Causcasian
Hair: Fairly short, jet black, and extremely messy; covers a great deal of her face
Bio: The Dike family moved to Forsaken when Dianna was only ten. Her father, John, was a writer and specialistic in serial murders; her mother Wendi was transferred to the University to head up their biological studies division. All seemed to be going well until The Dikes began to work on a special investigation with the FPD; a huge case was about to crack upon. But it wasn't the case that cracked; it was the Dikes. Young Dianna and older brother Myles returned to their home to find their parents brutally murdered. So disturbed by the scene, Myles had a severe mental breakdown and was sent to the Forsaken Asylym. With no family to care for her, Dianna became a ward of her parents' close friends, the Lethe family, who run Forsaken's crematorium and funeral home. Little is known about Di other than the tales from the murder.
Personality: Dianna is rather ill-tempered, brooding, aloof, and is easily angered by prying people; she is also very intelligent but lacks social grace and is sometimes too blunt and inconsiderate. Despite these hang-ups, Dianna is caring in her own regard and completely loyal.
Special Training: Top of academy; Masters in Forensic Studies from Forsaken's own Cadameus University; experience from Lethes will dealing with corpses and causes of death; other various training; studies serial murders like father; darn good shot.

[radical edward]

Great job, Soran, as usual!

[Diamond Dragon]

Name: Blair Whitney
Rank: K9--Rookie
Physical Description: She's rather small for someone her age, but she's very sprightly to make up for it. She wears the required outfit for her sector, but wears it in a way that makes t look fashionable.
Eyes: Almond shaped, and almost black.
Race: An interesting mix of mexican and asian, with the mexican's brownish skin tone.
Hair: Long and black, with a slight wave to it.
Bio: Her family has some distant relation to the Dracon family, but they were left alone because they were considered bunglers who never did anything right. All through her life Blair has seen the awful things they did, and desired greatly to stop all the madness. That's when she decided to go into the police business. She persevered despite the fact that her smaller size made her look weak, and she was able to get the training she needed.
Personality: She's rather quiet, but very sweet when she does talk. She seems so innocent that it's surprising that she ever got into the police business at all.
Special Training: The training most everyone gets in the K9 sector of policing, and knows some martial arts. She has yet to have any real field experience though.
Dog: Argon, a big black husky.

[radical edward]

Welcome aboard as always, DD!

[Phantom_Sorano]

Rock when are we getting started?

[radical edward]

I was waiting to see if more people showed up. Sorry. I might try something tomorrow.

[Davidizer13]

Name: Gilliam Sullivan
Nickname: Saint Patrick
Physical Description: A huge man. Bigger than that. He's got the build of a prizefighter, poured into a custom-made zoot suit. Carries a pair of chromed knuckledusters, steel-tipped shoes, and a flask on his belt.
Eyes: Green
Race: Pale skin
Hair: Red, scruffy, with a full beard.
Bio: Gilliam's been working for Dracon for some time now. He's the one who gets sent out to shake down the mom and pops, the laundries, the jewelers' shops, for protection money. He shows up, looks big, tosses around his knuckles, maybe busts a window on the way out if they get mouthy. It's not exactly pleasant work, but he doesn't have the stomach for the wetwork, and besides, it sure beats working in the meat packing plants like every other Irishman in the family - that, he found out through personal experience. Instead, he gets his family time when they all go to Mass on Sundays. Some habits from the old country die hard, after all.

Personality: Stoic, calculated, but unrefined. He gets the occasional pang of guilt when it comes to what he does, but a wad of banknotes for the next week in the boarding house puts it to rest for a while.

[radical edward]

Thank you Davidizer! Let's just start with what we got then.
Gary opened the door for Derrick.
"Well, let's hope Dianne doesn't mind having a partner." he said.
"I don't mind having someone show me the ropes." Derrick shrugged.

[Phantom_Sorano]

Dianna's office was further down the hall way, near the far end of the weather-worn police station. Forsaken Police Department had been built back over a hundred years ago-and barely any changes had the building seen; its halogen lights flickered a soft orange glow around the once elaborate cut archways and stairways, the previously white paint was chipped everywhere and was now a murky color due to years of cigarette smoke, and above hung the once grand light fixture in the middle of the precinct was now caked in cobwebs and illuminated a building that held many memories.

The door to the office that police chief Gary lead the new recruit to was not fair from his own; it was a large dark strained oaken door with a smokey glass pane where one could easily make out the letters put there long ago:
D. DIKE, MA
LEAD INVESTIGATOR
HOMICIDE & CRIME

Though the smell of stale cigarettes permeated the air, a soft whiff of coffee escaped from under the large door at the end of that darkest hallway. A few young interns stared in amazement at the newcomer as if the chief was leading him to his doom, muttering "decay" under their breaths before shuffling out of sight.

As if the person could sense people outside the door, a rough female voice shouted for those outside to enter. Inside was just as welcoming as the precinct parlor; everything was dark and cast in shadow. The blinds to the magnificent large windows that sat behind a large mahogany desk where shut. There was a old fainting couch in the corner that had an old pillow and blanket carelessly thrown on it; several file cabinets in a olive green color seemed ready to bust as small ends of paper attempted their escape. Other items included a large book shelf crammed full of well-worn leather bond books and odd trinkets, a small dresser in which the smell of the came from with a copper kettle lay perched on a hot plate. At last, there were two chairs near the other side of the desk on an threadbare rug that where facing an empty fireplace. Above the mantle, there were several certificates and a pinboard which several photos and string connecting them in odd patterns.

Dianna was sitting behind her desk, stacked with unstable towers of paperwork. In one hand she held the morning paper, and the other an battered up mug labeled "CADAMEUS". Her short dark hair seemed untamable and she lifted her head from the article she was reading to stare down her company with eagle-like sharp eyes.

"Chief", she finally said as she lowered her paper and gestured them to both grab a chair, "what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?"

Her voice had soften some, but her eyes did not leave the new face that sat in her office.

"And who's the kid?", her voice bubbling slightly in agitation.

[radical edward]

Derrick got up to offer a hand to shake.
"The name's Derrick Wolfe." he introduced himself.
"He's our new recruit from Chicago. And your new partner. We need someone to show him the ropes, and I can't think of a better person for the job."

[Phantom_Sorano]

Dianna merely eyed the pale hand that the young man extended to her. Her eyes focused around his knuckles and muttered as she was thinking."

"Barely any breaks but several old fractures. Smooth, so he had not been a laborer in the shops. Ah, thumb slightly twisted. Martial arts....sixteen no...eighteen years perhaps. Young face, but most likely middle aged...early to mid thirties. Seems repulsed by entry way...avoids looking at alcohol on shelf. Religious....strictly so...light indents on other hand...small beads....ah...a Catholic."

Only after this personal assessment did she extend her hand and shake back before quickly letting go to resume her mug of coffee.

"Chief", she said back to Gary as if Derrick suddenly did not exist, "why can't someone else deal with the rookie? Ya know how I feel about...partners."

Her eyes shifted to outside the door where soft mutterings could be heard; without a second thought, Dianna rushed from her seat and banged her fists loudly against the adjacent wall. A few sharp cries penetrated the loud crash as a framed plaque hit the floor. Dianna did not seem to notice.

"Enough with the Decay sh-", she bellowed as her phone cut her off. Good timing: the chief did not care for swearing in front of the ladies at the precinct. She picked up the phone and motioned with her hand, telling her boss it was all okay and to leave the pup with her. Her attention went back to the other end of the line.

"Yes, yes....this is Dike. No...like "die-kay"....yeah...yeah...yes, please connect them over."

Dianna slumped back in her chair rolling her eyes as the other line connected again.

"Hello? Yes, this is she.....I see. Where did you find him? Uh huh.....yeah....22nd and Broad? Yeah....Yeah....I'll send a car for it. Yeah....uh huh...I'm on the way."

The phone made a sharp click as she dropped it in place. Standing, she reached behind her and pulled on a long black coat.

"Go down the hall to the first desk on your left. You'll find a lady named Delores. Get your new badge, and grab a coat. She'll have one for even a string bean like you. Meet me outside in two minutes. And don't ask any stupid questions, got it?"

With that, she trudged out of her office and out of sight.

[radical edward]

Derrick nodded and followed her instructions. He got his new outfit and got inside the car. He said a quick prayer to God, hoping that Dianna didn't see him. She didn't seem the godly type.

[Phantom_Sorano]

OOC: Four sentences? Dude! -_-*

The black and white police car zoomed and bumped around the old cobblestone streets that wound through Forsaken. Dianna was not known for being a slow or safe driver; the car struggled and sputtered as it raced through cramped alleys and past forlorn brick buildings until the view of other police vehicles and a red ambulance came into view. The tires screeched in protest as Dianna came to a sudden and abrupt halt, and she was out and walking to the crime scene before her new "partner" had time to open the car door.

A small group of porky officers were conversing deeply until Dianna was right on them- hands in her coat pockets and a irritated scowl on her face. One of the officers turned around, and as he saw the newcomer his face bleached itself as a cloth left out in the sun too long.

"De...cay", he managed.

"It's Dike, you slow-tongued swine!", she barked, "Now quit playing house out here and show me the body!"

The officers scampered like mice; one of them shot a look of half surprise and half pity at Derrick; he understand the young man's sad fate of having to work with "Decay". The officer Dianna had addressed, Grumley, was now motioning for Derrick to follow him inside the worn down apartment building. Dianna was already inside, looming outside a small painted door on the second floor. Officer Grumley meekly climbed the stairs until he was cowering beside her. He did not know what worse worse: the Lead Homicide investigator or the grizzly scene inside.

Blood was everywhere; painted and splashed about as if a deranged artist was throwing dark red upon the white-wash walls. Articles of clothing were scattered along the floor; furniture overturned. In the center of the room was the victim. His body had not been removed yet, and he was lying face down in a deep crimson pool. Dianna stepped into the room unfazed and began to examine the body.

"Male. Caucasian. Mid twenties...skin tone...plus the coloring and heat loss....dead for about three hours....hmm....", she muttered to herself.

"Umm...uh...Detective...is there anything you'd like me to do?", asked Grumly.

"Your job would be a good start", replied Dianna curtly. She turned her attention back to the body.

"You! Fresh meat!", she boomed at Derrick without her glance leaving the victim, "Search the room! See what you can find."

[Davidizer13]

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Gilliam shifted on the bench in the confessional. His gaze avoided the grille between him and the priest, not being totally convinced that the priest couldn't see through to him.

"Tell me, my child, for God is forgiving."

Gilliam's eyes wandered up the walls of the booth as he remembered. The Chinaman at the garment shop yesterday, giving him that look of pain and anger as he dug through his cash box for his protection money. Then he paid a visit to the family of someone who owed the Dracons some money. After putting a ransom note through their front window, he glimpsed an old woman with a child in her arms coming out onto the street through his mirrors as he peeled away. But none of that made it to his lips.
"I haven't been the man I should be," he stammered out.

"Ah. I can tell you safely, everyone has that problem at times, even me, and it is good that you recognize where your shortcomings are. Seek the Lord's guidance, and work to improve when you find where you have failed the most." That was what stuck with Gilliam afterwards - the priest carried on for a bit before closing with a benediction, but he didn't remember it once he had squeezed back out of the booth. They rolled over and over in his head as he lingered in the sanctuary of St. John's of Capistrano.

He needed a smoke. Stepping back onto the street, he paid a glance to the scaffolding over the front of the cathedral, tarps covering the ornate carvings and masons' tools high above the street. He knew the bishop who used to run the place, way back when he was a kid, said that he had seen the cornerstone set for the place, and now the new one said it would be years before it would actually be finished. One gargoyle's covering had blown loose, and its wide eye stared back at him when he spotted it. And that was it. The police station was a few blocks away, it wouldn't take long, and maybe they'd give him leniency for confessing or ratting on the gang, as much as the idea bothered him. And would he have to tell them everything he'd done, necessarily?

But his thoughts were distracted by a messenger - one of the boys the Dracons used to get their instructions out; he recognized this one from a few other missions. He passed Gilliam a note, and all the thoughts of repentance left his mind for the moment. An address - 22nd and Broad, second floor, an apartment number. He sighed, dropped the cigarette to the ground and ground it out, and palmed his brass knuckles. Time to get to work.

The place was clean from the outside, just your normal Forsaken brownstone, around five stories tall, worn-down cobblestones on the streets out front. He trotted up the stairs, not particularly concerned about the situation - he'd been to this place before, not too long ago, but some people just didn't take the hint the first time around. Nobody responded to a knock on the door, so he pulled out his kit and jimmied the lock open, only to find...

He'd seen some bad scenes in his line of work, heck, he'd caused most of them, but this one... Cautiously, he stepped around the body and the blood stains to get a better look at the guy. Same one as he had seen last time, plus some rather horrific battering on the face. Someone had done the job he was supposed to be doing, he figured.

A siren cut through the dead silence of the room. Quickly, he tiptoed to the window - a meat wagon had pulled up out front, light flashing, followed by a cop car, and another... He wasn't about to stick around and count any more, though. A sinking feeling crept up his chest. He had been set up. Or maybe this guy had more enemies with some other family? Would the Triads or the Cosas do something this nasty? It all rushed through his head as he dove beneath a bed in the back, pulling the loose-hanging bedspread to cover the gap. Fortunately, he had bought himself some time by making sure the door was locked behind him, the one halfway professional thing he had done today.

The next moment was agonizing, made worse by the incessant steady electric ticking of the alarm clock on the nightstand, attempting to force everything in the room to match its rhythm, especially his pounding heart. But then the front doorknob rattled, again and again, until finally there was a muffled crack and the sound of heavy footsteps in the front room. More and more came up the stairs; he glimpsed one or two giving the body the once-over. And he wasn't totally sure, but one looked like a dame, hard to tell from where he sat, though.

That is, until she spoke those chilling words. "Search the room! See what you can find."

[radical edward]

Derrick was already looking before Dyke said anything.
"There's a broken window over here, and I think this might be the gun here."
He heard sounds outside.
"Um, Detective, I don't think we're alone here." he alerted his partner. "We might want to be careful."
He sighed and said a prayer, hoping he wouldn't have to kill anyone on his first day on the job. St. Gabriel, protect us.
OOC: St. Gabriel is his patron saint.

[Phantom_Sorano]

OOC: I forgot how amazing it was to have David on a rpg! So excited!!!!

Still entranced by the body, Dianna was now rummaging through one of her coat pockets. Officer Grumley watched her nervously- he had heard all sorts of stories about the whack-brained detective and her loose cannon temper. She seemed to have found what she had been looking for; he shrunk down expected for a brief second for his face to be tasting lead, only to see that Dyke had retrieved a small leather bound book and pen. Her hand moved vigorously over a blank sheet of paper. Grumley stood there stupidly. He glanced around the room and at the fresh meat surveying the place. The religious type never made it long in the force. Maybe he should join the Decay pool for this one; she had the reputation of exhausting partners like Dracons tying up loose ends. His mind was still wandering when he saw Dianna rubbing the victim's blood into her book.

"Wa..wha..what are you doing?! You can't go touchin' that stuff!", cried Grumley as he battled his shock.

Dianna then stood up and crossed the room, grabbing Grumley by the scruff of his shirt and yanking him close. Though Dianna wasn't a giant by any means, she seemed to tower above him. He gulped and started to feel the anger pulsate from her in hot waves.

"YOU have been nothing but a hindrance!", she said while also swearing, "If you know what's good for ya, you'll hams cray. There is someone in here that could easily take you out, and today you're pushing it to be me! OUT!"

She released him and he went scampering out of the room and down the stairs like an animal beaten by a cruel master.

Dianna now began to walk around the room, studying the layout. Here and there, she would jot down a quick note in her book. Finally she closed it and returned it to her pocket, replacing it with a small silver carton she used to carry her cigarettes.

"Besides kid", she said addressing Derrick again, "if you're going to pray to anyone, ol' Saint Patrick might be a good one. You'll be lucky and come off better if you do."

Her knees softly cracked and she squatted down besides the bed and rolled a cigarette underneath, but not before her pen made a quick mark and placed behind her ear. If she was not mistaken, Derrick was at least correct that the room wasn't empty and that hopefully her hunch was on target. With the soft and barely noticeable disturbance in the curtains facing the street and directional pull of the bed spread...yes...it had to be. She slowly stood back up and circled the bed again before returning to the entry of the crummy room. She motioned for Derrick to follow and was quickly hurrying down the stairs.

"You'll fill out this report, kid. I have some things to do at the morgue. I'll meet you in a few hours. Car keys are in your pocket. Placed them there when we walked in. I'm walking. Bye.", Dianna called out to Derrick from the bottom step of the apartment building before disappearing outside and down a few narrow alley ways. She couldn't focus when someone was around her; hopefully the third party member would appreciate her message that she had scratched on the cigarette while Derrick wasn't looking: Rookie noticed-sloppy Gil. She would meet him again soon enough. Until then, she had some things to look into.

[radical edward]

Derrick raised an eyebrow as he watched Dianne.
He got in the car with her. "So which member do you think it was?"

[Davidizer13]

Gilliam was alone again - the cops had done their work, and the stiff was well on the way to cold storage. The cigarette the lady detective had rolled under the bed had burned down to a nub. Cautiously, quietly, he pulled himself out from beneath the mattress, fuming, swearing and pounding his fists the whole way...but as quietly as possible, just to be safe. She was taunting him. She used his real name, and then casually dropped his other one as she pranced about in her jackboots, right in front of his face, pretending she didn't see him...

They'd had a couple run-ins before, when some other gang business had gone a little out of hand (but not quite like this time). She'd poked around, called him in for a round or two of questioning, playing both good cop and bad cop on separate occasions, but nobody could make any of it stick to him. Obviously, she had taken a shine to him and his dashing, carefree attitude to life, and now she was trying to express it while she had the chance, the best way she knew how.

At least, that's what he liked to imagine. He liked imagining it so much, he kept it up the whole way to the Basilisk, the Dracons' own speakeasy on the east side, because right now, he needed answers more than torrid affairs with dangerous women.

The door was ornate, made out of some dark tropical wood carved in medieval patterns and fanciful creatures. Giliam did the secret knock, a panel at eye-level slid back, and the door opened, revealing their own little pleasure palace, gilded and mirrored, a bar on one side holding a small selection of liquors smuggled in from climes much less uptight about what people did for fun. Above the heads of the patrons, in a light haze of cigarette smoke, a huge Chinese dragon sculpture dangled from the rafters, every one of its red and gold scales detailed exquisitely - rumor has it, way back when, the boss did a huge favor for the Triads and helped run out a band of yakuza, fresh off the boat, that thought they might make themselves a foothold here in Forsaken. Gilliam always liked its furry mustache, how out of place it seemed on the nose of a huge scaly lizard.

Randall Dracon was at a table with a gal, sipping from a wide glass; Gilliam frowned when he realized they were the only family member in the place, and steeled himself to deal with this idiot. He was their fourth son...or was he the boss's nephew? Maybe he was adopted? All he knew for sure is that he ran the books for the gang, kept their commercial enterprises looking vaguely clean. He smiled and motioned Gilliam over; Gill just gritted his teeth in imitation and pulled out a chair.

"Well, if it isn't Saint Pat himself, come back from driving out the snakes out of Forsaken," Randall said, still grinning away. "What brings you here on this fine afternoon?"

"I got problems. Big ones."

"Don't we all," he replied, patting the hand of the blushing lady on his arm, making her giggle. Gilliam wanted to spit into whatever ten-year-old scotch he was drinking.

"Where's the boss?"

"Out on business." It figures, Gilliam thought to himself. "Until they return, I have been entrusted with the care of gang business, so tell me, what's bothering you?"

"That welcher on Broad? He turned up dead." That wiped the stupid smile off his face. The lady awkwardly stammered something about powdering her nose and warily wandered into the back room.

"Surely you can't- You didn't-"

"Do you think I'm that stupid? He was cold when I got there, and I didn't do nothin', but next thing I knew the place was swarming Forsaken's finest. If I didn't know any better, I woulda thought I'd been set up."

"Pat, these are rather radical accusations you're making! You must be mistaken, you've had a rough day. Why don't you head upstairs for a spell? I've got a friend who's up there right now, I've told her of you, and now she's been dying to finally meet you..."

"You really do think I'm that dumb, don't you? I'm not gonna patronize any of your kept women and have them wheedle me into blackmailing myself."

"Pat. What are you really getting at? You do realize the risk you've taken in coming here right after an incident with the coppers?"

"I do. I'm just tellin' ya, if you're gonna pull a dumb stunt like that after all the years of service I've put in and toss it away, I might just do something really dumb back. Nobody crosses Saint Patrick without gettin' something in return."

"Well. Very well then." There was an awkward silence as Randall tried to compose himself. "I suppose we shall be in touch again, soon enough?"

"Just gimme more work tomorrow, and I'll be fine." With that, Gilliam turned on his heel and headed back out to the street, but not before giving a couple glances back to Randall, who was running his hands through his hair, giving his own glances back to Gilliam. Putting an extra padlock on the door seemed like a good idea tonight.