Ronnie was sat in his luxury strip penthouse, just doing the usual, kicking back with his medication and some music. He got to thinking. 

Why are the streets so quiet? It’s the same few faces out there contributing entertainment. Are the people scared? If so why? 

Then Ronnie remembered. He lives above the streets. Why not ask the people? So he got up, grabbing his lighter and coat on the way, a-few minuets later he appeared, street level, looking dapper as usual. 

He lights his joint and takes a drag before clearing his throat and standing on a nearby box. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Today I’m not here to boast about my sexiness or any of that. No. 

Today I come with a genuine concern for our streets here. I’ve read my families journals and a big majority of them say the streets where alive. With passion and intrigue. Storytellers told stories that gripped the audiences. Everyday people expressed their feelings, and poets recited verses. 

So today I ask the question. It’s been asked before. And will be asked again. 

Why are our streets so quiet. Now although they ain’t silent. It’s the same faces over and over. Why don’t the people participate? Are you afraid? If so. Why? Come today and let papa Ronnie know why you’re all so quiet..”

Ronnie stands tall and firm on the impromptu soap box. Hoping that people speak. 

Looking out a small crack in his curtains, careful not to draw attention, he sees a nicely dressed man step up on a box and begin to speak in a loud voice.  The few individuals left on the street quickly scurry away as they are either intimidated by what the man has to say or afraid of......the trolls.

A chill runs up @Chase's spine and he immediately begins to look around nervously.  The trolls were ever present, hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack.  They had chased off the masses and now waited just out of sight, hoping the naive would forget their actions in time.  

@Chase shook his head and closed the curtains back together tightly.  He was concerned for the man on the box, both that his message would be lost and that the trolls would lash out at yet another victim.

Eight was sure he saw a curtain nervously twitch close out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it. Hopefully it was someone scared of being thought of as up to no good, rather than a would-be assassin ready to make their name on his fat head. He listened to Ronnie standing on his improvised soapbox and waited for him to finish, noting tall and firm stance as he did so.

When exactly in your journals did the writer say audiences were gripped by stories, poets recited verses and people expressed their feelings? For the longest time I feel like people have complained about how things are without providing any sort of plan on how to improve them nor any sort of reference point as to when it was actually better.

As to your question, I think the streets are quiet because the modern mobster isn't really interested in speaking here anymore. They don't see a value in it and are more concerned with shooting people and having private conversations rather than putting any thoughts out for public dissection. I don't really have a problem with that, aside from finding it quite a boring way to live one's life. 

Why do you think the streets are quiet, Ron?

Rias was casually strolling through the streets when she caught glimpse on Ronnie standing on his infamous soap box once again. Always up for a good laugh, Rias decided to step over and listen to what he had to say this time. Standing there and listening to Ronnie, she was about to chime in when a familiar voice was heard. Glancing over to her left, Rias spotted Grin. She waited patiently for him to finish speaking before adding in her thoughts.

"Personally I think there are a couple reasons you don't see the street presence like you used to see. Aye I have flipped through journals of old, like most of us have and have seen the streets thrive in the past. Seems there were days of old when a mobster wouldn't even be considered to get their button without street presence. There were standards... Though like Grin stated, times have changed. The more modern era around here is geared more towards violence, a lot of the creativity has vanished. I guess you could call it a dying art."

She paused for a moment before continuing.

"I do also believe that people don't often venture to the streets anymore because of the microscope they are quickly put under. Every word and every story, picked apart and ridiculed by certain individuals. It's been a constant for quite some time now and it's turned away quite a few. Some of which whom have taken a majority of their presence to the business districts around the country, leaving the streets barren."

"I don't think it's one particular thing that has steered people away but more so a combination of things. It's sad to see the streets the way they are right now and I'm not sure I see a change in sight anytime soon."

Ronnie listens to the man before him and smiles. 

“The ones that I have read can recall back to the summer of ‘16. Now I know that was long ago. That’s why I’m not expecting the streets to go back to what they once were. But I can hope that some new faces start coming here and leaving a mark. 

As to your answer i see why you say what you do, it may well be true. A lot of people here only seem to enter competitions, or only talk with friends in the streets. But there is value here. It’s in giving out entertainment. 

And that leads me to my answer as to why I think they are quiet. Because the majority of the population don’t get rewarded. Cash wise. Now there is a reward. If you have a gift from the gods. And that adds up nicely. But I feel people don’t see a big ‘Short term’ reward. They want things instantly. But that shouldn’t be what makes you come here. Providing entertainment IS entertainment too.”

Mahihkan sits there on a curb  listening and remembered some of the things she read in her family journals about storytellers.  Her family is known as great storytellers among her people.  Storytelling is their passion, it is their generational calling and has been for centuries. 

They were one of a kind storytellers,  the kind these people kept saying they were looking for. The kind who told stories not for recognition, nor for any monetary value.  

No, they told stories for the sheer joy of telling stories. 

She stood and walked down the street she figured she would  let the great debaters of the day debate this mystery.

 Many wonder what happened to these one of a kind storytellers. She shook her head and continued on her way as she turned into an  alleyway disappearing from the gathered crowd. Knowing anything she had to say about the matter would fall on deaf ears, or obtain ridicule. She shook her head and sighed deeply as she as she watched the chirping bird she had startled fly away. Oh no, maybe it would be twisted or possibly defamed as plagiarism with absolutely no proof.