Get Timers Now!
Nov 30 - 04:33:36
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Time for a Change Started by: TaylorBrown on Nov 21, '20 20:16

     The cold water splashing onto his face was just the thing Taylor needed to fully wake up after a long night of robbing local post offices and cracking safes. Rubbing the gunk out of his eyes he found himself staring into the mirror, it looked as if he had sprouted his first grey hair. Moving closer,  looking deeper it became ever so clear that he had. He wasn't a young man anymore, his twenty's were in the past and his forty's were in sight. 'Was the grey hair something anyone would notice, was this something to worry about?' went through his mind as he shaved away the 5 o'clock shadow and continued his morning routine. The honk of a horn followed by the barking of his dog alerted him his driver was here and it was time to check in with his beloved family at the Headquarters. Throwing on his newsboy cap, smoking a stogie, and wearing the same wife beater with a cross dangling from his neck he began the day.

Tony his driver had a newspaper already in the back seat for Taylor to read and catch up with local events and what was happening around the county, but for the first time he found himself to distracted to even pick it up. All he could do was stare at his own reflection in the window, eyeing the grey hair. Finally arriving at HQ he took his spot at the table surrounded by Bricktowns finest. Sitting in his chair he sipped his tea while listening to his crew discuss rackets, shakedowns, and organizing crimes. Though just like in the car he found his mind wandering. Looking around the room at all the decor he found himself locking eyes with his own in a mirror. Again, there was the grey hair as if it were  mocking him. The room went silent as he got up abruptly and headed straight towards the nearest washroom. Storming in he scuffled his head of hair until the grey one was in plain sight. Plucking it from his scalp and throwing it down to the ground he felt an instant relief. Within seconds it was as if a fire had started beneath him where the hair had landed. A sense of renewal and a drive filled him. The next thing that was needed was a new look to match this new drive and fire he sparked inside of himself.

Leaving the HQ his first stop was to a local shop that printed flyers. It was time for a change, a new look was needed and so the flyer was the first step in making it possible..'Taylor's hunt for a tailor' was the headline. The details below expressed his need for a new attire and outfit, and it summoned the best suit makers across the country to come to Detroit with their top suit. He would try on all brought forward from now until the Christmas Market opened which was the 23rd of November. The tailor of whichever suit he liked the most would walk away with 10 credits and his appreciation. With the flyers printed, he handed them out to his Detroit Lottery Association runners and tasked them with getting it into the hands of every member of this thing of ours. With them rushing out the shop the door swung closed and he found himself staring at his reflection, it was his young self looking back this time...


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Zeb bounces jauntily through Bricktown and notices TaylorBrown admiring his reflection in a nearby shop window.

'Hey Taylor, looking sharp, that a new suit'?

Zeb admires the Dons natty attire and very much likes the cut of his jib.

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Ah Zeb my friend it's an honor seeing you here. I've been trying on a few, still looking for the one that suits me best. Lots of talent out there and can't wait to see what each delivers.

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Gavin was taking a stroll on this nice day, birds chirping, guns blazing, tires screeching in New York. As he walked down the road he fumbled his pipe watching it fall to the ground. He bent over to pick it up and light up the pipe. As he was lighting up the pipe, he noticed a flyer that he hadn't seen before. He took a long look at it and it stated that TaylorBrown was looking for a tailor. Gavin was always one of the best dressed in town so he decided to contact Taylor and offer his services.

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