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| The First Time... no.... not that one | Started by: Keats on Dec 07, '07 18:26 |
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Keats slowly walks though the streets, with his hands entrenched in the dark pockets of his overcoat. He looks up at the various debates going on, chimes in every now and then, but mostly stands in the shadows, listening to the words of others. He leans against a nearby tree, and his narrowed green eyes revealing the thoughts taking place behind them. When, for a brief moment, quiet permeates the streets, Keats steps forward and reservedly but forcefully addresses the crowd. It seems as if one of the main topics flying around the streets today is the 48 hour rule for gangster. Now, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter, I completely support the policy in accordance with the rules of my family. But I'm not here to spark a debate about whether the 48 hour rule is correct or not, because that would, quite frankly, be repetitive and accomplish nothing. With that established, I would like to ask a question of any of you fine ladies and gentlemen who happen to hear me tonight. I have not been long on these shores. Though my family was very briefly involved here years ago, my cumulative experience is not of a large quantity, though I am extremely happy with the quality of experience I've had here. Whether it was my ancient ancestor stepping off on these shores and making his way, or my immediate ancestors journeying to this land, my family line never found it very difficult to fit into this world. Learning what to do was not a challenge in the slightest, thanks to the enthusiasm of my ancestors. This chain of thought has led me to the question I wish to pose to you all, especially those who have been here many years: Can you recall your first experiences in this world? Did you find it difficult, perhaps humorously so? Were you lucky enough to immediately find a place in which you could be successful? Or did you step off the boat and into a bullet? I'm looking forward to hearing any of the stories people have to share. With a smile, Keats returns to sitting on a bench to relax, waiting to see what kinds of stories people have from early days in their family lines. |
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Takes a listen then decided to put forward his experience Years and years ago, My blood entered these shores, well ones very similar. And I was welcomed, I was given help, A great man, I wont use names. But he gave me a helping hand, a very generous one. Got me doing the right things, I obeyed rules, I don't think I even fired my gun, Even look at it, But I was still gunned down, It happened, There was alot of randoms back then. In fact now I come to think about it It was a full year before I learnt to use my gun, I was in no rush to, But thats all 'new bloods' now days think of, Their gun, Is it other lands that is causing this? Who knows, But we do need to give our new blood some more help. Just my thought. T Steps down to listen to some other peoples history |
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| Reply by: -T- at Dec 07, '07 18:39 | |
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My first ancestor to step on these shores, we belived was sleeping for 7 days till his body was found dead by his son, who swore revenge and joined a crew to discover his old man's killer. Since then, all our bloodlines followed his path in this life of honoured men. |
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| Reply by: BloodyFaster at Dec 08, '07 04:49 | |
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My ancestors first experience was a tough one. Walked right into a bullet the first 3 or 4 generations. I heard my great grand pappies didnt give a good impression to the wrong person. Eventually was takin into a family headed by a man named Midian the next death was natural from old age(Game reset) at the rank of WG. (Took easily twice as long to rank then) |
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| Reply by: Mad_Caddie at Dec 08, '07 21:34 | |
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A long, long time ago my Great Great (multiplied by about fifty) Grandmother Madeline made her way off the boat and onto these foreign shores. Immediately she was met by a wonderful group of people who wanted nothing more than to see her succeed in this world. According to the one letter she ever managed to write, she at first thought they were crazy, but over the first few hours found that they were genuinely helpful and nice. One woman took Maddie into her family with as much warmth as the powerful woman could have mustered. There was a man who obtained a copy of the Costa Nostra Bible and actually took the time to go over most of the finer points with young Madeline. Another man dropped over five-hundred thousand dollars into the young woman's hands without so much as a second thought or demand of repayment. Her very second day in this world- the very second day for the first of my bloodline- the man with the Bible took young Madeline out on the streets and gave her a handgun. It took him only minutes to explain how to use it, and with a grin she took aim at a sleeping thug. The gun exploded in her hand on the first ever shot she took and sadly, she died. Though that tragedy sort of put a damper on the enthusiasm for the rest of the family, Madeline's daughter (and my Great Great multiplied by about forty-nine Grandmother) Casey was so captivated by the single letter that made it to her hands; the gushing words that her mother used to describe how receptive people were to her entry into the Mafia, that Casey decided to pack up her belongings without a second thought. Over time she learned to call Las Vegas her new home. Obviously my entire family has been hooked to the life of respectable crime ever since. Every new member of my lineage has had the best possible experience with each of their adventures- except Great-Great-something Grandpa Corky, who died in his sleep as a lonely gangster without a home. It is those 'crazy' yet wonderful people who bombard the civilians (whether wanted or not) as they stop off the boat that truly make the difference to those who are lost and confused upon their landing here. This is why organizations such as 'Head-starts for Hoodlums' are always much appreciated in my eyes. Oliver grinned broadly at Keats and tipped his bowler hat, stepping back into the small gathering, satisfied with the speech topic at hand. |
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| Reply by: Oliver_McTavish at Dec 10, '07 15:03 | |
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The first few members of my family to be involved in organised crime are barely worth mentioning. They were mere footnotes, names which I no longer recall. They died anonymous deaths and wound up in unmarked graves. Yet with tenacity, or perhaps outright stupidity, being a trait of my forefathers, they were not to be discouraged. Determinded to succeed, the first member of my bloodline of any note was a guy called Franco; second cousin twice removed on my mother's side. He rose to fame, or at least lesser obscurity, in a time when killing 'innocents' (I still get a kick out of that phrase) was not only not frowned upon, but in some cases encouraged. A time when the safety peroid between ranking and accepting an invite was seconds, sometimes not even that. |
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| Reply by: Octavius at Dec 10, '07 17:28 | |
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