#mafia rp
reblog this post to be added to the MAFIA MASTERLIST with your muse’s name, whether they’re canon or original character (or if they’ve got a Mafia verse) and what Mafia (½/3) are they from.
DATE: April 28th
TIME: 10:48PM
LOCATION: Hotel Emelia Ballroom
TRIGGERS: guns, death, blood
They were in cages, like doves with broken wings. But their wings had been broken forcefully, brutally. They were in cages, like dogs made for fighting. Some of them cut, bruised, and bleeding. They were in cages, like animals – for only animals knew not the rules of reason. So, the witches thought it necessary to enforce respect, to make a spectacle of all who thought themselves above the laws and traditions that all in Verona abided by. The Spades were in cages, as the witches had wished. Their wishes were their desires, and their desires were not to be ignored. Which was why each member of Verona’s elite – and more – had come by to pay homage. Had come to pay tribute to the punishment that had been neglected for too long.
Which was why, when they sought to take vengeance they did so brutally. And with little reservation.
In their cages, they turned about, spinning gently as the onlookers milled about below them. The chandeliers of the room refracted nicely off the silver of the cages, catching the light of the scarlet blood that spotted some of bars here and there. It was difficult for the audience to take their eyes – some of them gleeful, some of them solemn – from the faces of those who incurred the wrath of the witches. But they did, after much difficulty, to gaze on the prizes that were placed upon pedestals. Guns of the highest quality, butterfly knives, grenades, and an assortment of other weaponry for all to gaze upon and perhaps even buy. Sentries stood in front of them, guarding the goods that were placed behind velvet ropes. They were placed there to see, to gaze at, to bid on – but not to touch, never to touch. Just as the Spades were. A show of power and a show of ruthlessness, with the witches sitting on their thrones to watch it on.
Cinead watched with their fingers in the shape of a steeple, lips resting gently against them as they watched the cages turn about slowly, eyes hardly blinking. In contrast, Mallory sat next to them, fingers tapping restlessly, eyes flitting about – occasionally their gaze staying too long on someone else’s, too long on something else. There, to the left of Cinead, sat Hea, their body as still as a lynx’s before it pounces on the prey, tensed with the barest of smiles upon their lips as they watched the crowd shiver beneath their gaze. They did not move, they did not speak, they simply observed as items were bid on and weapons were whisked away to be transported to wherever the client wished. Juliana made occasional bids here and there, only to have Tiberius whisper furiously in her ear, a scowl on his face. A frown would quickly follow on the young Capulet’s face as she would quietly wave off the bid, before quietly walking away to the next exhibit. The Capulet soldiers exchanged glances, their lips pressing together as they quietly walked on – the small exchange hardly ever going unnoticed.
Roman bid here and there, somewhat distracted as he bent his ear to listen to this counsel and that. Ramona, Castora, and Valentina stood close at his side, as did Bellamy who would occasionally give his opinion on this weaponry or that. Many of the Montagues were loathe to leave his side, their shoulders tensed as they glanced at either the Capulets or the Spades above. Their losses had been heavy, of late, and they were not willing to lose anymore. It showed in their faces, in the darkness that pressed itself under their eyes and the way that their fingers ticked, shifting and waiting for the bullet to burst out of the gun that they did not carry. Yet, even in their suffering state they still seemed to have pity enough for the Capulets, whose leaders were not to be found and whose boss lay in his bed, wasting away.
But, who felt pity for the beaten birds with broken wings, wasting away in their cages? No one.
Save for the Americans, the three who kept to themselves, but for the moments when they placed their money on this item or that. Typically, the more enviable ones. The new concoction that the witches had liberated from the Spades – the drugs that had been the ones to start the mess of this all. A shipment of M16A4s that had been taken from the American army itself. Bulletproof suits that would save more than one soul after the night was over. They mingled with the Veronans selectively, their conversation warm, but their eyes cold. Looking down their noses at these simpleton affairs of mobsters whose beliefs were antiquated, whose systems were outdated. Time was passing them by, yet they remained oblivious to it. It was something that the Americans found distasteful – and it was apparent by the way that they carried themselves, with a facade of amicability and gratitude. However, distaste could be easily swallowed when liberal amounts of money were thrown into the game.
The money was there, evident in the fine silver cages that held the antagonists in their place. It was there, in the weaponry that glittered so temptingly for all to wield about. It was there, under the thumb of the three witches that ruled the town as gods of justice once ruled Rome. “You would think that they would have seen the money that could be gained from the dark web,” the one American muttered to the other. “The money that could be made off of the tourists…” said one. “Easy pickings,” sighed the other. They saw the glamour that the witches put on – and the purpose of the show – yet what would it come to but another century of warring between two families that should have killed themselves off long ago? “What a waste.” The three Americans sighed in unison, their gazes casting themselves in different directions, only to meet upon the prettiest bird of them all: Faron Vasiliev.
His reputation of misdeeds and antagonism had preceded him with the Americans, who were now glad that justice had caught up to him. If one were to look, they would see the slight smirk that ghosted across Faron’s face as he looked down on them all. The satisfaction in the men’s featured seemed to be shared, seemed to be similar. As if there was a joke that only those four men knew, but would never really be privy to. But the satisfaction was also there for another reason, for ones that would not be revealed until –
A runner, a street urchin turned soldier, burst into the room, cheeks red from her running, eyes tearing up slightly. Before she could step much further, Theodora had their hand on the small girl’s shoulder, eyes narrowed as they crouched to talk to her. There were a few moments of murmuring between the two, the Capulet’s head canting to the side thoughtfully as they tucked their bottom lip carefully between their teeth. Catherine quickly came to their side, the few words that Theodora said to them clearly having an affect on the other. It seemed as if the Daly woman’s breath caught, the blood suddenly missing from her cheeks. Her fingers pressed to her lips, and it was because of this that Cinead slowly stood from their throne. Mallory’s eyes grew wide, their pupils dilating as they, too, followed – Hea, not even bothering to rise. Instead, the one witch remained where they sat, sinking into their seat even further, one hand on Mallory’s and the other grasping the arm of their throne.
A soft humming came from above, Calina’s lips peeling into a rather disconcerting smile as one of the broken, damned birds suddenly decided to sing.
Catherine ran to Juliana and – in a few words – had her collapsed in a sobbing heap. Catherine looked from Juliana to Tiberius uncertainly, Tiberius whispering a few words to Priam, who stood close at hand. The young Capulet woman seemed as if she were trying to collect herself from the mess she had become, but to little avail. Her fist was pressed to her lips, heaving cries shaking her chest. In contrast, Tiberius glanced about the room, eyes meeting every Capulets in a silent call to rally around him. And they did, one following the other. Catherine met his eyes – her lip trembling for a half a second before she nodded at him – and grabbed Juliana by the arm, half-dragging, half-carrying her out of the room. But, before she could, she was stopped by the quiet laughter that echoed in the room, acting like a ripple as the crowd began to still, began to listen to it in silence.
“Care to tell us what you find so amusing, Faron?” Cinead asked, their voice half-tainted by the tremor.
A bark of laughter escaped Grace. The goading in it was answer enough for Faron.
“Well?” Mallory asked, their soft voice carrying in the pin-drop silence of the room.
“Well is something Cosimo Capulet will never be.” The Spade boss answered, after a time. “Because he is quite dead.”
- At that Theodora grabbed Juliana by the arm as an inhuman wail escaped the girl, who was half-fighting against the underboss (for how long?) because she was loathe to be dragged away from her cousin. But it was in vain as Theodora shoved their way through the crowd, only to be almost killed by a falling cage. Out of it rolled Faron himself, who brushed himself off as if it were nothing, taking the time to mime a gun at both woman. He fired two shots at the woman, only to have Theodora shove Juliana aside to land vengeful blows on the weakened Vasiliev.
- The next cage came careening down and from it came Calina, her steps slightly shaky as she picked herself up. Alexander came barreling at her, but before he could, Orion stepped in his way. The bullet flew before Alexander could reconsider, hitting Orion in the stomach. Down he went, only to have Hector fly to his side as Calina made her escape.
- But, before she could make her way to Faron, Priam had her in his grasp. Who could count how many blows he landed on her before Lillian tore him away. Taking Calina’s hand in hers, the two woman ran to Faron, pulling Theodora off of him.
- The cages kept on dropping – Alva and Grace the last to fall. Grace saw Hector run to Orion’s side, grabbed a butterfly knife, then threw it into the Montague’s side. He barely made it to Orion and she was already have to wreak havoc on those she considered blood. Before she could grab another, Kai had grasped her hand and the two began to exchange blows, one as thirsty for blood as the other.
- Alva only wanted to escape with their fellow Spades, but before they could go to help Faron, they were stopped by Valentina standing in the doorway. They began to back away, but the Montague captain lunged at them, throwing punch after punch. Alva was about to throw up their hands to fend off the brutal blows, but Faron was at their side, grabbing the woman by the hair and knocking her out cold.
- Castora was about to come to Valentina’s aid, when Calina confronted her, having been reassured that Faron and Alva were fine – as ready for blood as an animal that has been cornered. Ramona spotted her friend and cousin in trouble and quickly made her way to Castora’s side. It was an unfair fight, two against one, when Pavel decided to throw his dice into the fray. Grabbing Castora’s attention, he began to toy with her as Calina fought tooth and nail against Ramona, although it quickly turned vicious.
- As Alva and Faron turned, they found their path blocked by Lucrecia, her pistol aimed steadily at the Spades boss. Alva quickly moved in front of Faron, and Lucrecia adjusted her aim - but the sound of a gun cocking right next to her ear had her dropping her weapon. Pavel had broken away from his fray. Faron saluted him, and Pavel spat at him in response - he’d kill him in an instant if it was worth the trouble. Priam, spotting Lucrecia, storms over and wrestles the gun from Pavel’s hand - the two have at it.
- Odessa had been about to run to Alexander’s side when she was stopped by Lillian, who wished to stop the woman from getting caught in the gunfire more than anything. But Odessa certainly did not see it that way. She came after Lillian ready to draw blood – and Lillian only sought to defend herself as well as strike the woman down to stop her from fighting anymore. Nikolai watched and waited to see which way this fight would go. When Lillian seemed to be gaining the upper hand, he wanted to tip the scales.
- But Tiberius was not about to let him do that. It only took but a couple of minutes before Tiberius had Nikolai at his feet, then made his way over to Faron. But, just as he did, he saw Roman with the same intention in mind: to remove this man before he could create anymore problems. However, one wanted to rid the world of the evil while the other wanted blood for blood. Tiberius was not about to let Roman take the only bit of honor the Capulets were likely to have left.
- Tiberius had been about to put a bullet Roman’s head when Bellamy stopped him, the two fighting with Tiberius clearly having the upper hand. It was not until Regina pulled Tiberius back that he stopped beating the Montague boy senseless, but she had not done so without putting herself in danger. She had been able to remain out of the sight of her sister until now.
- Grace had left Kai bleeding upon the floor and now had her knife at the ready to draw family blood. Just as the knife left her hand, Catherine stepped in the way to defend her Regina – catching the knife in her shoulder. Just as Catherine cried out, Regina flew to engage her sister. Cain had killed Abel, so couldn’t Regina kill Grace?
- But before that question could be answered, the witches had moved to the doors, impeding anyone from leaving. Their sentries had long ran away from the fray and Faron had just made his way to the door. Faron stood, looking Hea in the eye, Calina looked Cinead in the eye, teeth bared as she had just bested the Montague woman. The frays were slowly dying down, each Spade making their way to stand behind their boss as they waited for the witches to move. Hea whipped out a gun, pointing the barrel at his head –
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Ding dong – the witches are…dead? Cinead clutched their middle, Hea clutched their hand, Mallory cried out as they clung to their side. The “Americans” shoved through the crowd, stepped over the grimacing witches, then opened the doors, holding them open for the Spades. No one moved, too stunned by their gods having been cast to the ground, to do much else except watch in shock and fury as the Spades walked out of the room, worse for wear yet having all the cards in their hand. Calina was the last to leave the room, her eyes casting about with dark satisfaction as she cleared her hoarse throat. When her gaze landed on Juliana, she spoke – partially to the broken woman, partially to the whole entire room.
“The Spades have ceased the Capulet assets. We control your goods, your funds, and what remains of your mob. You will be cast out within three days’ time – and you can either take up with the Montagues or do as you see fit. Either way, since we now have your assets, as well as our own, we more or less control the city. We, more or less, control you all.” To punctuate her sentence, she glanced down at the bleeding bodies of the witches, whose hearts beat less with each minute that passed. She closed the doors behind her, leaving them as spectacles.
She had been a caged bird, but these were ones that had been broken and knew not how to recover. To cage them would be senseless – cages were meant for the living, not the dead.
And, when the door closed, it seemed as if a spell had been broken. The Capulets and the Montagues picked up their beaten and their battered, calling for the aid of medics who had just arrived. Tiberius and Roman sat on the steps of the thrones that had been once occupied by those whom they had considered invincible. As everyone milled about like soldiers, half-dead after a battle, they looked at one another – a silent exchange as they sat in the wreckage of their common enemy. The blood of the Montagues and the blood of the Capulets mingled upon the hallowed floor of the Hotel Emelia, the ichor of the gods mixed in there with them. Both their hands were stained with it since the two men had done what they could to keep the witches from bleeding out more.
Its fate was sealed as Tiberius Capulet and Roman Montague shook bloodied hands upon the steps of a throne that would know its final war.
OVERVIEW: Cosimo Capulet is dead. The Capulets and Montagues have called a momentary peace and alliance as the Spades have taken over Verona. The Capulets are removed from their place of honor in Verona, their home is taken from them by the Spades – both literally and figuratively. The Spades are able to implement their authority through the police force, who they have in their pocket since they have their revenue as well as the Capulet’s – who have made much more what with their deals with the Koreans, thanks to Juliana Capulet. The Spades, reigning supreme, have the people of Verona under their thumb due to the fact that the witches are incapacitated as well. Both Cosimo Capulet and Damian Montague are dead. The crowns that the mobsters once wore are broken and their kingdom is being run by a tryant. The people of Verona have forsaken the Capulets and Montagues because of this and the two mobs are shunned. Anyone affiliated with them is now treated as a common person, or less than that. Italians do not look kindly upon the fallen. Things are getting shaken, Verona, you walk on unsteady ground. Take care.
OOC: As always, feel free to play these interactions out on the dash. You may now date your interactions between the dates of APRIL 30TH and MAY 20TH. Keep in mind your character’s injuries and recovery time. The Montague and Capulet alliance is not likely to begin smoothly and we expect character interactions to follow as such. The Spades will likely hunt them down – if not to kill them, then to goad them into a fight. Things are going to be tense, bloody, and painful for the next couple of weeks in Verona. How will your character react to these new changes? Who else is going to die before the city pieces itself together once more? Again, tag your interactions within this event as event:reckoning. If you have any questions, feel free to drop an ask in the main’s inbox!
Date: April 3rd
Time: 8:00PM
Location: Twelfth Night Galleries
It was a scene of lush decadence, the gardens running with deep colors of burgundy and cobalt and jade as models marched down the runway like Verona’s new gods, bleeding silk and velvet rather than blood, their jewels shining like beacons in an unforgiving night. Some of the guest models have found their footing faster than others, but everyone, models, spectators, witches alike, glow with something holy. The respite of a show, of drinks, of mixed company with the threat of violence and escalation neutralized by the presence of three dark wardens was perhaps what the city needed. All mobs remained on their best behavior, ever mindful of where they were, perhaps, relieved for three pairs of watchful eyes keeping vigilant, and the show concluded without a hitch (except, perhaps, the one or two clumsy guest models nearly tripping over their own feet).
At eight, the doors to the Museum flung open, and everyone begins their slow trickle into the galleries to find that in place of the large spaces and benches that filled each exhibition hall before the grand paintings was one large marble table that spanned the entire length of the hall, already set with silverware, wine and appetizers and apertivos. Seating was at the guests’ discretion, and everyone gravitated close to their respective mobs and allies - even on neutral territory, it is nearly treasonous to wander too closely to a sworn enemy with benevolent intentions during a war. Only Cosimo and Juliana Capulet and Roman Montague and Faron Vasiliev are assigned seats, the first two to the left and the last to the right of the Witches.
The air is thickest with vehement tension the closer one is to the heads of the respective mobs and the head of the table, expectedly, but words are kept low and free of blatant antagonism… for now. There is nothing to be said for the hostile glares Roman shoots Faron from beneath his lashes, nor the knowing smirk Faron offers Juliana when Cosimo has turned his head.
Reverent servers, quiet and quick on their feet, begin carting out dishes one after the other, Brasato all'Amarone served with polenta, platters of prawn, oysters and clams, Lesso e pearà, Risotto all'Amarone, and the table quickly becomes full of all of Verona’s most famous and fragrant dishes, the guests easily putting aside tense words for the succulent food placed in front of them. Soon, only the sounds of forks scraping on plates and hushed, content murmurs fills the museum, and the Witches glance at each other, satisfied.
Hea stands first, glass raised, then Cinead and Mallory - everyone else knows to remain seated while the triumvirate stands, but to raise their glasses as well.
“Veronians, thank you for partaking in our revelry tonight. In divided times, it’s important to know that while we all share one city and one kingdom, there is a balance that runs through us all. It’s as pervasive as time and space, invisible to all but those who are conscious of it, and we, the Witches—”
The sound of violent retching cuts Hea off, and they appear to be mildly irritated by the interruption until they realize the source: Cosimo Capulet. He clutches his chest in pain, retching, and when he opens his eyes they are weeping crimson. The Witches’ eyes widen, and they swivel their head to Juliana, who has grown pale with fright, realization that the vision she saw at the circus has come true— and she abruptly throws her head to the side as bile rises from her stomach into her throat. Many others follow suit, falling violently ill, the sound of them hitting to the floor in agony fills the hall while those unaffected struggle to help them and call for help.
The first thought is this: Why have the Witches done this? But then, Cinead doubles over in pain, their face contorted in anguish and nausea— Mallory catches them before they can fall, and they turn to Hea.
“We are left with more questions than answers,” they hiss. There is the knowledge shared only between the three of them: Hea recognized the backdrop of the vision Juliana had frantically showed them as their museum, had organized the show and dinner in order to see who dared to inflict biological damage on neutral territory. What they didn’t anticipate was the extent of the trauma - nearly half of the attendees have fallen ill.
But then, a realization. Only Montagues, Capulets, and neutrals are afflicted— the Spades remain untouched. Three stony gazes fall upon Faron, and the rest of the room follows.
“This is your doing,” Mallory says coolly, their usual whimsy chilled into steel. Faron only grins and rises from his seat slowly, taking their hostility as his cue to receive his due credit.
“Potent, no? Call it a modern Cantarella.”
“Perhaps you are too green to understand the heinousness of the crime you’ve just committed, signor,” Hea says, “But to incite discord on our territory is a trespass no one commits, if they are wise. You ask for consequences you’re not prepared to receive.”
“I think I’ll manage,” he hums, bringing his hands behind his back as he surveys his work like the proud architect of the third circle of hell. He watches Cosimo, bent over in pain, and returns the Capulet’s incredulous stare with his own bemused gaze. “You’re sick, my dear Cosimo, don’t waste your time asking ‘why’ when I’ll tell you anyway. Because right now, as we speak, The Taming of the Soup burns in the night, and with it, a chunk of the Montague empire. Sometimes I’m patient. Sometimes I’m not. You don’t move quickly enough for my tastes.” He turns to Roman. “Funny how easy it is to distract a city with a good show, isn’t it?”
Priam, stricken by the sight of Cosimo and Juliana writhing, runs to fling open the museum doors to let in air and open up a means of escape for his boss and heiress, but is blocked by Brielle.
An anguished yell erupts, then a gunshot—Odessa doesn’t bother to hide her guilt, nor her hands shaking with rage as she lowers her pistol. But her anger becomes confusion when Faron doesn’t fall. He opens up his suit jacket for everyone to see the light catching on the emeralds and rubies and sapphires sewn into the fabric of his shirt, the bullet lodged firmly in between. “Looks like I’ll have to thank Ornella. Allowing me to use and commandeer her long awaited debut to serve as a distraction, and now this… she truly is a gracious woman.”
“She serves the Spades well.” Grace chimes in lowly.
“She does. Which is more than what could be said of the Capulets now—you’re far too sick to even serve yourselves.” Faron raised an eyebrow and turned to Cosimo and Juliana, both pale and shaking. “Luckily for you, we’re here to fill in the spaces. Rest assured, it will only be temporary, until you’re fully recovered.
“But by then we’ll have the rest of Verona.”
Overview: This marks the end of our scene, dear readers. The Taming of the Soup lies in ashes, and with it, a part of the Montague empire, the territory now belonging to the Capulets and Spades. With many of their clients stolen by their neighbors to the east, the Montagues are now struggling to maintain their current clientele and influence. Nearly half of the Capulets and Montagues are incapacitated and the Spades remain untouched, their power growing as everyone else weakens.
Victims of the poisoning will have experienced severe nausea, temporary paralysis, shortness of breath, aches, and in extreme cases, bleeding from the eyes. The following have been afflicted by Faron’s poisoning and will have to be hospitalized for at least a week:
- ALEXANDER
- JULIANA
- VIVIANNE
- TIBERIUS
- VALENTINA
- CINEAD
- PAVEL
- REGINA
- HUGO
- NIKOLAI
- RAMONA
- BELLAMY
- COSIMO (critical condition)
In the meantime, Faron has taken over as interim boss for both the Capulets and the Spades, with Boris as the underboss and Calina as adviser. All Capulets and Spades now report to him while Cosimo, who was the most severely affected by the poisoning, remains in the hospital in critical condition. He will relinquish his position and return to his post as adviser to both Capulets and Spades once Cosimo is released.
The Montagues do not intend on taking this lying down. There are whispers among the mob of guerilla warfare, evening the playing field by any means possible.
Assignment: If your character is one of the above listed above, you may plot and thread the moments at the dinner, visitations at the hospital, and their first few days back with anyone you’d like! As for everyone else: Montague muses will be engaging in guerilla warfare—plot with anyone you’d like on your character attempting to incite small-scale attacks against the Capulets and Spades. Desperation drives them, although it is up to you and whoever you plot with whether or not they are successful in their attempts. Some suggestions include ambushing emissaries and soldiers, damaging Capulet and Spade property, recruiting more soldiers (NPCs), etc. Some Capulets may find they’re fighting two fronts: resisting Montague attacks as well as their own internal conflict with their new leadership, if applicable. Spades must ensure they maintain control of their new territory and members while discouraging any mutinous thoughts or attempts.
As always, you are encouraged to play out these interactions on the dash or in a chatzy. If you hold these interactions in a chatzy, please post it on the dash so we may all be a part of the excitement. All interactions may occur between the dates of APRIL 3RD to APRIL 17th. As always, feel free to ask us questions!
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OUR STORY BEGINS…
WITH A WAR-WORN GROUP OF REBELS
A CITY ON THE BRINK OF DECLARING ITSELF FREE
AND THE WEEK THAT CHANGED IT ALL.
DATE: April 24, 1945
TIME: 6 30 PM to MIDNIGHT
WHERE: The city of Verona, Italy
CURRENT STATE OF WAR: Allies encircle the last German armies near Bologna
History would remember the city of Verona as one of the most bombed places in Italy.
What it wouldforget are the people who fought for the Allies, who fought against the fascists and the Nazis that dared to impose an immoral reign. What it would forget were the lives that were lost in the fight, of the good people who defended their beliefs – staring into the barrels of guns and tanks that were pointed their way. What it would forget how Italy was at war with the world and at war with itself.
History would remember the city of Verona.
Verona would remember the people of the city.
They defended what buildings were left of their city like wolves defending their dens. There was not a single building that remain untouched. The wounds of the war were apparent in collapsed roofs and fallen walls, in empty spaces and spaces filled with piles of rocks that had once been buildings. In the center of the city remained the one stronghold that all were able to take refuge and gather. It had once been a hotel, a sanctuary that no gun would be able to enter. But such rules are rarely respected in times of war.
But it was still a sanctuary to all those who respected the rules – for blood had been spilled upon its doorstep because they defended it so ardently. Though bullets were lodged in its walls, no German or fascist gun had ever passed through its doorway. For this and for the victory the Allies had won in Verona’s sister city, Bologna, they thought it fit to celebrate.
That was why, on the night of April 24th, the rebels of Italy danced to the American music playing on their one radio and dined on the stolen fascist food.
And they drank for all those who would be forgotten.
ASSIGNMENT: All characters are part of the rebel forces. They have survived the war and fought for Verona – or, at the very least, fought to survive in Verona. WRITE your character’s World War II biography (they may be as long or as short as you want, and can be in para or bullet form). Be as creative as you want! Give them a new story! Shape them into something new! Or think about how your character might have reacted and changed being involved in the war at that time. Feel free to CREATE new connections with new characters that you’ve always wanted to explore, which is plausible as all characters will be fighting on the same side.
RESOURCES:Italian resistance movement in WWII, Slang Guide,Verona In WWII (skip to 20th Century), Fashion,MUSIC
SUMMARY: The war is nearing its end and the taste of victory is in the air for Italy. They mourn amidst their celebration, but they need to celebrate because the end is near. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom of their headquarters, the Hotel Vittoria (which will later be called Hotel Emelia) to celebrate. Much of the third floor has fallen in because of the force of the bombs, but the second and first floor are usable.
Stay tuned for plot drops and TAG YOUR AU THREADS as “DIVERONAAU”
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It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
Post link
It is a simple truth that anyone born will die.
The City of Los Angeles and the surrounding neighbourhoods drowned in heat, passion and a desperation for extravagance. Three families took advantage of the landscape and organized enterprises of debauchery.
Solano. Ross. Navarro.
Each have their values and their vices, but despite their power, fortune and stubbornness, they cannot escape death. It is the living who are forced to operate in the wake of the reality of mortality. The choices made will shape their lives and the world around them, hoping to find an escape.
The Art of Dying is a multi-muse crime roleplay, meant to be a place for character and plot development. Please be advised that this rp will deal with mature and potentially triggering themes.
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