HavinFunAgain
Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 12, 2014
- Posts
- 53
PLEASE NOTE:
This is the IC thread, not the OOC or Seeking Writers thread.
Please do not post your interest here.
This IC will be ready for writers soon, but until then,
please just PM me your interest.
Thanks
Sons Of Anarchy:
"Welcome to TriCorners"
This is the IC thread, not the OOC or Seeking Writers thread.
Please do not post your interest here.
This IC will be ready for writers soon, but until then,
please just PM me your interest.
Thanks
Sons Of Anarchy:
"Welcome to TriCorners"
Please see the note at the bottom of this post
concerning the connection between
the television series "Sons Of Anarchy"
and this role play.
You might have thought it was the Fourth of July in Charming. It was barely sunup, and the sidewalks and cross street intersections of Main were packed shoulder to shoulder with nearly three thousand of the San Joaquin Valley town's populace.
On the other hand, the somber mood of many of the assembled might have left you believing that the funeral procession of a beloved town founder was due to crawl down the street at any moment.
While heads had been turning this way and that as residents conversed about the morning's going-ons, they all looked to the west as the low roar of powerful motorcycle engines cut through the early morning silence. The people lining the street moved about like the cells of an amoeba, each individual jostling for a better view of what was coming.
A minute or two passed before a Charming City Police cruiser rounded the corner several blocks away, its powerful strobe lights reflecting off the windows of the street-lining businesses. Behind it, a pair of motorcycles appeared, then another, then ... more. When the cruiser reached the end of what was considered downtown, pairs of motorcycles were still rounding that first corner almost half a mile behind them.
The members of the Sons Of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, Redwood Original -- SAMCRO -- led the parade of mostly Harley Davidsons, followed closely by the members of Clubs from all over California, Nevada, Oregon, and parts of Arizona, Idaho, and even New Mexico. Again, you might have thought this a funeral procession for one of their most senior members, but it wasn't. No one person had recently died: an entire Club had.
Years of intense investigation by a multitude of Law Enforcement entities had finally forced the leaders of Charming to demand the end of SAMCRO's presence in the town of 15,000 people. For decades, the MC had kept other criminal elements at bay, for which the locals were more than willing to look the other way when the Club occasionally did wrong.
But times change. The multi-national corporate entities that SAMCRO feared would attract a higher level of Law Enforcement finally gained a foothold, and suddenly the MC's less than legal business ventures were being knocked down like dominoes on a wobbly table, taking many of the Club's members off to prison at the same time.
After nearly a year of investigations into their last remaining ventures, legal and otherwise, a deal was struck. It wasn't perfect for everyone or even anyone, but the definition of compromise was that each party gave up something they wanted to get something that the other party didn't want to give up either.
What Charming and its Law Enforcement entities got was the exile of SAMCRO. And what the MC got was 10 days of peace in which to tie up loose ends, pack their vehicles and bikes, and get out of town.
Over course of the last few days, SOA Chapters from all over the region sent representatives to Charming to show their support. And now, in a roar of powerful motors, they were leaving Charming for the last time with a police escort.
At the Charming City limits, the City Police cruiser pulled to the side of the road, and a San Joaquin County Sheriff Department cruiser took its place. Without hesitation, the motorcade continued onward up the County Road, then the State Highway.
As it continued, SAMCRO's entourage shrank as individual SOA clubs peeled off at the appropriate intersections to head home. This was their ride to begin but not theirs to continue. This ride was for SAMCRO alone.
When they reached the County line, the Sheriff's cruiser pulled slowly to the white line, allowing the remains of the motorcade to pass. Twenty four bikes shot by, still closely grouped in pairs, followed by more than a dozen SUVs, passenger cars, and pickup trucks, loaded with family members and their possessions. Following them were three box trucks filled with parts, supplies, and -- despite a court order against it -- weapons, the latter neatly hidden away as only a former gun-running gang knew how.
They travelled unhurried for fourteen days, sometimes camping in National Forests, other times claiming entire road side motels. They seemed to have no destination in mind, sometimes traveling east then west, north then south.
And every where that SAMCRO traveled, they were followed by local Law Enforcement. There was seldom a moment when a County or State cruiser wasn't either within view or parked close by. The cops weren't interested in confronting, let alone arresting the Club members. They only wanted to see the MC move onward, out of their jurisdiction.
On that fifteen morning as they prepared to break camp on the edge of a vast, sunbaked mud flat, Abel Teller assembled the others to give the word.
"TriCorners is a go," he said, his lips spreading in a pleased smile. He unfolded and held up a piece of paper that the MC's lawyer had personally driven to their campground the night before. "The title to our new clubhouse in TriCorners ... the Alibi."
There was a round of laughter at the business's name, followed by a question from the crowd, "Why TriCorners? Why that town?"
"They need us," Abel answered. "They need us, just as Charming needed us for so long."
He reached into his belt and pulled out the gavel that his father Jackson and his father's two fathers, John and Clay, had held before him. They had no Table here on the cracking mud flat, so he simply held the gavel up over his head as he looked to each member of SAMCRO for their vote on TriCorners. Each said Aye, of course. This choice of TriCorners as the Club's new home was not a surprise: it had been discussed since the moment Charming's mayor entered the former club house and told Abel that the Club's welcome in his town had worn out.
Abel repeated the gesture to the Nomads who had participated in the ride, as well as with patched member of other Clubs who -- with their Presidents' blessing -- had come over to the struggling Charming Chapter. Some said yes, while others only wished Abel success.
Abel did another turn looking to each of his family members again. He stuck the gavel back into his belt. "The vote passes unanimously ... and we ride."
They entered TriCorners at the posted speed of 30 mph, the gentle rumbling of their Harleys bringing forth the population of the small town. By the time they reached the east end of town, a hundred people behind them filled the doorways, windows, and sidewalks, a mirror image of that departure day in Charming.
With the new Nomads and other Patched Riders, there were now 30 bikes in all, followed by the family and support vehicles. They cruised down the main drag to the far end of the small town, where the four wheeled autos parked behind the Alibi and the bikes lined up -- back wheels to the crumbling curb -- out front.
Abel looked over the exterior of the building and laughed. It was a mess, with several broken windows covered by plywood and spray can tags marking nearly every inch of its surface. He looked to his Sergeant at Arms and said, "It looked better in the realtors picture."
"I bet," his muscle mumbled.
Abel kicked at the front door and it easily opened. Inside there was the shuffling sound of feet, followed by a voice with a feigned tone of superiority. ""You best get out if y'all know what's good for you."
There was another thunk sound of a door being forced open, followed by the mayhem of one group of people rushing around and taking control of another group of people. By the time one of the Sons had ripped a sheet of plywood off a missing window to cast some light on the situation, others from the Club had the Alibi's four current residents on their knees, hands on their heads in response to the multitude of guns pointing at them.
Abel recognized the decorating within the Alibi as a meth lab. The Club had taken down their fair share of them over the years in and around Charming. He moved to stand before the cooks, studying them for a long moment before gesturing to the driver of the box truck, who had just entered with a canvas bag over his shoulder.
"You men are going to leave this building," Abel said as he dug a pistol and a silencer out of the bag. As he attached the latter to the former, he continued, "And you are going to leave this town--"
"You got no fucking idea what you're doing, asshole!" one of the men started. He screamed when the was a soft thump sound and a bullet went through his calf. He screamed in pain, asking, "What the fuck...? What ... the ... fuck?"
Abel looked to the other meth cooks and asked, "Understand?"
They all nodded and/or verbally expressed their understanding.
"Don't take anything with you," Abel said, stepping aside to clear a path to the front door. "Just ... go."
The men hurried away, two of them carrying their still crying comrade. After one of the Sons came back in to say that the men were in a car and hurrying away, Abel told the man, "Take a car. See where they go."
"Will do."
Abel looked about himself, then looked to his brothers and smiled. "Welcome to TriCorners."
*****
OOC: While this role play is inspired by the television series and will contain many images from the original show, this story should be considered a stand alone concept except where indicated by the host. For example, the Host's primary character, Abel Teller, is the son of the television show's current MC President, Jax Teller. Since during the run of the show, Abel was but a child, that would indicate that the RP occurs some 25-30 years later. However, it doesn't. It occurs today, a time that is unspecified. I will be using Charlie Hunnam's image for Abel, but remember that these are two different people. Remember: this is fiction.
Once the role play begins to fall together, I will create an OOC thread with the important facts for the writers to remember.
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