[Once a month downtown in the city, an outdoor market is held. It's busy each and every time it pops up, with people coming from all over to purchase fresh fruits and vegetables, assorted spices, choice cuts of meats and dairy products from farmers in the rural areas, the whole nine yards. It's not just a hub for food to buy, but is also an attraction for those seeking out stalls selling meals to be eaten on the go, or offering samples of their products from various small businesses dotted all along the streets. It's simple tradition, one that seems to bring in more people each time it occurs.
But with that, too, comes a hub for crime...petty theft and pick-pocketing is one of the more prime suspects with this many people jammed up against each other, bumping together and making it impossible to tell if you merely dropped your wallet in the commotion, or if you were robbed. It's equally a place for trade deals to happen among the less savory folk underneath the table, or in the alleys running adjacent to the stalls. It isn't exactly lawless so much as it is organized criminals functioning above the very law itself. After all, you can get away with a lot when you have the authorities bribed or blackmailed into your back pocket.
Such is life in the city. Such is what people have grown accustomed to, over the years. If you know the right people and run in the right circles, or keep your head down and kiss the feet of those who have the power to make you do so, you won't run into any trouble. Most of the time.
Wolfwood, as it turns out, is a part of one of those syndicates. One of the largest in the city in fact, and when you're heralded by a religious figurehead, well...it complicates matters. It wouldn't be so bad, perhaps, if this were the only one...but it isn't. And where their "turf" begins and ends seems to fluctuate each year as those others who have risen to power seek more and more power. As far as Chapel is concerned, though, this section of the city is his. This market is his. Any business that happens here is his.
And Wolfwood is here to buy groceries, essentially. And keep tabs on the deals happening, of course...but mostly groceries. Mafia men have to eat too, after all. Just sucks that he's the one who gets saddled with this job every damn time...
He just wants to slip away for a smoke, but he can't do that when one eye is being kept on two men chatting over a bag of "grain" they're haggling and the other is trying to pick out what cuts of meat are the best for bringing back for tonight's dinner. Chapel would only accept the most prime of the lot, and he's pretty sure the butchers here know that. It's less Wolfwood having to use a discerning eye, and more the people having to hope that they don't make a mistake and give him something that's a touch below his standards.
Not that the public would know this is a problem, of course. You see, while they're well aware of the gang activity in their fair city, Chapel and those like him also manage to keep up appearances to a tee. They are well respected figureheads, just as much as they are devout and give back to their community. Wolfwood knows that this is all a crock of shit of course, having been raised within it, but most would simply call him a black sheep. In fact, they do. He's managed to keep things mostly under wraps though, keeping Chapel's favor as the veritable prodigal son. He has, after all, already had his moments of rebellion when he was a teenager, and as far as Chapel knows he's "broken" out of them.
Wolfwood is snappy, rude, and brash. But he's firmly clipped onto Chapel's leash. If Chapel tells him to shoot somebody, he'll say how many times? It's that simple. Chapel just doesn't know that his reformed son has been balls deep in another man before, to which he probably...would be less approving.
Whatever. He just needs to get through today and then he can go get a drink. That's what he's thinking, at least, when a couple of people shoulder past and knock a stranger into him, no doubt causing said stranger to drop whatever he was carrying. Wolfwood, both on reflex and because he recognizes one of the men as another of the local riffraff who peddle drugs for his family, acts twofold.
One of his arms snaps out to catch the stranger around the waist before he can fall and crack his skull on the pavement, his bag upending its contents around their feet. His other manages to grab one of the guys by the back of his collar just as he's walking off, snatching him up nearly by the throat. His buddy whips his head around and reaches at his side, only to recognize who they bumped into and immediately cower, leaving his buddy to be pressed by Wolfwood as he holds him firm, looking right in his stupid face as he snarls:]
Watch where you're fucking going.
[Then lets him go, throwing him away from him just slightly. The two scramble to flee pretty much immediately, leaving Wolfwood to turn back to look at the person who nearly ate shit.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-02-04 11:12 pm (UTC)But with that, too, comes a hub for crime...petty theft and pick-pocketing is one of the more prime suspects with this many people jammed up against each other, bumping together and making it impossible to tell if you merely dropped your wallet in the commotion, or if you were robbed. It's equally a place for trade deals to happen among the less savory folk underneath the table, or in the alleys running adjacent to the stalls. It isn't exactly lawless so much as it is organized criminals functioning above the very law itself. After all, you can get away with a lot when you have the authorities bribed or blackmailed into your back pocket.
Such is life in the city. Such is what people have grown accustomed to, over the years. If you know the right people and run in the right circles, or keep your head down and kiss the feet of those who have the power to make you do so, you won't run into any trouble. Most of the time.
Wolfwood, as it turns out, is a part of one of those syndicates. One of the largest in the city in fact, and when you're heralded by a religious figurehead, well...it complicates matters. It wouldn't be so bad, perhaps, if this were the only one...but it isn't. And where their "turf" begins and ends seems to fluctuate each year as those others who have risen to power seek more and more power. As far as Chapel is concerned, though, this section of the city is his. This market is his. Any business that happens here is his.
And Wolfwood is here to buy groceries, essentially. And keep tabs on the deals happening, of course...but mostly groceries. Mafia men have to eat too, after all. Just sucks that he's the one who gets saddled with this job every damn time...
He just wants to slip away for a smoke, but he can't do that when one eye is being kept on two men chatting over a bag of "grain" they're haggling and the other is trying to pick out what cuts of meat are the best for bringing back for tonight's dinner. Chapel would only accept the most prime of the lot, and he's pretty sure the butchers here know that. It's less Wolfwood having to use a discerning eye, and more the people having to hope that they don't make a mistake and give him something that's a touch below his standards.
Not that the public would know this is a problem, of course. You see, while they're well aware of the gang activity in their fair city, Chapel and those like him also manage to keep up appearances to a tee. They are well respected figureheads, just as much as they are devout and give back to their community. Wolfwood knows that this is all a crock of shit of course, having been raised within it, but most would simply call him a black sheep. In fact, they do. He's managed to keep things mostly under wraps though, keeping Chapel's favor as the veritable prodigal son. He has, after all, already had his moments of rebellion when he was a teenager, and as far as Chapel knows he's "broken" out of them.
Wolfwood is snappy, rude, and brash. But he's firmly clipped onto Chapel's leash. If Chapel tells him to shoot somebody, he'll say how many times? It's that simple. Chapel just doesn't know that his reformed son has been balls deep in another man before, to which he probably...would be less approving.
Whatever. He just needs to get through today and then he can go get a drink. That's what he's thinking, at least, when a couple of people shoulder past and knock a stranger into him, no doubt causing said stranger to drop whatever he was carrying. Wolfwood, both on reflex and because he recognizes one of the men as another of the local riffraff who peddle drugs for his family, acts twofold.
One of his arms snaps out to catch the stranger around the waist before he can fall and crack his skull on the pavement, his bag upending its contents around their feet. His other manages to grab one of the guys by the back of his collar just as he's walking off, snatching him up nearly by the throat. His buddy whips his head around and reaches at his side, only to recognize who they bumped into and immediately cower, leaving his buddy to be pressed by Wolfwood as he holds him firm, looking right in his stupid face as he snarls:]
Watch where you're fucking going.
[Then lets him go, throwing him away from him just slightly. The two scramble to flee pretty much immediately, leaving Wolfwood to turn back to look at the person who nearly ate shit.]
Are you okay?