GTA RP Blog

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines. 

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I… well, used to run a pretty big business out west… I guess I’m on… administrative leave right now.”

“Don’t need to call me sir–Reminds me of Leroy. I get you. I used to own a bar before I joined up with my old crew, and now the Payday Gang.”

“Taylor Gang Originals,” he said with the ghost of pride hanging around his words.

Greyson was very thin: a steady diet of maybe-a-little-higher-than pharmaceutical grade amphetamine caused the pounds to fall off with regularity. Still, he was very pretty.

“I used to work with Joe Cabot back in LA, if you ever knew him.”

Vian’s build was muscular. Not overly so, but enough to let people know he was a force to be reckoned with. His accent indicated he wasn’t from the area, much less LA. It almost sounded Cajun.

“I might have heard of Cabot’s. The... what was it... jewelry store?” he asked with a tip of the hand, “I think they closed up before we were running numbers. But I have heard of them.”

Greyson had stumbled into money very quickly upon his arrival out west, but he was very smart with his money: he drew a fine line between “business expenditures” and “shopping.” He had a penthouse apartment, but it was at the end of a hallway with an elevator that only went up to his floor with a keycard. He had saferooms in the apartment and the building’s ten car garage.

He looked over his shoulder at the Oceanic, a car somewhere between a 50’s GM and an early 60’s Dodge. It was his pride and joy, but never something he would use for work.

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines. 

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I… well, used to run a pretty big business out west… I guess I’m on… administrative leave right now.”

“Don’t need to call me sir–Reminds me of Leroy. I get you. I used to own a bar before I joined up with my old crew, and now the Payday Gang.”

“Taylor Gang Originals,” he said with the ghost of pride hanging around his words.

Greyson was very thin: a steady diet of maybe-a-little-higher-than pharmaceutical grade amphetamine caused the pounds to fall off with regularity. Still, he was very pretty.

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know… I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

Not that he was shit talking his fellow “coworker” or anything, but it’s obviously Bodhi’s a little more eccentric than he’s used to.

“Don’t worry about it. My family’s kinda notorious. My brother was a hitman, my other brother worked with a crime boss, and my twin’s a heister with me.”

He held out his hand, arm covered in various tattoos. When he spoke, one could catch a glimpse of gold covering his canines. 

“No problem with notoriety, sir. I... well, used to run a pretty big business out west... I guess I’m on... administrative leave right now.”

The young man pushed his aluminum aviators off of his nose and shifted so his fringe bangs fell over one lens.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t give your name directly, but you know... I followed pieces here and there.”

He was no older than 21; young, fresh-faced, dressed like he just walked off the set of an episode of Miami Vice.

📲The last text they received

✏The last text they sent 

🧹An undelivered text

🗝A voicemail they saved

📞The most recent voicemail

🎎The last conversation/voicemail from a parent

✨The last conversation/voicemail from a friend

🎭The last conversation/voicemail from someone they hate

📸The most recent photo they took

🎁A photo they received

📃The contents of their memo/notes

⏰Their alarms

🎵The ringtone for __

💅Their background picture

👐The apps on their phone 

🔨The 3 most recent web pages on their browser

🎞A video/audio recording

“In a word?” the young man asked as he shifted his weight, “Work.”

The aluminum aviators on his face hid his expression but his voice gave the game away. The young pretty boy dressed like something out of an episode of Miami Vice. There was a reason he sought Bodhi out, and it probably wasn’t for an estimate on pool repair.

“I… got tired of moving weight out west. Thought I’d come home, y’know? Get away from the kind of west coast hustle… but if I’m not working, I’m not living…”

❝ I see. ❞

He’s not really the one who this should be brought to anyway; that would be the criminal mastermind himself, Bain. Not everyone made it in with just a snap of the fingers though — His digits feel over the outline of his pockets and pat over the box of cigarettes, just trying to keep them occupied for the time being. Nothing special has popped up recently and it’s hard keeping still when you’re always up on your feet like Bodhi was.

He smiled ever-so-slightly and produced a zippo lighter. He offered it without a word.

A curious brow is raised, his own fingers curling around a pack of cigarettes he kept at hand. He lights one up, taking a puff from it, the white smoke exhaling past his nostrils.

❝ What is it that you’re seeking for, brother? ❞

The aluminum aviators on his face hid his expression but his voice gave the game away. The young pretty boy dressed like something out of an episode of Miami Vice. There was a reason he sought Bodhi out, and it probably wasn’t for an estimate on pool repair.