Iyandalar: Mean streets of Jerico
 

Sun glinted wistfully through the mist. Well, the smog. A massive industiralized city, named Jerico, sat glumly at the side of the mountain. A mountain itself of metal, people, and general material, it was known as either the greatest most sanitary place in the world, or the closest thing to hell.

Those that had sufficient funds to toss around thought it was great, because they were allowed onto the sixteenth level. Everyone else thought it was hell. Crime controlled the streets, and the dukes thought proudly of their tiny little illusion of law.

The first level was for anyone dumb enough to come in, and it was obviously known by the large long pile of waste. The second level was much the same, with the odd habitation, but mostly covered in large metal apartments that were cleared. Third level was known as the scum level, because it was where all the brothels, gladiator contests, and underground weapons deals took place. Things gradually went uphill.

The streets were definetly something new. On one corner, a samurai walked, while on the other, Zorbok the dancing robot performed. Contradictions and comparisons made up every aspect of the primarily technological.

The most notable thing was that everyone had a yellow vest with a metal strap on it on. The next was the Barbosa's. They stood at least seven feet tall in their exoskeletons, complete with large crackling taser clubs.

On the side of every building was a gigantic monitor, that crackled to life every few minutes to praise Baron Markez for his "glorious and justice filled" work.

To an outside traveller, it was an eyesore and something completely interesting all at once. As long as they kept an eye on the shadows behind them that is.

Kenyu drove into the city from the bad lands. His sunglasses shimmering in the sunlight as he entered the massive city.

"THANK YOU JERICO!" Teh cried out, finishing with his trademark TEN-CYMBAL-RIMSHOT, known for getting crowds to their feet and sending the first five rows flying. "SO, ANY JERICHO LADIES OUT THERE WANNA GET WITH THIS?" He cried out.

A few of the patrons looked up from their drinks, and Teh realized he was playing to a half empty rundown bar full of men...or mannish looking things.

"Man, Amatuer night in the slums sucks...and all the people smell like crap..." Teh muttered as he floated out the door on his cymbals.

Bob had recently come back from a job and was riding his bike at incredibly high speeds only a few feet off the ground. If he hadn't been wearing his helemt, a person could have seen a strange and obsessive face on this person. He had found something that was relatively cheap in his profession, but this worked for him because he really needed the money. He slowed down after he got near a pawn shop and quickly got off his bike. He noted the strange looks of the people around him, not thinking for a moment that he was actually a mutant.

"IT'S MINE! STOP LOOKING AT IT!" he yelled at everyone staring at him. He quickly ran into the pawn shop with an obsessive laugh, only to emerge later with an even more paranoid look on his face. After emerging, he stuffed a decent sized wad of money into one of his pockets. He then got back on his bike a was off once again.

Dinae normally hung out on the fifth level. He lived on the eighth, but the fifth had always caught his attention. Today, he was leaning against an apartment building, half asleep, half watching the petty thieves try to pull their BS on the pedestrians. Every now and then his tongue would flick up and moisturize his eyes. His arms were crossed, a very hard thing to learn to do without slicing his hands off. He did his share sometimes. If a pickpocket, trying to escape his/her victim, runs too close, Dinae would grab their leg with his tail and "hand" them to the pickpocketee. Other than that, he was keeping to himself today.

Jason missed the old days.

In the old days, he wouldn't be sitting on his ass stuck in this huge city. He and Bill would be running around doing whatever Jason felt like doing wherever Bill felt like going. And he didn't have to worry about a guard pulling a gun on him.

But now, he was trapped in this city that was a million times to big for its own good. But there was one reassuring thing about this city: people leaving public restrooms never thought anything of someone running into them, and public restrooms always had windows.

Micheal woke up in the end of an alley, having no idea what just happened. All he knew is his head hurt, there was burnt stuff all around him, and his gauntlet and pitch fork were completely red. Nothing seemed odd to Micheal, so he got up and walked out of the alley. What Micheal had forgotten is both his gauntlets and pitch fork were silver in color originally.

OOC: Um... hm... What?

(You bump into someone, and use that to distract the guy from the fact that you've just taken their wallet. And then you sneak out the window before they realize what happened.)

It had been like any other day.
Scott drove through the city, as the flying cars buzzed about and industry smoked up the sky. With a cigarette in his mouth, the intimidating elf roared his bike and raced through the city, sunglasses glistening in the sun. After turning a few corners, he arrived at his favorite bar, where no one disturbed him and his scotch. He found a chair in the corner and sat down and dropped his bag on the ground with an ear-splitting "THUNK!"
He looked around at the other patrons, laughing merrily and drinking away, not a care in the world. He smothered his cigarette in the ashtray and took a swig of scotch. He drummed his fingers on the table silently. As more and more patrons left and came, the more drowzy he got. He tipped his hat down and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a few z's.