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Roleplay - Random by WhatsThat / WhatsThat

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WhatsThat: Lights of different colours shimmered in the dark of the night, illuminating from the many advertisements and windows of towering buildings and lamp posts which overlooked the busy streets. The slow moving traffic seemed like multi-coloured specks in the distance as drops of rain glimmered on the surface of the cars, the sound of their roaring engines and honking audible among the chatter and walking steps of the people rushing back and forth, giving New York its usual busy atmosphere. It was here where everything moved fast. It was like time was on fast forward. No time for anything...
And there, among the many slow-moving vehicles drove a black Mercedes quite obvious among the many yellow taxis which littered the streets. And through the tinted windows a young woman in her twenties could be seen, the look of frustration apparent on her features as her lips moved as she spoke, voice hummed through the glass, her hand swaying in aggravation as she looked up at the rear-view mirror where she met the worried eyes of the driver whom occasionally looked up at the reflection of his passenger giving her the attention she wanted though glancing back at the cars ahead to prevent another honk or shout from a fellow driver.
(b “It’s not fair that mama can go to Paris while I stay here doing paper work and following stupid orders!”) Yelled the young woman, her accent a soft sounding Spanish which somehow did not match the emotion spread out across her features.
(b (#495612 “Yes, yes, you’re right...”)) Mumbled the driver worryingly his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to ignore the complaining of the woman who went on and on. His eyes looked drowsy as his eyelids hung half open, black rings visible around his eyes, unshaved stubble all along his flat cheek bones and framing a quivering lip as he tried to hold back from talking further.
(b “Then why does Papa say I’m wrong?”) She whined like a little girl, annoyed that she wouldn’t be able to go on a shopping spree in one of the most fashionable cities in the world.
(#495612 (b “Ah, but...”)) Mumbled the driver but was cut of short by a grumble as the woman crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned to look out of the window watching as the beads of rain trickled down its surface, keeping her mind busy as she waited to get to her destination.
After a long delay that seemed to take forever, the young lady could take it no more and her patience fractured. (b “Paul, stop near the curve, this stupid traffic, beep, beep, beep, it is so annoying. I would be able to get there faster without this stupid car.”) She said sounding foreign as she then growled, unbuckling her seatbelt and grabbing her red handbag that sat by her side, clutching it by the handle ready to leave as soon as the car stopped.
(#495612 (b “Miss... Are you sure? Your shoes aren’t suitable and it’s very cold and busy tonight... I...”)) The driver stuttered attempting to convince her though preceded in doing what she ordered anyhow and manoeuvred through the traffic with great difficulty, narrowly missing a taxi whose driver honked continuously. Parking next to the curve, the female opened the car door and stepped out, though unfortunately into a puddle, water seeping through her shoes and soaking her feet. Biting her lip with a scowl and holding back a shout not wanting to gather the attention of the driver, she slammed the door shut, collecting a few stares from the passers-by here and there and then set off ignoring the water in her shoes as she attempted to walk normally.
Walking amongst the numerous people of New York, swiftly paced the young woman, her hands in the pockets of her rather bright red coat, concealing her causal beige dress, red pumps covering her feet and her long brown hazel coloured hair straight and reaching her chest. Her face held an expression of indifference and an uncaring nature; her head held high as she walked on as if she held a title of importance and one of which meant you were to do as she said. But, how it odd it may seem, the woman was famous among the many mafia clans and was highly regarded as the daughter of one of the most advanced and leading mafias in town. The Flores. However, although people outside of the world of conflict and the unnecessary use for guns and crime did not know of the mafias in New York she expected to be treated the same by everybody; and a wet shoe was not going to change that.
Sighing, she came to a halt and looked down at her shoes; they were soaking wet and seeping through the material even further, the young women wishing she didn’t leave the car so hurriedly. Cursing, she looked back up with a scowl on her face as she continued her stroll, of course being cautious of her surroundings, eyeing everyone she passed and making sure not to collide with anyone for the weapon she hid in her gun holster would shift leading to a visible bump on her thigh which would give her away, for if anyone found out she carried a weapon, it would probably be the end of the world for her. It wasn’t the type of thing you would risk.
Unexpectedly, a hand touched her shoulder in a tap like fashion to get her attention, the woman’s eyes widening out of surprise and extinct as she quickly turned around to face the person behind her, her hand lifted in the air, ready to attack.
(#123456 (b “Hola, Lopita, calm down.”)) A deep Spanish voice spoke in a hushed tone as the man placed a reassuring hand on Lopita’s shoulder. He was quite good looking, his hair was flat against his head, a few specks of grey visible here and there, his cheeks, upper lip and chin covered in stubble making him look rather handsome. He smiled briefly awaiting her reply, moving his hand away and rubbing his large hands together and blowing into them before slipping them into the pockets of his coat.
(b “Ah, Juan, please, don’t do that again.”) Lopita replied seriously, as she lowered her hand and sighed gently, looking up at the man.
(#123456 (b “I’m sorry, Lopita.”)) Juan said rather sarcastically, not wanting to upset the ‘little princess’ who thought too highly of herself sometimes. (#123456 (b “Anyway, this is from your father.”)) He continued, taking his hand out of his pocket and taking out a small brown envelope from the pocket inside his coat and handing it over to her. (#123456 (b “Read it quickly. Dispose of it straight after you read it.”)) He warned then nodded his head quickly as a quick indirect farewell before turning and making his way back in the direction he came.
(b “Juan, common a letter? Why not a text or something?”) She asked with eyebrow raised, annoyed with the method of the way information was passed around the Flores. Though everything annoyed her one way or another...
(#123456 (b “It is to avoid anyone tracking you by your phone, Lopita, I told you this before, you can just rip it up whereas your phone can be hacked into and information can be stolen, no?")) Juan replied as he turned back to look at her. (#123456 (b “And, eh, Lopita, go do some shopping I see your mother going on holiday has affected you. Cheer yourself up, okay?”)) He smiled, though anyone could tell it wasn’t genuine, it would seem that the letter had something to do with it. Juan finally turned and continued his way back the crowd swallowing him up and shielding him from view.
Lopita looked down at the envelope in her hands before ripping it open and, unfolding the paper inside as she began her walk yet again, her eyes darting left and right as she read through it all. The news caused her to sigh softly. A war between their rivals? The reason between the so called war was probably caused by the most stupidest of reasons. She didn’t believe the whole 'They stole our gun crap' for there seemed to be a strange obsession with her friend’s mother... Shaking her head, and making a mental note to think of it another time, Lopita stopped in front of a trash can and began to rip up the paper into tiny pieces so nothing could be read then throwing it in, receiving strange stares from the people who passed, however Lopita didn’t care at all for all she cared about was the empty feeling she felt inside, her heart seemed to beat faster as she thought of facing her best friends on the battle field and watch them die if that were to happen. She always knew that her friendship with the Aestas siblings was never a good thing but no matter how much she tried to avoid them and the number of times she caused arguments, she was always drawn back as if a string was tied to the three of them. But no matter how much she tried to avoid this situation it was now happening and as young adults fresh into the world of their family businesses they were in no place to stop it.
A short vibration in Lopita's coat pocket followed by two beeps broke her train of thought. A message. Lupita reached into her pocket, took out her mobile and read through it. It was her best friend Mariella. She smirked looking over her shoulder and then turning back to look at her mobile screen, typing up a reply and making her way to Time Square while doing so. This was sure to help her forget the news she had just received, and relieve her from her bad mood.

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