#patron (og mfer)

[womanlives]

LORE DUMP: Merce's criminal org edition !

THE DOCKYARD SYNDICATE.

Otherwise known as dockies, docks, or dockworkers. Derogatorily referred to by rival organizations as rats or ship rats.

Originated as a loose collection of gangs around the mid-1950s in Kingshore (think: New York City). Banded together for your standard reason: joblessness, poverty, persecution. And drug-running, of course, especially through the ports. Their early years were extremely profitable, but bloody. The Syndicate grew too large too quickly, and its rather informal structure began to collapse.

After eliminating the largest of their rivals in a brutal, yearslong struggle — and taking heavy losses to boot — the Syndicate had its own form of quasi-revolution. One of its key members rose to prominence and established himself as the head of the Syndicate, with backing by several of the other primary powerhouses. He wasted no time in establishing his influence and reorganizing the organization into something much more structured and much more lethal. No more gangs. Now a cartel.

Their leader is known as the Patron. Under his rule, the Syndicate has grown widely in notoriety and influence over the decades. While its ‘official’ inner-circle members remain relatively small in number, it has a reputation for hiring on other gangs/organizations as needed. And burning them just as quick.

Current operation: slowly but surely develop footholds in all government structure(s) where they do business. Kingshore’s owned by them already in everything except name.

Rot-Eyes works exclusively for the Patron as his go-to killer.

The Patron is widely believed to have ordered the elimination of the Roses. Rot-Eyes doesn’t listen to anyone else.

OPTIONAL FOR SUPERNATURAL SETTINGS: In addition to your standard drug-fare, the Syndicate is the sole smuggler of a rare substance known as stardust, which is the magic equivalent of steroids. Discovered within the last decade, stardust is highly illegal, highly dangerous, and incredibly valuable. Its existence is a closely-guarded secret, as the Syndicate actively eliminates any competitor that tries to broach this market.

THE RATCATCHERS.

The Syndicate funds several of their best thieves and killers to act as ratcatchers. Ratcatchers are essentially recruiters who prey on the large population of impoverished children in the city. They offer food, safe places to stay, and basic sneak-training in exchange for these children to run their ‘errands.’ Errands can include everything from pickpocketing, causing a distraction, or even murder.

Most kids get caught, die, or try to form gangs of their own (which never last long). Those who stay with the Ratcatchers long enough are eventually passed off to smaller cells within the Syndicate’s network (ages ~13 to ~16). Or to wherever they will pick up a profit.

There have been six instances of ratcatchers trying to branch off with their recruits to establish their own gangs without the Patron's consent. All six were hunted down by Rot-Eyes. In spectacular fashion.

While invaluable to the Syndicate’s success, they are (rightfully) regarded within the organization with distrust and disgust.

Mercy was raised by a ratcatcher.

THE SILVER TIES.

A child branch of the Syndicate overseeing all money-laundering and public-facing operations. Run by a charming younger man named Benedict, who is the most recent to join the Patron’s inner circle.

The largest of the Syndicate’s ‘children.’ Launders money through cash smuggling (offshore banks), shell companies, trusts, round-tripping, but most importantly: cash-intensive businesses. The Silver Ties are the shadow owners of Kingshore’s most famous casino chain: the Golden Floors. (They also own parking structures, several bars and restaurants, and half of Kingshore’s beach resorts.)

The Golden Floors are large, multi-level casinos dispersed throughout Kingshore. All ground-level-and-up floors are public-facing and perfectly legal. But one out of every ten casinos operates underneath some random-ass building as a secret, clandestine location with a multi-tiered basement. The lower you go down, the more depraved — and illegal — the offerings.

Locked in a constant competition to curry favor vs the Blood Rats.

Dinks was a low-level member of the Silver Ties. 

THE BLOOD RATS.

The Syndicate’s enforcers. Run by an ex-military, ex-special forces operative who goes by Sam. He is the only person Rot-Eyes hesitates to fuck with.

Oversees weapons smuggling, countersurveillance, and security. Runs the Syndicate’s protection rackets (aka extortion).

Smallest of the Syndicate’s ‘children.’ It’s widely regarded as truth that the Patron only claimed control of the Syndicate in the first place because he had the backing of the Blood Rats behind him. They are considered the most loyal of all Syndicate factions.

Has access to military-grade arms and equipment — and sometimes even beyond. The Blood Rats don’t often have to roll out in force, but when they do, everyone fuckin’ knows it.

By and large regards the Silver Ties as wishy-washy corporate bitches.

Unlike most of the other Syndicate members, Sam has actually seen Dinks’ face. Worse: he remembers it, too.

THE ROSES.

Never officially a part of the Syndicate family, but came very close. An all-female gang with eight members, each named after one of the seven virtues. And Mercy. Their specialty was secret-thieving and surveillance.

Originated as a gift from the Patron to his favorite whore: Chastity, who founded the Roses. She targeted exclusively women in gangs and precarious situations to bring into her fold. Much of the Roses’ history is lost to the ashes, but within their short period of operation (~15 years), they skyrocketed to the top of the Syndicate’s ‘bitches to Be’ list, with Chastity acting as the Patron’s most beloved and most trusted confidante.

Then, one night, Rot-Eyes beat them all to death inside their hideout and burned it to the ground. And that was that. No more Roses.

The Syndicate has been in a state of slow but steady decline ever since.

[tinynachosheep]

On shame spirals

Tonight marks my one-week anniversary since my most recent shamespiral - inducing night/ actions / event.  I’m not 100% about the origin of the term- as far as I can tell I think I pulled it out of my a#$ probs in the midst of a heartfelt + emotionally-immediate (ie probably not whilst in a dysthymia ) chat / rant, to me it describes and captures quite perfectly the phenomenon - but you’d better believe (lol) I’d readily believe I’m not the first person to use the phrase for the purpose.

ANYways.  On last week’s specific shame spiral & precipitating events, I think I’ll keep it pretty brief and general, both for the purposes of brevity/ not getting lost in specific details, and also defs to not revisit it too vividly because it’s stiiilll a bit raw and I haven’t fully debriefed / officially patched things over with my sister.  So basically, on the first day/ night of a 3 + day visit to my adopted hometown (ie went to uni there, stuck around the next 8ish years before living out of country for a year -- > boomerang childing) I ended up, after spending some time at and then leaving the night’s OG main event (a tribute concert <with dear friends + solid group> that was nice enough but apparently lacking enough of whatever [read: distraction[s]/ palette cleanser[s] for my current dryspell / non-fruitionable courtly lusty-love), I hauled my already solidly tipsy butt over to my favourite go to drinking/ chilling establishment, which coincidentally is also the place of work of my sister, her boyfriend, roommate/ a best friend, and where I have a scattered history of good responsible patron behavior as well as a not negligible assortment of messy  + / troublemaking nights. Siiighhhh. 

So needless to say (and I’m going to go ahead and make a case partly that if only I had gotten laid properly / found a cute boy for the night, I would not have found myself in that situation! Which, of course, still does shitall to take away /  excuse my behavior), it was a messy night, not in a pukey, falling all over the place and passing out, making out with strangers kind / level of messy, but I was definitely making friends with strangers all over the place, having random conversation, got on a skateboard, and said some things I really shoudnt have.  Looking back (and even remembering my impression of the experience) my sister’s bf and bff low-key kicked me out (ie i think made it politely clear that it was probs a good time to call it a night, here’s your sister’s address xoxo).  How I got home is another inadvertently lovely (for real!) story for another time, let’s leave it that it was a decidedly messy / not 100% dignified night for me, culminating in a strong text from my sister the following morning ie “(<my name>. Do not EVER go to <drinking establishment> drunk again. EVER).  And holy shit like a ton of bricks there it was, the familiar feeling of shame spirals past.  Shame shame shame shame shammmeee, regret up the ying yang, embarrassment, desperate desire to be able to erase it all, all-enveloping and consuming, just a full-on concentrated juice of all that stuff in general and esp re: the people involved, ie ermgrrrdd omg omg omg to <sisters bf> and <sister’s friend/ roomie>, I am again forever a messy, beyond bumbling and embarrassing lil shitshow to them, bury me noowwwwwww in the garden and graveyard of broken egos and rotting dignity ahhhhh.

Jeeze louise it’s gotten late.  I think I’ll just leave it here, with the brifef addition that the rest of the weekend went lovelier, I got to recover and nurse my wounds (both the massive hangover + shame spiral ) in the company of probably 2 of the best and most appropriate friends for that, and Ive since steadily moved on / away from the trauma of that feeling.  Only slightly tongue in cheek there, anyone who’s experience those MFers you know what a  gosh darn delight they are : s 

Good night, love love love