#v; rrrunning rrraider rrrestaurant

[undcrboss]

@selfmedicatingmayor​

          ‘Uh... Gage? You know this place is just a front, right? You don’t actually have to make any money. This restaurant could put literal crap on plates and still do what it’s supposed to do.’

          The boss didn’t understand. This was his dream, his magnum opus... his little money-laundering, southern family restaurant, smack dab in the middle of Boston. Maybe it was “below” him to be running the place. Gage was second in command, after all, a damned lieutenant, and he had no place standing around in a kitchen making fried chicken. Even so, when the boss held a meeting to recruit volunteers to run their first little operation in the United States, Gage couldn’t have jumped up from his seat any faster.

          He had an idea already in place, he had his grandma’s recipes at the ready, and after months of careful planning, he now ran the best - and perhaps the only - southern restaurant in their part of the city. 

          Perhaps the cartel didn’t need it to succeed - but Gage did. He loved that fucking restaurant. ...And he wouldn’t tolerate any bullshit. Six foot two, with a missing eye and a bad attitude, the unfriendly, neighborhood gangster made quite the sight, as he slammed open the kitchen door.

          “ Yeah, I think you’ve had enough to drink, boy. ” He hissed, pushing himself between the stranger and the ‘delivery boy’ - more like a drug mule, really. 

          “ Pack your sh- ” No swearing in front of the customers. “ Pack your... bags and get on out of here. Nobody makes a mess of my place and - ” 

          Lives to tell the tale.

          “ Gets away with it. Now, scram. ”

[undcrboss]

@darngoodshot​​

“You look like shit. And I’m not just saying that because you took off your eyepatch - which you should never do again, by the way.”

“ ...Thanks for the sympathy, Boss. Knew I could count of you.” Despite that ever-present scowl twisted over his features, there was undeniable fondness in his voice. “ ...How’s Tijuana, by the way? ”

“It’s sunny, it’s beautiful, and we are making money, man! Want me to send over a care package? I know you’re probably missing those disgusting mango things.”

“ You’re disgusting. ” He sighed, running his fingers over the bandages covering his shoulder. “ Yeah, just... send over a box or two. Get me the extra spicy ones. ”

“Sooo... the ones that give you heartburn. Sure. I’ll have them shipped over to the restaurant in a couple days. ”

“ ...Actually, let me text you an address. I’m staying with... with my son, for the time being, and - ”

“Hold up. You have a kid? Since when?!”

“ He’s a grown-ass man, Boss. Skinny little guy in his twenties. ”

“But you’re only... Ooooh, I get it. They didn’t teach you sex-ed in the south, did they? Oh my god, you’re a stereotype! Ahahaha!”

“ ...I’m hanging up. ”

“Gage, wait -”

                    He couldn’t have tossed that fucking phone away any faster. Somehow, talking about his little “mistake” still made him uneasy, even after all those years. 

                    “ Hey, Boy! ” he called from the sofa; he hadn’t moved since morning “ Boy, you get over here, so I don’t have to fuckin’ shout. ”

[undcrboss]

Finally Made a Verse Page for Modern Gage~

http://undcrboss.tumblr.com/fuckyougivemefivestars

[undcrboss]

Modern Muse Information

please repost don’t reblog.

Name: Porter Middlename: Beauregard Lastname: Gage XIV Age: 39 Gender: Male   Sexuality: Bisexual hAHAHAHA definitely not gay or anything (shut up) Family: Annabelle Gage (Mother), Porter Gage XIII (Father) Household: Bachelor Beach House in Party Town, Mexico Hometown: Middle-of-Nowhere, Georgia Current location: Never stays in one place for long Nationality: American (Deep South) Ethnicity:  Caucasian Spoken languages: English, Spanish, Broken French (omelette du fromage) Religion: Baptist Height: 6′2″ Bodytype: Skinny-ass bitch

Haircolor and type: Brown - disgusting tiny mohawk thing Eyecolor and shape: Hazel, cyclops Tattoos: Thinks needles are dirty Piercings: See above Educational background: Highschool Diploma Pets: Hates animals Career: Cartel lieutenant, restaurateur, deadbeat dad, amateur poet (absolutely terrible) Social media used: Doesn’t want none of that “fuckin’ twatter” Smoking: never / occasionally / “party smoker “ / often / lungs as black as his fucking heart Drinking: never / rarely / occasionally / often Drugs: never / occasionally / often / If they do drugs, what kind?: antacids for his HORRIBLE HEARTBURN Athletics they enjoy?: Looting and Murdering Hobbies: No time for hobbies~ Gage is a workaholic Virgin?: yes / no If not, how old were they when they lost their virginity?: 16 Favorite drink: Piña Coladas Favorite food: Shrimp and Grits Favorite music: The Eagles. Played on repeat. For HOURS. Favorite movie: Gone with the Wind True Grit Favorite tv shows: Downton Abbey Refuses to watch the “idiot box” Favorite books: The Great Gatsby The Art of War Clothing style:  Stained, smelly, and dirty Underwear type: Boxers Heroes: No such thing, man B)

[undcrboss]

"I never wanted anything from you."

        “ Well, that’s too bad. ”

       With his physical therapy over and done with, Gage had finally been given the all clear to head on back to Mexico any time he pleased. The restaurant, headed by the Operators, now, had managed to flourish without him. The only reason that he stayed in shitty ol’ Boston was to get to know his boy - and Duncan. Even that, however, couldn’t last. His loyalty belonged to Asher first and RJ second. Sooner or later, he’d have to make that trip across the border.

       “ My boy sure seems happy to have a father… don’t he? Makes you think about the kind of monster who’d want to take that away from him… ” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a wretched smirk, though, somehow, he managed to repress his laughter. “ …Wonder what the boy would think about a family trip to Georgia before dear, sweet Daddy went back to work. ”

       It was just talk. In truth, the very thought of returning to the old homestead made him nauseous. He and his parents hadn’t parted on the best of terms. He could still remember his mother sobbing in the kitchen, while he packed his bags; he remembered his father shouting at him: ‘reckless’ this and ‘selfish’ that.

       …But he just couldn’t stay in that place. He could play the productive citizen, go on to university, and become some soulless businessman, wearing some prissy little tie, and living in a dumbass box made of ticky-tacky. …He couldn’t do it without Bonnie.