Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
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- tab tab ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ ｍｙ ｗｏｒｌｄ . . .
NAME | Daniel Ross Pickering
BIRTH | 6th July 1965 - 34 years young
IN FIVE WORDS | Peaceful, Honest, Lonely, Timid, Modest
Me? I, um... There isn't really that much to say. Well, I've never been part of the crowd. Even in a poxy town, I was always a step out of line with everyone else. I liked the folk well enough, don't get me wrong about that, but there was this... this... divide. People learnt to rub me the right way so I'd do what they wanted - a naïve lad's trust. Now, I guess you could say I learnt me lesson. It takes me a while to open up to someone, but once they get there, I'm the honest, hospitable, caring fellow I really am.
SEX | Male
ORIENTATION | Heterosexual
OUT OF MY MOUTH | Misery is easy. Happiness you have to work at.
Wintergarden isn't my hometown, not even close. Brandon barely gets a notice on a Google search, and it's probably better that way. Wintergarden is pretty close, but it doesn't compare to Brandon. It's a small fishing town on the west coast of Ireland and just about everyone there would be the poster boy for anyone joining the IRA. They're republicans like you wouldn't believe.
My parents copped a lot of flak for not being as strong in their views as the rest of the village. It saved them that me Mam was a bit of a loon. Can't remember what the doctors said it was, or even if they bothered diagnosing it, but we knew there was something a bit off. Anyway, we spent a lot of time together when me Da was out at sea. She was all about peace and trust, and that's what I wanted too. The problem was, the boys in town knew that. I would always end up in the right place at the right time to be found by the coppers when one of the other boys had done something stupid.
As the years went by, I got the message. Trust was fine and dandy, but they should have worked to get it, and I was too much of a fool to stop it, so I did the only thing I could. Most days I'd be out on the water for a lot longer than was good for me, and when it came to a night in the pub, I was the awkward stranger at the end of the bar. When I'd drink too much, it would turn into a showdown between me and the boys-now-men who were still trying to convert me to another little soldier to go fighting the Brits.
With the Good Friday Agreement, I couldn't stay in the Brandon any longer. Every trip to the pub would mean a bit of a bruising and battering. There were only so many times I could take being called a gombeen before I needed out. Going to the UK would have only hurt my family, and I was no good at learning other languages to settle down in the rest of Europe. It was a flip of a coin that decided between the US and Australia.
I couldn't take keeping up the fishing business, so instead I stumbled into a new job. Being an ambulance driver was... a step in a new direction. It was a bit hard learning to drive on the other side of the road, but by the time I'd finished the training, it was like I'd never had a problem driving on the right.
HEIGHT | 6 foot 1
CLASS | Lower
TAKE A PICTURE | Danny boy
There isn't much I'm striving for now that I'm settled down in the States. The most I'm looking for? A bit of good luck. Money's on the tight side, there's no lass waiting for me after a day on call, and there aren't a lot of folk who'd join me for a pint. Just having that is all I need.
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Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
⇨ Nikolaus Schröder ⇦
❝ B i o g r a p h y ❞
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⊰ thirty-eight ⊱ ⊰ male ⊱ ⊰ november fifth ⊱
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⊰ thirty-eight ⊱ ⊰ male ⊱ ⊰ november fifth ⊱
██ █ ▌ Klaus’ long history isn’t something he is proud of. Born in Germany, but raised in the Swiss Alps, he could never get away from his roots. The son of two self-proclaimed Nazis that would not let their past remain across the border, they told him stories of Germany with a glitter in their eye. Outside, their conversations would remain civil, diplomatic and rational, but in the home, their discourse did not belie their true colours.
Nikolaus was told of a home that had been raped by invaders, a pure identity that had become demonised by spiteful Jews, decadent American filth and Europeans that were too scared to accept a better way of life. With the blonde hair and blue eyes of the 'super race', he was entitled to something better. It was the same stories every night.
At school, he parroted the tirades he heard at home. Teachers and students condemned him, but not all of them. There was only a handful of them, but there were other kids who believed the same thing he did. What they were preached at home festered in their closed circle. In class they argued with the teachers and in the playground they gave a beating to anyone who had dared scoff at their views.
Despite only being a spindly child, Nikolaus had a voice and a way with words that brought people to him. He grew up with an audience and followers. By twenty-four, he was married with a five year old son and never been more determined to press his views. Too sure of his status, he ended up biting off more than he could chew. Five against one was not a fight Nikolaus could ever hope to win, but he took them on regardless. They left him half dead with a swastika carved into his chest so everyone would always know what he was.
If he had been brought into the hospital any later, he would not have survived. Over the following weeks, his world shattered. For the first time he had been rendered powerless, and for the first time he had been pulled away from his friends and family. He returned home questioning everything he had ever believed in. The doubt cost him everything he had left: his friends, his family and his son.
To his wife and his friends, he was a traitor; to the town, he was a fake. Unwanted and unsure of how to start rebuilding his life, he left. He jumped the border to Austria, and there he found a purpose. With the rise of Neo-Nazism, he became a voice against it. As people had flocked to him before, more came to listen to his attacks on the Nationaldemokratische Partei.
It was easy to follow him, whether it was because of his speeches or the attacks by people that tried to silence him, and in 1980 he received a message from his wife. She wanted to meet him and he would not say no. They were to meet in a small town on the Swiss-Austrian border where one of his friends owned a property he was happy to open for Nikolaus.
He had been enjoying a light snack with his friend before the blackout. When he woke up, he was lying on the floor of a very different room. Disoriented and confused he wandered through the house until he found an older woman, hoping to get some kind of explanation. She burst into tears before he could ask for her help. In between the sobs he learnt the improbable truth.
For the first couple of months, he did not venture outside, just trying to catch up on the two decades he had missed. For the second time, his life had been turned around and again he had no idea where to go. The greying woman, who he had been pained to learn was his wife, suggested that he pick up where he left off. His spruiking against Neo-Nazism was over, but twenty years ago he was supposed to meet his son, and that was still an option. With friends in high and low places, they managed to scrounge together a passport and a plane ticket to the States.
It wasn’t a happy reunion. His son was his spitting image and a depressing realisation of what could have happened to him if he hadn’t changed. Klaus, as he preferred to be called in the new world, had no interest in fighting with his son about their past, but it wasn’t reciprocated. After a few weeks of being tormented about what he saw as mistakes and his son saw as victories, Klaus left. He still believed the last time he had seen his son was as a five year old boy.
In a foreign country with a foreign language, Klaus had no place to go, but there was nothing a genuine smile and a few helpful locals couldn’t fix. Once he had grasped enough of the language he started moving around, learning how long he could stay in one place before someone became suspicious of his unaging appearance. He still couldn’t find a purpose, but the self-defence he had learnt in his youth and later as a target of attacks was largely unseen on that side of the Atlantic, and gyms paid him a pretty sum for his knowledge.
In 2005, the training suddenly took on a whole new meaning. While at the gym, he would regularly watch the others, not really interested in learning the other styles, but just curious. One day, to see what would happen if they pitted two different styled trainers against each other, they were shocked to find Klaus diversifying into techniques he’d never shown them before. No one was more shocked than Klaus but he never had to hide it - everyone else explained it away for him as the German keeping a lot of secrets.
When there started being reports of other supernaturals being hounded, Klaus reined in his powers. Despite no one being suspicious of him, he didn’t want to wait around until someone was. The rampant genocide struck him of a reaction he would have approved of in his past. There was finally a new cause worth fighting for, but no one would listen to him, not with his accent. His only chance to do something came with a group of supernaturals who were hiding like him.
❝ A p p e a r a n c e ❞
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⊰ worn ⊱ ⊰ friendly ⊱ ⊰ lean ⊱
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⊰ worn ⊱ ⊰ friendly ⊱ ⊰ lean ⊱
██ █ ▌ In the classical sense, there is nothing imposing about Klaus' physique. With a naturally slim frame, his muscle tone has only ever made him look 'normal' rather than bulky. Not a nightclub bouncer, a veteran once told him, but like a wet cat: agile and slippery and quick.
His youthful exploits have, however, permanently stripped him of the chance of ever being the 'normal' he wishes he could have been. Wrinkles of an older man are worn into his skin, a scar on his left calf is a reminder of all the times he was the lucky one in a fight and the scar on his chest reminds him of the time he wasn't. Klaus doesn't care for fashionability as long as he can hide the mark he still bears from two lifetimes ago.
❝ P e r s o n a l i t y ❞
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⊰ optimistic ⊱ ⊰ pedantic ⊱ ⊰ forgiving ⊱
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⊰ optimistic ⊱ ⊰ pedantic ⊱ ⊰ forgiving ⊱
██ █ ▌ Despite how he's been making the living the last few years, Klaus is very much the pacifist. He avoids confrontations and prefers to restrain people rather than hurt them. If he could change, he believes everyone can with enough persuasion, and he will gladly step up to the plate to be the person who does the persuading.
Short of being a zen warrior, his patience and good mood falls short when dealing with authority. Sometimes too headstrong and too determined to push any of his ideals, he does not deal well with being anything but the man in charge. He'll never come to blows over an argument, but exchanging more than a few heated words are not beyond him if he feels he is being rejected without cause.
❝ S k i l l s ❞
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⊰ adomopathy ⊱ ⊰ endurance ⊱ ⊰ arthrokinesis ⊱
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⊰ adomopathy ⊱ ⊰ endurance ⊱ ⊰ arthrokinesis ⊱
██ █ ▌ There's not much to understand about Klaus' skills. Show him a move and he will repeat it - flawlessly. His arthrokinesis isn't a talent he has explored more than to avoid a warm up, letting him manipulate his joints and tendons to enhance his flexibility. How far he could take it or whether he could turn the skill on others is a boundary he has not yet been willing to push.
██ █ ▌ Klaus is very much on the wrong side of thirty to be engaging in any form of prolonged conflict. Any stunts he can pull off are just as exhausting as they would be to anyone else at his age in his condition. Outlasting an opponent isn't an option. He needs to hope he has enough moves in his memory bank to get him out of any situation fast.
Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
Archibald Rainer Spitz
Archie or Arch ✦ Thirty-six ✦ August 32nd ✦ Male ✦ Heterosexual
Physical Description
A charming smile doesn't suit Archie, nor does any smile. He's 183cm (6') of cold, unflinching stone, or the result of being a German a**, as his ex-wife would tell you. The pale skin, blue eyes, blonde hair – dark as it may be – the stern face, all thanks to 'German assholeish engineering', or his father, as loathe as Archie would be to tell you. At thirty-six, he still hasn't managed to work on the first sign of a laugh line, and if the old man was anything to go by, he won't be getting them any time soon. The smile doesn't work with the suit, Arch'll tell you.
Suits… well they didn't suit Archie. No matter what a tailor did, they never looked right. Supposedly he had the perfect build, one that should have made every suit look like a million Cal, but they all looked like they had been picked up at the bargain bin. When he was 'someone', Arch wore them everywhere, no matter what the occasion. It was expected and he went along with the formality. No longer an A-lister, he's finally relegated to the look of the masses: any old shirt and tracksuit pants. When his weight regularly fluctuates between 74kg and 78kg (163-172lbs.) in a week depending on how much he can get to drink and how much he can keep down, he prefers the freedom offered by a casual wardrobe.
To anyone who knew who Archie had once been, that resignation is not something they would believe without seeing it with their own two eyes. It is perhaps an odd irony then that he looks much better now, even with the sunken eyes and beer gut, than he had in a suit. The scar on the outside of his right forearm is now useful in proving that he is the older Spitz boy because there is little else that has stayed with him in his tumble to middle class status.
Archie didn't have to find a job, rather his job found him. A consultant like no other, his job is simple: take a business deal about to go sour and make it good again. For Archie, it's like playing connect the dots. Even after his third or fourth bottle of the day, he can make a whole contingency plan to cripple his clients' competition. So far he's never been wrong. The only flaw in his plan is that sometimes his clients don't have the balls to pull off what he told them to do. He never judges. If he went through with his own advise, he wouldn't be living in a dingy apartment in Jinsil City.
Fortunately for anyone interested in buying what Archie is selling, he doesn't have a large customer base. He doesn't advertise, doesn't talk about his work, and definitely doesn't mention who comes to visit him. Instead, his clients – former contacts and prospective business partners – find him. With a bottle of red in hand, or whiskey, or tequila, or just about anything – he's not picky – clients can rifle through Archie's brain until the bottle's done. Leave a bottle and a brief, and the next day they can pick up a file that'll see them in the black for the foreseeable future. It's cheaper than asking for one of Silas' Black Hand mercenaries with none of the blood work. Unfortunately for Archie and his clientele, that just means he's becoming a dangerous man, and when someone knows as many company secrets to some of Atlas' top companies as he does, he's either going to be worth a lot to someone alive, or a lot more to everyone dead.
Skills
Asked whether he has any skills or talents, Archie will always say no. He will say it so convincingly it's almost worth believing, and that is the fastest introduction to Archie's first skill: lying. He regularly convinces nosy neighbours or past acquaintances that he's not the former heir to the Spitz empire. That is, however, often the only lie anyone will hear him tell. He understands consequence and the chain reaction that even a seemingly inconsequential lie can have. Accepting that his brother had taken most of the charm in the family, he had to keep people on his side somehow, and staying five steps ahead worked best when he didn't have a dozen lies to keep track of as well.
Perhaps not considered a skill by others, Archie can not only identify just about every vineyard on Atlas, but also the wine to come from each. When it comes to the 'family' wine, he could pinpoint which part of the vineyard a wine came from. There'll be no convincing him to reveal that particular skill now. He's promised himself never to touch another drop from the company that should have been his.
Living Space
There was enough money in Archie's account once he had been evicted from what he saw as 'the family' to buy a comfortable apartment in Mandura or Jowaran, but Archie had crunched the figures somewhere between hearing his fate and how much money he'd been left, and he had decided that the bare essentials would do. The bare essentials for someone of Archie's standings were a lot more than what most people consider 'essentials'. His new home had been a luxury apartment when he had purchased earlier in the year, in a nutshell, it's not anymore. The view from being twenty storeys up is the only value left in the place.
The single floor, two bedroom apartment has been stripped. The lounge that once boasted a state of the art entertainment system, an exotic ecosystem along the only unbroken wall and an expensive dining suite now feels a lot larger, only hosting two lazyboys, a handful of plants and an ever changing collections of bottles. Anything that wasn't nailed down was sold. The white tiled floor that was once spotless has cracks and scratches, not that Archie would be able to say how they got there; the paint has been scratched on the walls, revealing the green underneath the yellow-tinted white; and the floor to ceiling fixed window is mostly dimmed.
Not all the creature comforts have been sacrificed. The kitchen is in perfect order only because Archie can't remember ever being in there, and the two bedrooms haven't been completely ransacked. The trimmings are all gone from Archie's room except for the ergonomic queen sized bed (unable to settle for any more or less). He uses it sparingly but still refuses to sell it. The other room, however, he has left to his Aemata, unable to inflict any more injustice onto them other than having to live with him.
~ ✦ ~
Personality
Personality
The ancient art of being a complete human being was lost in Archie a long time ago. Ever since he was nine, he's never been quite all there. He genuinely likes company and being at the heart of entertainment, he just has a very strange way of showing it. Given the choice between a quiet night in and a night on the town, he would always choose the latter. Unfortunately an unapproachable demeanour does him no favours in making those nights out enjoyable. Despite the alcoholism driving even more people away from him, when he's off his face, Archie is perhaps more reasonable than ever. As any of his current clients know: a mildly intoxicated Archie is good for business, but a drunk Archie is in danger of becoming a human being.
Other people would have worn the happy grin, given the performance that the cameras wanted. It was a small price to pay for good publicity, it just wasn't something Archie knew how to pay. His standard judging expression that has been compared on more than one occasion to an early model Aemata, is not actually judging. As a thinker, Archie's frown is his way of telling the world there is something on his mind. Despite all appearances, he is eager to please, and he spends his time worrying about how to impress.
While Arch makes a brilliant impression of being level headed, he wouldn't be in Jinsil City if he was. Success can make Archie anxious, but failure brings out the worst in him. Archie's self-destructive side would see him do anything with a little push. Originally what led him into his high-stakes lifestyle, it's now what sees him drunk by noon every day. There's no point asking how someone who prides himself on logic can be so illogical; he won't tell you.
Biography
Despite the animosity between father and son that became a talking point of many tabloids on a slow news day, as a boy, Archie followed his father, Friedrich, around more faithful than his own shadow. From the moment he could keep in step with his father, Archie was never far behind. It didn't matter if it was a meeting, dinners, checking the farms or breweries, he would be there. His mother offered him the chance to go be a child, it just never appealed to him. Friedrich never mentioned anything one way or the other. As long as Archie didn't say anything or get underfoot, having a boy at the negotiation table helped sweeten the bargain. Back then, Archie hadn't been the steely man he grew into.
No one could pinpoint the moment when things took a turn for the worse. At school Archie couldn't remember his history lessons, but he could recount the share prices of Herons Peak's primary competitors. Whenever he could still find the time to tag along to one of his father's meetings, he would be at Friedrich's heels again. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do if asked. Friedrich's apathy, however, had become frustration. Instead of being invisible, others started noticing the boy who always seemed to be waiting in the corner. They spent time with him, testing what he knew about what happened in the boardrooms. Archie didn't know he was doing anything wrong until there was no going back.
He was almost ten years old, yet Archie had never seriously argued with his father. In hindsight he knew that the argument that perpetuated the following decades of antagonism was petty – he knew a lot of things in hindsight that he wished he had known when it happened. Too young to understand the implications of his boardroom antics, when Friedrich had started berating him, Archie had turned defensive. It was never supposed to turn physical, but there had been an accident. Archie fell down a flight of stairs and broke his right arm; the scar from the surgery would never let either of them forget what happened.
Everything compounded from then. Unable to rationalise what had happened, Archie blamed his father, and he blamed himself. The lesson his father had tried to teach him stuck in the exact harsh words they were impressed on him. Unexplained and scathing, they were taken more literally than Friedrich could have expected. No longer allowed to join his father and with no intension of speaking to him, the lack of guidance turned Archie into who he is today.
Nothing could repair the rift that had formed over the years, and as Archie grew older and turned to his bought friends – unwilling to bring his little brother into his life of debauchery – they separated further. By his early twenties, he had a reputation as the spoilt disgrace of the Spitz empire. No one expected him to bounce back – most people didn't give him a chance to. However, an old business associate who had started teaching at the School of Saldira saw potential in her student. She was convinced that all Archie needed was direction. There was no way to make Archie interested in the course, instead she gave him a job and responsibilities he couldn't back out of.
In a matter of months, Archie had built a new reputation. There would always be stories about what he did in his own time, but the business world was standing up to take notice of the new kid on the block. After his first big deal he was labelled reformed. As quickly as rumours of Archie's potential new future started spreading, so did questions of why he wasn't representing Herons Peak directly. Every time the questions was asked, shareholders started to worry. It was widely believed the board of directors asked Friedrich to bring Archie back. If they did, no one ever said as much.
As long as he worked for Herons Peak, there were barely a handful of times when both father and son would be in the same room. Secretaries wrote emails between men who lived in the same house, reports were exchanged by the directors, colleagues and journalists kept them more in touch about each others lives than they did themselves. While Arch's mother lived with them, she tried to bring peace, but that line of communication dissolved when she left.
There was always something for a journalist to report on the Spitz family, Archie made sure of it. Who was next in line to become CEO of Herons Peak was no longer a question, and if someone wasn't looking to meet Arch, he was prepared to go and find them. He never lost his contacts in the shadier places of Atlas, instead he continued to build them. Of the dozens of times he was arrested at an Aemata fight or caught leaving a brothel, he was never charged. When people threatened to kill him, he had the certainty that there was either someone with a bigger stick behind them ready to make them regret it or that he could give them something to make them change their minds.
At thirty-five, Archie's reputation couldn't be beat. Politicians, judges, crooks and mobsters, they all had something invested in him, and he had something invested in them. His four month marriage to a model three years before made for a bit of spice to the usual stories. He was in the perfect place to take over the company. Even as Friedrich lay on his deathbed, Archie kept doing business. Everything was in place for a smooth takeover. And then his father had dropped the bombshell.
All Archie can remember between stiffly congratulating his brother and being told by the family Aemata that they were ready to go, was an eight year old bottle of shiraz. It had been his first label and the last bottle of Herons Peak he would ever drink. He doesn't remember saying goodbye to his brother, or how he ended up with the deed to the apartment he owns now, but it wouldn't be the first or last time he would deal with numbers and business while too drunk to remember it.
He spent his thirty-sixth birthday in Jinsil City with enough money to his name to keep him afloat until the end of the year. From once planning years into the future, he's now living his life from day to day. He has no plan for what will happen when the money runs out. He has no ambition to see where he will be in another month. All Archie knows is what he would say to his father if he were still alive: "What did I do to make you hate me?"
~ ✦ ~
Likes
Likes
✦ One of the original vices, gambling was what made Archie brilliant with his money and brilliant with business. The adrenaline rush of the risk is sometimes too tempting. The bigger the risk, the bigger the challenge, the more enticing the gamble.
✦ Not a vocal supporter or activist, but Archie appreciates Aemata and can't imagine a life without them. Though he would barely pause to place a bet on a fight between them, he supports their rights to be treated with dignity. If he didn't like the adrenaline rush more than his artificial counterparts, he would do his best to stamp out the fights.
✦ Raised in one of the wealthiest families in all of Atlas, it is little surprise that Archie loves comfort. At this point, Spitz Hall is possibly even a more attractive offer than Herons Peak, just for its luxuries.
✦ The perception management game, for something that had worked against him a lot over the years, was one of his favourite quirks about status. Archie knew he was his own worst enemy in the game, however, when it comes down to manipulating someone else's perception, he became an expert. Archie used to appreciate the consequences, but now, just like a gamble, the challenge attracts him.
✦ Chameleon fish, having raised several over the years, became both one of his favourite creatures and favourite meals. The last person to choose to be a fisherman, he still found an appeal in keeping them as pets, even if they all ended up on his plate eventually.
✦ Despite being absolutely horrible at it, small talk is something he loves. Better at the nuances of socialising when he's too drunk to think about the consequences of a bit of small talk, it doesn't change the fact that he's always loved just listening into the odd conversation. He finds the freedom of talking about nothing liberating.
Dislikes
✦ For years, his father was at the centre of his hate. Now it's everything that was his father's. Anything from Herons Peak to his father's favourite song shares the hatred he reserved for his father.
✦ With a strong business focus, Arch never found it in his heart to forgive a liar. Believing in transparency and trust, being stabbed in the back struck a chord. Betrayal has always been the fastest way to reveal Archie's unforgiving side.
✦ Crippling someone financially won't make Archie pause for too long, but actually crippling someone is beyond him. Violence makes him uncomfortable. Even when he's at an Aemata fight, he rarely has the stomach to watch it.
✦ Archie still can't stand his ex-wife, but he hates her new husband even more. He used to enjoy meeting him at a conference or meeting, seeing how much more his ex-wife was managing to milk her new cash cow, now he hates him because he ended up with everything.
✦ As an agriculture man, fishing has never been big on Archie's agenda. Tending to his chameleon fish is as far as he ever went. He didn't like the hours of waiting at sea, or the uncertainty if he'd catch anything.
Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
ID Number: #00-986-593
"A light is still a light, even though the blind man cannot see it."
→ Basic Informationxxxxxxxxxx
Full Name: Jens Jochim Engelhardt
Preferred Name: JJ, John
Birthday: April 14
Age: Thirty-seven
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
→ Physical Informationxxxxxxxxxx
Height: 5'11" - 180cm
Weight: 170lbs. - 77kg
Build: Medium - Haggard
Hair Color: Dark brown
Eye Color: Ice blue
Distinguishing Marks: The subtle limp that JJ has had for the past dozen years is courtesy of a scar on the front of his left lower leg. It looks like it was the after effects of coming out the worse between a fight with a dog, it is actually the result of barbed wire and home surgery. Running away from Judgement and close to curfew, there was no chance of reaching a hospital and not being hauled out for questioning. After his first and only time letting a friend perform her back alley surgery, he has since refused to see anyone without some kind of medical accreditation.
Something he's only had for the past couple of months and already an distinguishing feature is a thread bracelet made by his daughter. Created in various shades of purple to match his markings, he's never seen without it. Roughly two centimetres (.8 inch) wide, it covers the rune on his wrist in case his sleeve would fall back far enough to reveal it. His partner has a matching one in shades of pale grey and white.
Physical Description: JJ's physically demanding job has left him with some muscular bulk, but without enough food to go around, those muscles aren't as built as they used to be. His hands are rough from work, he rarely struggles with the machinery, but his skin's starting to pull tight against his bones. The dirt and grit that he has to deal with day to day rarely comes off. Even at his cleanest, there is usually some grease on his hands or a smudge of oil on his face. He does try to look after himself, there just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day for how many he dedicates to others.
In light of recent events, he appears more worn out than usual. Not even his best efforts to keep his troubles to himself can disguise the worry in his eyes or that the grin isn't quite as warm as it used to be. The laugh lines have turned into marks of worry in only a few short months. His normally perfect posture has taken a hit from the exhaustion, making him look like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It would take a few weeks of good rest to get rid of the dark circles under his eyes and put some fat back on him.
Clothing: If JJ didn't look worn out enough himself, his clothes reinforce his position on the social ladder. Probably second- or third-hand to begin with, his usual combinations of unremarkable shirts and jeans are faded in a way only achieved by years of use. He takes a bit more care about his choice of jackets. Every one of his jackets' sleeves cover his palm, and the jackets are tough enough to keep from tearing on the job. He's never seen without one unless he's amongst supporters. The only other thing he refused to go without is his cap. It's older than he is and has taken a fair battering over the years. His father's, it's the only thing JJ has left from him, and it took him almost twenty years for him to feel comfortable enough to wear it.
→ Personal Informationxxxxxxxxxx
→ Personalityxxxxx
xxx↪ Generous: An almost self-sacrificing nature fostered by never having much to call his own has become JJ's defining characteristic. He would offer the jacket off his own back to an enemy if he thought they needed it more than he did. Some people have abused his generosity, however, he has not let the times he has been burnt change his mind.
xxx↪ Humble: While others would use JJ's hardships or successes as something that deserves recognition or praise, JJ would rather have his actions separated from himself. The work he has done he believes belongs to the cause, the life he has he doesn't think is anymore worthy of mention than anyone else, and he doesn't believe that it gives him the right to ask for more than anyone else.
xxx↪ Headstrong: As obvious as his generosity, JJ's relentless pursuit of what he believes in is renown. Those who know and value his contributions to Gypsy rights would sooner mention his stubbornness than anything else. Those who actually know him would sometimes wish that he was a bit more open to suggestion.
xxx↪ Radical: His idealism is often seen more as radicalism. His views can be bizarre and extreme to some, making him say or do things that others would call insane.
xxx↪ Sensitive: JJ will do what he believes in but he is still sensitive to criticism. It won't change his mind unless if he can find a way to properly justify the rationale himself. Still, he takes it to heart and agonises over it, even when he believes there's nothing else he can do.
→ Fearsxxxxx
xxx↪ Being caught: It isn't the shackles or the execution that worries JJ about getting caught; it's knowing that they can make him talk and give so many good people away.
xxx↪ Guns: He still has nightmares of being dragged from his bed in the middle of the night to be lined up in front of a firing squad. The destruction caused by a gun scares him more than any kind of magic or power.
xxx↪ Insufficiency: There has never really been enough to go around, that's a fact of life, however, what he'll do when there won't even be enough for the basic essentials is his real fear.
→ Desiresxxxxx
xxx↪ Equality: One of his oldest dreams, he still hopes that one day he can help realise it so that he can live in a world where Gypsies don't have to hide who they are, or at least leave a world where the next generation have more rights than he did.
xxx↪ Ousting the government: As his most selfish goal, JJ has always wanted to see the 'President' and her supporters lose power. It is the only form of revenge he wants for the death of his father.
xxx↪ Anonymity: Something that has eluded him ever since he made the first step to making a difference, JJ wants to be just another face in the crowd. He is tired of being judged on rumours by people who have never met him.
Biggest Fear: Losing his children is something he doesn't even want to contemplate. He couldn't imagine a life without them, and despite not being able to give them everything they would want or deserve, he knows that the safest place they could be is with him. Every day he worries that they could develop their powers and expose themselves. There is no comfort that anyone can give him except his own knowledge that he would do everything in his power to make sure they stay with him.
Biggest Ambition: As always, when JJ finds a new goal, everything else gets put on the back burner. He wants to know what is causing the lights on the dome and to stop it. For a while he was prepared to let someone else deal with it, but now he cannot deny the effect it has on those around him and himself. While others are busy fighting a battle of rights, blind to the battle of survival that should be their new priority, he is doing whatever he can because he knows if he doesn't, there may not be someone else who will.
→ Supernatural Informationxxxxxxxxxx
Rank: Lower Sorcerer
Mentis: Receiving his channeling rune when he was almost nine, JJ's powers always developed subtly. While other Gypsy children were honing in on their first skills, JJ was learning what it felt like to take an idea and feel its energy. Since then, he has always appreciated the power of an idea. It was so natural; giving strength to a thought was his unquestionable fact of life. Never receiving another rune that would direct his magic would have sat perfectly fine with JJ, but a few months later his powers gained direction.
First and foremost, he is a 'Walker'. At his peak, JJ could stay hidden from surveillance for hours. Staying invisible from people, a talent he started to develop in his mid-teens, never took root in his mind, but he could sustain it for a couple of minutes as long as he was still. Out of practice, out of touch with his powers and out of energy, the main reason he is near his old form is because of the power surge that has been going through the city. With a bit of training and true desire to retest what he can do as a Walker, JJ doesn't know what he could be capable of. Pushing his limits is not something he has done since he was a teenager.
Presently JJ's more practiced skill is his mental link. Almost twenty years old before the rune became useful, the last power he developed is the skill that shaped his thin skin to criticism. A strange form of telepathy, he is capable of picking up dominant thoughts from another person on contact. Similarly, he can transfer thoughts in the same link. What makes it strange is the thoughts transmit as abstract images and emotions. He has never been capable of giving any greater substance to them, and his capacity to block out the others' thoughts has been severely hampered instead of improved in the current circumstance. Never something he had to worry about before, the surges combined with this power have put him at a serious risk of exposure as the excess energy finds a way of channeling out by leaking his thoughts. It's always obvious that the experience is not your own, and he has had a few close calls already.
Markings: JJ's markings didn't develop like most other Mentis users. None of his runes have stayed the same since they first appeared. The surrounding markings have gradually grown into them. The basis of his four runes is simple but they have become a mess of shapes over the years. For his two invisibility runes, the overlapping curls, circles and lines have become so intertwined he doesn't know if the runes really are just two or if they are several that had grown on top of each other.
The basis of each of his runes, a circle that he considers the Self, always appeared first. With the channeling rune on his right wrist, the circle around the Self has extended into lines that run parallel to the veins in his arm. Similar to his minor markings, it is a light reddish-purple, appearing like it flowed out onto the surface of his skin. In contrast, his two invisibility runes are a deep purple, one wrapping around the whole of his right arm and another on his left forearm. The major rune started at the top of his right shoulder with the Self and eventually connected with another circle, the Other, midway down his forearm. The extensions or other runes that have grown on top of it have flowed from the same connection down the outside of the arm, forming a swirl around his elbow and wrapping onto the inside of his forearm. His secondary rune, with the Self positioned on the inside of the forearm, has grown outwards to reach the elbow crook almost to his wrist and the back of the arm.
His last rune, a darker shade of his channeling rune, wraps around his entire left bicep. It took almost a year to grow beyond the Self to finally allow him to form mental links. A simpler motif than his other runes, layer after layer has added itself around the Self in a distorted circle. With another layer, the circles would start on the inside of his arm, directly opposite the Self.
→ Training Regimexxxxxxxxxx
→ Strengthsxxxxx
Street Smarts: Growing up all over East Andromeda, JJ knows the layout of the city like the back of his hand. He has put that to good use over the years when avoiding Judgement. He has become more familiar with Southern Andromeda since picking up employment, however, he will always feel most at home in the East where he the city opens up to him and every nook and cranny feels safe.
Patience: Time has never been a big issue for JJ. He will meet a deadline if pressed, but he believes that rushing is only going to cause more complications. It's something that he had to develop when he was fighting for the liberation of Gypsies. With a time limit where he doesn't have the luxury of patience, he starts to make more mistakes than the average person. Even though he will achieve a result, it is rarely the one he would hope for.
Hardware repairs: His employment is limited to a small area of the industry and yet he has found ways of expanding his knowledge. From repairing a part of the MLS to fixing a circuit board, JJ has dabbled in all of it over the years. His repairs are an imperfect science, learnt more by overhearing and watching others at work than being taught firsthand. Sometimes he can do more harm than good, but his track record of success has been steadily increasing. After all, who wouldn't trust a Mentis to know how something works?
Short Term Photographic Memory: An innate gift, JJ's short term memory is remarkable. When focusing, he can retain details of an event for a couple of hours. The talent is generally limited only to visual and auditory stimuli; he puts less focus into others and therefore is less likely to remember them. It doesn't seem to have any impact on his long term memory.
Steady Hands: A trivial skill, and yet one that has kept him employed for the past dozen-odd years. Without the common shakes and trembles most people experience, he has the benefit of doing some fiddly tasks that would otherwise require robotic assistance. Since he was employed, he's managed to develop the skill to the point where he doesn't experience tremors for an hour at a time.
Speechcraft: JJ listened to and memorised several great speeches from a young age. Without another way to express himself than his words, his oratory skills have always been his strongest feature. Put to good use in his twenties, it is more incidental now, mainly used to entertain his kids.
→ Weaknessesxxxxx
Stephan and Ola: His two children mean the world to him. There's nothing that scares JJ more than something happening to either of them. He is prepared to sacrifice everything to keep them safe. If they are put in danger or threatened, they can make him blind to the greater cause or the truth.
Orders: Since JJ likes to play by his own rules, he doesn't take very well to following through with orders. He'll call it initiative, his bosses would call it insolence. If he thinks his way is faster, safer or better, he will do it and damn the consequences. The complications are most obvious when he's only a small but key player in a bigger plan.
Pacifistic: JJ is not much use in a fight. He doesn't believe in harming someone to achieve his own goals; 'Do as you would be done by.' While his comrades rarely agreed with him, and his partner had more than a few things to say about the matter, he has not shifted that stance. He doesn't lord it over the government or the Espers that killed so many Gypsies, it is just a principle that he has promised himself never to abandon.
Fatigue: With an unfulfilling diet, an intensive job and out of control powers sapping even more of his strength, exhaustion creeps up on JJ faster than it ever has before. His physical exhaustion can be partially made up by his mental alertness, however, it is a minor gain for something that can get him killed.
Illiterate: The odd word here or there he may be able to read but that's where it ends. With no formal schooling and never having had the time to learn it from his mother, he has gone through life with the bare minimum he needed to get by. There was never a short supply of people to ask, and now his son can read more than he can.
Espers: JJ is so obsessed with the struggle of the Gypsies that he rarely stops to think about the position the Espers are in. He does not acknowledge their own problems and has spent little time trying to better understand them. While he holds no severe prejudice against them, their capabilities are more likely to surprise him.
→ Biographical Informationxxxxxxxxxx
Biography: JJ was born into the world of violence and prejudice. His parents had gone into hiding the moment the government had started to enforce the sanctions, but hiding wasn't something that could be achieved easily without drawing suspicion. In a city where boundaries were drawn, disappearing was impossible. Instead, JJ was used to a life on the move through the city, squatting where possible and accepting any accommodation that people would offer.
His age was the only thing that saved him from being killed back then. Too young to display the signs of a Gypsy, he had faced down a gun three times before he was nine, only to be saved by someone with a shred of decency not to kill a child that looked innocent. Being put in the firing line, however, still haunts him.
His father was killed on his way home from a store when someone had seen his markings. From then on, it was only JJ and his mother. They made do, set themselves up out of the way, avoiding anything that would bring attention to them. The rumour that their kind were all wiped out helped them slip under the radar, and in time, they became just another family in the city.
His parents' pacifism wasn't lost on JJ, but as he grew older, he knew that their brand of avoidance wouldn't solve what they were facing. In his late teens, he joined a resistance movement in the underground. It wasn't much and it led to more than a few arguments between himself and his mother, however, he wanted to do something. The government had taken his father away from him and his chance for a normal life, and he wanted revenge.
Revenge didn't last long. The movement died within a handful of years, not having achieved anything except for the death of even more Gypsies. It did give JJ focus. Surrounded by people whose purpose was self-contained and watching them die because of it made him realise that they needed something bigger than themselves to give the fight a pulse so that Gypsy success had even a glimpse of hope. It was an idea; that was all he had. JJ would run with it, after all, other people had worked with less.
For over ten years, JJ spent lunch breaks, evenings, weekends, any time he could spare, outside and spreading whispers. They were small ideas, questions about the way the city was run, comments about things no one else bothered noticing if they weren't a Gypsy. Some of the rumours and ideas gained traction, and JJ kept building. He knew it was dangerous work. Every time he went outside, there was the chance that someone could notice who had made the whisper. Others who tried to emulate his work were taken by Judgment, but he had kept going. He saw hope where others had given up.
And then he heard the news: his long time partner, Annelize, was pregnant. It was something neither of them had expected. From the moment he heard, everything he had been planning went on hold. After having seen so many of his colleagues pay the price for what they did, he decided that he would not wait for the same fate to happen to him. Growing up without a father had weighed heavily on him and he didn't want to see his child have to live with his mistake. Safety and money were more important than taunting the government for a dream of equality.
The choice was something he thought others would understand, however, after a few months most of the Gypsies who had called him a friend turned their backs on him. He became a traitor to the cause because he had realigned his priorities. The harshest rejection was seeing Annelize resent him. For a while JJ considered going back, once their son was a bit older, but then his commitment doubled at home. When Ola was born, JJ knew that he could never go back to the life he once had.
Annelize never gave up on the dream. Once Ola was three, she started spending her evenings away from home. While he was working a steady job to come home to the kids and tuck them in at night, Annelize lived the life he had loved. Every time she went out, another crack formed in their relationship. Torn between the commitments he had given himself and those that everyone else expected, he questioned if he had made the right decision. Jealousy tore at JJ whenever he listened to his partner's exploits.
When the lights started, Annelize came up with wild accusations about the government being behind it in some last ditch attempt to get rid of the remaining Gypsies. JJ was more cynical. Seeing the effects, he insisted that she give up her daily rendezvous with the other rebels until they figured out how to restrain their powers. Not being in control put them at more risk than ever before and he didn't want to see her disappear. But Annelize had stopped listening to him a long time ago.
While she promised him that she wouldn't continue with the rebellion, she always arrived home late, coming up with fanciful stories about what she spent her nights out doing. JJ didn't believe her, but he wanted to trust her, besides, the kids didn't need to hear them fight over something they couldn't understand. Annelize was out just as long as she always was while JJ started working shorter shifts, spending more time at home with the kids, avoiding being seen by anyone who didn't know what he was.
One month ago, Annelize didn't come home. He didn't see her that night or any night since. Without her, though, he couldn't sacrifice the hours anymore. He didn't have a great salary and working the bare minimum wouldn't be enough to pay the bills. With Stephan and Ola at an age where their runes would start coming in, he has no option than to leave them with his cousin in the afternoon. It was meant to be a temporary solution, but JJ knows that no one can handle another one of the freak events, not still with their powers under their control.
He wasn't the person the rebel Gypsies were going to welcome with open arms, but he knew he had to do something. It didn't matter that he was putting himself in danger, because by the end of the month, there was the chance that Stephan and Ola wouldn't see him again anyway. For the time being, he'd play along with the politics if it meant he could find a way to stop what he sees as inevitable, and maybe along the way he could find out what happened to Annelize.
→ Song Filesxxxxxxxxxx
Slipping Husband - The National
ii↪ Spending all your time
xxxSomewhere inside your head
xxxHaunted by important
xxxLives you coulda lead
Nightminds - Missy Higgins
ii↪ You were blessed by
xxxA different kind of inner view:
xxxIt's all magnified.
xxxThe highs will make you fly,
xxxAnd the lows make you want to die.
Cape Clear - Sharon Shannon - Instrumental
→ Other Informationxxxxxxxxxx
Face Claim: Antony Starr
Colors: #6F594A, #40403D
Quirks:
xx → Despite not being particularly religious, JJ finds comfort in thinking that there may be a greater plan to explain what they're all going through.
xx → His cousin's side of the family didn't inherit any powers but are still Gyspy sympathizers.
Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
X[ RICHARD ]
X"I'm no ordinary circus mouse."
XCleaver Greene
X______Make new things familiar; familiar things new.
X"I'm no ordinary circus mouse."
XCleaver Greene
X______Make new things familiar; familiar things new.
BY THE BOOK
Let's get this straight::
It was never longer than Richard
My reputation precedes me::
No one calls me Richard. It's Rick or Ricky, or Mr. Jingles
More than meets the eye::
Yellow-necked field mouse
My heart is::
When forced to make a stand, I defend the white
I pledge allegiance::
The Inner Circle
Last time I checked, I was::
Male
Like sands through the hourglass::
Only a few decades old. Celebrated my eighth this year.
Disorientation::
I don't go one way or the other
Availability::
Zoe Lambros, the witch I've been preparing for the past twenty years, tells humans we're a couple. Most magicians think it's amusing.
Look what we have here::
Unlike others, I have stayed faithful to my illusion for over twenty years. In the efforts to keep the memory of an old friend alive, I have done my best to mimic his better years since he died. When I was younger, I wanted to be every bit as huge as I never was, but I am much more comfortable in the five foot, eleven inch frame of my friend. He wasn't heavily built, only about one hundred and sixty pounds: a comfortable weight. He had no blemishes at that time – no tattoos or scars to recreate. He was aging, in his forties, but it only added to his character. Where the magic always was, was in his eyes. To have perfected his smiling brown eyes is my masterpiece. Nothing else was harder, not the sun bleached highlights in the coffee coloured hair, or the slightly crooked teeth, or his mismatched hands, where an early onset of arthritis had started to set into his joints.
I do not choose a wardrobe that would detract or hurt the memory of my friend. Sometimes it annoys Zoe that I never present myself in something more glamorous than what someone would expect an aged history professor to wear. But she never knew Rupert.
tab x | x
Beneath the illusion::
Naturally, I'd hardly get a mention I'm so tiny. About 210mm (it makes me sound bigger when there are more numbers), almost 50% tail, and about the weight of a matchbox car, I can understand that half the creatures in the wild think I'd make a good snack. But people who scream? More than one housewife has tried to chase me out with a broom or a heavy heeled shoe. Their kids like me. They can tell that the gold in the brown around my neck means I'm not a thieving rodent. Or it is just the big black eyes and bigger ears that catch their attention. I am not going to complain as long as I am in one piece.
tab x | x | x
Personally speaking::
More than a few people have called me lazy. A gross misinterpretation of my character, I would have you know. It is one thing to change one's nature from nocturnal to diurnal, and another thing entirely to keep it that way. I do most of my thinking during the day, most of my doing during the night. Thinking is underrated. How are you supposed to know what you want to do if you have not thought about it? I plan everything as much as I possibly can. It doesn't hurt to be prepared.
Not everything can be planned for. Somewhere in the cultural gap, we lost a connection that accepts my manners, instead of saying my speaking my mind is considered rude or politically incorrect. It is not that I try to break down those with a weak-skin, telling them that they are wrong or being absurd, I just don't think I should be saying one thing to a person's face and believing another. There is nothing that hurts me more than learning the truth from a third party – and I am not easy to offend.
For all my grievances, there is infinitely more that I enjoy. It is hard being a pest amongst humans when you enjoy their company. I do not know what I would do if I could not appear human to them. Perhaps I would already be nothing more a smudge on a wooden floor. However, as it is, I am much too busy enjoying life to worry about death and consequences of a life I am not in danger of living. There is too much to learn! If I am ever find myself in silence, I should instantly go elsewhere. Noise is where you can find interactions. After all, there is much more to be learned in practice.
With all said, it should be clear that I am not the sort to go chasing after black magicians, either to spite them or admire them. That we have segregation is disappointing, but I have to stand for it. Humans are more magical than any of us magic beings. They can go through life without our charms and tinkering that we can not live without, and find miracles that we would never dream of. No one should want to destroy them and I can not claim no allegiance in a clear cut matter. When a group is so powerful and thirsts for destruction, standing by and doing nothing is unethical as much as I would rather not get involved.
Once upon a time::
If you have not picked it up yet, the accent that swims through sound to sound to not give away a country of origin is a reflection of my early years. It is so confused because I spent so much time travelling. Where I was born could have been anywhere because I was in a box on a cargo ship. By the time I saw the world outside, the ship could have crossed oceans, or just stayed swaying in the dock, waiting to hear it can go. It makes little difference, because I spent years running through Europe and Asia, looking for everything and nothing. There was so much world to see, constantly growing and changing.
In my rush, I may have missed a magician or two who could have used my help. But I was young and carefree. What use was it to stifle my opportunity by trying to find a magician when I could learn the world's secrets? Twelve years passes so quickly, and there was still so much more of the world to see. I was travelling across China, never easy at the best of times, and I eventually found an internment camp. It was a learning experience I could have gone without. There is an instinct that would tell you to go – it screams that you can be anywhere else and you need to be there immediately – mine just wasn't as strong as another. For some reason, a field mouse gave those people hope. Who was I to run away when I could do something for them?
If I had not stayed there, I would never have met Rupert. One of the prisoners was Rupert's brother, he never made it out of that camp but he told me about his family back home. I stopped my self-indulgent journey to find this story of a man. Even though along the way, I found a magician I knew I had a bond with, they let me complete my own task. Rupert was a man larger than life, as big as the stories I'd heard and more impressive. I visited him time and time again during the years. His only fault was that he was who he was: a crook. One day his life caught up with him and he wasn't so big anymore.
I always thought it a strange thing that I should be more drawn to this human that would not believe in magic if it happened right in front of him than the partner I had known for no more time. They sensed it too, because one day they gave me the choice to leave and I have not seen them since. I went back to traveling. The world had grown larger and smaller since my last expedition. It ended in America. When I had set out, I had not thought that it would be the next place to ground me. If Zoe had been anywhere else, that would have been where I stopped. We suited each other in being fish out of water in the big city. Together we managed to make it bearable on each other.
When I met Zoe, she was a young med student, uninterested in her powers. She's still indifferent to what she is capable of, but uses it on occasion at work. We have lived together almost as long as we have known each other, and I think we stay together out of convenience. I do not want to lose another partner and she prefers living with her 'Mr. Jingles' than having someone else come into her life. She doesn't ask me what I get up to, especially since we arrived in Portland five years ago and I found a way into the Inner Circle, doesn't want to know about dark magicians, in fact, she doesn't really want to know about anything I can teach her. Perhaps I am not cut out to be a familiar, or maybe it is in my nature to be against my nature.
Hear me out::
People Should Smile More by Newton Faulkner
Be Brave And Believe by Declan O'Rourke
Other::
Unlike more than a few of my comrades, I have never taken the soul from a human and if ever asked, I'm not sure I would have the willpower or knowledge to do it.
Technicolor::
#565939 and #8B8C64
Cleaver Greene
Aged Informer
- ANDERS DAMIEN VAUGHN
tab ROLE: the bouncer
tab STATUS: bribed
tab AGE: thirty-five
• Accepted a bribe from the senator to clear any signs of the murder
• Took the money because he's an overdue notice away from losing the power
• Spent six years in prison for a break, enter and steal; illegal possession of a firearm; and dealing with the proceeds of crime
• Third generation South Brighton criminal, first to try give it up
• Fighting to keep custody of his nine y.o. daughter after his girlfriend left four months ago
• Took the Mermaid gig as it was the only one to fit around his parole conditions
• Is worried that accepting the bribe is the first sign of a relapse
tab POSTING COLOURS: #8B864E, #3B5E2B
tab FACE CLAIM: joel edgerton
tab USERNAME: cleaver greene
- WITNESS STATEMENT :: REPORT RECEIVED BY CLEAVER GREENE
- 「 ANDERS DAMIEN VAUGHN
- » FACESHEET
- ● NICKNAME(S):: Ando, Commando (allegedly obsolete)
● AGE:: Thirty-five
● HEIGHT:: 185cm : 6'1"
● PHYSIQUE:: Sturdy
● EYE COLOUR:: Blue
● HAIR COLOUR:: Dark blonde
- DSGT WALTERS: Do you want to do this with your lawyer?
ANDERS VAUGHN: Let's just get it over with, yeah?
DSGT W: Can you tell us where you were last night, Mister Vaughn?
AV: I was at work. I took over from the day shift guy at eight and finished at about four. I've got it all in line with my employer and my parole officer helped get me the licence, squared off the hours, too – you can check with her, I've got her –
DSGT W: That won't be necessary. Was there anyone who caught your attention last night? Maybe they were aggravated, or…
AV: There were a few people we decided to throw out… but it was just the usual sort of thing, you know? Pissheads who don't want to ******** off, someone leaning on someone else. Why? Did something happen?
DCI BYRNE: Was Mister Michael Silverman one of the people being 'leaned on'?
AV: Silverman? Never heard of him. I don't really know the people who ******** go there. They're just punters, you know? The guy on day shift has the time to ******** around with that. It's an easy bit during the day, no one throwing their weight around, people got the sort in them to talk. Night time, no one cares about anyone but themselves, you know?
DSGT W: This is a picture of him. We pulled him out of the Birrie this morning. He had a card to the Mermaid on his person. Your boss has already said he was there last night, so I would think carefully about what you want to tell us. I don't think we have to remind you that hindering this investigation would count as a breach of your parole.
AV: Oh, yeah yeah yeah. He was there last night, didn't know his name or anything – it's not like I'd have to check his ******** ID to know he's over eighteen. I've seen him there maybe once before. He came with this flash friend of his, stayed for a drink or two and they pissed off.
DSGT W: Flash? Like rich?
AV: Yeah. It wasn't normal, but he was there last night for a few hours. The flash one left early. This guy probably was gone around… I'd guess three – things were starting to get quiet then, the tap's going to go dry soon and everyone thinks about being somewhere else. I've got bigger ******** problems by then than the quiet sort who know when they've got to go.
DCI B: Is there a reason you remember so much about him and his friend?
AV: The flash guy had come around once during the day to take a look at the place, so I'd been told to keep an eye on him. It's not normal someone like that only staying for a couple of drinks. Not their place, you know? The guy on day shift's good about that sort of thing. That much money walking onto your turf puts you on edge.
DCI B: Are you still in touch with your brother? Ben's finally on parole too, isn't he? I heard he's looking pretty rough if he doesn't get some cash in his back pocket. May not have enough cash for Little Terry.
AV: … I wouldn't know.
DCI B: According to his parole officer, he's on the right track to end up back inside for another seven to fourteen years. He's already been seen with members of your old gang. From what I hear, they've got the Robbers on them like a raging skin condition. Talk on the street is that there is something big brewing.
AV: I don't know what the ******** that has to do with me.
DCI B: Have you discussed Mister Silverman or his friend to any of your associates, Ando?
AV: Mate, I'm out of that s**t. They've tried calling, visiting, but I know what happens if I go back in. We haven't said more than two ******** words to each other since I got out – they probably don't know I got a job. I don't even know who this ******** is. I had nothing to do with his death. You gave me the hamburger with the lot for that break and enter in '06 – no hint of assault. It's not my thing.
DSGT W: But it was you father's 'thing'. He did… twelve years collectively for grievous bodily harm. You haven't spoken to him –?
AV: Chloe! Go back to your room.
CHLOE VAUGHN: But…
AV: Sorry about that.
I, uh… Nah, I haven't spoken to him; I tried to call the house but they've moved or been disconnected or something. It was to check up on my mum – she took it really hard when the three of us were on the inside. It was all straight, you know?
DCI B: We'll make sure of that. But, you're sure you didn't see anything last night? I don't want to have to come down here in a few hours with a warrant for the arrest of Mr Straight over the murder of Michael Silverman.
AV: If I had some information about this Silverman guy, what deal would we be looking at?
DCI B: I think you've forgotten the way this works.
AV: Because I reckon I may have seen something, may have involved a certain politician, but it was really late, and I was just not all there. So I don't think I remember it all.
DSGT W: That won't –
DCI B: I suppose we could work something out if this isn't you just tooting your own horn.
AV: 'Course we could. You're not getting anything until I have a guarantee of complete immunity.
DSGT W: We really –
DCI B: The legal team will put something together.
AV: The Chinese bird, that famous one from the telly that got caught in that drug thing, she had been mouthing out at Silverman half the night – left just after him. It didn't bother me til I heard something happening outside. With the music going you can't hear all that well what's going on inside, so you don't know whether s**t is really hitting the fan unless you take a look.
I'm barely into the alley when that ******** politician stops me – Sidney Phelan. He comes down all the time with a floozy, he leaves big tips and gives me a fifty every time he's in to make sure I don't talk. Suddenly I've got two grand in my hand and he's telling me to clear our CCTV footage. I saw some chick behind him, maybe two, and I thought it was just the wanker having done them in the alley. Who he's ******** ain't my business, and two grand to press a couple of buttons is good work. The bartender, man, he lost it when we went down to the Hub. We were already watching the footage. It was brutal. That Chinese chick, she gutted Silverman, Sid was just covering up. I couldn't back out, the tapes had me accepting the bribe, and like a ******** ATM, Sid paid the boss and shut him up. He was going to frame us for it. I didn't want to get on his bad side, mate, and I'm not going back inside for something I didn't do. He ******** conned me into it!
We dealt with the body, Sid took everything in his pockets, and I tried to clean away anything I thought might put us there. Thank ******** it started raining, cos I never thought that blood would go. The wanker and his wankettes were long gone by then. I thought this bloke was just another rotten suit til I saw him on the telly. If I went confessing, I knew that ******** politician was going to put a gun to the back of my head for it.
DSGT W: We'll need a formal statement down in the station.
AV: I can't leave Chloe in here alone, you know?
DSGT W: Of course. Thank you for your co-operation, Mister Vaughn. We'll be expecting your call.
AV: You better make everything happen, because I've heard more than I need to know about you, Inspector Byrne. I know a lot of people you had on my cousin Charlie who'd love to hear about what you've got running in the docks. Now jog on after your friend.
DCI B: They always said you were the one to look out for. Thought you were such a smart boy after you didn't get done once for all those armed robs, didn't you? The big Commando, so smart he even had the cops on side. But you're just a grub, like the rest of your family - you're not untouchable. You work a very late shift. Who knows who's out at those hours?
We'll be in touch, son. We'll be in touch.