#redridgeintro

[rosshale]

his full name is lorenzo zanetti, but he sometimes goes by enzo. caucasian cisgender male, twenty-eight years of age, with he / him pronouns. he was last seen working in rogue’s club as a fighter. ( @redridgeimp​​ )

❝ THEY SAY THAT THE LOVELIEST ANGELS MAKE THE CRUELEST DEMONS AND MY DARLING, YOU WERE SO KIND AND BEAUTIFUL BEFORE THEY DRAGGED YOU TO HELL. ❞

⇨  aesthetics ⍮ dried blood caked into the grooves of cut knuckles, the lingering scent of smoke, silver slivers of past scarring, a beaten-up box of marlboros, five o’clock shadow peppering a blunt jawline, discolourations of blue and purple decorating battered hands, a subtle smirk etched upon a devious countenance, calloused fingertips riddled with small paper cuts, dark circles under green-hued eyes, the noise of screeching tires in the middle of the night, & clenched, white-knuckled fists. 

s’up, pals ?? i’m back AGAIN. pls give a big warm welcome to my troubled son enzo. lord knows he needs all the love he can get, tbh. anywhooo, feel free to hmu in ims or on le cord ( chrissie.#9606 ) for plots etc !!

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. lorenzo dante zanetti.

nickname. enzo.

current age. twenty-eight.

birthday. december twentieth.

gender. cisgender male.

pronouns. he / him.

nationality. italian.

religion. roman catholic.

hometown. sicily, italy.

past residences. manhattan, new york city, united states ; new orleans, louisiana, united states, & chicago, illinois, united states.

current residence. red ridge, nevada, united states.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. aromantic.

education. high school graduate.

occupation. fighter at rogue’s club, & drug dealer.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. carina zanetti. †

birth father. dante zanetti. †

full blood siblings. none.

maternal grandmother. gabriella russo. †

maternal grandfather. roberto russo. 

paternal grandmother. angelina zanetti. 

paternal grandfather. luciano zanetti. †

maternal aunts. lucia russo.

maternal uncles. matteo russo, & angelo russo.

paternal aunts. elena zanetti, & amara zanetti.

paternal uncles. giovanni zanetti.

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, & italian.

negative traits. cynical, blunt, aloof, tense, & volatile.

positive traits. intelligent, confident, diligent, astute, & debonair.

strengths. integrity, tenacity, diligence, tolerant, reliable, charismatic, altruistic, & natural leadership qualities.

weaknesses. impulsive, overly idealistic, too selfless, too sensitive, fluctuating self-esteem, & struggles to make tough decisions.

skills. skilled with firearms and other weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, lock-picking, carjacking, & knowledge of arms and other weapons.

talents. retaining information, memory recall, marksmanship, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. green-flecked, hazel brown.

hair colour. raven brown, close to black.

height. six feet, one inch.

weight. 79 kg.

build. of tall stature with evident breadth in his shoulders and defined muscles.

shoe size. uk size 10 and a half / us size eleven.

scars. a few along his arms and some others in more hidden places as a result of his training and fighting.

tattoos. tba.

piercings. none.

prominent feature. greenish-brown eye colour.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. sagittarius.

element. fire.

house. slytherin.

myers briggs type. infj-t.

alignment. true neutral.

enneagram. type one.

temperament. phlegmatic.

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the arcane.

past mental disorders. reactive attachment disorder, & insomnia.

current mental disorders. post-traumatic stress disorder, depressive episodes, & insomnia.

addictions. alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, cocaine, & cannabis.

vices. gluttony, wrath, & envy.

virtues. charity, patience, & humility.

allergies. none.

diet. carnivore.

accent. italian with a touch of american.

dominant hand. right.

blood type. a positive.

felonies. none.

vehicle. black range rover evoque.

BACKGROUND.

trigger warnings. mention of kidnapping, mention of firearms, mention of violence, mention of murder, mention of death, & mentions of blood.

The setting was Sicily, Italy. The season was the Winter of 1991. Dante and Carina Zanetti brought a baby boy into the heart of the Sicilian Mafia. Although this little boy’s upbringing was mostly positive, for a sizeable portion of his life, little Lorenzo Zanetti remained unsuspecting of the dangers his family had embroiled themselves in. From a young age, Lorenzo was taught discipline and told that to truly succeed in life one must keep their enemies on side, even at the expense of their closest friends. This was a rule that had been ingrained in Lorenzo's brain from the instant he was old enough to formulate a coherent sentence. Of course, as a carefree child, he had no intention of creating enemies for himself nor could he fully grasp the magnitude of his families involvement in the underbelly of the criminal world. One thing was for sure though, Lorenzo Zanetti had to grow up a lot sooner than any child should.

Though Lorenzo grew up unbeknownst to his father’s connections to the Cosa Nostra, it wasn’t long until he was exposed to the tamer elements of his families corruption. Although Carina tried her best to shield Lorenzo from the majority of it all, fragments always seemed to seep through. Similar to any young child, Lorenzo was curious, intelligent and observant; always asking questions that Carina would brush off. His father, on the other hand, recognised his son’s potential from the instant he was born. Lorenzo was both adept and astute enough to become a fine asset for the organised syndicate. While Lorenzo's uncle Giovanni had initially objected to the idea of bringing such a young child into the middle of the gang, Dante held the upper hand and exerted his dominance over his brother. In the end, slowly but surely, Lorenzo was introduced to certain components of the Cosa Nostra. Due to this particular upbringing and exposure to immoral dealings, a fraction of Lorenzo's heart was never as soft as expected from a child. And the older he grew, the tougher his heart became and the thicker his skin became until he learned to expertly control his emotions, refusing to let them control him. Yet another lesson he learned from his father.

[ tw ; mention of kidnapping. ] Far from being a sheltered child, an eleven-year-old Lorenzo had his first brush with sincere peril. Whilst waiting for Giovanni to pick him up from school, the boy found himself in the clutches of the enemy. The Stidda. More specifically, the rival criminal organisation to the Sicilian Mafia. While they never laid a finger on Lorenzo, they did hold him for five days, placing a hefty ransom on his head. A ransom that was swiftly paid and had him back in the arms of Carina. It was this scrape with potential death that resulted in Dante fully submerging his son into the depth of the Cosa Nostra. A twelve-year-old Lorenzo was taught how to defend himself should he ever wind up in a similar situation again. 

[ tw ; mentions of firearms, & weaponry. ] From that day henceforth, the boy was enrolled in a strict regime, one that taught him to be ruthless, callous and to lack the empathy he was born with. Both his father and his uncle educated Lorenzo in firearms and other various weaponry. They tutored him on the endless aspects of their organisation. They coached him on how to embed himself in the criminal underworld and, ultimately, instructed him on how to become a killing machine. It was no surprise to Dante or Giovanni how proficient and talented Lorenzo was, leaving them with no doubt that over time, the boy would grow into an accomplished man; an expert master in his craft.

[ tw ; mentions of violence, murder, & blood. ] Lorenzo was seventeen when he took his first life. At the time, it had been self-defence and the result of a fight or flight instinct. Although he had been training years for this kind of scenario, nothing compared to the feeling he got when claiming a soul. Nothing could drown out the overwhelming sense of regret. It had been a soirée hosted by the Zanetti's in their elaborate mansion and the ballroom had been crowded with an array of people from all over the province. Some Lorenzo knew, others he didn’t. Though the older male who had ambushed him in the bathroom was indeed someone Lorenzo knew. Following a violent encounter that swiftly turned gravely critical, moments later Lorenzo emerged from the bathroom, red splatters decorating his face and crisp white shirt. With crimson stains caked into the webs between his fingers, the teenager felt as though his psyche had been disconnected from his body. The immense guilt of his actions already devouring him whole from the inside out, wracking his brain and tormenting his soul. If Lorenzo had been even a particle less resilient, he might not have stood a chance at recovering from the incident. Yet, he did and with the help of his father and uncle, the other boy’s body was taken care of. Regardless of what had unfolded the previous night, the following morning Lorenzo was back at his training, becoming more involved in the syndicate as if nothing had happened.

Later, it had transpired that what had occurred at the event weeks prior was, in fact, a set-up that had been arranged by Dante. A test to uncover Lorenzo's true potential. An arrangement that had been made without Giovanni’s knowledge which caused a rift between the two brothers and, eventually, created a wedge between Lorenzo and his father. It was also around this time that the Cosa Nostra unearthed Dante's collusion with a member of The Stidda. Deemed as a treasonous act, the Cosa Nostra were hungry for Lorenzo’s head on a platter, refusing to back down until blood was spilt and Dante was neutralised. Upon Giovanni’s recommendation, both Lorenzo and Carina fled Italy and headed for the States. It was that day when the small grey cloud began to slowly develop, hanging over Lorenzo's head and growing larger with every passing second. Death was quickly becoming something that the boy was well acquainted with. Had his father not been the one to endanger him, Lorenzo might have mourned more for him but, alas, his cold-heartedness was the by-product of his upbringing. Maintaining a shocking lack of empathy was simply something that had been drilled into his mind, something that had been embedded into his brain from a young age.

[ tw ; mentions of blood, murder, & death. ] After a single year of residing in New York, Lorenzo had returned home one evening to find the locks on the front door of his home busted open. With caution, he’d advanced further into his home only to discover his mother’s lifeless body crumpled up behind the kitchen island, lying in a heap of blood that was pooling from her throat. The type of execution was a clear indication of the exact party responsible for Carina’s murder which was all the threat Lorenzo needed to decide his best option was to go on the run. Once again, he found himself fleeing his home in order to search for a safe haven. His travels took him to New Orleans, Chicago, and, finally, Red Ridge. Acutely aware of the target that had been placed on his back, Lorenzo spent a good few years of his life looking over his shoulder, patiently waiting for the moment that fate would catch up to him. However, it wasn’t long since his arrival in Red Ridge that he fell under the radar of the Valencia Family. Perhaps this was due to his role in the underbelly of petty crime and drug dealing. And even with all ties to Italy having been broken beyond repair, when the syndicate approached him for recruitment, Lorenzo found himself turning down their offer.

At the age of twenty-one, Lorenzo found himself working at Rogue's Club as a fighter. While, on the side, he continued his part in the criminal activities of the town. Lorenzo has always been the perfect balance of confidence and intelligence, both debonair and chaotic. Displaying only a small element of his persona, he’s mastered the art of concealing fragments of himself that he wishes to keep hidden from others. He has always consistently shrouded himself in mystery, drawing a veil over his emotions, cloaking his real feelings because, if there’s one thing that Lorenzo despises most the idea of, it is exposing his underlying vulnerabilities as he believes it would then be easy for others to obtain power over him. Given his conduct and inclination, it would be fair to estimate that Lorenzo is somewhat of a satirical mouthpiece, always outspoken, strong-willed and firm in all of his beliefs with a knack for developing a sardonic tongue in most situations. Self-assured in both himself and his capabilities, it’s no wonder to those who know him that Lorenzo can captivate an audience with a simple smile, having people hang on his every word. Despite his charm and intriguing character, underneath it all, when utterly alone the glamour of his deception crumbles away. The events of Lorenzo's upbringing and the events that have brought him to where he is today have only aided in strengthening him and forging him into the shrewd and fearless man he is today.

WANTED PLOTS.

give me all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro !! 

[gwenastor]

her full name is alaia kaplan, but she sometimes goes by n/a. caucasian cisgender female, twenty-seven years of age, with she / her pronouns. she was last seen working at the phoenix as a bartender and a soldier for valencia's street level sector. ( @redridgeimp​ )

❝ I AM FIRE. IF YOU WANT SOMETHING SWEET, WITH NO OPINION, I AM NOT THE WOMAN FOR YOU. I SPIT FLAMES, OFTEN. ❞

⇨  aesthetics ⍮ deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long chestnut locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, the silvery glint of old scar tissue, ripped leather jackets and worn jeans, & blades concealed inside combat boots.

BONJOURNO. it me, chrissie, back at it again with a second muse. this gal right here is my fiery sassball alaia. she’s been thru some shit n has seen some shit so expect tons of sarcasm and attitude tbh, oop. once again, you know the drill, show this some luv n i’ll come pester you for plots : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. alaia saphira kaplan.

current age. twenty-seven.

birthday. january twenty-seventh.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

nationality. turkish.

religion. islam.

hometown. sivas, turkey.

past residence. manhattan, new york city, united states.

current residence. red ridge, nevada, united states.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. demiromantic.

education. high school graduate.

occupation. soldier for valencia, & bartender at the phoenix.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. emel kaplan. †

birth father. kamâl kaplan. 

step-mother. cemile kaplan. 

full blood siblings. none.

step-siblings. none.

maternal grandmother. unknown.

maternal grandfather. unknown.

paternal grandmother. esrin kaplan. †

paternal grandfather. omer kaplan. †

maternal aunts. unknown.

maternal uncles. unknown.

paternal aunts. bahar kaplan.

paternal uncles. none.

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, & turkish.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, brusque, reckless, & deceptive.

positive traits. ardent, resilient, independent, determined, & courageous.

strengths. etiquette, bold, rational, practical, original, perceptive, direct, & sociable.

weaknesses. dramatic, impulsive, quick-tempered, insensitive, impatient, risk-prone, unstructured, misses the bigger picture, & defiant.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, hand-to-hand combat, perception, persuasiveness, good judgment, & able to use initiative.

talents. piano, retaining information, memory recall, knife throwing, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. light brown with amber flecks.

hair colour. natural, chestnut brown.

height. five feet, eight inches.

weight. 52 kg.

build. she is considered tall for a female and is of slender stature with mild curves.

dress size. uk size eight / us size four.

shoe size. uk size five and a half / us size six.

scars. a long, silvery one running along half her spine.

tattoos. none.

piercings. one on each earlobe.

prominent feature. wide, dark eyes.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. aquarius.

element. air.

house. ravenclaw.

myers briggs type. estp-t.

alignment. chaotic good.

enneagram. type seven.

temperament. sanguine.

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the orphic.

past mental disorders. depression.

current mental disorders. depressive episodes.

addictions. cocaine.

vices. lust, wrath, & pride.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & patience.

allergies. peanuts.

diet. vegan.

accent. mostly turkish with a slight american twang.

dominant hand. right.

blood type. b negative.

felonies. none.

vehicle. bottle green 2015 volkswagen beetle.

BACKGROUND.

trigger warnings. implied child abuse, implied child neglect, implied alcoholism, implied violence, a brief mention of adultery, a mention of verbal abuse, mention of death, implied depression, & a brief mention of drugs.

[ tw ; implied child abuse, & neglect. ] Born into a world of devastation and loss, Alaia Kaplan's arrival into this universe was far from being a tranquil one. Instead of the welcoming arms and loving smile of her mother, the first sight the innocent girl witnessed was the weeping of her father. It wasn’t long until his tears eventually turned into angry fists and hatred shining in dark eyes. This was the only form of her father that Alaia knew, the only element of him that she could recall. From the instant she was old enough to figure it out, she knew that her father despised her. She knew that he blamed her for the death of his wife. Regardless of her upbringing, Alaia had remained optimistic and bright; both incredibly intelligent and adept. She was able to captivate others with both her appearance and her capabilities. Those in her company hung off her every word, often discovering themselves enthralled by a charming and sincere young girl. Regardless of her father's secured position within their community, she never looked for more than his approval and his affection. Though neither she ever received.

[ tw ; mentions of alcoholism, infidelity / adultery, & verbal abuse. ] Within the span of ten years, Alaia's father had found himself in the clutches of a bitter yet wealthy woman of upper-class. Soon, this woman became Alaia's stepmother and things only plunged further south afterwards. The woman drank copious amounts of liquor, ran around behind her husbands back, verbally abused Alaia and the list went on. She managed to manipulate her husband, able to further demolish any semblance of a relationship Alaia shared with her distant father. During this time, and within the blink of an eye, the girl turned hostile and indifferent. It was as if she had transformed into a polar opposite version of what she’d always been; metamorphosing into an alternate version of her former self. Once an upbeat and positive child, she became cold, less vibrant; void of both emotion and interest. She picked fights with her stepmother for the sheer kick she got out of it, rebelled against her father and found her once soft heart hardening as a result of years of enduring torment at the hands of her legal guardians.

[ tw ; mention of death, & implied depression. ] It wasn't long until Alaia was shipped off to live with her grandmother and aunt in the Turkish countryside. At first, it had taken the girl quite a while to adjust, to slowly convert into a portion of the person she was as a child. Alaia's adolescent years were a stark contrast to her life with her father. She was respected, admired and genuinely loved. Throughout the duration of her time there, Alaia was homeschooled, taught how to play various instruments, and how to speak multiple languages. She attended ballet lessons, joined art classes, held a strong passion for Literature. However, as all good things do, they come to an end. In Alaia's case, those few blissful years reached a rather abrupt cessation, taking a drastic plummet into darkness. She was eighteen when her grandmother passed away. As a result, Alaia lost control of herself and of her path in life. She spent weeks alone and aimless, wavering on her tracks. It wasn't until she and her aunt moved to New York City that Alaia's life began to turn around one more.

Back home, her aunt had been involved in the diamond industry, ensuring the quality and legitimacy of each rock she was handed. She'd allowed Alaia to shadow her, to study her methodology, and to assist under her direction. It was through this outlet that Alaia grasped the concept of gemology. Of how to examine precious stones and how to value them accordingly. It was a field that the brunette became extremely interested in and equally as intrigued by. Ultimately, in the end, the girl opted to pursue a temporary career in the jewellery business. It was during this period that a then twenty-one-year-old Alaia was approached by a member of a wealthy family, the type of wealth one gained by drug smuggling. She was offered the position of a quality assurance technician in their jewellery company. Little did she know, this meeting wasn't by sheer chance. It transpired that her aunt had connections with the syndicate, having brought her niece to the States to enlist her. It was due to this that the syndicate reached out, only too eager to hire Alaia as they had previously hired her aunt many years before.

[ tw ; mention of drugs. ] In the beginning, Alaia's role within the business was as innocent as she'd expected. She'd spend hours in the back, analysing gems and printing her signature on certificates. Obeying by every rule, following each order and never once questioning her superiors. After months upon months of this process, Alaia soon found herself roped into the world of drug dealing. Of smuggling little white pouches through emerald deliveries only to pass these packages through the appropriate channels. It was through this that she crossed paths with a client who, after many weeks, kindly invited her along to spectate an underground fight that he'd placed a hefty wager on. Immediately Alaia bought into the atmosphere of the arena, of the adrenaline pumping through her veins at the sheer vision of it all. It wasn't long until she wondered how exhilarated she could feel if she was the one in the ring, throwing the punches and sidestepping the blows. It was this passing thought that brought the girl back continually, placing bets and soaking in the ambience of it all. It was no surprise that she wound up deeply engrossed it becoming a part of it all. Thus, she trained as hard as she could, fought as hard as she could, made her mark upon the underground world and gained the respect of opponents and spectators alike.

Fast forward a few years and through her aptitude for fighting and her ability to outwit her opponents, Alaia found herself promoted to a regular within the club. For many months she continued to work at the jeweller's while regularly engaging in underground fights, maintaining a semblance on both worlds without permitting them to collide or spill over into her personal life. Finally, having grown tired and with a lust for change, she bid her time until the empire granted her release. Though she was no fool, packing up her belongings and venturing to finally set roots in Red Ridge. Naturally, she found herself drawn to Rogue’s Club where due to her strength, commitment and determination, a member of Valencia approached her. After some time, Alaia found herself promoted to a soldier. The promotion made sense and once it was offered, the girl seized the opportunity with both hands. All her life she had been determined and destined for greatness, even despite the cruelty of her childhood home. Nowadays, although Alaia continues to partake in arena matches every once in a while, her main priority is her duties as a soldier. Admittedly, it had taken Alaia a decent amount of months to adapt to the city of Red Ridge upon her arrival but eventually, she became well acquainted with her environment; never once wishing to go back to where she came from.

Throughout her twenty-seven years of life so far, Alaia has built herself back up time and time again. With every punch swung her way, physically and metaphorically, she has risen to her feet each time. For as clever as she is, she is just as resilient and stubborn. The need to prove people wrong is almost overwhelming but never to her detriment. While she continues to bear the emotional scars of her past, Alaia refuses to write herself off. She allows herself to admire people, history, art, music but she never grows comfortable enough that she is prepared to show even the people closest to her, her innermost, truest self. As a result of her upbringing, fragments of Alaia are broken beyond repair, lost to the depths of her mind yet deep down inside, the faintest sliver of that optimistic little girl remains. Was this the life she had envisioned for herself when she was a child with big dreams and wide eyes? Not exactly. But was it better than any alternative where she hadn't escaped the clutches of her horrid family? Without a shadow of a doubt. Where she is now is precisely where Alaia wants to be and perhaps this is the exact path she needs to take in order to fully emerge from the ashes of her haunting past.

WANTED PLOTS.

give me all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro !! below you can find some connections i’d love for my lil ball of anger :

you’re a ghost from my past, haunting me. i think it would be very interesting to see alaia come face to face with someone who knew her before her arrival in red ridge. it would be even more interesting if this somebody knows her previous affiliation as a drug smuggler. maybe this person decides to blackmail alaia? or maybe they just want to know why she did what she did? maybe they are an ex-lover? either way, it would be exciting to see that kind of connection play out.

guardian by proxy. given her rebel nature and sarcastic outbursts, i feel that this chaotic girl needs some kind of parental figure in her life. lord knows, she needs one as she’s never had one. perhaps there is one particular person who knows her better than the rest? someone who knows her on a personal level and feels protective over her? maybe this person secretly checks up on alaia and keeps an eye on her from afar. really, this connection has endless possibilities but i feel that alaia having someone in her life that wholeheartedly has her back would help tame her wild side a little.

i don’t trust many but i do trust you. although alaia doesn’t make friends as easily as she did before, there would be one person in her life that she would deem worthy enough to confide in. this would be somebody that she could actually stand to be around and not under any false pretences either. it would have to be somebody that she knows she can trust 100% so for that reason, i would say they would have to be valencia affiliated. either way, i can see this person being someone that alaia actually cares for, somebody that she talks to regularly and spends time with.

there’s no friends like the old friends. this would be somebody who would have known alaia back in turkey or nyc. they could have been close friends or just acquaintances but this person might have known alaia’s family and possibly certain elements of her life when her father remarried. maybe they were a family friend or a friend she made when living with her grandmother. or somebody who knew her from her stint working in nyc. whichever, i imagine this person would be one of the rare people who actually knew the old alaia.

[mutilatd]

intro: eryk “kaz” kaczynski

NAME:  Eryk Casimir Kaczynski NICKNAME(S):  Kaz GENDER:  Cismale  ( he / him ) DATE OF BIRTH:  January 5th, 1988  ( Capricorn ) RELIGION:  raised Reformist Jew  ( doesn’t practice as often as he did when he was a kid, but still wears the Star of David around his neck, still painting him out to be more believer than nonbeliever ) SEXUALITY:  Panromantic Pansexual BIRTHTOWN:  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania RESIDENCE:  Red Ridge, Nevada AFFILIATION:  Law Enforcement OCCUPATION:  Federal Agent / FBI Profiler, consulting primarily mostly on Valencia’s behalf ALIGNMENT:  Chaotic Good VICES:  Prescription drugs DEBILITATIONS:  ( mental and physical )  PTSD, suicidal tendencies MBTI:  ISTJ - The Inspector

"He didn't know what he was getting himself into. It's hard to know whether he can tell now. Valencia, it's, uh -- another kind of breed."

BIO / RUNDOWN:  ( warning for mentions of death, suicidal intent, and drug abuse )

Kaz grew up a military brat, but in a house full of discipline, he was naturally bound to corrupt the order and rebel against his father's system. For that, he made some immature choices, slipped down a couple of wrong paths, but that didn't happen without him getting back up again. In his mind, to this day, it was petty kid shit, stuff that wasn't worthy of overreacting over, but his father did anyway. When he was 14 years old, he was sent to military school to "clean up his act," and ended up staying there for longer than expected, up until his graduation.

Besides being a man instead of a boy now, he came out more or less the same person, just with a sharper mind and better interests. Of course, he wasn't going to join the corps, just like Dad did, but he wasn't going to burden his life of any disappointments either. He decided to go to college, to take up criminal justice, figuring there's bigger and badder evils in the world that need to be taken down, ideally by a so-called nuisance like himself. Eventually, his Bachelor's Degree led him to the FBI Academy shortly after, where he would meet Camille Thomas ( @empiricst ), who he considered to be the girl of his dreams at the time.

When things took a ride uphill, they were soon destined to crash and burn in the end. After 6 years, Camille and Kaz ( or rather just Camille ) decided to call it quits -- for reasons that could be beyond his control. Off the edge of 29 years old, he was already a well-established agent, working for the FBI's investigative division at the time. Months later after their breakup, the makings of an ongoing RICO investigation would tumble his way, his superiors pitching that his whereabouts is needed right under their scope, undercover, and for how long, exactly? "Indefinitely," they said. "However long it takes." A miserable, heartbroken Kaz, feeling as if he didn't have much to lose anyway, decided against any apprehensions that could prevent him from hopping on board and setting his true identity aside.

This would lead him to a 2 year long stint, in which he would immerse himself into the role of a ruthless gang member. More importantly, a cold-blooded killer -- murdering people without question simply ended up being the way he had to prove himself after all. And while he already "fit the look," as his colleagues had once said, an innate instinct, hidden by the coddle in his self-righteous conscience, was the one thing that truly convinced everyone, including those very colleagues. He became a person he, amid it all, despised, a person his own mother would cower in fear from, that his father would be disappointed in. When the operation was finally coming to a close, he found it perplexing for everyone to just assume he could drop everything, to go back to the way things were, as if "Kaz" hadn't drifted away like a forgetful memory. His hands were already drenched in blood and, when it came time for the clothes to come off, it all stayed.

It was all he could think about it. Still is, to this day, all he can think about. But fresh on the first day officially back, he was quickly unraveling. Ultimately, he became suicidal, erratic, terribly unfit for a job that requires a weapon always at his side. He was a danger to himself first and foremost, but eventually, he became a danger to others too. With a psychologist ready at hand, drugs that were prescribed put him well-off until he slowly spiraled out of control.

By the time 6 months had passed, people feared him, ostracized him, didn't know what to make of him or call him besides the word, "crazy." And perhaps he was. Yet, his superiors, who faked ignorance for as long as they could, didn't cut in until things became absolutely obvious: Kaz was broken. But, weighing in on their options, they decided he was still a good cause -- smart, operative, yearning to adapt. They put him somewhere more modest, where he could do just that. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, where he could sit at a desk and think towards his qualms rather than act on them, away from the action. It almost felt like a punishment, but they reminded him that taking away his badge had been an option too, and for that, he proceeded to remain silent. Compliant instead of complicit.

With this, he calmed, stopped going to the psychologist, but didn't refrain from taking the pills. At this point, he was too reliant on them to keep him sane. And with signs of sanity, the FBI began to level with him once again. They assigned him to Red Ridge for his expertise, but more importantly, his past. Sent to consult the police on Valencia's behalf, the bureau figured he'd succeed in his help. Reasons? Specifically, he's technically "well-acquainted" with the kind of people they're forced to deal with.

FEW FACTS:

Kaz's body is littered with tattoos, some from his undercover days, others prior to that. Unfortunately, the ones that can be seen despite his everyday attire are some from undercover.

Sometime during the stint, he also developed a rapid blinking tick that came in immediately after a blank was shot three feet away from his face. His eyesight stayed for the most part, but tissue of the skin in that area is mostly what weakened. Staring at a computer screen for more than several minutes easily strains his eyes. Along with that, doing so little as looking at somebody can't be held without the habit. He'll lose in a staring contest every single time.

Before Kaz became a profiler, he was more brawn than brains, albeit not necessarily dumb. His specialities formerly consisted of weaponry and hand-to-hand combat, but his reassessment has led him to focus more on his investigative skills, making him smarter and less impulsive about his decisions.

Kaz is trilingual. Born 99% Polish, the language was instilled into him as a kid before he could even begin to learn English. He would later on take up Spanish when he was already in college, deciding he wanted to increase his opportunities as a future lawman. Between that and English, his mother tongue occasionally escapes him today. But he tries his best to maintain it for his mom's sake.

WANTED:

Someone from the PD he gets along with ( in a land full of people that most definitely hate the feds )

People from Valencia that make Kaz want to risk it all ( basically, meaning to go back to that lifestyle )

Anonymous Tip ( someone that feels like they can confide in him and use him as a messenger to the police )

Hook Ups / One Night Stands ( it's highly likely Kaz would accidentally sleep with a member of Valencia )

Drug Dealers / Plugs ( people that could relieve him of his pill popping addiction while he's here )

Enemies ( this man is going to boil some bad blood one way or the other, might as well )

PINTEREST BOARD / PLAYLIST

[trialls]

intro: barnett marr

( hellooooo! ~ i’m maxine [ 21, she / her, EST ], but everyone is more than welcome to call me max !  if anyone would like to plot with barnett, then don’t be afraid to reach out. being red ridge’s police captain, i’m sure he’s bound to have a handful of connections. )

NAME:  Barnett Morris Marr NICKNAME(S):  Marr ( mostly, workplace, closest affiliates /friends  ), Captain ( naturally, though he doesn’t invite it ), Barney ( rarely, reserved for his mother by nature ) GENDER:  Cismale  ( he / him ) DATE OF BIRTH:  November 20th, 1973  ( Scorpio ) RELIGION:  raised Protestant  ( non-practicing ),  now agnostic SEXUALITY:  Demiromantic Bisexual BIRTHTOWN:  Wichita, Kansas RESIDENCE:  Red Ridge, Nevada AFFILIATION:  Law Enforcement OCCUPATION:  Police Captain of Red Ridge PD ALIGNMENT:  Neutral Good VICES: Smoking DEBILITATIONS: ( mental and physical )  Clinical Depression MBTI:  ISFJ - The Protector

BULLET POINTS: ( warning for mentions of depression and death )

“He doesn’t smoke. He told his wife he stopped smoking before she died, and he did. For a while. But now he just – indulges every now and again, just feeding empty promises, like he could risk her the disappointment or something. Like as if she’s still there.”

Barnett has been a police officer for 25 years, originating from the Kansas area, around where he grew up.

With much to his experience, he had really seen it all; mass murders, school shootings, malevolent cults, the whole nine. With his line of work, he climbed up the ladder pretty fast. The town’s misfortunes treated his career well, but the ripple effects of said misfortunes didn’t exactly treat him well. He moved and transferred to Red Ridge, Nevada to get away when the mental stress took a toll on him.

With that, he’s been living in this town for 8 years, ever since his transfer;  he now knows it like the back of his hand and wants to keep it clean. And even though that may seem impossible right now, he still has good faith in his plans and intends to get at least most of the garbage swept out the door before retirement can begin to sneak up on him.

Personality-wise, Barnett is an extremely dignified person due to his decorated record, but his ethics and morals alone naturally keep the respectable attitude intact. He’s hands-on and, as Captain of Red Ridge PD, he likes to always stay in the know. He values communication, accountability, and most of the time, prefers things when they aren’t going awry. In any case he has to confront a lower rank, for being disobedient or just plain stupid, he’ll do it, and with a punishing lesson to ensure that they won’t make the same mistake next time. He gets frustrated easily, though it doesn’t make him mean-spirited. It’s the authority, having been instilled within him for years, that ticks him into being such a hard-ass sometimes. It’s the need and want to be professional, competent.

That being said, you’ll see a captain like him spending more time supervising a crime scene rather than filling out the tedious paperwork thereafter, making him overrall a worthy leader and well-liked person. In fact, knowing his reputation, someone like him could’ve spent the last several years with much greater endeavors, like Chief of Police instead of the well-acquainted position he holds now. But because he’s afraid of the politics getting in the away of his goals, he chooses to decline any offers directed his way, despite being well-aware of the greater pay grade, the sure influx of vacation days. He’s a modest man with priorities, and simply does not plan to abandon them anytime soon.

In his personal life, Barnett tends to keep to himself a lot, spends most of his time alone. At home, at bars, or at watered-down diners. His wife, Angela, died of disease 12 years ago, and to this day, he still finds it hard to cope. While he lives a well functioning life, he still wades through it all solemnly, in this passive depression, barely letting a trickle of emotion disturb the thoughts that unravel in his head, or never letting a single person get too close to him, for fear and knowledge of the world’s worst, and what it’d want to have to do with them.

PINTEREST BOARD / PLAYLIST

[noelsacero]

intro: noel acero

[v here again with noel -- and once again, i’m open for any and all plots basically and i live hard for angst so hmu 👀]

Name: Noel Alexis Acero Nickname: Noie (No-ee) Hometown: Isabela, Puerto Rico Current Location: Red Ridge, NV, USA Birthday + Age: October 29th, 1988 / 32 yrs. of age Zodiac Sign: Scorpio Gender: Non-binary Pronouns: They/them Sexual Orientation: Pansexual/romantic Occupation: Investigative Journalist for The Incandescent Length of stay in Red Ridge: 14 years Alignment: Chaotic Good MBTI: INTP Personality: [+] Straightforward, honest, intuitive, perceptive, sympathetic, intelligent, bold, hard-working, persistent [-] Detached, abrasive, cold, fussy, secretive, impulsive, tense, vengeful, bossy, reserved

BIO + POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Read Noel’s bio here.

Just throwing down some general connection ideas but we can take this as far as we’d like to (or not!) when we plot. I’m also totally open for anything else!

co-workers they work with at the incandescent

police/citizens, etc. they got to know whilst doing research for an article 

they’re often seen at bars so, they can be a regular to the establishment your character works at and they’re curious about noel? who often sits at the bar with a beer, pen and notepad??

ex-lover who felt the relationship was better off platonic + noel was in agreement

ex-lover who noel loved and is now very bitter towards said person

noel’s a military baby so maybe your character knows noel’s father somehow?

someone who actually knows how to get noel to open up, shockingly enough

[jckisms]

––––– JACK’S WASTED LIFE.

“Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after...”

Full Name: Jack Ronan

Nickname: He doesn’t like nicknames.

Age: 38

Birthdate: April 21, 1982

Gender & Pronouns: Cismale, he/him

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Sexual & Romantic Orientation: Heterosexal/romantic

Occupation: Unemployed. Formerly worked security at The Phoenix.

Affiliation: Deviant  

Rank: Formerly Treasurer in Valencia (4 years ago)

Faceclaim: Pablo Schreiber

About;

Jack was born to two Irish immigrants, his mother a hard-working woman who was a people pleaser and his father lived the stereotype of an Irish drunk. He also was the older of two siblings with a little sister he’d later come to call the endearing term: spawn of satan. She’s an important one to keep an eye on, Jillian Ronan...yes Jack and Jill, there you go.

Any and all childhood memories Jack likes to keep locked away with a six digit code that answers to liquor, but it wasn’t picturesque. Ask him about it some time, or just have Jillian blab, she thinks it’s a good way to win people over. But to sum it up, parents divorced when he was a teen and his mom went back to Ireland and his father moved to Nevada to cure that gambling habit that kept his drinking habit from getting too lonely. His father, the well to do drunk he was, ended up with a new boo within the year. Bleach blonde and far too young for that man but she was in love...with his wallet.

(**There could be a change that Jack was born in Ireland and moved to Nevada in his teens but maybe not??And majority of his gifs [the ones I can find] have ginger hair so we might just go with that probably?)

She was also the ex-wife of a Valencia member, and Jack ended up racking up a pretty hefty debt to her. That was how Jack and his sister ended up hearing about Valencia and before long he had dedicated his life to working his way up the ranks. Of course, Jillian wasn’t far behind taking after their father’s girlfriend. Hanging around the members, getting a little too friendly with a few of them, God she was a pain in his ass. He’d spent most of their childhood covering for her or playing the blame game. Old habits die hard apparently because that’s exactly how Jack ended up where he is today, running from his problems and the last face a few of those Valencia members would want to see again.

(**There was also the potential of Jack being former Marines, so still up in the air on that one)

He was a treasurer. A respected position in Valencia and one he took very seriously, they were his family and they had given his life purpose. But all good things come to an end and Jack’s own came at the hands, or rather the big mouth of Jillian. She had overheard Serafin and the secret that would ultimately put him behind bars for three years and while she knew to keep her mouth shut one night at a bar and trying to impress a man who unbeknownst to her happened to be a police officer sealed the fate for many. Jack covered for her when the evidence pointed back to his sister, but what he hadn’t accounted for was that she was more than happy to throw him under the bus to save her own skin. He’d already been caught in a lie himself covering for her so who was to say he wasn’t lying about making some sort of deal to sell out Serafin? Jack’s record wasn’t squeaky clean himself.

So he took the blame and while he was given a minor punishment for his sins at first, when the problem didn’t go away and Serafin ended up in jail, Jack dipped. For the next four years he traveled, moving from place to place with no real sense of direction. He even stopped over in Ireland to visit his mother. A woman with a new picture perfect family. But a few months prior Jack had a run-in with so not so friendly people out in New Orleans. A New Orleans crime family, just his luck. It was a double edged sword, picking his poison to either stay with a target on his back from this family or return to Nevada where Jack had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be welcome with open arms.

He chose the latter, and with t he things his spawn of satan sister said about him while staying in a positive light within Valencia herself and the cowardice actions on Jack’s end, it wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume the lesser of two evils for him was back in New Orleans.

Connection ideas;

Anyone who was in Valencia. (bad blood probably)

Anyone connected with his sister, who is still involved with a few members.

Old neighbors/new neighbors.

People he’s wronged (extensive list) 

People he met during his travels

A character who tricks him (he’s pretty thick when he thinks he’s right) 

He owes this character, big time. 

Poker game got out of hand. 

(**I have some more ideas you can just send me a message or give this a like and I’ll come to you via ims or discord.)

[dustlnds]

part three of rylan’s many idiots, meet your resident manic pixie dream girl natalie cassadaga! + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp​

name: natalie jennifer valentine cassadaga nicknames: nat, nati, tiger (mostly reserved for damien) age: 29 ethnicity: white gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/panromantic been in red ridge for: seven years occupation: tattoo artist (at home), waitress (blue hill diner) affiliation: valencia, despite her unwillingness to admit it. as they helped her get a life in red ridge after fleeing las vegas through the person of damien kingsley, they’ve been holding this unspoken contract over her head for quite a while, demanding her help in the form of tattoos (she’s responsible for most of the v’s tattooed on the bodies of valencia members), nursing care (often dropping people who need to be stitched up / nursed at her place, since it’s so off the map), or carrying merch/goods across town. (might be, also, that the day after damien told her hey, you’re clean now, she felt the shadow self in her latch onto her vices, her filth, and when she asked someone in valencia for a dose she knew they’d hold it over her head, but she did it anyway. now a small brown bag containing her shame is hidden in a box beneath her bed: and that, like the way valencia shows up at her step every other week, is a reminder that perhaps she can’t ever be free). positive traits:  spontaneous, empathic, selfless, good spirited, kind, protective, creative, resourceful, spiritual. negative traits:  impulsive, naive, resentful, cowardly, self-destructive, insecure, frightened, weak.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for substance abuse, drug abuse, overdosing).

las vegas, nv, 2001. at ten she’s a spark begging to be ignited. a kid with a bright imagination, but her parents aren’t happy. school is hard for the girl who’ll spend hours covering textbooks in flowers — why should two plus two matter, she thinks, when i can make the paper bloom into whole gardens, full of creatures staring back at me, when i can create my own world? her parents have never been the kind to waste their days daydreaming. they look at their youngest daughter and think: where does she take it? all this carefree passion of hers, where does it come from? she lacks her father’s disposition for numbers, how clinically pristine they look when lined up one after the other, and how satisfying they feel when preceded by a plus sign on a bank invoice. she has none of her mother’s backbone, the way she carries herself as if pure, molten gold flew into her veins — staring everyone down, making herself taller. she seems to only have eyes for fleeting things, mundane passions: for her colors, for the music of a guitar, for the way the desert sand blows into her hair at sundown. come a couple years, all she has eyes of is the boy playing his guitar among the wrecks of a car parts graveyard — says his name is elvis and she knows that isn’t true, but in las vegas, somehow, you can make yourself be whoever you want to be. she smiles, and says her name is tiger instead: in another life, perhaps, she was fierce and with a bite.

las vegas, nv, 2008. at seventeen she’s golden spotlights on the vegas strip. atomic bomb waiting to explode, all summer glare and midnight rides into nowhere: it’s her and elvis in his daddy’s car and it feels like they could conquer the world, if they wanted. he sings to her, she dances for him, characters straight out of a ‘50s song, loaded with a naivety that tastes like the american dream. no time for overbearing parents, no attention paid in school: it’s just them, skin on skin, flowers blooming from her fingers in spray paint over abandoned buildings. this could last forever, she thinks, she begs, she prays: a life like this could last forever. (a life like this drains the best of her). elvis was born to be a king like his namesake, and he’s got dreams of fame and glory that don’t contemplate her presence. street artists never become rockstars, and she has time for nothing more than the creatures lunging out of her fingers, onto the paper. she’s skin and bones, ink and notes, like she could live off of music and drawings alone — and him, always him, a golden god, a forbidden hymn. the night he signs his first record deal she grabs her inks and her needles — tattoes a present on his skin, a crown for the king to be. and as she draws, she prays: that their dreams can be true, that this is not a happy chorus in a ballad, but a rock opera, a discography for the ages to come. she prays for him like a beggar at an altar: and maybe there’s magic in that crown she tattoos, there’s truth in the prayer she pours into it. he wins his dreams and leaves her behind: prayers always require sacrifices.

somewhere in nevada, 2013. at twenty-two she’s broken lightbulbs under strangers’ feet. she’s shards of glass she could cut people with, but it’s herself she harms; see, elvis’ gone but there’s tons of friends in his place. there’s mary jane, addy, crystal, lucy and all her diamonds. vegas is a wonderland, a new high hidden ‘round every corner, and kind people willing to hand ‘em out like candy to an hazy, improvised alice — the drawings grow darker now, shadows with caved-in eyes and hollow chests. the colors don’t come the way they used to, and when they do they all look like a shade of nightmares — blood red, nausea green, despair blue. she looks for answers in his songs: on the radio, in her mind, she swears he still sings about her. has to follow him to the middle of the desert, to a festival where he stands on a stage and people swear he looks just like the real thing, the king himself. she doesn’t see him, though, but a hole where all her strength used to be, the us against the world turned into the open jaws of a ravenous monster: us against the world, and then the world collapses. wonderland turns to the land of nightmares, and the needle, it is her salvation — down the rabbit hole, she thinks, and someone must come out on the other side. either her, or the ghost of her. either her, or her evil turned to flesh. there is no rabbit hole but a town called red ridge. there is no white rabbit but a man — a good man, a honest man, with an inclination to fixing broken things. he helps her up to her fit, treats her alike his daughter and his sister, and when he begins asking her to help fix the remains of a broken car, she begins to wonder whether he isn’t trying to fix her, too. sometimes he calls her tiger and she remembers when she fancied herself a wild and untamed thing, escaping cages, just following her instincts. under the heat of the south-west sun, she smiles. maybe all tigers were lost creatures at first.

red ridge, nv, 2020. at twenty-nine she’s neon gas begging to be lit up. there’s a tiger on her forearm, hides the scars of a previous life. there’s always ink under her fingernails, sometimes it seems it shines in the dark. red ridge has become her home; damien, lyla, rowan: her familt. the car she’d begun to fix with the man who helped her now has been colored bright pink and bears the name of flamingo, and she rides it out in the desert letting it add to the spirit in her heart — wild, untamed, free. her family becomes red ridge, becomes the darkenss of it too. she’s made herself a home in the sand: an old garage, turned inside out, now overflowing with flowers and colors, sparkling gems and drawings hanging at every corner — and a canary, otis, that sings her to sleep every night. she’s called it dustland, a sort of mythical place at the edge of red ridge, into the nothing, willing to welcome all the broken, all the wounded and the lost. but she loses herself too, now and then. at times she looks past the profiles of houses and buildings, and knows there’s a den of coyotes hiding among the ranks of valencia, which hold the key to that rabbit hole she once lost herself in. at night, when the desert gets cold and her bones don’t feel anything like a tiger’s — she swears she can hear the coyotes howl, beckoning. one night she caves in, asks them for a dose: she keeps it under her bed, lets it become her shame, and to avoid that secret getting out she helps the coyotes out anytime they ask. sometimes she feels she’s falling apart again. when she does, she turns to the ink to remind herself of how life was drained out of all shades, because of the needles in her arm. sometimes it’s enough to keep her breathing to the night. sometimes.

[damiensking]

intro: damien kingsley

[v here again with damien -- i’m open for any and all plots basically and i live hard for angst so come at me 👀]

Name: Damien Knox Kingsley Nickname: Dam, Knox, Kingsley (the latter two by Valencia members, usually) Hometown: Lamoille, NV, USA Current Location: Red Ridge, NV, USA Birthday + Age: March 31st, 1983 / 37 yrs. of age Zodiac Sign: Aries Gender: Cismale Pronouns: He/Him Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual/romantic Occupation: Steelworker for United Metal [Lieutenant for Valencia] Length of stay in Red Ridge: 19 years Alignment: Chaotic Neutral MBTI: INFJ Personality: [+] Paternal, courageous, responsible, passionate, intuitive, perceptive, honest, straight-forward [-] Quick-tempered, resentful, stubborn, impulsive, detached, intolerant, picky, aggressive

BIO + POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Read Damien’s bio here.

Just throwing down some general connection ideas but we can take this as far as we’d like to (or not!) when we plot. I’m also totally open for anything else!

fellow members of valencia he knows and gets along with

fellow members of valencia he can’t stand but has to work with

young bone breakers that he mentors in a way as an ex/retired bone-breaker

people who work under him in valencia?? since he’s a lieutenant?? idk

someone who suspects him of treachery but doesn’t have enough evidence to mention it to the leaders

someone who suspects him of treachery (as above) but tries to befriend him in order to get him to spill his Secrets so they can take lieutenant position

ex-lovers pre-his baby momma who knew him during his bone-breaker days

friends of rowan (his baby sister) who know him through rowan?

[caspianhayes]

                            CASPIAN ALEXANDER LEVI HAYES.

FULL NAME:  Caspian Alexander Levi Hayes. NICKNAMES(S):  Cas. AGE:  28. DATE OF BIRTH:  November 20th, 1991. PLACE OF BIRTH:  Chicago, Illinois. CURRENT LOCATION:  Red Ridge, Nevada. ETHNICITY:  White. GENDER:  Cis male. PRONOUNS:  He/him/his. SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Pansexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:  Panromantic. RELIGION:  Atheist, raised half Jewish, half nondenominational Christian. OCCUPATION:  Bartender at Violet. EDUCATION LEVEL:  Bachelor’s Degree in business from the University of California, Los Angeles. EXTRACURRICULAR:  Swimming, baseball. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS:  Has a studio apartment near the north side of Red Ridge, lots of windows, usually relatively messy. SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT:  Speaks smoothly & calmly, a very standard midwestern accent that’s barely noticeable. It’s very easy to listen to him speak.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

FACECLAIM:  David Corenswet. HAIR COLOR AND STYLE:  Brown, curly, very well taken care of. It looks just as silky as it feels. Typically kept short, has grown out once in his life, and didn’t like the way it looked then. COMPLEXION:  Pale, warmer undertones. EYE COLOR:  Blue. EYESIGHT:  15/20 vision - what the average person sees from 15 feet away, Caspian can see from 20. He won’t be needing glasses anytime soon. HEIGHT:  6’3” WEIGHT:  174 lbs. BODY AND BUILD:  Muscular, but not as muscular as he used to be. He retains his biceps and pecs, but has given up on ab workouts, aside from the occasional one once in a blue moon. TATTOOS:   None, with no plans on getting any. PIERCINGS:  None, no plans on getting any. CLOTHING STYLE:  Cas’ wardrobe leans casual. Dark jeans and t-shirts are his everyday apparel. He only dresses more formal for work because he has to. When it’s cooler outside, he’ll go for a sweater before a sweatshirt. He still wears white Converse, has a beat up old leather jacket that he got in high school, and doesn’t like jewelry on his wrists or fingers.   DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:  Almost unnaturally blue eyes, his dark curls, and a smile that lights up a room. A sniffle that’s almost always there. SIGNATURE SCENT:  Whiskey, leather, vanilla, and cashmere.

HEALTH.

MENTAL DISORDER(S):  Anxiety. Fear of abandonment and failure. ADHD. PHYSICAL DISORDER(S):  None. ALLERGIES:  None. SLEEPING HABITS:  Caspian has nightmares most nights. He doesn’t go to sleep until the sun starts to rise most mornings, thanks to the fact that Violet doesn’t close until well into the night and he has to stay after closing to help clean up before he goes home. It takes him a while to fall asleep,  but, once he does, he usually isn’t asleep very long. His nightmares startle him awake. It’s rare that he gets a total of six hours combined any given night. EATING HABITS:  He tries to take care of himself where he can in regards to his food. His breakfast most morning is a smoothie and some eggs, he’ll spend the extra money for organic fruits and vegetables. While he does take care of himself most of the time, there are those times where he sits down with a whole pizza and a pint of ice cream and finishes it all, though. When he’s high, he rarely eats, which is why breakfast is so important to him. SOCIABILITY:  He is an extrovert through and through. That’s part of the reason he thoroughly enjoys his time at the bar - socialization. He’s a very smooth talker and a very good listener, which is likely why people typically find it easy to trust him. The cocaine makes him even more sociable. BODY TEMPERATURE:  Naturally warmer, he gets cold very easily. That’s part of the reason he likes the desert so much. ADDICTIONS:  Cocaine. DRUG USE:  Frequently. At least once a day. ALCOHOL USE:  Semi-frequently. Likely drinks one glass of whiskey whenever he’s on shift, but otherwise rarely touches alcohol. Outside of work, when he does drink, it’s likely watching a football or baseball game.

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS:  Loyal, hardworking, charming, resourceful, charismatic. NEGATIVE TRAITS:  Anxious, sly, liar, secretive, stubborn. LIKES:  Cocaine. The Chicago Cubs, dogs, cashmere sweaters, traveling, warm weather, swimming pools. DISLIKES:  The cold, rough textured clothing, grating voices, loneliness, the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. FEARS: Abandonment, loneliness, never being good enough. Failure. Death. HABITS:  Cocaine, cutting his nails frequently, smoothies with breakfast, fiddling with a necklace or other small things. ASTROLOGY:  Scorpio sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising. PERSONALITY TYPE:  ESFP. MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Chaotic neutral. HOGWARTS HOUSE:  Slytherin. ELEMENT:  Water. PRIMARY VICE:  Lust. PRIMARY VIRTUE:  Diligence. WEATHER: Sunny day, no clouds in the sky. Somehow, still a chance of rain. COLOR:  White and red // light blue. MUSIC:  Doesn’t listen to much music. MOVIE:  Inglourious Basterds (2009, dir. Quentin Tarantino). SPORT:  Baseball. BEVERAGE:  Kale and banana smoothie / Arnold Palmer. FOOD:  Scrambled eggs with cheese, broccoli, cupcakes, raspberries, peaches. ANIMAL:  Dogs of all varieties. SEASON:  Late spring, early summer.

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER:  Amy Hayes. FATHER:  Stephen Hayes. SIGNIFICANT OTHER:  None. SIBLING(S):  One older sibling, 33+. CHILDREN:  None. PET(S):  None.

PROMPT.

Routine.

Who would’ve thought that Cas would end up here, of all places? Certainly not his family, certainly not anyone from his past. He doubted that anyone actually needed a business degree to bartend at the Violet, or to bartend anywhere, really. He doubted that anyone would think to find him there, which was part of the reason he enjoyed being there in the first place. That was the point of running away from the past, no? To escape it? Nights at the Violet were indulgent, and that was Caspian’s favorite part of it all.

Indulgence. Sweet indulgence. To start his shift after a hit of the best coke he could get his hands on was a feeling of near-euphoria after a morning of restlessness and anxiety. He could feel that paranoia and constant worry wash away as he walked the length of the bar, ears tuned in to everything happening around him. That was the thing about Violet; people talked. And when people talked, Caspian heard. They may have thought that he wasn’t listening, that he was just there to do his job and go home. But that wasn’t the truth. He knew about the man at the third stool and how he’d been cheating on his wife for the past three months. He knew about the woman at the seventh who owed Valencia more money than she had in her bank account, and, despite that, continued to turn to Violet every night for the comfort of a glass of gin. He knew the high-rollers with their hands dirty, knew the secrets of the civilians who simply wanted to live life without Valencia’s influence, knew those who feared Rorschach and what his arrival may mean. And it was almost as euphoric to him as the coke was. Almost.

HEADCANONS.

He grew up in the shadow of his older sibling. He always hated it - always hated never feeling good enough for his parents. No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Not when he made the varsity swim team and baseball team as a freshman in high school, not when he was given a swim scholarship to UCLA for college, not when he worked his ass off to get good grades despite his involvement in two sports.

The Hayes family is big in the financial planning world. If you don’t know a thing about that, you probably won’t know who they are, but his mother has been on covers of industry magazines and interviewed for finance TV shows before. She and his father co-own their own company.

He started partying in high school to try to let off some steam after games and dances. He only increased his partying in college. This was when he first tried cocaine. The partying got heavier and heavier, and, eventually, he lost his scholarship. That’s when he started bartending - he didn’t want his parents to know that he lost the scholarship, so he had to pay his own way through the rest of school. This was also when he cut contact with his family.

He likes it when people talk to him as if he was a brick wall, not absorbing any of their information. But he keeps that dirt in his brain - after all, who knows when he’s going to need it?

He was a good cook, once upon a time. Now, he doesn’t really have the incentive to be one, especially since he works through what most people would consider “dinner time”.

He’s pretty good at poker, but he’d never go into the casino to play. That’s too formal for him.

He wouldn’t refer to himself as a cocaine addict - just a man who likes cocaine. He figures he could stop at any time he wants to.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

SUPPLIER: he's got a drug addiction; he needs drugs. this is probably someone within valencia who provides him with his fix - someone he pays either with information or money.

MUTUAL DISLIKE: this person doesn't like him for whatever reason. maybe he owes them money. maybe he's made a promise he didn't keep. whatever the reason is, cas doesn't like them, either. they're greeted with distaste.

FRIENDS: obviously everyone needs friends. these people may or may not know about cas' addiction problems, and, if they do know, he still won't admit to having an addiction problem.

PAST HOOKUP: any gender ! he does have a tendency to sleep around solely for praise and validation that he feels like he's been missing in his life thus far. don't be mad if he doesn't call you back.

BOSS: this is someone in Valencia, as Violet is owned by them. Cas probably doesn't know too much about them/their involvement in the organization, they probably aren't too close because he's wary of them more than anything.

WARY: this person knows that something's going on with Cas. May or may not suspect the cocaine addiction, probably someone on the side of the law, recognizing that Caspian isn't getting by on his own.

OWED DEBT: Cas owes this person something, whether it be because they provided him with coke or because his car broke down and he needed help fixing it - whatever the reason, he's in debt, and he can't repay it yet. Valencia or not !

OLDER SIBLING: this is the big one ; see the main.

[matermcrtis]

GENERAL DETAILS.

Full Name: Mary Morrigan Davis, usually goes by Morrigan

Nickname: Bloody Mary, Morr ( only Marr’s allowed, she will bite anyone else who tries )

Age: 32

Gender & Pronouns: Cisfemale, She/Her

Ethnicity: Caucasian (russian/english)

Sexual & Romantic Orientation: Pansexual/panromantic

Occupation: Forensic Pathologist

Affiliation: Law Enforcement

Faceclaim: Megan Fox

CHARACTER INFO.

tw: drug/alcohol addiction mentions, psychological abuse implied, death, drowning.

Looking back on her life, Morrigan sometimes wonder just how she ended here, doing what she does; she thinks back on how many curves and shortcuts she had to take to make it, and all the horrible and wonderful things that made her into the person she is. She made a promise to herself: never regret anything. Everything that happened has led her to this town, to this job, to this path, and she wouldn’t change a single thing.

She was born Oksana Kuznetsov ,  into the care of Mary Davis, an american starlet actress and Alexei Kuznetsov, a very wealthy influential “business man” who handled primarily with money washing and drug dealing for the russian mob through his coorporation.

Oksana grew up in a peculiar household, you could say- though she fathoms it’s more ordinary than people would care to believe. Her mother was frequently popping pills in front of the fireplace, swinging a glass of wine, and her father was off dealing with his private affairs.

In the early years of her life she was taught everything a high society girl should be: ballet, piano, violin, you name it - she even took singing lessons, which much to her mother’s dismay were a complete waste of money, she was barely passable in the shower

For most of her childhood, she was oblivious as to how they had their wealth, and spent her evenings riding horses and by the poolside, contemplating her future as if she’d had a choice. For awhile, she toyed with the idea of being a nurse.

But with time, the so called “normalcy” of their lifestyle started to spark red flags for young Oksana. First she noticed the bruises on her mother’s arm, the screams muffled between walls, and the conversations overhead between old men that’d come by the house every so often

As she grew older, the bruises on her mother’s arms became hers --- his father lashed out on whoever was nearest and she made sure that wasn’t her mother.

She lost her passion for playing instruments, and the days by the pool became far and between all the arguments and fights. By then she was severely aware of what was happening under that roof, and how everything they had was obtained illegally one way or another. She didn’t want it- any of it. She tried to escape into a world of fantasy through books but none of it worked, reality was always waiting eagerly by her bedside.

At school, her fascination for death and macabre didn’t go unnoticed - although Oksana was what you’d consider an averagely beautiful girl, she was a recluse, and mocked for her clothes, the way she carried herself, her peculiar interests. 

She was at some point named “Bloody Mary”, and she didn’t care for it at all

Things escalated the day she tried going to the cops ---- they didn’t listen, had no interest in the word of such a young girl, and were probably in her father or her father’s bosses pockets. She just wanted everything to stop, but what she got instead was a beating, and being locked in her room for two days straight without food.

She never disobeyed them again.

And then, when she was 15, everything changed --- just not exactly for the better.

The story goes as follow: 15 year old Oksana Kuznetsov was found alone in a boat in the middle of a remote river in Peru's back country. Both her parents are presumed dead.

Two days later, they found their bodies, the cause of death is ruled inconclusive. Although both Mary and Alexei had ties to the russian mob, the FBI was hellbent on pinning this case on young Oksana, the sole heir of the Kuznetsov’s fortune.

The media was relentless, and her life became a circus until the day of her trial. She was found not guilty due to lack of evidence, and her record was sealed given her young age, but that didn’t mean she was innocent in everyone else’s eyes ----- once a suspect, your name is never really clear.

So she gave that up too. Oksana vanished off the map and social media, and insisted on being homeschooled. 

When she resurfaced like a phoenix from the ashes, in her 18 birthday, she was no longer Oksana, but Mary Morrigan Davis.

She graduated with honors from the University of California, San Francisco, in forensic pathology, and became a well known name in her field.

Morrigan is driven and dedicates all of herself to each individual case she handles; the way she sees it, it’s never just about the body --- there’s always a story to be uncovered, and just because they can no longer speak doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to have it told. It’s about giving a voice to those who were ripped too early from this world. Not a job, a calling -- a mission. They deserve justice, and she’ll do everything in her power to make sure they get it.

Morrigan tends to be very steely and aloof when it comes to new acquaintances --- she has her walls up for obvious reasons. It’s rare for anyone that’s not Mr.Midnight (her cat) to get too close. 

She does have a bias against the feds...... sorry pals and gals. I promise she’ll warm up 2 u if you’re nice tho. She’s just... Skittish at first.

Likes to drink, likes to read, and most of all ------ likes to be left alone.

Morrigan is a wiccan and she very much gives off gothic chick/i put a spell on you/elvira vibes. It’s the only religion she’s ever felt comfortable practicing, besides, she’s really into nature, so it just feels right.

Don’t touch.

She has a lot of tattoos, mostly on her back & arms (not a full sleeve tho). 

pinterest can be found here, and spotify playlist here (i might make a graphic and post it properly one day who knows).

CONNECTIONS.

obvs i’m down for anything these are just a couple basic suggestions to kick things off!

ex(es) / morrigan does her fair share of dating, but most of the time things end abruptly because she doesn’t feel comfortable with people getting too close fwb / fooling around is easier for her, and morrigan’s very capable of separating feelings from sex so yano - wink wink nudge nudge partner in crime /  morrigan often goes the ... ahEM. extra mile to solve her cases. sometimes she might or might not cross the line between legal and illegal to get some information. this person is fully aware and supportive of her craziness drinking friend / she loves a drink at the end of a tough night, none of this applejuice shit and this is her favorite person to drink next to, probably because they’re as tired and fed up with the world as her one time hookup / for some reason she was feeling vulnerable, they slept together and ... shockingly talked about stuff? maybe she caught feelings? maybe they did or both? either way she’s now avoiding them thanks

[serafinmosqueda]

NAME: SERAFIN JOSEPH MOSQUEDA

NICKNAMES: SJ, Raf

AGE: 34

PRONOUNS: He/Him

OCCUPATION: Carpenter/Shotcaller for the Street Level of Valencia

HEIGHT: 6′

BIRTHDAY: June 13th, 1986

ZODIAC SIGN: Gemini

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral

MBTI: ENTJ

Preface: This is the shittiest intro I’ve ever written, I did it at 5am and one eye swollen closed but i want him in the game sO.

Drop a like if you wanna plot with Serafin and I’ll come yell at you.

TW: DEATH, DRUGS, ABANDONMENT

His mom is pretty deeply ingrained in Valencia so being apart of it was kind of just a natural step.  

His dad was also apart of Valencia (his mom only became a part of it after his fathers death) but he died during a gun run out of state that went sour when SJ was 14.  

His mom is a VERY stereotypical over involved hispanic mom, and dad is similarly stereotypical in that he worked hard but SJ doesn't really have any memories of him.  

SJ works extremely hard and made his way up the Valencia ladder into the position he's in now (shotcaller of the street level sector) when he was 27. 

Until he was about 28 he was ONLY all about one night stands, particularly with girls who loved his status toward the end there.  

SJ fell into a relationship with a really fucking wild girl at that point, and she really put him through the ringer with her addiction to cocaine/speed.

She partied constantly and gaslit the FUCK out of him all the damn time (starting arguments over shit that didn't actually happen, like a tone in his voice or wtf ever). 

 She found out she was pregnant in less than a year and stopped doing drugs for the duration of the pregnancy but started up again pretty much immediately after.  

She left them when the baby was 3 months old and he's been raising his daughter (Haven) by himself (with mom's help) ever since.

About 3.5 years ago Valencia ended up in a tight spot with the police because a new member didn't properly clean a crime scene before the cops got to it and some evidence was collected that could have directly led to Valencia. 

SJ used his street connections (and blackmail LOL) to basically force a cop into removing that evidence from custody and giving it to him.  

They caught that cop on tape, fired him, and in his last statement as a cop that cop told his superiors who he took the evidence for. 

They got a warrant for SJ's home/car and found the evidence in his car. 

 SJ went to prison for 2.5 years and Haven was left to live with her grandma for that period of time. 

Since his ex left he's been hyper focused on his position with Valencia so he hasn't really dated much.  

oh im sure this sounds totally random but his side job is as a carpenter??? he makes custom furniture

[empiricst]

last but not least, the fourth of rylan’s knights of the apocalypse, meet fbi profile / serial killer obsessed weirdo camille thomas! + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp​

name: camille may thomas nicknames: cam, thomas age: 31 ethnicity: white gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/panromantic been in red ridge for: born and raised, though she left at the age of eighteen to pursue a degree in criminal psychology, then quickly joined the fbi and spent most of her days either at quantico or travelling around the states, following cases. occupation: fbi profiler affiliation: police rank: special agent (fbi - consultant for red ridge pd) positive traits : clever, observant, protective, kind, empathic, intuitive. negative traits : obsessive, manipulative, impulsive, self-destructive, reckless, secretive, mistrusting.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for murder, gore, suicide, racial profiling, racism, alzheimer’s).

red ridge, nv, 1989. camille is born on the day that marks the beginning of the rorschach killings. she is six hours old when her father, detective jeffrey thomas, is called on the scene where the first body was found: camille and the murderer later known as rorschach are, in a way, born at the same time.

deeth, nv, 1995. each body found takes a piece of jeffrey’s mind with them and he has begun to wash away. camille is young, and naive, but she can see it: fading out of the picture, he’s less her father every day, more a vague stain whose edges she can’t contain. july 22nd a new body is found, and in his rush to leave he forgets to lock the door to his study. she is a curious child, her thirst for knowledge, like his thirst for truth: uncontainable. she sees pictures, photographs, sketches. she senses evil in them, she should not be looking at them: still there’s a strange fascination in each array of pale bodies and blood, and she begins sketching these in the privacy of her bedroom, when mom and dad are asleep, or out there fighting the monsters.

ruby valley, nv, 1996. a christmas present to the good people of nevada: rorschach was found. it wasn’t her father who caught him, but his partner, detective frank d'angelo — on christmas night her father was muttering at the window that they’d gotten it wrong, they were going to see. but he’s been kicked out of the force months ago, and camille was happy, thought this would mean he would spend time at home and they’d finally go fishing like he’d promised. they never go fishing. her christmas present is a sweater her mother knit for her. she looks at her with teary eyes, and says i’m sorry: this won’t make up for the warmth we lack.

west wendover, nv, 1999. something’s wrong: someone else has died. she’s old enough now to understand how it works, how the nightmare should’ve ended when they caught the murderer daniel flores, also known as rorschach— but the killings continue and it’s clear there’s been a miscalculation. uncle frank comes home often now, and he and jeffrey spend hours in his study, trying to piece everything together. sometimes camille presses her ears to the door and steals bits of dialogue. “her blood”, “his skin”, “the motive”, “identity”. at night she draws stain-like sketches and gives them all a title: her blood, his skin, the motive, identity.

red ridge, nv, 2003. her birthday comes with a funeral. first it was FLORES, who hung himself in his cell with shoelaces he never should have had in the first place. then it was her father: shot himself in the head by the desert he promised he’d take her to teach her how to drive. she wasn’t surprised — she’d seen the color leak out of him bit by bit, and people need color to survive. they lower his casket in the ground on the day she’s supposed to turn into a teenager (but she’s older, much older now: she’s woman and mother and crone, and the weight of the world is taking residence on her shoulders, today). after the funeral, she stands by that same spot, staring back at the sand, imagining her father standing there. then a manemerges, like ink in the water, from the woods. he is sad, he is broken: she doesn’t know him, but knows the sorrow pouring from his eyes, so eager to drown anything around it. she asks who he is, why is he there, why does he look so sad? he just stares and says he’s sorry. then, like ink in the water, disappears.

red ridge, nv, 2006. over the summer, her house becomes claustrophobic. her mother’s sorrow is tangible, even if fading out from her own mind: it chokes her daughter. a summer job comes as a salvation — camille spends her days at the local police precinct, sketching the faces of petty criminals to be found so quickly she proves to be a vital resource for the force. he was right, wasn’t he? detective d'angelo, who recommended her: trying to make amends for her father, perhaps. her mother gets worse every day. she loses herself in mazes of her own memories, and one night she begins crying, pleading “algernon, algernon, algernon —”. camille struggles to fall back asleep, but when she does she sees a face she has seen three years before: she’d forgotten it but it’s clear now, etched into her memory. the face of sorrow, the face of fragmentation.

quantico, va, 2013. her intuition is a superpower: she knows characters, she recognizes their traits. when she joins the FBI she’s one of the most promising young profilers of her generation — her sketches gain quite the fame, but it is not the path she wants to pursue, or not entirely. her studies have focused on criminal psychology, and perhaps she is looking for something, for an answer. a key to uncover the enigma sitting at the back of her mouth. she devours criminology books to draw a deeper understanding of the evil of the world, but the enigma at the back of her mouth feeds off of them. it begins taking a shape, a shadow-self latched onto the unfinished question her father had posited, but could never answer. that night she digs up all her father���s materials, and stares at the blood sprays of the crime scenes, like rorschach stains on paper, and asks herself: what do you see?

red ridge, nv, 2020. special agent thomas’ birthday is a funeral. not yet: but the body before her is cold, devoid of life and color. michael kaspar has died, at the blood around him resembles wings, or a cape, or a crown. special agent thomas has seen this before: to anyone else that was an old case, buried and safely removed from the minds of those who covered it up, but she knows it so intimately she can’t turn away. it is the same old question, echoed by each victim until the latest one: what do you see?

[roadklls]

hello, rylan (27, she/her, gmt+2) again, introducing you to my lil angry hedgehog by the name of kara davidsen + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp​

name: kara davidsen nicknames: n/a age: 31 ethnicity: Indigenous (Awaetlatla First Nations + Himalayan; this is unknown to them, as their arrival in the orphanage was not met with any information regarding their biological family). gender/pronouns: genderfluid, they/them, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/demiromantic been in red ridge for: on and off all their life occupation: criminal (mostly drug dealing atm) affiliation: none (deviant, though occasionally will lend a hand to valencia or whoever needs it) positive traits: loyal, observant, clever, headstrong, generous, determinate. negative traits: proud, aggressive, cold, hot-headed, cruel, resentful.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for child abandonment, abuse, bullying, substance abuse, medical misconduct / patient abuse, overdosing, death, violence).

red ridge, nv, 1989.  left, discarded like unwanted leftovers — they found them in a cardboard box, half-freezing, on the doorsteps of the charming orphanage. they were given a name that was supposed to be temporary, until a family would pick them up: kara. something breaking, something thunderous, like the storm raging on the night they’re found. their last name davidsen, from the orphanage of st. david’s. lost in the world, but they soon found an ally in a child left, discarded like they were — delphine, though sharing none of their blood, became their sister.

red ridge, nv, 1993. it was clear from the very beginning that the two would have to fight teeth and nails for their place in the world, but their bond served as a double-edged weapon, kept them safe with one another and the rest of the world away. the two barely ever left each other side, and kara, in particular, soon developing a violent protectiveness over their sister. this bond would allow them to sustain the abuse, the violence, the difficulties they were soon thrown into the second they were assigned to their first foster family. it is a poisonous environment, one that corrupts the valorous side of them to leave the broken parts behind, the damage. together, they fight back. together, they survive.

red ridge, nv, 1999. taken out of the foster family, they both return to st. david’s. it’s not a victory, but it’s the chance for something better to happen - kara won’t admit it, but they hold hope someday this might have a sense. find a family for the both of them, with food on the plate and fresh clothes every day.

red ridge, nv, 2001. delphine might just get that. changes of getting out st. david’s are always slim (there’s a thing about kids grown in the desert, they bark and bite as if coyotes themselves have been the one raising them), but delphine is taken away. off to a good family, off to a better family: the bond, the magical bond that had kept them fighting through the various different wildfires life had enjoyed putting them through, it suddenly broke. kara was left behind. dumbfounded, angry, a question left ringing in their head without the knowledge to put it into coherent words: what’s the point of loving, what’s the point of caring — if it all gets taken away?

red ridge, nv, 2003. but they do love, and they do care. in their own misguided, clumsy way; and one day they bring another kid in the orphanage, two years their younger, a scared, wide-eyed kid. the other kids enjoy teasing him, enjoy the look he gets when they knock the glasses off his face and he has to go scramble to find them. kara hates that. kara enjoys putting themselves between them and him and grin at them: say come on, what are you gonna do? what’s that, are you afraid? (maybe they mimic the way delphine would look after them. maybe, in their own half broken language, they are just trying to summon delphine — or their spirit, the protective archetype of an older sibling — back into their bones. they vow they will protect eric, even though they have to endure the other kids’ beatings in his place. but one day it is too much: we gotta get out of here, they say to him one night, after they found the other kids collecting punches in eric’s gut and the tutors pretending to look the other way. we gotta get out of here.

somewhere across the nevada / utah border, 2005. breaking out wasn’t the hard part; by now kara knew exactly how to slip out, just had lacked a motivation to leave the orphanage. the hard part is when they’re out in the cold, freezing their asses off somewhere in utah, trying hard to find a fucking way to live and coming up empty. they steal cans of meat from a barn; the owner finds them, threatens them both, a shotgun aimed at kara’s throat. he sees something in them, and then somehow understands: these aren’t thieves. these are assets.

eureka, ut, 2006. scott halbridge has a lot of flaws, but one couldn’t say he isn’t a resourceful man. there isn’t a single felony he and his makeshift clan haven’t dabbled with, even just for a taste of it — and the two orphans he found in his barn might just help him grow his business. the younger kid, the one with the glasses, is soft and unassuming but he’s got a skill — he’s good at handling drugs, he’s good at selling ‘em too. the other one, the girl (he keeps calling them that and kara wants to bite the vocal cords off his throat but they won’t; they won’t, he won’t understand, it’s better they just play nice) — kara’s tougher to handle. but they’re great at kicking ass, and when needed they can slip in and out of buildings and steal shit without anyone ever noticing it. they’re both extremely useful. but eric gets to try the merch he sells and he begins growing a sweet tooth for it. when the money he brings back to scott every week grows shorter by one, two, ten doses — that’s when he understands. and his way of making eric understand, too, is by jumping on him, bashing in his head, slamming him against the wall. kara doesn’t think — it’s a single instinct that leads their arms to move, retrieving the shotgun by the side of scott’s desk, aiming, shooting. the shotgun recoils back and throws them off their balance. kara falls, but so does scott: his brain sprayed all over the walls. panting, eric stares at kara. they know what he’s seeing: something damaged. something terrifying. kara breathes, wipes the blood off the side of their cheek. “we gotta go”, they say, and then they’re on the road again.

elko, nv, 2010. another kind of scott halbridge ends up taking them in. a gang of sorts, someone who has use for their talents. kara’s attitude for fighting and taking one, two, a hundred punches, proved them to be a great resource for the needs of criminal enforcers. eric’s charm, instead, proved once again to be a fruitful assets in selling drugs: they found a life of their own, as unlawful as it was, and kept surviving on their own.

carlin, nv, 2013. eric was too soft for this world. kara had known from the beginning, and yet it still caught them off guard. the drugs got the best of him, swallowed him whole — after he’d given in to a manic episode in public, he was forcefully committed to a rehabilitation facility where the limits of ethics were more than a little stretched. they’d abuse him verbally, physically, use prescription drugs on him too liberally until he was left a screaming, aching mess of a human being. once kara learned of this (once they were able to track the place they’d taken him to), they followed through with the promise they’d made with delphine years before, the one that the loss of delphine had  led to breaking but had to be respected now, for it was sacred: them against the world, no matter what. somehow, kara managed to break him out of the facility. somehow, he got his hands on drugs again. eric overdosed at the age of 22.

red ridge, nv, 2014. though kara had known anger all their life, this was the first time they experienced pain. on their own, with no destination, or even a reason to keep moving forward, they ended up back in the place where they’d began. red ridge, nevada — old contacts allowed her a way into the safe, usual business of fucking around and stealing cars, selling drugs, whatever could get them by. they were good at dealing, even good at fighting for respect. within years, they had a decent business network going on. though they didn’t care about valencia’s business in the city, and the many gangs trying to start shit in town, never did, really — they found the conflict, the violence, to be the healing balm for their aching soul. they soon began fighting at rogue’s club: though lacking discipline or any sort of training, they’d been fighting since the day they were born and could take punches for hours. the pain became a shelter, a relief. it kept them alert and out of their sorrow, out of their weakness. her life became a pantheon for violence — the fights, the ghosts, and the drugs she wouldn’t use. each of them a replacer for something she couldn’t get anymore. each blow landing against her ribcage, a reminder: this is for delphine, the way she was taken and gone forever, and perhaps a part of them had hoped coming back to red ridge would make her show up again, summoned by memories and whatever bond they’d shared — that’s a fairy tale, isn’t it? they always fucking hated those. this is for eric, the way he vanished out of thin air, no matter how much they tried to hold his molecules together, force shapeless air back into the container of his body. this is for their inability to accept it. this, at last, is for kara davidsen and all that’s left of them. a bag of bones, a blooming of bruises. and their anger: so thick, so venomous you could smell it in the air.

[stfreds-a]

hello everyone! this is rylan (27, she/her, gmt+2) here to introduce you to the lil nugget of fucked up-itude that is freddie dawson! + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp​

name: fredericke ann dawson nicknames: freddie, fred, st. fred age: 33 ethnicity: white gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: bisexual/biromantic been in red ridge for: five years occupation: bartender at st. peter’s affiliation: none positive traits: nurturing, clever, good spirited, humorous, wise, motherly, diligent, quiet, loyal, protective. negative traits: closed off, impulsive, proud, resentful, self-deprecating, bitter, frightened.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for depression, death, abuse / domestic abuse, violence, underage sex, prostitution, child abandonment).

“why’d you get so obsessed with that word, freddie? who told you about saints?” “grandpa did, he said he’s named after st. peter”. “and why do you care?” “‘cause he said saints do good things. i wanna be a saint, too”. “why on earth would you want that?” “‘cause, ma — i wanna save everyone”.

—

there’s a lifetime from that moment to now. she can remember it, but it comes in flashes, a hazy hue of desert gold — she remembers the girl she was, bright-eyed and restless, never shying away from the trail of a question. prying, relentless: the whole world could be simplified to reasons and whys, and she would hunt them the whole day long, out in the dust storms like the wind, not even it could dare question her spirits. whatever happened to that girl? dull, watered down: erased, and her own has been the hand rubbing her existence off her own life.

el paso, texas, 2002. she couldn’t tell how it happened, or when it began — surely that summer of eighteen years ago must have played its part. her mother losing her job (too tired, too tired all the time: too sad to see a doctor, too weak to even get out of bed anymore), bills piling up. her older sister trying hard to keep things afloat with an underpaid gig at the laundry, but it’s not enough. it’s never enough. one day grandpa comes home and he’s making math in his head, calculating how much longer they can survive if he sells the farm, the truck, the horse. that night freddie asks, how come their dad’s not around? he could provide, he could help them? grandpa grows colder then, gaze darker than the clouds gathering on the horizon: i’ll burn this place to the ground before he sets foot in here.

that side of the family, either way, is cunning and insidious, and it comes knocking at the door, offering business, a way to salvage the farm. it is victor, freddie’s uncle, who brings the offering: grandpa throws him out in spite, and freddie watches it all while she’s sitting on the fence outside, skin burning gold from the sun, dust sticking to her like glitter. you’re pretty, victor says: you might be your family’s only chance, you know? she doesn’t (can’t) understand, but she’ll walk any way that can save grandpa, his horse, her mother’s strength, her sister’s dreams of becoming a nurse.

turns out the way is a dark and winding one, one where she has to suck up the terror when a man touches her skin and she has to say yes, please, more, i’ll be anything you want, the key to unlocking all the dark and sick desires you’ve buried in there and can’t speak to anyone, not your wife, not your daughter, not your mother: give them to me, she whispers, let the darkness out. at night she takes hour-long showers to try and rub the darkness off of her, and it won’t come off, it never does — but grandpa didn’t have to sell the farm, and even if he was against her getting a job (said she’d be a waitress, don’t worry pops, i got it), the day he realized he wouldn’t have to sell the horse he smiled: it felt like the gates of heaven themselves would open.

she hates her job, but doesn’t mind the company. they make her work in a dismissed motel, along with girls about her age and her damage, and there is an unspoken bond of loyalty between them — the guys, too, when they’re guarding the doors they smile at them as fondly as they would their sisters (but they wouldn’t let their sisters in a place like this, no). there’s carl, who never speaks but smiles at fred each time he sees her. there’s billy, drives her home every night before victor can volunteer. there’s sonja, who teaches her how to punch a man’s throat when he gets too handsy. there’s a sense of family, while her own begins unraveling around the suspicion that something dark is going on.

el paso, texas, 2005. the farm is saved, but mom’s not getting any better. depression sucks her up, little by little, and she drifts away more or less peacefully, doesn’t dare oppose resistance — she dies a morning of october, and neither of her daughters can speak of it. grandpa has to put down the horse a week later. she’d thought she’d saved everyone —— how come the darkness still won’t leave?

she grows sadder, dark as the clouds that won’t seem to leave their town alone. she finds an unexpected shoulder to cry on in the person of johnny, billy’s cousin and yet another one of victor’s men: johnny’s sweet, he makes her laugh. he begins driving her home at night instead of billy (his cousin’s not happy, she can see this: but he nods his agreement anyway and doesn’t protest, he can’t, johnny’s older and wiser and he’s still just a kid). the rest of it is as old and predictable as it gets: he says he’ll make an honest woman out of her, she retorts there needs to be an honest man for that to happen to begin with. they laugh, they kiss, they promise — five years later, she’s twenty-five and married, almost happy. almost.

el paso, texas, 2006. she wants to leave her job. johnny said he can’t stand the thought of someone touching her where he should, and she tries: but victor won’t have it, no, did you think it was a temporary gig? come on girl, you’re smarter than that. he’s filthy, he humiliates her — beats her just to prove he can, he owns her. she comes home with bruises and johnny’s angry: if you couldn’t quit, he says, it’s because you didn’t really want t. his bruises are added to victor’s, perfectly symmetrical blooms to decorate her skin. she begins cracking, her very essence tearing at the seams — she was trying so hard to save everyone, how the fuck is she gonna save herself now?

billy comes over sometimes. his commitments to what he likes to call “street things” keep him out of the motel now, but he needs to check on her — she makes up excuses to keep away, hide the signs. says she’s got a bad cold one day, the other she’s just not feeling. one day he’s got enough and forces her to open the door: a busted lip, both her eyes grown purple with the blows. his anger is scalding hot but she manages to calm him down — it’s okay, she says, he just gets angry sometimes. i’ll find a way out of it somehow. he leaves in a hurry, never shows up again: the unspoken fear in her mind, that he’s gone and done something terrible he’ll regret, almost brings a relief to her sore mind. perhaps he’s killed him, she thinks. perhaps i’m free.

johnny comes back and it’s business as usual. she tells herself she’s gotta be strong, gotta leave this town, gotta make it out alive. she packs a bag and leaves it hidden under the bed, but when she looks at the door she sees the world with johnny’s face, ready to eat her up, chew her out, over and over. it’s the day police comes knocking at her door that the world drags her out — in the person of detective jake graham, investigating the disappearance of william ‘billy’ dickinson — part of a much bigger investigation, that sooner leads to the arrest of victor rosce and most of his men (johnny included). she’s on her own: and when the detective figures out she needs help, he makes the way for a new life in red ridge, nevada. beaten, broken, ashamed, she says goodbye to texas; to freddie dickinson; to the comfortable shelter of her fear.

red ridge, nevada, 2015. red ridge ain’t much of an afterlife, but it works. they take her to a women’s shelter and bit by bit she puts her pieces back together. badly held in place, like a broken teacup taped back together — but it works. azul, the director of the shelter, turns out to be the family she’s missing — she finds a sense of home in the shelter, a new purpose behind the counter of st. peter’s, serving drinks for those who are heading for a fight at rogues’. like a gatekeeper, like st. peter himself: such a stark contrast from the hell she just left.

heaven is short-lived, and hell comes knocking back at the door. it appears in the shape of two parallel lines on a pregnancy test: johnny’s seed, rooted in her womb, giving way to evil like himself. she wants to throw up, hopes somehow that’ll rid her of this curse — her vision blinded, her ears are ringing. in fear, she turns to the only place she knows can provide comfort, or advice, or any sort of guidance while she has no fucking clue how to fix this: back home, to her sister.

el paso, texas, 2016. grandpa’s dying, angie says. old age catching up to him, so all he does is lie in his bed all day and ask for movies to be played continuously on his tv. it’s an odd family they recreate now, the nurse, the dying man and the pregnant sister. there is a soft, mournful balance found, until one night victor shows up demanding to see her and when angie claims freddie isn’t there he has his men beat her grandpa, thrash the house just to get the point across: he can. he owns her.

she sits by her grandpa’s deathbed that night and weeps. i’m sorry, pops, i’m so sorry: i tried so hard to be a saint, to save everyone. perhaps he’s just exhaling, but it sounds like he’s laughing. child, he says, saints always die either virgins or martyrs. you fucked up the first — now you just gotta pray you’re good enough for the latter.

somewhere between texas and nevada, 2016. grandpa dies two weeks later, and freddie’s not there. right after victor’s visit, angie gave her money just to get her away from them, and bring her trouble with her — grandpa dies a week before her baby’s born, taken out of her and delivered into a nurse’s hands without so much as a goodbye. they ask, would you like to see your baby? freddie turns and pretends she didn’t hear. wherever the baby will end up, it’s gotta be a better fate than the child of a martyr.

red ridge, nevada, 2017. red ridge felt like a home. for a hot second, it felt like things could start over again. she ends up in it again — in the thick of a burning town, trying to make her way through people that do not belong to her, desperately looking for something to hold on to. a year has passed since she last set foot in town, but st. peter’s has been waiting for her; the same arrangement of unfinished business, too. little by little, in red ridge, she begins putting herself back together.

CURRENTLY fred is a bartender at st. peter’s, occasionally lends a hand to azul evangelista for the women’s shelter, is in a committed relationship with detective jake graham. her uncle, her husband and most of their gang are in jail after the investigation jake led back in 2015. she hasn’t heard from her sister ever since leaving el paso. her baby was given up for adoption and she never learned anything more about them — nor does she plan to.

[dansleary]

intro: daniel leary

[v here again with daniel -- i’m open for any and all plots basically and i live hard for angst so come at me 👀]

Name: Daniel Eamon Leary Nickname: Danny, Dan, Danny-boy Hometown: Worcester, MA, USA Current Location: Red Ridge, NV, USA Birthday + Age: November 4th, 1987 / 33 yrs. of age Zodiac Sign: Scorpio Gender: Cismale Pronouns: He/him Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual/romantic Occupation: Mechanic at Murphy’s Auto Length of stay in Red Ridge: 25 years Alignment: Chaotic Neutral MBTI: ISFP Personality: [+] Modest, easy-going, observant, adaptable, calm, caring, non-judgemental, considerate [-] Anxious, self-destructive, secretive, picky, aloof, resentful, reserved, foolhardy, jealous

BIO + POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Read Daniel’s bio here.

Just throwing down some general connection ideas but we can take this as far as we’d like to (or not!) when we plot. I’m also totally open for anything else!

co-worker from murphy’s auto (fellow mechanic, receptionist etc.)

people involved with valencia who know danny in passing

friends danny’s had from his drug addiction days that he no longer remembers (oops)

old friends from before his addiction/amnesia that he hasn’t seen in a while

people who know his dad/dad’s family in ireland?? idek 

apartment neighbor

first love/ex

people he’s had one night stands with as an addict who he doesn’t remember and it’s Awkward

addicts who wanna sabotage him?? for some reason??

[jacobsgraham]

intro: jake graham

[hi friends, i’m v, i actually had my character bios written pre-opening oops so, here’s an intro post linking to jake’s bio underneath. i’m open for any and all plots basically and i live hard for angst so come at me 👀]

Name: Jacob Reese Graham Nickname: Jay, Jake Hometown: Battersea, London, England Current Location: Red Ridge, NV, USA Birthday + Age: April 3rd, 1983 / 37 yrs. of age Zodiac Sign: Aries Gender: Cismale Pronouns: He/him Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual/romantic Occupation: Homicide Detective for Red Ridge PD Length of stay in Red Ridge: 10 years, so far Alignment: Chaotic Good MBTI: ENTJ Personality: [+] Responsible, brave, clever, hard-working overworked, confident, assertive, loyal only to those he’s close to [-] Irritable, impulsive, blunt, quick-tempered, distrusting, vengeful, promiscuous

BIO + POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Read Jake’s bio here.

Just throwing down some general connection ideas but we can take this as far as we’d like to (or not!) when we plot. I’m also totally open for anything else!

co-worker who jake finds aggravating

co-worker who jake gets along with

someone jake dislikes at first but eventually warms up to

someone who knows amanda and tries getting jake to give her another chance

people he’s had a one night stand with in the past

someone he’s tried maybe dating but it didn’t go far cause trust issues

people who he’s worked a case on

co-worker he’s worked a case with