tartarusrising-rp

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OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Caro Pronouns: She/Her Age: - Timezone: GMT-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Nicole “Nic” Stueck Character Age: 40 Character Birthday (with year): March 15, 1984 Gender & Pronouns: Agender, They/them Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: Hitman/Arms Dealer Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie

The only daughter from a family that had nothing but each other. It had been just the three of them her whole childhood. Her parents migrated from Germany after getting married, with the promise of a starting business that ended up being nothing more than a frame. Even then, betrayed and broken, her father had done everything he could to push them forward, getting her through school and the start of high school even when they had nothing.

They were both killed shortly after she turned 15, devastating her entirely and leaving nothing but a shadow of who she was. Nicole ended up in the system. Trying to push her way through high school, even when she didn’t care, and trying not to get caught whenever she escaped. The loss of her parents made her close up, desperate to get free from people who didn’t understand.

Wandering the streets whenever she escaped, Nicole learnt to blend in so she wouldn’t be caught. And soon, she found herself learning how to steal little things here and there, pickpocketing and moving up from there when she realized she was actually really good at it. Charming and discreet. Trying to save as much as she could to get herself through college. If she ever managed to get into one before she got caught.

Sneaking after school, Nicole learnt that she’d need more than just charm to survive the streets, and started training at a local gym, the owner having grown fond of her, touched by her past, became a presence of comfort in Nicole’s life, a confidant of sorts. The first to hear about the struggles to fit in, the only one to see through her facade and catch onto the pain. And as she learnt how to fight enough to defend herself, he saw her changing. He wasn’t surprised when one day he was asked to call them “Nic”, nor to be asked to use a different pronoun, no explanation given. He became a figure in their life, they couldn’t live without.

They never stopped training, learning how to fight being the only thing helping them gain the focus they needed to deal with everything, to figure themselves out, so release. But it was one day at school that they found real use for this new development. When one of the younger years had caught them training and asked them for help against a bully. They did it without much thought, no standing for bullies, but when others started asking the same, offering to pay, they saw it for the chance it was.

It only escalated from there, getting paid to beat people up was just the starter for the path their life was about to take. When the next request didn’t end up in a simple beating. No reason was given for the task, and Nic found they didn’t care too much to ask. Even if there was still some hesitation to take the job, the amount offered was enough to sway them. It was just a couple months after her 17 birthday that they committed their first kill. They isolated themselves for a while after it was done, refusing to show up at the gym, unable to see Jason in the face, the reality of what they had done weighing heavy in their mind. And the fear of getting caught froze them enough to lay low for a while. When they showed up at the gym again, nothing other than a week ‘wasn’t feeling good’ excuse left their lips, and Jason, though worried, left it be.

It was a year later that another… client came to them. Call it arrogance, but after walking out the first time, completely unscathed, Nic didn’t think too much of taking the job this time. The money was good and killing… it had been easier than they had expected, and the lack of guilt after finishing the job, despite being jarring, was also appreciated. They started studying different subjects that could help them, even if they weren’t sure they’d ever do it again. The library found them often among its aisles, almost as often as the gym, buried between books about biology, chemistry, and even different fighting styles. By 18, when they took the second job, they actually felt even more prepared. Now free from the system and out in the streets, they had the time to dedicate themselves to the task.

In The following years, Nic managed to get into college, going for Foreign Languages, while they prepared themselves in different subjects on their own. Paying a visit to Jason whenever they could. Training at the gym and other places, different fighting styles to better help them. The lack of connections they had with their schoolmates made it easier for them to focus on their studies, and getting the contracts done.

Out of college, Nic found themselves getting deeper into this other world. An underground world that kept opening further for them. They heard of the gangs, the different powers rising and falling. Heard of their powers and their weaknesses but even if the idea of them sounded interesting, Nic found the money they made on their own was far greater than any they could make inside. So they kept their skills to themselves, only taking the contracts that worked for them, and disappearing into the night when they weren’t needed. Delving into a different business with their weaponry expertise.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Jam Pronouns: She/Her/Hers Age: 29 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Elyse Imogen "Elysium" Kerr Character Age: 31 Character Birthday (with year): August 1, 1993 Gender & Pronouns: Genderfluid femme-leaning, she/they Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: Art Forger, Retail Clerk Faceclaim: Ella Purnell

BIOGRAPHY

TW: Mental Health/Depression, Drugs

Art is never perfect. Sometimes, it’s not even enough. It’s not finished. It’s simply abandoned. At what point do you walk away? When have you passed the point where you should have quit, leaving you mixing and muddying colors and getting further and further from your vision in pursuit of perfect, finished, whole?

Elyse Kerr, an only child, was the light of her parents’ life for many precocious years. The girl had an ‘old soul’ and a clear artistic talent, which her family nurtured from a tender age. She entered regional art competitions and soon the fridge was too trite a display space for the types of illustrations and portraits she was painting. There was never a pressure placed on her to be fabulously successful – or if there was, it was entirely her own doing. But as she grew and experienced more of the world, she found herself looking for the darkness and the things not everyone could paint, even if they tried.

It seemed like a typical case of moody teenage behavior, but eventually Elyse was diagnosed with anxiety and depression, the subjects seeping their way into her artwork. The canvas was a better source of self-expression than a therapist, and sometimes the girl would skip her medications for fear of losing that creative edge. Her parents grew concerned, the luster of her star fading from their eyes as they found themselves less and less understanding of her artistic works or changing moods.

Through painting and college studies, Elyse developed the alias of Elysium – more of an idea than a person, representing the mythological sanctuary for the dead. Elysium transcended the artist’s diagnoses and labels, giving them a space to freely explore the afterlife of their ideas. It was here that Elyse also decided she felt comfortable with a sliding degree of gender presentation – after all, that was just another form of expression that could grow and change over time. Elysium defied gender and gave Elyse even more freedom to paint their morbid fascinations.

Of course, only very specific galleries would take such provocative work, and she had a hard time finding a proper audience and selling paintings. But Elyse had always been talented, fluid, adaptable. They began to paint imitations of other artists’ works, mostly for reference and casual use. But she never shied away from taking private commissions to recreate other works for interested buyers. Elyse remains mostly guarded from the proper criminal underworld, though she’s skirted the fringes through friends of friends of buyers.

It chafes her, the way most individuals who claim to be patrons of the arts would rather have derivative works (or deceive others in the pursuit of coveted originals). But Elysium knows their time is coming. In the meantime, she’ll have to work retail to cover expenses, medication, and self-medicating paraphernalia (all in the name of creative freedom). And as the artist dances closer to the edge of something much darker, all it will take is one little push to send her tumbling down the rabbit hole – or across the River Styx in search of true Elysium.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Arrow Pronouns: She/They Age: 31 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Daya Ray Character Age: 30 Character Birthday (with year): January 23rd, 1994 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman; she/her Affiliation: Asphalt Demons Occupation: Secretary of the Asphalt Demons Faceclaim: Naomi Scott

BIOGRAPHY

TW: parental neglect, drug abuse, sex work

Daya’s first core memory is of being four years old and finding her father passed out from a bad high in the yard outside of the tiny apartment they rented. It was the dead of winter, and she bundled herself up in her coat and hat, and dragged out her comforter to cover him, laying with him for an hour until a neighbor showed up to wake him up. The next day, both of her parents sobbed and promised that they would get clean for her, not that she understood a word they said. That happiness lasted for a little while, long enough for Daya to become a big sister to her brother Jakob. As happy as she was to have him in her life, to her parents, he was another mouth to feed when times were already lean.

Their parents fell off the wagon again when Daya was ten, which was effectively the end of her childhood. Even though their parents had stints of sobriety, she never again trusted them enough to care for their children. The twins, Freddie and Hanna, were born when she was 17. The next time her parents came home high, Daya told them to leave, and they did without looking back. From that point on, she became her siblings’ unofficial guardian, dropping out of school and working under the table to make ends meet for them.

Daya fell into sex work at 19 and quickly the attention of the Asphalt Demons who made sure that they received a cut of everything she made. In exchange, they became the family that the Rays never had. While not exactly the type of people they would invite over for the holidays, they made sure that the kids never went hungry and stayed safe, and for that, Daya can respect them.

Getting a patch was not something she had envisioned for herself the first night that the Demons sat her down. She expected to stay under their thumb, a prize and tool to be trotted out as needed. Her position allowed her to slip around unseen, gathering pieces of information that slipped past loose lips with the presence of alcohol and drugs. Daya is the first one to learn of a sting operation against the gang. Her warning is what keeps the former vice president out of prison, and her loyalty is rewarded.

When the old Secretary decides to step down after a health scare, leadership asks her to fill in the role. Having been a presence with the Demons for over ten years, Daya has become very familiar with the operations of the group. Jakob is a a prospect, only twenty years old but already vocal about his desire to join up, despite Daya wishing he would stay far away. The twins are thirteen and slowly becoming more aware of the world they are growing up in. When Eoin MacCabe is killed and tensions begin to ramp up between the gangs, Daya has been giving increasingly more thought on how to keep her siblings out of the life of crime, even if it means she has to stay in it.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Wesley Bridges Character Age: 34 Character Birthday (with year): January 19th, 1990 Gender & Pronouns: Cis man, he/him Affiliation: Law Occupation: Homicide Detective Faceclaim: Jacob Anderson

BIOGRAPHY

Wesley has always wanted to make a difference, a goal instilled in him from a young age by his aunt. His mother had him far too young, a product of a relationship that was never meant to last and his aunt stepped in to make sure that he had a good home life.

She’s the one who taught him the importance of treating people right, of making sure he respected everyone he interacted with it — if they deserved it. And it was through her influence that he was able to stay the course for his school life, graduate high school with honors, get a degree in criminal justice and fast track through the police academy.

A few years on the force and he pushed for a promotion to detective work - where he knew he could spend his time truly making the world something better. He was young when he started, and a little too green behind the ears, a little too naive for the cutthroat world he’d been thrust into. Trying to do something good in an environment that rewards those who don’t do the work or do the work wrong meant that he was fighting an uphill battle.

The only person he was able to grow to trust was the partner he’d been assigned and worked case after case with. They solved a few murders — some domestics, some manslaughters, and one linked directly to the Asphalt Demons. He believed in the rule of the law and followed it to the book.

And following it to the book is exactly what got his partner killed.

They were swimming through paperwork and red tape to get things done and in the time waiting, his partner was targeted by the Demons. He refused to back down and they killed him on the spot.

Since the day of, Wesley has been determined to go after the Asphalt Demon leadership and take them down - in whatever way he can. If that means breaking a little rules along the way, so be it.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: T Pronouns: He/They Age: 32 Timezone: GMT-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Sophia Barton Character Age: 40 Character Birthday (with year): May 1, 1984 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman, She/her Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: COO of a Business Conglomerate Faceclaim: Katie McGrath

BIOGRAPHY

Sophia Barton should be the heir to one of the most powerful business empires in the country. Should. This is what she had been trained for her entire life, anyway. While other teenagers were out partying and worrying about prom dates, Sophia was preparing for a future that had been planned out for her since before she was born.

She was good at it, too. Sophia excelled in that kind of structure and pressure. When she was finally old enough to take an official role in her mother's company, it was obvious to everyone she had what it took to succeed. Being Cordelia Barton's daughter came with its set of advantages and open doors, but Sophia earned what she got.

In fact, Sophia earned quite a bit more. Thanks in no small part to her business acumen, Barton Industries saw a growth much more expansive than projected, and it seemed like it would be a matter of time until Cordelia retired and let Sophia fully take control of their empire for good.

That never happened. In fact, Cordelia made sure to accept most of the credit for the growth of the company, both privately and publicly, and little by little made her intentions clearer and clearer: she wasn't going to retire; the company wouldn't be Sophia's for a long time.

Sophia's frustration with the turn of events was difficult to hide, as much as she supported her mother publicly. Her destiny was being kept from her, and no matter how much she tried to convince her mother to let go, she never inched closer to success.

What Sophia didn't expect was for help to come from the outside — and from nefarious means to boot. Of course she was aware that Tartarus existed and likely walked among her peers, but she never saw herself as a potential ally; and that was exactly what was offered.

For inside information and access, they offered to undermine Cordelia's influence and boost her own, and resources to build her own empire should she choose, and the death Barton Industries.

It felt too easy, that certainly it was her mother's move to find a reason to get rid of her for good, but the more she was contacted, the more she was convinced the offer was true. Another matter completely was whether to accept it — Sophia had always played it by the book. Fiercely, yes, but without breaking a single law. Did she have it in her to change that?

The answer was no, until Cordelia told her to her face she didn't have what it took to run her company without her help. That night Sophia shared the information she had about a merger she conducted with her informant in Tartarus. A week later, one of her mother's loyalists in the board of directors disappeared mysteriously during an international trip.

It cannot be denied that the deal is working in her favor but also guilt and uncertainty have started to creep in. Cheating was never her way of solving problems, and neither was violence. Either way, however Sophia may feel about her choices, it is far too late to change her mind now.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Lucia Mazzoni Character Age: 54 Character Birthday (with year): August 2nd, 1970 Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman, she/her Affiliation: Law (Tartarus, undercover) Occupation: Major Case Detective & Direct Informant to the Tartarus Boss Faceclaim: Carla Gugino

BIOGRAPHY

Lucia’s entire life has been informed by the decisions of men in power. From her grandfather, to her father, her brothers, and an ex-husband - her life was spent for the most part at men’s beck and call. Even the men at work took one look at her and dismissed her, despite her years of experience solving cases and working before many of them had ever joined the force.

College had been a non-issue, instead following into her father’s footsteps by joining Boston PD and working her way up to getting a detective badge. Her ex-husband was a man she met at the precinct, and they spent what she would call an average ten years with him, giving him children and one grandchild on the way.

It was a life that was pretty cookie cutter. A young girl from Boston born into a middle class cop family, doesn’t have the money to go much further, and falls into the same trap as the rest of her family did. One of her brothers stayed in Vice, and the other moved to a security position at supermax. All boring little lives.

Lucia’s turned on its head at a baseball game. Decked in red, she and her children were celebrating opening day with snacks and hot dogs and far too much alcohol in her system.

Conall MacCabe sat two seats down from her, and caught a ball and tossed it towards her daughter-in-law. It started a conversation and while Lucia didn’t quite know who he was, they developed a rapport. He was invited to cookouts with his own family in tow, and vice versa. It was Conall who comforted Lucia through the divorce.

When push came to shove, Conall was a friend above everything else —

The reveal came when someone trying to wipe the MacCabes from Boston set their sights on Lucia, hoping to hurt him. She was kidnapped, beaten, and held her ground simply on the grounds of being an officer of the law. It wasn’t her colleagues on the force that came in and wiped them out before they had a chance to touch her inappropriately — It was Conall and his son, Eoin.

There were long conversations over wine and beer, Lucia unsure where her loyalties could fall and lie after spending most of her life loyal to the idea that her father perpetuated.

Eventually, she agreed with him the idea that Tartarus - while causing issues - could be just what the city needs: unity. She agreed to continue to work on the force in an official capacity and secretly keep in contact with him to inform him of goings on that she could get her hands on. Lucia had no idea if it was planned from the beginning, but she didn’t care.

When Eoin died, they grieved together.

When Conall stepped back from the boss position and someone else took the position, her loyalties did not shift - but her meetings did. She meets with the new boss at least once a week to continue the work.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Jam Pronouns: She/Her/Hers Age: 29 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Bradley Roland Moss Character Age: 44 Character Birthday (with year): September 13, 1980 Gender & Pronouns: Cis male, he/him/his Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: Co-Owner of Retrocity Arcade Faceclaim: Simon Baker

BIOGRAPHY

TW: Infertility mention

When it comes to the phrase, “West coast, best coast,” Bradley Moss would have to agree. A California boy like him wasn’t exactly built for the brusque cadence of Boston, Mass. But he’d happily follow his wife Morgan to the ends of the earth, or right off the pier at the Santa Cruz Wharf, which they did once on a dare. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here:

Born and raised in Santa Cruz, California, Brad was the oldest of several siblings, raised in a good Catholic household. Like most attractive young blond men, he was nearly always on the beachfront with his friends. But as he got older, Brad preferred the thrills of the Boardwalk to bumming it in the sand and surf (he did never quite get the hang of the board). Namely, the arcade. He always had a pocket full of quarters and some hours to burn, making friends with the arcade’s owner in the process. 

Eventually, he got a part-time job there, first as a cashier and then a cabinet jockey, eventually learning how to do the technical upkeep on the machines there. Technical and thorough, he had ambitions to one day maybe become an engineer of some sort, but he just didn’t have the full programmatic know-how. He liked to tinker. And he liked to daydream.

But he couldn’t pay the bills on a daydream, so when it came time for college, he stayed in his hometown for UC Santa Cruz and an Econ degree. And one evening after classes he found a stranger hogging his favorite cabinet – so he feigned a technical malfunction just to get her to hop off (oops, the power cord wasn’t plugged all the way in). But when she stepped aside, he was struck by her casual attitude and easy smile. And the way she wasted no time asking if there really were vampires in Santa Cruz. Her name was Morgan, and he was smitten.

He’d start putting quarters on the cabinets she was playing at just to use it as an excuse to talk to her. And try to beat her high scores, and occasionally fail, whether on purpose or by sheer luck, to make it a friendly competition.. The two quickly became an item, and were married after college (and Brad was only a little sore every time Morgan negged him to get a motorcycle because it’d be soooo hot). The two agreed a motorbike was a bit unsafe, but they did get a car Brad loved to tune up.

Together, the Mosses were gonna start a family and drive the coastal highways with the top down and their hair blowing in the sea air. Except, the family never came. And talks of a shared pet were shot down out of spite. Morgan felt embarrassed, responsible, deficient. But Bradley promised that as long as the two of them had a handful of quarters in their pocket and one another to hold onto, they’d be just fine. Brad’s siblings were all moving around and starting families of their own as well, so when talk of treatments led them to Boston, Massachusetts, he gladly held his wife’s hand all the way across the country.

Their savings weren’t immense, but they decided to build a little slice of home in the new city with Retrocity Arcade. It was a family center as much as a place to escape. Bradley had always been about fixing things, adding improvements – but he hoped that his wife never saw herself as something broken, in need of fixing. He loved her just the way she was, and if they never had a family, they’d make their own life just as fulfilling. And even if they had to take out some loans, Retrocity has endured for over a decade, with Brad managing upkeep while Morgan handles the finances. In the meantime, he’s blissfully unaware of how things operate in Boston – especially coming from the laidback lifestyle of his hometown.

Above all, Brad will do anything and everything he can to provide for the two of them, even if he feels a little helpless when he finally notices his wife stop talking about having kids. They’re not getting any younger – the one downside to not actually having real vampires in Santa Cruz. But even if they never get everything they want out of life, they’ve got each other, which is more than most others can say.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Alexis Stovall Character Age: 46 Character Birthday (with year): February 14th, 1978 Gender & Pronouns: Trans woman, she/her Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: Neurosurgeon & Professor Faceclaim: Amy Acker

BIOGRAPHY

tw; transphobia, abuse

Born to conservative parents, Lex was attempted to be molded into what her parents thought she should be. Her parents would force her into stereotypical hobbies or jobs with her father to make her less feminine and ‘more of a man’ as she should have been. When she refused to fall in line with their beliefs of what they thought she should be, she would pay the price physically and emotionally.

Even at a young age, Lex knew she was different from the other children in the trailer park where they lived - deep in the heart of Texas. When she was much younger, prior to the age of ten, she would listen to them and attempt to make her parents happy. That mindset shifted when she was able to get into her mother’s things after a long day of being home alone. She paraded around in high heels too big for her, and a dress that pooled around her feet. The make up was a hurdle, and she’d ended up trying to match photos in the magazines her mother had of Wynonna Judd.

She was able to clean it all up and get things back to the way they were before they came home and she got caught, already afraid of what they might do to her.

It wasn’t until high school that Lex really began to rebel fully. The 90s were a time of discovery for her - the punk and grunge subcultures being a place where she felt she could fully express herself. At first, she tried to fit in with the rest of ‘the guys’ with leather jackets and loose ripped jeans — but it wasn’t until she met her closest friends, Selene and Noah, that she felt confident to try and express her true self. It started simple, and by the end of the first summer with them - she was fully coming home in ripped hose, skirts, heels, and sweat-smeared make-up without a care for what her parents thought.

They cared far too much, though, and began to fight back against her by burning her clothing and make up or getting more physical with her when she fought back. At 16, she left them completely to live with her friend and their family and never turned back. She poured herself into her studies and forgot completely about the parents who made her life hell.

By the time she graduated high school, she was able to get a scholarship to start the rest of her life.

College brought its own form of special hell, and medical school turned out to be even worse - but it was all worth it in the end. In her eyes, her journey is not at all defined by the mistreatment she’s gone through and instead defined by what good she can do for others. Choosing a specialty during her surgical residency wasn’t as easy as the TV shows make it out to be and she struggled between cardio or neuro - eventually slipping fully into neuro after encouraged by a mentor.

After a few years under her belt, she met Amira - a firecracker of a woman who completely turned her world on it’s axis. Lex had been so wholly focused on her career and surviving that romance had never been a second thought. They had their ups and downs, near break ups, and arguments — butting heads more often than not in the beginning.

At the end of the day, Lex knew that Amira was who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

A proposal, a marriage, and the most gratifyingly exhausting honeymoon later and Lex is proud to call herself a mother of three beautiful children - a pair of fraternal twins, and their oldest son.

Lex is wholly unaware of Boston’s criminal underground save for what might happen in Amira’s line of work, and intends to keep it that way. She has far more to worry about than what’s going on in the news on any given day.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Lara Rivkin Character Age: 30 Character Birthday (with year): November 23rd, 1994 Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman, she/her Affiliation: Asphalt Demons Occupation: Madam at Silhouettes Brothel Faceclaim: Hailee Steinfeld

BIOGRAPHY

tw; sex work, eating disorders, verbal abuse

Money should have never been an issue for Lara Rivkin, with her mother working as Chief Financial Officer for a well-known marketing company, and her father working mostly as a stay at home father and aspiring song-writer. It should have been some sort of modern day American dream with a life of ease and little to no struggle.

Instead, Lara was gifted a strict, overbearing mother who criticized her every move - from the clothes she wore, to what she ate, to her hobbies and friends. If she did not comply with her mother’s rules, she would be cut off from every luxury they could afford. Her father treated her and her brother as well as he could, but he was under her mother’s thumb, too. If she caught him slipping her sweets under the table, it would be an endless fight for weeks on end.

Though she never laid her hands on Lara, the lasting damage it left on her psyche wasn’t minor by any means. She never talked about her home life with her friends in high school, though she could see their worried glances as she obsessed over clothing size and pinched at her skin this way and that.

It wasn’t until college that she was hospitalized for the first and only time.

Her mother didn’t visit while she recovered, instead leaving her a voicemail filled her usual vitriol:

‘I know you’re only doing this for attention. You always have.’

‘Aren’t you tired of pretending that you’re sick? I’m not paying for this treatment.’

And the final kicker ——

‘Don’t bother coming home when you’re released. Your father and I don’t want your dramatics in our home any longer.’

Her friends didn’t bother with helping her while she was in treatment, which was no big loss — It was all faux relationships, Lara sliding into their lives with money and sexual favors of any type. Her mother was wrong about a fair amount of things about her, but not her promiscuity.

After leaving the treatment center, she forewent college. With no money to help her along, the idea of studying the arts for little to no pay off was more exhausting than it was worth. Though she knew her mother was lying about what her father had said, she still saw no point in trying to reconcile or put effort into a relationship that could be exploited. He did not reach out himself, either because of her mother’s controlling nature or because he too felt it not worth the risk.

So she moved into a part of town she’d never have stepped foot in before, and was able to get a job at Silhouettes to make rent. It wasn’t a glamorous life and it certainly wasn’t the life she thought she deserved — but she was surviving. On a stripper’s wage, therapy wasn’t affordable, and she was still paying off rehab. Relapsing was easy to do, and she found herself doing it often.

Without easy money to get food, she often went without, parsing down to one cheap meal a day. She grew sicker while she danced, and when she collapsed on stage, the manager snatched her backstage and reprimanded her for costing them money.

That was the first and only time Lara found herself breaking down in front of another person. She unloaded everything about her own mother, about the eating disorder, about the lack of money. The manager comforted her in a way that was completely unfamiliar to her - it wasn’t her leaning on sex to make herself feel better, and it wasn’t her father’s timid reassurances.

There were solutions, plans, physical comfort in the form of hugs and wiping away her tears.

The manager promised to take care of her and check in - inviting her over to catch dinner with her at the end of every shift. She got to know her, her children, and her partner.

A few years later, she was offered to move to the Brothel - a chance at higher pay so long as she didn’t mind what came with it. It was there that she became fully entrenched in sex work, The Asphalt Demons, and began training to become her manager’s successor. At 27, she moved higher in the ranks and became the Brothel’s Madam - a second-in-command position to the Silhouette’s manager. She makes sure that all the people who work under her are well taken care of, and takes all the information that flows in and keeps it close to her chest.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Arrow Pronouns: She/They Age: 31 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Kevin Ma Character Age: 29 Character Birthday (with year): July 10th, 1995 Gender & Pronouns: Trans Man; he/him Affiliation: Asphalt Demons Occupation: Sex Worker/Mule Faceclaim: Ben Levin

BIOGRAPHY

TW: assault, gambling addiction, death, coerced sex work

There are some people who shouldn't be parents, and at the top of that list is Thomas Parsons. But Helen Ma had no other family, no marketable skills, and no way of staying off the street without him. Despite that, he makes it no secret that he's disappointed not to have a son, and for as long as Kevin can remember, his father has taken out that irritation on horse bets and casinos.

Even with that looming dark cloud, their mother worked two jobs to put food on the table and make sure their clothes are clean and warm. She was perpetually exhausted, with sore hands and bags under her eyes, but she always had a moment for her children. When Kevin comes out to her, it's clear that she doesn't understand, but she still tries, and that's all that matters to him. He forgives when she catches herself using the wrong pronoun, and explains patiently whenever she has a question.

Life is by no means easy, but Kevin learns to adapt. One lesson his mother instills in him and his sisters is that no matter the circumstances they find themselves in, they must always strive for excellence. His grades, while not perfect, are enough to get him into a nearby university, four years to hone his skills in computer science and get a degree that would actually be able to help his mother and his sisters for once. He finds himself in college, with the freedom to spread out and experiment and dive into new situations without fear. He makes new friends and broadens his horizons, feeling for once like he has the safety net to be who he wants to be.

He's four months away from graduating when the Demons jump him for his father's gambling debts, though he had no way of knowing it was them at the time. Police assumed it was a crime of opportunity, or potentially even a hate crime, and no one is ever arrested for it. They dump him outside of a hospital, his right leg bent at an unnatural angle, face swollen beyond recognition. Four surgeries and eight months of recovery later, and he starts to learn how to walk again, even if the pain never leaves. Graduation comes and goes while he is in a coma, but Kevin never actually receives his diploma. The idea of jumping through hoops to get a final few credits hardly seems worth it, much to his mother's chagrin. But she's also just thankful that he's alive.

The medical bills start to stack up, and to his credit, Kevin's dad tries to square up. Kevin finds a job working at a local arcade, doing what he can to help out the couple that runs it as well as his parents. For a few years, things balance on a razor-thin edge but they manage. He thinks about using his computer skills for something more lucrative, with people willing to pay more. But old vices are hard to shake and a streak of good luck quickly turns into a whole host of bad for his old man. He disappears for good one night, and the cops find his body four days later, half-buried in the wetlands with a bullet through his temple.

The day after his funeral, Kevin limps into the clubhouse of the Asphalt Demons to meet with the President. He offers to work to pay off his father's debt, on the condition that the Demons leave his mother and sisters out of it. A noble request, and one that the gang is willing to honor as long as he holds up his end of the bargain. They call, and he comes. Most nights are spent in back rooms and seedy people, hands groping and gripping like they owned him, which they did. Sometimes, he's tasked with delivering goods from one place to another, anything that makes him useful in the eyes of the organization. But the money is better than it has been in a while, and the Demons make sure he gets his fair cut. It's enough to keep things steady, and he knows he can at least trust the gang to keep his family safe when he can't. It's not the situation he wanted for himself, but he bides his time until something better comes along.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: t Pronouns: he/they Age: 32 Timezone: GMT-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Alejandra Chavez Character Age: 30 Character Birthday (with year): March 3rd, 1994 Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman, She/her Affiliation: Church of the Lost Occupation: Maid/Eoin MacCabe’s killer Faceclaim: Adria Arjona

BIOGRAPHY

tw; Familial death, murder.

Living in Puerto Rico, Alejandra's family had a rough time putting food on the table. Until they didn't. For months, Ale was completely in the dark as to how her mother suddenly could afford nice clothes, but teenager that she was, she was more than happy to look the other way while the presents kept coming.

It wasn't until years later, in a family reunion that she learned the truth: her older brother had become a prominent member of a gang in the United States which allowed him to care for his family much better than his original job as an accountant ever could. During that party she heard every single concern her family had over her brother's line of activity, but not her. Ale was entralled. She wanted to know every detail about his life as a criminal.

Despite the family's concerns, he returned to mainland and continued to send money their way, every month without fail. That lasted for another few years.

News of her brother's passing devastated everyone in the family. Everyone but Alejandra. Instead of grieving, she was furious; her brother was too smart, too talented to just die like this. It must have been foul play, and she was going to prove it, and she was gonna make it right.

Ale fled to Boston not a week later, gathering all the information she could about her brother and his contacts in Tartarus. It wasn't easy, of course, but after a few fake tears a promise of date or two she found her way in.

She was never actually a member of the gang, only a few selected people in Tartarus even knew she existed, but little by little she inched her way closer to the top of the food chain, and closer to find the truth about her brother.

Finally, she heard a name. Eion MacCabe, supposedly the guy who was responsible for her brother's downfall. The person who shared this information also had more than enough reason to see MacCabe gone, and together they came up with a plan for her to get close enough to the guy to end him for good.

Alejandra's role was straightforward: get hired to clean his apartment, get close enough to gain his trust, shoot him twice between the eyes. When the day came, Ale was surprised at how easy it was to kill that man. All she had to do was let her anger and adrenaline lead her finger to the trigger.

She fled his apartment straight to a safehouse that was gifted to her by her associate, and two days later moved again to an entirely new part of city, under the protection of the Church of the Lost.

Now, without her revenge as a motivator, Alejandra is antsy. She wants to get out of shadows and take her rightful place in the criminal hierchy of Boston. She knows she has her brother's blood in her, that she can be just as successful as he was, or even more. She was the one who made this new war happen, and she's the one who's gonna end on top.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Cris Pronouns: He/Him/She/Her Age: 27 Timezone: Gmt-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Desdemona Kingsley  Character Age: 60 Character Birthday (with year): October 31, 1964 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman, She/Her Affiliation: Church of the Lost Occupation: Leader of the Church of the Lost Faceclaim: Monica Bellucci 

BIOGRAPHY

TWs: Violence, Death, Blood, Corruption, Crucifications, Suicide, Child Neglect, Murder, Child Death, Cults, Religious underthemes, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Stockholm Syndrome, Serial Killers, Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Homophobia

                                     Thou callest it chaos, I calleth it freedom. In thy despair, I find my throne.

What is brilliance if not madness? ⸻ Warped around the edges, melted until it's an ugly sharp thing dangerously beneath the sea of calm eyes and soft smiles, waiting for a prey to cut and trap. Desdemona Kingsley, née Neroni, is known for a brilliant mind and extraordinary achievements in the field of physiology and forensics. La piccola prodigio professors called her ⸻ the bambina always three steps ahead, observing, seemingly seeing everything; she could read people as an open book, knew the words to say and egos to stroke, weakness to explore. It was uncanny how her dark eyes would watch without shame, stare until people felt like bacterias under a microscope. It is said that's how Desdemona sees people; tiny, insignificant, beneath her; nothing but a thing for her to study and catalog. Tools to be used. 

From Venetia to Oxford, her reputation did not soften ⸻ Somehow, she became sharper, hardened, freezing cold. She makes you think she loves you, becomes the sun in your life, previous peers would warn, and then she leaves you in darkness, feeling small as an ant. That's when she destroys you. That's how she killed Catherine Hartford. Desdemona thinks it is unfair to blame her for that ⸻ The death was self-inflicted, the girl could not handle a simple breakup. That's not her fault. But the rumor mill spins unstoppable, scared looks thrown her way whenever she passed in the middle of crowds parting for her. She didn't mind, of course ⸻ What mongrels think of her is not important to her life at all, doesn't bring her any enlightenment nor growth. 

The only brave soul who didn't mind her temper, indifference, and arrogance was Malthus Atkinson ⸻ heir of the seemingly infinite Atkinson empire. She did not ask where his money came from, and he had very little interest in hers. Desdemona doesn't know what made Malthus gravitate towards her ⸻ what made him stay, in spite of all the things he witnessed her doing. He smiled too much, joked around more often than she could tolerate, and slacked on his work. Honestly, she thinks it was the queerness that made them stick together like glue ⸻ The eighties were not a safe place for people like them, and the more violence they heard in the television, the closer they moved to each other. He told his parents she was his girlfriend, hers long cold six feet under ⸻ father murders mother, daughter murders father, isn't it ironic? ⸻ so they got a townhouse together in Mayfair; a safe haven where Malthus could live with his boyfriend and Desdemona could bring all the delicious innocent pretty little things to corrupt. 

She should've known it was only a matter of time before his incredibly annoying parents started circling them like vultures ⸻ when is the wedding, grandchildren, oh you will be a lovely housewife ⸻ She should've killed them. But she was focused on her thesis, her projects, and graduation, so Malthus's parents were a problem entirely his own to deal with. She would've felt guilt, had she not been giving into his whims; a wedding in Bora-Bora, one in Dublin, and another in Venetia. What pathetic creatures, wanting to make a show of their fake love and life. She loathed how small Malthus seemed to become when his parents were around ⸻ a man who could fill a room with his joyness alone barely would speak a word other than yes sir, of course ma'am. It made her stomach tighten, her spine hurt, a migraine to throb behind the space between her brows. And so, in their honeymoon, a half bottle of wine in and nearly done with Silence of the Lambs, she made a decision for the them that would change the course of their lives forever ⸻ Let's go to the America. I'm serious. I can join the FBI, you can teach history. Your parents won't leave Ireland, and we will be free. 

It wasn't as easy as that night in Greece made them believe. They both had to fight teeth and nails for a spot in the land of the free ⸻ as it turns out, despite their obsession with mafia movies, the American didn't particularly like the Italian or Irish yet. With her brain and his determination, however, they eventually settled on a good routine; she would hunt and profile serial killers for the FBI, and Malthus would become a respected professor in Harvard. Desdemona's habits of sleeping with his students were kept a secret, and Malthus soon got a new boyfriend that made him forget the Englishman from Oxford. Life was good, so of course it wasn't long before their plans got interrupted ⸻ his parents would not budge on their firm demand for a child, threatening to remove Malthus from the will if they didn't comply, so with her eggs and his sperm, a surrogate soon was carrying the heir of the Atkinson empire. Nannies, house keepers, and babysitters were swiftly arranged to ensure a baby wouldn't put a bump in their careers ⸻ Yes, she adored Apollo when he was born, but even the chubby rosy cheeks of a baby wasn't enough to distract her from her work. 

If anything, it only made her work harder ⸻ After all, she had a son to protect now. She needed to study and arrest all those who could present a danger to him. It is the excuse she told herself to begin teaching, at least. At first, it was only for the FBI ⸻ soon, she began lecturing about forensics in Harvard until she was a professor. Her own students to seduce, fresh minds she could shape to her desired image. A perfect job. And then Desdemona met her ⸻ Young, intelligent, alone. Easy prey, honestly, if she had only remained that. No, it wouldn't fit her. Desdemona knew Kiri Stephens deserved to achieve great things ⸻ hold the academic world by their groins, a permanent spot in her bed, free access to her bank accounts. Anything Kiri asked for, she gave; gave, gave, and gave, until she was obsessed and in love. She never knew possessiveness like the one filling her heart then ⸻ Malthus's parents were to die soon, and she would finally make Kiri hers, in law and body. 

But then the assignment came ⸻ The Hangman, they called him; a cult leader whose victims were hanged or crucified in Boston. Malthus was strangely supportive ⸻ he was tired of the pretentious kids at Harvard, and their parents, and a change of scenario could do him some good. The family moved temporarily to the city, a penthouse apartment with big windows for Apollo to stargaze, Malthus to take his afternoon tea in front of, and enough room for Kiri to visit whenever she liked. Move in, Desdemona would beg, I will give you the life of a queen. Malthus would often joke Desdemona was growing soft, but even he knew to keep his lips tightly shut when she got that look in her eyes ⸻ dark, intense, full of lust for control and power. The cult life interested her very little, but files piled in her office, words filled every crevice of her brain, invisible hands tugged and tugged and called to her ⸻ voices of obedient sheeps, following her every word, needing a Shepherd to guide them to dea ⸻

Apollo would tug at her sleeves, bright big doe eyes begging her to tell him a bedtime story. His innocence kept her from giving into temptation, she knows. His love for her, his need for her, kept her sane. Until the shooting ⸻ standing in a morgue on her knees, sobbing as they told her to identify the body of her child and close friend. Her son. Her lamb. Malthus parents were gone a week after ⸻ suicide. She was completely alone, with a bottomless fortune and her only child buried in the ground. 

What is madness if not the exuberance of brilliance? 

                                    There is no salvation in the fire, only rebirth as ashes ⸻ obedient, hollow, mine.

The Church of the Lost was birthed in a small wooden chapel Desdemona built with her own hands in her grief. A quiet place where a beautiful garden welcomes all the lost souls in search of guidance, of her loving hands. A place where grief could not reach, obedience was devotion, and she the only Goddess to worship. People know of Desdemona Kingsley because of her fall from grace ⸻ She lost her mind, faces in front of the television would say. But her colleagues, her former professors, the people she got locked up, they knew better. They would see her in the news, drawings of her face stamped in recruitment pamphlets, and there she was ⸻ the brilliant girl with the abyss swimming under her intense eyes. The girl who wouldn't take a single step without thinking of every possible outcome, who destroyed people by trapping them in her charms, exploiting their weaknesses as if she found joy in despair. The queen who eats the king without her opponent realizing ⸻ cheque mate. Desdemona did not fall into madness ⸻ she simply decided to surround herself with other's madness. 

It was not a surprise how easily she fell into the role of cult leader, of Mother, of Death. Desdemona always wanted and wanted and got what she wanted, consequences and damage inflicted be damned. She wanted devotion, her words a sweet whisper in ears of broken people clinging to her words until they were lost in her grasp. Addicted to the drug she manufactured with Kiri, addicted to her kindness, her cruelty. Her punishments were a proof of her care ⸻ Mother only wants to see us become better. By the time the deaths ⸻ murders, really ⸻ began, she lost her most prized possession. Kiri left for a life of whoring herself for money, left the kingdom Desdemona was building for her. She is humble to admit the child was an act of desperation ⸻ she wanted a lamb, a thing of her own she could shape into whatever she needed, whatever she wanted. A faithful who wouldn't betray her. Malthus's frozen sperm proved itself useful when she heard whispers of a former student starting treatment. The woman was beautiful, and Desdemona could still remember how she tasted ⸻ So of course she pulled every connection and expanse to make it happen. 

On the turn of the year, her lamb was born. Small even for a newborn, premature, quiet as if dead. But it lived ⸻ in her arms, it found life, a purpose. The heir to the Atkinson empire, her precious perfect lamb, the one thing who would return Kiri to her hold. Parting with the child was a necessary evil that broke what little was left of her heart; for a year, she would not spend a minute without it by her side, watching her every move with green eyes sharper than they should've been. The raid took a few of her good faithful down, but she believed it for the best. Her sheeps needed their mother by her side ⸻ her consort, her love, the one that dared to get away. She didn't return. The lamb was delivered and kept, but Kiri did not knock on her door begging for her forgiveness. The week she realized Kiri would never return was when she began with the crucification ⸻ the bad apples can't be allowed to poison our tree. 

Excuses upon excuses her sheeps eagerly swallowed like milk from her tets, their numbers growing worryingly by the day. Her Lieutenants were gifted with luxurious houses built on the property of the Atkinson manor ⸻ now hers to do as she pleases. The lake in the grounds was named The Lake of Sorrows, and baptism would take place in its waters. It became nearly a crime to whisper her name ⸻ the faithful didn't know, the news didn't know, and the FBI erased every trace of her existence. She knew their moves, their spies, so there was little choice but to let her be. The cruel parts of the Church are shared by crazy people in reddit pages for conspiracy theories ⸻ videos calling her all sort of names by self claimed true crime investigators were nothing but free press. The Church of the Lost, to the wide public, is nothing but a church led by a kooky, extravagant woman. Their television channel is a fever dream, their recruitment is secretive, and no one really knows what happens behind the doors of the many compounds around Boston. No one knows of the bodies. No one knows of Artemis. Her new lamb. Her current obsession. 

Her wives ⸻ three of them, one for each decade Malthus has been lost ⸻ think her interest in Artemis is a silly thing brought by her old age and the grief of her lost lamb. But Desdemona knows pure devotion when she sees it ⸻ knows Artemis is completely hers, and very little could take them away from her grasp. Her perfect weapon, ready to kill when given a simple command, ready to die if she only asked. Artemis takes their punishment without complaints, accepts her love with no fear, and Desdemona knows they are a replacement for what she thinks she could've had, before, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter when she is so close to seizing control of everything ⸻ with a murderer hiding among her sheeps, Desdemona knows she has an ace in her sleeve. It's just a matter of time before she uses it. 

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Arrow Pronouns: She/They Age: 31 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Laure Rothschild Stephens Character Age: 47 Character Birthday (with year): April 7, 1977 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman; she/her Affiliation: Tartarus Occupation: Underboss (Hemera); Auctioneer Faceclaim: Melanie Lynskey

BIOGRAPHY

The Rothschild name has been connected with the fine arts scene for generations throughout Europe and New England. Her father, several aunts and uncles, and many more cousins hold various roles within the industry, from collectors to curators to restorers. Not joining the family business was never an option for Laure, but she never contemplated the idea to begin with, far too enamored with her cushy lifestyle to ever give it up. The Rothschilds' connections to the MacCabes are innocuous to the public eye, but old loyalties run deep.

While Laure maintains a private studio and collection for her personal art, her professional attention has largely been placed on the business aspect of things. Her family connections open the door to an internship at Grogan, an esteemed auction house in the city. A PhD from Harvard on focusing on 18th and 19th century modern art propels her to new heights, but she soon learns that such connections come with a price. She makes her first sale on behalf of Tartarus at 25, taking over for a deal that one of her cousins botched. The outcome isn't ideal, but better than total failure, and it cements Laure's position as a useful member of the organization.

Her next move is unorthodox, but masterful nonetheless. Orchestrating an 'accidental' meeting is child's play for her, and she simply smiles when Kiri invites her to coffee. She is content to let the other woman believe she is in control. Laure sheds layer after layer of herself, testing her loyalties with every step until she reveals the truth of her connection with Tartarus. By then, they are inextricably linked.

Bringing Kiri into the fold has a secondary effect of boosting Laure's reputation within Tartarus. They become an indomitable pair, between Kiri's product and Laure's access and isn't long before she is elevated to the rank of underboss, taking on the name Hemera. She is loyal to Tartarus, but carves her own domain within the borders of its kingdom. When she learns of a young woman, pulled into the organization because of the mistakes of her father, it strikes a chord in Laure and offers her a place beside her.

It's not life exactly as she envisioned it, but it is markedly hers nonetheless. The years spent climbing to the top have proven to be worth it, and she has no intention of letting any of it go.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Cameron 'Cam' McCormick Character Age: 47 Character Birthday (with year): April 3, 1977 Gender & Pronouns: Cis man, he/him Affiliation: Tartarus, Thanatos Occupation: Owner of Exquis, a duo BDSM club & art gallery; Underboss of Tartarus (Thanatos) Faceclaim: Hugh Dancy

BIOGRAPHY

tw; death, torture, murder, serial killing, uhhhh general disgusting man vibes

It wasn’t something that started in childhood, despite what Cameron’s father told people. He was a stoic child. An ‘old soul’ of sorts. All of his parent’s friends oohed and aahed at how well-behaved he was, while he stared blankly at them and waited to be dismissed. His father couldn’t stand to be around him -

‘That’s a weird kid, Diane.’

It didn’t phase Cameron any, not really. He kept to himself and found ways to entertain himself - reading, observing, drawing. His mother supported every endeavor while his father tried to ‘fix’ him. Baseball one day, fixing cars the next. All skills that were practically useless for his interests, but skills he learned nonetheless.

By the time he reached high school, Cameron could fake it with the best of them. Wear a bright smile like a mask. Make sure to crinkle the skin around your eyes so it seems genuine. Don’t laugh too often. Don’t stare. Don’t touch. Don’t imagine the cheerleader falling and breaking her arm.

But imagine he did. It was so vivid in his mind’s eye that he could do nothing else but paint it to remove the imagery from his mind. There was no shame in the satisfaction he drew from it, even when his father found it, ripped it, and burned it while he watched. Same blank stare, a slight tilt of his head.

He and the cheerleader dated not long after that - another attempt at ‘faking it’. They were each other’s firsts, and it was with her that he found his desire to harm. They were intimate constantly. The moment they had time, her hands were on him and his hands were on her — though, he never started it. Another skill his father decided to impart on him. Respect the women in his life above all else.

She wanted him to hurt her. He obliged with teeth and a fist around her throat. No longer were his eyes blank and devoid of emotion. Excitement coursed through him for the first time. It wasn’t just going through the motions any longer. He was enjoying himself. Finally.

Of course, the cheerleader broke up with him not long after. Whether she was terrified of the look in his eye or simply grew bored of him, Cameron didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to care. She’d been a distraction from his schooling and his artistic pursuits and without her, he plunged himself into the depths once more.

Graduation came and went with little to no fanfare. College was a boring ordeal, but taught Cameron more about people and how to improve himself. He studied his major just as much as he studied his classmates and his roommate.

His father had tried to tell him the importance of finding a nice girl to settle down with all his life - and the deadline was fast approaching, even if the thought of a ‘nice’ girl made Cameron’s lips morph into something akin to a disgusted sneer. There were attempts, at the very least.

At age 24, he killed for the first time. An accident, unfortunately, but it whet his appetite for more.

She’d been a little too sweet, unsure of how to say she wasn’t comfortable with the direction their escapades were treading. How was Cam supposed to know she didn’t want it when she told him repeatedly that it was fine? He wasn’t in tune with people as well as he pretended to be. And it was an accident. The knife slipped against her skin a little too deeply, and they couldn’t staunch the flow. Her panicked cries buried themselves deep into his brain.

The slight panic of watching the life leave her eyes was overridden by the fact that he wasn’t to try it again. He hadn’t been clean with her, nor had he any idea of how to dispose of a body. He was sloppy. It was disgusting. Cam would have to learn how to do that properly too. Another skill.

Over the years, his father became ill and eventually died. His mother sobbed onto his shoulder, and Cam swore to take care of her in her old age, so she wouldn’t have to spend her later years stressed out about money or getting care. Despite his odd take on emotions (there wasn’t a lack of them, like his father thought - he was just.. different), he cared about her.

The obstacle was the money, at first. Medical bills were expensive, as was trying to pay the mortgage they’d been saddled with after his father’s death.

And Cam’s obsession with inflicting wounds and taking lives would have to amount to something sometime. He would target whoever he could find after that - no one who seemed to be down on their luck, no one traceable, and he refused to have sex with his victims again. The lure was the hard part - he wasn’t a trustworthy person. People seemed to see right through the charade, so he worked on making himself better - making himself charming.

He targeted the wrong person one night - leading them back to a hotel where he’d stashed his kit under the bathroom sink. The other pulled a gun on him and asked if he was with Tartarus. Cameron had no idea what that was - at the time - but overpowered and killed him all the same. Body into pieces and into the bay. Job done.

He was approached less than a week later, offered compensation for getting rid of a problem for him, and offered him more sums of money if he agreed to point his knife towards those who needed to be taught a lesson. The money was worth it, and it allowed him a release without the worry. They’d protect him, and they’d clean it up.

Twenty or so years later, his mother is well cared for, set up in a small, beautiful home in the suburbs. He visits twice a week. He meal plans with her, meets with her caregivers, and makes sure that everything is going smoothly. Cameron’s risen to the top - taking the spot of the man who recruited him as their Thanatos, ushering the enemies of Tartarus into eternal sleep.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: skunk Pronouns: she/her Age: 37 Timezone: EST

IC INFO

Character Name: Autumn Holiday Character Age: 25 Character Birthday: October 31st, 1999 Gender & Pronouns: She/Her Affiliation: Tartarus Occupation: Muscle under a Lower Level Tartarus Enforcer Faceclaim: Sophie Nelisse

BIOGRAPHY

tw: abandonment, abuse, violence

Autumn grew up without parents, constantly reminded that she was, to some degree, unwanted and uncared for from the start. Found on the doorstep of an outreach center on November first, even her name - Autumn Holiday - is a callback to the circumstances of her birth - nameless, without family.

She grows up in the system, being sent from home to home and seeming to have the sort of luck that lands her with bad examples consistently, or with people trying to game the system for their own gain rather than to give safety and a home to the less fortunate.

By the time she lands with a family patient enough to at least try to work with her, it's basically too late anyways; she's grown up alone, without much in the way of proper parenting - raised instead by fellow outcasts and criminal youth. The father tries to break through to her, to teach her not to be on guard. The mother wants nothing to do with her. So when the father dies one night going after one of her many angry arguments with the mother, it's the mother who blames her, who throws her out.

She's 18 not long after, thrust out into the world with little more than C's and D's on her record and little to work with for money. College is, of course, a foregone conclusion, so she goes back to the same people who were always there for her - fellow disenfranchised and morally indignant youth who don't care all that much for authority or the laws that prop it up.

She's a tough young woman; what seems outwardly to be somebody soft and quiet is actually quite rough-edged and stormy. She's nineteen the first time feels sombody punch her so hard a bone in her face breaks. She's twenty the first time she does it to somebody else.

It turns out though, there's some people you can hit, and some people you can't, and while the guy whose nose she drills in isn't quite the kind of guy you can't hit, he's not the kind of guy you can either.

It's a person who works the streets of South Boston for Tartarus that own the jaw she broke, and they pays her a visit, nearly breaks her arm, and tells her she has two choices - work for them or else. She doesn't really go for finding out what 'else' is.

Five years now she's worked the street game, as far away from the high rungs of power as you can, but its a comfortable life on the off days. She has a place, she's never really without money, and she's never really without work. Extortion, Driving, Dealing - the only thing she hasn't done yet is murder, because murder is messy and murder is expensive to hide, but she's ready for it if it's needed.

Work is violence. Work is intimidation. Her size, her face, her tone - it all buys her underestimation, but those who know know she's a feral little thing under the veneer, and that she's got weight behind her in the form of a life-long Tartarus Enforcer who went quickly from illicit employer and into something more - family.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: King Pronouns: She/Her Age: 33 Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER

Character Name: Aria Boughton Character Age: 28 Character Birthday (with year): July 9th, 1996 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman & She/Her Affiliation: Tartarus Occupation: Cleaner for Tartarus & Editorial Photographer Faceclaim: Courtney Eaton

BIOGRAPHY

tw; murder, death, faux suicide, mental health

By the time her parents moved her to the states, Aria was a little eleven year old spitfire. Her father had to follow where the money was, and the money was apparently some well-off business that, at the time, she didn’t quite understand. He’d explained it to her and her mother before moving - the most she could make sense of was pushing money for people much richer than they were. It wasn’t until years later than she understood and pitied the man that he became.

From out of the heat and into the freezer, Aria had a harder time adjusting than she would have liked to admit. Most of her middle school years were spent keeping quiet and without very many friends. She didn’t quite grow out of her surliness and anxiety of a new place until her later years of high school - only finding a place to slot into when she finally allowed herself to try and get out, rather than sit and stew in her anger and panic.

Extracurriculars helped — yearbook and student council, which is where Aria attributes the beginning of her obsession with photography. Her parents would instead cite her eight birthday and the compact Polaroid camera they’d gifted her. It was also around this time that her father began to spend more and more time at work and away from the family. He would come home more exhausted and stressed out than ever before, but Aria was so wholly focused on getting into college that she paid it no mind.

Her first year of college at Northeastern University was stressful, but she had her mother’s support throughout. Her father was still more absent than he had been for her entire life - and it wasn’t until the holidays that she found out why. It was supposed to be a nice, small family dinner with just the three of them. She and her mother had to celebrate by themselves and her father stumbled into the home drunk and roughed up - bloodied and beaten. Confused, they tried to convince him to seek medical attention, but he refused.

Later that night, unable to sleep because of her father’s drunken idiocy, she went downstairs and came face to face with the reason her father had been absent. Or at least part of the reason. A person clad in all black unscrewed the cylinder of a silencer, and Aria glanced towards where they had been aiming. Her father - with a bullet through his skull - lay haphazard on the couch. They’d been thorough in trying to make it look self-inflicted but now she’d gained the attention of the hitman.

There was no warning as they approached and clipped her on the temple with the butt of the gun. When she awoke again, she was in a darkened room and tied to a chair - some sort of cloth shoved into her mouth and taped over. She fought, wrenched, and tried to scream.

There was no torture, only instructions to follow if she wanted to live and not meet the same fate her father did. He was their money man, scraping off the top for them. Only he scraped too much to invest in his family, and they’d found out quite quickly. He had to die, they explained, because no one cheats the boss. Only now, they needed a replacement. A life for a life.

She was to go about pretending that she hadn’t seen the killer, and that she didn’t know the truth of his death. Her mother was to believe that it was suicide, and they were meant to grieve. On weekends, she would go to a disclosed location, pick up a package, and deliver it to another location. Aria was terrified, but she wanted nothing more than to live.

It started with the deliveries while she was in college. By her second year of university, she had started to get paid by the unknown organization, and by the time she graduated - she had been taken under the wing of an older woman, her wife, and their adopted son. Estranged from her mother, the Stephens were her new family. Or as much as she could call them that.

After graduation, she was offered a chance at a promotion - an apprenticeship of sorts. Aria knows now that it was just another way for them to scare her into obedience - but she was taken to the scene of a recent crime, handed a bucket, gloves, and a scrub and told to get to work.

Years later, the cleaning is the only thing that soothes her mind and erases the memory of her father’s corpse in her living room. As she scrubs, disinfects, dismembers bodies, and pockets loose change, there’s a sort of fucked up solace in doing something - being a part of something.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Arrow Pronouns: She/They Age: 31 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Kiri Stephens Character Age: 48 Character Birthday (with year): September 4, 1976 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman; she/her Affiliation: Tartarus Occupation: Drug Manufacturer Faceclaim: Simone Kessell

BIOGRAPHY

TW: colonial violence/imperialism, involvement with a cult and gangs, so much drugs

Her story is one rooted in subtle violence, from the moment she was born, in a hospital surrounded by harried doctors who don't ascribe to her family's cultures and traditions. The underlying threat that if her parents refused, they would be separated from their newborn. Instead of flax, they snip the umbilical cord with metal scissors. Instead of giving the placenta back to the Earth, they discard it as medical waste. From the second she began to wail, Kiri was placed in a box that she is determined to break out of.

Of course, it takes time for her to even realize the box exists. Her childhood is mostly standard, assimilating into a world without knowing that another way exists. She learns about her history through short, sanitized paragraphs in a textbook, and not by learning from her elders. She is fifteen when she learns about the true weight of colonial violence on her family, how both of her parents were taken from their families as children and adopted by non-Maori couples. How they were ripped from their roots and that trauma still lingers in their bones, and how they sought to spare their own children from those horrors by outright avoiding their heritage at all.

At eighteen, she leaves home for the first time, to the United States to strike her own path. Unable to stomach the assimilationist tendencies of her family, Kiri heads to Harvard, intent on learning everything she could so she could use the system to her own advantage. It's bright-eyed and idealistic, and while she graduates with honors, she also learns the country still has their share of hangups with immigrants. Meeting Desmona Kingsley is what saves her from having to return to Aotearoa, a blessing that quickly turns into a curse.

The cult is not quite a cult when she is there. For a time, she understands Desmona's pain, accepts her reasonings, and supports her goals. But the facade cracks when Kiri brings up going on to get her graduate degree, and she once more becomes aware of the box she has been placed in. Leaving was difficult, despite its necessity, and she disappears with little more than her life and the clothes on her back. But that is all she needs.

There are few options for a non-citizen without valid papers, and she finds herself going from the Church to the Asphalt Demons in order to stay alive. She spends eight months as a sex worker before she leverages herself into a position as a drug dealer and manufacturer for the gang instead. It's steady and stable income, and their protection is as good as anyone else's. When Nikko comes into her life, the decision is made all the more clearer. She would do whatever it took to protect him.

Kiri meets Laure at 27, and the match is lit. They come from opposite worlds and she always wonders how much her wife knew about her before they even met. It isn't difficult for Laure to sway her over to Tartarus. After all, what could the Demons give that Tartarus couldn't? And wasn't it time for her to have a chance at happiness too?

Once again, she disappears in the middle of the night, only to appear on Laure's arm several weeks later. Tartarus debuts a new street drug, another shakeup to the relative peace between the gangs. The lines are drawn and the gauntlet is thrown, but when the dust eventually settles, few dare to do anything other than lob a few insults her way. She weathers them easily, confident and comfortable in her decision to save herself and her son.

Twenty years later and Kiri has yet to regret her choice. She lives at the pinnacle of comfort, doing work she finds interesting and challenging, with a family that supports her. She lives in the moment to the best of her ability, to be an undeniable presence that cannot be boxed away.