• All of the general Guild rules are effective. This includes rules regarding spamming, godmodding, powerplaying, and basic roleplaying etiquette.
• For now, you can only join The Lost Ones or The Amaranth Wolves. You are given the choice, but if one side becomes more populous than the other, we may have to move some people around. Also, if there is a problem with numbers in general, the limit of characters and gang affiliation might be changed.
• Although it may be obvious, some themes will be present that not everyone may be comfortable with. This includes swearing, drugs, violence, and even the possibility of high-end romance. These are all permitted, but if taken to the extreme, it should be discontinued. If desired, you can carry the romance or violence to PMs.
• Try to be somewhat realistic. One does not simply produce a gun or knife out of thin air. Keep track of what your character has on them, as well as what they are capable of.
• Try to avoid one-liners. Collaborative efforts are welcome (i.e., you can write one big post with another user. It’s super fun.).
• That being said, this is an advanced roleplay, so acceptable grammar and spelling is necessary. Believe me when I say, however, that I make plenty of silly mistakes too, so don’t worry about it too much.
• We reserve the right to change these rules at any time for any reason. Just to be safe.
• HAVE FUN OR I SHALL HAVE YOUR HEAD.
• FINLAND. (Rule written by Dark Wind - one of the original co-GM’s that sadly will not be joining us for the reboot)

Members [+]

Knox Callahan [+]

Knox Callahan

Alias/Nickname(s):

Knox is fine.

Age:

18

Gender:

Male

Sexual Preference:

Thick, exotic ladies.

Appearance:

(Minus the tattoo from the picture.) Knox is shorter than average though lean and fairly strong. His long, blond hair is often covered either by a hood or a hat, and a cigarette or joint are never far from his lips or fingertips. He usually prefers jeans or sweatpants but he’s sometimes seen wearing shorts. Knox’s eyes are unique in that they never seem to be one color for more than a day. He claims to have blue eyes, while others around him insist they’re green, hazel, or even gray. Knox mostly thinks it’s a trick of the light, though.

Gang Affiliation:

Lost Ones.

Brief History:

Knox is not a New York native. He was born in the Midwest, in the city of Chicago. He was the son of a well-known business entrepreneur who was successful despite the economic collapse that devastated a large portion of the country. Like in New York, Chicago has its own “Haven,” and Knox grew up there. But there was something about it he detested. He hated the posh private school his parents made him attend. He hated his lack of freedom and inability to leave his neighborhood. He craved change and wanted to see what kind of world awaited him outside his gilded cage. The day before graduating high school, Knox stole a portion of his parents’ money and ran away from home, taking a fancy bullet train eastward toward New York. When he arrived in the Haven, he was appalled to see it was no different than Chicago. But once he ventured a bit more, he discovered the crippling poverty outside. It was scary and he was not used to it. Between the gunshots, drugs, and dead bodies he found, he was wondering if he had made the right decision. Soon, however, a member of the Lost Ones happened to find him and offered him refuge and respite for his loyalty.

However, his parents are still alive, and they could be searching for him.

Extras

• Theme: youtube.com/watch?v=EUvbrY_ec60
• Likes: Weed, alcohol, music, sleeping, lounging
• Dislikes: Blood, needles, affluence, arrogance
• Fears: Fear of blood and clowns. Not too happy with heights either.
• Hobbies: Smoke weed, visit bars, doing mild recon missions for the gang.
• Goals: “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Leigh [+]

Full Name

Calliope Samantha Livingston

Alias/Nickname(s):

Leigh

Age:

20

Gender:

Female

Sexual Preference:

No real preference.

Appearance:

Leigh has a lean frame. She is of average height for her age. She has a jagged, round scar just below her left collarbone from her infancy, and does not remember how she got it. Usually keeps her hair braided. Has her left ear cartilage pierced. Usually wears dark clothes.

Gang Affiliation:

Lost Ones

Brief History:

Calliope "Leigh" was born and raised in the slums to a single-mother who found life too hard to handle the burden, thus when her birth mother committed suicide just before Leigh's 6th birthday, she was fortunate enough to be found by Theodore Livingston - or so she thought at the time. Theodore, a young man at the time, was patient. He taught her how to survive in the slums, but he was in deep dept with a loan shark by the time she was twelve. When payment time came and he couldn't make it, he offered to sell Leigh. She fled, feeling betrayed, and began to keep to herself. By then, she knew which areas to avoid and how to survive, more or less. She met a Lost One, or rather, stumbled into a wounded one. With her help, the Lost One recovered and then led her into the fold. Still she struggles with not stealing after using it to survive for so long, but otherwise she agrees with the philosophy as her preference to keep to herself works for them. Since, she has worked for the Lost Ones for recon and runs between as she is lean, small, and agile.

Extras

• Theme: Pending...
• Likes: Fruit (a luxury?), classical stringed instruments, a strong breeze, high places
• Dislikes: Children in danger, cat-callers, a word/promise/deal broken
• Fears: Being trapped/confined
• Hobbies: Roof-jumping, exploring/scouting areas, playing violin (rare)
• Goals: Pending...

Hawk [+]

Lamarcus Hawthorne

Alias/Nickname(s):

Hawk.

Age:

23.

Gender:

Male.

Sexual Preference:

Women.

Appearance:

He typically wears a long sleeve pullover hoodie, blue jeans and tan Timberland boots. He is tall, bordering on 6'5 but he is skinny, and his legs are long. He is lean and cut from his days of fighting and his persistent exercise routine.

Gang Affiliation:

The Lost Ones.

Brief History:

Lamarcus moved to New York when he was six years old from Inglewood, California on the whim of his father receiving a promotion. The company closed its doors not long after, however, and left the Hawthorne clan without direction. It was not long before his father fell into alcoholism and his mother abandoned the family for another man. Left with himself, two brothers and two sisters, Lamarcus took to the streets to provide for his people. It was during his escapades in the street where he first frequented free boxing gyms and met a trainer. From boxing, he took up Taekwondo, and for a short while he used his skills to fight amateur to provide for his family.

He never turned pro, though, and he soon lost the lust for fighting. With his earnings, he bought himself an apartment and moved his siblings to live with him; it was during this period that Lamarcus began to grow close with the Lost Ones who would help him pay rent in exchange for helping carry out protection and courier runs. Soon enough, he fell in completely and joined the gang fully. When called upon to defend his gang or his loved ones, he is a skilled hand-to-hand stand up combatant, and would be considered--in the lingo of his favorite cult classic, The Warriors-- “heavy muscle.” He is extremely loyal, to a fault.

Extras

• Theme: 2pac - Still I Rise
• Likes: His friends, his siblings, caring for others, women, dogs.
• Dislikes: Drugs, alcohol, betrayal, selfishness.
• Fears: Suicide, death, drugs, birds.
• Hobbies: Drawing, exercise.
• Goals:

Scarlett [+]

Scarlett Blair Aoife Beckett

Alias/Nickname(s):

Mary Poppins, the queen of england, limey, Big Lettie, fat ass

Age:

21

Gender:

Female

Sexual Preference:

Furoiusly bi-sexual

Appearance:

Scarlett Blair is a large young woman, with a huge frame, and protruding belly. Whilst she is most notably fat, Scarlett also possess a decent amount of muscle, allowing her to really throw a punch. She has lavish red hair, pleasant features, and a silver piercing in her right nostril.

Gang Affiliation:

The Lost Ones

Brief History:

Hailing from Staffordshire, England, Scarlett’s family upped and moved to New York during her early teens, when her father’s job demanded that he relocate to the Big Apple. Scarlett had a relatively uneventful upbringing, up until the moment her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, which proved to be terminal. After her mother’s death, Scarlett’s relationship with her father became increasingly strained, which reached its climax when her dad kicked Scarlett out of their home, after he caught her in bed with another woman.

Scarlett found work in a trashy fast food joint, cohabiting in the flats above with some of the other workers. One of Scarlett’s flatmates, a girl called Khloe, became fast friends with her, which eventually lead to Scarlett discovering that Khloe had been making money on the side, working as an escort. When an angry client came round to the apartment to attack Khloe, Scarlett put her rather considerable bulk and strength to good use; kicking the scumbag out on his arse, and defending her friend in the process.

This caught the attention of some of Khloe’s other friends, who just so happened to be members of the Lost Ones. From then on, Scarlett fell in with the gang, and has since developed herself something of an infamous love/hate reputation, due in part to her larger-than-life personality, and fierce attitude.

Extras

• Theme: Half god/ Half devil
• Likes: Dressing up, movies, delicious food, cigarettes, booze.
• Dislikes: Being out-smarted, pretension, those who exaggerate.
• Fears: Poverty.
• Hobbies: Partying, sex, trips to the cinema, drinking in the park.
• Goals: Wealth, above all else.

Members [+]

Angel McBride [+]

Angel Cecelia McBride

Another picture [+]

Alias/Nickname(s):

Wolf Princess

Age:

Twenty-one

Gender:

Female

Sexual Preference:

Let’s just say she’s mostly straight.

Appearance:

She's a tall, lithe, and quite beautiful blonde woman. It is an appearance which is perfect for deception, as many take her attractiveness as an indication of vulnerability and weakness, though this is simply not the case. She has a cold gaze that warms up for only a select few. Her smile is also rarely seen, though beautiful. Her least favorite feature about herself is that her hands are mildly calloused from climbing buildings and bruised or scarred from a few fistfights she has gotten into. Angel's attire varies greatly depending on the situation she is in. Casually, she wears whatever is comfortable; that could be a T-shirt and jeans or a tank top and shorts, or a sweater and pants. If she is going out, whether on a mission or for drinks, she may dress more scantily to show off her treasure of a body, including her long legs and distracting bust. Even though she is a gang leader and sometimes her living accommodations in the city are meager, she takes quite good care of herself, though she tries not to do so to a fault. Even if the pipes freeze over in the winter and there is no water, no new clothes, no comb for her hair, she will still walk with a proud and confident swagger that can intimidate many a male.

Gang Affiliation:

Amaranth Wolves (leader)

Brief History:

Angel has been a member of the Wolves for her whole life, literally. It began during the era of a previous leader of the wolves, Hayden. He was only sixteen, and the gang was still in its burgeoning stages. One hot summer day, a baby mysteriously appeared outside the gang's hideout in Amaranth. The baby was wrapped in blankets and left inside an old cardboard box, with no indication of where she had come from, except for a note with "Angel Cecelia McBride" scrawled on it inside the box as well. Upon discovering the infant, Hayden was both shocked and ashamed that someone could abandon their child, though he knew times were tough. The other gang members felt uneasy about it, but Hayden felt he had no other choice but to take her in. And so, this baby, was raised by gangsters. She grew up in a life of turmoil and hardships, learning that deceit and violence were the key to survival. Luckily, Hayden was one of the few educated people left in the country, and instilled more than just street knowledge into Angel. This included literacy, and from books, Angel learned to actually feel some semblance of empathy and compassion. Nevertheless, cynicism quickly got its claws into her, as she saw many of the people who raised her die, including Hayden. He died not in battle but of a never-before-seen incurable illness that no one could identify. He was twenty-six when this happened, and Angel was only ten years old.

A member named Titus was elected among the group members as the next leader, an eighteen year old. Under Titus, the Wolves acquired a great deal of territory in Amaranth and secured a myriad of weapons and resources. At the age of twenty-six, when Angel was eighteen, Titus was shot and killed by a police officer during a planned raid of a storage house in the Haven. After this, the age of twenty-six was deemed as a curse among the Wolves, at least for its leaders. Titus’s death came with bad timing, as the cops soon raided a key hideout of the Wolves and the gang fell into disarray. The remaining members decided they still had to elect another leader. Another young member, one with a strong devotion to the gang—Angel. Although the gang experienced a small period of turmoil and loss in numbers after Titus's death, Angel did her best to stabilize the chaos. Her gang members trust in her, though her progress is slow and gradual. Despite the exclusivity of her gang, she found it crucial to expand their numbers again once their survival was ensured if they wished to not be snuffed out by the police or the Lost Ones.

Extras

• Theme: youtube.com/watch?v=RFNPUJD6KKA
• Likes: Alcohol, money, guns, a good brawl, animals, parkour, playing with her prey, bravery
• Dislikes: Spicy food, insubordination, dishonesty, weakness
• Fears: Death above all
• Hobbies: Taking walks alone, going to bars, pickpocketting, hustling others
• Goals: I'mma leave this blank.

Deon "Big Dog" Saunders [+]

Deon Desmond Saunders

Alias/Nickname(s):

Big Dog, D, Big D, "OhDeonOhDeonOhDeonOhmygod!"

Age:

Twenty-four.

Gender:

"110% male, baby!"

Sexual Preference:

Heterosexual/straight "No fat chicks."

Appearance:

Though only 5'9" tall, Deon's makes up for his shorter stature by his one-hundred and eighty-five pounds of pure muscle, making him not only physically intimidating, but also powerful. A scar from the top-left, back portion of his head splits all the way down to his left eyebrow keeps Deon shaving the sides of his head since 1) hair refuses to grow around that area anyway and 2) the look makes him feel more bad ass. His skin, while tanned, holds a sort of dark pigmentation that still identifies him Caucasian, though perhaps a bit sickly looking, and dark. He's unafraid to show off his toned muscles all throughout his body. Physically, he knows he's attractive and doesn't hesitate to let other's know it. A small section on the left of his neck is permanently burned from an accident when he was just a small boy. He also has a wide variety of tattoos, the biggest one being a tribal sleeve piece that wraps around his entire left arm. Another being a self-administered scarified hand print to represent his ties and loyalty to the Amaranth Wolves.

Head scar and arm tattoo [+]

Amaranth Wolves mark [+]

Gang Affiliation:

"Amaranth Wolves, baby. Ain't nothing better!"

Personality:

Firstly, Deon is incredibly conceited and self-centered. His only priority is himself which he often-times refers to as "number one." He is boastful and cocky, and appears to believe himself invincible. He will stop at nothing to prove himself better than the rest in whatever he can, and when losing, he somehow twists his words to make himself the victor in one way or another. He doesn't know how to lose.

Fighting, whether it be verbal or physical, he is extremely cut-throat and merciless. He has killed only a handful of times over the years, but he shows no remorse in the lives he takes. He fights with a raw, animalistic rage that comes from the rage he keeps building inside, the only break to his human side being that he outwardly laughs at his pain, refusing to show any weakness. His reputation within the cage fighting community has instilled fear in others for facing the proverbial beast. It has been noted by many that a certain fire seems to light in his eyes when he has done a fight successfully and to his liking, or when he gets excited about the idea of being able to beat the living shit out of someone. This fire, coupled with a twisted, smug smile on his face, is a thirst for warfare that he simply gets drunk off of, and had become addicted to.

His hardened exterior can be chipped away, though, when a woman or two come into play, as he is a bit of a womanizer and has a pretty high sexual drive. He will, however, never put a woman on too high of a priority level, especially when his reputation is on the line of being a "bad boy."

When enticed, he can be quite charming and ever the smooth-talker. This, along with his bad boy nature, for some reason, always manages to have a handful of girls out for his attention and hanging off his arm. Though the fame might have something to do with it as well...

Brief History:

Born straight into a family in poverty as an accident, Deon was forced to start working at a very young age robbing him of any kind of childhood that he might of otherwise had. His father left as soon as he found out that his mother was pregnant with his little sister, and to this day has never seen or heard from the man again. Deon was only three when he left, resulting in not even a single memory of him. According to his mother, however, he was the spitting image of him and more times than not, she couldn't bring herself to even look at him.

He grew up a bastard messenger boy, delivering secret messages between various organizations that even in his young age, he could tell they were a bit sketchy. But he knew better than to ask questions. He only needed the pay. It was almost next-to-nothing, and he was lucky if he didn't get beaten or sexually harassed by his boss on a daily basis after reporting in his work-load, even if everything was on time.

As Deon grew older, however, he left the messenger job as quickly as he could and started working in a slaughter house. His sole job was to kill the livestock and then butcher the meat into different cuts for the customers. It took a bit of getting used to, but eventually Deon became desensitized to the value of life in animals and eventually found more entertaining (torturous) ways to kill them before cutting them up. But even killing live animals couldn't keep him entertained enough for long, and when he was eighteen he took up a new job fighting in the ring at a local bar. Illegal, absolutely, and Deon had only stumbled upon it by accident to begin with. But after getting just his first taste of the underground party, he was hooked.

He found that fighting others was something he enjoyed, even if a bit too much. He became a regular fighter, slowly growing his fan base with every win he took home with him and eventually, the name Deon "Big Dog" Saunders was a name most everyone in the city knew well. The posters, billboards and painted buses helped a bit with that.

Unfortunately, being a big-shot in a business that brought in a ton of money brought on some enemies. After refusing to throw a match and being compensated three-times his normal winnings for it, the manager of his competition grew furious. Deon came home one night to find his mother and sister beaten, raped, and slaughtered inside of their bedrooms. There has never been any substantial proof on who had killed his only family, but Deon has more reason to believe than any on who it was.

He went after the man immediately, not wanting to bother to wait for a true police investigation. Blinded by rage, he beat the unsuspecting man in his own home within an inch of his life. The police had been called and intercepted the beat down. Deon was thrown in prison shortly after where he remained for two years. After being released, he returned back to the world of cage fighting, forever a chip on his shoulder that he knew would never get filled.

He was two months undefeated when he was then approached by a member of the Amaranth Wolves. It took a bit of convincing, but Deon eventually put his fighting career on the side to partake in something more fulfilling. He still fights to this day, and remains undefeated for over three years. But his number one priority is his gang, and he vows to keep it that way no matter the cost.

Extras

• Theme: I am Machine - Three Days Grace
• Likes: Alcohol, women, fighting, sex.
• Dislikes: Being told what to do, annoying little shits and kids, being undermined, being lied to.
• Fears: Refuses to comment.
• Hobbies: Women/sex, drinking, working out, cage fighting.
• Goals: Refuses to comment.

Giovanni De Luca [+]

Giovanni "Dito sul grilletto" De Luca

Alias/Nickname(s):

Grilletto - 'Trigger', Gio - Shortened 'Giovanni', De Lucca - Some people refer to others by surnames

'Dito Sul Grilletto' - Triggerfinger

Age:

Twenty-Six

Gender:

Male

Sexual Preference:

Heterosexual

Appearance:

Grilleto is a short man, rising up to the paltry height of five foot three inches tall. His short stature does little to disarm his appearance however; Grilleto has the eyes of a man who has seen much blood, eyes that are dim and hollow and hold little emotion, eyes that have stared down the barrel of more guns and knives than any man his age should ever have had to look down. That is, perhaps, the most striking thing about the man- his eyes, cold and soul-less.

Scars pockmark his body. Remnants of fights and battles of old. Most notable of his wounds, however, is the hideous scar wracking his back- a burn scar, one that still haunts him to this day, its pain plaguing him every so often. This burn scar covers nearly the entirety of his back, and even rolls over his right shoulder and halfway down his arm.

His many wounds are a testament to his fortitude and unwavering desire to live, but also a curse that has weakened him physically as he gained them.

His medium length hair is well manicured and taken care of, and the man always dresses finely- more finely than most, in three and five piece suits almost exclusively. The only other outfit he can be caught in is gym wear, exercising his body to maintain his physicality in the face of his extensive wounds.

He wears a wedding band on a chain about his neck.

Gang Affiliation:

Formerly of the De Luca Family, of the Five Dons of New York/The Cosa Nostra
Presently of the Amaranth Wolves

Brief History:

The Short of it [+]

Giovanni De Luca, known as 'Dito Sul Grilletto' or Triggerfinger, is the final surviving member of the old 'De Luca' family of the Cosa Nostra. He was the Don's second son, and definite favorite. The De Luca family suffered the ultimate wrath of the Cosa Nostra, the full weight of the other four families bearing down on them and destroying them in their entirely due to Don De Luca's reluctance to change from the old ways in the face of New York's trying times.

The other four families moved and plotted against the De Luca's, and ultimately destroyed them after a horrendously bloody war that took place almost in broad daylight. Giovanni survived this war, but not without immense sacrifice. It was during this war that he lost the woman he was to wed, and also gained his extreme abhorrence of the Five [now Three] dons.

Barely surviving the war, and most certainly not winning it, The young De Luca disappeared for several months before returning to New York. He was scarred, a husk of his former self, and out for only one thing; Revenge. He dropped himself at the Amaranth wolves' feet, offered them his services- his expertise with firearms, his knowledge of the Cosa Nostra, his experience in organized crime, his dedication as a soldier...anything he could offer them, he did. He would fly their colors, work for them, be loyal and become a wolf- so long as he got his chance for revenge one day.

Giovanni, nowadays, officially lives in the illustrious Haven, but spends almost all of his time either in the field, or at the Wolves' headquarters to do work. His financial windfall comes from his inheritance of the family funds, legally, even if they had been depleted immensely by the war and all of the property assets seized.

"Amaranth is a curious word to use for a gang, but I like it. It's a flower, sure, but it also means 'A flower that never fades'. Never fades... I think that's a bit beautiful for a gang, but hell- I'm one of 'em now."

The Long of it part 1 [+]

"I was young. Full of fire. I wanted to prove I was the best. What I shoulda done was grab Her and left town, hell, left the country. But I didn't know how bad it was gonna be."

Our tale will begin several years back, with the beginning of the hostilities against the De Luca family. Don De Luca was an old-guard, an established and entitled man. He cared not for the new dons of the other four families and their desires to move the Cosa Nostra out of traditional Italian Mafioso ways, and into a new age of, what Don De Luca considered, degenerate crime sprees.

----

"Those fuckers." Giovanni cursed. "Those Motherfuckers..." He slammed a fist into the table he sat at, causing his glass of wine to spill from the table and break upon the hard ground of the restaurant the small crew of mobsters inhabited. He found heat rising to his cheeks as his father, older brother, and the chief soldiers of the clan all stared at him for his outburst.

"Dito, anger is unbecoming of you. Do not have such an outburst again or you will be dismissed from this council." His father's deep voice resonated to the ashamed man's ears from across the table. Giovanni pressed his hands to the bridge of his nose and nodded.

"Forgive me papa, but...They tried to have you killed. Blatantly. Right after the meeting." Gio attempted to explain his anger, to which his father just raised a many-ring-bearing hand.

"I was there Dito, I know what they did, and I know why they did it. They're young. Fiery. Like you, my son. Do not become rash or they will have won."

The don's words seem to have calmed Giovanni down, and the young man looked to his father with both awe at his father's bravery and a naïve hope that they'd win the war that had just started. Giovanni's older brother spoke up then;

"We can't out-spend them. The cops will look the other way whenever they strike, but be quick to crack down on us. That's just a fact we'll have to keep in mind." The older man, nearly ten years Giovanni's senior, coughed into a rag he gripped tightly. "But our boys are veterans, hard and strong. We'll make 'em bleed papa."

The chief soldiers nodded in agreement and murmured vague affirmations of the strength of Don De Luca's men. The Don only offered a wizened smile and laughed.

"You're all so hasty. Calm down-- calm down." The don leaned in conspiratorially to the table, as if the restaurant was not completely empty save for them due to the don's buying it out. "We've gotta be smart about this boys. They used a car bomb, tried to catch me unawares. Luckily for me, poor Luke started the car early and the fools tried to play it off when I accused them after the meeting."

The don splays his hands.

"I say we give tit-for-tat. Go for the heads fast and hard. Teach them why I stand for the traditions and not this...desperation they reek of." The don then gave various orders to the chief soldiers and his eldest son, as if forgetting his 'Dito' was even present. This made Giovanni grit his teeth and sigh heavily.

"Papa, I'm a crack shot. Let me go for the Luciano's. We know where he lives and I'm certain if I get one shot at him he'll be deader than a fish in concrete." Giovanni pleaded with his father, desperate to be of some use to his family.

The Don weighed his gaze on his youngest son heavily, before nodding in silence and rising up from the table. The council was dismissed.

----

"When I killed Luciano is when the cops got involved, and things went downhill fast. If I could take back just one thing, I'd have missed that shot all those years ago."

Giovanni had claimed to be a crack shot to his father, but the truth of the matter is that the scrappy man was, hands down, the most skilled marksman of the De Luca clan. He had already operated as a triggerman for a number of hits in his career, and so he thought that killing Don Luciano would prove as simple as the rest of his hits; Sight on target, pull trigger, then bounce the scene.

He had never been in a war before, to put it simply. He had only been a hitman, not a soldier, up until this point.

He fired the shot at 7:34 AM on a Thursday. Luciano received the bullet straight through the center of his face, where it entered through his nasal cartilage, smashed through the base of his brain, and then tore the back of his neck; the shot fired from on-high, at a downward angle at the unsuspecting Don as he was doing his morning exercise in his pool.

Giovanni packed up his rifle swiftly and began to leave the scene..

-----

"I remember it well. The Don died, and as I began to make my way back home I pulled out my phone to call papa. That action saved my life."

Giovanni swiftly sped down the stairs of the building he had chosen to use as his sniping vantage, and as he did so he fumbled in his breast pocket for his phone. He pulled the phone out and swiftly dialed his father, the rifle-case slung onto his back as he ran down the stairs.

"Papa, it's do-" the young man began, before fumbling the phone from his grip and dropping it down the stairs. He sighed in exasperation, this act of clumsiness not what he had hoped for in terms of how this mission was going, before he leapt down the stairs and stooped to pick up the phone--

Bang. Two shotgun blasts hit the wall where he was standing moments ago, and Giovanni's reflexes kicked in as a primal urge to not-die pumped pure adrenaline into his veins. Hardly a second had passed from the shotgun blasts passing overhead, thankfully from far too close for the spread to hit the stooped man, before Giovanni's revolver was in hand and he hit the dirt, falling partially down the stairs for cover as he returned fire at the two Luciano goons who interrupted his phone call. Two shots, two bodies hit the floor, and Giovanni was breathing harder than he had ever breathed before.

"Mama mia..." He panted, picking his phone up to hear the angry yelling of his father-

"Papa, papa! I'm fine, I'm fine!" Giovanni yelled into the phone. "Gotta go for now, don't know how many more are coming for me. I'll be home ASAP, don't wait up." He ended with a cocky flair, riding the adrenaline hard. He hung the phone up, depositing into his breast pocket once more, as he picked up a fallen shotgun and cocked the heavier weapon, holstering his revolver.

"Jesus...Fuck, okay. Giovanni, you got this." He whispered to himself. "They call you Grilletto for a reason."

He shouldered the rifle, holding it in place as he descended the stairs. A half dozen more bodies hit the ground before he made it out of the building, and thusly escaped to return home.

The Luciano family was the first of the five to break. With the death of Don Luciano, the three rivals to the De Luca family swiftly cannibalized the followers of Luciano and steeled their resolve to face the Old Don of De Luca.

The Long of it Part 2 [+]

"She was the only thing keeping me going after the first year of the war. My brother had died to a car bombing, and father was in witness protection for safety. I was in charge of the family, and She was the only thing keeping me from snapping entirely."

"Gio, please." The woman pleaded. "Go into hiding, you can't do this, you can't keep fighting your father's battles!"

She was relatively plain. Long black hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, but...average. Thin, almost bony, and his father certainly had never approved of her- She wasn't Italian. But Gio had fallen in love years ago, when they were but teenagers and had the freedom to elope around the city at night spending his father's cash on their trivial fantasies. But more importantly than that, she made him...feel. She helped him escape the constant fear of death, the constant worry that a car he got into might explode, the fear of a sniper on the rooftop.

She helped him escape his own rampant bloodlust. First his brother was killed, then his father was taken by the police. Giovanni wanted the dons dead. And she helped calm him, stop him from waging open warfare in the streets. Helped him keep things civil, like the traditions dictated. He wasn't about to stoop to their level, to gunning people on the sidewalk. He was going to keep things true to how his father would want them done. That's what she helped him focus on.

"Gio..." She continued. "Please. For me. Come away with me, we'll go to Italy- your grandparents still live there, right?" She tried.

"Dead. Three years ago. Natural causes, they was old sweetie." Giovanni said exhaustedly. "I can't run. If I run, then my brother died in vain and father will have lost everything for nothing." He raised his tired eyes- even now beginning to grow cold- to the woman he loved. "I can't run. It's not the De Luca way."

She went quiet. Held very still, before simply nodding and shutting her eyes tightly. She fell into his arms, and he held her like that. Still and quiet, but strong.

"We'll get married once this is all taken care of. I won't die- can't die. Not when I've made a promise to an Angel like yourself. God would never forgive me for disappointing one of his angels. Remember that, sweetie, okay? I promise, no matter what, that I'll come back to you."

He released her as she pulled back and nodded, accepting his promise.

"Okay. Okay I know. I know. You promise, and I'll hold you to it Gio." She wiped at her eyes and reluctantly kissed the young Don. "You better not die on me."

Giovanni returned the kiss, before running his hands through her hair and lifting a hand, showing her the wedding band he had proposed to her with.

"God as my witness, I'll crawl outta hell to keep my word."

---

"I didn't know I'd be going into hell so soon after I made that promise. I don't know what compelled me to accept the offer of peace talks from the other three dons. Looking back on things now, I should've realized it was a trap- but I was caught up in the old ways. Papa always taught me that when a man said he wanted to talk, that you could show up, talk, then go home without worrying about getting shot. I guess I never learned- Papa himself was almost bombed after such a talk. But still I went, and I guess deep in my heart I knew something bad was about to happen."

Giovanni, accompanied by two of his best men, sat across from the three remaining dons who wanted him dead. In a strange feeling of deja vu, he couldn't help but recall sitting across from his father this very same way...

Empty restaurant, terrified waiting staff, excellent wine, and incredible anger in the air. His triggerfinger was itchy. He rubbed his hands and eyed the other dons tiredly- unlike them, Giovanni had been fighting every step of the war, not pawning the job off on his men. He lead by example, not by virtue of birth. He had to- the men barely knew who he was when he took power.

"Giovanni De Luca." The first man began. "Thank you for coming to this talk. We weren't sure you'd make it."

"Yeah the roads are dangerous as hell these days. Every cop in the city is looking for me, and half the cars explode as soon as you touch 'em these days, eh fellas?" Giovanni interjected dryly. "Cut the bullshit, tell me what it is we're here to discuss. I know you fellas ain't here for peace, not when I'm as haggard and dry as I am. What, you guys outta bullets and need a loan?" He lifted a hand, and the two men who came with him revealed submachine guns within their coats to the other three dons, who all looked immensely amused at Giovanni's ploy of power.

"Nonsense. We want peace. This war is expensive. Paying the cops, paying the soldiers, paying the families of the soldiers you keep killing- eh, our pockets ain't bottomless kid, this isn't the olden days." The second explained. The third laughed heartily;

"Yeah! We were more...here to negotiate. You call off your soldiers, and we don't ixnay ouryay atherfay."

Giovanni frowned deeply; Pig Latin AND a threat. How...understandably Mafioso, he decided.

"What? He's gone, you can't threaten him. Cut the bullshit, you're talking to Giovanni De Luca, not some father's boy."

"Need proof?" The first said calmly. "Here." The man slid a tablet across the table, the screen displaying a few camera angles of a home in sunny Fort Lauderdale Florida. Giovanni's father, in true witness protection form, seemed to be under the guise of a gold enthusiast. Giovanni frowned deeply and stared at the tablet. He shut his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them- his cold, dead, eyes ablaze with fire.

"Drop 'em boys." He ordered, his men reaching to draw their submachine guns- but two hails of gunfire from the kitchen of the restaurant caused Giovanni to dive under the table as his men's bullet-ridden bodies hit the ground behind him.

"Tsk. Now you have to watch your father die, kid. You've got spunk."

Giovanni found himself manhandled by the three dons, who picked him up off the ground and restrained him, keeping his ever-lethal hands away from the guns nearby. They slammed Gio into the table and forced his face at the tablet, where he witnessed several men enter into the home his father was inhabiting and brutally stab him to death on camera. Giovanni's blazing eyes hardened with anger as he watched, and he felt his whole body go hot with rage-

hot with rage? Then why are tears streaming down his face? First his brother, now his father- That was too much. Far too much.

He clenched his eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, and steadied his nerves.

"Fuck you." He whispered. "Fuck all of you."

He slammed his own body into the table harder, tipping it over and allowing his body to tumble to the ground with the three men holding him. Unlike them, he was expecting the fall. He managed to break free of their holds and scramble to his feet, sprinting across the room as gunfire lit the walls behind him. As he ran he drew his, by now, iconic revolver and returned fire. Two shots, two bodies hit the floor. He finally reached the entrance of the restaurant and stopped, planting his feet and turning to turn his vengeance on the three dons- now cowering behind the table- only to feel something hard strike the base of his skull and blackness envelope him.

The Long of It Part 3 [+]

"I was an idiot to think there were only two goons there. An idiot to think that it would be that easy. They took my father from me, my brother- they were about to end me then and there too, but it would've been too hard to make it all disappear, even with the cops in their pocket. What had saved me was that I had made it to the door. Civilians saw me gun a couple of guys down, and that dirtied up the scene. They had to get me somewhere quiet to end me. Eyewitnesses are a bitch, ain't they?"

Giovanni awoke in the trunk of a car. He could tell because when he sat up he slammed his head into a steel ceiling, and when he opened his eyes he could only see slivers of light through small cracks. He smelled gasoline very strongly.

He tried to move his arms, but they were handcuffed. He tried to twist his body and kick his legs, but there wasn't enough room for the proper leverage. He felt a dread overcoming him.

Speedbump. Face against ceiling. Now his nose was broken too. God clearly hated him.

Giovanni groaned and turned onto his side to avoid further destroying his face against the steel ceiling of the trunk, and curled up as much as he could as he breathed out of his mouth, blood sliding down his face. He tested the cuffs, then grit his teeth.

"Grilletto, you ain't about to die here. Fuck you, God."

He tried to calm his breathing, and as he did he realized where the gasoline smell was coming from. There were several jerry cans of gas sitting snug in front of him, as well as the box of matches that Giovanni assumed was there to set the car, and himself, on fire.

".....Eh, there are worse ways to go..." He half joked to himself he steeled himself for what he had to do next. He shut his eyes tight, grit his teeth hard, and moved his hands together, grabbing the thumb of his left hand in his right. "alright...Alright...On the count of three... One... Two-"

He cheated himself of the extra second and broke his thumb right then and there, muffling his cry of pain by pressing his face- broken nose and all- into the carpeted floor of the trunk.

He pulled his hand out of the handcuff weakly and gingerly rubbed his left hand with his right.

"Just...Just a little longer Gio..." He said, spots filling his vision. "You... You promised Her..."

----

"Yeah. I blacked out for a few minutes. Who can blame me? I'd been concussed, broke my own thumb, and had a broken nose. Sue me for taking a nap at a critical moment, will ya?"

When Giovanni awoke, he felt a full pain in his face, which he dimly registered as his broken nose. Next, he felt an excruciating pain in his left thumb. Which he then remembered was his own fault. He rolled around gingerly, refreshing himself on his surroundings. Through the smell of gasoline, he could smell fresher air, snow, trees- they'd taken him way out of town, way way out of town and into the woods.

"Good. Good." Giovanni nodded slowly. "I can do this..."

He slid to the jerry cans and pushed them aside, feeling the back wall of the trunk with his right hand. He could feel the section that opens into the back seat and grit his teeth. He gripped the handcuffs in his left hand, stretching the chain out to his right wrist taught, holding it how he could with a broken thumb.

Giovanni admits his first plan was stupid- kick open the back seat and scramble forward to try and strangle the driver? He'd just get himself in a wreck and die in the ensuing fire anyway. Luckily, he realized the idiocy of this plan swiftly and did the next best thing;

He dropped the handcuff and shook himself of his pain, clearing his head slightly. He grabbed the gasoline canisters and shakily undid the lids of them one at a time. He fumbled and dropped one, soaking himself in gasoline and filling the bottom of the trunk in a thin layer of the substance. He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his right arm to avoid soaking too much in the flammable substance as he positioned himself for the next step of his plan.

With one solid kick, he knocked the back of the back seat open and revealed the rest of the car to himself.

With the next kick, he sent one gasoline can spiraling into the front windshield, splashing gasoline everywhere. Panic ensued in the front seat, but before anyone could retaliate he kicked a second one, then a third one out- and immediately lit a match and threw it into the front of the car.

It took to a blaze immediately. Giovanni will never forget the horrid stench and pain he experienced in that car. The fire spread instantly through the entire vehicle, and they veered off the road- crashing into a tree in a tremendous crash. Giovanni slammed into the lid of the trunk as the vehicle crumpled like a tin can under a boot, and perhaps God didn't hate him after all.

He slammed into the ceiling and the trunk opened up, unable to stay locked from the vehicular damage. Even as Giovanni was blacking out, on fire, and in incredible pain, he crawled out of the trunk and into the snow. He rolled his body around frantically, extinguishing the flames on himself.

He managed to crawl about thirty feet, back to the edge of the road, before blackness consumed him.

"I thought I was dead. I felt like hell. I hurt all over, and could barely move anymore as my hands finally hit the asphalt of the road. I just kept thinking of Her as darkness consumed me. When I woke up four months later, My entire world would be different."

The Long of it Part 4, The finale [+]

"I awoke in a hospital, a 'John Doe' with no family or connections to speak of. When I was well enough to walk, I left. They couldn't keep me there. I wouldn't have it. I wasn't in New York City, but I found my way back... When I made it home, the Dons had all but destroyed my family, absorbed them, killed them, chased them off... I had nothing. Nobody. A broken body, a broken heart, and... and I learned She was dead. I...I don't want to talk about her. I won't."

Giovanni walked into a new New York City. Things were different, that's for sure. The Cosa Nostra had lost most of their power in the last decades, and the mafia had been all but clinging to life before the war started. Now that two of the five families were gone, the last three were able to consolidate and keep themselves alive...but truly there was nothing to compare to the size and power of both The Lost Ones and the Amaranth Wolves now. Even back when the five families existed, they could barely compare to the two powerful gangs, but now it was all they could do to hold onto their territory.

Giovanni knew he had to make a choice as he walked back into New York, those two years ago. Slip into shadows and stay hidden for the rest of his life, a hollow man...

Or pick a side and rebuild himself. He had his pride. He wanted to kill the Dons, make them hurt for what they did to him...what they made Her do.

The Lost Ones would not serve this end. He needed the Wolves. And they needed him. A Master sharpshooter with years upon years of organized crime and underworld combat under his belt?

He Offered to join. They accepted.

"The Dons had forgotten the 'De Luca' name in the months I was gone. They don't care about me. They forgot about me. They either think I'm dead or too weak and useless to come after them. I've got a new family now- One not so different from my old one. Cosa Nostra, Amaranth Wolf...They almost mean the same thing. Family. Who cares about the different blood- They'll die for me, and I'll die for them. That's all that matters. The Amaranth Wolves are my Cosa Nostra. We are the same thing... And one day, I'll bring the Five...No, the Three...dons under my heel. That'll repay what I owe the wolves. Yeah. That'll do nicely."

Extras

• Theme: Giovanni's Jazz
• Likes: opera, classical music, blues, jazz. Tasteful smoking. Fine dining, and most fruits.
• Dislikes: Excess; gluttony, waste, etc. Rap. Physical altercations. Disrespect. Poverty. People who can't pronounce his name without feigning an Italian accent.
• Fears: Fire. Restraint. Blindfolds. Sexual interaction.
• Hobbies: playing Piano and the Cello. Maintaining and practicing with firearms. Shopping, eating out, and movies. Dancing. Additionally, Giovanni is an avid collector of cigars and wine vintages.
• Goals: Giovanni wants to destroy the remaining members of the Cosa Nostra and establish himself as the Sole Don of New York. He intends to remain under the wolves, thusly expanding their power base instrumentally should he succeed-- but the possibility of him striking out on his own is not impossible.
  
  To a more direct end, his goal is to simply serve the Amaranth Wolves as best he can to repay the debt he owes them for taking him in when he was at his weakest.

See. You say that, but then I got inspired for a Lost One as well and frantically wrote this up. I'm not saying it's as long or detailed as Giovanni, but I felt whimsical and wrote while I had the muse.

Fancy [+]

Fancy

Alias/Nickname(s):

"I go by 'Fancy' because I'm dirt poor and covered in shit half the time. Get it?"

Age:

19

Gender:

Homeless Man

Sexual Preference:

"Sex is just a tool of the church, man. I'm still working out the details on how though, but trust me- I'll figure it out."

Appearance:

Fancy is probably the least-fancy person you'll ever meet. His hair is dyed white, he wears hoodies, jeans, sweatpants, far-too-large shirts, big puffy jackets-- basically anything that'd let him hide things under his clothes, or have more pockets. He is never without his messenger satchel, however.

And it is extraordinarily clear that the boy is homeless- he's always filthy to some capacity, smells horrid most of the time, and is often covered in the grime of the city.

He is average height, very thin, and surprisingly quick on his feet. He's calloused and hard from the elements, but still maintains enough of his youthful appearance to possess an edge of vulnerability in his appearance.

Gang Affiliation:

"We're all just a little lost, ain't we? I like to think of myself as caring more about the journey than the destination-- Oh. That's not what you meant. Yeah, yeah, the Lost Ones are my dudes- er...dudes and dudettes. Homies. Yeah let's go with homies."

Brief History:

"Did you know this shit?" [+]

"At 55 miles per hour, a sign viewer travels 80 feet per second. This means that if you're gonna hold up a sign, it's gotta be noticeable fam. Noticeable, rememberab...Is 'rememberable' a word? Shit, I don't know- anyway, it's gotta stick in their head. Like, stick hard, and leave 'em thinking about that shit. If they don't give you something at first, as long as it sticks in their head they might come back later. It's corporate, man, that's all it is. Corporate tricks applied to a little homeless ingenuity."

Fancy spends his mornings either in the Haven, or on the edge of it out of the police radar. He finds a spot on the side of the road at approximately 3 AM, and sets up his sign. After his sign is in a satisfactory spot, held up at the right angle by the wall he has chosen to lean against, he plops himself down beside the sign and lets himself get comfortable- He's gonna have a long morning after all.

By the time the sun rises, the young man- now wearing thick glasses and wielding a long white cane in one hand, and a heavy steel cup in the other- looks as if he's been there for decades, a part of the scenery.

Cars begin to drive past, in and out of the rich neighborhood of the Haven, and to many people's amazement, Fancy actually gets handouts.

What does his sign say?

'It's a beautiful day and I can't see it.'.

That's right- Fancy is pretending to be blind to get handouts.

Fancy is, probably, the greatest con man his age in all of New York.

"See...Conning someone isn't...it like...it isn't stealing, you know? You've got a certain image, product, or idea that you're trying to peddle, and the job is to make the other dude buy into it. If they're giving me their money of their own volition, or in return for a product, then...it's not stealing, yeah? It's capitalism, and if you disagree then you're a communist. And nobody likes a commie, dude. Don't be a commie."

-----

By the time afternoon rolls around and the bulk of traffic has died down, the aristocrats safely at work or shopping or back home from early day errands, Fancy is 'picked up' by a fellow Lost One assisting his con, guiding the 'blind man' out into the slums and out of the sight of his prime conning targets.

This is the part where he counts up his cash, figures out how much he's made, then figures out how he's gonna spend it. Today, for example, Fancy decides that he's gonna proceed to use his proceeds on a new pair of shoes, his current ones falling apart from overuse and time.

"The trick with shoes is...you can't let 'em look new, even if they are. That's the most important part of the image. You gotta have shitty shoes or folks will assume you're, well...conning them, yeah? I've seen rich folks park their big SUV's, walk around a corner, and hold up a cardboard sign for a few hours, score a decent haul, then go home to their wife and kid. They were wearing clean clothes- but their shoes looked like shit. That's all it takes. Bad shoes."

Fancy's standard method of 'breaking in' shoes, as it were, was to descend into the sewers of the city and spend about half an hour stomping them into the sewage with his old pair, before pulling them out and scraping the interior clean, and changing out his old shoes for the new ones.

The point isn't cleanliness, it's image- looking like shit helps him make money, but he needs shoes that'll hold up for longer than a week like his old pair. Hence the switch.

Then he'll do something particularly clever with his old shoes. He'll walk through the sewers for a while until he's satisfied with his location, climb back to the surface, and find an alleyway with a suitable isolation for thought and focused work.

"If you're gonna be homeless, you gotta be genius man. Like pure genius, good with your hands and brain, otherwise you're just doing it all wrong man."

He'll work the laces out of the shoes, separate the soles from the leather, then take the tough leather of his old shoes and work them into a new pair of gloves to switch to when his current pair gets soaked.

He typically ends a day like this by heading down into Lost Ones territory, to spend the rest of his day gambling what remains of his earnings away to his fellow Lost Ones- sometimes losing it all, sometimes doubling up on his cash for the day. Regardless of the outcome, he gives whatever money he has away at the end of the day to someone else who needs it more than he does.

Because at the end of the day, where it all counts, Fancy is a good guy, who looks out for others.

"Yeah. In my biography- and thusly guaranteed biographical movie, where I'll be played by whoever is voted 'sexiest man alive' by that year's girly magazine- they'll denote me as a 'Philanthropist'. Know what that means? Idiot who gives away all his money is what that means, except for me they'll change the definition to...'Genius'. Yeah. Genius. Fancy, you're a genius".

----

The truth of the matter is--

"Hey, no. Nonono. Narrator, this is my story. I ain't about to let you spill the beans, no sir. Flip that script over, I wrote a new one."

Fancy, this script is-

"Pure Genius. I know, right?"

Fancy no-

"You're a fuckin' commie aren't you? Just read the script, it'd be the patriotic thing to do. My past is mine, and what I wrote is what I want them folks to know. Do it for me, pal? Chum? Friend-o?"

Alright, Fancy. Fine. We'll do it your way.

"The genius way. Yeah."

..Ahem...

Fancy is homeless of his own choice, to keep things simple. He doesn't talk about himself much, not even to his fellow Lost Ones, but he is a unique and whimsical individual. His comments, paranoia, and unique perspective on problems often offers a different way of handling things that nobody else even thinks of- not to mention the fact he's a font of near-useless trivial information.

He spends more time in the sewers of New York than anybody ever should, let alone wants to, and knows them like the back of his hand- making him one of the Lost Ones' biggest scavengers. More importantly than this, Fancy is a friend to all, even if his words can get more...extreme, than he means them to.

W-...Wow fancy, that's fairly modest.

"It's to lull them into a false sense of security. Flip the page, the next paragraph is what I wrote in case people disrespected my genius."

Fancy, you do not know Muay Thai.

"Pff. But they don't know that."

Extras

• Theme: Fancy Feels Fine, I Promise and No really, he's okay
• Likes: Witnessing acts of pure Genius. Getting a hot meal, acts of random kindness.
• Dislikes: Po-lice. The Church. Corporations and corporate nonsense. Decadence.
• Fears: Communists. Spies. The Government. - "On a metaphysical level I like...I fear god, you know? He's pretty high up there."
• Hobbies: Helping folks out, defeating the communists or corporations, and creating various counterfeit goods.
• Goals: "Fam, I want to make the world a better place."

@sly13
Between you and me, Yoshi, just as a secret, shhhhh...!...I think it's fine if the Lost Ones outnumber the wolves, since that's what the setting info seems to say as well. The Wolves have a lot going for them in their willingness to kill, break the law, and generally be jerk-faces, that makes it quite hard for the Lost Ones to compete without a numeric advantage in my eyes. That's just my two cents though, and from a GMing standpoint I understand wanting more of a balance for the sake of ease of storytelling.

Keep in mind, also, the idea of an antagonist for both gangs. This is primarily the police. But @Fading Memory's character has introduct the interesting possibility of another antagonist, which may fare going into later. At any rate, both antagonists, like the Wolves, have the capacity to kill, so, also keep that in mind.

I like Fancy. They're in.