The Lost Ones
[hider=Hawk][center][h2][b][i]Lamarcus Hawthorne[/i][/b][/h2]
[img]https://resizing.flixster.com/YhUcSFC8bMJ-VIVsP500XVWgy_A=/627x836/v1.bjsyNDcyMDQ7ajsxNzY0MjsxMjAwOzYyNzs4MzY[/img][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3] Hawk.

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3] 23.

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3] Male.

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3] Women.

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3] 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.

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3] The Lost Ones.

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3] 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, [i]The Warriors[/i]-- “heavy muscle.” He is extremely loyal, to a fault.

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XVHAn6KvTk]2pac - Still I Rise[/url][/b] 
[*][b]Likes:[/b] His friends, his siblings, caring for others, women, dogs.
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Drugs, alcohol, betrayal, selfishness.
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Suicide, death, drugs, birds.
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Drawing, exercise.
[*][b]Goals:[/b]
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Knox Callahan][center][h2][b][i]Knox Callahan[/i][/b][/h2]
[img]https://78.media.tumblr.com/fae9e75c165e05316fac8ac4510ec90c/tumblr_or6y9eQX4B1sn6858o1_500.png[/img][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3] Knox is fine.
[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3] 18

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3] Male

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3] Thick, exotic ladies.

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3] (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. 

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3] Lost Ones.

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3] 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.

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUvbrY_ec60
[*][b]Likes:[/b] Weed, alcohol, music, sleeping, lounging
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Blood, needles, affluence, arrogance
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Fear of blood and clowns. Not too happy with heights either. 
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Smoke weed, visit bars, doing mild recon missions for the gang.
[*][b]Goals:[/b] “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Leigh][center][h2][b][i]Full Name[/i][/b][/h2]
Calliope Samantha Livingston
[img]https://static.cinemagia.ro/img/db/actor/28/06/60/odeya-rush-646542l.jpg[/img][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3] Leigh, The White Raven, Sister

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3] 
20

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3] 
Female

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3] 
No real preference. 

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3] 
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, almost always has fingerless (worn) leather gloves on.

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3] 
Lost Ones

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3] 
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. 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. 

[hider=Leigh Log: The Violin]
It had rained the night before, but Leigh had managed to find shelter in the rafters of an out-of-commission warehouse. There was likely people inside, as most of the homeless or poor would take any cover they could on days such as this. But Leigh had learned to stay away from people as most that fell into her lot were a sordid and unsavory bunch. There was a pocket of a few that were like her, not interested in holding their own by taking from others in one way or another. But, again, she’d learned they were few and far between. So, as the rain poured on loudly atop the tin roof above, she slept on a board held between two beams.

The following morning, she was awaken by an unfamiliar melancholic music. She looked down from where she slept, the early morning light pouring in through the busted windows to an open bay floor scattered with debris. Standing in the warmth of the sun, there was a woman with the source of the sound against her shoulder. Making no move to reveal herself, Leigh had simply rolled over atop the board and watched the woman play.

She was old, Leigh could tell. Her dark hair had lines of grey streaking in, her sheaf of a dress hung loosely off her frail figure. She was too far away to see any specific features, but Leigh wasn’t interested in her. Not really. She was fascinated by the small instrument she had never seen before.

It was as if the woman felt her gaze, the music suddenly halted with a screech and her head fell back. Leigh recoiled to the shadows just before the woman’s eyes found her. She spoke though, and her voice was a smooth, soothing depth that didn’t match her appearance. Maybe if she was healthier…

“Do you like the violin, little bird in the rafters?” 

Leigh said nothing, and for a moment she wondered if the woman had left. But soon the music started again. After a few long, almost mournful hums of the instrument, [i]the violin[/i], there was another pause but this time it was as if the music just faded away rather than come to an abrupt end. Leigh had remained with her back against the board, looking at the pocked tin of the roof above while she listened. 

“Don’t stop.” It was quite possibly the first time Leigh had spoken aloud since fleeing from Theodore and his loan shark. The woman gave a soft laugh, barely audible to Leigh above. 

“If you come down, I can teach you.” Again, steady and warm. Kind. Leigh had heard kindness before though, and it wasn’t real in the end.

“Why does it sound so sad?” Leigh asked instead.

“Most things do these days, little bird.” She sounded sad, Leigh thought, even if it seemed to be said with a smile. “The violin, such as other instruments, can carry any emotion depending on how it is played. I’ll play something else if you come down and let me get a good look at you.”

“No.” Leigh said, no real defiance to her tone, but a dispassionate declaration. She was only just shy of thirteen, but it seemed her soul was more of a mellow sort unless provoked and here she was in no danger.

“Then I shall take my leave.” And so the woman did. 

Leigh, still not entirely immune to child-like curiosity though, followed. From a distance, of course, and sticking to the advantage of height. When the woman made it to the breach that had allowed her in, she paused for a moment. Though Leigh had been quiet, it seemed the woman knew somehow that she was being followed.

So, she hung back and waited. When the coast was clear, she climbed through a stilled industrial fan and watched the woman wind her way through the alley and out of sight. Though she was frail and clearly defenseless, holding no real sense of presence, people moved aside for her. From the vantage Leigh was at, she couldn’t tell if it was out of respect or fear or something else. She simply walked with the violin and the … stick she had used to play it hanging loosely in each hand.[/hider]

[hider=Leigh Log: The Matron]A week had passed, Leigh deciding that the rafters of that warehouse would be her place until she found a better one, when she saw the woman again. She had been looking for her, listening for the unfamiliar sound. She’d catch herself doing so while ‘acquiring’ some food or wandering through some buildings. The low hum came on the night air while she sat in a tree of a run down park, eating some tossed bread she’d found in the bag the bakery threw out every night at closing.

“Perhaps you’re more of an owlet than a delicate bird.” Leigh tilted her head in confusion, looking down at the woman who had approached. Had she been actually looking for her? “My, my. But owls are deadly to the right prey. And I’ve heard whispers you only target specific sorts. The right sort, one that I can approve of. But an owl doesn’t feel quite right either...”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Leigh said, hesitation at seeing the way the woman’s grey eyes glinted. She hadn’t hurt anyone, that she knew of. Sort of just scared them or inhibited them. But this was only the second time she’d seen this woman.

“The Orphan, I’ve heard you called. There are so many of those around here, and not one earned that title by doing anything spectacular.” Her voice was less direct now as it began to return back to her dreamy tone while continued to follow along in her musings. “You, on the other hand, have become a Peter Pan of sorts. A much quieter, more efficient one.”

[i]What is a Peter pan?[/i] 

A chuckle, perhaps at Leigh’s confusion playing across her face as the thought crossed her mind. The woman continued when Leigh met her gaze again. “We could use you. Help you.”

“No, thanks.” Leigh said suddenly, immediately suspicious of anyone’s motives especially when offering to help her. She hopped down then, landing directly before the woman on her hands and knees. She quickly stood and dusted her palms off before turning to go. If they had not been alone and the woman appearing so weak, she wouldn’t have dared get that close. As it was, she knew she could run if she had to. She’d done it before.

“If you change your mind, Calliope, please ask the man in the green jacket where to find The Matron.” Leigh turned then, having not heard her given name since as far back as she could remember. But the woman, The Matron, was gone.
[/hider]

[hider=Leigh Log: The Lost Ones]
[i]Men.[/i] And some women, even. Leigh felt her lip curl as she rested her forehead to her fist and panted, having just outran a small troop who had tried encircling her. It was something about the way their eyes looked... hungry. It was scary, but also disgusting. She was still a [i]child[/i] after all. 

But that didn’t matter. She knew it didn’t. 

There was something about this last run in with that sort though that had her considering the offer made to her a few weeks prior. It was a stroke of irony that a catch of green passed through her peripheral as she sat on a fire escape, the timing couldn’t have been better planned. It may have been the fact that the bakery had closed, or the fact that she was finally ready to admit that she couldn’t do it all on her own, or that she missed Theodore despite it all but she called out: “The Matron said you could tell me where to find her.”

Leigh had heard of the Lost Ones, of course, having been hiding out in one of their ‘territory’ areas for the past few months. They seemed to be everywhere but nowhere. It was a bit disconcerting, but Leigh had more base worries at the time. Worries that The Matron insinuated she could help aleve. There would be a price, the girl of just thirteen knew, but everything had a price. And if Leigh had to fall on gang activity to survive, The Lost Ones didn’t sound much different from what she was already doing based on what the man in green had said.

She wasn’t a leader, she claimed. She was, like so many others, a guide. The Matron was a title given to the one who sought out and trained the children that showed potential that aligned with the goals of the gang. There were many children in Leigh’s situation, and many eyes on them and passing word to The Matron. Of course, there were several matrons scattered about the separated territories, and they all shared the title. 

Leigh, in all the time she had been under The Matron after the day she climbed atop the high-rise balcony leading to her home, had never learned her name. She did learn to fight, and more importantly when not to. On nights in, she learned the violin. As the years went, she fell into more ease with her life. She became the eyes from above watching the paths, a scout and envoy, The White Raven. 

The Matron laughed when she said she didn’t understand. “I used to study literature and mythology - or, I suppose, listen and retell the stories, much in the way of the ancient cultures who passed what we once called classics down by word of mouth. There was once a time when stories of deities acting as mortals would with base sins was entertaining... The White Raven was a spy for the god Apollo who suspected his lover of being unfaithful. Innocent and unseeming, but flew back with news of betrayal he had suspected. Of course, he punished the messenger, burning its beautiful white feathers so it was scorched black... so don’t get burned, my darling.” 

It was the first time Leigh learned anything about her, that she used to love stories, as she had kept her distance enough to feel at ease. She wouldn’t get closed to anyone after Theodore, she’d told herself. She had been sitting in the high, stone window of a ruined church in place of the stained glass that had been broken out with The Matron below, thinking on this as the woman began to play her violin. It was a memory Leigh still held close to her heart to this day as it was the last time she saw [i]her[/i] Matron.

She returned from her mission she’d embarked on that evening to the other territory to be handed a violin and bow by the man in the green jacket. The same violin she had learned on. The Matron’s violin. He patted her on the shoulder and left her as her confusion broke to understanding, crumbling to tears while embracing the instrument. 

Leigh later learned she had died in stray gunfire on her own mission through Amaranth territory. Her body wasn’t recovered, but the news of her death had the man in green seeking Leigh out. Her own deserted small loft was also passed over to Leigh, as well as a contact for nearest matron. She wanted Leigh to continue doing what they had been doing between jobs. And she would.
[/hider]

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yztpnvc1yt0]Stars Align - Lindsey Stirling[/url]
[*][b]Likes:[/b] Fruit, classical stringed instruments, a strong breeze, high places, solitude 
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Children in danger, a broken word, drugs, being truly alone
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Being trapped/confined, whales (odd reason), rats
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Roof-jumping, exploring/scouting areas, playing violin
[*][b]Goals:[/b] Leigh strives to find out intel on children being abducted or sold, so she can prevent it from happening by disrupting plans or taking the children away to The Matron. 
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Scarlett][center][h2][b][i]Scarlett Blair Aoife Beckett[/i][/b][/h2]


[img]  https://image.ibb.co/m6yu0S/Jessica_kelley.png [/img]

[/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3]  

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

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3] 

21

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3]

Female

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3] 

Furoiusly bi-sexual

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3] 

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. 


[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3] 

The Lost Ones

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3] 

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. 

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwzaIEmaW0s ] Half god/ Half devil  [/url]
[*][b]Likes:[/b] Dressing up, movies, delicious food, cigarettes, booze.
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Being out-smarted, pretension, those who exaggerate.
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Poverty.
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Partying, sex, trips to the cinema, drinking in the park.
[*][b]Goals:[/b] Wealth, above all else. [/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Fancy][center][h2][b][i]Fancy[/i][/b][/h2]
[img] https://i62.servimg.com/u/f62/16/77/80/76/hobo_g10.jpg[/img][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3]
"I go by 'Fancy' because I'm dirt poor and covered in shit half the time. Get it?"

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3]
19

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3]
Homeless Man

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3]
"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."

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3]
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.

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3]
"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."

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3]
[hider="Did you know this shit?"]
[I]"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."[/I]

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.

[I]"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."[/I]

-----

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.

[I]"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."[/I]

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.

[I]"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."[/I]

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.

[I]"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 [b]genius[/b]"[/I].

----

The truth of the matter is--

[I]"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."[/I]

Fancy, this script is-

[I]"Pure [b]Genius[/b]. I know, right?"[/I]

Fancy no-

[I]"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?"[/I]

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

[I]"The genius way. Yeah."[/I]

..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.

[I]"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."[/I]

Fancy, you do [b]not[/b] know Muay Thai.

[I]"Pff. But they don't know that."[/I]
[/hider]

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] [url=https://youtu.be/YQZX0ams8dc] Fancy Feels Fine, I Promise[/url] and [url=https://youtu.be/VBmCJEehYtU] No really, he's okay [/url]
[*][b]Likes:[/b] Witnessing acts of pure [b]Genius[/b]. Getting a hot meal, acts of random kindness.
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Po-lice. The Church. Corporations and corporate nonsense. Decadence.
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Communists. Spies. The Government. - [I]"On a metaphysical level I like...I fear god, you know? He's pretty high up there."[/I]
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Helping folks out, defeating the communists or corporations, and creating various counterfeit goods.
[*][b]Goals:[/b] [I]"Fam, I want to make the world a better place."[/I]
[/list]
[/hider]

Amaranth Wolves
[hider=Angel McBride][center][h2][b][i]Angel Cecelia McBride[/i][/b][/h2]
[img]http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/22400000/Maggie-in-Faster-maggie-grace-22494428-500-276.jpg [/img]
[hider=Another picture][img]https://i.imgur.com/nK8lKwd.png[/img][/hider][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3] Wolf Princess

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3] Twenty-one

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3] Female

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3] Let’s just say she’s mostly straight.

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3] 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.

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3] Amaranth Wolves (leader)

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3] 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.

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFNPUJD6KKA
[*][b]Likes:[/b] Alcohol, money, guns, a good brawl, animals, parkour, playing with her prey, bravery
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Spicy food, insubordination, dishonesty, weakness
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Death above all
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] Taking walks alone, going to bars, pickpocketting, hustling others
[*][b]Goals:[/b] I'mma leave this blank.
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Deon "Big Dog" Saunders]
[center][h2][color=darkslategray][b][i]Deon Desmond Saunders[/i][/b][/color][/h2]
[img]https://38.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1tf1i0YvC1qd54da.gif[/img][/center]

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/color][/h3] Big Dog, D, Big D, "OhDeonOhDeonOhDeonOhmygod!"

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Age:[/b][/color][/h3] Twenty-four.

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Gender:[/b][/color][/h3] "110% male, baby!"

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/color][/h3] [s]Heterosexual/straight[/s] "No fat chicks."

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Appearance:[/b][/color][/h3] 
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/5UE3Y4V466Vhe/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
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.
 

[hider=Head scar and arm tattoo][center][img]https://orig00.deviantart.net/8a65/f/2013/097/5/9/59b3fca490aba23a0ff6c8da0ed62136-d5wwwy8.jpg[/img][/center][/hider]
[hider=Amaranth Wolves mark][center][img]http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/images/9/9e/Castielshandprint.jpg[/img][/center][/hider]

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/color][/h3] "Amaranth Wolves, baby. Ain't nothing better!"

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Personality:[/b][/color][/h3]
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...

[h3][color=darkslategray][b]Brief History:[/b][/color][/h3] 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.


[h3][color=darkslategray]Extras[/color][/h3]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/qcbx3pXUkJYwU/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[list][*][color=darkslategray][b]Theme:[/b][/color] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Zx6RXGNISk]I am Machine - Three Days Grace[/url]
[*][color=darkslategray][b]Likes:[/b][/color] Alcohol, women, fighting, sex.
[*][color=darkslategray][b]Dislikes:[/b][/color] Being told what to do, annoying little shits and kids, being undermined, being lied to.
[*][color=darkslategray][b]Fears:[/b][/color] Refuses to comment.
[*][color=darkslategray][b]Hobbies:[/b][/color] Women/sex, drinking, working out, cage fighting.
[*][color=darkslategray][b]Goals:[/b][/color] Refuses to comment.
[/list]
[center][img]https://33.media.tumblr.com/1471f00bd8b8ff30fa5ec29641de4de3/tumblr_n0i7cwp0uY1rz66wro2_500.gif[/img][/center]
[/hider]
[hider=Giovanni De Luca][center][h2][b][i]Giovanni "Dito sul grilletto" De Luca[/i][/b][/h2]
[img] https://i62.servimg.com/u/f62/16/77/80/76/mafios10.jpg[/img][/center]

[h3][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/h3] 
Grilletto - 'Trigger', Gio - Shortened 'Giovanni', De Lucca - Some people refer to others by surnames

'Dito Sul Grilletto' - Triggerfinger

[h3][b]Age:[/b][/h3]
Twenty-Six

[h3][b]Gender:[/b][/h3]
Male

[h3][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/h3]
Heterosexual

[h3][b]Appearance:[/b][/h3]
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.

[h3][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/h3]
[I]Formerly of the De Luca Family, of the Five Dons of New York/The Cosa Nostra[/I]
Presently of the Amaranth Wolves

[h3][b]Brief History:[/b][/h3]
[Hider=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.

[I]"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."[/I]
[/hider]

[Hider=The Long of it part 1]
[I]"I was young. Full of fire. I wanted to prove I was the best. What I shoulda done was grab [b]Her[/b] and left town, hell, left the country. But I didn't know how bad it was gonna be."[/I]

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 [I]Motherfuckers[/I]..." 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.

----

[I]"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."[/I]

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]"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."[/I]

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--

[b]Bang[/b]. 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.
[/hider]

[hider=The Long of it Part 2]
[I]"[b]She[/b] 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 [b]She[/b] was the only thing keeping me from snapping entirely."[/I]

"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 [I]dead[/I]. 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]"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."[/I]

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.
[/hider]

[hider=The Long of It Part 3]

[I]"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?"[/I]

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 [b]Her[/b]..."

----

[I]"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?"[/I]

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]"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 [b]Her[/b] as darkness consumed me. When I woke up four months later, My entire world would be different."[/I]
[/hider]

[hider=The Long of it Part 4, The finale]
[I]"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 [b]She[/b] was dead. I...I don't want to talk about [b]her[/b]. I won't."[/I]

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 [b]Her[/b] 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.

[I]"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."[/I]
[/hider]

[h3]Extras[/h3]
[list][*][b]Theme:[/b] [url=https://youtu.be/cD65IUlS4Ug] Giovanni's Jazz[/url]
[*][b]Likes:[/b] opera, classical music, blues, jazz. Tasteful smoking. Fine dining, and most fruits.
[*][b]Dislikes:[/b] Excess; gluttony, waste, etc. Rap. Physical altercations. Disrespect. Poverty. People who can't pronounce his name without feigning an Italian accent.
[*][b]Fears:[/b] Fire. Restraint. Blindfolds. Sexual interaction.
[*][b]Hobbies:[/b] 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.
[*][b]Goals:[/b] [i]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.[/i]

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.
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Jayla Gates]
[center][h2][color=dimgray][b][i]Jayla Gates[/i][/b][/color][/h2]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/hmJ25mW1mtjbO/giphy.gif[/img][/center]

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Alias/Nickname(s):[/b][/color][/h3] Bones

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Age:[/b][/color][/h3] Nineteen.

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Gender:[/b][/color][/h3] Female

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Sexual Preference:[/b][/color][/h3] Mostly lesbian

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Appearance:[/b][/color][/h3] 
[center][img]https://files.dals.media/mediafiles/wpf/2016/08/84224352_3937929_Kyru_potomy_chto_nervnichau.gif[/img][/center]
Possibly the scrawniest person to inhabit the city, Jayla's ribs stick out from her body without her even so much as sucking in a breath. While some believe her to have some sort of eating disorder, nothing could be further from the truth as she loves food and eats her weight in food easily. Her each and every feature is pronounced, giving her a very sickly look with her sunk in eyes and paper-white skin. She is flat-chested and keeps her hair short, often-times getting misgendered as male but she never moves to correct them. Likewise, she keeps her clothes baggy and directed more towards the male portion of the shopping malls. She stands at a very short 5'3" and her weight fluctuating between a hundred and a hundred and one hundred and ten pounds, depending if she'd had a big meal beforehand or not.

Her body is also covered in tattoos, always black and grey ink but a large variety of different styles and themes. She's got multiple piercings between her gauged ears, her nose, lower lip, nipples, navel and other southern areas that won't be mentioned here.

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Gang Affiliation:[/b][/color][/h3] The Amaranth Wolves

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Personality:[/b][/color][/h3]
First and foremost, Jayla is a drug addict. It doesn't matter what drugs, when or where, if it can get Jayla to quit feeling, she will take it without a moments hesitation, and then keep up on it to keep from getting sober. If ever in the off chance that she is sober, she becomes exceptionally irritable, and even violent, until she gets her next fix.

Jayla, by default, is a very private person who would prefer her own company rather than anyone else's. Though she is far from shy, as she can contribute enough to a conversation when she needs to, she is an extreme introvert - not even liking to go outside much. She's a liar, having learned early on from her mother that telling the truth most times just wasn't an option. While these lies can range from simple, white lies to deep, entangled ones, it has become a regular part of her speech pattern. As an example, when someone asks her how she is, her immediate response would be "I'm fine." Though she is far from it. This also dips into her sarcastic side as well. Since telling the truth is exceptionally difficult for her, sometimes her answers come across as very dry and/or sarcastic, letting someone know that while she's not exactly lying, it's clear she doesn't want to talk about whatever subject it is. 

Also tied to this is her way of manipulation. When asked about her drug problem, she will simply reply, "I have it under control" or "I can stop any time I want" basically ending the conversation right then and there without having to get into it. She shifts blame everywhere but herself, unable to cope with knowing that she and she alone has destroyed her life. Over the last year, her favorite subject to blame is her ex-girlfriend, Sarah, for making her the way she is. Though sometimes the blame does shift towards her bastard father or her negligent mother.

She finds nothing wrong with the illegal acts she partakes in, both drug and criminal, and comes across as believing herself to be above the law. By this, it comes across as bravery - of not being afraid of getting into trouble or facing consequences, but anyone who is able to look her in the eye knows it better as cowardice.

[h3][color=dimgray][b]Brief History:[/b][/color][/h3] 
Jayla was born addicted to drugs.

Her mother, Lilith, didn't exactly have the best lifestyle. Being a bit of a drug addict herself, Lilith didn't stop her addictions even after discovering that she was pregnant with Jayla. It was a difficult pregnancy, one that nearly killed Lilith in the process, but after giving birth to Jayla, it seemed that her "motherly" duties were finished.

Jayla got the most bare-bones upbringing any child would be able to survive. Though she lived with her mother, Lilith was much more like a teenage babysitter that would rather be on the phone, have sex with a new man every week, and do drugs, right in front of her like she wasn't even there. She got locked in her room a lot, as Lilith just didn't know what to do with a child, nor did she particularly want one, and Lilith made that very clear to Jayla almost daily when she'd scream at the child for ruining her life for existing.

She was left with strangers frequently while Lilith went out to indulge in her lifestyle, and in the very rare moments when it was just the two of them together, and Lilith was slowly coming down from whatever high she managed, she would tell Lilith of her father. She told her that he was a thief - a mere fling. She would tell her of their passionate love affair that was over before it began. She didn't know who her father was, and she didn't care. Hell, she hardly had a mother, just what the hell was a father? And just what the hell was a normal family, anyway?

So Jayla continued to grow up dysfunctional. She had friends that had normal lives, but it was like she was watching from the other side of glass - only able to observe, but never able to know it for herself. When she wasn't at school, she was either at home stealing her mothers drugs (having learned at a very early age how to use them) or out on the city getting into trouble. The first time she landed herself in juvenile hall was after getting caught in a break-in to her school. The police tried returning her home, but when her mother wasn't there, they kept her at the police station until Lilith came to pick her up. But instead of taking her home, Lilith signed the papers to admit her daughter into juvenile hall. She claimed it was so that it would straighten Jayla out, but Jayla knew that it was because she just didn't want her around, and it was like a free daycare service.

Jayla preferred juvie over her own home, anyway.

By the time she hit high school, Jayla had already been in and out of juvenile hall thirteen times. She smoked, drank, got high - anything she could get her hands on which was rather easy because of the access she had to it at home, and her mother didn't seem to care. She was pierced, tattooed, and was making all sorts of wrong friends.

She eventually ended up with a girlfriend that was much more serious than any other relationship she had in the past. Sarah and Jayla met in their art class their very first year of high school at the age of fourteen. They dated seriously throughout high school, even through Jayla's brief disappearances to juvenile hall.

Cornered one day by a small band of thugs looking for a good time, Jayla tried outrunning them but only got so far before she was forced to fight back. Confused, still coming off of her drugs as she was seeing literal demons trying to pull her into hell with them rather than young boys with knives, Jayla eventually passed out in the alley only to be picked up by the police short of a few minutes later a little less for wear. When Lilith bailed her out a few days later and brought her home, she went straight for the pills and was out cold not soon after. Jayla took the opportunity to start looking around the house - a lot of her mother's boyfriends liked to pick off of what little trinkets they had, and there was bound to be a stash of crack or heroine somewhere. Rummaging through an old cabinet, Jayla came across a pamphlet. Flipping through it quickly, it seemed to be some sort of summer camp. Was Lilith really thinking about sending her away for good this time?

Jayla would tell you that she blacked out after that incident. But what really happened that night is something she would never forget. She developed a thirst for death. The very moment a person's soul leaves their eyes, dissipating into golden dust around her... it became like a second drug. But unlike her other drugs, she knew that this just wasn't something that should be okay, though she struggles with it almost every day. She has killed, and she liked it.

[h3][color=dimgray]Extras[/color][/h3]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/EwMvObf1mL43K/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[list][*][color=dimgray][b]Theme:[/b][/color] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rI1KfI7oMJA]Heathens - Halestorm (Twenty One Pilots cover)[/url]
[*][color=dimgray][b]Likes:[/b][/color] Late nights/darkness, baby animals (especially reptiles and pigs), heavy metal music, tattoos, smoking, drinking, drugs.
[*][color=dimgray][b]Dislikes:[/b][/color] Mornings, winter, stereotypes, formal events, her parents.
[*][color=dimgray][b]Fears:[/b][/color] Love or affection of any kind.
[*][color=dimgray][b]Hobbies:[/b][/color] Drugs, drinking, smoking, tattooing, art.
[*][color=dimgray][b]Goals:[/b][/color] To get a pet pig or bat.
[/list]
[center][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lv8120dPGP1qhw9vxo1_500.gif[/img][/center]
[/hider]