|Path||Path of Humanity •••|
Alias(es): "Two-gun" Justus, Rock, Roc, Juice, J, unknown
Real Name: Rocky Mephistopheles (long story)
Apparent Age: 32
Concept: Former destructive gangbanger now philosophical--sometimes destructive--protector.
Physical description: Justus looks like a white guy in his mid-thirties with dark hair, kind of like a "Black Irish" look. He carries an otherwise unremarkable straight sword that he crafted himself. There is some Japanese kanji (that translates to "I must am the monster/demon, lest a monster/demon come for others") and you don't want to touch it. He also carries a bunch of guns on him somewhere. Usually he drives amazingly crafted motorcycles.
Relevant Mechanics: If anyone knows what a vizier is, they can tell that his bloodline causes him to drive towards certain goals in an Obsessive or Compulsive manner. His aura does not show diablerie. His business, _[insert]___ County Customs, has achieved Fame all over the state for having at least one shop in every county in the state. (Hence the name). He also has a reputation for being local, charitable, and popular.
Current Activities: Keeping things cool on Fridays, hunting Sabbat, avoiding Loyalists, finding ways to get kids off the street. He first became the unofficial baron of the northwest side, then "Barron," and then to being full and shiny Baron. Now he's pretty much resigned to being the guy who mediates among all the other local wackos and being a resident one himself. It's a long story--ask him about it sometime.
Merit Details: Natural Leader: Justus was a former Baron and made it all look easy.
Oracular Ability and Magic Susceptibility: By opening up his subconsious to an alternate way of thinking, and embracing it, his mind is a conduit for all channels of chi, both positive and negative, lending insight from many astral realms.
Acute Sense: Sight: While his hearing finally improved after years of hard-rockn' in his mortal days, his sight has always remained sharp.
Background: Rocky Mephistopheles was born in Hoboken, New Jersey in 1973. Although his mother moved to Flushing Meadows, NY when he was a toddler, he still to this day considers himself as being "from" New Jersey.
He grew up never knowing his father and claimed to have never cared. Picked on for being fatherless and poor, he grew up very angry. In school he was always in trouble for fights, roughhousing and poor grades. He only things that interested him were sports and shop class. He would often skip out during the day to work on hot rods, tune performance machines, and race them out. He made a few friends that encouraged him to take the last step and quit altogether. Work on his own, get his own car, own pad. He came in one day and announced he was leaving, then flipped them off and jumped on a bike. He was pretty sure nobody would miss him: people that told him that he was worthless, he would prove them wrong. People that resented him, because he had the guts to do what he wanted when they couldn't, could fuck off.
He found a shitty apartment and job working for an auto shop, where he always found an argument with the manager and constantly showed up for work late. After getting kicked out, he went through a variety of odd jobs as a welder and metalworker through various connections, then coming back to his friends and getting high. One evening he was with his buddies when he saw a sports car in a nearby parking lot. Money was tight, rent and bills were piling up. He complained how he was never going to be able to afford a beautiful machine like that, when one of them made a life-altering suggestion. "Hey, man. Just fucking take it."
"What, you mean like steal it?"
"Yeah, fucking steal it! What are you, a fucking pussy, man?"
He sped off and rode around until he spied a Camaro. Without thinking, he grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and angrily threatened the driver. Thirty seconds later he was cruising the streets, laughing with his buddies. That was his first carjacking.
Over the months he and his friends formed a wild gang that slowly grew. First there was petty theft for the fun of it, to "blow off steam" after a hard day, or get some extra bucks for one of the "guys" when they needed a spot. As time when on, it began to grow more and more violent. They started smashing people's mailboxes and car windows. They started forcibly breaking into houses, black peoples, to terrorize them or simply take what they wanted. They mugged people alone at night. They turned abandoned buildings into makeshift chop houses. Rocky started getting more tattoos and reading books. Books suggested by guys who know some guys that he seemed to click with. They described life and this world as shit, but that it wasn't his fault. The world was full of shit and needed to fucking burn. Slowly, he became a Satanist. He started tattooing elaborate designs and indulging on wild escapades. He paid the fee to have his named literally changed to "Mephistopheles." Now the intention was not to rob, but to hurt. They attacked people on the streets--senior citizens, couples, other gangs. Simply standing on a street corner might be grounds for violence.
It was one such street corner that Rocky was grabbing a lady's purse. A shadowy figure told him to stop it. As Rocky felt the presence nearer he ripped the purse out of her hands and swung at the figure, snarling. The next few moments were a blur as a figure dropped him in a whirlwind of force. He was lying on his back staring at an older black man in his forties bending over him. "Street trash," he said. Rocky swore. "You don't know nothing about me, old man!"
"Oh, and you do?"
Rocky looked puzzled.
"What's your name?"
Rocky grinned somewhat wickedly. "Mephistopheles."
The old man's eyes grew wide, then filled with fury. "Mephistopheles?! You call yourself the name of the devil? Boy, what the hell's the matter with you? You're a young man, should probably still be in school. What the hell do you have tattooed all over your arms and self for, robbing people, stealing! What the hell kind of life do you have for yourself!?"
As as Rocky realized he was pinned, he started shouting the all the wrongs in his life, how the old man didn't understand, how the streets were, to let him up and come at him if he had half a mind to put him down. Then he realized the old man was talking back to him but his lips weren't moving. He was hearing his voice in his head.
"Mmm, mmm. So much violence among young people these days. So much anger and delusion."
"You know what you need?" he said under Rocky's confusion. "You need a father. You need someone to teach you why everything you been doing is wrong, and why you need to stop doing it. You need better guidance than your friends, your buddies, and a god damn deal better than the Devil. Come with me..."
After spending some time as a retainer and then a ghoul, Rocky was Embraced and taught the meaning behind being a visier. In exchange for information that he'd picked up off the streets, he was taught the ways of Islam and Eastern Religion. He was given a book by one of the Assamites they felt he would particularly take to: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Repair. He became fascinated with the philosophy, calmed and challenged by his meaning, and repented before his clan. They in told helped him to understand how foolish he'd been and how to turn his past experiences as a tool for helping others.
Rocky considers himself a Child of Haquim first, although his allegiances lie with the Movement. His loyalty to the Anarchs lies with sympathy over the plight and his wanting to make sure they do not fall to the monsters and demons of the Sabbat (whom he thinks were probably subtly influencing him in his wicked ways), and to his concerns that the lack of a Justicar in the Camarilla could mean potential problems for the Children there. The growing numbers of Sabbat when he was on a visit to Orlando pushed him farther North, although it was there that he ran into a Lasombra Caitiff who was being pursued simply because he didn't want to join them as a monster. Their struggle for survival carried them into Gainesville.
From there he's been on a series of strange adventures. Wererats. Chess pieces. Weird stuff at Masonic temples. Ghosts in the Bambi hotel formed via mystic rites. Horrifying ravnos infernal assassins. Giovanni probs (twice). Now werewolves and a broken Setite ritual in the middle of the San Felasco woods. Along the way he's made Baron and lost Baron and been a part of like, what three gangs now? Things are always half-assed around here.
All anybody knows is that he is sincere and willing to put his life on the line. He proudly has proclaimed Gainesvilel a fine Free State, a Community if you will, worthy of protection. And by gum, he means it. And about two years ago insisted that everyone refer to him by the name "Justus." Well, its not the strangest thing he's done...
Justus... Rocky... whatever his name is or was, has shuffled loose his mortal coil. Alas, he ran afoul of the werewolves that came to town to find the "J Crew" that burned the state penitentiary.
Paulie: He had my back, and needed mine. Until the Sabbat started turning them into one of their own. One of the greatest tragedies of the Movement, and a constant reminder of why the Sabbat can't be trusted. Maybe.
Delilah Monroe: Nice gal. She tries to be level headed, but then there's that Malkavian side of her. What's weird, though, is that as time goes on I think she understands me better than the others.
Void: I enjoyed his time as our Passive-Aggressive Baron--both in a genuine, and mean-spirited way. Then he tried to outfox the infernal by diablerizing it. Genius.
Vic: Understands things real fuckin' well. Good guy, better leader. Not when he gets near alcohol or lets his temper start building up. Then he's gonna grab a piece of rebar--just make sure it's on the bad guys. Some people don't like him because he messed up Lex, but since he helped save my life once, there's the whole "owe him" thing.
Rick: He's a Gangrel, in pretty much every way you think. I'm learning a lot: I'm a Gangrel in training.
Russo: He's a fine example of a tool. UPDATE: Whoops, looks like the werewolves needed a new Craftsman set from Sears.
Mendoza: Fucker got killed for standing up for his convictions. Didn't like what they were, but I do respect that he didn't turn away from his decision.
Dusty: Tried to go above his head and attack the bad guys in their city without his gang. Probably saw him coming a mile away.
Nairi: Oh we get along great. (Hey, Nairi? Actually talk to me sometime?)
Edmund Sullivan: It's pretty obvious I don't trust him.
Oswald: Too much sexual amibuguity for my taste. Wink, wink.
Elvis: I've heard some things but I've seen some things. He's good in a pinch--really, that's when I see him. I feel like he's a lot like me actually. Which might not be good.
Jose: Never let 'em see you, and don't be afraid to run away. That's the secret to his survival. That, and the duck. We got a Magnum PI thing going, which is great for me to ignore all the warning signs that others tell me about you.
Coop: Two sides of a coin. Good Coop is a major asset to the city and an Anarch I would be proud to stand aside. Bad Coop is--at best--an uncooperative, confusing, stubborn idiot. UPDATE: Looks like he successfully got himself killed! Way to go, kid. Always knew you had it in you.
Jackal: Dead. At least he went out like a Brujah. Geez, it's like a morgue in here.
Twitch: Found out he died too. And I know who. And I don't like it, but one warning: talk to me first before you go trying revenge. Here's a hint: hunters are real...
Anna: It's not easy to make the right choice, particularly after they get to you. And...it looks like they did.
Alex: One the best, most noble and humane examples of what being an Anarch should mean. He's the real deal. I've got his back. Don't mess with him.
Lex: One of the best "wankers" out there. (Ha! He'll probably frenzy at me when he hears this!) I can't really say anything negative about him, and that's a compliment.
Concord: I respect the decisions he's made. He and I know each other, and that's all we need to say.
Jimmy: Always polite, never an unkind kind word, right? (He's the first to admit that's bullshit.) He's greatest quality is his loyalty to the movement. Biggest flaw? Most everything else. There's a reason why I have a neon sign in my house that says "Jimmy says: Fuck Me!" Ah, whatever our differences, we all still like him and get along with him in the end. (Also bullshit). Dude, just admit you're a Ventrue.
Johnny: He's like Jimmy, without the subtlety. Heh, no, in all honesty, there are times when he's a Brujah, and that's what we really need, and that's really awesome. When its not so good, is when he acts like a Brujah.
Mad Dog Boone: I wonder when the other Anarchs will realize bringing him back around was a mistake?
Aidan Donnally: What, seriously?
Tiffany: She does things her own way. And by "own way," I mean, "what the other girls tell her."
Harper Ellis: Dead. See: Mendoza.
Michael James della Passaglia: There's a saying where I'm from: "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." Or maybe it's: "Ignore the Giovanni at your own peril." Wish I could say I took my own advice.
Sabbat: Well, fuck them.
Asshole Anarchs who won't listen: Fuck them, too.
Loyalists of the (you-know): Fuck them more.
Camarilla: There's a reason I'm not in it. Actually, a few reasons...
Malcom Sherif Leviticus (born Rupert Evrett Washington)
Two guys I saw arguing by a car near a PATH transit entrance in the summer of 1997
"You know, out of the two ludicrious ideas I've just heard--yours is the less insane. Let's do that one."
"I promised I'll only do ONE stupid thing tonight from now on. Just did it...so, quota fulfilled, unless you want me to keep on going."
Justus wears contacts.
Justus is a mothafucking diablerist!
Justus is still Acknowledged by the Camarilla
His sword can slice a tree in half.
Justus still answers to the name "Rocky," at least when you get to know him.
His ideal astral form looks like the Lone Ranger.
Justus drives the same van right out of "Tango and Cash"
Justus is really a Brujah Anarch in disguise who has been in the city before, and is biding his time for revenge.
Or he's like five other clans. Just ask him.
Justus hates liver and onions, garlic, and the Boston Red Sox.
Justus is going on Golconda.
Justus knows martial arts, or something that he calls martial arts, which has some really-just-as-scary effects.
Didn't Justus used to have a bunch of tattoos or something? Well, that's weird.
Furthermore, why is his skin sometimes all wrinkly?
And is it just me, or does he spend a lot of time around certain voodoo magic circles?
Whatever. All I know is that he acts real different around the other Assamites.