#openm

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Guillaume Fournier. AGE: 40. PLACE OF BIRTH: Paris, France. AFFILIATION: The French Organization. OCCUPATION: Loyalist. FACE CLAIM: François Arnaud. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

The resentment he held for Théodore Chaussard was unfair, and he knew it. ‘You weren’t there. You don’t know how it went down.’ It was a mantra he repeated to himself often; the only way he could excuse the idea of one of the family’s most respected Commandants choosing to save himself over his men. Over his little brother. A St. Clair loyalist moulded by the pain of loss was hardly ground-breaking, but perhaps because of the circumstances, Guillaume had always had a little more trouble dealing with it than the others. Of course, the majority of his anger was directed toward Johnathan Parsons; he was the one who’d pulled the trigger during what were supposed to be peace talks, after all. Yet, his pain was compounded knowing that had Théodore Chaussard been honest—had he told Parsons the truth, that he was the highest ranking member present—maybe his brother would have been spared. Being angry at an enemy was one thing. Blaming an ally, quite another. Maybe he was angry at himself, too. If it hadn’t been for his choices back in Paris, Léo never would have wound up involved with the St. Clair family at all. Like little brothers often did, he’d watched as Guillaume had prowled the streets of their home city with his powerful friends, and admired it enough that he sought to follow in his footsteps. The two became heavily involved with the St. Clairs in their teens. Even if you grew up with nothing—something the boys were painfully familiar with—they promised a life far removed from struggle…because association alone was a powerful status symbol in a city that bent to the French Organization’s every whim. Like many of the others sucked into the life, Guillaume had never had a good relationship with his parents. Maybe that was what made travelling to Launceston such an easy decision when François St. Clair had asked it of him. As long as his little brother followed, it didn’t matter. The French Organization was a solid example that home was wherever family was, and as he watched many of his friends make the journey to the United States, he realised that the St. Clairs were very much his. Guillaume thrived in his new home, but he could tell his brother struggled. Launceston was violent in ways Paris never had been, because in Paris, they had no real competition. Across the pond? It was an entirely different story. Everything they earned had to be fought for, and even whilst they enjoyed the knowledge that they overpowered the other gangs in the city almost absolutely, it wasn’t without bloody and violent resistance. There was never a moment it was safe to let your guard down. Never a moment where you weren’t forced to look over your shoulder, lest you end up another fucking crime statistic.

Guillaume adapted to it quickly. Léo never did, even though he tried his best to put on a brave face so he didn’t feel like any more of a burden. Maybe it was because he got so swept up in his new role in Launceston, but things between the brothers changed. Léo felt side-lined as he struggled. Guillaume was spending more and more time with his Commandant friends, and less with the person who mattered to him most. Not that he neglected him entirely, but it sure felt that way now he looked back on his mistakes. Maybe if he’d just been a little bit more present, Léo never would have been charmed by the idea of Porto Velho. Léo had made his own connections, including the woman he would eventually marry, Estelle. And when she was chosen for a Commandant’s position in Porto Velho, of course, he followed. It was the first time Guillaume and his brother had ever been apart. They’d always been inseparable, because Léo would have followed him anywhere. Not this time, though. And everything felt wrong without him. Guillaume was primed to make Commandant in Launceston—about the highest honour there was after making Commandant in Paris. Yet after a few months without Léo, he turned his back on it all and travelled to Porto Velho to fix his mistakes. This time, it was him doing the following, and Guillaume wasn’t too proud to admit that. It would take some time, but eventually, it began to feel like things were getting back to normal between them. Guillaume was making extra effort to be involved with his life, to support him as he began to make his own name for himself in this new city. Short-lived, though. Quite literally.

Estelle had been the one to break the news to him the night it happened. The French had met with the Rutherfords—Johnathan Parsons, to be exact—in the hopes that they could come to some agreement regarding the division of Porto Velho’s territory amongst themselves. The two families had always managed to co-exist before that. London was a prime example. But it seemed this time, the Rutherfords were not willing to share, and their idea of sending a message to make that clear was murdering the French party involved. Well, murdering all except one… They’d spared Théo. Not his little brother, though. Guillaume had completely shut down when he’d found out. He didn’t even have it in him to attempt to be the supportive brother-in-law that Estelle needed. Participation in the French Organization’s business took a backseat whilst the others sought revenge, because he just couldn’t process it enough to be angry. Couldn’t process it enough to live anything but a sliver of his former existence. Until he was angry. Unfairly, perhaps, at all the wrong people… The Frenchman had barely communicated with the St. Clairs until they finally reached out about the expansion to London. Whilst he’d once been close with the likes of Laurent, Oliver, Richard…he’d slipped into the background, a memory of what once was, and dealt with his pain in brutal and silent isolation. Even his friendship with Maria had suffered, and she was as close to a best friend as he had. The St. Clairs knew better than to push, though; particularly when he’d unleashed his anger rather violently on Théo once before. It seemed unlikely the Commandant would survive a second head-to-head. When the opportunity to expand to London came up, however, they knew they had to at least offer the chance. Offer the opportunity to fight back against those who had hurt him. How could he decline? The Rutherfords had declared war upon the French Organization the moment Johnathan Parsons had shot unarmed men who simply sought resolution. The idea of going to London—the place they called home—and ripping it to shreds? It was just enough to bring back a spark of something, and for the first time in a year, Guillaume wasn’t numb. Wasn’t subject to a life of crippling guilt and misery. That same fire that had served him so well in Launceston was back, but this time, it didn’t burn for pride, or to defend the honour of the St. Clairs. It wasn’t directed toward their decades long war with the Russians, or the Koreans who had been a perpetual thorn in his side during his time there. Instead, it was solely for the British who had transformed from benevolent business partner to enemy number one. The years spent in London have not been as productive as he would have hoped, and the losses the French have suffered in the meantime have only heightened his ire. Trying to fight a family so engrained in the city’s very being would be the equivalent of someone coming to Paris and expecting to overthrow the St. Clairs. Guillaume can see that, now. Whilst he still has his problems with Théodore—no one dares leave them alone together—he has at least gravitated back toward the people he once called friends. Has started to reintegrate into the St. Clair family he’d once seen as his own. And as each day passes without Rutherford blood shed by his own hand, his hunger for their pain grows. Eventually, it will reach a breaking point. And all of them know it.  

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single.   FAMILY: Léo Fournier (brother, deceased) CONNECTIONS:

Maria Azenha: Good friend. After all of the brutality created by his own hands, both in Launceston and now London, it would be easy to assume Guillaume is nothing but a brute. Seeing him with Maria proves that he has a softer side for those who matter, though. They met in Porto Velho, before his brother's death, and what started out as mutual flirtation, ended up in a meaningful friendship, instead. And he's glad for that. Whilst it strained their relationship, too, she was one of the few he didn't cut off entirely during his mourning period, and that speaks volumes about how much their friendship means to him.

Laurent St. Pierre: Good friend. They have been friends for almost fifteen years, ever since the Launceston days, and he appreciates greatly that one of the 'original' crew is present in London. It makes it feel a little more like the old times. Laurent was the only other person besides Maria who could get through to him after he lost Léo, and whilst he rebuffed efforts to return to the St. Clairs at that time, he appreciated the fact Laurent still cared enough to look out for him. The closest thing to family he has left, and Guillaume doesn't take that for granted.

Johnathan Parsons: Enemy. Oh, what he wouldn't give to meet this fucker face to face. Gang politics be damned, he'll break his neck without a second thought.

Théodore Chaussard: Despises. Whilst some would argue his anger is irrational, and he probably even realises it himself, Guillaume doesn't care. He will forever hold Théodore partially responsible for Léo's death, and it's a lot easier than blaming himself. The last time they spoke about it and tried to clear the air, Guillaume put the man in hospital. They have never tried since, and the rest of the French Organization knows better than to push for resolution...

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Emilio Morelli. AGE: 55. PLACE OF BIRTH: Naples, Italy. AFFILIATION: The Rutherford Family. OCCUPATION: Soldier.  FACE CLAIM: Mark Consuelos. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

Brixton was kind to few, but in the beginning, it was especially unkind to him. It’d been just shy of his twelfth birthday when his family inexplicably decided that Italy was no longer the place they wanted to call home. The streets of Naples were all he’d ever known—all he’d ever wanted to—and thus the adjustment expected of him when they’d arrived in London was immense. Whilst his mother had been sympathetic to his plight, however, it destroyed his already difficult relationship with his father. In the beginning, he’d felt like an outsider. María, his older sister, had always looked out for him, but similarly to Emilio, she was not happy with the move. At twenty-one—barely a year after settling into London—she moved back to Italy to marry her childhood sweetheart. In her absence, Emilio lost the only friend he had. The area in which they lived was predominantly populated by people of Central and South American origin; handy for him, when his Mexican mother had at least bestowed bilingualism upon her two children. Not being able to speak a lick of English didn’t seem to matter too much in Brixton, but it certainly didn’t mean he was accepted, either. If Emilio had been fooled into thinking immigrants would stick together, he soon learned that the communities weren’t exactly welcoming to outsiders; particularly when they didn’t really see him as Mexican—just another European. Never feeling like you fit in was enough to make any kid angry. Emilio’s temper had always been bad, but the circumstances only stoked the flame that often burned brightest out in the streets of Lambeth. Frankly, he lost count of the number of beatings his father dished out in response to his son getting into yet another fight with kids twice his size. It never changed him, though. It didn’t ever fix his behaviour or subdue his fury. It just made him resent his father. Just made the chip on his shoulder that bit heavier. To say he had any loyalty to Brixton was laughable when they had done nothing but grind him down. Beating the shit out of Puerto Rican gangsters was never about cleaning up the streets like it had been for Vidal and Mateo, and in the beginning, when they’d first crossed paths going after the same drug dealers, he’d looked down on them for that. Thought they were foolish and naïve imbeciles, lucky to know what acceptance felt like. Yet, an unexpected friendship developed quickly between the three young men. And perhaps for the first time since leaving Italy, he realised he didn't have to be alone. That was something worth fighting for.

Over the years, his resentment toward Brixton lessened. Emilio began to understand why they closed themselves off to the rest of London, and why they looked out for their own. It was because no one else would. Whilst he would never have the same feelings of loyalty—the same sense of responsibility to ensure the wellbeing of the people there—he could at least begin to understand why his friends did. And if it meant he got to tag along and beat a few guys senseless? Well, that sure fucking worked for him. When the Rutherfords came into the picture, Emilio was the least hesitant about joining their ranks. Whilst Mateo and Vidal’s primary concern remained the future of Brixton, he was a little more concerned with his own. They would have protection they’d never had before. Money beyond what they could loot from whichever smack dealer they’d targeted that week. Rutherford presence in Lambeth would keep the streets cleaner than they'd ever been, and present the trio with opportunities to grow they’d never find anywhere else. What was there to hesitate about? Vidal had seen sense immediately, but despite Emilio’s best efforts, Mateo was not to be persuaded. It caused some friction between them to start, but perhaps it was then he realised how much Vidal and Mateo really meant to him. Because no matter what his friend chose, Emilio knew he would always have his back. Even if he was an idiot. Back then, even with the endorsement of the Brits, he’d never been particularly ambitious. But when he met Reyna, that sure changed… Emilio had only been a member of the Rutherford family for a few years at that point, but his work had changed little—keep the gangs of Lambeth subdued. In this particular instance, that'd meant finding a group of Puerto Rican drug dealers and reminding them that if they didn’t want to pay the Rutherfords, they didn’t get to work in their territory at all. What he hadn’t expected to find upon entering their safe house was a fiery little law school student giving them all a piece of her mind as if they weren’t vicious gangsters who could rip her to shreds. Turned out they had dragged her older brother into their ranks to pay off his drug debts. Kept him hooked so he’d never actually be able to work his way out from under them. Nasty bastards… Emilio had beaten the three men senseless—one to within an inch of his life. Whilst he usually rampaged beyond reason, when she’d shouted ‘not that one, that’s my brother!’ he’d actually listened. Calmed down. Picked his ass up off the floor by his shirt collar, and dropped him in front of her like a sack of shit… “Nice to meet you,” Emilio had offered, slightly breathless and bloodied. “Nice to meet you, too…” she’d replied. And the rest was history. Emilio had started to get his shit together after that. Thirty years old, but better late than never, right?

The two were married three years after their initial meeting, and Emilio decided that if he was going to be the kind of man she deserved, he couldn’t keep running around after low-value gangsters in Brixton. It was at that point he began to lean more into the Rutherford family, whilst Mateo and Vidal continued to prioritise their home. It never interfered with their friendship, but he could tell that his brothers worried about him. Worried about what becoming closer to the Rutherfords might turn him into when he was already a loose cannon… Unlike his friends, Emilio never felt as though the higher-ups looked down upon him. If anything, they seemed keen to give him more opportunities to prove himself, and he was more than willing to take them now he had a family of his own—a wife, and eventually two beautiful sons—to provide for. Instead of his presence remaining solely in Lambeth, he was soon being requested across the city; by lieutenants he would eventually call friends. When Johnathan Parsons returned from Porto Velho, Emilio’s reputation was so respected, and in some cases, feared, that Emilio found himself called upon by him, too. Whilst Vidal may be the one formally recognised as a lieutenant, Emilio is arguably more involved and connected with the higher-ups in the Rutherford family, even having a relatively good relationship with Andrew Rutherford. He simply prefers to be hands-on rather than running a crew of his own, hence his constant rejection of the title for himself. Now, he operates as one of Johnathan’s right hand men, and has graduated from teaching petty gangsters a lesson to defending his family against much more significant threats to their interests. More violence, higher stakes. To see him now—all designer suits, high powered friends, and well-spoken English—is such a far cry from the man he once was, he isn’t sure he even recognises himself. And honestly? Emilio is just fine with burying the rejected little kid from Brixton. Now, amongst the Rutherfords, he really has found acceptance.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Reyna Fuentes (wife) FAMILY: Leonardo, Santiago Morelli (sons, unplayable), Giovanna Palazzolo (niece) CONNECTIONS:

Francisco Vidal: Best friend. One third of the formidable trio, and truly considered a brother to him. Both being involved with the Rutherfords from the start gave them a bond that Mateo missed out on slightly. Vidal was best man at his wedding. Reyna is very close with Vidal's partner, Kathleen. Their two families are basically inseparable... Emilio is immensely proud of Vidal for all he has achieved, particularly accepting title of Lieutenant, and will always support his future ambitions in any way that he can.

Mateo Herrera: Best friend. The second third. Like Vidal, there is nothing Emilio wouldn't do for this man. They are family, regardless of their standing within, or opinions toward the Rutherford family, and Emilio always makes sure he knows that. Mateo was usually the level-head that kept Emilio's temper in check, and that still holds true. Emilio knows he wouldn't be where he is today without him.

Johnathan Parsons: Good friend. Whilst he may have been wary of the man at first, Emilio quickly realised that they're two peas in a pod. As his own dedication to the Rutherford family grew, so too did his relationship with Parsons. They're both hot-headed and rough around the edges, but instead of clashing due to their similar personalities, they tend to get on like a house on fire. If these two are coming at you together? Better fucking run.

Jordana Velásquez: Good friend. When they first met, the two immediately clicked; something of a rarity for him when he's usually distrustful right off the bat. They are both equally dedicated to the Rutherfords, and as such, she quickly became his go-to person to discuss work related matters. It's not that he doesn't trust Mateo and Vidal—he does, more than anyone—but he is also aware that their priorities are different, thus doesn't want to burden them. With Jordana, he doesn't have to worry about that.

What was this? Some sort of new magic trick? By who, though? "This shit ain't reaaal. Shut uuup! You don't know me!"

"I can't.. do this alone..." The reflection sobbed. "Help me.. Someone.. Please?"

"Nuuhh! That ain't me! I ain't fuckin' pathetic like that! Shove it!"

It was still there, sobbing, looking like a wreck. Jay did what he knew how to do, and picked up a chair and smashed the long mirror. And now there were multiple, smaller reflections, all doing the same. "SON OF A FUCK!"

The Quiet One mysteriously arrived on the same day of Audrey Thompson’s funeral. With a dark past and only a few things on his person, people started to wonder why he came to Fairview, and if he planned on staying long. He prefers to stay to himself and not participate in neighborhood activities if he can help it. Growing up, he stayed in solitude. He often doesn’t have much to say, instead he opt to watch people, observe and listen rather than speak just to hear himself talk. 

The Quiet One started helping people out with odd jobs and things that needed fixing. He knows his way around a set of tools and will pick up random gigs in order to make some extra money on the weekend. People, like the Amoral Attorney, have made a few quips about being aware of him, and how the quiet ones are usually the ones hiding something. He likes to poke fun at The Quiet One, see what buttons he can push and how much. 

The Quiet One had past issues with drugs and a few run ins with the law over the years. In his early 20s he took the rap for a friend and was convicted for a hit and run. It was a low time in his life, doing right by his friend but letting down his parents. Now, he’s hellbent on keeping some things buried. For now, the people in Fairview see him as the helpful new guy. He doesn’t want to risk ruining his new reputation by opening up to the wrong person.

He’s already managed to catch the eye of two of the women on Wisteria Lane. He’s loved getting to know The Girl Next Door. And he finds The Coquette’s flirtations flattering. He doesn’t want to get into anything too serious too soon, so he’s keeping them both at arm’s length for now. 

There’s something soft in me—

The Hot Head is just that, unpredictable and explosive. worked all his life to become somebody. A successful business man now, people look up to him in equal fear and admiration. He’s intimidating at first, but once you get on his good side, you’re golden. For those not so lucky few that end up in hot water, he holds nothing back. He’s passionate in every aspect of his life. He works hard and loves harder. 

His job has provided him with a lavish lifestyle that he quickly grew accustomed to. When he married his wife, a former model, it was like a match made in heaven. They argued as much as they showed affection. To outsiders, it was strange but the dynamic worked for them. Sure, he misses a few dinner parties or neighborhood cookouts. But he makes up for it with gifts, and knowing his wife is materialistic, that work every time. 

We killed it; it's rotting

In his home life, he has a loving yet distant relationship with his wife The Head Turning Beauty. People often say they look like they can't stand each other half the time. They often sit across the long dinner table, fragments of conversations told through tight lipped chews. He parades her around like a trophy wife, and for the first years of their marriage, Isabella was fine with it. She knew what part she had to play in order to impress his bosses and clients. The Hot Head is no fool, he’s seen the way that other men look at his wife. But he knows she would never give up her life with him for someone else, she’s too selfish to even consider it. Or so he thinks…

The Papa Wolf || The Ashworth Family || Open || late 40s || Job UTP

There’s something soft in me—

The Papa Wolf is a fiercely protective individual. On the outside, he’s often too relaxed for his own good. Neighbors wonder if he’s taking some good antidepressants or is just a positive person. He’s the chill parent, the one who takes off on exciting business trips but always returns with presents. He only ever snaps when he needs to and usually it’s away from the public eye.

His relaxed demeanor makes it easy for everyone in the neighborhood to approach him. He’s often the first to offer the other husbands a beer or a place to watch sports at. Kids of all ages love him and parents say they’ve never even seen him raise his voice. He and his wife Chloe are college sweethearts and generally referred to as the most stable couple of the lane.

we killed it; it’s rotting

Behind closed doors, this level headed guy is starting to show cracks in his facade. In his youth, he got into bar fights, had outbursts on sports teams, and had more than one warning about mouthing off to authority figures. Since becoming a father and husband, he’s channeled that energy into a fierce protectiveness. Since the death of Audrey Thompson, and the other crimes that have seemingly taken place on the lane, he’s grown paranoid. He would do anything to protect his family, and usually that means paying no attention to the gossip and the white lies that some of the housewives tend to spread from one street to another. But every once in while, hot white flashes of rage surface and he forgets to keep his cool.

The Papa Wolf is now trying to make it a point to get home earlier, spend more time with his family while he can. But he’s been noticing The Charming Interloper lurking around, quietly moving in on his territory. It’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore and he isn’t above resorting to certain tactics to rein this intrusion.

EDWIN "TEDDY" LAFUENTE. rock star; twenty-one. xolo maridueña. OPEN.

and, as ted logan once said: “All we are is dust in the wind, dude.” 

BEFORE THE PARTY

Edwin LaFuente— more commonly known by the nickname given to him by his legion of fans, Teddy might not be the brightest light bulb in the tool shed. No, that wasn't leading to a but. He's not exactly academically gifted and he'd be the first to let you know, although there's a variety of other things Teddy did very well. For one, his knack to perfectly assess someone's zodiac sign, it was almost freaky how well he could take one look at someone and know exactly what their sign was. His ability to never have a bad hair day. There wasn't a day those perfectly perfect curls on his head weren't perfect. And the worst part, he didn't even try. Not to mention, he'd been a star soccer player for a spell during his tenure at the famed Rosewood Academy, in fact that's what had allowed him to attend the school. Not that he stuck to it given that his true love had been one thing and one thing only. Music. Sure, his abilities on the field had been his golden ticket but music had been what fed his soul. For as long as he could remember ( a shocker he'd retained these moment given memory wasn't a thing Teddy was known for ) Teddy had a knack for music. A talent that his mother and father had stood divided on. See, his father believed in nurturing his god given talent whilst his mother didn't want her son to end up a lowly busker, singing his shoulda, woulda, coulda's for some spare change. She wanted him to thrive, to have a better life than the one she and her husband had. So she pushed for him to excel at things that would get him further ahead, academics and athletics but Teddy rejected these things at every pass— his father taking note of this pushback and instead fed his love for music. He'd get his son the latest Weezer record as he enjoyed the whimsy of their lyrics. He took Teddy to guitar lessons, as an incentive to get his son to try to placate his mother and it'd definitely worked. But he wasn't cut out for the Troy Bolton life. So as soon as he could, he devoted his entire life to the one thing he loved. Music. His passion soon translated to success, as he'd caught the attention of his classmate and fellow music aficionado— Benny Peleke. And the rest was as they say, history. The two couldn't be more different on paper; Benny having came from an affluent background, Teddy having not. Benny actually cared about his grades, whilst Teddy only cared because he didn't want to hear it from his mama. Benny had charm and charisma in droves, Teddy still got tongue tied at the mere thought of asking someone for their number. But what did they have in common? Their love for music. With Benny's knowledge in marketing and social media combined with Ted's talent, the two knew they had something. Benny then suggested that his main squeeze, Penny Lane sing vocals on their tracks. When the three came together, it'd been lightening in a bottle. Their name, their music instantly becoming inescapable. Soon, in came the accolades, the fame and by his side, his best friend. The person who'd made all of his dreams become a reality. He'd been able to do what he loved for a boat load of money, whilst making both of his parents proud of him. All was righteous in his world. Well... that was until Penny Lane had decided she was better off a solo act.

DURING THE PARTY

What was going to become of Benny and him? Like yeah, they would probably continue as a duo, and he wouldn't complain about that because he'd get to keep rocking out with his best bud... but it wasn't like neither one of them were lyricists. All those words, that was all Penny Lane's doing. He couldn't even begin to fathom how to put together a song. As Teddy continued to think about how different things were about to be for Benny and himself, he felt his mood start to mellow and that was the last thing he needed. No, what Benny and him needed was a good ol' night out. Something to simulate the mind, maybe that'll get words flowing out of the two of them. And luckily, they were back home in Rosewood, where every night was essentially a party. So he went about picking up their pre-party essentials, in hopes of getting Benny out of the funk he'd found himself post break up. Which he totally got, his main guy had just gotten his heart broken into a gazillion little pieces— but between us, Teddy had always thought Benny was way too good for Penny Lane, so he was going to do everything in his power to lift him back up. As he'd stepped out of the local supermarket, munchies in hand– he found himself blinded by a stray piece of paper. He reached up to remove it from his face, ready to toss it in the trash ( Teddy was strictly anti-litter) but curiosity got the best of him and he decided to read what was on it. That decision being one that Teddy would always be grateful for as the piece of paper was a flyer, one that was seeking band mates. A certain, Cliff Saito was looking to put together a band and well, Benny and himself were out a band member so perhaps... they were exactly what each other needed.

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Jay Sung. AGE: 43. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Emerson Saints. OCCUPATION: Leader FACE CLAIM: Gong Yoo. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

(Warning: Brief references to racism/police brutality.)

Talk of the French had always provoked disagreement amongst the Emerson Saints.

The deeply divisive and oftentimes violent kind...

From the inception of their now defunct representative system, Jay Sung had been Emerson’s spokesperson. Each of the three voted on issues of importance, and whichever decision received a majority was the direction they proceeded in. Without fail, and whenever the topic of a French Organization contract was brought to the table, however, Jay vehemently voted against any and all compliance; this, regardless of whether it reflected the views of those he was representing.

It got to the point where the others expected nothing less.

“They slaughtered us like we were animals, and now they want us to do the grunt work so they can keep their hands clean? No. Fuck that. I won’t be a part of it, and neither would any real Saint.”

People sympathised with his position, because none of them really wanted to be puppets for the French. No amount of discontent on their part could magic up another option, though. It was either do as they were told and be absorbed by the superior force, or head back to a war that they had barely survived the first time around. And nobody wanted that.

Launceston’s population of Koreans—the new immigrants, in particular—always seemed to be on the receiving end of the city’s mistreatment. Jay’s father told him it’d been that way even when he’d been growing up in Brenton. They’d eventually chosen to congregate around north Anderson Island, instead, and the borough’s elite viewed them as little more than a cancerous fucking growth they hadn’t figured out how to remove. The judgements of those who sat on golden thrones was a world away from the very real oppression they had to deal with on their own doorsteps, though.

Police brutality—oftentimes directed toward immigrants who weren’t doing anything wrong, purely because of the way they looked—wasn’t nearly as bad as the racially-motivated hate crimes waged against them by Krick’s African-American gangs. Both had ultimately resulted in the formation of the Emerson Saints. For decades, their communities had been terrorised by outsiders, until eventually, a group of twenty-six (of which Jay had been a part) decided that it was time to stand up and fight.

In March of 2000, their gang was formed.

In June of 2000, the French took notice.

Jay had barely been twenty years old when the Organization decided to violently remind them that those who contemplated an uprising in St. Clair territory would be dealt with. Mercilessly. And it was precisely that—the things he’d seen, the way they’d attacked, and the friends that’d been taken from him in the process—which the younger Saints would never understand. They would remember talk from around the neighbourhood, or brutal stories shared in hushed whispers…but they’d never seen all the blood. Bathed their hands in it.

And they talked over him with their ignorant majorities? It made him sick.

By the time the French Organization presented the option for a truce in 2005—tired of wasting men on a battle that seemingly couldn’t be won—all but four of the original Saints had been killed in the fighting. None were imprisoned for their unspeakable actions against their enemies, nor had they deserted out of fear. They were simply massacred and left to rot in the streets like animals, all for the crime of defending themselves. Whilst, as was the case with any war, their conflict increased the rate of recruitment exponentially, the losses were astounding. Both in terms of statistics, and personal pain.

Jay had witnessed the death of two of his best friends. Had lost his non-violent girlfriend during a revenge attack against him. A Commandant had been burned alive in very public fashion for the latter, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat…

But it still didn’t bring them back.

A channel of communication eventually opened up between the two sides, but Jay refused to have any part of the discussion, in spite of the fact many of the Saints still looked to him as an unofficial leader. The anger was too fresh. The pride and the pain too great. War had been brutal, of course, but he still would’ve preferred to die fighting them than to live on his knees.

Unfortunately for him, not all of the Saints agreed.

The French had promised to end their attacks, and as an added bonus, offered to push the African-American gangs fighting their other front out of Krick. Understandably, Jay had been hesitant in accepting that they’d be willing to offer them anything but slaughter. It might’ve been an attempt at a ‘good faith’ gesture, but it also came with stipulations, because everything with them always fucking did. The drugs they sold? French, with a portion of the profits handed back to them. The guns they used? French, imported in an attempt to dent the income of the Russians and their weapons smuggling ring. Perhaps worst of all, though, were the contracts. The remaining Saints—especially the younger ones—had been more than happy to kill and maim on behalf of their enemies given the paycheque offered for the work.

Jay wasn’t one of them.

They didn’t fucking owe them any favours.

It went on for years, his frustration growing each day, but eventually he reached his breaking point.

The French were arrogant, egotistical fucks. They always had been. Given that they were supposed to be engaged in a truce, however, Jay thought they might’ve exercised a little restraint. Very clearly, one of the Commandants had taken a liking to the Representative of Saint’s Way, Euna, and very clearly, said feelings were not reciprocated. Jay had been there when she’d turned him down, but the coward had waited until she was alone to beat the shit out of her for the disrespect. She’d called Youngbae, barely intelligible as she choked on her own blood.  

It was a miracle she’d survived.

The Commandant was not so lucky.

As he watched Seung-hyun carve their gang’s name into the Frenchman’s chest, Youngbae holding down his writhing fucking body, Jay knew that this would be the end of the Emerson Saints as they knew it. The French would not take the murder of a Commandant lightly; especially not one found in the sorry state they left him.

The outrage was damn near immediate. Those who had become accustomed to doing the French Organization’s bidding—and had profited from it quite nicely—were livid that the ‘disproportionate’ actions of a few had taken away their choice to work for them at all. Even those who had never liked the affiliation seemed concerned about what this would mean for them in the long-run. Wondered whether they would have to run from Launceston entirely. Jay had expected that this would result in another war with the French, but he hadn’t expected it to tear the gang in two.

To his horror, many of the younger members turned on the remaining Saints for the promise of French protection, and guaranteed work with the Organization.

The war wasn’t spilling French blood in the street, it was spilling their own.

Eventually, the remaining Saints, now headed up solely by Jay—the epitome of a ruthless wartime leader—scarpered to Ainsburg in an attempt to recover from the assault. They didn’t know who they could trust. Didn’t know who would turn on them at any moment for a bigger paycheque from the French. Jay had never been the type to trust easily, but aside from the few he now designated his inner circle, despite many giving up their home—and oftentimes, friends and family—to follow the Saints, the paranoia was almost crippling. He barely confided in anybody about his plans. Barely left his home for anywhere but Yongseo...

Until the Russians came knocking.

The last thing he wanted was for them to get involved with another powerful mob. Jay half expected the woman to tell them they were settling in too close to Russian territory, and to get the fuck out before they made them. To his surprise, though, they seemingly came in peace. Ainsburg had never been their territory. In fact, it belonged to the Irish, and that was precisely the problem. The Russians despised the Irish almost as much as they did the French, but hadn’t the manpower to fight the O’Reillys as well as everybody else. All the Saints had to do was keep the Irish busy and distracted from any attempts on Brenton, and the Vorshevskys were willing to arm them with all the resources they needed.

Not only to take Ainsburg as their home, but continue the fight against the French, too.

They weren’t required to answer to the Russians, nor were they required to have any dealings in their business. They weren’t forced to do anything. If they wanted to say no, then the Russians would leave them alone to fend for themselves…but both sides knew that wasn’t an option.

Not really.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she’d said.

Whilst he isn’t sure he’d go so far as to call the Russians friends, Jay knows that if they have any hope of surviving all that’s happened, they don’t really have a choice.

An eerily familiar scenario that he can only pray ends differently this time around…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Alexandra Lee (ex-girlfriend, deceased) FAMILY: None. CONNECTIONS:

Jun Jae-sun: Best friend. For a while, he'd doubted him. Of the few remaining founders, JJ was the only one who hadn't opposed their former arrangement with the French. Jay knew he had his reasons, but it still caused massive issues between them for many years. When it came down to it, though, the French or the Saints, JJ hadn't hesitated to follow his family into Ainsburg. Reliving the war is hard for him due to his own massive losses, but Jay has never respected him more, and is determined for his pain not to have been in vain.

Sin Seung-hyun: Old friend. About the craziest mother fucker they have. Jay loves him for it. The French always regarded him as a loose cannon, and wanted little to do with him when they were working under them. After what happened to Euna, however, Jay knows he'd be hard pressed to find someone who hates the French more than him. As such, Seung-hyun remains one of the few he's fully confident would never betray them.

Lee Euna: Good friend. They're all a little bit protective of Euna, and were long before the French Commandant almost beat her to death. Jay is no different. The woman is a kinder soul than most in the Saints, and only ever strived for peace when she sought diplomacy with the French. Of all the Saints they brutalised over the years, she deserved it least. There's no way in hell he'll ever let one of them lay a hand on her again.

Kim Youngbae: Good friend. Along with JJ, Seung-hyun, Euna and Seo-jun, he is the last Jay considers to be a part of his inner circle. Whether or not he trusts the man's girlfriend, on the other hand, is another question entirely. Youngbae has been nothing but loyal to the Saints over the years, and is massively respected amongst the other members for the contributions he's made. Jay sees him no differently; particularly because many of his loved ones were those who defected to the French. Leaving them behind was difficult, but Jay makes sure he knows that his sacrifices are appreciated.

Kim Saera: Former friend. Traitor. Regardless of their former friendship, and regardless of being Youngbae's sister, if he sees her, he'll kill her on sight.