Jesse Jones

Description

Jesse stands at 5'8" and has a muscular, athletic build. She wears her dark hair short, cut just above shoulder level. She has two tattoos: one is on her back, depicting a spider on a web being cut by a knife, and the second on her right shoulder, depicting a smashed clock with gears falling out.

History

Yeah, I'm from Boston. Well, Charlestown, really, but it's usually easier to just say Boston. Nah, you wouldn’t understand. All you really need to know to understand it is that Charlestown itself is a predator. If you ain’t careful, if you don’t learn to watch your back, if you don’t learn to put a bullet in someone before he can get one in you, the city’ll eat you right up. It might send you to the pen, where you can spend the rest of your life staring at the moon through a set of bars, it might lets its poison seep into your blood, until you’re nothing but a pincushion of needles, or it might just let another of the townies just fuckin’ kill you, but if you live in Charlestown, you ain’t escapin’ without your scars Boyo.

There’s not much to say about my early life except that if Luna hadn’t saved me, the Town would’ve surely killed me. Unlike a lot of the other girls , I knew that living off your looks would only get you bruises and broken teeth, my mom taught me that, but my dad taught me that by flipping the bird to the Man and taking his money you might just survive. He wasn’t around long, the cops took him down when I was 12 and put him away for life, but there were other “role models” to follow. Don’t worry, I know now that my view of the world was pretty fucked up, by any standards, but at the time, the only thing that mattered was money and the only way to get it was by taking it.

So I stole. I picked pockets, I shoplifted, I crept into my neighbor’s house and took from their fridge what food I was missing at home, and I also learned how to handle myself. I wasn’t the only kid to have such a warped view or the same kinds of problems at home, so I eventually fell into a group of like mind. Once we hit high school we were just waiting for the day when we could drop out and finally hit the big time, but being the stupid kids that we where, we never expected to get busted or to fall out of the big time. Which is funny, cause out of all of them, I’m the only one that actually had to do hard time. I was unlucky one night when knocking over a liquor store, just so happened that an off duty cop was in there that night, and when they hauled me through the court system I was a year over the juvenile limit.

So I know what it’s like to live in a cage. I lived in one for three years and sometimes I still wake up thinking I’m stuck back in that cell, staring at a black ceiling from a steel bunk. It was the screaming that was the worst. I don’t know why, but the women’s pen is like one giant nest of shrieking birds, never shutting up, and never aware of the futility of it all. Get’s so you think you get used to all that noise, numb to it, hardened, but then one day it creeps into your skin, and all you can do is scream back. Or howl. You never can tell over that cacophony.

But then one day I got out, released into the wilds of Charlestown with a bloodied spirit. I slunk around for a while, working as a convenience store clerk, trying to keep my head down, but eventually they found me again. Some of my old crew managed to slip out into Boston proper, or into other states and other cities, but the ones that remained behind where all a part of something bigger, the actual armed robbery rackets. They knew that I was barely scraping by, they knew just the right buttons to push, and they needed another body willing to carry the jobs through. So I got back into it. It was just simple stuff at first, just stealing from the businesses around town, just enough to sharpen those old skills and add a few new ones so that they could introduce me to the rest of their group. They weren’t just small time kiddies anymore, they were going big time, and they were part of a small army. Well, not literally, but there was this guy we knew as Broken Tom who was organizing all the jobs, and he had contact with several strong arm teams. He was an old Nam vet, a real hardass, a black ops specialist before a mine blew his leg off, but he had kept his skills sharp and he taught them to us. It helped that some of his boys had washed out of the marines and the army, too, so between them all they had constructed a training stint that put us above the competition.

The thing was, that’s when the call kicked in. I was having odd feelings, just little shivers and quirks, the sensation that something was behind me, something that I wouldn’t like and that liked me even less, but I just assumed it was stress from jobs. I think that that’s why I never got the bite. Whatever wolves were around must have seen a paranoid chickie walking around with a loaded hand cannon and decided it would be better not to chance fate. Not that it mattered much when I changed. I was crashing at one of my team’s place, Jerry, we had a relationship at the time, when I first changed. I don’t remember that night, but when I woke up I was back in my apartment covered in blood, and I heard that the rest of the crew was looking for me and for whatever unlucky bastard murdered Jerry.

The search postponed Broken Tom’s job, and while I was wallowing in grief, the Wolves closed in. It was pack that had once been the terror of the neighborhood, the faceless enforcers that made sure no criminal ever became a crime-lord, and it wasn’t hard for them to convince me to listen. So listen I did. They taught me about our history, about what we are, and about what we have to do, but before they were ready to take me in word got around that I had been at Jerry’s that night, and we all agreed that it would be best for me to skip town. The pack leader knew of a wolf of great renown in Los Angeles, one that would be willing to help guide a new wolf along, and so I took a plane across country.

The wolf who was to mentor me was an elder Farsil Luhal and from the time I spent with him, I knew that I was bound to join his tribe. I knew much about the Suthar Anzuth and had thought that I would join them, but my heart lies as a wolf among sheep, as a guide of the herds in the new jungles, and so I became an Iron Master. My initiation was a test of deception, my task was to beat three other wolves in a night of poker, but the dealer was stacking the deck so for the first half of the night I was getting cleaned out before I noticed what they were doing. I barely managed to bluff my way through another game before I started planting cards on the other players. At the end of the night, they had all been technically cheating, so I ended up as the winner. Nevertheless, I knew that LA wasn’t the place I wanted to be in. It was too loud, too much like Boston, and I didn’t feel the need for me to be there. Sactown, however, was in need of a few strong paws and whatever know-how I could bring along, and it was small enough to ease the mind, so I swung up here, to the capitol.