Dylan Morgan

• Virtue: Hope; Vice: Envy; Concept: The Creative Dilettante
• Attributes
  • Mental: Intelligence 2, Wits 3, Resolve 2
  • Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 2
  • Social: Presence 4, Manipulation 2, Composure 2
• Abilities
  • Mental: Academics 1, Investigation 1, Medicine 1, Science 1
  • Physical: Athletics 1, Brawl 2 (Boxing), Drive 2, Larceny 1, Weaponry 1
  • Social: Empathy 2, Expression 3 (Singing), Persuasion 3, Streetwise 2 (Irish Neighborhoods), Subterfuge 1
• Merits
  • Mental: None
  • Physical: None
  • Social: Allies [Irish Mob] (••), Barfly (•), Contacts (Theater/Small Performance Community), Inspiring (••••), Resources (•)
• Health 7, Willpower 4, Morality 6
• Size 5, Speed 9, Defense 2, Initiative 4
• Weapons: Switchblade (+0L, Size 1/S, Dur 2)
• Armor: None
• Flaws: Notoriety (Irish Mob family)

Dylan Singing: [1]

Background

I know the best way to start these things is to just start.

My name is Dylan Morgan, and I grew up in Far Rockaway, in Queens, NY. I was born into a family full of fighty Black Irish, and though I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter, I can hold my own in a tussle.

Growing up, I realized that there were two things I really loved, besides my own Mum of course: the ocean and singing. My brothers used to make fun of me for singing, but I did it every chance I could. Mum encouraged me to sing with the choir in church, and I did for quite a few years. I’ve always loved church singing – the majesty of it, and the years of tradition. When you sing with a solid choir, you aren’t just singing with other people: you’re singing with the angels, and if you strain just right, you can hear them singing right along with you.

My Mum is a good woman. Church-going, God-fearing, and like most Irish mothers, she put the fear of God into us at a young age. She had a temper like no one’s business, but she loved just as fiercely, too. She worked at the local Laundromat when we were kids, and we used to hang around the streets there when school let out.

My Da…well, I don’t know him very well. See, he’s spent most of his time in prison, since I was born, really. One of my earliest memories is the police raid on our apartment where he was first arrested and sent to Riker’s Island. I think I was about four years old or so when that happened. I could walk, I know that for sure, because I ran for a closet, and I knew how to talk because I cussed up a storm when they found me and took us away, down to the Social Services.

My brothers and I spent about eight months or so in foster care, from what the others say. I don’t remember the time, per se – I just remember living in someone else’s house, and wanting to go home with my brothers, and my Mum and Da. Instead, I had to live with a strange family. They were nice enough, I suppose. I know they had the patience of saints, because no one should have to deal with a four year old capable of cussing, biting and kicking like I was. I was a purest hellion, and they tried their best.

I remember the day my Mum came to get me. She was with the Social Services lady, and my brothers were in the car. Once she had us safe and sound in the car – with the windows rolled down, of course, because it was so hot – she turned to the poor woman.

“If you or yours ever come near my children again, I’ll kill every one of you. Make no mistake.” While the Social Services lady could only gape, her jaw hanging open, Mum got in the car. The lady quickly stooped down and peered in the passenger window and warned my Mum about saying such things.

“What? That I’ll kill to protect my children? You listen to me, lady. You find a mother that isn’t willing to do so? Those are the ones who should have their children snatched from them.” Then, she drove off. I remember flipping the woman the bird as we drove off, and my brothers cheering me. For a short while, we were a family again, loving one another fiercely and so glad to see one another. Our Mum cried because she was so happy to have us home again.

For the most part, we grew up without Da around. He spent his time in jail, and when he wasn’t in the clink, he wasn’t living with us. Apparently, the Social Services had his not living with us anymore a condition of getting us back, and she’d be damned if anything happened to us, even if it meant giving up the man she loved.

For the longest time, I was sure that was the most romantic, tragic thing I’d ever heard, even before I knew what either of those words were.

I was probably in my teens before I even knew what a “Mob” was. By that point, my older brother Ethan was already working as a courier for the Irish Mob. In fact, he was working with our Da, who was also Irish Mob. Growing up, there were always kids that weren’t allowed to play with us, or whose parents seemed scared of us. Mum used to say that it was because they thought they were better than us, and not to mind them. I know today that my family has been part of the Irish Mob as long as there’s been an Irish Mob.

I did okay in school. I never had to deal with fights in school, because anyone stupid enough to fuck with me ended up face down in the dirt lot next to the school, with Ethan holding him down while Corey kicked the living hell out of them. They always offered to let me have a turn, and I nearly always demurred.

Nearly. If they’d already fucked with me, of course, I’d take a couple of swings.

I did okay in school. Not as well as my teachers seemed to think I should do, but I was definitely the good student in the family. Of course, I was much more interested in things like acting and singing than anything else. One thing I learned quick: the bad boys always get the girls. But the “bad boys” that are soulful and sensitive for their girl, that like to sing and act and read poetry and shit? The ladies can’t get their panties off fast enough, really.

I’m also the only one to actually graduate from high school of my brothers. Each one of them dropped out, generally to take a job somewhere, but – just as my Mum feared, really – each one of those jobs turned out to be for someone in the Mob, and it’s not the only jobs they were doing. I could hold my own against my brothers, but I was never one for all of that crime stuff.

Corey says it’s because I’m a pussy, but Ethan makes him leave me alone. Mum says it’s because I’ve got a bard’s soul to me, and that’s something special that comes with being Irish. Corey claims that if I were a real Irishman, I’d be fighting and drinking the way he does. Then, Mum clouted him upside his stupid head, saying “I don’t recall asking the opinion of a drunken idiot who can barely say the word ‘Irish’ because he’s so drunk most of the time. Don’t you tell me what being Irish is about.”

Have I mentioned that I really love my Mum?

So, my life is sorta weird right now. I’m not really looking for a girl to settle down with and marry. I don’t think I could really afford it, to be truthful. I kinda do jobs here and there. I try and get as many performance gigs as I can, but there’s only so much call for performers in the city of New York. The place is filled with them. So, I help set up lighting and sound tech, do grunt work in nightclubs and theaters and the like. I roam from place to place, most of the time managing to get a couple of rounds out of some cute chickie, maybe find my way into her bed for the night. I’m not quite so much the lady’s man anymore; most people outside my neighborhood don’t know that Morgans are Mob-kids, and the ones who do aren’t impressed by it.

I’m just me, basically. Although the problem is that I’m not sure who that is, really. I’m looking to find out. In the meantime, I earn the money I can, stumble home to my tiny apartment after partying all night and occasionally stop by at Mum’s to raid the refrigerator.

Family

Shannon Morgan (Mother)

My Mum is an amazing woman. She practically raised us all by herself, really. She worked 50 hours weeks at the laundromat, and still managed to come home and care for six completely worthless sons, honestly. She is a hard woman, for certain, but that's because she has to be.

I know that she doesn't like the Mob. Oh, they've kept her in good stead, naturally, with some extra cash to make rent or make sure one of us boys had a decent birthday here and again. She just wishes that her family didn't have anything to do with them, I know. She married my father when she was too young to know that some happiness and a pretty wife would never lure my father away from the Mob. And though she tried her best to raise us with a respect for law (God's laws, if not man's), there is only so much familial momentum you can fight. Our father was Mob, his father was Mob and his father before him - Morgans have always been Mob, I guess, probably for as long as there has been Mob.

Ma doesn't do much in the way of working anymore, except taking in some sewing now and again. We drop by and "feed the goose" occasionally - Ma has this ceramic goose next to the door that she's always used for spare change, grocery money and that sort of thing. Most of us come by to visit a couple of times a week, and when we've got it to spare, drop some money in the goose. I say "most of us" because all too often, the goose helps to feed me. Always at Ma's insistence of course, but...well, I just don't tell my brothers, and Ma sure as hell doesn't.

"I'd rather feed you for the rest of your creative, artistic life than for you to feed me on a life of crime," she told me once. Still, I don't make a habit of it. I hate taking money from her.

Oscar Morgan (Father)

I hardly know my Da, honestly.

My brothers can't really say the same. They've all made a point of visiting him as often as they can, and kinda getting to know him as men. To hear them talk about it, they're all really good pals, and sometimes Lonan gets pissed at me because I won't go with them.

The way I figure it, he couldn't take time out of his busy criminal life to be a father for us. Why the hell would I take the time to be a son to him, you know?

He's locked up in Riker's Island, and is set to sit there for another five years or so. Ma still goes to see him every week, right after Church. I know they love one another a lot, and I think it's just too bad that he didn't love her enough to not get involved in all that bullshit, that's all. Still, she won't hear me bad mouth him, but apparently, she won't hear my brothers fuck with me about not going to see him, either.

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Ethan Morgan (Older Brother, 29)

Ethan has totally taken Da's place in the Mob. He dresses sharply (just like I remember Da always dressing), he's always got cash and he drives a nice car. He could probably have a really nice house if he were at all interested in leaving the neighborhood.

Technically, he works as a supervisor down at one of the shipping docks in the area, but everyone pretty much knows who he really works for. He's been involved in some bad stuff before. I'm pretty sure there was a murder that he was responsible for, though no one ever gave me any details or confirmation. Still, I'm pretty sure it was him. Or that he planned it. Something like that. I just remember Ma crying all the time, and him trying to comfort her, and her being incredibly pissed at him.

Ethan used to protect me, and he still does, in his own way. He's always looked out for the family, since he became the man of the house at the age of ten, I guess. Right after the raid, and once Ma got us back, anyway. Of course, here lately, he's always approaching me with stuff that needs doing for the Mob, and I tell him I'm not interested. He never presses, but he always acts really disappointed.

Sometimes I take the job, though. Not too often, and always when it's clearly work for him, not the Mob. A lot of times it's something simple, like talking someone into paying what they owe the Mob. Or taking care of Tina and the kids when he's away for a while.

He's married, you see. Pretty chick from Brooklyn named Tina. They've got two kids, Harry and Melissa, who are the best fucking kids in the world. I make sure to show up for birthdays and stuff, and when things are being kinda hard around their place, I'm the one that kidnaps them to Coney Island. I'm the fun uncle, according to Harry. Not the scary uncle. I'm not sure which one is the scary uncle, actually, though I have a feeling it might just be Lonan. Tina's a good woman, too. Never fucks around. She has a harder time with the Mob stuff than Ma did, I think - or at least, maybe I was just too young to see how hard it was on Ma. I know that when things are bad, Tina and Ma go to Church together while I watch the kids.

I really do love Ethan. I just wish that he'd get out of the Mob. For his kids' sake. He, of course, thinks that he's doing what he can to give them a good life.

Lonan Morgan (Older Brother, 27)

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Corey Morgan (Older Brother, 26)

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Shane Morgan (Older Brother, 24)

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Patrick Morgan (Younger Brother, 21)

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