Author Topic: Jesse Sterling  (Read 915 times)

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Offline pentagrandma

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Jesse Sterling
« on: September 09, 2019, 02:19:29 PM »

Name: Jesse Waylon Sterling
Nickname: Jess (Tolerated from a select few)
Age [Appearance]: Mid-twenties
Age [Actual]: 25
Date of Birth: 4/1/1994
Zodiac: Aries
Gender: Male
Species: Cursed Human (Werewolf)

Hair: His hair is that nameless, intermediate shade between blonde and brown. It’s kept fairly clean-cut; sides trim, top long enough to part and comb back with a bit of pomade. When disheveled, a soft wave pattern makes itself more evident. A subtle widow’s peak, in addition to his hair’s styling, further lends an almost old-world look to his appearance; fitting him in among the Hollywood stars of the forties and fifties, like some simmering young Gary Cooper or James Dean.
Face Shape: Jesse’s face still possesses some of the softness of youth; mitigated by way of an anchor-esque configuration of stubble that silhouettes his upper lip, and the squared lines of his jaw and chin. Very rarely is he seen clean-shaven.
Complexion: Fair, but not pale. A faint scattering of freckles spans the bridge of his nose amidst sunnier months.
Eyes: Jesse’s eyes are an unremarkable shade of blue. Not piercing, nor crystalline. Not sky, nor ice. Rather, they’re dull and flat - ofttimes lifeless. His lashes, however, atone for their tired hue through sheer magnitude; long enough that a downward glance sees that they nearly skim the heights of his cheekbones.
Nose: Cute as a button.
Lips: Expressive and soft, a defined cupid’s bow shaping their border.
Frame:  5’10” (178 cm); 170 lbs (77kg). Average in height, but proportionately built. There’s a covert (and well-maintained) strength to his frame, coiled and waiting to strike.
Hands: Calloused and webbed in silvering scars; heaviest across the expanse of his knuckles.
Tattoos/Distinguishing Marks: A large, notched scar on his right shoulder; pretty gnarly. An overall scattering of lesser scars.
Clothing: Perhaps the most notable thing about Jesse’s fashion sense is that he has none. He wears the look of an accidental hipster; affording little thought or care to the appearance of his attire, but having the good fortune to look as though he tried nonetheless. The majority of his clothing is timeworn and shabby: comprised of dilapidated denim and flannels, basic knits and button-downs, and one well-cherished leather jacket.

Jesse’s general bearing is relatively listless. He takes his time with his words, slowly pouring them from his mouth in a loose-jawed and drowsy timbre; dropping letters, prolonging vowels, and making plenty use of endearing southernisms. In spite of his outward-seeming passivity, however, our Jess is extremely hotheaded. He’s quick to anger, and quicker to brawl. Still, once the flame of his ire has flared and extinguished, he isn’t one to stir what remains of its embers. Rather, he’s proportionately willing to let things go - after his fists have stated their case.

Unlike many who share in his curse, Jesse retains a morbid obsession with the rush achieved from his routine transformation. He revels in his loss of control; in his ability to climb into the passenger seat of his own vessel, and watch as that feral part of him takes hold of the wheel. To him, there’s no high as sweet - but courting death comes a close second.

He isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he does have common sense - even if he doesn’t always see fit to utilize it.

Jesse was reared in Podunk Hollow, Alabama, in a town as underprivileged as it is remote. With a single mother - Rag-Baby Louanne, who was more tippler than caregiver, squandering men as swiftly as she knocked back bottles - our lad was generally left to his own rowdy devices. Living in the sticks meant that boredom came easy, and finding amusement called for a wide supply of inventiveness.

With few kids his own age to hang around, Jesse tarried with the older boys. He was the runt of the pack and, as such, was oft browbeaten and heckled, subject to many a torturous rite of passage. That’s the bitter truth of the backwoods; sometimes, the wrong crowd is the only crowd. Still, our Jess took his hazing in stride. He learned to be just as wicked - and by the time he grew into himself, those boys didn’t dare hound him any further.

Following the eighth grade, Jesse’s attendance at school was but once in a blue moon. By the tenth, he’d dropped out entirely - and what little time wasn’t wasted in the act of sowing wild oats, was spent apprenticing beneath the town’s only mechanic, Vernon. It was there that he met Boone, the old man’s son.

His and Jesse’s relationship began as one of senseless animosity, with the duo butting heads at an almost laughable frequency. Eventually, however, after a succession of (mostly) even-matched altercations, the pair developed a mutual respect for one another and became close. Jess and Boone were like white on rice from then on, each boy enabling the other’s most sinful impulses.

Together, they got into all manner of trouble: from your standard and mundane act of drunken cow-tipping, to the riling up of boys twice their size. They sampled a profusion of drugs in search of that ‘perfect high,’ but ultimately agreed that nothing could ever compare to the adrenaline rush achieved from a fight well-won. After jumping off the self-medicating bandwagon, they moved onto other thrill-seeking endeavors: largely in the form of an ever-evolving game of ‘chicken’.

It was one of these such ventures that led Jesse unwittingly toward his curse. See, though he and Boone had decided to lay off the use of stimulants themselves, they’d concluded there was still some fun to be had in the tempting of others. Having created a partnership of sorts with the local drug lord - or, rather, the redneck-equivalent - they played the reciprocal roles of runner for a time. Inevitably, they grew tired of that particular game, and resolved to up the ante by way of turning on their top dog - for no real gain than for that of the thrill.

They hatched and laid a two-man heist; one that culminated in fired off rounds, and a shot and bloodied Boone in the backseat of Jesse’s car. With his focus too intent upon making their getaway, and the added stimulation obtained from the chase, our Jess paid no mind to Boone’s plight: to his supplicating pleas to both Devil and God; to the subsequent snapping of bones and cries that something weren’t right. It wasn’t until the sounds of those screams lost their humanity - changed from horrified to bestial, like the hair-raising baying of a hellhound - that Jesse took it upon himself to notice. But, by then, he was too late. Jess had been bitten, and he’d narrowly escaped with his life.

Jess and Boone never talked about that night. They carried on like nothing had ever happened; like giving voice to their shared nightmare might breathe life into it, might make it real. Come the rise of that first, inaugural full moon, however, Jesse was no longer able to turn a blind eye to his new truth. The change found him within the bounds of his own home, and he was forced to sit idly by - trapped within a small corner of his mind, a mere spectator in his own body - as his beast violently devoured his drunk and unsuspecting mother.

It wasn’t that our boy had ever been mentally sound up until that point - no, he had never really been quite right - but a crucial part of his being had snapped that night. The initial horror of what he’d done had swiftly elapsed, replaced with a coping corollary: that his transformation had been among the best adrenaline highs he’d ever experienced.

When he came to Boone, perversely ecstatic with the results of his findings, his friend rejected him outright; having formed an opposing opinion of his own curse. After a heated exchange, Jess flew the coop to sate a newfound wanderlust, and devastate many a pedestrian along his path.

Eventually, he met Vai; and, with the fear of God struck into him, he was tamed to some small degree. Since, he’s been seeking his thrills in appropriate Pack Bastards fashion: within the fighting cage at Club Zero.

Awareness of Supernaturals: Yes
Occupation/Job: Pack bruiser/Club Zero bouncer/on-call auto mechanic.
Domicile: Deep in the wood near(ish) Mirror Lake in the North District, at an old abandoned campground.  The entire pack lives here.
Interesting Facts/Quirks: Rather than lose consciousness during the full moon, Jesse remains as a spectator within his own body; unable to take over control, but fully aware. He is an adrenaline junkie, with no fear of death.
Hobbies: Fighting, putting himself in life-threatening situations, working on cars, exercise/pumping iron.
Likes: Fighting, adrenaline, driving fast, muscle cars, good tunes, Jim Beam, staying fit.
Dislikes: The things Jesse dislikes vary upon his mood. Sure, he’s hotheaded - but just because a thing offends him today, doesn’t mean it will tomorrow. Being called ‘Jess’ might be the only invariable, unless coming from a person he values/respects.
Strength: No fear of death.
Weakness/Flaw: Extremely hot-tempered; cares little for the well-being of others; finding his adrenaline fix takes priority over most everything else.

(Within reason)
Feeding: Yes
Wounding/Cursing: Yes
Killing: Ask first

Offline pentagrandma

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Re: Jesse Sterling
« Reply #1 on: September 30, 2019, 09:47:53 AM »
That Sweet Vitamin V - Jesse does business with Apep.
The Butler Is Out - Butler and Jesse fight at Club Zero.
Wrench & Spanner - Jess offers up a temporary fix for Trick's car troubles.