Justin's Character History
(My Forsaken PC...here you go. Connections welcome.)
My life…eh, you really want to know? Alright, I guess, but by the time I’m done you better still be awake or at least pay attention since you asked.
At heart I’m a small town kid…a real down home country boy. Surprised? Yeah, just about everyone who ends up finding out about that is...looking at me the way I am and all. I was born in a little town in North Carolina, south of Raleigh, by the name of Monroe. Grade school was a breeze, but I was a holy terror to my teachers who were disappointed that my intelligence seemed to be going to waste because rather than do classwork…if I didn’t want to, I’d just wrap myself around a bar under the table and refuse to come out from under there until they called one of my parents or told me I could do something else.
Most of the time I’d end up being punished or just doing the work eventually in my own time…I mean it’s not as if I disliked the work, but I’ve always been the sort to do things on my own terms and nobody else’s unless I felt like it. Occasionally that’s meant an asskicking of *serious* proportions coming my way but it’s never cured me of my desire to do things on my own terms. Instead it taught me that occasionally it’s simply in my best interests to shut the fuck up and fall in line, if I want to survive and make it anywhere. A time and place to rebel and all that bullshit…more akin to strategic retreats to gain a higher level of overall victory. Principles are all well and good, but what are they worth if you alienate everyone around you or lose your life? The war sometimes has to be fought on others terms, that’s all. Accept losses to win greater victories later.
Sorry…didn’t mean to wax eloquent there. What, you’re surprised that a shiftless layabout squatter like me understands truisms when he sees them or understands what it takes to win fights? If all you believe of me is based on what you see before you, you’re not going to win much of anything because I’m anything but ordinary or some simple layabout. Anyhow…
Life was comfortable in North Carolina and most of my mischief was tolerated with good humor as I’d always end up doing ‘the right thing’ eventually. Growing up on a farm really ain’t so bad, now that I look at it from here. Oh…right. If you ever wondered why I’m so good with guns, that’s it. Da was a card carrying member of the NRA and I’ve been handling firearms since I was strong enough to hold one up and shoot it.
My older sister Jessica was always better behaved than I was, giving in to the pressure our parents put onto her and envying her younger two siblings for their freedom. I was the middle child…expectations of me were lower and leeway given to me similarly lower. Jessica got leeway because she was always so good and Brandon because he was the youngest…baby of the family. Sometimes I wonder where they are….
Why wouldn’t I know? Oh…right…guess I did forget to mention that. My parents died when I was twelve. They were on their way back from a concert at Bran’s school and got hit by some schmuck driving high and drunk, completely not paying attention to the road or how fast he was going. My father was killed on impact and my mother lived long enough to get to the hospital with Bran. She saw that he was alive and at the hospital and it was like that was it, the nurses said, because she closed her eyes and didn’t open them ever again. I can picture it rather vividly, all things considered…
At any rate our Gran had died some two years earlier and she was the last living relative we had here in the States. Not sure why any of my other relatives didn’t come to claim us but it doesn’t really matter, now, now does it? We were all put into foster care and sent to separate homes, the three of us and I’ve never seen either of my siblings ever again.
My first full time home was after a year of being shipped from house to house, and it was with the Christiansens in Boston, Massachusetts. It lasted about two years or so before they couldn’t take it anymore. They were nice people and really didn’t deserve the terror that was me, but I was lashing out and hurt. My whole world had been turned inside out and I didn’t care if I lived or died anymore because everything I’d ever had and loved was ripped away from me. Once I got over the ache and started paying attention to the world around me…I really began to notice how big it was, and just how much I could get away with if I did and said the right things at the right times and places.
That’s the first place I ran away and after I got caught I kept doing it because the streets were where I was most free and school wasn’t challenging me really at all. I’m not a genius but I’m anything but stupid and the inner city schools *sucked*. The only thing I liked about them was the people, and learning to skate, really, so after about the fourth time I’d run away to squat in some slum the Christiansens had enough and shipped me back into foster care. That’s where I was picked up by another lovely couple, the Turveys, and living with them I ended up moved to Salt Lake City and then settled in Atlantic City. Mr. Turvey did very physical work laying fiber optic cable and moved around a lot with his work…very…large, fellow.
Fucked up, really, that situation. He had a beautiful wife that loved him to pieces and thought the world of him, and he’d still rather fuck me than her, probably to this day. From the moment he laid eyes on me I could tell it was coming, it was mostly a matter of when…I don’t remember when I decided that I’d make a play for him so it would at least be on my terms instead of his, but I do remember the day it happened and he became a slave to my body. I could do whatever I wanted after that because it was a very real threat that I’d tell someone and make bloody sure that he got thrown in jail. Not exactly a very legal or Christian thing to be fucking your foster son…so rather than give up the sex or his ‘perfect’ life he let me get away with murder.
So basically that’s how my life went until everything up and changed. I do as I damned well please and get what I want using my body, my words, and whatever else I wanted. Got into drugs a bit but they’re mostly just stupid because all they do is rid you of the ability to think properly. Who needs drugs to dull the pain when life is good? Got into the pseudo political scene, arguing anything from the nature of freedom and security to the underlying concept of language with the minds of my generation and others in coffee shops and clubs. It was intellectually above me but God was it exhilarating and every time they lost me I couldn’t wait to do it again because it made me feel so alive…
You’re looking at me with that expression. Yeah, shocked now because you didn’t realize you were making it…I don’t care. Everyone has that expression when they find out I fucked for money, food, drugs, or whatever I wanted to…that I fucked my foster parent and blackmailed him with it to get more of what I wanted…that I seem to have forgotten the pain of losing my family and overall it presents an image to you that isn’t remotely human and you wonder what the fuck happened to me to make me this way because ten minutes ago, you liked me and you want to again even though you hate me now that you know the truth.
Here’s the way it is, like it or not, love it or leave it. Life dealt me a raw deal and I’m making the best of it that I can. I don’t show anyone how much things still hurt me because if I did, they’d just know how to hurt me worse and that I ain’t letting happen. There are a million ways they can hurt me that I can deal with…I got plans for all of those. If they don’t know me deep down…they can’t ever *really* hurt me. Yeah, that’s the next anticipated look…understanding and pity and a hardening of your heart. I’ve been here before…you’re no different than the rest of them. Just like them…I don’t care what you think.
So back on topic…my beautiful story. Basically it crowns with the werefluffies finding me naked and covered in blood. A John took things too far and got me involved in the making of a snuff flick…when I really wasn’t signing on for all that, and when he tried to kill me I lost it. I don’t remember what happened…blacked out, but they tell me I turned into a big werefluffy and killed the guy and all the others there filming the shit. They tracked me down using the name on my id in my wallet and a rock onna rope spell that lead them to me, straight up outta Charmed, that shit was. Fortunately though the bitch with the rock on the rope told me her name wasn’t Paige.
So yeah. Here I am. They brought me here after all that and they’ve been secreting me away because my ‘father and mother’ are looking for me now. I wonder how much of it is libido, how much is legal issues, and how much is a reasonable approximation of love….
Being a werefluffy is bullshit, and they’re still trying to convince me that I have duties and roles to fulfill but I’m not about that duty bullshit. I do what I want, when I want and to hell with anything else.
Oh yeah…and I almost forgot to say this.
I’m not fucking bitter.
My life…eh, you really want to know? Alright, I guess, but by the time I’m done you better still be awake or at least pay attention since you asked.
At heart I’m a small town kid…a real down home country boy. Surprised? Yeah, just about everyone who ends up finding out about that is...looking at me the way I am and all. I was born in a little town in North Carolina, south of Raleigh, by the name of Monroe. Grade school was a breeze, but I was a holy terror to my teachers who were disappointed that my intelligence seemed to be going to waste because rather than do classwork…if I didn’t want to, I’d just wrap myself around a bar under the table and refuse to come out from under there until they called one of my parents or told me I could do something else.
Most of the time I’d end up being punished or just doing the work eventually in my own time…I mean it’s not as if I disliked the work, but I’ve always been the sort to do things on my own terms and nobody else’s unless I felt like it. Occasionally that’s meant an asskicking of *serious* proportions coming my way but it’s never cured me of my desire to do things on my own terms. Instead it taught me that occasionally it’s simply in my best interests to shut the fuck up and fall in line, if I want to survive and make it anywhere. A time and place to rebel and all that bullshit…more akin to strategic retreats to gain a higher level of overall victory. Principles are all well and good, but what are they worth if you alienate everyone around you or lose your life? The war sometimes has to be fought on others terms, that’s all. Accept losses to win greater victories later.
Sorry…didn’t mean to wax eloquent there. What, you’re surprised that a shiftless layabout squatter like me understands truisms when he sees them or understands what it takes to win fights? If all you believe of me is based on what you see before you, you’re not going to win much of anything because I’m anything but ordinary or some simple layabout. Anyhow…
Life was comfortable in North Carolina and most of my mischief was tolerated with good humor as I’d always end up doing ‘the right thing’ eventually. Growing up on a farm really ain’t so bad, now that I look at it from here. Oh…right. If you ever wondered why I’m so good with guns, that’s it. Da was a card carrying member of the NRA and I’ve been handling firearms since I was strong enough to hold one up and shoot it.
My older sister Jessica was always better behaved than I was, giving in to the pressure our parents put onto her and envying her younger two siblings for their freedom. I was the middle child…expectations of me were lower and leeway given to me similarly lower. Jessica got leeway because she was always so good and Brandon because he was the youngest…baby of the family. Sometimes I wonder where they are….
Why wouldn’t I know? Oh…right…guess I did forget to mention that. My parents died when I was twelve. They were on their way back from a concert at Bran’s school and got hit by some schmuck driving high and drunk, completely not paying attention to the road or how fast he was going. My father was killed on impact and my mother lived long enough to get to the hospital with Bran. She saw that he was alive and at the hospital and it was like that was it, the nurses said, because she closed her eyes and didn’t open them ever again. I can picture it rather vividly, all things considered…
At any rate our Gran had died some two years earlier and she was the last living relative we had here in the States. Not sure why any of my other relatives didn’t come to claim us but it doesn’t really matter, now, now does it? We were all put into foster care and sent to separate homes, the three of us and I’ve never seen either of my siblings ever again.
My first full time home was after a year of being shipped from house to house, and it was with the Christiansens in Boston, Massachusetts. It lasted about two years or so before they couldn’t take it anymore. They were nice people and really didn’t deserve the terror that was me, but I was lashing out and hurt. My whole world had been turned inside out and I didn’t care if I lived or died anymore because everything I’d ever had and loved was ripped away from me. Once I got over the ache and started paying attention to the world around me…I really began to notice how big it was, and just how much I could get away with if I did and said the right things at the right times and places.
That’s the first place I ran away and after I got caught I kept doing it because the streets were where I was most free and school wasn’t challenging me really at all. I’m not a genius but I’m anything but stupid and the inner city schools *sucked*. The only thing I liked about them was the people, and learning to skate, really, so after about the fourth time I’d run away to squat in some slum the Christiansens had enough and shipped me back into foster care. That’s where I was picked up by another lovely couple, the Turveys, and living with them I ended up moved to Salt Lake City and then settled in Atlantic City. Mr. Turvey did very physical work laying fiber optic cable and moved around a lot with his work…very…large, fellow.
Fucked up, really, that situation. He had a beautiful wife that loved him to pieces and thought the world of him, and he’d still rather fuck me than her, probably to this day. From the moment he laid eyes on me I could tell it was coming, it was mostly a matter of when…I don’t remember when I decided that I’d make a play for him so it would at least be on my terms instead of his, but I do remember the day it happened and he became a slave to my body. I could do whatever I wanted after that because it was a very real threat that I’d tell someone and make bloody sure that he got thrown in jail. Not exactly a very legal or Christian thing to be fucking your foster son…so rather than give up the sex or his ‘perfect’ life he let me get away with murder.
So basically that’s how my life went until everything up and changed. I do as I damned well please and get what I want using my body, my words, and whatever else I wanted. Got into drugs a bit but they’re mostly just stupid because all they do is rid you of the ability to think properly. Who needs drugs to dull the pain when life is good? Got into the pseudo political scene, arguing anything from the nature of freedom and security to the underlying concept of language with the minds of my generation and others in coffee shops and clubs. It was intellectually above me but God was it exhilarating and every time they lost me I couldn’t wait to do it again because it made me feel so alive…
You’re looking at me with that expression. Yeah, shocked now because you didn’t realize you were making it…I don’t care. Everyone has that expression when they find out I fucked for money, food, drugs, or whatever I wanted to…that I fucked my foster parent and blackmailed him with it to get more of what I wanted…that I seem to have forgotten the pain of losing my family and overall it presents an image to you that isn’t remotely human and you wonder what the fuck happened to me to make me this way because ten minutes ago, you liked me and you want to again even though you hate me now that you know the truth.
Here’s the way it is, like it or not, love it or leave it. Life dealt me a raw deal and I’m making the best of it that I can. I don’t show anyone how much things still hurt me because if I did, they’d just know how to hurt me worse and that I ain’t letting happen. There are a million ways they can hurt me that I can deal with…I got plans for all of those. If they don’t know me deep down…they can’t ever *really* hurt me. Yeah, that’s the next anticipated look…understanding and pity and a hardening of your heart. I’ve been here before…you’re no different than the rest of them. Just like them…I don’t care what you think.
So back on topic…my beautiful story. Basically it crowns with the werefluffies finding me naked and covered in blood. A John took things too far and got me involved in the making of a snuff flick…when I really wasn’t signing on for all that, and when he tried to kill me I lost it. I don’t remember what happened…blacked out, but they tell me I turned into a big werefluffy and killed the guy and all the others there filming the shit. They tracked me down using the name on my id in my wallet and a rock onna rope spell that lead them to me, straight up outta Charmed, that shit was. Fortunately though the bitch with the rock on the rope told me her name wasn’t Paige.
So yeah. Here I am. They brought me here after all that and they’ve been secreting me away because my ‘father and mother’ are looking for me now. I wonder how much of it is libido, how much is legal issues, and how much is a reasonable approximation of love….
Being a werefluffy is bullshit, and they’re still trying to convince me that I have duties and roles to fulfill but I’m not about that duty bullshit. I do what I want, when I want and to hell with anything else.
Oh yeah…and I almost forgot to say this.
I’m not fucking bitter.