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Kaelin Rory

0 · 373 views · located in Brooklyn, New York

a character in “Dirt & Opulence”, as played by J.D.


...............Kaelin Rory
...........................The Jackal

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost

When is a man, no longer a man?

ImageThe Jackal
Irish Origin
No Affiliation
Frigid Temperament
Kaelin Rory
29 Years Of Age
Sexuality Unknown

....................................."Aderyn & Ailbe
.....................................10 & 9”


When that man...

In Depth
When you think of evil, there are usually comparisons that are so heavily defined by darkness and anger, and brutality beyond words. Of people who take lives without remorse, of men who do horrible things in their spare time, and of women, sharp eyed as birds of prey. And they stick to their guns, their knives, their bloody fists and weapons alike one another. But in the end, most see it as a job by the end of the day. Kaelin lacks the remorse to be good, but takes too much joy in it to be like every other evil that children dream up in the night. A man who talks with his fists more than with his words. An entity that will tear minds apart with a single word, break them down, build them up, and tear them to tiny pieces before a single word of protest can be uttered.

Hes seen the rise and fall, has been the cause of it many times and yet he lusts after more. So obsessively focused on his goals that he doesn't notice quite how deranged he has become in recent years. Born of blood, he has lived with it, and has loved it with every fibre of his being. Yet, there has been no love so great as the love for his family. A deeply seated obsession with normalcy that threatens every waking moment of his live. Overbearing visions of a future beyond the dirt and grime that keeps him on his toes every second of every day. Perhaps, why he so intensely seeks his younger brother out, to bring him back to the fold and keep that blood lust going within him. To stomp out anything that threatens the brewing storm.

Inner Demons

29 years seems an impossible feat for a man who spent most of it half dead, a Rory by name but certainly not by thought or way. Too brash, unthinking, unwilling to follow the rules. They saw him as a nuisance and spoiled brat, even thought him to be no more the Rory than the numerous bastards that shared his family name. All because of a mother who saw fit to never close her legs. But his father knew that all too well, knew the woman behind the mask and thus took care of each and every child she spat forth. Kaelin may not have been his biologically or in nature but there was certainly nothing in those early years that spoke against him. As a child he was a disillusioned sort, utterly disappointed in the way his family went about business - too restrained, their violence was a B movie horror story at best. Kaelin, for all his good had too much bad in him to fight in the shadows. He wanted recognition for his crime, but he too in time would learn the effects of bringing down so much heat on the family.

He absconded before the big blow out between his younger brother and their father, more so for the fact that he had the police hot and heavy on his tail and his father at the front ready to toss him to the pigs the first chance he got. While he could have stayed and fought back alongside his brother he knew that would only be a temporary fix, without the patriarch in place a new boss would end up stepping up to the plate - and it would be a blood bath. Besides, he had no interest in organized crime outside of the ability to do someone in without major repercussions, without his family at his back he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. For a few years he wandered Ireland with his fists at the ready, a ghost that most had dubbed the Jackal. In those years he had to learn to settle his grievances and become a man more content to hide in the shadows - if not only to save his own ass from jail time.

After a while he returned home to check up on his brother, the only living relative of his that mattered in his life. He and Aedan were close as children, and Kaelin himself had taken close care of the bugger for years. It was then that he learned of the big fight and shook some information out of his father about Aedans where about. While there was no sure location for him they did know that he had gone to America. So Kaelin packed his bags and went after him, mostly to bring him home. While seeking out his brothers whereabouts he decided to make a name for himself in America, another ghost story to tell in the night to naughty children.

Becomes a monster.

So begins...

Kaelin Rory's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bel Z. Character Portrait: Jonathan Moore Character Portrait: Chloe Williams Character Portrait: Jasper Callaghan Character Portrait: Hani Kim Character Portrait: Dominic Bates Character Portrait: Aedan Rory Character Portrait: Kaelin Rory Character Portrait: Daisy A.
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Chloe Williams
In Collaboration With JD

The atmosphere of this place kicks up a notch right around the time that the people with wives and children awaiting them at home start filing out. Those who can’t party with the big boys and girls should have stayed home to begin with. She’s well aware that she’s having too much fun here, but after the day she’s had, the completely unnecessary karma curveball that got thrown at her – well, she goddamn deserves some fun. And what better way than to find some pretty girls to wrap herself around. Besides, she’s got the cash to blow, and thus far it seems like her little theft earlier in the night has gone completely unnoticed.

It’s not too far into the night that she notices tall, dark, and creepy staring her down from several seats away. She likes to occupy a middle grounds section, where she can easily get to the door if shit starts popping off, while also being visible in case any business were to come her way. She isn’t surprised by the amount of former and current clients she sees in the crowd; some she’s robbed blind even, though she chooses to duck her head when those types walk by. Even if she’s got ‘friends’ in this crowd she’d rather not ruin the party with a fight.

The longer the guy stares at her however the more nervous she gets. Her mind wheeling through the list of who she’s screwed over in the past. But this guy, she couldn’t tell if she knew him or not. At least, not by face, but those eyes were familiar enough. Whatever the case, she was getting irrationally more annoyed by the second just thinking about it. Even the two women parked beside her can’t seem to shake her out of the daze she’s gotten herself into.

“Excuse me ladies,” She stands away from the two companions that had been her entertainment for the night – farewell until another time. Barely sparing them a glance as she walked to the table where creepy sat. Closer up she could distinguish the features that she had not before been able to make out. At first she hadn’t been able to tell what it was, but as she examined him closer the picture instantly formed for her. He looked a fair bit like Aedan, if Aedan were older and a bit more roughed up. But what really made the resemblance click was when he opened his mouth to speak.

” Why don’t you have a seat?” Kaelin motioned to the seat opposite of himself. Entertained by the uncertainty in her eyes. No doubt little red was already regretting the decision to approach him. He certainly would have been had he been in her shoes. Never the less, he waited patiently for her compliance before flagging down a roaming waitress and ordering two drinks. – JD. At this point, if his face wasn’t the giveaway then the accent would have been. Thicker than the version that Aedan spoke with. Chloe tries to keep herself grounded to the spot, but she already knew that he was packing the better set of intimidation skills here. Goddamn it all, didn’t she know this day would come?

Not exactly, but she did know that her line of work came with plenty of danger and this, whoever this man is, he isn’t no diamond in the rough. “Just cause you buy me a drink don’t mean you’ll get a freebie.” Chloe bites her tongue immediately after. Jesus Christ, what an idiotic thing to say. Chloe doesn’t have time to recover from her slip of tongue. ” Sweetheart, if I wanted a freebie I’d have already taken it. Besides, I like my women a little more pliant.” Thinly veiled threats don’t make friends but Kaelin isn’t here to sweet talk. “So, profession aside, I hear you know someone I’m looking for.” - JD Chloe breathes deep, counting to three in her mind before answering. This could go a dozen ways and thus far none of them seem good. “I know a lot of people,” She admits. “But my client list isn’t exactly for sale,” She spoke low, enough for him to hear but anyone passing by wouldn’t be privy to their conversation.

” I’m not looking to buy, and –“He stopped, the waitress had returned with their drinks, he watched her set them on the table and continued watching until she had walked away and was out of his line of sight. When he turned back, Chloe had already drawn her drink closer to herself. He let the meaning of that sink in slowly, knowing he had gotten under her skin already. He had a knack for it, he supposed. “I doubt this person happens to be a client.” He knew it for a fact. There was something about the woman that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how predatory she was, there was no doubt she was powerful, more so than most of the women he kept as company. He thought it a waste of abilities that a woman like her paraded around as a common whore – or, escort, as pretentious as it sounded to his ears. No doubt she was a little classier than the street walkers in their fishnets.

“I’m looking for Aedan Rory, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, or perhaps if he’s attending tonight’s festivities?” - JD

She’s got one hand wrapped around a drink and the other tapping anxious fingers across the tabletop. Her eyes shift, dancing across the floor in movements mimicking the girls on stage. Something is wrong, deep in the pit of her stomach where all the sins get bottled up and sent out to the impulsive side of her brain. After too many nights stuck in the downpour she’s come to accept when life throws cosmic grade karma at her. Right now is one of those times. She isn’t willing to say it aloud but fear is slowly seeping into the rational part of her mind, but on the surface, where raw emotion dictates she is cold and unblinking. If not for the nervous twitch of her lip, she would be hidden behind a disinterested gaze.

The man before her is cold fury, and she knows the look better than most. Has spent nights in bed with it only to wake up the next morning with a wad of folded bills tucked neatly into the curve of her breasts. The kind that she only avoids on principle – she enjoys control and those men are nothing but predators vying for it. Besides the fact that stealing from them is nearly impossible, there’s an intelligence there, or maybe a similar state of mind that sniffs out her intentions long before they form. And then, if she’s lucky she gets through it alive. She isn’t proud of the life she leads, but she’s proud of the person she is, maybe that’s enough to stop her from biting the bait.

It isn’t.

Chloe is a creature of habit, and her habit is to follow the most dangerous thing in the room and claim it as her own. If he wasn’t levelling her with a look of pure bloodlust she would have almost missed that he had the same look she’s seen a dozen times and more on Aedan. Thoroughly ready to flay her alive. That look on anyone but Aedan jumpstarts the adrenaline. Cements the danger in her mind and yet she still doesn’t flee when he makes a jerky movement to lay one hand on her tapping fingers. She doesn’t flinch, but it damn near takes every screaming gut instinct to keep from doing so. She remembers now, Aedan never told her the full story, but she knows enough of his past that she can recognize exactly who this is - and that makes everything all the worse.

” No need to be so nervous,” He chides, almost jokingly. Lips pulling into a mock smile that shows every ridge of cigarette yellowed teeth. “I only asked a simple question.” Yeah, a simple question that could determine her fate then and there, either the man is going to get pissed and murder her or Aedan will He drops the smile in favor of a grimace, “I’m not that scary am I?” Another joke, perhaps. But its anything but joking in nature. He’s got a way about him that can do one of two things, draw people in, or utterly terrify them away.

“Who said I was scared…or nervous for that matter,” Chloe forced an eye roll, “Look what do you want, I’ve got things to do, people to see, and Aedan doesn’t happen to be one of them.” She’s dropped all pretenses of claiming to not know him. “He’s not exactly a people person, I’d be surprised if he even showed up to one of these things.” Lies. She had seen him earlier that night when he decided to blow her off in favor of Dominic Bates. She didn’t quite know the extent of that relationship, but she knew there was a history. As much as she liked to keep her friends close she didn’t much care how they spent their nights.

”Ah, but you do know him.” His grin had returned in force, “And that means you have all the information I need.” She had laid out all the cards to him, and he was ready to take them. -JD Chloe was just about tired of the back and forth, at this point it was becoming too exhausting to uphold. "Look, he isn't here okay. He's probably home sulking about this or that - or probably even high off Imagehis ass.I'm not his keeper" She could feel the fear ebb away for just a moment. Annoyance seeping in as it fades. But, she knows his type, and if anything he'll keep dogging her if she doesn't give him something. "Look, I can give you his number but thats it, I'd appreciate if you just left me alone after this." That seemed to be enough for the man, she quickly wrote the familiar number down on a napkin and shoved it to him. Her nerves were shot, she needed at least ten more drinks if she was going to weather this night. Maybe get fucked up and take someone home. Who knows at that point.

"Well, here's hoping we meet again." Kaelin lifted his glass in a mock toast. He was enjoying their little exchange more than he thought he would, and really, the number helped enough that he didn't mind her retreat. Despite the lip she was giving him, which normally he wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else. For that matter, he wasn't completely unaffected by her charms. He would have liked to watch her break down. - JD. Chloe grimaced, and, with a flourish turned away. No goodbyes to be had, she was more than ready to find some sap and break him down. Get her nerves back into the right place. But first....

To: Aedan
"Do you have life insurance?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bel Z. Character Portrait: Gunner Bates Character Portrait: Senna Z. Character Portrait: Chloe Williams Character Portrait: Dominic Bates Character Portrait: November Mae Character Portrait: Aedan Rory Character Portrait: Caroline Beaumont Character Portrait: Deni Pogsley Character Portrait: Kaelin Rory Character Portrait: Daisy A.
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Childlike diversion came and went like the poetry of sinners. She'd never taken a step beyond the boundary known as bereavement, not to fall from seventy stories and be cradled by the crumpled coffin ladle of automobile wreckage. Nor hideously overdosed, reemerging with baby pink lips confounded, chest swinging. And certainly not alongside a lover, beige inoculated, their nerves a tangled mess of bare vigilance as they on dying breath shrugged at their syringe delinquency. But she had known the afterlife well. Had she not, she wouldn't recognize the charisma of its opposite. She was not ready to eat the crows of Brooklyn. She wasn't ready to die.

Senna shifted in the corner booth of fluorescent swept debts, not in part - quite the same as show girls. Her declaration of refusal was between the palm pulse of she and Caroline's grasp. But something about the guarded and unapologetic audits of her brother, even his sworn enemies, had her admittedly in a state of microscopic reconsideration. She knew after all, bringing Caroline into this place was proliferated with threats.

Not pretty, the colophon of Senna's light switch love interest had all eyes on herself and her shiny new right hand. This tool, not by any means meant to be, was garnering extra attention. No comity left. None expected. Her best guess is that life goes on, and she abides quietly with a pull of the hips. Caroline fell into her lap in a way that was beyond close for comfort to those around them. The euphoria behind shocks of dandelion hair bespoke of being wet, i n e x p e r i e n c e d. Untouched. A dusky pout was always in place, but she substituted it for a coy rock of her mouth which cracked corner vague into a smile and puckered to trace a slender neck. Senna knew what she was doing, that, they were looking for a show, really. She’d give it. Besides, the club was burning out in terms of holding her attention. Even with the blowout between Bel and November. Caroline, on the other hand, seemed overtly giddy.

“Has its days,” Senna sighed, drink in hand, leaning back into a cushion, “All dogs do.” Of course the feline like presence of the room belonged to maybe Chloe - Deni. One or both, and quite frankly, Senna had ashed the cigarette of her excitement and patience long ago. A bad feeling settled into her gut once Daisy showed up. Everyone could pretend like they didn’t see her, but she was hard to miss.

The warfare of nostalgia set in heavier than the bruise across her brow, and she leaned her forehead into the structure of her counterpart, creasing it. Burdensome, really. Nostalgia and sitting across the room from someone she’d just shared a bed with. A bed she didn’t want to leave. What was worse was having Daisy slide in, half kimono’d with her tiny waist and inky hair cast around her face the way it always was. It forced Senna to remember better and worse days. The latter perhaps warped her brain in a way that couldn’t be imagined even by the psychos she loved most. Speaking of psychos, her eyes grazed the shell of Aedan shortly before he up and disappeared, and pondered his presence in a way that might have said, “I bet you feel real proud right now.” And she couldn’t knock it. A heroin hedonist with the lacking in brakes made for a hell of a night and she couldn’t hate him anymore than she could have asked him to do her again. But when she recalled the lie spun like fine silk to fall on eager ears, protecting her now girlfriend, she kept her scrutiny up off of him. Avoided him like the plague.

Messy, messy.

Yeah, she knew it would be. It always was and it didn’t tend to clean itself up in a jiffy when things looked up, either. Perhaps the worst part of living in such a cesspool was less the people and more the circumstances and routines bred by them. There was an old saying about how once something manifests, it stays in motion. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. All that, and what not. Which meant the world of physics was granting evil immortality with little ramifications and plenty of bloodshed recoil. It made Senna mumble, “Mother fucker,” out loud and slam her drink back to counter herself immediately, “I’m tired.” But wasn’t everyone in the place? Yeah, they were.

And then there were the unidentifiable silhouettes that she thought familiar, but couldn't see long enough in the right strip of light to really know. It all felt too dangerous suddenly. She glanced over someone hollow, someone like something she already knew too intimately and watched it fall devil wise toward Chloe's company.

I gotta' get the fuck out.

A better shelter than shadow, Gunner sat up next to the baron with a sort of invisible mass cloaked around him. He looked just like she’d left him, maybe worse, and she didn’t want to tell the difference. Didn’t know how the hell she could take something so good and twist it up in her feeble hands, but she always managed to. Dominic wasn’t long for the likes of this place, and that was to no surprise. If he couldn’t hide in Novi or someone else, he’d dip alone or alongside the next best thing. They all loved lotus eating more than the beating of their own souls, but sometimes it was a close tie out. Much as they all thought they were alone they never really were. One cat always dragged in another. So the mess went. Over, and over, and over again.

ImageIn the company of wolves a person often finds that creature alliance is a fickle son of a bitch [no pun intended], yet somehow lays like the fruitful peace of a treaty between tandems that have accepted a common enemy. Everything was so fucking mercurial. Usually she didn’t want to complain but she was sodden with the strain of her free choices and was sick to death of being in a room full of them, past and present. She thought it better to peel out quick while the wounds were still kind of dry. Ripping them raw didn’t seem an alternative, she just wasn’t going to allow it. Not with tensions strung tighter than a guitar Dominic would rather smash than play or, traps rigged up right under everyone’s nose. Didn’t it just seem like, these days… They were all waiting to fall in on each other and lay their shit bare? That right there - the impending bloodlust? She forecasted it daily and watched the dam get a little weaker every week.

“We should cut this place,” she kissed it into prettier words, “Solo tu y yo.”

She couldn’t be paid to keep the baggage of everyone else’s evening and knew well enough that she had to keep hers in check. Some things weren’t fair. Well, about three hundred percent of existence wasn’t. She’d made a wrong turn or five and needed to bust the u. Maybe home. Maybe somewhere warm, under the covers or between Caroline’s thighs.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aedan Rory Character Portrait: Kaelin Rory
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#, as written by Wiley
The Second Breath Of Air
Est. April, 2006
Sixteen-Years Old

Broken noses feel like shit, that thick line of blood running straight down and pooling round the filter of a cigarette hanging loosely between closed lips. Moving between baby teeth and the taste of it rubbing raw against a new tongue. Each inhale lessens the punch of it, making a friend out of the smoke that spills from barely parted lips. The endless numb that comes with street grade painkillers floods each cell, down to the fibers of my being. A leeway into feeling nothing at all. A path towards tonights tormented dreams.

"Christ, who fucked ya up?"

I avoid the battering stare cast down upon me from a figure nothing more than shadow, upturn my head to the sky and let the blood run the other direction back down my throat. A new taste to accompany the nicotine. Something decidedly sweet in comparison to the burn in my lungs.

"Doesn't matter."

Footsteps. The shuffling of fabric. Two seconds of wondering if the man has left before a sudden weight drops into my lap. The crinkle of a paper bag and the unmistakable sight of fast food wrappers.

"Grabbed lunch."

"Don't care."

"No, didn't expect you would." He pauses a beat, "Pretty damn stupid running off like that."

I sneer, set the bag aside and look up to meet his gaze. Dalaigh's a sleight man that doesn't stand out in a crowd, non-imposing, non-threatening. Dressed in a way that screams Sunday Mass and not cold blooded murder till the cotton of his shirts stained red with the evidence of a crime committed. Its the kind of deliberate disguise that has me curling my lip in a snarl. Playing house is a fools game, a stab at choking the monster back. But he's always going to be there, lurking at the edge of every thought each time something with the capability to kill is in hand. It is a weakness, and it always ends the same. His allegiance to my father be damned, I'm more than ready to take a pair of dull knives to the skin between each rib.

Just like I've been taught.

The cigarette is nearly down to the filter, losing its taste. Whats left of the twinge in my nose is gone. Same shit, different day. I cross my arms, wonder where my brothers gone, whether he's aware that with him out of the picture pops has men like Dalaigh trailing every running shadow of mine. Don't suppose he'd care, busy with the feeling of wet viscera slipping through excited hands.

"Why don't you just fuck off."

Dalaigh laughs. Like he has the right to find anything funny when in truth, he's walking on ice so thin that its already beginning to crack.

"And take a bullet for not doing my job?" He seems to ponder. "Keeping your psychotic ass in line is still better than that."

I stub the cigarette out on the ground, the pavement is still wet from the never fucking ending rain. He knows the fucking answer to that, so I don't say a damn thing in return. Shove my hands in my pockets to stave off the cold thats seeping in. There are still clouds in the sky, a storm gathering on the horizon. The lack of sun washes all light from the landscape turning vivid color into grungy monochrome. The shadows that are usually long and reaching are barely distinguishable today.

Typical day for this shit.

"Where the hell are you going now."


And it's the truth.

Home is hell wrapped up in a gemstone glow. Shiny enough to pull off the gleam of clean business, with razor edges cut into fine geometry. Icarus heels at the door, mutt eyes blue and brown with that tinge of red veins showing exhaustion at the corners. Drops his muzzle to the floor in a seeking motion, snuffles the fabric of my pants as I walk away without so much as acknowledging him. His drool leaving a dripping pattern across the polished tile beneath us.

If there is ever a common equivalent of cereberus than it is the single headed mutt searching for its daily head scratch. I do not comply in fear of digging sharp nails too hard into animal skin - purposeful despite lack of intent. There is no greater urging twisting up in my gut than the anger, the sure as day longing to feel it taken out on anything within reach. Walls, floors, pets, people. Does it matter.

Everything, anything, always, always, always...

It can all be destroyed with the simplest of pressure applied.

The slick slide of a knife gliding over supple skin. So soft, so soft.


Think, gather, ground. Be in the present, and not within the swirling of a vortex of thoughts that exist outside the realm of normal psychological behavior. Its ingrained now, the fierceness of each thought. A learned habit maybe, or something deeper. Something thats always been there. Teased out by a family hellbent on ruination - the father and his empire, the mother and her anger, the brother and his blade. And myself, when did I first look in the mirror and see the Ichor of life spilling between clenched fists.

The taste of it is sweet, even as it slides down thick.

I'm only here for a moment, slip in, slip out. Gather clothes and money, cash upon cash upon cash. Stuff it in a bag, lacking sentimental nuances. There's enough for a day or two, maybe three if the feeling doesn't fade quite as fast. Each time gets shorter, more itching in between.

Leave, never touch the damned dog. Let him trail after me, droopy eye'd and desperate. Get halfway down the line of pristine cars to the one that looks like shit from a combination of careless driving and drunken attacks with a steel pipe.

They'll wonder where I am, whether I'm off taking or giving life. Spending nights much alike my mother in that regards. But rather, where I am going is different. A place that is the very opposite of a gemstone. A dirt covered rock in a bed of rusty coins. Still as capable of drawing blood.

A welcome with open arms and just barely the hint of a smile. "Sucker." the smile says as if ears are not a thing and today they are not for there are matters more pressing than an insult. A heedy desperation that has swirled its way round each limb. Tight as a Boa, constricting its prays breath from its lungs.

It is not the first, and it will not be the last. Because the plunge of a needle never lasts.

It never lasts.

I need more.