Mason Redding

"Innocent and not guilty are two different things."

0 · 270 views · located in Frankfort City, USA

a character in “The Hooded Vigilante”, as played by IamDone


Mason Dean Redding

Full Name: Mason Dean Redding

Role: The Warden

Age: Twenty-six

Mason's entire family seemed to have been suffering from the same ailment of surrealism, the wealth and power damaging in ways. Besides that, Mason was engaging and charming, and to some extent he still is. Wordsmith and master of conversation, Mason used to have so much to say it would break records. For him it was hard to turn off the talk tap. Also, whatever mood he is in the morning may not be the same that evening. Most likely he has changed his mind many times since then. He was a trickster but sometimes would get caught in his own mischief. Mimicking, caricature and telling jokes was sometimes hurtful to others. Totally oblivious to the whole situation, he couldn't understand how someone’s feelings got hurt through an innocent prank. When Mason is at the helm, the light can be engulfed quickly by the dark, and laughter may turn to sudden tears. For him the sibling is often a figure in his life with whom he becomes entwined (sometimes en-twinned), and it has certainly become that way with Emma. Highly strung he was usually more excitable than a gaggle of drag queens. Curious, gossip-loving and innovative, he used to tell a great story. His tragic quirk was the peter pan syndrome. Charming, attractive, witty, erudite but unavailable and unstable. Erotic, not neurotic. When it comes to commitment, he fled. One whiff of responsibility or settling down and Mason was off, speeding away as fast as possible. It was a trait his father disliked the most. But if his father could see the torn and damaged man Mason has now become, he would have thought differently of him. Now, although Mason still behaves in much the same way in front of others, it is mainly to throw others off of his alter-persona. It's obvious though, simply by looking into his eyes that he's a changed man.

David and Marian Redding had a fairly happy marriage, two beautiful children, a booming business and wealth beyond expectation. David had always been smart about his work, but ruthless, as Mason would soon find out, in taking advantage of others. As children, Mason and Emma were extremely privileged, spoiled and cared for by nannies and housemaids. Mason grew into a handsome man, but one who was irresponsible and indestructible, or so he thought. He'd graduated high school, but had dropped out of college to pursue his continuous party lifestyle, it was during that time that his father needed him to take responsibility because David didn't know how long he'd be alive for. He had given Mason two choices, hoping he would choose to take over his company, instead Mason chose to join the Marines. Needless to say, David was heartbroken.

Mason was an average soldier in the boot camp, nothing special really. Before that, he had never undertaken such physical stress and had never handled a gun, now he was expected to excel in those things. But by the time he was sent overseas, Mason was good enough to survive. Except he almost didn't. Whatever happened to Mason after he simply disappeared, no one can really know or guess. But those memories burn behind his eyes with such vigor it's sometimes painful. After his return, however, things needed to get done at home, within his own city. A day after his return, and after finding out his father had passed away shortly after his disappearance, Mason was reminiscing within David's office when he found a wrapped notebook and a letter addressed to him. It explained all that his father has done, him and numerous other wealthy tycoons who had taken advantage of small businesses and families together. It explained how badly his father feels of these misdeeds, and how he wished that his son would make things right, in any way that he can. It was this letter, and the notebook filled with information on his 'targets' that propelled Mason towards his alter-ego, The Warden. For he will be the one to turn the city around in his father's memory.

The scars.

So begins...

Mason Redding's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mason Redding Character Portrait: Russel Anderson

0.00 INK

#, as written by IamDone
There was no easy way to do it, Mason had decided as he stared out his bedroom window. Outside, it was nearly pitch black, the lone lamp-light that lit up a small space of their driveway was miniscule compared to the dark, open space. It had been raining on and off since Mason had returned home. Two days he's been home and he already felt like hell. A place that used to be so familiar was entirely strange now. His room had been left in the same way since his disappearance, though it felt empty, and not his place. Besides that, he'd found out his father had passed away almost five years ago. While his family was done grieving, he had only just begun. It was difficult to think what they have gone through, his pronounced death and then his father's. He could imagine the pain.

Tucking his hands in his pant pockets, he glanced over his shoulder at his bed, then the dresser. This wasn't home, it couldn't feel so strange. After a long, drawn-out sigh, Mason crossed the room and left, finding himself wandering towards his father's office. Like his room had, it still stood pretty much in the same way, nothing had been moved, or replaced. Nothing thrown out, except it was immaculately clean, as if it was cleaned each day. He moved towards the large mahogany desk sitting in the middle of the room, and sat down into the leather chair, the fabric creaking beneath his weight. His father's presence was long gone, and yet Mason could still feel him around here. He took the next half hour, idly glancing around the room, the contents on top of the table, then took the time to open each drawer and take in his father's presence little by little. Reminiscing, if you must.

For a while, nothing had jumped out at him except a folded letter attached to a small notebook with a rubberband. He wouldn't have touched anything if it wasn't addressed to him. 'Mason, my Son' was written on the folded letter in the cursive writing that was recognizable as his father's. He slowly removed the rubberband and unfolded the letter. Dated to just about five years ago, it had been written in haste. Mason's brows creased as he read the letter, taking in all of the information that his father provided him. It was a last minute demand, a request, but it sounded more like begging. David Redding confessed to all the misdeeds he had done, and was begging his son to 'make it right'. It also spoke of the notebook underneath the letter, it was a list of people who had done the same as David had, a list of people his father worked with.

"Mason?" His mother's voice startled him out of his thoughts. Marian was still an attractive woman, the grieving hadn't done any harm to her, it seemed. And there she stood in the doorway, a golden mane neatly piled in curls. She was dressed in a cocktail dress, possibly heading out, Mason figured. After he had looked up at her, setting the letter and notebook down, she stepped into the room, smiling warmly at her son. "Your friend is here," she began, then as she looked on, she smiled wider. "You know, your father would have loved to see you in that chair like that." It was a stab in the heart, for if it wasn't for his stubborn refusal for responsibility, maybe he wouldn't have let his father down so terribly. Mason stood, silent.

"I'm heading out, don't get into trouble," she patted his shoulder as he passed her.

"I won't," after a brief kiss was planted on her cheek, he headed downstairs to see who had decided to welcome him. Not many had in the past few days.

"Rusty," Mason grinned, jogging down the last set of winding stairs. "Good to see you, man," Mason shook his hand and drew him into a hug.

"I didn't believe them when they told me," Rusty chuckled, returning the hug. Rusty was definitely hesitant, however, Mason could feel that thickly. "So I'm here to take you out on the town-- like good ol' times, huh," he continued.

"Ahh, I don't know," Mason resisted, rubbing the back of his neck, with the thought to find an excuse as he stood in front of his friend. Needless to say, he'd done harm to their friendship before, so Mason did little to find an excuse. He wasn't too keen on going out anymore, but for old times sake, he'd humor his friend for the night.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mason Redding Character Portrait: Emma Redding Character Portrait: Russel Anderson

0.00 INK

#, as written by Mela
Emma watched as the crystals on the spoon she was holding began melting, the lighter she was holding beneath it effectively reducing them to liquid. She knew meth was a dangerous drug, and sometimes, when her head was clear, she even tried to stop herself from taking it, but then, at other times, she just couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t deny herself the peace of mind she needed so desperately. Especially now that Mason was home. When Emma had first learned of Mason’s return from the dead, she had been ecstatic, promising herself that she would turn a new page; that she would get well now, because her brother was home. But he had been so distant, and she felt like he didn’t really want to be there, so again, Emma had turned to comfort herself. It was the only way she knew how to deal with upset anymore; drugs and alcohol. She was definitely going out tonight, that was for sure.

Once the crystalline drug had finally melted, Emma put down both lighter and spoon, unpacking a clean syringe. She didn’t like re-using them. It made her feel like a dirty addict, and she wasn’t. Then, drawing the liquid into the plastic container, Emma took a deep breath, looking at it. No one gave a shit about her, she knew that. Emma had been using meth for the past month, and other drugs before that. Alcohol even earlier, and her mother hadn’t even cared enough to notice. She never did. And Mason, who had been home for a few days, obviously still saw her as some good little kid, as if she was still the sister he had left. Emma didn’t know if she was most angry at him, hating him for leaving her to become this… this person… or happy that he was home and alive at last, even if he barely noticed her presence. She extended her right arm, tapping the most upper vein with two fingers before pushing the needle into it, her thumb pressing down the plunger with not a sliver of hesitation. No matter what, he clearly didn’t want to be the brother she needed him to be.

Finally, Emma put the syringe back on her night table along with the spoon and lighter, looking at the three while the meth coursed through her veins, relaxing her body, her mind slipping from confusing turmoil into a steady haze, and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She sat there for a while, enjoying the sensation of feeling… nothing. She simply was, nothing more, nothing less, and she didn’t care. She had told herself a long time ago to stop caring, but part of her would always remain that naïve little 12 year-old her brother still thought her to be. As for her mother, now that Mason was home, attention was even less on her – as if that could have been possible. Then young girl opened her eyes slowly once she felt completely at peace, and then got up from the bed, smoothing out her outfit for the day before walking out the door. She didn’t yet know what she was going to do; probably just out to take a walk. She’d see where that took her.

She was about to slide on her sunglasses on her way down the stairs, when she spotted Mason with Rusty. She stilled, her hand on the handle of the stairs. Frankly she was a little surprised. She watched the pair silently, but when they spoke of going out, she snorted, finally sliding on her sunglasses. Her eyes would betray her current high, so she hid them; force of habit. She walked the rest of the way down the stairs, her heels clicking harmoniously. She did stop at the foot of said stairs however, unsure of what to do with the situation. In the end, she just spoke. What did she care anyway? The words rolled easily off her tongue, her voice ringing out in a playful tone, “don’t tell me you guys are heading out without me.” Wry smile curving her lips, she then added breezily, “oh, hey Rusty.”